Shark Beach

Shark Beach

I am sitting in a very friendly open-air bar by the beach of the first tropical island that I have ever visited. I feel like I am in the set for a Jimmy Buffet video, even though I do not drink margaritas and don’t wear flip-flops. The general good feeling that the people in this place have produced for me, makes me think that I can ask the question that has been buzzing in my mind ever since I checked into my cabin by the beach. As I ask the bartender for another scotch, neat, I say to him. “So why do they call this Shark Beach? I wouldn’t think that such a name would improve the tourist business on your lovely island.”

The bartender smiles and replies with the wave-like lilting accent of the island. “So that might seem, my friend. So that might seem. But I will tell you now that there has not been a shark attack on a swimmer off that beach since my grandfather’s day. It is completely safe, I can tell you that, completely safe.”

“Then why call it Shark Beach, my friend? That does not make any sense to me.”

“Well, you see, it received that name over 150 years ago, when there were plenty of shark attacks in the waters here. And on this island, we do not like to change things we have gotten used to. You wouldn’t like us to call it “There Used to be Sharks Here Beach”, now would you?”

“No, I would not.”

That ended our discussion, but not my drinking.

The Next Day

As I wake up the next day, not feeling too hungover, I decide that I want to go swimming. I get into my big butt swimming trunks, and head to Shark Beach.  Not to my surprise, there is no one there. I tell a lie. There are no tourists there, but there is a woman, with three small children who are actively playing in the shallows. All four of them are wearing bathing suits of a colour that I would call sea-green.  I watch as they all swim out into deeper waters.  I reckon that they must be local, and not intimidated by the name of the beach. I hope that nothing happens to them.

As I look out into the deeper water watching the family swimming, my imagination conjures up pictures of a school of sharks. I then remember that the collective name for these fish is not ‘school’, but is a ‘shiver of sharks’. Long live alliteration. As if to illustrate the aptness of the name, I shiver, but not with cold, but with the mental pictures of my swimming with sharks circling me. I turn around quickly, head for my cabin, grab the keys to my rental car, and my wallet, and get into the car. I am going to swim elsewhere, at a beach with a safer name.

I look for the family of swimmers, but they have disappeared.  With a thought I know is a little cowardly, I tell myself that they must have tired of swimming and went home to have breakfast. ‘You mustn’t eat before swimming. You’ll get cramps’, my grandmother used to say. Then I drive off quickly to the other side of the island.  

When I arrive at the far side, I find it hard to find a parking space. This beach is going to be crowded, I think, and I prove to be right. I wonder what you call great numbers of tourists on a beach, ‘a tanned tonnage of tourists’? I hate swimming with a pack of people like this. It has all the freedom of movement of our four lane town pool back home.  I decide that I will go back to Shark Beach, and take the bartender’s word for its safety. If the kids can do it, so can I.

Return to Shark Beach

I return to Shark Beach. There is still no one there, no one in sight on the beach or in the water. But I also don’t see any dorsal fins cutting through the waves. I walk into the water with some confidence. At first I take my time, walking in the shallows, splashing myself a bit, and not going any deeper. Then I decide, ‘to hell with it’, and dive in and swim out to where the water is well over my head. I then assume a sitting position, looking all around me.

Then I see them, the signature dorsal fins of first one shark, then several, then many.  They are all around me! Some of them are blocking my exit to the beach.  I am trapped! They are approaching me from all sides. And I swear I can hear them calling out – auditory hallucination, or just them saying ‘It’s dinner time’?

Then I see it. Judging from the size of the fin breaking through the surface of the water, this shark is much bigger than all the others. It isn’t long before the other sharks detect this super-sized shark’s giant presence. They all swim away quickly in every direction to escape the monster among them. Then I notice that there are several much smaller sharks that are playing ‘follow the leader’ with the big one. In a matter of a few minutes, we are alone together in the ocean: the big shark, its three followers and me. They swim towards me slowly. I cannot move, frozen in fear.

Then, much to my surprise, they swim past me, as if I weren’t even there. I decide to swim for shore, glad that I do not have eyes in the back of my head. In the shallows I try to move too fast, and I stumble and fall. I am a little embarrassed, but not shark bait. I pick myself up and make my way to the beach sand.  I am safe now.

I sit on the warm, comforting beach sand, facing the sea. I catch my breath, and look out into the waters where I was nearly prey for predators. What I see surprises me. It is the mother and her three children that I first saw earlier this morning. My first thought is that I am glad that they weren’t eaten. My second thought is too strange for me to even consider seriously.

Back to the Beach Bar

When I turn to walk away, I see that the lights are on in the beach bar. It must be past twelve o’clock noon. I definitely feel that I need a drink, so I head back to my cabin, change my clothes, and walk, almost run to the bar. When I sit on the bar stool, the bartender greets me with a scotch and a smile. 

           Then he says the words that don’t surprise me as much as they would have the day before. “I saw that you were rescued by the four sea spirits, mother and children. Since they came to this beach in my grandfather’s time, there have been no shark attacks at Shark Beach. My grandmother had the gift of a voice that could call them. I inherited that gift from her. I didn’t tell you that before. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

           I do now, however.