Gansbaai, White Shark Projects, Bottom Bunk
As I meandered around the hostel between trips of transporting bags and brushing the kudu and biltong out of my teeth, I picked up a few pocket travel guides. "The Zulu people love to visit, or vakasha, and when they do travel around from one place to another, they call it 'to zungeza'".
I dragged my bags and body out of my room and into the van taking me to Gansbaai (pronounced Hans-bai) at 4:30 this morning. Got roughly an hour of sleep last night, woke up to hug and send off Sara, hauled my stuff to the lobby, and was soon riding in the front row of a medium-sized van from what had become lightly familiar into the 5 AM darkness.
As I meandered around the hostel between trips of transporting bags and brushing the kudu and biltong out of my teeth, I picked up a few pocket travel guides. "The Zulu people love to visit, or vakasha, and when they do travel around from one place to another, they call it 'to zungeza'".
Zungeza-ing to Gansbaai was incredible, probably due to the combination of my sleep deprivation and its truly majestic beauty. Couldn't sleep on the two hour drive. Not sure whether to attribute it to dehydration from last night, spillover adrenaline from the rhythms and beats just a few hours earlier, or the innate desire to actively experience every aspect of my journey, but somehow, sprawling out across two seats and shutting my eyes didn't have the soporific effect I've come to expect.
The landscape is beautiful. The freeway from Cape Town to Gansbaai appeared to be the only path between the two, situated between tall bushes along the ocean side. On one side, beyond stretches of green, nameless mountains; on the other, across the water, the washed-out lights of Hermanus. Both giants looming in the distance and
AHHH COMPUTER RUNNING OUT OF BATTERY ALSO MUST WAKE UP IN 6 HOURS WILL FINISH THIS TOMORROW!!!
Alright, sorry, back now.
Both giants looming in the distance and unmoving as all of the foliage seemed to push past us. I tried to take pictures of the charcoal blue sky from the van but sometimes I don't know what a camera is, so that didn't work too well. Thought I saw the Corona Australis but I can't even recall if it's the right season for it down here. It's discomforting how strange the stars seem now. Reminds me of Nepal. I keep on looking for familiar light patterns in the sky, but they only return my quizzical stare. The sun was rising as we neared Gansbaai, at about 7:00 or so, and still hidden behind shelves of mountains when the van turned into a dimly lit harbor.
The scattering of chattering gulls and cormorants heralded our arrival. The sleepy towns we passed along the way starkly contrasted to the commotion in port. The back-up beeps of massive John Deeres and South African F-150s. The quick commands and points and purposeful strides of polarized-lensed, wet-geared, beanie-capped crew members identified by their vessel sigils and Afrikaans English and already on their second hour of alertness. The unmistakeable smell of cold salt air and anchovy-oiled whole tuna and burning diesel and the third -- maybe fourth -- Lucky Strike hanging from the lips of weather-beaten mouths. Nothing like a breath of all of this against the autumn palate dusk to make you feel alive. I want to bottle it up and give it to everyone; it is what life should smell like.
The scene unfolding was life-giving. One of those moments that you want to capture as an unsullied film in your mind and then project to everyone you meet so that they too might experience the display and maybe then, little by little, the world becomes a better place. There is no describing the way the waves broke against the jagged rock strategically protruding through the surface, the sporadic lines of white that cut through like rough crooked why so serious? smiles, the sun surging through the mother of pearl sky.
The first member of the shark team I met was Jan. Tall, tanned, tawny. Tumultuous. Trouble-making. Twenty-three. In his broken-in Shova Wellingtons, charcoal blue sky "Crew" windbreaker, windswept curly golden brown hair poking up beneath his fleece-lined black beanie. His eyes like a shark's - dark and serious and hard when veiled by his black polarized wrap sunglasses, at first glance and as broadcasted, but bright and playful and feeling, upon further inspection.
He introduced himself as one of the volunteer coordinators. What. Sunglasses off and resting above the lip of his hat. You mean I get to see you more often? Black eyes scrutinizing but blue ones full of curiosity. Oh god.
He gave a quick introduction to great whites, the research, and other things that I probably should have paid attention to. I met other members of the team, and we boarded The Shark Team. Caught some serious air as we jettisoned out into Jouberts (Jobaeis) Dam. The water was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The crew was beautiful. This is not real life.
As the boat came to a stop and we dropped anchor, I got into a damp wetsuit and geared up. Spat in my goggles and wiped it around, slung a weight belt carbine over my shoulder, and slid into the cage. The 11 degree water was penetrating, and if they hadn't been so tightly squeezed against my skin by my wetsuit, the hairs all over my body would have stood on end. The instructions while in the cage were simple: do NOT stick your body parts outside of the cage if you want to live (alright, so maybe not quite so dramatic). Arms, legs, and/or other miscellaneous limbs are not to be flailed through the open spaces separated by the metal bars of our cage, so please do your best to squelch your desire to wave down the next incoming great white. Visibility today was decent - not great, but good enough to the point where if a shark decided to come up to the cage to bump noses with you, you would definitely know.
I could feel the layer of trapped water sloshing around even the smallest voids and barely-existent crevices between the suit and me. It was one of those moments where your body is more prepared for protocol than you could have ever imagined, and BAM! just like that, your brain takes a backseat and before you know it, in a last ditch effort for survival, you produce gallons and gallons of balmy body-temp and, as I've had to reassure many many many people, delectably sterile body fluids to excrete in order to revive those body parts vital enough to be within a peetastic radius. It's a great day to be alive.
Diving experience in tank
Getting punched in the face by a great white
Wishing I had a go pro to film all of this
Meeting Ally - smoking a cigarette, still dazed, wearing his PJs
Showering - great shower!
Going shopping for food, talking to Jan
Coming back
White shark biology lecture
Taking a nap
Eating chicken tacos
Drinking Black Labels and Windhoek - not for sale to persons under 18
AHHH COMPUTER RUNNING OUT OF BATTERY ALSO MUST WAKE UP IN 6 HOURS WILL FINISH THIS TOMORROW!!!
Alright, sorry, back now.
Both giants looming in the distance and unmoving as all of the foliage seemed to push past us. I tried to take pictures of the charcoal blue sky from the van but sometimes I don't know what a camera is, so that didn't work too well. Thought I saw the Corona Australis but I can't even recall if it's the right season for it down here. It's discomforting how strange the stars seem now. Reminds me of Nepal. I keep on looking for familiar light patterns in the sky, but they only return my quizzical stare. The sun was rising as we neared Gansbaai, at about 7:00 or so, and still hidden behind shelves of mountains when the van turned into a dimly lit harbor.
The scattering of chattering gulls and cormorants heralded our arrival. The sleepy towns we passed along the way starkly contrasted to the commotion in port. The back-up beeps of massive John Deeres and South African F-150s. The quick commands and points and purposeful strides of polarized-lensed, wet-geared, beanie-capped crew members identified by their vessel sigils and Afrikaans English and already on their second hour of alertness. The unmistakeable smell of cold salt air and anchovy-oiled whole tuna and burning diesel and the third -- maybe fourth -- Lucky Strike hanging from the lips of weather-beaten mouths. Nothing like a breath of all of this against the autumn palate dusk to make you feel alive. I want to bottle it up and give it to everyone; it is what life should smell like.
The scene unfolding was life-giving. One of those moments that you want to capture as an unsullied film in your mind and then project to everyone you meet so that they too might experience the display and maybe then, little by little, the world becomes a better place. There is no describing the way the waves broke against the jagged rock strategically protruding through the surface, the sporadic lines of white that cut through like rough crooked why so serious? smiles, the sun surging through the mother of pearl sky.
The first member of the shark team I met was Jan. Tall, tanned, tawny. Tumultuous. Trouble-making. Twenty-three. In his broken-in Shova Wellingtons, charcoal blue sky "Crew" windbreaker, windswept curly golden brown hair poking up beneath his fleece-lined black beanie. His eyes like a shark's - dark and serious and hard when veiled by his black polarized wrap sunglasses, at first glance and as broadcasted, but bright and playful and feeling, upon further inspection.
He introduced himself as one of the volunteer coordinators. What. Sunglasses off and resting above the lip of his hat. You mean I get to see you more often? Black eyes scrutinizing but blue ones full of curiosity. Oh god.
He gave a quick introduction to great whites, the research, and other things that I probably should have paid attention to. I met other members of the team, and we boarded The Shark Team. Caught some serious air as we jettisoned out into Jouberts (Jobaeis) Dam. The water was beautiful. The sky was beautiful. The crew was beautiful. This is not real life.
As the boat came to a stop and we dropped anchor, I got into a damp wetsuit and geared up. Spat in my goggles and wiped it around, slung a weight belt carbine over my shoulder, and slid into the cage. The 11 degree water was penetrating, and if they hadn't been so tightly squeezed against my skin by my wetsuit, the hairs all over my body would have stood on end. The instructions while in the cage were simple: do NOT stick your body parts outside of the cage if you want to live (alright, so maybe not quite so dramatic). Arms, legs, and/or other miscellaneous limbs are not to be flailed through the open spaces separated by the metal bars of our cage, so please do your best to squelch your desire to wave down the next incoming great white. Visibility today was decent - not great, but good enough to the point where if a shark decided to come up to the cage to bump noses with you, you would definitely know.
I could feel the layer of trapped water sloshing around even the smallest voids and barely-existent crevices between the suit and me. It was one of those moments where your body is more prepared for protocol than you could have ever imagined, and BAM! just like that, your brain takes a backseat and before you know it, in a last ditch effort for survival, you produce gallons and gallons of balmy body-temp and, as I've had to reassure many many many people, delectably sterile body fluids to excrete in order to revive those body parts vital enough to be within a peetastic radius. It's a great day to be alive.
Diving experience in tank
Getting punched in the face by a great white
Wishing I had a go pro to film all of this
Meeting Ally - smoking a cigarette, still dazed, wearing his PJs
Showering - great shower!
Going shopping for food, talking to Jan
Coming back
White shark biology lecture
Taking a nap
Eating chicken tacos
Drinking Black Labels and Windhoek - not for sale to persons under 18
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