Journal Entry
From the journal of Minnow Gray
We waited for the perfect weather, which in the Farallones during late fall can sometimes take a while. Max brooded all morning
and I was picking up his nervous energy, but the sun was out and the water sparkled. It seemed like a risky thing to do in
such a small boat (the Boston Whaler here is a mere thirteen feet, smaller than many of the sharks), and it wasn’t well equipped.
But that’s one of the things I’ve learned about research—you do whatever it takes with as little as you have and somehow make
it work.
We had two long metal poles with the PAT (pop-off archival tag) loosely attached. The second pole was for backup in case we
dropped it, or worse. The plan was to harpoon the tag at the base of the dorsal fin and then if all went well, after a certain
amount of time—in this case one was set for three months, one for six and another for nine—when the tag pops to the surface,
it then will ping data to a satellite that tells us the water temps, the track the shark traveled and how deep it went. They
had successfully tagged ten sharks last year, so it should have been no problem, but maybe it was having me on board that
made Max uncomfortable. He worries about me more than he should and I find it both endearing and suffocating.
Anyway, I was driving the boat, and once we were ready he tossed the seal decoy over the side.
It rarely took long for the sharks to come in for a closer look, and soon there was a flurry of fins.
Max stood near the bow, perched like a heron.
Before we hit the shark with the tag, he wanted to check its markings to ID it.
There were a lot of moving parts and he kept yelling at me to speed up, slow down, go this way or do whatever.
The sharks were cautious and circled the boat at a distance, but none went for the seal.
Max was growing frustrated and so was I, so I suggested he drive and I take a stab at the tagging.
He has more experience with driving in this kind of scenario than I do. I don’t like the idea of stabbing sharks with sharp
objects, but their skin is tough and they are made out of cartilage, so they barely notice it. Eventually Huck Fin (a fifteen-foot
male who always seems a little more curious than the others) came close enough to the boat for me to jab him. I had to lean
way off the side of the boat to even have a chance of landing the tag. It all happened in slow motion from there.
In my excitement, I lost my balance and went over the side headfirst. Even before I hit the water, Max was grabbing at my
foot, which I think made things worse. The icy cold stole my breath and I felt Max trying to drag me up and into the boat
all the while yelling and cursing. Out of the side of my eye, I saw a large shape coming toward me, but it was moving slowly
and I could tell there was no threat. At least not from that particular shark. I kicked my foot out of Max’s hands, flipped
over in the water and pulled myself into the boat with a strength I never knew I had. He was hyperventilating, but I was fine,
if not a little shaken up, literally.
Next time I’ll be more careful.