Shark Angels in the news again... This time national evening news.

This was part of the full story shot in November. Way to go Shark Angel Alison!

Tracking a Giant: Meet Nyami Nyami, the 4 meter Bull Shark

(The beautiful Nyami Nyami - photo by Alison Towner)

Three weeks ago, Meaghen McCord from the South African Shark Conservancy (SASC) and her team found the 4 meter giant in the Breede River over 15 km from the ocean. She was an over-achieving shark, setting many records – and proving many theories wrong – including the fact she was living far outside of her known range - in an area she wasn't supposed to inhabit. The discovery was a true triumph for Meag who had been self funding the efforts to find these "ghost" sharks who have long been rumored amongst the locals to exist, regardless of the scientific skeptics that surrounded her.

And, it is an amazing discovery for the Zambezis, who you will recall from a previous blog entry are extremely threatened due to a lack of healthy estuaries in Southern Africa which they use as breeding grounds. It appears the Zambezis do indeed have a healthy place to strengthen their dwindling numbers. It is just hundreds of kilometers South, but I guess no one told Nyami Nyami, our massive and rather clever lady who is most likely soon to become a mom.

Meag and her team tagged the beautiful shark and tracked her for 43 consecutive hours as she swam from fishing boat to fishing boat, out into the ocean and then, far upstream. They vowed to return with more support – allowing them to track Nyami Nyami for 24 hours a day for two weeks straight. It isn't often you have the opportunity to get into the head of a shark by studying her every movement for two weeks, so of course I jumped at the opportunity to participate.

(Tagging Nyami Nyami so we can track her - photo by Alison Towner)

It has been an incredible experience to track Nyami Nyami – and gain a deeper understanding of this misunderstood animal. And what a complex creature she is. She loves swimming in water less than a meter deep on low tides, rubbing her belly on the mud. Then, there are times she enjoys lying stationary in deeper pits probably watching her world swim by. Sometimes she missions at an incredible speed against the current to one of her favorite destinations, and others, she rides the current lazily moving the same speed as our drifting boat. We have tracked her from the river mouth upstream over 30 kilometers and back again. She certainly gets around.

(Tracking the ghost shark... With our trusty Skipper - and brave shark wrangler, Steve Smuts)

Nyami Nyami is quite curious, and often swims up to those on the water – either wading or in boats. While sometimes she will ignore fisherman, other times, she heads straight for them, sitting patiently on their lines waiting for them to catch something. When they do, she is always up for an easy meal – just adding to the adventure that is fishing in the Breede River. She is also very sensitive to vibrations and is often drawn to those making them. I have many times witnessed her swim right up to people waist deep in the water digging for prawns, to merely check them out and then move on. She even swam up on some swimmers yesterday. Never has there been a shark attack in the Breede River. Indeed, Nyami Nyami has had every opportunity to expand her diet; clearly we are not on her menu. Yes, 4 meter bull sharks and people can peacefully co-exist. Even in murky water.

(Paul writes down the data...)

(As Julie tracks her...)

And Nyami Nyami is not alone. We have plenty of evidence to prove that there are more of her kind. Fin sightings, breachings, huge 100 lb Cobbs bitten in half – all attributed to someone other than our girl, since we know exactly where she was at the time each occurred – and it wasn't near any of the other instances of evidence.

(100 lb Cob head - chowed by someone other than our girl... Fisherman fought with the fish for an hour before the line instantly went slack... This is what he reeled in. Photo by JP Botha.)

Although it seems like I am tracking a ghost since she rarely can be seen in the murky water that is less than a half meter visibility, she has breached for us, and for a few minutes each day, she shows an impressive dorsal and caudal fin. So for brief moments, I am visually connected to my new obsession. More spectacular for me, though, are the frequent moments that the tracking device, the VR100, gives us readings of 105. 70+ means she is 10 – 15 meters away… 105? Well, she is nuzzling our boat!

(A brief glimpse of Nyami Nyami rubbing her belly on the mud.)

But what I have found more powerful is the community's reaction to Nyami Nyami. As a conservationist with an undying passion for sharks, I have soaring highs and crushing lows depending on whom I am speaking to. Some want to kill her for threatening their fish supply - not realizing the important role she plays in keeping their stocks healthy. Some love the idea of sport fishing for the world's largest trophy set of bull shark jaws. Others are now terrified, even though there were always sharks in the river. But fortunately, those individuals are fewer than those that are absolutely thrilled with the discovery. Many community members are excited about the finding, with people frequently stopping us to ask about her latest escapades. They love the idea that these waters are healthy enough to support Bull Sharks, when almost nowhere else in South Africa can. Often, we pull up to fisherman who are amused at the fact a shark larger than their boat is hanging out, just waiting to see what they catch. Even the swimmers who we notified about the shark below them were shocked but quite curious.

It is fortunate, since the community's support is desperately needed, as she, like so many other sharks, requires grassroots protection. Some question the release of her existence, fearing it is her death wish. Hardly. Instead of allowing a few trophy hunters to come in and silently kill Nyami Nyami (since they witnessed her original capture), instead, due to the publicity, MCM has put an immediate moratorium on all shark fishing in the river until further information can be gathered - with a fine of R500,000 for violators. But legislation, as we all know, is only a small part of the battle. Enforcement is far more important. Thankfully, the community is now self-policing, keeping any potential hunters out. It is my hope that those passionate about the river will continue to serve as Nyami Nyami, and all of her friends', guardian angels. She, and Bull Sharks everywhere, need all the protection they can get.

*SASC has funded much of this effort and desperately needs your support to continue tracking Nyami Nyami and all of their good work.

Shark Angels in Sport Diver - February 2009

To read the article, click on the images...

The silent killer: the disappearance of the world's estuaries

Our impact on the oceans over the last century has been greater than all previous centuries combined. We are quickly changing the oceans’ chemistry, temperature and biodiversity while at the same time, only just beginning to understand these changes’ implications. We know so little really; we are still learning about the oceans’ important role in our climate, atmosphere, and planet, still exploring their depths, and still discovering their inhabitants. And as we slowly build our knowledgebase, pollution, habitat destruction, global warming and overfishing are ravaging our seas – and all that dwell within.

Sharks sit at the forefront of this lethal combination of catastrophes, vulnerable to each of them. Sharks are being fished at the rate of 100,000,000 sharks per year, with many regional species up to 98% extinct. Bottom-dwelling sharks are chased by trawlers, whose fishing practices are so destructive, the muddy tell-tale signs of the underwater bulldozers demolishing the sea beds can be seen from satellites. And pelagic sharks frequently join the 43 million tons of bycatch caught by fisherman on long-lines and nets. No matter how they are caught, they are brought on board to have their fins sliced off - usually ending with the shark being thrown back into the water to die and rot.

At the same time sharks are being hunted for their fins at unsustainable rates, they are also struggling with the contamination of their environment. Not only have sharks absorbed the highly toxic methyl-mercury which compromises, amongst other things, their ability to reproduce successfully, but now scientists are also finding other strange neuro-toxins (linked to brain diseases like Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s) in their flesh. Chemicals, whether dumped or run-off, enter the food chain and become concentrated as they make their way up the food chain. Even the tons and tons of plastics in our ocean – forming two “islands” twice the size of Texas in the Pacific and Indian oceans – are decomposing to a point that the polymer particles, which will take hundreds if not thousands of years to dissipate, are consumed. Some seawater has 7 times more plastic in it than zooplankton, and so this plastic poison also enters the food chain. All of these chemicals are literally poisoning the sharks – and anyone who dares to eat them.

As if not threatened enough, the struggling shark population is also battling with the destruction of habitat. Many sharks and rays rely upon estuaries as nurseries for their young. And sadly, estuaries around the world are under attack. Not only are the fragile ecosystems more susceptible to pollution and overfishing, they are often in areas considered prime real estate. Many estuaries have fallen victim to homes and businesses – either directly or due to the topographical changes urban development force.

The Zambezi Sharks of Southern Africa are one such casualty, for centuries, relying upon toxin-free estuaries to continue their cycle of life. While healthy in the 1960’s, the Zambezi Sharks’ population, also known as Bull Sharks, has plummeted – missing in large numbers from their usual haunts like Protea Banks. Many attribute this in great part to the disappearance of healthy estuaries. During the last 50 years, one by one, the sharks’ birthing places vanished, thanks to river damming, population explosions, and industrial pollution. In fact, reportedly only one estuary remains accessible, protected and healthy enough to serve as a nursery on the eastern coast of South Africa. Shark nets, targeted fishing, and destruction due to ignorant fear or a misplaced sense of competition, combined with an inability to rear healthy young have decimated the population.

Nearby Mozambique and its estuaries are thought to be the Zambezi Sharks’ salvation. So we decided to investigate this theory firsthand. On our recent trip, we visited countless estuaries and even dove in two. And the results, for this conservationist, were frightening.

Many of the estuaries we found were polluted from nearby towns and cities, serving as a makeshift waste facility for garbage, industrial waste and untreated sewage. Others had hotels built upon them, with what appeared to be little concern for their impact upon the fragile ecosystem. And more were dried up, with dead mangrove trees serving as the only indicator to the area’s previous vivacity, victims to changes in water flows that development and climate change inevitably bring about.

Imagine our excitement when we found a large estuary in Tofu that – from the surface – initially appeared to be healthy. We grabbed our gear and decided to see for ourselves… visions of immature sharks and rays dancing in my head.



The first thing that struck me as we approached was the lack of birds surrounding the area. Not a good sign. And then, as we walked to the site, I realized the luxury hotel next to us was dumping their waste directly into the water. It wasn’t until I saw the locals’ fish nets – installed with such intensity you can actually see them when flying above – did I finally acknowledge that perhaps we were mistaken.

We swam towards the mangroves knowing that their roots typically serve as homes for countless creatures. But all we found was a mossy, slime growing over sad strands of sea grass with long, gelatinous sea cucumbers and the spindly legs from sea stars woven in between. 90 minutes in the water and I could count the other life forms we encountered on one hand – a single crab, a small transparent shrimp, and a few silvery fish. Here was a huge bay that spanned as far as the eye could see and should have been bustling with life; instead, it was eerily silent. All that could be harvested from the estuary had been, and with the ecosystem completely disrupted and probably contaminated, what remained was the low level, and incredibly resilient members of the food chain – reproducing in large numbers due to the lack of balance.

For all practical purposes, this estuary, like so many others, was dead.

Resolute, we headed further north, finally escaping the populated areas and tourist destinations. After 6 hours of driving on non-existent roads, we happened upon an isolated estuary in Pomene Bay with a hotel perched aside the lovely bay, allowing us to spend five days observing the estuary – from above and under the water.

Our spirits soared as we heard stories of frogfish, sea horses, brindle bass, crabs and even dolphins. And over the next five days, our dives did not disappoint. Swimming through the beautifully healthy sea grass, we found a treasure trove. Anemones with huge, colorful popcorn shrimp, grasses and sponges entwined with several species of sea horses, black, yellow and orange frog fish lurking about looking for their next meal, beautiful juvenile angelfish displaying the vibrant patterns of youth, sand dollars hairy and purple shuffling on the bottom, and countless varieties of flounders, nudibranchs, scorpionfish, eels, and pipe fish this muck diving veteran had never seen before. We also met several scientists who were busy discovering new species – or species thousands of miles away from their reported home.


What a special place. It was like diving in the macro-heaven Sulawesi, Indonesia – without the garbage.

Our frequent boat trips through the estuary delivered topside sightings of flamingos, humpback dolphins, schools of hunting, large game fish, and even a turtle. Yes, this was a healthy estuary – one that was serving as a nursery and protected area for many species, including sharks no doubt. And one desperately in need of protection.



You see, it wasn’t long before our rose colored glasses wore off and we began noticing the locals that descended upon the estuary in full force day after day at low tide. Dozens of women filling bags and bags of razor clams. Fisherman dragging tiny mesh nets through the fragile grass catching fish, eels and everything else in their path, later throwing the precious bycatch not yet realizing its commercial value, like the sea horses, carelessly aside on the beach to die. Crowds of men with long poles who would stab at the water with as much caution as if they were jack hammering a pothole. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Day after day, this place was being assaulted. How much longer could it possibly last?



This place, like so many others, is falling victim to our collective ignorance and greed, while we blindly ignore the tremendous consequences upon things needed for our own basic survival. Remove the fish, remove the sharks, kill the fragile ecosystem and we jeopardize far more than a single estuary. We jeopardize the already strained oceans, our life source. And what’s worse, this is happening all over the world. Estuaries are threatened with extinction.

Perhaps there is hope for this estuary. The resort manager, Joe, a passionate lover of the oceans, recently convinced Maritima (the governmental agency responsible for protecting their coasts) to come and see the estuary for themselves. Not only did Maritima protect the area in front of the resort - the artificial reef – from gill-netters and agree to assess the impact in three months, but they are considering making the entire estuary a marine protected area. Of course, enforcement is always a challenge – I joined Joe in chasing away fisherman netting where they were not allowed. We also filmed what we saw – both the good and the bad – and are providing it to the government, to further the cause, writing letters to the ministry as well.

Our population is already at levels that are not sustainable from a resource perspective on this planet – so it isn’t surprising that in a country where 80% of the people live below the poverty level, it is a mad rush to take whatever they can. Even less excusable is the fact that more wealthy countries seize this as an opportunity to irresponsibly ravage these resources as well, destroying everything including estuaries in their path. The oceans are both our dumping grounds and our endless supply of life irregardless of our stewardship. It is up to those of us who care and can see the big picture, to stop the destruction. Or minimally, fight the good fight and be very noisy while it happens before our very eyes. The sharks, the sea horses, and even our fellow human beings, depend upon it.

Threatening those that threaten: Sharkfinning in Mozambique

Southern Africa has some of the richest shark waters in the world – which is part of the reason I find myself, a shark conservationist from Chicago, USA, drawn here. Over 210 species live in the nearby waters, more than 60 of which can only be found here.

However, like many other places around the globe, Southern Africa's sharks are vanishing before our eyes at alarming rates. Shark finners, motivated by the out of control demand for shark fin, have locked their target and are ravaging one of Africa’s most precious resources. Leaving behind a wake of disaster for the locals – and the rest of the world - who will suffer considerably when these waters are depleted of sharks.

I learned this first-hand on a recent trip to Mozambique.

Offshore, it is estimated that the area surrounding Mozambique has the highest concentration of long-line fishing vessels in the world. Over 200 are targeting shark for their fins. Any one of these vessels is capable of catching more than 100 tons of sharks per trip, quickly offloading to factory ships offshore only to fin again. In June, an illegal Namibian ship was seized with 43 tons of sharks, an estimated value of US$5 million, onboard the unlicensed ship.


Inshore, sharks face a similar fate from artesianal fisherman.

With 80% of Mozambicans living below the poverty level, it isn’t surprising that sharkfinning is running rampant. Fins from a single shark can fetch up to US$120, a few months’ income. Consider a small boat can land as many as 1,000 sharks a year and you have the recipe for environmental disaster.

The word is out. Shark fins mean big money and fishermen, desperate to feed their families, are heeding the call.


Before long-line fisheries began in early 2000, anecdotal reports indicate the shores surrounding Mozambique were rich with sharks and rays. These days, it is a very different story, with our own dives consisting of a rare shark or ray sighting only a handful of times. Unfortunately, the lack of infrastructure available for coastal monitoring and enforcement leaves Mozambique, like so many other countries, horribly exposed to illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing. The government estimates that last year, the cost of this fishing to Mozambique was almost US$40 million.

However, a public groundswell is forming. Those passionate about sharks have formed a group called Eyes on the Horizon. A brilliant concept and one long overdue, members serve as the “eyes and ears” for the resource-strapped government. It was their Executive Director, Simon Pearce, who told us about Pomene.

When we arrived in Pomene, we recalled Simon telling us the shark finners were chased out just three weeks prior. A group of migrants who systematically move up the coast of Mozambique, they relocate when a local shark population is depleted – or when a local community becomes fed up with the impact the shark fisherman have on their livelihood – including the fish and tourists that they rely upon. Fishing accounts for over 50% of Mozambican’s incomes so it wasn’t long before local fishermen realized that when the apex predators like sharks are removed, the other fish beneath them on the food chain disappear as well.

Pulling into town, we spied the telltale sign of shark fishing: shark jaws hanging in the roadside curio huts. Upon closer inspection, the fresh, pink flesh on the jaws indicated these were recently caught. There were over a dozen jaws - bulls, tigers, grey reefs - some from sizable animals. When I began asking about the jaws, everyone surrounded me eager to make a sale. But, as more and more questions arose, suddenly everyone’s English was forgotten.


It was obvious the shark fishermen were still nearby.

Searching for shark fisherman is a complex and can also be a dangerous game. Especially in a third world country rife with poverty and crime where English is not readily spoken. You can’t simply go in and start asking questions expecting to be dropped on the deck of a long-liner with a gracious welcome, nor can you intentionally jeopardize the excessive income of a fisherman surrounded by poverty - without putting yourself into immediate jeopardy. Given the money involved, shark fishing is not unlike drug trafficking rife with suspicion, murder and corruption. Many shark finners operate behind veils of secrecy and are known to be ruthless - often times shooting at those that try to stop them. Some of my conservationist friends know this firsthand having found themselves at the business end of machine guns - which I am told are easily come by in Mozambique.

So, instead, you must build rapport and trust with a few locals. You must ask innocent, uninformed questions and remain completely non-judgmental about the responses. You must invest time and learn what motivates the community. You must earn the respect of local conservationists by proving you are passionate and just want to help, easing their suspicions. You must consider everyone an asset extracting bits of information from all you meet, fashioning it together like a complex jigsaw puzzle whose pieces are spread out over miles of terrain. And, you must get lucky. Which, in this case, we did.

After a week building rapport, we earned the trust of a resort owner and his local staff who knew plenty about the shark fisherman – and were willing to serve as our translators and transportation. And we gathered enough intelligence to know the shark fisherman were indeed migrants disliked by the locals, who were supplied their fishing gear by the businessmen that purchased their fins and were actively still fishing five kilometers up the coast in a village whose chief was notoriously corrupt.

That was enough to pull together an expedition to locate the shark finners.

It wasn’t long before we found their camp… and their long-lines. And it wasn’t long before they found us; our boat was identified immediately. These shark fisherman were extremely nervous already – as they had just been chased out of their previous camp. They weren’t about to let it happen again.

A few local fisherman gave their lines up, pointing us in the direction of two buoys, about 50 meters apart and equidistant from shore. Innocent enough, the buoys floated at the surface. If you didn’t know better, you would never have guessed what was sunken below.


The boat full of shark fisherman saw us approach their buoys and immediately went back to their camp for reinforcement. We took advantage of the gap and slipped into the water. But we were told to hurry – it wouldn’t be long before our problems multiplied. So We descended to see what lay below.

What we found was two sets of sunken lines (called bottom lines) one tied to each buoy line near the sandy bottom. A few meters later, we found the first attached long-line with a “j” hook, thick and corroded, ten meters apart from the next hook, baited with what appeared to be eel (later we found they were getting bait from the protected estuary nearby and had been chased away countless times). The fishing lines were heavy ropes with attached metal lines and swivels to ensure a captured shark wouldn’t be able to bite through the line or break free.

The lines extended past the sand, right over the reef, and my heart sank as I recalled all the other long ropes I had seen laying on the fragile coral at the other dive sites we had visited. The fisherman had been there too.


In the short time we dove the lines, we found a huge remora with a hook through its eye socket, bleeding profusely, obviously unintended bycatch. The remora’s sad eyes plead with us to save it though it seemed to have accepted its fate, lying in an unnatural position presumably overcome by agony. We tried desperately to free it, but to no avail. My mask grew blurry and I realized I was shedding tears for what I knew was happening here – and on the rest of the hooks throughout the world that I couldn’t see.


When we ascended, the resort owner told us we must go in a tone that conveyed a clear sense of urgency. Still in shock, we gathered our gear together and prepared for a speedy journey home. As we neared the beach to make our way home, the shark fisherman began pouring out from the bluffs, some with machetes in their hands. There was much shouting and hand waving as they accused us of cutting their lines and dared us to land the boat on shore. And, even though I did not speak Portuguese, there was no mistaking the tone, intensity and visual cues. These fisherman were ready for battle.

The resort owner suddenly realized the guide had a shirt on from the resort and whisked us away before we could be identified – fearful of the ramifications. The night watchmen were put on full alert for days following the incident, as he knew exactly what we were dealing with. We were miles away from any sort of enforcement or support, let alone infrastructure. Laws didn’t apply in places like this – and there was no place to hide.


I was so caught up, it wasn’t until days later that I realized just how much danger we were in. Caught up in passion, I lost all sense of reason having finally found myself with the ability to take on those killing the sharks face to face, and I was willing to do whatever it took. Thankfully, my mates, having grown up in Africa, prudently recommended we return when we have more support and options.

In the meantime, we have turned over the finners’ location to the governmental agency, Maritima, and to Eyes on the Horizon. I am hopeful they will do whatever they can – including the government whom boldly showed commitment to the cause by recently deciding to turn that seized Namibian shark fishing vessel into a patrol boat.

And, we are determined to return to Mozambique to get involved in grass roots efforts, educate local fisherman on other sustainable options, work with Eyes on the Horizon, and, in some small way, contribute towards the establishment of a structure that the rest of the world can follow. We need to send a message that shark finning cannot and should not be tolerated in any country – nor can it be sustainably beneficial, either economically or environmentally.

We are all connected to one another, and to the sharks, who keep our oceans healthy. Countries around the world, like Mozambique, who are struggling with basic socio-economic issues, desperately need everyone’s help to save the last remaining sharks. I just hope we aren’t too late.

Another Senseless Death

This time, it was a pregnant female that was caught and killed in the shark nets installed near Scottburgh beach today. A shark whose population is so threatened, it is raised in test tubes in Australia in a desperate attempt to save it from extinction. A shark that is rarely linked to incidents with humans (and more than half of those are provoked) whose main source of food is small fish and crustaceans. A shark who had made it through two sets of nets to the beach, and was then caught in the cloudy water returning to the sea. A shark that was brutally strangled and suffocated to death. A shark that never should have died.

And what’s worse, she was a pregnant female whose death marks the demise of dozens of unborn Raggedtooth Sharks. Running the gauntlet of hundreds of meters of nets installed up the coastline of South Africa, she had most likely made it the long journey up to Sodwana and back instinct guiding her to her birthing place before becoming entangled, not seeing the camaflouged black net in the murky water. Surprised, she must have fought to free herself, only worsening the nets’ hold as it tightened around her gills slowly choking the last breaths of air out of her. A beautifully elegant animal, she spent her last painful moments desperately alone probably never imagining a fate such as this, the remora affixed to her belly giving her no solace.


I found her a few hours later. Diving down, I knew there was a shark on the net – a dead shark. But no amount of dead sharks can prepare you emotionally for the sight. There she was, her head and gills engulfed in tightly meshed net, her timid eyes glazed over forced to accept her fate, her harmless mouth agape frozen in time as she struggled for her last breath of air. This magnificent shark, the kind that is so shy it won’t even allow a diver to come too close, murdered by ignorance and greed. My heart sank when I realized she was with carrying a precious cargo – as many mature females are at this time of year – a new generation of sharks slaughtered before entering the world. I stroked her graceful snout and wished her death was not in vain. That the world would wake up and stop the insanity. That the archaic nets would finally be removed – having caused the deaths of thousands of harmless sharks, dolphins, turtles, rays, and whales while serving a primarily psychological purpose. But while causing very real destruction to a very fragile place.



Then, I could only watch as men dragged her to the surface, joking and laughing as they tried to pull her into the boat, a very large shark, having spent years avoiding the nets of death, As if her death wasn’t brutal and senseless enough, they proceeded to dismember and destroy her in front of my eyes. She was just another fish to them. They gaffed her so hard the gaff broke in two, affixed thick ropes that sawed thru her gills, the water turning red with blood, and then, poked out her eyes only to stick their index fingers into her eye sockets. Her majestic beauty transformed into gore. The air filled with the pungent smell every shark conservationist dreads. The smell of fresh, dead shark.


More than 6,000 of her kind have been caught and killed in the last three decades joining the over 26,000 other harmless sharks that have been slaughtered. And many more will continue to die every year. Senselessly. Brutally. Needlessly.

Generations of animals – many threatened with extinction - who play a critical role in this planet’s health killed because of a media-induced, irrational fear.

When will this madness stop?

(All photos and images courtesy of Paul Wildman. Copyright, Paul Wildman, 2008.)

More Tigers Killed... By Fear

There is blood on my hands again. And this time, it is thanks to an archaic, culling technique called Shark Nets.

In this day and age, with all we know about sharks – including their dwindling numbers, their critical role in our ecosystem, their behavior, and the infinitesimal risk they pose to us – it is absolutely appalling that shark nets exist. Shark Nets are a crime against our oceans and our sharks, and they absolutely must be removed.

We spend our lives fighting to save sharks and their thoughtless and purposeless deaths are incredibly disheartening – especially in a country known for shark conservation. In the last month, I know of and have been witness in some cases to 10 such deaths – all tiger sharks – here in Aliwal Shoal, South Africa.


It was the last death that spurred me into desperate action, as I simply couldn’t sit by anymore and watch as our precious Tiger Sharks were being pulled in one by one, day after day, strangled to death. While the team on the ground here (a powerful group of passionate advocates that will remain nameless at this point) had already launched an anti-net campaign, I was, at this point, busy staying in the background and gathering intelligence – interviewing fisherman and dive operators, swimming the nets daily, even visiting Natal Sharks Board headquarters. Already, I knew enough to make my stomach turn – but little did I know, it would get much worse.

The day prior, I had received information that two Tigers – both almost 3 meters – had been caught and killed in the Nets and the death toll was at 8. Since I have been diving in Aliwal for two months and had only seen a single Tiger Shark, my blood boiled to think the nets had killed 800% more sharks than I had seen in that same period. My informant also saw Natal Sharks Board intentionally hide the Tiger Sharks underneath life vests on their boat hoping to avoid any further bad press.


You see, Natal Sharks Board has to hide the truth of the nets, keeping the deaths away from public eye to ensure that popular opinion supporting the nets won’t sway when people witness the true, grisly outcome of the nets - dead dolphins, turtles, and sharks that hardly seem threatening. Just pathetically sad and heart wrenching. Not the stuff our nightmares are made of, the deeply seeded fear Natal Sharks Board draws upon to justify their existence.


They are so desperate to keep their nasty secret, Natal Sharks Board operates in the shadows, removing their kill early in the morning before anyone can see and hiding victims on their boats far from prying eyes, quickly whisking the casualties away to headquarters. Worse, they even abandon their dead catch at sea – to avoid having to report the growing death toll. – only days prior a dead, 3 meter tiger shark with gill net wounds had been found by a fisherman on the Shoal after another fisherman witnessed a large object being thrown from a Sharks’ Board boat. The Sharks’ Board deceit is not without reason – as I am quite certain if the casual observer began learning about all of the destruction in an already fragile environment, Natal Sharks Board would lose ground fast.

And we were about to prove that, firsthand, when I received a call that another Tiger Shark was trapped in the Nets. I raced to the beach hoping to get out there and rescue the shark. By the time I arrived, another passionate shark lover and team member, Steve Benjamin, had attempted to rescue the shark by cutting her out of the net, but she was already dead. He also had called Sharks Board as is the protocol– who arrived at the same time I did. However, the Sharks Board boat refused to take the shark onto their boat regardless of protocol or constant pleas from Steve to take the Shark. Steve, confused, was not going to leave the shark at sea, so he told me to get ready - he had to bring the shark ashore then re-launch to return to work. Steve is a skipper for Blue Wilderness, run by Mark and Gail Addison – some of the best friends the sharks of South Africa have.

Paul grabbed his camera, as I raced down to the beach to help Steve land. As soon as he approached I saw the two-meter beautiful Tiger Shark lying stiffly on the side of the boat and the anger welled up inside me. Here was a shark no older than a year or two killed by ignorance at a time when her population was already greatly threatened.


Waves broke over me as I tried to wrestle the shark to the beach while holding back the tears welling up inside. I couldn’t help but recall my days at Tiger Beach surrounded by Begonia and Mini-T – sharks just like her. Her rough, lifeless skin scraped my arms and legs raw as I strained to keep her from floating out to sea. No one would help me. While she was a small tiger, she was still quite heavy and I battled to dig my feet deep into the sand with the pouring rain only complicating matters. Mother Nature was weeping no doubt. Finally, another kind Blue Wilderness team member showed up, and together, with a winch, we dragged the shark to higher ground.


There she lay on the sand, a perfect Tiger Shark specimen, her eyes sunken, blood running from her orifices. My fingers traced the tell-tale marks seared into her head – gill nets had strangled her and suffocated to death. Opening her mouth, I saw her small teeth were no bigger than my fingernails and I knew she was too young to have learned the avoidance techniques many older sharks have learned. Ironically, over 40% of sharks are caught on the reverse sides of the nets meaning they have avoided them on the way in, as the nets are not truly effective barriers. And, many of the sharks caught are juveniles – barely old enough to be a threat to squid, let alone bathers on the beach.

Why had another shark been killed here?

I spun around and saw, as I usually do, only the occasional fisherman, person walking on the beach or boater. This area was a launch site for boaters and dive operators – and not a beach that swimmers and bathers used. Yet a net was installed here anyway, keeping the sand and driftwood safe, I suppose.

I spent the next hour fighting with the Sharks Board as I begged for them to take their shark. The shark they killed. They refused. Someone at headquarters had unwittingly instructed them not to touch the shark – though this public display was the exact thing they try and avoid. Seizing the opportunity, I began educating the large crowd that formed about tiger sharks, the nets, and how this the poor little shark had died. As soon as beach goers happened upon the beautiful shark, there was disgust, outrage, frustration and sadness. Never fear. This was the first time they were able to see the results of the nets – seemingly sterile and non-threatening, or so the Sharks Board would have you believe. And instantly, each reached a common consensus: the nets must go. Only one lone fisherman opposed, screaming that this was my fault (many people, and typically fisherman, ignorantly accuse shark divers of killing sharks by interacting with them with bait and thus, making them more apt to attack people) and that the beach needed protection from me and these sharks. “When was the last shark attack on this beach?” I screamed back, furious. He could answer because to date, and well before the nets, there have been NO shark attacks here. Not a single one – bait or no bait.


It wasn’t until the other fisherman arrived, landing their boats after a day at sea that my sadness and anger turned to desperation. They marched up to the shark and started coldly inspecting her fins and jaws – kicking her belly. I knew what they were going to do and I started yelling “You are not taking this shark. Not her fins and not her jaws. You will not touch her.” There were many of them and I began fearing the worst. This magnificent creature was ruthlessly murdered, Sharks Board refused to take any responsibility, and now, the opportunistic fisherman were going to cut her up to take her valuable fins and jaws. “Are you really going to let them do this? The blood is on your conscious.” I screamed at the Sharks Board crew while trying to drag her to safety and fend off the fisherman.

Someone at headquarters finally wised up and realized that what was happening was not doing them any favors and gave the order to remove the shark – just in time. This was the first time they had experienced such a blatant display of anti-nets sentiment to my knowledge, and it took a foreigner and a some passionate, and bold folks from a Tiger Shark dive operation, Blue Wilderness, to do it. This was long overdue – and it was time for someone to stand up against the nets in a real way.

Ironically, I was later informed that the rumors were flying : not only had I reportedly killed the shark to get publicity but that I was also under investigation by Marine Coastal Management for killing a protected animal. And, that I (not to mention the whole team) have been labeled as a vigilante and I better watch my back.

The politics of sharks in South Africa are completely disheartening – nor will I I fall victim to fear mongering and intimidation. Sadly, many of the rumors originated from individuals who are supposed to care about sharks. I guess they care more about getting into the limelight and feeding their egos than making sure no more sharks are killed.

But, we are above politics and care about one thing. So best find a new source of income, Natal Sharks Board, because the people of South Africa and the world are going to choose live sharks over dead ones.

Running with the Big Animals

I have been all over the world diving with some of the most incredible animals on the planet. But today, I had the best diving experience I have ever had. Without any tanks. Which is the exact reason why it was so special.

Having just completed my freediving lessons, I was eager to try out my new skills. Somehow Mother Nature knew and delivered the perfect day which was all the encouragement Mark needed to get us out on the ocean.

Our goal? Swim with whatever the sea offered.


First up, a group of friendly Common Bottlenose dolphins – many with calves so young, it looked like they had just been born within the past few weeks. Time and time again, we dropped off the boat and dove down into their world, with the freedom to enter it for as long as our lungs would allow. The dolphins proudly showed us their new additions as they playfully dove between us.

Then, we met the sharks. Our first stop? The Raggies’ hood to see how the youngsters were doing finding mates. Free-diving to Raggies Cave was peaceful and easy though only days earlier it had required me to strap a heavy cylinder on my back. And the Ragged Tooth Sharks – a particularly skittish bunch – never let air guzzlers get too close. However, without the noise and disruption of tanks, the Raggies were quite hospitable and hung out closely to us. Being on their terms made them comfortable enough to share their personal space and I got the opportunity to get in tight with my new friends.

Next up was the Blacktip pack who just admitted several new members to their club: the Dusky sharks. The blacktips were so close that I frequently bumped into them while ascending or descending – much to their dismay. But it was the Duskies that I found absolutely enchanting. They are the type of sharks that stay in the outskirts of a crowd, never confident enough to check you out eye to eye. With your back turned, they would slowly enter your private space lurking over one of your shoulders only to dart away as soon as you turned and locked your eyes with theirs. However, on this particular day without any tank, I met a very different shark. These duskies were fearless and quite curious. They would circle me a few times slowly decreasing the radius of their circles until finally, they would swim right up to my nose, stop a few inches from my face and hang there until we were able to mentally connect and exchange salutations.



I was already high with excitement as we started to head back into shore. Little did I know the days’ highlight was still in store for me.

This time of year, the humpbacks come through Aliwal, on their way down from Mozambique after giving birth to take their calves to Antarctica with them. They pick up an escort here to make the long journey with them and in return for protection, the escort is given the chance to mate with the indebted female. The whales had been thick the last several days, but on a mission, so it is difficult to get a chance to enjoy anything more than a slap of the tail and an occasional breach.

I figured today was no different, so when Mark cried whale, I dove into the water assuming I might see a quick flash of a white belly. It was a hectic mad dash in the water as Mark kept yelling directions to us. As I lifted my head, I could see a pod of whales just beyond my reach and at some point, decided I was never going to catch them. That is when Mark enthusiastically shouted for me to dive – the whales were headed straight towards me.

Forgetting everything I was taught, I dove down and peered into the blue. Suddenly two whales materialized just a few meters in front of me. As I swam forward, a third whale entered my peripheral vision and I realized this was mom and a calf. It was an absolutely gorgeous sight – a mother humpback and her baby peacefully gliding past me. Knowing the mother would be nervous if I was too close, I stood my ground and just enjoyed from a distance. My heart stopped as I experienced an encounter I had only dreamed of. I could have never imagined this was possible. A whale shark, maybe. A whale? No way.


I must have glanced down to get my bearings because as I looked up, I found myself literally inches away from a huge eye and barnacles. Imagine my surprise to realize that I was about to bump head first into a humpback whale. I had not seen the escort and suddenly, he was right next to me letting me know that I could look but not touch. I immediately realized I was way too close to such a powerful creature and began backing up as quickly as I could remembering the stories I had heard about their powerful fins. By the time the whale’s pectoral fin came near me, I was far enough away to be out of danger, but close enough to get a strong, warning swipe across my fin. Wishing I could have shared the moment with someone, I turned to find Paul had materialized behind me, catching the swipe on camera. (Not that I needed it… the experience itself was seared into my mind. I will never forget it for as long as I live.)


Jubilant, I broke the surface and basked in the spectacular glory of the sea with Paul. Freediving that day, combined with Mother Nature, just gave me the most amazing gift I will ever receive.

I may never put a tank on again…

A Day as "Shark Bait" ?!?

Every time we get the message out there, we are one step closer to saving our sharks. So we always welcome [positive] press.

A follow up to the Planet in Peril piece that featured both Shawn filming and Alison on camera, Nightline decided to do a piece on White Sharks – and the Shark Angels. Sadly, only Alison and I were together – as Kim was busy gearing up for the 2009 Sea Shepherd whaling campaign – though we missed her very much.

You can watch the footage and read about the experience here: http://www.abcnews.go.com/Nightline/IntoTheWild/Story?id=6291994&page=1

Unfortunately, due to low visibility and howling winds, Nick Watts walked away still afraid of white sharks, as his cage diving experience was not the calm and beautiful one many of us have had where you realize, these sharks are not Jaws. Instead, sharks were appearing right in front of him out of no snapping at bait and hitting the cage where while he got thrown around in the “washing machine” aka cage due to the rough seas, but it was still nice to hear him acknowledge sharks are critical to this planet.

And I love this statement: “And the cage diving? Did it change my mind? Well, I'm probably more scared of sharks now than I ever was. But boy am I impressed by them. I'm on board with the Shark Angels: Let's save the stuff of my nightmares.”

What we will do for the love of the oceans...

(Hood mounted Landie Cam captures the moment)

Paul and I decided to head to Mozambique for a few weeks to accomplish two tasks: 1) see for ourselves the state of sharks and finning operations having received many reports that Southern Africa and in specific, Mozambique, is under attack, and 2) to see the whale sharks and manta rays that Tofu is famous for ourselves – craving a bit of live (rather than dead) elasmobranch action. So we packed up my new car with everything including the kitchen sink and the freezer and the table and the cupboard contents and the… well, you get the picture… and headed out. Note to self: do not travel to Mozambique with an old map and no GPS.

I have always been a two-seater, convertible, [German] sports car driver, but when I made the leap and bought a car in South Africa, I knew I needed something a little more practical. I seem to have spanned to the other end of the spectrum, perhaps remembering the childhood toy I cherished – a miniature camper caravan with a pop up tent, bunk beds, and a full kitchen. Everything you needed to go anywhere in the backyard. I now own that vehicle – in the form of a dark blue Land Rover Defender, complete with a tent on the roof, an ammunition safe, drawers and drawers of tools, a spare water tank, a solar shower, an ax, a spade and a bajillion other things that basically makes my vehicle a home on wheels. Second note to self: do not, under any circumstances, allow Paul to be responsible for deciding what is a necessity and what is not. The man would travel with only the clothes on his back, a machette and a bag of biltong for a week in the bush. Oh and a high-lift Jack which somehow we forgot this time and whose omission we nearly paid a very dear price for.

(My new "little girl" the day I bought her in Capetown.)

I quickly learned that in Africa, the journey is a large (VERY LARGE) part of the adventure. And, plans, routes, destinations, heck, even road signs are really not necessary parts of the equation – because anything can happen in Africa, and now I have been here long enough to say, and it usually does.

After we left the highways a few hours away from the border of Mozambique, the travel became slow-going due to the fact the road was literally just a series of potholes laced together with small patches of asphalt. But, the bigger problem was avoiding hitting anything. You see, the roads in South Africa attract a variety of life ranging from chickens, to cows to humans. We quickly engaged in our favorite game to pass the time: “goat, cow, dog, chicken or pig”. Basically, you chose which animal you are going to see next on the side of the road (WITHOUT a fence between you and it) and the winner gets a point if they call the animal correctly (pigs and chickens count for 5 and donkeys, 10.) Every few hundred meters you are sure to run into something. This time I stuck with goats and won – 28 to 12.

(Another game called "Dodge the potential Road Kill")

It wasn’t until we crossed the border though, that the true excitement began. It was getting late in the afternoon, and we were hours off of our schedule – mostly due to the slow roads we hadn’t predicted, a crisis that necessitated I send an email, and my last minute trip to acquire a new Malaria prevention drug as I was already growing tired of the Lariam induced spider nightmares – but that is a different story.

As soon as we passed border control, it was like we had entered some strange “Land of the Lost” set. Seriously, the roads and all forms of humanity simply disappeared. We were presented with a series of treacherous sand paths that snaked through valleys and dunes, precariously up steep inclines and around sharp bends, with no signs, only our instinct to determine which one might lead us to Maputo. Adding to the stress was the fact that the sun was starting to set, our car was so top heavy that we were ready to tip over at any moment, it was threatening rain…

Before leaving South Africa, Paul wanted to be sure to fill the two “Jerry Cans” on our roof full of diesel. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but only learned of it while the plan was in action, so couldn’t have too much of an opinion. However, when the car started to smell like diesel – Paul told me “no biggie”. It wasn’t until diesel was literally pouring into our open windows that he realized both of our fuel cans were leaking. Severely. Our only option was to take the precious water jugs I had purchased in South Africa not wanting to repeat a Burma incident (small boat with one bathroom and rancid water which caused violent illness amongst my whole family), and use all 6 of them, ugh, to wash the now looming fire hazard on wheels. There I was, middle of nowhere, standing on the car roof soaping it up with dish detergent by hand and then dribbling water down it trying to keep my solid footing as the car became increasingly slippery…

Stinking of diesel, we continued the journey driving for hours on random paths using random logic to indicate to ourselves we must be on the right path. “Well, I see an abandoned stump that might have been used to sell tourist trinkets. This must be the right path.” Suddenly, we were spit out on a dirt road that had potholes filled with water so deep, a few of them might have had their own names as lakes. And now it was dark. I would scream the location of the pit and Paul would attempt to slow down enough to not leave a wheel behind. We slipped and slid over the mud attempting to make progress. There was one enjoyable moment as we left a brand new Jeep Cherokee in our mud trail as the driver struggled to keep his pseudo-off road vehicle on the road. “Shoulda bought a Landie” Paul sang out with glee. Another note to self: never be too smug about someone else having problems with their car. Karma always has a way of sorting you out.


After three hours, we came to a barricade and police officers. Relieved, I knew that we could at least ask directions. Paul went to get out of the car, and that is when I noticed the bugs. Millions and millions of flying ants on steroids. In a scene straight from an Alfred Hitchcock movie, the one spotlight shining on the road illuminated a gruesome site. The sky was alive with them. They began to stack up on the windshield – six ants deep. I could see Paul and the policeman were covered with them, both acting as non-chalant as possible as ants the size of Pez dispensers crawled down their backs. After ten minutes in the bugs, Paul came back to the car complete with directions and hundreds of stragglers. I had no choice but to let him in after he tried to brush them off as best he could.

He was full of information. Yes we are on the right path, but the policeman gave us a detour, as the roads we were traveling on got way worse past the barricade. Seriously, I thought? What is worse than this??? Oh, and the ants? They come out when it rains. We are about to get drenched, he said. I figured that would be a good thing. Um… no.

If we thought the roads were treacherous before, we were now traveling in a torrential downpour as thick mud coated our car. We had been driving for 12 hours now, and most of it a challenge. I was so happy to reach the outskirts of Maputo… until Paul asked me what the little red light on the dashboard meant. A quick check of the manual indicated the transmission was “wound up” due to the use of the differential lock system. The diff lock system was apparently stuck on (though after much arguing I realized Paul was not to blame as he hadn’t turned it on), and no matter how much reverse driving we did (seriously, the Land Rover manual TOLD us to), it wouldn’t come off. Here we were, in the middle of a dodgy town on the outskirts of Maputo, not a chance of a repairman, tow truck and certainly not a Land Rover dealer for miles – if not countries – and our car was essentially, according to the manual, undrive-able. I started seeing days and days spent in this dank, seedy port town – without a single hotel or restaurant - unfold in front of me waiting for some obscure part and spending thousands of dollars as the corrupt repair people held us hostage…

But, in a moment worthy of an iPhone commercial, I suddenly realized we had hope… thanks to Steven Jobs. Yes, I managed to procure my iPhone after removing it from bags deep within the mud-crusted bush vehicle, wedged in next to the ax and the spare coils. I brushed off the thick layer of dust and turned it on. IT WORKED! And what’s more, we found a 24 hour Land Rover help hotline to call. Here we were, literally in the middle of nowhere, a million miles away from any form of support, a few lights on generators the highest tech thing around us, on the phone with a cheery chap named Bill who helped us troubleshoot the car. His advice? Ignore it if the car still turns in a tight circle, which it did. And, then hope for the best. It is either a) nothing or b) a huge issue that will incapacitate the car possibly in an even more desolate location. Did I mention that Mozambique is infamous for its “gypsies” who are really land pirates looting unsuspecting tourists?

We gave ourselves the 30 minute ferry ride to Maputo to figure out our plan. Do we risk it or play it safe? It was now midnight and we were in a city that I imagine looks a lot like war-torn Beiruit complete with a self-mandated curfew (to ensure one’s safety) with few, if any, prospects. I was supposed to wake up in a hut on the beach ready for snorkeling with at least 10 whale sharks who were undoubtedly playing with 50 mantas, and now, instead, I had to chose whether I wanted to drive BACK to South Africa, camping out at the border until it was open, or just cross my fingers and hope for the best trying not to have a panic attack from all the stress of being absolutely certain the car was going to lose its drive train at the most inopportune time and place – like say, near a camp full of bandits. I mean, wasn’t this why I bought such a solid car? So this didn’t happen?!? And what about the drawers full of spare parts and tools? Why wouldn’t any of those help us now?

Though I dive with sharks on a regular basis, I am certainly not a risk taker. So Paul and I decided that we must turn around and head for the border so we could drive the 600 kms to the nearest Land Rover dealer to ensure our problem was not compounding. Crestfallen, we started heading out of the country only to have the light turn off, by itself, after going two hours in the opposite direction. Yes, that’s right. It was nothing.

Exhausted and defeated, we crashed in a nearby gas station, terrified to pull off the road due to the gypsies. I slept perched on top of the scuba gear in the back piling my wetsuits on top of me to avoid being bitten by malaria-carrying mosquitos, Paul in his seat holding a Machette in one hand and a huge two foot maglight in the other (the perfect weapon he says… you bash a guy with one end of it, then turn it around in one elegant swoop to see if he is lying on the ground.) When we awoke bleary-eyed for another full day of driving on roads even worse than what we had experienced, I figured nothing could phase me now. That was until the brand-new rear shock literally broke in half and we drove 30 km off-road through sand dunes with craters that could consume trucks in them – with only three zip ties holding the car together.


You gotta love Land Rovers. And the adventure that is Africa.