Sandy's Say: It’s A Fin Line
…Suddenly my restful watch was shattered. A magma of hot fear rose up within me. I could clearly see the outline of a sharp fin advancing towards the swimmers and my own “boys” were first in line. Time seemed eerily suspended as if I was living one of those awful moments in the movie “Jaws”…
Sandy James says that though the beaches around Sydney are once again pristine the resurgent schools of fish have attracted their predators – sharks.
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On the North Head of the grand entrance to Sydney Harbour, mildly camouflaged by khaki paint, is the edifice of the city’s sewage works. Twenty years ago, when the breeze was blowing just right, a nose-crinkling smell could be detected wafting over the more effluent suburbs nearby. In those days the solid waste was pumped out to sea, only to surf its way back in on the waves and be deposited onto the beaches where it was trampled under the bare feet of unwary beach goers.
Matters were brought to a climax when a local surfer died from septicemia which he had contracted whilst surfing, not off North Steyne or South Steyne beaches but in the mid-ocean stain between the two. The unfortunate man had had a small cut on his leg which became infected and within days he was dead. This incident led to the staging of a concert called “Turn Back the Tide” which was held in April1989 in protest against the sewage pollution of Sydney’s world famous beaches. The authorities were amazed at the strength of this public outcry and decided to clean up their act as they were stupidly destroying our most valuable asset.
These days, I’m delighted to report, the oceans and beaches around Sydney are once again pristine and the marine life has recovered to the point where whales can, on occasion, be seen frolicking in the harbour. However, there is a down side to all of this as the renewed schools of fish have attracted their predators - the sharks.
In March of last year there were three shark attacks in as many weeks. The first was a navy diver who lost his arm and leg to a 2.7m bull shark within sight of the famous Harbour Bridge. The next victim was a surfer who almost lost his arm to a great white shark at the iconic Bondi Beach. The third victim was the son of a friend of ours who was surfing with his father at Avalon Beach when he felt a strong tug on his leg. At first he thought that it was his father fooling around in the water but his horrified father was watching from behind and realised that his son had been gored by a shark. This brave man put his bleeding son onto his surfboard and pushed him to shore on the next wave. He then waited for the longest ten minutes of his life to catch the following wave in on his own board. Young Andrew survived but he will forever have ghastly scars on his leg and in his psyche to remind him of that fateful morning.
It was with this knowledge in the forefront of my mind that we went to the beach as a family a few weeks later. My husband and son rushed eagerly into the water where they always swim far out beyond the breakers in order to catch a wave as it forms so that they can bodysurf back in to the shore. Intrepid swimmers who do this are black humouredly called “shark bait”. I remained on the beach as I had been designated “bag lady”. A bag lady is someone who sits on the beach with the bags, wallets and car keys to ensure that they are not stolen whilst the others are in the surf. Sadly, crime is common in beach car parks where thieves watch to see where people hide their keys (in the wheel arch or in their shoes) and then steal the swimmer’s car while he or she is enjoying a dip in the sea.
Suddenly my restful watch was shattered. A magma of hot fear rose up within me. I could clearly see the outline of a sharp fin advancing towards the swimmers and my own “boys” were first in line. Time seemed eerily suspended as if I was living one of those awful moments in the movie “Jaws”. My voice was too paralysed to scream and I went hurtling down the beach to the nearest lifesaver who stood at the shoreline with his binoculars firmly focused on the menacing fin.
“Its okay,” he quickly reassured me. “It is a dolphin, not a shark.”
I melted onto the sand with Vaseline legs, my heart slowly releasing its clamp of panic.
“How do you know the difference?” I quavered.
“Well,” he explained, “a shark’s tail fin moves from side to side whilst a dolphin’s tail fin moves up and down.”
Shucks, I don’t know about you, but if I am ever in the ocean and confronted by a pointy, black, dorsal fin I won’t be loitering around until the tail fin comes into sharper perspective. I’ll be doing what the seagulls around here do when they detect danger – letting out an alarm raising shriek and getting the flock out of there.
