As I am discussing with a friend the inevitable beach excursion
that will occur at some point this weekend, the subject of sharks arises.
Some people are so afraid of sharks that they won't even venture into the
ocean. Others go in but are too fearful to really enjoy themselves.
I think about sharks when I am in the ocean - which is often. I am in no
way inclined to be reckless or oblivious, but, ultimately, the dread
of shark attacks is one of those irrational fears that we need to put aside to
really enjoy our time in the water.
Not long ago when, while on one of my many long strolls down the beach, I
was stopped by a Nebraska man who looked truly miserable. He had deep red
streaks on his shoulders, outlining what would have been the edge of
the wifebeater he had apparently worn the day before - evidence that
he was not a diligent sunscreener - and he was engaged in some serious
handwringing. Why he chose me, of all people, I have no idea. But I
was the lucky one.
He looked around as if he wanted to be sure others could not hear. I was
suddenly afraid I was about to be burdened with some great secret
he had resisted sharing for years - but, after finally deciding that
no passers-by were in range, he tipped his head to indicate the surf
rolling toward us as the subject of his concern, and asked, "Are
there... are there sharks in there?"
Now, for those of you who don't know me, I am not one who takes great
pleasure in making people feel stupid, at least not without provocation, but it
was all I could do to keep from laughing.
My reply was as logical and serious as I could make it, given the
circumstances, "Umm... it's the ocean. There are sharks
everywhere."
His reaction told me that my answer was probably the one he had expected,
but not the one he had hoped for, as if I were a doctor giving him test
results that confirmed a tragic preliminary diagnosis.
Sensing blood, I moved in for the kill.
"Every time you go in the ocean, there is at least one but probably
several sharks that know you are there. They have a truly remarkable
sense of smell and can detect movement hundreds of yards away."
He looked at me and then at the ocean. Then he looked at me and back at the
ocean again. And I seriously thought I was going to have to find him some
tissues. Here was a man who was sizzling hot and uncomfortably sunburned, and
who wanted nothing more than reassurance that he could swim without being
maimed, and it was just his luck that he decided to ask me.
At this point, I realized I had passed beyond the world of sadistic
playfulness and into the realm of downright cruelty. What I said was, of
course, true, but I decided to add some calming details to the discussion.
"Think how many times people have been in the ocean and sharks were there.
Some of those people may have known there were sharks around, but probably most
of them didn't. Either way, nothing at all happens almost all the time."
I could tell he was trying to digest this logic, but those irrational fears
gnawed at him like a school of starving sharks.
Finally, I said, "Look at it this way, statistically-speaking, your
drive to the beach was far more dangerous than swimming in the
ocean. And you probably weren't too worried in your car."
To this, he nodded in acknowledgment.
Looking for one last morsel of rationality, he asked, "Do you swim
here?"
I have to admit, there is some small, twisted part of me that wanted to
say, "No. Are you kidding? This place is loaded with sharks."
But I looked at the strips of his otherwise pale skin that were now
crimson and saw the perspiration gathering on his forehead
and pouring down his face. If ever there was a man badly in need of
a refreshing dip in the ocean, this was him.
With a sincere smile on my face, and with the most pleasant, Mister
Rogers tone of voice I could manage, I replied, "All the time."
We chatted a bit longer, and, despite his irrational fears, he turned out
to be quite pleasant and interesting. Finally, I walked on. And he waded into
the waves. As far as I know, he emerged a short while later,
considerably cooler, and with all his limbs intact.
When the topic of shark attacks came up this morning, I decided to check it
out. I wanted to look at other bizarre ways to die in an attempt to confirm
that the idea of any given person becoming shark food was really not something that
should cause undue dread.
While the shark attack numbers are global, I found some figures for the
United States that showed the following for 2024…
Cause of Death Total #
Shark Attack 4 (47 total unprovoked attacks) Shark Attack (U.S.) 1 (28 total unprovoked attacks) Lightning 13 Contact with Hot Tap Water 35 Contact with hornets, wasps, bees 62
Assuming this information is correct, a human is more likely to die from
contact with hot tap water or an encounter with a stinging insect than
from a shark attack.
And I found some other figures that told me my Nebraska man was better
off taking a swim than suffering in the heat. As it turned out, more than 700
people died in 2024 from excessive exposure to the sun or high temperatures.
Also, I was right when I told him his trip to the beach was much more perilous
– 39,345 people died in car accidents.
Of course, none of those other causes of death have rows of ridiculously sharp
teeth or a reputation as a relentless predator that can chew you up and
then swim away with a belch and a smile. Ok, I don't really know if sharks can
belch. Or smile. But you know what I mean.
When you Google shark images, you have to go pages and pages before you find
anything besides pictures of gigantic, menacing sharks terrorizing every
creature that comes within reach. But sharks are really just amazing, efficient
survivors who are probably in need of a good public relations firm.
According to the fossil record, sharks have been around for about 420 million
years, which means they pre-date the dinosaurs. And, they’re still around long
after dinosaurs went... well... the way of the dinosaur. Despite what we
think, they are not gluttonous carnivores. They eat only about 5% of their body
weight every 40 to 80 hours. According to the website sharks-dot-org,
if humans ate like sharks, you would have only one meal every two or three
days.
The New Jersey man was probably right in one regard, shark attacks are more
likely to happen in Florida than in any other place on the globe.
According to the International Shark Attack File at the University of
Florida, there were 47 shark attacks worldwide during the period in question
(only four of them fatal), but 14 of them were in Florida.
While this might seem alarming, there is an obvious relationship
between the location and the number of human encounters with sharks. Here is
where I would like to point out the difference between those in academia
and people like me. The official, scientific explanation is a "high
rate of aquatic recreational utilization." Whereas I would call it
"a lot of fucking people in the water."
Sharks and humans are in the same place at the same time in Florida more
than just about anywhere else.
I would like to note that, during my internet research, I frequently ran across
numbers of shark attacks listed as “unprovoked.”
Although I saw no statistics on "provoked" shark attacks, there
is the implication that at least some of the victims deserved it. But I'll
leave that story for another time.
For now, as I return to the conversation with my friend about our plans for the
weekend, I think we may scrap the idea of going to the beach. I'd love to catch
some waves, but, after writing this, I’m afraid to drive.
.jpg) |
| [ Credit: NOAA Photo Library - corl0207, CC BY 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=63614162 ] |
.jpg)