The Shark FAQ, aka You Like Me, You Really Like Me!

Alas, I've yet to make an Oscar speech, but I had my own version of glory today when my shark article made it to the AOL Welcome Screen (once the "most valuable piece of Internet real estate," as the Mother Ship told us drones, but I doubt it is any longer). When my Oahu shark article was published in the Seattle PI back in October, I receive a handful of kudos from fellow shark-ophiles and divers. But in the space of the last few hours, I've received several dozen emails from readers who happened upon the story of my Isla Guadalupe adventure, some of which have even made me blush. The responses have inspired me to write even more so than when I handed in my bound thesis last May.

To those of you who wrote, thank you. It really meant a lot to hear your kind words and to share your shark-encounter tales and fantasies. I'll answer some of the FAQs here, short answers first:

Q. How can I go on this trip?

A. Call Patric Douglas, the CEO of Shark Diver. Tell him you're my pal and he'll treat you all nice-like. Heck, he'll treat you well even if you're not my pal. He's just that kind of guy.

Q. How long does a trip like [the one you wrote about on AOL] take?

A. It was a five-day trip -- roughly 14 hours to the island and back, then three full days off the coast of Isla Guadalupe, where we were anchored most of the time. We never went ashore, even though it was a shell's throw away.

Q. How much does it cost?

A. You can get the 411 on the Shark Diver site. Yes, it's more expensive than a one-day trip to the Farallons, but the visibility is better, the water's warmer, and the camaraderie of a live-aboard can't be beat. Meals (and alcohol!) are included, and the galley crew served some mighty good grub. (They even catered to my vegetarian needs and exceeded expectations.) Oh, and it's the trip of a lifetime, so charge that card and don't give it a second thought.

Q. Do you need a special certification for this trip?

A. Even non-certs can go. It's not tank diving, but rather hookah diving -- you breathe through a hose that goes up to the boat -- and you're never more than 15 feet deep. The hookah apparatus means you don't have to carry all that gear on your back, making it easier to maneuver in the cage.

Q. Was Isla Guadalupe really better than the Farallons [off San Francisco]?

A. I've never been to the Farallons, so I can't give a truly informed answer. However, there was at least one diver on my IG trip who had been there and he raved about the conditions of Guadalupe: warmer water, better viz, and -- most importantly -- more sharks. If you're interested in a good read about the Farallons, check out The Devil's Teeth, Susan Casey's beautifully written account of her time on these desolate islands. (Among other chestnuts, Casey drops amid her prose such mind-boggling nuggets as the fact that sharks are older than trees. Trees, dammit.) I took the book with me on this trip, and when I wasn't under water, I was usually holed up in my bunk with my nose buried deep in its musty pages.

Q. How do I become a freelance writer?

A. Good question. I'm still trying to figure that one out myself. I'm actually a freelance and full-time editor, but my love of writing has me constantly on the lookout for other outlets. If you really want some quick advice, here it goes: Come up with a killer idea. Query a publication. Get rejected. Find another publication. Get rejected again. Come up with a better killer idea. Query again. Take up papier-mache as a hobby to recycle all your rejection letters. Query again. Just don't stop trying. Some people will get your writing, while others... well, some people just don't have taste, do they?

Honestly, I don't think I could be a full-time freelancer. I just don't have the patience for querying. But as a side job, it's quite fulfilling, especially since I can focus on the writing and not where my next paycheck will come from. I know plenty of people with the stamina for full-time freelancing; I'm just not one of them.

Q. Weren't you scared? Or do you just have a death wish?

A. When I was younger, I was a tad more daring. Now that I'm older, my invincibility has a few chinks in the armor, so I'm much more cautious than I was in my salad days. I haven't jumped off a cliff in many a year, and I have no desire to relive my ambush in 'Nam (true story), but I'm still up for some adrenaline-inducing action quite often.

At Guadalupe, I was one of the first in the cage -- partly because I was excited, but mainly because I was green with seasickness after our overnight crossing and I knew the cool water would ease my pain. We didn't see any sharks on that first dive, possibly because I scared them away when I chummed up the water. Yes, your dive instructor wasn't lying when s/he said you can vomit in your regulator with no problem. (Thank you, Patric, for erasing that bit of footage.)

When the sharks were around I was too in awe to be scared. When you know your time with them is finite, you don't want to waste a second shrinking into the corner of the cage. I don't remember anyone chickening out at the last minute. In fact, we were usually fighting for rotation spots. Sharks are fantastic creatures, and seeing them up close only makes you appreciate them more.

Q. What was your first trip with sharks?

A. My first underwater encounter was roughly six years ago during a night dive in Turks and Caicos. I'd gone for a little R&R and was talked into taking the Advanced Open Water PADI certification by several other diehard divers at the Club Med where I had holed up for a week. Little did I know that the advanced course required a night dive, something I'd never imagined I'd do. I'd been afraid of dark water ever since my brother threw me into our pool on a pitch black night after telling me that the bottom opened up to the ocean after the sun went down. (Yes, for those who've heard the tales, this is the same brother who handcuffed me to a coffee table. I have only one. Thankfully.)

But I didn't mention my fear to my diving classmates, and when I jumped into the water that night, a glowstick affixed to my tank, I was certain I'd never surface again. Once I was under, however, with the pod of divers glowing like underwater stars around me, I lost all fear. I became mesmerized by the celestial lights of their own neon glows, caused by their own glowsticks and the bioluminescent organisms swirling in the Caribbean waters.

I did the prerequisite course requirements -- underwater orientation and the like -- then followed my instructor as he led us through a coral maze. It was there that he spotted what I believe was a five-foot nurse shark resting on the sandy bottom. When his flashlight beam hit the shark's face, it took off, heading straight towards me. I froze. But a foot before it reached me, it careened to the side, and its graceful sway made me forget my fear, so much so that I reached out and let my fingers trail along the last few inches of its body. If I'd had an endless supply of air that night, I might never have been coaxed back on the boat.

Q. So, you've done great whites. What could possibly be next?

Q. Oh, there's so very, very much more. As much as I loved my great white dive, my long-time dream has been to swim in the open with either a whale or a whale shark. Ever since I saw one of the latter at the Osaka aquarium 12 years ago, I've wanted to swim alongside something as large as a school bus and as docile as kitten. (Yes, I know there are dangers involved. I've just known some very aggressive kittens.) Patric's company also offers a trip with giant squid (I don't have enough dives under my belt for that yet, dagnabbit) and a deep-sub adventure to see six-gill sharks at 1,700 feet below the surface. Crikey! Oh, and there are a slew of land-based adventures on my check list, including a helicopter ride over a live volcano, which I'm planning for the fall.

Q. Do you have any more photos?

A. Hell, yeah! That wasn't even mine on AOL. Don't know why they didn't use my pics or video. This one is a shot of Patric holding the severed tuna I'd mentioned in the article, with Melanie behind him. For more pics, try this link, although it doesn't always work: Shark Album. For video, check out my stuff on YouTube. I'll post more if there's any interest.


Well, it's past my bedtime on a school night. Must go... procrastinate more.

The Sharkiest Place on Earth

After several months of waiting, I finally get to see my great white article on AOL Travel. It's on the front page today, and it's supposed to be on the Welcome Screen Monday, so I'm hoping it'll get a lot of traffic. For some reason, they used a generic photo rather than my brilliant one of a great white chomping on some bait. But what can you do?

Where I've Been: Europe

Dang, I need to get my ass a little further east. I've meant to do so, every time I've visited Europe, but I never seem to get the time off needed to do a thorough trekking of the Old World. At least I've done a pretty decent job of covering the western region.

Here's my European coverage to date:


create your personalized map of europe
or write about it on the open travel guide

Where I've Been: Canada

Eh, not as exciting as the U.S. map, if only because I've visited so little and don't plan on visiting several provinces that are just too damn cold for human habitation. But I figured, heck, why not fill it out?



create your own personalized map of Canada
or write about it on the open travel guide

Where I've Been: The U.S.

World 66 certainly has created an addictive widget: an interactive map that allows you to plug in where you've been, creating a visual representation of your travels. It's kind of like the Internet version of putting pins in a map (which I have hanging on my wall), only a tad more addictive.

Check it out:


create your own personalized map of the USA
or write about it on the open travel guide

Travel Meme

I have no qualms about stealing lists from others' sites. That's what memes are all about, no?

To that end, I give you the most prolific travel meme I've come across: a list of the cities you've traveled to in 2006 (* indicates non-consecutive visits).

Without further ado, here's what I can remember (not in chronological order):

*New York
Easton, CT
*Ephrata, PA (Lancaster County)
Orlando, FL
Tahoe, NV
Isla Guadalupe, Mexico (no city on the island)
Rosarito, Mexico
Ensenada, Mexico
**San Diego
Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
Honolulu, Hawaii
Palm Springs, CA

This Time, You Can Call It a Cruise: Bahamas

An undisclosed number of years ago, I sailed on Semester at Sea, a shipboard study abroad program that took me around the world. Last week, I sailed again -- only this time it was a reunion "cruise," not a 100-day "voyage" (as SAS parlance dictates we refer to the academic semesters). As part of the all-voyage reunion, we sailed to Nassau, Bahamas, which happened to be the first port of my own semester itinerary. The trip marked my third visit to the island nation, and little has changed since my initial visit more than a decade ago. The capital is still aglow with buildings of pastel shades, the water visibility runs up to 200 feet (!), and the call of hair braiders rings through the air as soon as you debark at the port.

What little change has occurred is evident in most tourist-driven destinations. Hard Rock has set up shop just down the block from port. Atlantis, the largest casino on Paradise Island (formerly owned by Donald Trump, then Merv Griffin, who took a wash when he later sold it), has become a sprawling mecca and icon of the cay that lies just north of New Providence. And, of course, Starbucks has planted its roots firmly in the Bahamian soil.

But I didn't go on the trip simply because I needed to get away (although I did), nor because of the dirt-cheap rate. I went because Desmond Tutu would be sailing on the reunion cruise, a quick trip before flitting over to India to receive the Gandhi Peace Prize, then back again to Nassau to meet the SAS ship to sail for the full length of the spring semester.

When I sailed back in [mumble mumble], we'd had the honor of having Dennis Brutus, a notable anti-apartheid activist and inmate at Robben Island with Nelson Mandela, as part of our faculty. His lectures were stirring, and his presence made all the more difference when our ship pulled into Cape Town, which was still in its nascent post-apartheid stage. I can only imagine what it will be like for the students of the current voyage (which leaves Nassau tomorrow) to have someone of Tutu's stature on board. During the reunion, I caught glimpses of him mingling with us hoi polloi, and the mundane mental snapshots of him smiling up at me as he typed on his laptop in the faculty lounge or holding his tray in the dining hall line made the trip worthwhile. (View video of his first lecture on YouTube: Part I, Part II. Apologies ahead of time for the subtitle burn-in. If you know of any good .avi conversion software, please let me know.)

Despite my aversion to all things religious, I found the Archbishop's speech about God and family riveting, and much less proselytizing than most politician's speeches back here in the good ol' separation-of-church-and-state US of A. What made it all the more stirring was his laidback demeanor. If it weren't for his gray hair, I might have thought he was a tween, what with the way he laughed and clapped at his own jokes, kicking his feet with glee as he recalled his own witticisms.

So it was with little regret that I gave up my only full dive day to hear the Nobel Prize winner speak. (Apologies to Ray at Xanadu Divers: I'd fully intended to come for the dive after his speech, but not a single phone in the port worked for me to confirm.) At least I got in a one-tank in Nassau, where I was serendipitously taken to the site of my first dive ever: Lighthouse Reef, where a 65-foot wreck lies in 35 feet of crystalline water. Although we didn't see any sharks or eels, there were myriad yellow jacks, a grouper, and parrotfish, some of which ate food (which I suspect was kibble) right from my hand.

On my previous trip to Nassau, I'd visited the miniscule aquarium, which has since closed after the opening of the monumentally overpriced one at Atlantis. (I've heard that the free viewing area shows much of the same fish you can see for $30, including the giant manta ray that will soon be released due to its steadily increasing size). This visit, I'd planned on visiting the new pirate museum, but it was closed on Sunday, our only day in Nassau. So instead I wandered about the streets, snapping shots of colonial-era buildings and visiting a local Anglican church built in the early 1800s. (Despite my aforementioned aversion to all things religious, I hold an unusual fascination for places of worship, of all faiths. Architecture built in the name of a higher power never ceases to take my breath away.)

Since during my first two visits to the Bahamas I'd seen only Nassau and its immediate environs (the infamous straw market, Cable Beach, Waterloo), I'd initially been ecstatic that our two-day layover would be in Freeport, which I'd never seen. However, Grand Bahama, although more laidback and less tourist-y than New Providence, held little to see except white sand beaches. The two parks I'd visited, Rand Nature Preserve and Lucaya National Park, were hardly worth mentioning, especially since the former's claim to fame, the West Indies flamingos, had been poached by raccoons three years hence. (The brochures and tour guides failed to mention that little fact until after we'd paid our admission and $18 cab fare. Consider yourself warned.)

Although the national park's trademark sink holes weren't quite as spectacular as I'd hoped, the nearby beach more than made up for it. Since we were nearly 20 miles from the main tourist drag, we were practically the only souls on the sand, which lay as powdery as talc as far as the eye could see. I've never been much of one to sit still, so while my companions frolicked in the multi-hued ocean blues or tanned their pure-white hides on the equally pure-white sand, I set to building a sand replica of the MV Explorer, complete with seaweed wake and driftwood smokestacks.

But kicking back was what the trip was mainly about, and my steadfast travel companion, Lauren, and I did much of just that. In between our shopping and rum expeditions to Port Lucaya (the Bahamian version of a strip mall), late-night forays at the snack bar, and the occassional educational on-ship lecture, we napped. A lot. But that's what vacations are for. Especially when you've already seen as much conch as you can handle.