The line of passengers waiting to board the whale watching boat looked like a walking advertisement for all things shark. There were shark teeshirts and sweat shirts. There were silver sharks on necklaces, and shark jaws on baseball caps. There were earrings that made it look like a shark was taking a bite out of your ear, and even shark tattoos. And everywhere you looked the shark on the Atlantic White Shark Conservancy logo smiled back at you.
It was a cool September morning. Dense fog blanketed the marina, making it almost impossible to see anything out in the harbor. The boat rocked gently against its ropes, small waves lapping against its hull. Once everyone had boarded we set off on our almost two hour trek to Provincetown, in search of whales, and, if we were lucky, a white shark.
The trip was a collaboration between the Atlantic White Shark Conservancy and the Whale and Dolphin Conservation. Its goal was to raise money to support the efforts of both advocacy groups, and to allow people to see something most of us had never seen before. It was only the second year of Expedition White Sharks and Whales, and both trips had sold out. Looking out over the sides of the boat into the blank whiteness of fog, it was hard to believe we would be able to see anything out there, but we were hopeful.
It’s such a strange feeling to have no sense of time or place, to see only the water beside the boat, and the vast whiteness beyond. If the captain had told us we were now in Alaska I think I would have believed him. Instead, of course, he told us we were almost in Truro, and that, according to our spotter pilot, there were blue skies ahead.
Slowly bits and pieces of the shoreline came into view, orange sand dunes and breaking waves, and with them came a sense of relief as we began to think the fog might actually clear. Somewhere in the sky above, we could hear the engine of the spotter plane. And then suddenly, the fog was gone.
We could see the plane now. It was flying along the shore, scouting for nearby sharks. The beautiful beaches of the Cape Cod National Seashore seemed to spread out endlessly in both directions. There was only a handful of people around, wading in the water or walking along the beach. They all stopped and watched us as we passed, knowing we were there to see something.
Maybe they thought there was a whale nearby. It was a reasonable assumption given that our boat was a whale watching boat and whales are so plentiful in these waters this time of year. So much so that the Plymouth Whale Watching website actually guarantees whale sightings on their trips. The swimmers might have cleared the water though, had they known we were looking for more than just whales that day.
As if on command a fin came out of the water, and slowly a Mola Mola sunfish floated into view. Not the shark we were hoping for, but an interesting animal none the less. A strange, flat looking fish, it swam by, on it’s side, lifting its fin out of the water, and putting it back down. To the people on the beach it must have looked like the dorsal fin of a great white, and they all gathered along the water’s edge to watch. On the boat we lined the railings taking pictures. And then, with a crackle of the speakers, came the announcement we had all been hoping for, the pilot had spotted a white shark near by, and we were going to find it.