by Carlos Eyles
We have been in the water 40 minutes, still searching for the elusive school that has begun to feel more like a myth. Jack is lying on a ledge, at 65 feet, looking out over the abyss. I am on the surface recapturing my breath. He is looking south, but from the north, slightly above him drift several hammerheads. He doesn’t see them. More follow behind. They are swimming at eye level to him. Still he doesn’t see them. Silver bodies begin to pour out of the blue gloom. Finally, when he rises and sees them for the first time, they fill the ocean around him, more than could be imagined, impossible to count – at least 60, probably more. The school is loose-knit and spreads 30 feet deep, 50 feet across and well over 100 feet long. Momentarily mesmerized, I regain my senses, pump up and dive. Once down 20 feet, my view sharpens and broadens, and the breadth of the school stretches out over the abyss with sharks of all sizes fading into the haze 70 feet away. Dropping to 60 feet and nearing the edge of the school, I hover and take a few photos. The hammerheads have not flinched, and I am drawn deeper toward them. Photographs are forgotten as they are now very close, not 10 feet away, and I expect them to veer away en masse at any moment.
I drift and swim alongside, then on impulse, I slowly bank into the midst of the school. In moments, sharks are within a few feet of me in all directions.