Jewels of the Caribbean

Caribbean Reef Sharks ©Michele Hall

Howard Hall

   The shark came from down-current and followed the edge of the drop-off toward the smell of bait. I waited next to a large purple tube sponge as Stuart Cove shook the bait basket to increase the dispersion of chum. I was surprised how quickly the first shark arrived. We hadn't been down five minutes.

   The shark was a six-foot long Caribbean reef shark. It was a bit unusual because it had a circular mark on its right side just posterior of the dorsal fin and because it was worth $250,000. Ironically, no one owned this animal. In fact, the only way to establish ownership of a $250,000 shark is to catch it with hook and line or gill net and kill it. But unfortunately, killing the shark causes its value to depreciate. Dead, the shark is only worth fifty or sixty bucks. The animal is worth $250,000 only when it's alive and free.

   Stuart shook the bait basket again and I saw another shark rise over the edge of the drop-off. Another $250,000 fish. Soon there were eight or ten large sharks swimming around Stuart - several million dollars worth. The largest might have been eight feet long and the smallest just over five feet. By some calculation, the largest shark might have been worth more than the smallest one. Perhaps the largest was worth $300,000 and the small one only $200,000. Certainly, it would be a difficult calculation to quantify the individual value of each animal based on size or photogenics.

   As the sharks gathered, the peanut gallery took their places in a semi-circle behind Stuart. Bob Cranston held the powerful HMI movie light, Mark Conlin held the light cable, Doug Perrine and Michele Hall took still photographs, and I operated the 16mm movie camera. We were not an entirely typical sport diving group. However, this was a typical sport dive for Stuart Cove's Resort. Typical, that is, until one of the sharks bit Stuart.

   I wasn't entirely surprised when Stuart got bit. In fact, it seemed almost inevitable. Stuart was reaching into the bait basket and tossing chunks of bait to a gathering of sharks which were swarming around him like an angry hoard of bees. Stuart casually fed the sharks in much the same manner as an old man might feed a flock of pigeons while sitting on a park bench. The big difference was that pigeons are not inclined to remove and squabble over human body parts.

   Although I've had some experience diving with sharks in several oceans of the world, my experience with Caribbean reef sharks was very limited. Stuart, on the other hand, had been putting on this show for years. It was simple routine for Stuart. Still, I was impressed. Stuart's position looked vulnerable and dangerous to me.

  Perhaps one of the sharks sensed how impressed I was. Perhaps the shark, somehow knowing I was more experienced than the average tourist diver, felt a burst of intense pride at my reaction. Perhaps the shark, inflated with its sense of pride at being credited by a professional diver for its fearsome reputation, and not wanting to disappoint, decided to live up to my expectations. Or perhaps the shark just thought Stuart's hand was a piece of fish. Whatever the inspiration, the small $200,000 runt of a shark bit Stuart on the hand.

   Stuart's reaction was immediate and predictable. He glanced at his hand, concealed it beneath his arm, and shrugged as if to say, "It's only a scratch. Nothing any self-respecting Bahamian shark diver would consider significant." But then he noticed a gushing cloud of green blood billowing from under his arm accompanied by a moderate dose of pain, and reality set in. Stuart ascended to the surface. The film crew immediately followed, perhaps concerned about Stuart's condition or perhaps worried that, hors d'oeuvrs having been served, the sharks may be in the mood for the main course.

   After a dozen or so stitches in his hand, Stuart was good as new. I suggested he rub charcoal into the wound to produce a respectable scar. But before he fully realized the commercial value of this suggestion, his hand had healed beyond the stage when rubbing in charcoal could be done without significant increase in pain.

   The following day our film crew was back on site with divemaster, Billy Braithwaite, replacing Stuart as guide. Soon Billy was feeding the pigeons just as Stuart had. I continued to be impressed. The sharks, however, seemed content to have once demonstrated a willingness to be man-biters. No further demonstrations were necessary for either the sharks or us. Or perhaps the offending shark had warned its companions of the bad taste Stuart's hand had left in its mouth. In any case, the following ten days proceeded without further blood letting.

   It's hard to say whether stories of Stuart's shark bite increases or decreases the value of these sharks. I suspect their value has gone up having validated their nearly mythological reputation. A half dozen diving resorts on New Providence attract sport divers to this small Bahamian island largely on the strength of these wonderful and spectacular shark dives. By Stuart's calculation, six million dollars is spent in the Bahamas every year because of these sharks. Six million dollars! And there are only a dozen or so sharks.

   The shark with the circular spot on its side that I saw on my first dive was there every day we dived the site. And when we returned to Nassau six months later for additional filming, the same shark was still there along with his dozen or so companions. If you divide 6 million dollars by twelve sharks, you get a yearly value of $500,000. Then, just to be conservative, if you arbitrarily divide that estimate by two, you still get a yearly value of $250,000 per shark! However you do the math, these are very valuable animals - as long as they're alive. A long-line fisherman could catch them all in one night. Dead, each shark loses 99.8% of its value.

   Stuart and the other resort operators on New Providence are understandably concerned that one night such a disaster might occur. As yet the Bahamian government, along with most other governments around the world, has not yet realized the relative commercial value of living marine life versus dead marine life.

   In the Cayman Islands, Sue Steere introduced us to an entire community of valuable marine creatures. There was an enormous eagle ray that allowed divers to approach within feet, as it fed on mollusks concealed beneath the sand. There was a manta ray that predictably came to feed on the swarms of plankton that gathered under our movie lights. There were schools of reef squid that allowed us to film them from inches away. And there were Nassau groupers and tiger groupers that would enter cleaning stations and allow us to film them being cleaned at point blank range. These animals are part of the reason that tens of thousands of tourist divers visit the Caymans every year.

Nassau Grouper ©Howard Hall

There's a Nassau grouper that lives on the wreck of the Oro Verde. He's the first thing divers see when they hit the bottom near the wreck. And for many divers who go to the Caymans, he's the biggest fish they have ever seen. One morning Bob Cranston and I laid on the bottom near the Oro Verde for three hours trying to film the spawning behavior of yellowhead jawfish. (The jawfish, it turns out, had absolutely no intention of performing sex for a movie camera). During most of the dive, the Nassau grouper made a home for himself right beneath my chest as I hunched over the movie camera and looked through the lens at a jawfish who was not in the mood. Occasionally, I gently pushed the grouper away concerned that he might move suddenly, resulting in a cloud of dust that would ruin any chance of filming the jawfish at a critical moment. But within a few minutes, he'd be back and I'd again find my chin resting on his forehead.

   This silly fish may be even more valuable than the sharks of New Providence. He enhances the Cayman diving experience for thousands of divers each month. He's been photographed tens of thousands of times and has appeared in dozens of diving publication around the world. How could you calculate the value of such an animal?

   A few years ago a famous grouper lived on the wreck of the Balboa in Georgetown Harbor. He was much larger than the Nassau grouper that lives on the Oro Verde, and because of his dramatic size, he was even more valuable. During night dives this grouper would follow divers around and occasionally snap up small reef fish that were exposed by the divers' lights. His presence made the wreck of the Balboa a world class dive. He was one of the reasons I planned a film expedition to the Caymans.

   For me, this grouper presented a unique opportunity to film a predation sequence. Sue suggested that all I had to do was set up my camera and lights, and the grouper would perform on cue. Unfortunately, I never got the chance. One night a commercial fishing boat tied up to the Balboa mooring during a storm. While the fishermen waited for the wind to abate, they put their lines over the side. Within a few minutes most of the large and extremely valuable fish, including the grouper, were gone.

   The sport diving community and government of the Cayman Islands have done a great deal to protect the marine life and coral reefs surrounding their islands, setting an example for the rest of the world. They've strategically placed moorings around their islands to prevent anchor damage to the reef. They've started the "no gloves" policy to encourage divers to avoid touching the coral. And they make every attempt to educate their customers about the impact divers have on the environment. But while dive resorts around the world are increasingly aware of the impact their customers have on their natural resources, they still seem unaware of the very much greater danger that lurks down the reef or just over the horizon. Our oceans are being systematically strained of life by commercial fishing. Ask any diver who has dived any area for more than ten years. He will list the species that were once seen in abundance and are now absent.

   Divers tend to blame themselves for the progressive disappearance of marine life, believing that the increasing numbers of divers is driving the animals away. But where do these animals go? Most often they go into the fish holds of an aggressive fishing industry supplying a growing population who value marine life only as food. The great majority of this marine life is not driven away by divers. It only appears that way because the marine life in an area seems to decline as soon as divers begin exploring a site. But in nearly all cases fish populations were already in dramatic decline, only no one was there to witness it. Our marine life is being swept from the ocean by the deadly technologies of fishing. The sport diving community has initiated numerous programs designed to reduced diver impact on the environment while it largely ignores the far greater impact of commercial fishing.

   After three hours on the bottom watching a pair of yellowhead jawfish doing absolutely nothing at all, Bob and I gave up. I gently pushed the Nassau grouper aside one last time and prepared to ascend. Sue and Michele passed Bob and I as we ascended and when I looked back at the wreck, I saw Michele taking photos of the grouper. She had already exposed a half dozen rolls of film on the fish, but when the fish swam up to her lens, she simply couldn't resist another shot or two.

   On our last evening in the Caymans we celebrated the successful end of our filming expedition at a beautiful Cayman Island diving resort. They had prepared a spectacular buffet for the resort guests. A few minutes after Michele left the table to be first in line at the buffet, I followed. As I approached the buffet I found her standing with an empty plate staring at the table. Featured at the center the of the buffet was a twenty-five pound Nassau grouper, exquisitely prepared and surrounded by colorful garnishes. The fish probably cost the resort fifty bucks. But by another calculation, it certainly cost much more.