“Swimming with sharks” is a phrase that typically conjures up images of the movie Jaws, or divers being lowered in shark tanks surrounded by bloody chum. Maybe that’s why it took my stepson a whole week to let me know whether or not he would come with me.
“Why do you think Lucky’s not calling me back,” I asked my husband.
“I think he’s scared,” my husband replied. “But don’t say anything.”
So I didn’t. Sort of. I dropped hints about how cool it would be. I offered to talk to his mom about its safety. I convinced his dad that no one was going to die.
Finally, after a lot of not saying anything, Lucky agreed to come. I tried to interview him throughout our adventure, but Lucky’s a boy of few words.
“Are you scared of sharks,” I asked him, trying to catch some documentary footage with my videocamera.
“No,” he said. “There’s no reason to be scared.”
“Are you excited about getting to swim with them?” I probed.
“I guess,” he sighed. “Are you filming me?”
We both knew he was just playing it cool. When we entered the Georgia Aquarium’s Ocean Ballroom and saw a group of scuba divers sitting on the floor of the Ocean Voyager tank, he started to get excited, asking our guide all sorts of questions about what kind of fish and sharks were in the tank, what we’d be doing and where the aquatic animals came from.
After a quick briefing in the River Scout classroom, we headed up to the dive area to suit up and learn how to use our breathing equipment. Since neither Lucky nor I are scuba-certified, we expected to snorkel our way through the tank. Instead, they gave us regulators — chest-level air tanks that allow you to breathe in and out of a mouthpiece without resurfacing. The regulators also acted as buoys, keeping us afloat.
Sitting on the dive platform, we put on our fins, gloves and masks and slowly slipped into the water, where we practiced breathing with our heads underwater. Then we paired up and traveled the football-sized tank in a graceful figure eight.
Three dive masters accompanied us, making sure that we didn’t harm any fish or fall out of line. We slowly wended our way around the tank. It was like entering a strange and mystical realm. No words, just weightlessness, brilliant flashes of color and muted sounds. Every now and then, there was some human contact — a group of family members taking pictures from the 100-ft. long pedestrian tunnel below us or the aquarium’s underwater filmmaker gesturing for us to smile and wave — but for the most part it was a communion with strange animals I’d only seen through a glass — sharks, manta rays and schools of golden trevally (one of which mistook my gloved finger for a snack, I think).
The whale sharks were my and Lucky’s favorites. We had no peripheral vision, so our divemaster told us when one was coming by gesturing for us to stretch ourselves flat and stop moving. Laying still on the surface of the water, we’d feel the 40-ft. long whale sharks before we’d see them. Then, they’d emerge slowly from beneath us, coming close enough to touch. I found myself holding my breath, wanting it to graze a hand, but not wishing to disturb it.
The journey was over much too soon, although it did feel good to get into warm clothes. Our visit ended with a behind the scenes tour of the aquarium and a special screening of our “Journey with Gentle Giants” adventure.
As we were headed back home, neither Lucky nor I spoke much. We were too busy thinking of the magical voyage we’d just completed.
