The Great White Shark Hunt

Apologies to Hunter S. Thompson.

Don’t ask me how, but I did the impossible and wangled a CHOGM media pass not only for myself, but for my outrageously loud Fijian lawyer who I’d bought with me on this gig to handle ‘supplies’. And the way things were shaping up, we were going to need all the supplies we could lay our greedy hands on if we were to maintain some semblance of sanity and avoid having our skulls cracked by the trigger itchy security goons on every street corner.

Welcome to Perth, home of the all mighty mining dollar where everything’s fast, shiny and shuts at six. As all good gigs go, this one had taken a sharp turn to the left and was fast sliding into the realms of absurdity – a place where only the most drug addled of minds can operate successfully without succumbing to crippling, eye gouging paranoia.

It was not a place to be without a high powered weapon. I had been here before and I would be here again, but first something had to die.

Lazlo and I found ourselves riding high on the fly-bridge of the FarQ II heading out of Fremantle towards Rottnest Island. We had intended to spend the day running amok on a Captain Cook winery cruise, but that was until shark frenzy took a choker hold on Perth City and every redneck who owned a tinny suddenly morphed into a wild-eyed cross between Captain Nemo and Crocodile Dundee.

Another week, another shark death. It was all too much for a town on the verge of CHOGM glory, so the call went out to ‘shoot to kill’ and the race was on to see who would string this monster of the deep up by its murderous tail and bring justice to the land once again.

We’d packed lightly for this trip. An esky full of dark rum, three sheets of blotter acid and enough cocaine to keep the Bolivian Army marching for a year. We also had two high tensile trolling rods baited with whole pig’s heads, 120 litres of sheep blood, a pump action Ruger shotgun, a .45 Colt and an Alaskan pick axe just in case the fight came to close quarters.

We were half way across ‘Stragglers’ when the drugs began to take hold and the shit began to go down. Captain Jack had been busy ladelling bucket-loads of gore into our wake, when suddenly line started screaming off one of the trolling rods, as the water exploded about 100m off the starboard bow.

The whole boat lurched and I spilled most of my rum down Lazlo’s shirt as he scrambled around on deck like a ludicrous, hairy crab trying to find its footing. “Stay still, you fool. You’ll get us all killed carrying on like that.” I pushed him back into his chair and stood back to take stock of the situation.

Line continued to burn off the smoking reel and it was obvious that we’d hooked into something huge and terrifying that would drag us all to our death, boat and all. “There’s only one thing for it, we’ll have to shoot the fucker!” I screamed grappling for the shot gun and taking the steps to the deck three at a time. “Stand back Captain Jack, this one’s mine!”

The crew cowered in the bulk-head fearing the worst as I surveyed the broiling, inky waters before me. Shapes loomed from the deep, bats screeched from the heavens... yes, there are ALWAYS bats... as I took my bead on one evil murderous eye that gleamed from the head of a white pointer bigger than a Kombi Van and now only metres from where I stood. One, two...

‘BARPPPPP!’ The sound caught me like a punch in the face as a fast moving ferry cut across our bow and a single figure leapt gracefully from the deck clutching a spear in one hand and a Swiss Army Knife in the other. In a second the hunt was over and my final moment of glory snatched cruelly from my grasp.

I reached for the rum and chuckled quietly under my breath. “We meet again Freocookster... we meet again.”

Six metre monster shark menaces Perth

Yeah, it's the sort of headline that drags you in doesn't it? In a sense it's true - there probably is a six metre white pointer somewhere off the WA coast, maybe closer to Antarctica than Cottesloe Beach, but by god the bugger's out there... waiting for its chance to hit our shores, gnashing its teeth and snapping surf skis in half like, well, like... surf skis.

These monsters live in our heads and I dare any one of you to make the claim that you never ever think - just for a fraction of a second - that there might be a big Noah's Ark with your name on it just about to burst through the next wave.

Like most gen-Xers and probably most baby boomers, I live by a creed of 'never turn your back to the sea'. It's in those moments, no matter how brief, that something built like a combi van with dead black eyes and a mouth like a cave filled with razor sharp stallectites, will suddenly appear from the 'dark patch'.

You know the dark patch? It's that bit where you can no longer see the sandy bottom. That bit that you glimpse when you open your eyes under water only to see multitudes of shifty shadows darting your way. I steer clear of the dark water. I fancy that if that hungry behemoth crosses from dark to light, I'll at least have a couple of seconds on my side to churn my way to shore.

I've seen a shark or two in my life. I've even caught two small bronze whalers and eaten the proceeds, so I know there are family out there with a reason to want me chewed on.

In one trip to Esperance alone I saw the mo-fo of all great white fins breach the foreshore surface and cruise silently between me and about a dozen surfers before sliding under again. I didn't say a word.

The next day we watched two gents of southern European experience frolicking with a school of dolphins in a remote bay. "Come and see the dolphin - is swimming with us yes?" It was quite a sight to see how quickly two men can exit the water when they're told the dolphins are actually tiger sharks feeding on salmon. One of them kept swimming right up the slope of the granite rocks leading down to the bay. Blood everywhere!

But we all let our guards down at times, despite the clear and present danger that Jaws taught us was lurking EVERYWHERE.

I'll never forget the day I was surfing at Cottesloe, on the Leighton side of the groin (meant to throw in a testicular shrinkage pun here, but forgot - thanks for pointing out my 'groyne problems 'notallpoppies.com.au') very late in the day. My mate had gone in about 10 minutes earlier, but I just wanted to catch one more wave.

The water was dark and almost oily with a thick layer of weed that pulled at your legs and arms as you paddled. The light was almost gone, so I sat up on the board and swung around to the horizon to see if any small sets were coming through.

It was then that I heard a splash to one side. A loud slap on the surface.

I whipped around and could see that something had broken through the weed about a metre away. Too close, no matter what it was. I lay flat on the deck and reached in to start paddling.

Suddenly a black mass burst through the weed about three feet from my face.

It was a seal. A damned seal, that had my heart punching its way out of my wetsuit.

Jaws had been the first blow to my life as a part-time surfer and that seal was without doubt the mortal wound. I could never quite relax after that and if you can't relax while you're having a surf, then what is the point I ask?

These days I still love a dip in the briny and I know that my chances of being shark chum are very, very slim, but there's no escaping those nasty thoughts. And who could blame me right now with the sort of headlines and constant parade of sharkies we see in the media every second day?

And I know you're all suckers for a good shark tale, because in the past three weeks I must have had over 600 hits to this site thanks to Google searches on 'shark sightings in Perth'.

So now that you're here, tell me why? What is it about those beasties from the deep that float, ahem (sink) your boat? For now I'll keep one eye on the latest happenings and the other on the sea [cue Jaws soundtrack here...]

*VOTE IN THE TPF SHARL POLL TO YOUR RIGHT - yes, ----> THAT way!

Perth shark sightings - the real story

I thought that since 80% of the traffic coming to this site was linked to Google searches for 'Perth shark sightings', it would be remiss of me not to add to the discussion.

What a lot of people don't know - and I probably shouldn't be divulging this sort of information online - is that we've seen an increasing number of large sharks off Perth beaches this summer for one simple reason - the Cottesloe pylon and its dramatic lean.

Yup, that leaning tower of cancer ridden concrete that sits in the middle of the Cottesloe Beach bay plays a far greater role in shark protection than anyone, particularly government, cares to admit.

You won't read about it in the history books, but that pylon actually contains some of the most radical technology to come out of Soviet Russia during World War II.

A chap by the name of Vladmir Solsvensky bought this particular technology with him when he landed on our shores in 1935. The device, about the size of a football with a long tubular antenae, was designed to cripple the radar systems of German U-Boats when they strayed within 5km. More importantly it jammed weapons systems, rendering submarines useless, and had an in-built power generation unit that ran on sea water... the technical details I can't explain.

And so Vladmir just happened to raise this technology with a local councillor from the Cottesloe region over a few Swan Lagers one evening and the rest, as they say, is history.

The councillor had the device installed into one of a number of pylons installed in 1936 that were supposed to be anchor points for a vast shark net in the bay. Of course, the central pylon containing the anti-sub device was the most highly fortified and the only structure to remain after a storm swept in and knocked all the others down.

This is where it gets really interesting...

While there were no submarines to repel, over the course of the next 12 months the local authorities and surf lifesaving patrols noted a distinct drop-off in the number of shark sitings off the coast of Perth, at Cottesloe and Swanbourne in particular.

Vladmir insisted that it was his device that was now working to scramble the sharks' radars and detering them from venturing too close to shore. Alas, the Russian died in 1938 and knowledge of his device went with him to his grave.

Only the original councillor now knew what was really in that pylon, but he dare not speak for fear of retribution at having installed the device in the first place.

Over the next 70 years the effects of weather, vandalism and human modification have seen the effectiveness of the anti-shark device slowly wane. In recent years, as the pylon took on its distinct lean, the signals have almost disappeared.

This summer alone we've had shark sitings on a daily basis, many of these creatures well over four metres in length.

To be honest, I don't know if the sharks really pose a threat to humans, but I reckon old Vladmir's invention has probably saved at least a few swimmers from a close encounter of the very worst kind.