Nightmare Fuel

I’m honestly not afraid of much these days. I fret over the safety of my family as might any normal guy, and the prospect of Democrats in the White House precipitates the gyrating fantods. However, I have Jesus in my heart, and I’m on the bad end of 60. There’s just so much life can throw at me at this point. The one gleaming exception is big, toothy fish.

The movie “Jaws” hit the local cineplex in 1975. I was 9 years old. I didn’t even see the movie at the time, but I heard plenty of folks talking about it. It seems that was enough.

Bird’s-Eye View

When I was in flight school at Fort Rucker, Alabama, back in 1990, one of the more popular training routes involved taking an Army helicopter down to the Florida coast and flying the beach. The scenery was nice, and it was fun to thrill the natives. In a single-engine helicopter, we could fly as far away from shore as we might reasonably glide in the event of an engine failure. That was actually pretty far out.

From the top, you could see where the shelf dropped off underwater. The color transitioned from light green to dark green. The sharks cruised up and down that shelf in search of food. They looked like giant black tadpoles. They also swam among the various humans out frolicking in the surf without anyone being the wiser. I was forever ruined.

Primal Fears

Nowadays, wading out into the ocean any deeper than my ankles just makes my skin crawl. I can’t comfortably swim in a dark swimming pool if I can’t see the bottom. To be honest, this weird phobia might be the reason I eschew baths in favor of showers. The prospect of bobbing about in deep black water just begging to be eaten is quite literally the stuff of nightmares for me.

That’s not as stupid as it sounds. You wouldn’t go to the zoo if they posted a sign that read, “For the comfort and convenience of the animals, the predator cages will be left standing open from now on.” I don’t see how there’s much difference.

For these and a few other reasons, I never seriously entertained the prospect of trying out for the Navy SEALs. I mean, those hardcore dudes just live in deep black water. However, back in 1963, the deep black water got the better of one of them.

The Setting

On April 20, Lieutenant John Gibson of Underwater Demolition Team 21 was swimming across Magens Bay, St Thomas, Virgin Islands, without the aid of flippers or a swim mask. The north shore was the most popular swimming spot among the many popular swimming spots in this stunningly beautiful place. Gibson wasn’t on duty. He was on a date.

The young, fit Naval officer suggested they both take a swim. His companion, Donna Waugh, wisely demurred. She suggested he go ahead and jump in and that she would walk along the beach to meet him on the opposite side of the bay. At some point, she heard shouting and saw the man struggling. That’s when she noticed that one of his hands was missing.

Shockingly Relentless

Like a stud, the young woman swam out to help despite Gibson’s shouting for her to stay back. Two nearby fishermen and a bystander also entered the water to assist. The shark, for his part, was nothing if not persistent.

Donna had to tug on the hapless frogman to free him from the beast, while the fishermen desperately threw rocks at the thing. Eventually, they wrestled the sailor to shore only to have him bleed out most expeditiously.

In addition to his right hand, the monster had taken enormous bites out of the man’s left shoulder, right thigh, and hip. Gibson was bitten on his left foot as well. The bite to the thigh severed his femoral artery. That killed him in seconds.

Vengeance

Gibson’s mates were rightfully shocked but soon focused themselves on payback. The following day, they took a pair of LCPL landing craft with half a dozen empty fuel drums out into the bay. They outfitted these with heavy line and shark hooks baited with rancid goat meat.

On the first barrel they checked, the goat meat was gone, and the heavy hook was straightened out. They discovered the second rig in a similar state. The third was untouched. The fourth was still connected to a big, well-fed shark. They clearly had their fish. The frogmen wrestled the enormous beast to the surface and shot it through the head with a shotgun.

The Monster

The fish turned out to be a 10-foot Galapagos reef shark (Carcharhinus galapagensis). This was the first authenticated shark attack in the Virgin Islands in recent times. It was also the first recorded encounter with a galapagensis in the western Atlantic.

Once they got the thing to the shore, the unit medic performed a necropsy. Inside, they found a human hand and an arm with a UDT watch, along with sundry other vile stuff. It seemed the villain was no more.

Galapagos reef sharks are regarded as potentially dangerous but not terribly. In addition to Lt. Gibson, there has only been one other documented attack by a Galapagos on a human, and that guy survived. However, I doubt that brought much comfort to John Gibson’s family.

Personally, I take solace in the fact that the chances of my being attacked by a shark remain fairly small so long as I never technically get into the ocean. Regardless, I think I’ll likely still avoid dark swimming pools as well, just in case. You really can never be too careful.

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