The Shark, the Samoan, and the boy from New York CityWe
read this story and thought it both humorous and insightful in regards to Samoan fishing. The
author kindly gave permission to SA'O to publish it here.
I was living as a peace corps volunteer in a little village called
Aleipata on the southeastern tip of the island of Upolu, Western
Samoa. This is a small village composed mostly of fishermen.
From afar, it looked like the idyllic South Seas paradise with palm
trees, thatched houses without walls sitting atop platforms of lava
rock, and blindingly white coral paths weaving their way through the
village. Offshore, were a few small, uninhabited islands with
names like Nu'utele, Nu'ulua, Namu'a and Fanuatapu (a former leper
colony) that form the basis of another tale.
One of the things I used to do as part of my job was to go out daily to
catch fish to feed the baby sea turtles that we were raising in the
hatchery (yet another story). We had our own boat but I would
often go out with the local fishermen as well. The most common
boat in Samoa was a small (15-18') dugout canoe with an outrigger to
one side to prevent it from rolling over in the high, pacific swells.
Remember, Samoa is in the middle of the pacific with the next land to
the east being South America, nearly 6,000 miles away and to the south,
Antarctica. So, there is little margin for error when you run
around those waters in a small boat. The smaller boats were
paddled, and generally stayed within the reef, fishing for things like
reef fish and octopus in the relative calm of the reef-protected
lagoons.
The larger canoes (18-24') often have a small, 25 horsepower outboard
strapped to the outrigger support. You haven't lived until you
have tried to make it through a narrow opening in the reef, at night,
when the wind is knocking the crests off the waves and all you have to
navigate by is the sound of the surf crashing on the coral heads on
either side of the opening.
Anyway, I digress. One afternoon, I went out with one of the
local fisherman to see what we could catch. I think his canoe was
about 18 feet and it certainly wasn't one of the newer models. It
had seen it's share of coral heads over the years and the engine looked
like it would have been more at home in a museum rather than on a
fishing boat. Oh, just in case you are wondering, nobody in Samoa
has ever heard of life jackets. Besides, it is a pretty safe bet
that the sharks would find you long before another boat would.
So, we head out east from the village (remember, next stop, South
America) and go about 15-20 miles offshore when we spot a school of
tuna feeding at the surface.
The way you spot a school of tuna is to look for birds. The tuna
chase large schools of small fish up to the surface and just pick the
ones they want for lunch. The poor little fish with nowhere to go
to escape the voracious teeth of the pursuing tuna, jump out of the
water, only to be pounced on by the flocks of diving seabirds,
screeching at the top of their lungs. It is really something to
be in the middle of since the birds and tuna are both in a feeding
frenzy and completely ignore the boat. The sounds of splashing,
the large tuna leaping out of the water in pursuit of their prey, and
the screeching and crashing of the birds as the hit the water trying to
catch the same, poor little fish from above. Not a good place to
be if you happen to be a small fish.
So, here we come along with our little boat and a few squid-like lures,
trolling through the middle of this scene right out of Dante's Inferno,
and within seconds, tuna are hitting the lures, mistaking them for the
little fish that they have their minds set on.
Within minutes we must have caught 25-30 small skipjack tuna and a few
larger yellowfin tuna. So we are literally sitting there in the boat
with fish, some of them pretty darn big, jumping like crazy. Now
tuna have a very interesting anatomical feature at the base of their
tail fins called scutes. These sharp, hard protrusions can break
your hand if you are not careful. Remember, that tuna are some of
the fastest swimmers in the sea and they have some serious strength in
their tails.
Before I go any further, I need to add one more bit of
information. Now, when tuna are feeding on small fish, they don't
always chew with their mouths closed as we have all been taught to
do. So consequently, the waters around one of these feeding
frenzies are often littered with bits and pieces of partially eaten
fish and whatever used to be on the insides of those fish....including
blood. And, what animal in the ocean is attracted by blood in the
water? Come on now, you know the answer to that one..... right!
SHARKS.
Sharks love this stuff and one can generally find plenty of sharks swimming around the fringes of the main activity.
Ok, back to the story, but the information provided above will come in
handy in a little while. So, here we are, back in the boat with
tuna dancing at our feet when all of a sudden, a large hole opens up in
the bottom of the canoe. Neither one of us was sure as to what
caused the hole to open, but it was probably a combination of too many
bumps against the coral and a well-placed thwack from the scutes of one
of a large yellowfin. Anyway, now in addition to all the blood
that is filling the bottom of the boat, the Pacific Ocean decides to
come in too.
So, here we are, about 20 miles from shore in the middle of the ocean,
in a boat that is filled with blood and guts that is rapidly filling
with stuff that should by all rights stay on the outside of the hull,
and surrounded by sharks. I sat there for a moment....I swear it
was just a moment but a whole stream of thoughts went through my head
as if I were watching a feature length film. And the message that
kept being flashed on the screen over and over again was.....HOW THE
HELL DID A BOY FROM NEW YORK CITY COME TO BE IN A SINKING CANOE IN THE
MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN?
I wasn't really looking for an answer at that point, but it just seemed
like a good question to ask at the time. Now since my Samoan
friend knew perfectly well how he came to be in the middle of the
Pacific Ocean in a sinking canoe, he didn't waste any time thinking
about it.
He stood up, ripped off the lavalava that he had wrapped around his
waist (Samoans rarely wear pants. usually, they wear a bit of cloth
called a lavalava that wraps around the waist and reaches down to
mid-calf) and stuffed it into the gaping hole at the bottom of the
canoe. And mind you, he never even let go of his fishing line
during this process.
As this was happening, I had collected myself enough to realize that I
had better do something to help the situation so I grabbed the rusty,
tin can that is a required piece of survival gear on any Samoan canoe,
and started to bail like mad. Since most Samoans don't have can
openers, they generally use their machetes to open everything from
coconuts to cows to cans. So in addition to all the fish blood
and water that I was busily bailing out of the boat, I added a little
of my own blood to the mix.
Ok, back to the sharks...remember them? So, here I am doing the
very thing that one should NEVER do if you happen to be in the middle
of the ocean and are at all concerned about finding yourself in the
water anytime soon. Before you could say "JAWS", we were
surrounded by what must have been at least 8 large, black-tipped reef
sharks. At least I think that was the kind they were. I was
not really in any condition to remember my vertebrate zoology 101 at
that point. However, what is one person's concern is another
person's opportunity. My boat-mate said that this was a wonderful
chance to catch a shark and bring it back along with all the tuna we
had already filling the bottom of the boat.
Now, the Samoans have a rather unique way of catching sharks. Very
traditional....very innovative.... very, well, I'll let you be the
judge of the appropriate term. My shipmate, Koli was his name,
grabbed one of the skipjack and with his ever-present machete, cut off
the fish's head. He gave me one of those "all the better to catch
sharks with" expressions. He handed me the somewhat shortened
fish and told me to hold it over the side, IN THE WATER.
I looked at him, a puzzled look in my eyes, and with the best that my
Samoan language training and months of cultural sensitivity had deeply
instilled in my very soul, I said (translated here of course).. "ARE
YOU OUT OF YOUR %$#@$#% MIND!" he said that I just had to remember to
either let go of the fish when the shark bit it, or to pull my hand out
of the water (and hopefully not the shark's mouth) just before he bit.
With those sage words of advice, I leaned over the side and proceeded
to swish the fish back and forth in the water. Although I tried
to keep my hands well clear of the water, every time a wave would come
our way, or when the canoe would rock, I found myself submerged up to
my elbow. Koli reached under his seat and pulled out a coconut
fiber rope that he kept handy for just such an occasion. He tied
a loop at one end of the rope and knelt beside me. Remember, he
donated his lavavlava to keep us from sinking. What a sight we
must have made. Anyway, I'm swishing fish and he's looking for
sharks....not that I wasn't looking for sharks, but I think we each had
a very different reason for looking for them.
I guess it must have been five minutes when we both spotted a large
shape circling the boat. I have got to be completely honest and
say that even though I love the ocean and all the creatures that live
within it, there is nothing quite as ominous as seeing that vertical
fin slowly swimming your way, particularly when you are no more than
one foot above the water yourself. Also, being in a blood filled,
lavalava-patched dugout canoe adds to the drama.
So here comes the shark, making ever smaller circles around the boat
when finally, he comes right alongside, heading straight for the
swishing fish, with my arm attached. Just before that encounter
that I had been dreading took place, Koli plunged both arms into the
water until his head was submerged, passed the noose around the shark's
head and back behind the shark's gills, just in front of the pectoral
fins. He emerged from the water, hanging on to the end of the now
tightly closed noose, propped his back against one side of the canoe,
his feet on the other and we were both staring into the jaws of one
seriously pissed off shark.
My Samoan may have been a bit new at the time, but Koli started
shouting something that when translated, sounded like the title of a
Michael Jackson song. Now I know that he wasn't really thinking
about music at the time and I finally figured out that "beat it" meant
something that he wanted me to DO and not SING! I looked under
his seat (I mean he had everything under that seat) and saw what looked
like a sawed off baseball bat. picking it up, I remembered what Roger
Marris looked like the day he broke Babe Ruth's home run record and
tried to hit one out of the park. After what seemed like an
eternity, the shark seemed to have finally quieted down enough for us
to move on to the next stage in this lesson in cross-cultural
technology transfer.
With Koli still holding onto the shark's head with the noose, he told
me to grab the tail and flip the shark into the boat. Again,
mustering all my language skills I said (translated again) "ARE YOU OUT
OF YOUR %$#@$#%# MIND!" Koli said that if we left the shark in the
water, all his shark buddies would come around and start thinking it
was a free lunch counter and in their excitement to get a piece of the
action, might crash into the side of our already very marginal
canoe. So, realizing that he actually did have a valid point, I
grabbed the shark by the tail, and with one mighty heave, flipped it up
into the boat.
Although it had been years, there was something that I had learned in a
class that I took about the fact that sharks have all sorts of body
parts that are fairly unique...like having their entire bodies covered
with what are essentially millions of tiny little shark teeth.
Well, at that very moment, I was given a "hands-on" lesson in shark
anatomy. As the shark came across the gunwale, some part of the
shark, it might have been the tail, tore across my upper arm like a
warm knife through butter. Again, the thought that kept flashing
through my mind was... "HOW THE HELL DID A BOY FROM NEW YORK CITY COME
TO BE IN A SINKING, BLOOD AND SHARK-FILLED CANOE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE
PACIFIC OCEAN". Again, no answer was provided.
I guess the jolt was enough the awaken the last bit of energy left in
the shark. So, picture this. Two men, actually, one boy and one
half naked Samoan, perched at either end of an 18 foot sinking canoe,
the bottom of which is filled with the bodies of tuna of various sizes,
on top of which is the writhing, snapping body of what I believe was a
twelve foot shark who was very, very pissed off at us.
I won't go into detail as to what Koli did at this point, but let me
just say that from the time he could walk, Koli has had a machete by
his side, so he is very good at using one. Anyway, within minutes the
shark was no longer a threat. However, the added weight of the
shark, the fish and a good chunk on the pacific ocean had seriously
exceeded the safe load limit posted on the side of the canoe.....right
next to where the life jackets should have been stowed.
We spent the next few hours chugging along very slowly back towards
shore, all the while, I was bailing as if my life depended on
it....actually, come to think of it....it did!
© gene carl feldman
The story in its orginal format with images can be viewed at the follwing Link:
Shark Tale!
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