When the first shark is spotted, everyone climbs into the cage (top). The shark circles, gradually coming closer (middle), eventually passing within centimetres of the cage (bottom).

“It’s a risk every time you get into the water.” That’s what a Fish Hoek resident told me after a fatal shark attack there that made headlines across the country. For some reason I can’t get that line out of my head. “Every time you get into the water.”
Why am I thinking about it? Because we’re in Kleinbaai, near Gansbaai, and I’m about to go shark cage diving.
The Fish Hoek attack was hectic. A man was standing waist-deep, just off the beach, when a shark “longer than a minibus” attacked him. That’s what a witness posted on Twitter. And then, moments later: “There was this pool of blood in the water…”
It’s shortly after 6 am when we pull up in front of White Shark Projects in Geelbek Street, just as the sun is starting to filter through the early-morning fog. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lures me inside. On the wall, next to a series of photographs of sharks with their jaws agape, is one of Hollywood actor Nicolas Cage also baring his teeth. I’m not sure which is more off-putting. Apparently Ricky Martin and Prince Harry have also come eye to eye with Gansbaai’s great whites.
The price of the cage dive includes a simple buffet breakfast. I make the most of it and fill my plate with a banana, ham and a stack of toast. Apparently a full stomach helps prevent seasickness, especially if you haven’t found your sea legs yet.
I hope that’s true, because I’m not too keen to contribute to the chum used as bait while we’re bobbing around waiting for the sharks to arrive.
A German family, a British couple and three other tourists have joined us. Everyone falls silent and our eyes turn to the television in the corner of the room. On the screen, a huge great white shark is busy shaking a seal to pieces. We look at one another and laugh nervously.
Skipper Gerald Engelbrecht breaks the silence. He explains the procedure on board: “People think we lower the cage deep into the sea, but that’s not the case,” he says. “The top of the cage remains above water.”
His sensible, practical information calms everyone down a bit.
After our breakfast we’re each given a thick windbreaker and a life jacket. Then we sign an indemnity form: “If I become a great white’s breakfast, I promise not to haunt my family or sue the company…” something like that.

“The great white shark is a fascinating creature. There are many things about the species that we don’t know or don’t understand,” says Julia Birkett over the engine noise of the Shark Team, a catamaran with space for 30 people. Julia is a videographer and will film our outing so guests can take home a DVD as a memento. “Their mating habits are still a mystery to scientists; the act of mating has never been documented.”
Julia also tells us about an epic journey by a 3 m-long female shark named Nicole. In August 2004, Nicole’s distinctive dorsal fin was photographed near Dyer Island off Gansbaai. This was hardly surprising, considering Nicole has been visiting Dyer Island for the past five years. What made her appearance exceptional this time was that she was last pinpointed by a satellite near the Exmouth Gulf in Western Australia. Nicole had travelled almost 20 000 km in just under nine months, from Gansbaai, where she was tagged in November 2003, to Australia, where the satellite transmitting tag popped up, and back to Dyer Island. The satellite tag yielded other interesting results: Nicole sometimes dived to depths exceeding 900 m, she survived an average water temperature of 3,4 °C and she sustained a swimming speed of nearly 5 km per hour – faster than a tuna.
“Previously, we thought great whites didn’t venture very far from their home territories,” Julia says.
“It started a new chapter in white shark research.”

We anchor about a kilometre from the coast and throw a bucket of chum overboard. The soupy mixture of mashed sardines and fish oil is hardly appetising, but to the sharks it’s the equivalent of a bucketful of King Steer burgers.
This baiting method is controversial and there are fears that chumming and cage diving cause sharks to associate humans with food, which then leads to an increased chance of people being attacked. This has never been proved, however, and scientists are still unsure about why sharks sometimes attack people. Current theories range from territorialism to curiosity to a simple case of mistaken identity. From below, a splashing swimmer looks a lot like a seal.
“We lure the sharks to the boat,” Gerald says, “but we don’t feed them. You could call it negative conditioning.”
Just then someone shouts from the view­ing platform: “Shaaaaaaaaaaaark!”
I’m up on the platform in a flash and my eyes sweep over the pea-green surface. The dark shape is unmistakable. Popular culture is full of images of great white sharks, but despite Jaws and all the other TV documentaries, nothing can prepare you for the sight of one in real life. Elegant, graceful… But before I can wax too lyrical about the way in which our first visitor comes gliding through the water, the skipper tells us to get ready. Time for a face-to-face meeting.

I’m hanging in a cage with four others, while Gerald and a few crew members stand on the boat above us. For some reason I always thought cage diving required scuba gear but all you need is a diving mask, booties and a thick wetsuit to counter Gansbaai’s chilly 12 °C water temperature.
Gerald will tell us when a shark is approaching and give us the cue to stick our heads underwater. Earlier he explained how we should use the bars of the cage to pull ourselves down.
A fish head on a rope bobs about 3 m from the cage. The idea is that as soon as a shark makes a beeline for it, Gerald will pull it out of reach. It may sound a little sadistic, like teasing a boerbull with a piece of biltong, but industry regulations ban all operators from feeding sharks.
“Down, down!” Gerald calls out. I gulp a lungful of air and glimpse a tall dorsal fin before I sink beneath the water.
Visibility today is quite poor. I peer into the murky water. Because I’m looking for the grey form that I saw from the boat earlier, it comes as a surprise when a white shape suddenly looms outside the cage. We get a view of the creature’s belly as it comes past and then, with a lurch, it disappears into the gloom. 

“Wow, that was crazy!” one of the Germans says as we surface to take another breath. (Later she asks in a quivering voice to leave the cage when a shark bumps the bars.)
We obey the crew’s “Down! Down!” instruction for the next half hour, and get a split-second glimpse of the ocean’s most feared predator every time. The adrenaline and excitement have won over any fears that I might have had. The cage is sturdy and Gerald and the crew know what they’re doing.
Ironically, it’s the sharks themselves that give us the most reason to relax. They simply
don’t look interested in the human meat inside the cage.
It’s late afternoon now and photographs, drawings and sculptures of sharks glide past us in window displays and on posters as we leave Gansbaai. It’s the same gaping jaws and razor-sharp teeth all over again, but instead of the fear that such images previously evoked in me, I now have a new respect for these creatures.
And a desire to meet them underwater again some day.