SHARKEY’S MACHINE
May 9, 2004 | 12:00am
Swimming with sharks is on my mind this week. Not the political variety or the office type; I’m talking real, live whale sharks. It’s an activity I recently tried in the tiny portside of Donsol, Sorsogon, where visitors with a few thousand pesos can still rent a boat and head out to the feeding waters of the majestic whale shark, known locally as butanding. Very few places in the world offer the chance to do this strange and wonderful thing.
The butanding are massive – anywhere from 15 to 30 feet long – but for the most part, they’re harmless, oblivious to the tourist attention surrounding them. The largest fish in the world, whale sharks lack the multiple rows of teeth that mark others of their species; instead, their huge gaping mouths simply vacuum up massive servings of floating plankton and other nutrients near the ocean’s surface. They travel in loose schools, like cows grazing in quiet bemusement. They’re that peaceful, that gentle.
But not without a certain danger factor, of course. Because basically, you could be gummed to death if you get too near a whale shark’s feeding path. Even more tricky is the tail: it tends to swish back and forth in wide, lazy sweeps, like a friendly wrecking ball. You’ve probably seen whale sharks before if you caught Jackass: The Movie. The Jackass guys were well aware of the dangers involved when they packed their underwear with live shrimp and dove into the waters off Okinawa, dry-humping their way up to a group of whale sharks. They were paid to do this, but something tells me it’s something their weird-wired brains would have attempted even without monetary incentive.
Most tourists don’t have an unnatural desire to feed their genitals to butanding, thankfully. They just want to get close, as close as possible, because it’s something like a miracle to be swimming alongside a living creature of such massive proportions. There’s something positively awakening about the experience. It’s a real, live encounter with nature – a natural world that has existed for hundreds of thousands of years without giving a damn about man. It ain’t Animal Planet. And it ain’t Sea World, either.
The engines of your bangka are cut as soon as the butanding are in sight. Geared up in flippers, snorkel and mask, you plop over the side and immediately think about swimming. Fast. A guide is there to grab your arm, to literally haul you toward the quickly moving mass. But you want to do this on your own. You paddle furiously, trying to get clear of the tail, flanking around the whale shark as it floats by. Usually, the butanding won’t even notice you. From five feet away, their faces are gummy, like big feeding babies. Their dorsal areas are vast, speckled with islands of black, while the underbelly is a deep, chalky gray. Touching them is forbidden, of course. But still, their drifting presence exerts a strange fascination: it’s like watching all those submarine battle epics you saw on TV as a kid.
There are strict rules of conduct posted at the Donsol Tourism Center for your close encounter with the butanding. They include:
1) Do not touch or ride the whale shark.
2) Do not restrict the movement of the whale shark.
3) Maintain a distance of three meters from the head or body, and four meters from the tail.
4) Do not use flash photography.
Side by side with the shark, the swimming goes on as long as you can keep up – sometimes only a minute, sometimes up to five or more. Then the butanding seem to tire of being a spectacle and simply swish off, developing sudden speed to match their incredible size.
It wasn’t always easy to keep pace with the butanding, but we were lucky. Our group was able to locate five whale sharks within the space of an hour. Some groups putter around for half the day without ever getting near them. It’s not that they’re elusive on purpose; they simply go where the plankton is. And they don’t leave a trail of fish crumbs in their wake. Actually, I found out Donsol’s southern tip is ideal for shark watching because there’s a lot of upwelling. Usually, the ocean waters chug along at a good clip, pushing tons of plankton and other fish snacks along below the surface like an automated sushi line. But in the shallow mouth of the Donsol River, the waters are forced upward (this is called upwelling) and the whale sharks find it a very handy place to get fed.
Local fisherfolk discovered there was a whale shark buffet in their waters only six years ago. Since then, there have been ongoing battles to protect the butanding, while at the same time promoting responsible tourism. A few high-profile shark poachings (Taiwanese poachers sell them for shark fin soup and use the whale shark blubber for a delicacy known as "fish tofu") got the attention of the BFAR, and now an official tourist center exists at Donsol, with instructional videos and local guides. But still, the tourist traffic can get pretty heavy on the weekends, so try renting a boat on the off-days, such as during the week.
Afterward, the typical tourist will want to pose for a few pictures in front of the large plaster butanding on display near the beach. There, you can also do the mandatory "Help, a whale shark has got my balls!" photo, if, like myself, you have a sense of humor but absolutely no sense of shame.
For more information, visit www.tourism.gov.ph/wow/watch_our_whales/asp.
The butanding are massive – anywhere from 15 to 30 feet long – but for the most part, they’re harmless, oblivious to the tourist attention surrounding them. The largest fish in the world, whale sharks lack the multiple rows of teeth that mark others of their species; instead, their huge gaping mouths simply vacuum up massive servings of floating plankton and other nutrients near the ocean’s surface. They travel in loose schools, like cows grazing in quiet bemusement. They’re that peaceful, that gentle.
But not without a certain danger factor, of course. Because basically, you could be gummed to death if you get too near a whale shark’s feeding path. Even more tricky is the tail: it tends to swish back and forth in wide, lazy sweeps, like a friendly wrecking ball. You’ve probably seen whale sharks before if you caught Jackass: The Movie. The Jackass guys were well aware of the dangers involved when they packed their underwear with live shrimp and dove into the waters off Okinawa, dry-humping their way up to a group of whale sharks. They were paid to do this, but something tells me it’s something their weird-wired brains would have attempted even without monetary incentive.
Most tourists don’t have an unnatural desire to feed their genitals to butanding, thankfully. They just want to get close, as close as possible, because it’s something like a miracle to be swimming alongside a living creature of such massive proportions. There’s something positively awakening about the experience. It’s a real, live encounter with nature – a natural world that has existed for hundreds of thousands of years without giving a damn about man. It ain’t Animal Planet. And it ain’t Sea World, either.
The engines of your bangka are cut as soon as the butanding are in sight. Geared up in flippers, snorkel and mask, you plop over the side and immediately think about swimming. Fast. A guide is there to grab your arm, to literally haul you toward the quickly moving mass. But you want to do this on your own. You paddle furiously, trying to get clear of the tail, flanking around the whale shark as it floats by. Usually, the butanding won’t even notice you. From five feet away, their faces are gummy, like big feeding babies. Their dorsal areas are vast, speckled with islands of black, while the underbelly is a deep, chalky gray. Touching them is forbidden, of course. But still, their drifting presence exerts a strange fascination: it’s like watching all those submarine battle epics you saw on TV as a kid.
There are strict rules of conduct posted at the Donsol Tourism Center for your close encounter with the butanding. They include:
1) Do not touch or ride the whale shark.
2) Do not restrict the movement of the whale shark.
3) Maintain a distance of three meters from the head or body, and four meters from the tail.
4) Do not use flash photography.
Side by side with the shark, the swimming goes on as long as you can keep up – sometimes only a minute, sometimes up to five or more. Then the butanding seem to tire of being a spectacle and simply swish off, developing sudden speed to match their incredible size.
It wasn’t always easy to keep pace with the butanding, but we were lucky. Our group was able to locate five whale sharks within the space of an hour. Some groups putter around for half the day without ever getting near them. It’s not that they’re elusive on purpose; they simply go where the plankton is. And they don’t leave a trail of fish crumbs in their wake. Actually, I found out Donsol’s southern tip is ideal for shark watching because there’s a lot of upwelling. Usually, the ocean waters chug along at a good clip, pushing tons of plankton and other fish snacks along below the surface like an automated sushi line. But in the shallow mouth of the Donsol River, the waters are forced upward (this is called upwelling) and the whale sharks find it a very handy place to get fed.
Local fisherfolk discovered there was a whale shark buffet in their waters only six years ago. Since then, there have been ongoing battles to protect the butanding, while at the same time promoting responsible tourism. A few high-profile shark poachings (Taiwanese poachers sell them for shark fin soup and use the whale shark blubber for a delicacy known as "fish tofu") got the attention of the BFAR, and now an official tourist center exists at Donsol, with instructional videos and local guides. But still, the tourist traffic can get pretty heavy on the weekends, so try renting a boat on the off-days, such as during the week.
Afterward, the typical tourist will want to pose for a few pictures in front of the large plaster butanding on display near the beach. There, you can also do the mandatory "Help, a whale shark has got my balls!" photo, if, like myself, you have a sense of humor but absolutely no sense of shame.
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