From the journal of Minnow Gray
Farallon Islands, November 1, 1996
We waited for the perfect weather, which in the Farallones during late fall can sometimes take a while. Max brooded all morning and I was picking up his nervous energy, but the sun was out and the water sparkled. It seemed like a risky thing to do in such a small boat (the Boston Whaler here is a mere thirteen feet, smaller than many of the sharks), and it wasn’t well equipped. But that’s one of the things I’ve learned about research—you do whatever it takes with as little as you have and somehow make it work.
We had two long metal poles with the PAT (pop-off archival tag) loosely attached. The second pole was for backup in case we dropped it, or worse. The plan was to harpoon the tag at the base of the dorsal fin and then if all went well, after a certain amount of time—in this case one was set for three months, one for six and another for nine—when the tag pops to the surface, it then will ping data to a satellite that tells us the water temps, the track the shark traveled and how deep it went. They had successfully tagged ten sharks last year, so it should have been no problem, but maybe it was having me on board that made Max uncomfortable. He worries about me more than he should and I find it both endearing and suffocating.
Anyway, I was driving the boat, and once we were ready he tossed the seal decoy over the side. It rarely took long for the sharks to come in for a closer look, and soon there was a flurryof fins. Max stood near the bow, perched like a heron. Before we hit the shark with the tag, he wanted to check its markings to ID it. There were a lot of moving parts and he kept yelling at me to speed up, slow down, go this way or do whatever. The sharks were cautious and circled the boat at a distance, but none went for the seal. Max was growing frustrated and so was I, so I suggested he drive and I take a stab at the tagging.
He has more experience with driving in this kind of scenario than I do. I don’t like the idea of stabbing sharks with sharp objects, but their skin is tough and they are made out of cartilage, so they barely notice it. Eventually Huck Fin (a fifteen-foot male who always seems a little more curious than the others) came close enough to the boat for me to jab him. I had to lean way off the side of the boat to even have a chance of landing the tag. It all happened in slow motion from there.
In my excitement, I lost my balance and went over the side headfirst. Even before I hit the water, Max was grabbing at my foot, which I think made things worse. The icy cold stole my breath and I felt Max trying to drag me up and into the boat all the while yelling and cursing. Out of the side of my eye, I saw a large shape coming toward me, but it was moving slowly and I could tell there was no threat. At least not from that particular shark. I kicked my foot out of Max’s hands, flipped over in the water and pulled myself into the boat with a strength I never knew I had. He was hyperventilating, but I was fine, if not a little shaken up, literally.
Next time I’ll be more careful.
Chapter 16
The Tail
Kahuna: priest, sorcerer, wizard, expert in any profession
There were lights on the water late last night or early in the morning—Minnow couldn’t quite be sure. They could belong to anyone, she knew, since night fishing was a thing, but she wondered what was going on out there. After lying in bed for a while listening to the pulse of the rising sun, she rose and left Woody a note. She half walked, half ran to the Kiawe to get the kayak. The sun had just come up over Mauna Kea, and there was still a chill to the morning air.
As she walked, she stared down at the ground so as not to trip on the shadowed lava rocks. The movement felt somewhat hypnotic, and soon she was lulled into a trance.
There is a metallic, fishy residue in her mouth. She feels buoyant as she swims in the middle of a bait ball, looking for a way out. But it’s hard to tell which way is up through all the fish. Every now and then, she feels herself bump up against something solid and large, and she backs away. But no matter which way she goes, she hits it again.
Then as quickly as it came on, the vision faded and she was back on the lava path. The experience had been like watching a slow-motion, black-and-white movie that she’d had a part in. When she got home later, she would write it down in her journal. Whether memory or dream, she couldn’t be sure. It felt like a memory, only she couldn’t remember ever having it happen. She shook it off and kept walking.
When she crossed over onto resort property, she saw several rental cars parked off to the side of the road just before the entrance. There were men in suits milling about and a guy with a huge camera zeroing in on the Kiawe sign. She pulled down her straw hat and ran the other way, hoping not to encounter any more of them.
On the way to the beach, she passed through the Saltwater Bar, led there by dreams of the mouthwatering mango muffins and hot dark roast coffee. Mr. Sawyer stood off to the side, almost in the bushes, talking to a man in a suit. Sawyer looked tired, and Minnow ducked past them and up to the bar.
George’s eyes lit up when he saw her. “Aloha. You here alone this morning?” He glanced around as though he expected someone else.
“Yes, Woody was still asleep in his hammock.”
“What can I get you?”
“Black coffee and a mango muffin, please.”
“For here or to go?” he asked, eyes then moving to someone behind her. “Actually, you may want it to go.”
Minnow couldn’t help but turn around. The guy who’d been talking to Sawyer was walking right toward her, looking slightly disheveled but also familiar somehow. Wavy brown hair, scrunched brow. Was he a scientist? And then it hit her.
Josh Brown from CNN.
Immediately, she turned her back to him. Why wasn’t he off chasing Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky?
“Yes,to gois a good idea,” she said to George.
A moment later, she sensed a presence next to her, but she refused to look. She was in no way prepared to be on national television, especially in her hipster shorts and halter bikini top. Maybe later but not now.
“My sources tell me you’re someone I should talk to,” he said, smelling of chewing gum.
Minnow ignored him.
“Hello? You are Minnow Gray, aren’t you?”
