Fresh Bait

I love a good dramatic run into the ocean, Pam-Anderson-Baywatch style. But ever since I watched “Jaws,” I swim out into the ocean and immediately begin to visualize my own legs dangling around beneath the surface, fresh bait for the lurking Great Whites. I never really saw myself as a person who would thrive off aquatic adventures. But wonders never cease.

B ackpacking the East Coast of Australia, I've really been forced to confront these fears, mostly because my fears of missing out, or rather of being a big wuss proved paramount. I mean, if little girls are able to strap on massive oxygen tanks and descend to the depths of the ocean floor, surely I can put on some goggles and watch from above, so I decided to begin with snorkeling.

On the taxi boat on the way out to the great barrier reef, the dive instructor James (Puk) Pukalowski went from person to person on the boat, reviewing everyone’s medical history and answering peoples general questions. Obviously the first thing I asked was if there were sharks.

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