SYDNEY — The curious thing about sharks is that the people who have the most to fear from them — surfers, swimmers, paddlers — fear them least.
I was emerging from the subway at West 72nd Street, a couple of years ago, when my father called to tell me that an eight-foot shark had glided under him as he was catching waves at Manly Beach in Sydney. The adrenaline thinned his voice; it took days for the shock to wear off, but he was back in the water the next day. My older brother has had a great white try to knock him off his board with its tail while surfing on a remote beach in New South Wales. (While terrified at the time, he says he remains “convinced of their majesty” and remains an avid surfer.) The Sydney bay where I swim is often crowded with dozens of timid young sharks that leave when fully grown. They do not bother us.
