*Bull Shark off Playa Del Carmen, MX. 1/320, f10, ISO 1000*

It was my very first ocean dive. I was in Cozumel, Mexico, drifting clumsily over the reef, still overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it all—the colors, the movement, the vastness. I was a new diver, wide-eyed and breathing way too fast, trying to take it all in.

Then my divemaster pointed down.
And there it was.

A bull shark, cruising calmly near the bottom.

I was flooded with emotion—awe, fear, curiosity, all mixed together. Part of me wanted to swim toward it, to see it closer. Another part of me wanted to turn and get out of the water as fast as I could.

All I knew about sharks at that time was what I had learned from movies and the media: that sometimes, they eat people.

*Lemon Shark getting it’s teeth cleaned off Tiger Beach, Bahamas, i/320, f9, ISO 800*

Shortly after that moment, my tank ran low—a classic rookie mistake. I was breathing too hard, too fast. And instead of surfacing with me, my dive master sent me up alone.

Such a terrible thing to do with a new diver.

*Blue Shark off Cabo San Lucas, MX. 1/320, f9, ISO 1000*

I’ll never forget floating there on the open surface, alone, terrified, staring down into the deep blue, knowing there was a shark somewhere below me. I had no idea where the boat was.

It took a while for the boat to find me, or at least it felt like it took a while.

The boat eventually found me. As I sat there catching my breath, my mind was racing.

Why didn’t the shark come after us?
Why didn’t it rise up and eat me?
Why? Why? Why?

*Oceanic Whitetip off Dominica Island, Caribbean. 1/320, f9, ISO 1250*

And that was it.
That moment, that one encounter… it changed everything.

Because everything I thought I knew about sharks was wrong.

And I needed to know more.

That single dive—over 26 years ago—sent me on a path that I’m still walking today. I’ve spent decades diving with sharks around the world, and I’m still asking questions.

*Caribbean Reef Sharks off Tiger Beach Bahamas. 1/320, f9, ISO 500*

Because the more I know, the more I realize how little I know.

And that’s what I love most about these animals.

They keep me curious, they keep me humble… and they keep me coming back for more.

Emma the tiger shark gut checking me. Thankfully I safely pulled out my arm in time.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.

The hiding.

In the shark diving world—especially among those of us who work with and feed sharks—there’s something we rarely talk about publicly. Something we keep to ourselves, behind the curtain. It’s what you might call the dirty little secret of our industry:

Shark Feeders getting bitten.

We don’t talk about it in public. We don’t post about it (other than this blog post). We don’t share it with guests. It’s only discussed among ourselves—quietly, or with dark humor. We laugh about it. We call each other out when someone really screws up. We give tight hugs when we know one of us dodged a bullet.

It’s the game within the game.

Now that my son David is deep into this world, it weighs even heavier on my mind. I keep asking myself—why do we hide it? Is it really about protecting the shark diving industry? People aren’t going to stop diving with sharks because they hear someone got nicked. If anything, it probably fuels curiosity.

Shark divers are definitely wired a little differently.

*David working with a tiger shark at Tiger Beach, Bahamas.*

But we tell ourselves it’s about protecting the sharks’ reputation. We don’t want these bites added to shark attack databases that the media loves to quote. We don’t want certain so-called "shark experts" (yes, I’m thinking of someone specific) using those stats to stoke fear and misrepresent the animals we love so much.

Every time I’m in the water with sharks, I feel like they’re teaching me something. If I’ve been bitten—and yes, I have—it’s because I was a slow learner.

One of my personal teaching experiences from a reef shark back in 2010.

In my 16-year career, after thousands of feeding dives with tigers, lemons, and other species, I’ve been bitten four times. All superficial thankfully. Nothing serious. I wear those scars like reminders for being a slow learner.

I’m grateful to have spent so much of my life with these animals. Grateful that I’ve made it this far. Grateful to be just good enough to still be here.

So why do we keep it quiet?

Because we love sharks.
Because when we get bitten, we know it’s our fault.
Because we don't want anyone blaming the shark for a mistake that was human.
Because when you work with animals—even dogs—you eventually get bitten.
And when you work with sharks, the risk is simply part of the deal.

David learning hard lessons of his own with a great hammerhead off Bimini, Bahamas.

It’s always been a game of—It’s not if... it’s when.

And that’s how it will always be.

So the next time a shark feeder gets bit, expect to hear NOTHING about it. Not on the news. Not on social. Not even in a blog post.

Because, well...
It’s still our dirty little secret.

Thanks for reading.
To my fellow feeders and dive family… stay safe, stay sharp, and love you guys.

🦈 The Shark That Changed Everything

Shark Diving's Dirty Little Secret