A Remote Island, a Shark Conspiracy and the Ever-Watchful Bread

It was not until we had dipped in the cool waves two or three times that we began to hear the rumours of sharks. At first, one 12-foot mako shark had been spotted in Rupert Bay, one headland over from Jamestown. The next day, this had become two mako sharks, one 12-feet and the other 14, and they had now been spotted from fishing boats and from the wharf itself in both Rupert and James bays.

These sightings did, naturally, make us freshly nervous of the water. Though we reassured ourselves that mako sharks generally prefer fast swimming prey, such as mackerel and St Helena had never before seen an attack, this was not enough to completely quiet our new fears. Over the following day, we questioned as many people as possible, asking their views on whether the public’s concern was genuine or not and heard many stories on both sides.

Eventually, the picture that we gleaned and decided to take on board was that the sharks, if seen at all, had not been seen since before we arrived on island. We therefore decided to try and not let this sap our enthusiasm and reinstated our daily visits to the wharf steps.

Alas, the next few days brought rough weather and the water in our safe cove was covered in white foam, from the huge swell. The waves even washed onto the wharf and around our feet as we stood hopefully looking out, rationalising that it surely couldn’t be too dangerous. We weren’t convinced though, and so we had three full days without being able experience the bliss of the sea.

One of the days we, with Bread in tow, walked around the headland to Rupert’s Bay in the hope that things would be calmer there, and we could swim, but to no avail. The walk was short and not too challenging so we set out thinking we would walk both there and back. We assumed the hotel staff were exaggerating about the cliffside path and felt confident we could brave it twice. We couldn’t have been much more wrong.

In places, many places, the path, made up of loose stones, was less than two feet wide. Just by looking at the placement of our feet we could see the rocks and crashing waves far below. We managed to get round without falling, but not without feeling sufficiently queasy to prevent us from ever attempting the route again. Therefore, once our swimming ambitions had also been dashed by the swell, we summoned a ferry for our return.

We were eventually able to return to the water. The first time we discovered it was now calm enough was at midnight on a night our colleagues had tried and failed to entice us to visit the local nightlife. Instead, we decided to try a dip in the dark…

A patch of water close to the wharf steps was lit with flood lights, which from the shore we thought was a good thing and then, once actually in the water, we immediately started wondering whether it might not actually attract the sharks. Our fears on this point escalated to such a level that we only managed to stay in for about a minute before we ascended the ladder again, fully panicked.

The second time we attempted to swim in the dark, we brought lookouts with us. I am sure we knew deep down that if our fears were realised and a shark really did arrive, there was very little our friends ashore would be able to do, but their moral support worked wonders anyway. We succeeded in spending fully ten minutes in the water this time, before we were driven out again, this time by the cold.

We thought this was our last swim, as the following morning, the weekly flight was due. In the early hours of the morning, before finally sleeping, Bread was returned to his place, folded in my suitcase, his contents still wet and stowed in hand luggage.

Our planned departure, however, was not to be. That morning at breakfast the news trickled through from various members of the community that the plane had not taken off from Johannesburg due to low cloud cover over the island and would be delayed for at least two days. The following morning, the news came that it was now rescheduled for the third day.

We were thrilled. Our work now complete, we had been gifted three days to explore and enjoy our surroundings in full. We completed a post box walk to the Heart-Shaped Waterfall to sign the visitors’ book and collect a stamp, bought souvenirs, and even applied for a local driving licence.

Our final swim on our last morning was the most triumphant of all. We had been psyching ourselves up for something more daring on each visit and today, we decided, was the day to push ourselves out of our comfort zone, fear of sharks notwithstanding.

Under Bread’s able and calm supervision, we swam out of our cove, under the mooring ropes for the boats bobbing in the bay and around the harbour wall. As soon as we rounded the corner, in the face of the openness of the water on one side, and the potential of being dashed on the rocks on the other, the hope of completing our expedition in a fully dignified manner faded.

Our barely contained and mostly irrational fears quickly resurfaced. The idea of touching the ropes, though clearly visible and harmless, suddenly became abhorrent, and, of course, we were much more vulnerable to sharks out there. We pushed forth regardless, however, intrepid as we were, and successfully completed our mission of reaching the next set of steps and returning whence we came. Thankfully, and somewhat illogically, our fears dissipated again upon our return, and we were able to continue exploring and watching the fish until we could put off our journey to the airport no longer.

Less than two hours later, as the plane touched down after its unusual 10-day absence, Bread safely packed once more, I realised I was reluctant to leave. Our time in St Helena had ended: suddenly, sadly and without ceremony.

What will Bread get up to next? New adventures coming soon – stay tuned!