Conquering the great white fear

Something scary is lurking in my mind.

The (not tooth-proof) waka moored at Kohukohu, on the Hokianga Harbour

Something's been bugging me for most of this year. I've managed to suppress and ignore it for many months, but it lurks in the background of my psyche. It's always there.

You see, committing to take my raft from the top of the country to the bottom, following a blue road of rivers, lakes and harbours, is a journey into the unknown. And there's one massive part of this unknown that scares the wits out of me.

Allow me, in one paragraph, to summarise what that is.

Sharks.

In particular, it's the known great white breeding ground the Kaipara Harbour that has me reaching for the map to double check there's no better (water)way. At 947 square kilometres, Wikipedia says it’s one of the largest harbours in the world. It also happens to present the perfect route south into Auckland.

In her wonderful book ‘Finding Solo’, Kayak Adventurer Lynn Paterson tells of a close encounter while passing the Kaipara Entrance. “A large dark shape of a shark appeared and the tip of the fin veered away” - a message which has replayed in my head ever since I first read it. Lynn circumnavigated NZ by kayak and that was the only shark mention I can recall.

Then, each summer, Kiwi news media shrieks of an increase in shark sightings at popular beach and fishing spots. The most recent hot season featured the story of a great white nicking catch from a fishing line, off the back of somebody's boat. Of course, this was on the Kaipara. Later in the season, a shark attacked a researcher’s camera gear on the underside of his boat, dragging them for several metres, before eventually letting go.

And I want to go out there, in a tiny inflatable boat. One where the floor is thin shred of plastic fabric.

Indeed, news items tend to feature the exception, rather than the rule. Plane crashes make far better stories than plane landings; fights are usually more interesting than kites; and shark attacks happen more often than they don’t.

The fear of being forced to face off with one of the ocean’s greatest predators, as I slowly plod across this monster harbour, has led to a wealth of imagined scenarios. Internet forum advice for inflatable kayakers swings between ‘don’t go where there are sharks’ and ‘standby to bop the attacker on the nose with your paddle’.

In a brief chat with ‘Shark Man’ Dr Riley Elliot last year (off-air, following an appearance on The AM Show), he confirmed the Kaipara’s status as a prolific breeding ground for the great white. He also told me that shark attacks on kayaks are extremely rare - a statistic backed up by sharkattackdata.com (despite apparently giving up its record-keeping after 2014). Full disclosure: I didn’t tell him I was going in an inflatable packraft.

Despite this comforting expert advice, I’ve changed my route intentions more times than I’ve changed a fiver. I’ve looked at the upper estuaries and the potential for carving across them, I’ve contemplated the same in the main harbour and I’ve also looked at running straight down the Northern Wairoa and gapping it across to South Head - à la Manukau. All options have merit. Staying near to land offers me a fighting chance of reaching safety in the event of a bite-induced hull rip; the greater volume of water in the deep decreases the likelihood of encountering anything dangerous in the first place. If hugging the western banks, the longest deep water crossing looks to be about 6km. The waka and I have been continually at sea for far greater distances on this journey.

While soul-searching on this topic, I recently had a chat with Cycle Adventurer Steve Chunn. This Cantabrian once undertook a daring cycle from Cape Town to Cairo, passing through the national parks, among the elephants, lions, cheetahs and vultures. He knows a bit about fear and fear vs risk, so I mentioned my unease about the Kaipara to him. His response was plain and simple (and partly unrepeatable!): “F**k it. You only live once, man. Are you going to have a crash in a car or get attacked by a great white? Which do you think would happen first?”

“If you don’t do it: regret. That word there is horrible. No regrets! Because, if you don’t do it, you’ll look back: ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’. F**k you, ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’. I’m not the ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ kind. Are you? NO!” I threw out the suggestion that I might detour and walk State Highway 16 instead, but he was pointed: “Nah! That would probably be more dangerous!”

As cavalier as Steve’s response sounds, he did cut risk on his own adventure by cycling in the heat of the day, when most lions were soundly napping. With the big cats asleep, vultures were the biggest risk, with one notable encounter ending with a frightening stare-down. He lived to tell the tale. His words brought me a sense of calm. I was reminded why I do these things.

Fear is really only a set of personal chemical reactions that warn of potential danger. It’s not a dictation of the future to come. To even reach the Kaipara, I’ve had to paddle Houhora Harbour, cross Rangaunu and travel down the Hokianga. Not to mention the harbours I paddled last season! Add to those a traverse of Northland’s highest peak, Te Raupua (only 781 metres, but still!), and the risks are mounting up. Anything could go wrong before I even land at the big one.

The fact is, sharks live everywhere. The ocean is their manor. I'm going into their gaff, so I bear some risk. As Kiwi boaties will know, those risks aren't limited to the wildlife. Any number of things can go wrong on the water. I know that and I knew it when I signed up. It's the cost of doing business with the outdoors. Do business well and you'll be rewarded with next-level nature and super scenery.

Sadly, even the business world has sharks in it, so I'll move away from that metaphor now. With more than 1000km of this expedition travelled so far, I think I've proven my credentials. I'll continue to manage the risks and paddle carefully. Just like in all of life, really. Also: NO REGRETS!