In the fish umwelt
Entering the lifeworld of the fish creates a necessity to defer to nonhuman modes of being. Does “shoaling”, for example, create safety from predators? Moving in a way which minimises resistance and maximises propulsion, or of moving in a smooth, streamlined and considered way which does not communicate distress or fear, refusing the use of unaquatic movements such as thrashing and kicking. At night, the movement of the ocean is apprehended through the flashing of bioluminescence, indicating the presence of invisible animals and forces. The bioluminescence is visible, yet the animal or plant or tide causing it is not. A human way of seeing must be inverted, seeing movement rather than the cause.
One morning, swimming alone, I found myself above a shark, and followed it along for quite some time, focusing intensely upon its sense of being, on entering its umwelt. Its familiar, lithe, torpedo shaped body swayed hypnotically and rhythmically, its pectoral fins protruding like small arms. I followed it for some time and felt that I had become the shark. My limbs had transformed, my years of training as a competitive swimmer making a new kind of sense, I was overcome suddenly by the sensation of never being able to touch or carry objects, of now requiring an economy of force, an aerodynamic I do not possess. Overwhelmed by the intense sensation of submersion, of disconnection from an airy world, deprived of the power of hands—the experience was terrifying yet connective: the shark became my beloved. Unable to reconceive myself as human, in this instant I fell far short as a shark. I had forgotten to be a person informed by the shark as signifier of other, of predator. I was fused, fluid, powerful; not human.
The popular image of sharks has been traditionally constructed within the narrative of beach as site of masculine hegemony, where females are passive, and victims of drowning. Reality TV shows such as Bondi Rescue promote and affirm this construct. As human, we see ourselves as the natural prey of sharks, and are culturally attuned to fear it. Of Damien Hirst’s The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, which consists of a tiger shark preserved in a vitrine, Luke White says:
“The shark represents wickedness and hidden danger that lurks beneath the surface. It is an image of the sublime as it represents wild nature. Damien Hirst buys into the shark image, exploiting its commercial usage.” (White 2009)
Not all of my many encounters with sharks have been so peaceful. Prior to the amiable encounter just described, one morning before sunrise, I had been swimming alone, beyond the headland in the open wild ocean, preoccupied by the trails flowing from my fingers. Inexplicably, I glanced behind me, into my “blind spot”, where a large Bronze Whaler shark had positioned itself in order to trail me unseen. Effectively placed just below the surface and out of my line of sight, the shark was able to silently gaze upon me. Alone, and far from shore, my unconscious physical response was a kind of shutting down: the hot pricklings of fear which precede shock began to travel from my fingertips up my arms. I began to become numb, anaesthetised. The shark was between myself and the shore, more than four hundred metres away.