Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SATURDAY, July 21, 1990 TAG: 9007230275
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-11 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Two years ago, the morning after we arrived, I saw a long grey shapeless carcass on the beach. At first, I thought it was a large man's leg. Detached from the man, of course. (Yes, I know that's gruesome. But that's the way my overly active imagination works. And I was reading lots of Stephen King at the time.) But I couldn't tell for sure, even with the binoculars, so I hurried down onto the sand to see.
It was a hammerhead shark, four or five feet long, twisted almost in half behind its head, and smelling as bad as you'd expect a shark's carcass to smell after a couple of hours in the sun. I went back to our rented cottage, relieved that I wouldn't have to call the police to report body parts on the beach.
All morning long, as you'd expect, that shark attracted attention. One boy spent nearly an hour sawing out the teeth with a serrated kitchen knife. I know it was unpleasant work - the boy had to stop, over and over, and stagger away to get himself some fresh air - and I haven't the first guess as to why he did it: You can buy clean shark's teeth in any gift shop. But he kept at it.
Lots of people stopped to talk to him, too. Maybe they were asking why he bothered. Maybe they were cheering him on.
After he finished, lots of other little boys poked and prodded the carcass. Little girls squealed and pointed. Finally, a man in a truck came by and covered the body with sand. The boys kept poking the grave as long as they remembered where it was. But in a couple of days, it disappeared.
It isn't unusual to see small shark carcasses on the beach, but that was the first hammerhead I'd seen, and certainly the largest shark. It sparked my interest. So I started reading about sharks. The one book I decided I wouldn't read, however, was "Jaws." I wanted to learn the truth.
A few weeks ago, we were back in Nags Head again. We saw a film at the North Carolina Aquarium entitled "Shark!", which turned out to be a thriller, not a documentary, narrated by and starring Peter Benchley. We learned a great deal about Benchley and not much at all about sharks. Unfortunately, the shark exhibit itself was closed, so we drove on over to the Manteo Bookstore (which is one of the world's great bookstores) and spent a pile of money, partly on books about sharks.
A few days later, I noticed the head of a hammerhead shark on the beach in front of our cottage. It was nearly desiccated by the time I discovered it. A few gulls were still trying to pick it over, but there was nothing left. It didn't even smell so bad. I think this head had been carefully removed from its body, the few remaining flaps of skin appeared to have been cleanly sliced.
There are about 350 species of sharks, ranging in size from a foot to 40 feet long. Sharks inhabit practically every depth and temperature of the ocean and a few freshwater rivers and lakes. The largest sharks eat only plankton; some of the others will, as legends proclaim, eat practically anything. But the danger of shark attack for humans is grossly overestimated. The Shark Research Panel receives reports of about 50 attacks - not deaths - a year worldwide, according to "The Natural History of Sharks" by Thomas H. Lineaweaver III and Richard H. Backus.
(This, by the way, is a fascinating and droll book. Although the authors report this figure, they call it "meaningless" because "Many attacks, particularly those in remote areas, are not reported. Some are not witnessed except by the victim who shortly thereafter may be quite beyond testimony.") The more recently published "Sharks" from Facts on File estimates only from 2,000 to 4,000 attacks on humans over the past 200 years. In 1976 alone, sport and commercial fishermen killed at least 4.5 million sharks.
And shark attack is rarely unprovoked. Some victims have actually been trying to ride the shark that bit them.
I know all this. I know a lot more that makes me respect sharks more than fear them. But still, I was unnerved to see, among the other usual detritus scattered around the desiccated hammerhead, a child's white patent-leather shoe.
by CNB