South Africa is renowned among divers and underwater photographers for its sardine run. Much has been written about this phenomenon and many film documentaries have covered it. What follows is one of my experiences on one of the annual runs.
Seascape on the sardine run
Each year, sometimes in late-May but always in June, great shoals of Sardinops sagax (more commonly known as the sardine) drive relentlessly northwards up the Kwa-Zulu Natal coast from their home range in the deep waters of the south-eastern and south-western coasts. Supposedly driven ashore by predatory game-fish and maybe even by cold currents welling-up from deeper waters, they drive inexplicably northwards creating a natural spectacle similar in magnitude and intensity to the annual migration of wildebeest and zebra that cross the Serengeti. Like that migration, predators feast on the banquet of stock presented, and like that migration, the effect on the observer is profound.
Such a spectacle cannot be observed without touching the soul, leaving the observer with a feeling of awe and wonderment and a lasting sense of insignificance. How and why these frail animals feel the need to leave the relative safety of their home waters to create a smorgasbord of engorgement and chaos remains a mystery. How the predators know about this phenomenon is equally puzzling. These animals have no calendars, no time-pieces by which to judge the passing of time, yet each year at roughly the same time this madness, this spectacle, this real-life “food chain” happens. And, in June of 2000, for a brief period of four days, I was there….
It seemed like something I just had to do, go on the “sardine run; that is. I’d heard so many stories about this natural phenomenon from Mark Addison and Peter Pinnock that it had become almost an obsession for me. Stories of dolphin and shark “smashing” with open mouths into “bait-balls” of sardines, of scuba diving into the great shoals and how when the shoal passes over the diver the sun is blocked out and it becomes as if it were a night dive. It all seemed so exciting and manic, and these guys – Mark and Peter – worked hard at their Hemingway-esque image. I knew that it was something I’d just have to see and do for myself – to remove myself briefly from my daily routine, to break out and be an adventurer for a spell.
humpback whale, sardine run
I should have guessed that there was more to this “run” than adventure and frenetic feeding when Peter showed me his underwater photographs. His photographs showed thousands of little fish, squashed into the frame; there were no shark or dolphin crashing and trashing amid blood boiling sea water, just placid and calm fish set against beautiful deep blue sea water. Naively, I glanced at his photographs and made my plans. This was to be an “old man and the sea”, rolled up with Moby dick and Captain Ahab, adventure and it was to be mine.
We were assigned a boat skippered by Reon Probert. We the crew, were, myself, Gary (my brother-in-law), Anton (the dentist) and his wife and wife’s friend, and Tom and his wife. We were to be the tourists on this particular adventure. The remaining boats were assigned to various documentary film crews – hardened individuals that traveled the world filming underwater documentary footage for television. These guys had seen it all – they’d dived with Great White Sharks, filmed Orca hunting seals, shot footage of Humpback Whales; why, one of them even worked for Jacques Cousteau for a spell. They had this air about them; they were macho, they were strong and they were afraid of NOTHING! Their equipment was intimidating – these guys were legendary.
Tom was another story indeed. He’d made his money investing in stocks on various exchanges and was now touring Africa – searching for adventure. His tog bags were packed with cameras – several Nikons and a single Nikonos – and a collection of lenses. This boy was ready for anything nature wanted to throw at him. Trouble was, he spent so much time vacillating on which camera and lens to use that he never managed to get any action shots worth talking about. And, in annoying fashion, he went on, and on, and on…. about nothing in particular, and how brilliant he was. His girlfriend seemed long-suffering – she gave the air of a woman resigned to her fate – and tolerated his behavior and over-bearing mannerisms, almost apologetic at times.
We were instructed to stay away from the film boats during the day – couldn’t have us disturbing their shoot or getting in the way could we! Thankfully Reon has been on and around the sea for more years than he cares to count and he guided us around the fringe of activity for the four days I was there.
Reon idled the boat up the Mkambathi river and I cracked open a beer. The river flowed gently seawards as we idled upstream. The beer was warm but refreshing. Over time, the river had cut through rock and stone to create the massive walls that loomed overhead and alongside us. Palms and streletzias had populated the ledges and cracks on the walls. I tried to replay the day in my head but the conversation around me interfered. The chatter from my fellow divers was incessant – and rightly so, I suppose. We’d traveled some 45 kilometres south from Port Edward by boat. We’d had a following wind and therefore had made good time. The sea was full of life throughout our trip. We’d come across massive pods of dolphin working the shoreline and huge rafts of gannets resting on the water. The birds were fat and lethargic, reluctantly taking to the wing if we got too close. On several occasions, we sighted the blow of whales but each time as we’d got close they sounded and disappeared. We’d been told that two days prior several “pilot” schools of sardine had passed through. The dolphin and birds had feasted and seemed to be resting up, waiting for the next shoal to work northwards.
humpback whale
After unloading the boat at Mkambathi, and settling ourselves in we persuaded Reon to launch and investigate a small spot of activity some one and a half kilometres off-shore. As we approached the activity we could clearly see the gannets diving into the sea while dolphin worked frantically up and down a two-hundred to three-hundred metre range. Occasionally, several dolphin would speed up to our boat and then veer off back to the “hot spot”. We were totally taken with the wheeling, diving birds and the speeding, jumping dolphin. The wind was pumping from the north forcing the swells to rise and gain momentum. Spray from the wind and swells occasionally drenched us. Then it all happened……
Gary said quietly; “what’s that?” Anton shouted “Orca” and I dived for my camera. There they were – four Orca; three adults and a baby. This was unbelievable – Orca don’t come this far north! We followed them for at least twenty minutes. Occasionally, they buzzed our boat – they seemed at times aggressive and we’re sure it was because of the baby; and it really was a baby. It was so clearly different in size to the six metre adults. Twice, one of the adults rushed our boat, veering off at the last second. There’s no doubt who would have won had they decided on a close encounter. I remember feeling exhilaration, fear and awe all at once. How lucky and privileged we were to have an encounter like this. The last time Orca were spotted this far north was 1995 and that was considered a rare sighting. It’s so hard to express those moments, the gannet and dolphin activity was forgotten. Our focus was the whales. We wanted to scream and shout with joy, but rather we had to contain ourselves lest we anger or irritate them. Some twenty minutes later, we collectively felt our luck was up. The Orca had begun to tail-slap the water and one adult had rushed us with a determined manoeuvre. We backed off and left them to their routine.
As I sit here writing this I still cannot find the words to express the encounter. I can still hear their breathing as they surfaced, see them as they moved through the water and feel my fear as they rushed the boat….. think I’ll be back next year again.
[...] The Sardine run [...]