When Jaws Wasn’t a Movie, It Was My Reality...Close Encounters.

Commemorating 50 Years of Fear, Survival, and Facing the Deep.

Fifty Years Since the Fin Broke the Surface

Fifty years ago, a mechanical shark named “Bruce” breached the surface of cinema and embedded itself into the psyche of the world. Jaws wasn’t just a movie; it was a movement. Spielberg tapped into something primal. After Jaws, every ripple in the ocean whispered danger. Fear had a soundtrack. Summer had a shadow.

But for me, Jaws wasn’t just a film.

It was a mirror.

It showed me what I would one day have to survive, not in a movie theater, but in real water, with real sharks and real trauma.

The Submarine at False Bay, Simonstown;

The first story began innocently enough. A group of us, tough military buddies, hit the local theater to catch the new movie everyone was raving about. Jaws. We laughed. We jumped. We left the theater joking about how we’d never swim again.

One week later, we started Navy Diver School in Simonstown, South Africa.

And that joke wasn’t so funny anymore.

On day one, as we received our gear and stood in roll call, the instructors gathered us and pointed out toward False Bay. “Gentlemen,” they said, “that’s where The Submarine lives.”

They weren’t joking. The Submarine was a 25-foot female great white shark. She was a well-known and feared figure in the local community. She lived on Cape fur seals and penguins, which were plentiful in False Bay!

I could feel the air in my lungs disappear. We had just seen the movie, and now it was reality. I wanted out.

We received instructions to wake up for our first ocean swim at 3:00 AM the following morning.

The water was cold and pitch black. We had to swim nearly a mile out of the harbor into open water. The instructors followed in small Gemini boats, slapping paddles on the surface to scare away any curious sharks.

But I didn’t hear the paddles.

All I heard was that four-note theme: duh-dum... duh-dum... duh-dum... duh-dum...

I swam in the dead center of the group, surrounded by others. If anything emerged from the depths, I desired for someone else to be nearer the edge. That’s just survival instinct.

But here’s what I discovered: I was terrified of the cold water, the dark, and tight spaces.

That was three strikes for a Navy diver.

I realized if I didn’t face my fear, it would disqualify me. I would have to ring the bell and go home.

Instead, I decided.

Every night, I would enter the shower block, switch off the lights, stand in the gloomy cubicle, and allow the frigid water to cascade over me. I trained my breath. I trained my body not to panic. I taught myself to maintain composure and remain calm despite the overwhelming urge to flee.

That personal ritual broke the fear. I regained my command. Three months later, I earned the title of Qualified Navy Diver.

False Bay Kelp Forest: Eye to Eye with the Beast.

Years later, I was diving for crayfish at False Bay Kelp Forest. The water was full of thick kelp and hidden rocks. It was a diver’s dream, crayfish everywhere.

I had a whole bag. I was ready to ascend when it happened.

WHAM, something hit me. Hard. A powerful force pushed me aside.

I opened my eyes underwater... and there it was.

It was just inches away.

A massive eye. Gills. A powerful tail sweeps away into the depths.

It was a great white shark.

It didn’t bite me. It bumped me. Inspected me. It was a warning, a test.

I instinctively dropped into the kelp, camouflaged myself, and crawled along the sea floor like a silent shadow until I reached the shore.

When I turned back, I saw her fin slicing the water’s surface; she had been looking for me.

Clifton 4th Beach: Blood in the Water

However, the event that haunts me the most occurred on November 27th, 1976, a week after my 19th birthday.

It was a Saturday at Clifton 4th Beach, where my friends and I, submariners in training, were out for the day, swimming and soaking up the sun. There were a few yachts anchored offshore. A group of girls waved us over, about 200 meters out.

We dove in.

Midway through, one of our guys began thrashing. Initially, we believed he was joking.

The scream caught our attention.

A great white erupted from beneath and snatched him mid-swim. The shark shook him violently, blood exploding across the surface. His cries cut through the air. Then silence.

We swam toward him. Somehow, he was still alive. Barely. We carried him back to shore, and a helicopter flew him to the hospital.

Despite the severe damage to his torso, he managed to survive, and we even gave him a new name. “SHARK BAIT”

Now here's the ironic part: when the attack happened, we had cooler bags full of beer strapped to our backs. In the chaos, we dropped everything to save our brother.

Later, standing on the beach, one of us said, “Where are the beers?”

We looked at each other... and swam back through the blood-slick surface to retrieve the coolers. The experience was filled with trauma and absurdity.

Jaws Was More Than a Movie

So when people today talk about Jaws turning 50... I pause.

For me, Jaws was more than just an exceptional movie.

It was real life.
It was the sea.
The terror came from waiting in the dark, unsure of what lay beneath.

I lived it. I encountered it.

It took me years to face the PTSD from those encounters.

Fear clings like saltwater in your soul. But I learned something more profound in those years:

You don’t become brave because you never feared.

You become brave because you stared fear in the face and kept swimming.

Reach out to me if you are in a battle with PTSD or C-PTSD, as well as dealing with triggers and trauma!
https://soundthetrumpet.org/are-you-drowning

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