A Must-Do at Ningaloo

Giant of the fish world safe and relaxed on Ningaloo Reef, September 2013

What’s it like to swim with whalesharks? 

“A little intimidating” is how a friend described it when he recently returned from Western Australia, where the opportunity had been offered as part of his business trip.

“Why?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“They’re just so darn big,” my friend said.

Well, yes, that’s true. Whalesharks are the largest fish on the planet, growing to a whopping 12 metres in some places. But that’s diminutive compared to, say, a plain old whale, which is the animal I’ve always imagined getting in the ocean with. (Not that I’ve actively sought such an encounter, but should the moment ever present itself.)

A few months later, I find myself at the same remote peninsula my friend had ventured to on his junket to Ningaloo. I’ll try not to get overly excited and sidetracked with descriptions of this incredible, pristine place, but here are the basics: a 300-kilometre-long fringing reef, surf pounding on its outer edge, dotted with turquoise lagoons just steps from the shore that support an abundance of tropical coral, fish, clams, crab, eels, oysters, urchins and sea slugs — and that’s what I saw on just my first snorkel (at Oyster Stacks). By the second, add turtle and shark. 

Assuming you book in advance or venture here outside peak season, you’ll probably spend a night or two (or up to 28!) in adjacent Cape Range National Park. As I write, we’re camped with just four other vehicles at North Mandu. The beach is a legal and literal sanctuary, covered in deep layers of remarkable rocks, shells and coral, none of which are ours for the taking. We fall asleep to the comforting sound that comes when situated where the earth meets the sea. Our closest neighbours are two nesting osprey who have built their stately roost right on the rocky beach. They guard it with a devotion that compels us to keep a respectful distance, despite our curiosity.

An osprey guards his nest on the rocky shore of Cape Range National Park

Campsites are limited and very basic here. You must bring all your own supplies, including water. However, eco-friendly bush loos — the cleanest I’ve seen (or smelled!) — are provided. It seems like the Western Australian government is doing almost everything right by Ningaloo. (I’ve noticed a couple of oil platforms on the horizon, though, a fact that seems to contradict attempts to minimise human impact on a sensitive and rare ancient reef.) Anyway, you get the picture. If you’re touring Western Australia, do not miss this place. And be prepared for a long drive. Now, back to the whalesharks.

When we arrived in the small gateway town of Exmouth a few days ago, we didn’t think we’d be seeing any. We knew the sharks, mostly "small" males, tended to descend upon Ningaloo to feed from April to June, then leave. However, we soon heard rumours that a few were still around. Melonie popped into Ningaloo Whaleshark Swim to confirm. Yes, some whalesharks were lingering. (And there are also a few year-round residents, we later learned.) The tour company had two spots remaining for the next day. Did we want them? 

Hell, yes.

By 9 o’clock the next morning, 20 of us had donned wetsuits, fins and snorkels and stepped from the back of a boat just a couple of miles offshore. The crew wanted to check our competency before putting us in the water with a whaleshark. 

The visibility was fair, the current strong, and the swell large enough to wallop you in the back of the head very now and then. We all relaxed and floated along, enjoying the abundant sea life below while our guide occasionally gave us short lectures. The highlight for me was following a green turtle as it went about its business.

Back on the boat, the lead tour guide, Shep, divided us into two groups and briefed us in preparation for swimming with a whaleshark. And then, very suddenly, that’s exactly what we were doing. 

“Go, go, go!” Shep yelled at our group, the first in.

Obediently, we dropped into the ocean and strained our eyes through our masks in the direction the spotter in the water indicated. Within a few short seconds, there she was. 

I say it like that because that’s what it was like. One moment I was peering at dark-blue open ocean with some sun rays streaming through, the next my vision was completely filled with a massive female whaleshark. “Like someone suddenly lifted a curtain,” is how Melonie later aptly described it. Holy shit! is what I remember thinking.

We swam alongside the shark’s mid-body just beyond the required three metres for about two minutes. Then the spotter stopped us so the other group could have its turn. We treaded water. The whaleshark swam on.

A few minutes later, Shep told our group to go again. This time the boat had lined us up with a male. Once in the water, I could see him pass by several metres below us. Our group swam hard to keep up, but the whaleshark wasn’t interested. I watched his characteristic shape disappear with a few sideways movements of his tail.

Out of the water and quickly back in again with the female. She was swimming slowly and very close to the surface now, allowing us to cruise unhurried beside her for more than 20 minutes. Now I had time to notice the ridges that ran along her side and the typical white dots on her grey, sharky skin. The dots lined up in perfect vertical sequences. Several remora caught a ride on her underside. I watched the whaleshark’s long gills flutter in the water like kites in the wind, absorbing oxygen as she glided along. I could sense her relaxation and self-confidence and softened another level myself.

“Go, go, go!” Shep shouted when the boat changed direction a little while later to position us alongside another male. A huge one, I heard someone say. Melonie and I were tired but unwilling to stop. I shoved on my mask, took a deep breath, and stepped again from the back on the boat. Some overhand strokes and there he was, also close to the surface, and at least seven metres long. God, he was a big creature. 

I was swimming calmly alongside when he suddenly changed direction. Now all I could see was a huge, smiling fish mouth coming right at me, and I’m not kidding! Melonie and I got entangled trying to put some distance between us and him. It was futile, of course. If ever there was an opportunity for a whaleshark to frankly, eat us, this was it. But he simply dove below us and drifted away. Gentle giants, indeed.

So we swam with three whalesharks for about an hour in total, a much bigger and longer encounter than I had thought possible. I can understand the anxiety my friend had felt but honestly, I didn’t feel that way myself. I felt fortunate and an even deeper respect for life in the oceans, much of which is in a desperate state thanks to human interference.

I also think the ease of our adventure — hopping in the water perfectly aligned to greet and swim alongside these graceful animals for a time — owes much to the skill and experience of the professional team we signed up with. It clearly involved some impressive coordination between the plane pilot, boat skipper, and his crew. For that, too, I’m very thankful.

A giant clam, just feet from the shore in the pristine waters of Ningaloo