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Demian Chapman and Kevin Feldheim work together at the tagging table to measure a large lemon shark.
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Under the glare of flood lights, a P.I.T. tag is carefully injected under the dorsal fin of a juvenile lemon shark.
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After a long night of running back and forth from nets to the tagging table, these sandy feet curled up under a beach blanket for a little rest.
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Learn more about the sleek predator at the focus of Dr. Gruber's research efforts...
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Tim Calver is an accomplished underwater wildlife photographer and a veteran shark researcher in his own right. Click below to learn more...
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Suddenly, one of those hunched figures stood up and shouted "I got one!", and clearly, he didn't mean another bonefish. Our first shark! The juvenile animal was rushed onshore to the tagging area and placed in our measuring trough. The little lemon shark was seventy-six centimeters long and a pale yellow in color...sleek lines, swept-back tail, large dorsal fin and tiny sharp teeth.
Under the harsh flood lights, researcher Kevin Feldheim went to work. He called out measurements, which were accurately recorded in a data book. Using a small punch, he collected a DNA sample from one of the shark's pectoral fins and placed the sample in preservative. With a thick hypodermic needle, Kevin carefully injected a P.I.T. tag just under the dorsal fin. These rice-grain sized tags are carried by the shark for it's entire life, and the number which the tag generates can be read again and again by our P.I.T. reader. From now on, this shark would have his very own identifying number, and a corresponding set of data. If he is ever caught again, we will know who he is, where he came from, and how much he's grown.
Throughout the procedure the young shark laid still, but occasionally he would arch his body or snap his jaws in distress. As a final step, we attached a tiny acoustical transmitter to the shark's fin. When we released him over the far side of our net, the shark made every effort to leave the scene at top speed.
We started to catch one or two new sharks every ten minutes or so and, of course, lots more bonefish. The falling tide continued to pick up speed as the water level dropped. Sharks still hiding in the shallows swam towards deeper water -- toward us. All of the sudden, sharks were hitting the net constantly. The splashes of their struggles alerted us to each new catch. Before we could get one shark free, another was splashing. For more than an hour, a dozen of us constantly rushed from the net to the work station with two sharks each -- one in each hand!
Kevin and his work-up crew crew could barely keep pace with the captures. Net, measure, sample, tag, release. Over and over and over again. Team members scurried past each other in the dark -- those of us without two handfulls of lemon shark would give quick pats on the back to our shark-laden cohorts.
The captures slowed as the water continued to drop. When the level reached ankle-deep, we pulled our nets and allowed any stragglers free passage. A small school of bonefish could be seen navigating through the remaining water. We could call it a night!
All of our gear is out of the water now, and our crew is wandering around laughing about the operation, thanking each other for jobs well done. This was definitely a successful team effort. It would be nice to head back to the RVSJ for a hot meal and a long sleep. But the same falling tide that helped us catch the sharks has stranded our boats high and dry. We'll have to wait for the tide's return before we can get home. Somewhere out in the dark water, the sharks of Lama lagoon are waiting for the same thing.
All around me, people are spreading tarps and blankets, preparing to catch some sleep on the beach. We had prepared for this possibility--we have picnic food and flashlights and books. It's a lot of fun, really. After all, how often do you get to spend a night on a remote atoll with twenty-seven of your closest friends? This is such a beautiful spot! I brought a book to read, but I am going to finish these notes and just turn off my light...listen to the bird calls...watch the Southern Cross slowly spinning overhead.
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