There was a good video last week of a Hammerhead shark swimming near a couple from Saline County in the Gulf of Mexico. The guy doing the filming was in one of the many high-rise condos that separate the salt water from highway 98 in Destin; like a mini-Dubai.
The shark was chasing something near the vacationing waders. News reports said the big fish with big teeth was after a Stingray. He, or she I suppose, got pretty close to the unknowing couple, as the guy up in the condo yelled a warning there was a shark nearby. They finally realized it and moved, as quickly as you can through waist-high water, to the safety of the shore. Later, the man said in the interview after the realization sunk in that he was almost eaten, “It was time for a cold one.”
His wife, or girlfriend, grinned while he talked about it. She probably needed a cold one too, I know I would have, probably many.
When we were young, KM went to Destin with some girlfriends. That was back in the pre-condo days, when the only building more than two stories was a round hotel known as the Hawaii Kai. I stayed there in 1976 with my fraternity and a bunch of girls from the Pi Phi house. We had won the trip over other Greeks by raising the most money for the fight against Diabetes. We spent two nights there. It was to have been five but we were asked to move on by the management for being too noisy. The manager claimed he thought we were a group of diabetics coming for a quiet week on the beach.
We left and headed to Panama City, as upset as any 19-year olds hanging out in Florida on their parent’s dime could be.
The Hawaii Kai had a restaurant at the top that slowly revolved, but I never did have a chance to eat there before the eviction notice arrived. A few years later Holiday Inn purchased the property and added to it, but keeping the original building and its novelty top-floor restaurant. About three years ago it finally came down after a new development was planned. My friend Jim Julian and his wife Patti were driving by as the wrecking ball crashed through the glass and concrete.
Anyway, on that trip KM took, another flesh eating fish swam near the shore. She took some pictures with her Kodak, but it’s hard to tell if the head on that one was shaped like a hammer.
There is a thrill, a rush that overcomes you when you get so close to a wild animal. And often, if too close, it makes you want a cold one.
The only other time I came near a Hammerhead was when I took my young son Matt down to the Destin docks to watch the fishermen come in. We were walking by the slips, full of their clean white boats with ice chests full from a good day at sea.
We watched as Mackerel and Snapper and Bonita and Amberjack were taken from the giant coolers and hung on hooks for display. Then we noticed a group circled around something on the dock and moved for a better look. There, laid out, was a seven-foot Hammerhead. His black small eyes on the middle top of his head were open, and blood ran down his slick gray skin, from the bullet holes from the 22 the crew had used on him. We all stared down at him in silent wonder, as his captors stood by, silent as well, sipping on cold ones.
Jay Edwards is editor-in-chief of the Hamilton County Herald and an award-winning columnist.
Contact him at jedwards@dailydata.com