60 feet under the water, at the bottom of the sea, my small pod of divers and I were strolling along the ocean floor. We had just exited the reef offshore from Cabo Pulmo, Mexico, and descended deeper to a sandy bottom that was uncomfortably cold and eerily murky. We were about to ascend to the surface when I could almost feel movement behind me. It wasn’t a disturbance in the water, it was more like I just knew something big was there. I turned around and saw the biggest living thing I had ever seen. A bull shark, probably female, just less than 20 feet away, coming straight toward us.
We had been diving now for three days, and this was our second to last day here. After this dive, we’d be certified. I remember thinking how crazy it was that soon I’d be able to dive anywhere in the world.
That morning started early. We dragged ourselves out of bed, grabbed a quick breakfast, and forced ourselves into those brutal 7mm wetsuits. Just getting them on felt like a workout and it drowned all my motivation, temporarily. By the time we got to the beach, which was about a ten minute walk, I was already overheating in the Baja sun. We then met the boat driver, loaded up, and headed out.
The ride was unreal. Cool air hit my face, the wide open ocean was an unforgettable scene. When we reached the reef, everything looked perfect: clear water and tons of marine life, and most importantly, it didn’t feel dangerous at all.
After gearing up we sat down on the edge of the boat and did the usual backward roll into the water. I always loved that part.
Once we were in, we floated for a second before starting our descent. We did this by letting the air out of the BCD and slowly sinking. As we went deeper, the light dimmed just enough to make everything feel a little off or at least a bit more interesting.
Down at the bottom of the ocean we began practicing some final drills. This was always done at the beginning and end of each dive. For this drill, we had to take off our masks underwater and blow out the water when you put them back on. Then we started exploring. The reef was insane. Schools of fish were everywhere, moving in every direction. Needlefish hovered low like they were watching us. Every once in a while, you’d spot a moray eel tucked into the coral, just sitting there, waiting for its next meal. Nothing felt real.
Eventually, our instructor signaled for us to group up and move away from the reef; our air was running low and it was soon time to go to the surface. The bottom dropped off to about 60 feet, and everything changed. The water got colder. The visibility dropped. It felt empty.
Then came one last skill: taking off our entire gear and putting it back on underwater. One of the guys in our group went first. He slipped his whole setup off and let it float in front of him.
That second everything changed.
I saw the instructor raise his hand to his head, straight up. For a second, I froze, trying to remember what it meant. Then it hit me.
Shark.
I turned around, and there it was.
Huge. It was way bigger than anything I’d ever imagined, probably 15–20 feet, thick, powerful, just moving slowly like it had all the time in the world. It didn’t rush. It didn’t panic. It just owned the space.
Bull sharks are known to be some of the most aggressive sharks out there, which did absolutely nothing to calm me down.
My heart was going insane. Every part of my body felt on edge. I looked at the instructor, hoping he’d do something helpful, but he just made the sign of the cross on his chest and started praying. That’s when I really started to panic.
I looked around at everyone else. You could see it in the bubbles—people breathing faster, freaking out. No one moved. We just hovered there, stuck.
The shark started circling.
Slow, wide turns at first. Then tighter. Closer.
It would come in just enough to remind you how big it was, then drift back out like it was deciding something. I swear it felt like it was studying us.
At one point it passed right in front of me, and I could see everything, the size of it, the way it moved, completely calm. That somehow made it worse.
Then it circled one more time… and just disappeared into the murky water.
Just like that.
I was alive. That was the only thought in my head. I’m still here.
We had to get out of there. Our air was low, and no one wanted to stay another second. We started ascending, way slower than I wanted to. I kept looking down into the dark water, expecting it to come back. When we finally broke the surface, I took the deepest breath I’ve ever taken of fresh air.
Back on the boat, everything felt weirdly normal again. The ocean looked calm, like nothing had happened. Yet, I couldn’t stop thinking about how fast it could’ve gone the other way. One small change, one different move, and that whole moment could’ve ended completely differently. It made me realize how little control we actually have out there. We go in thinking we’re in control—adjusting our buoyancy, watching our air—but really, we’re just moving through a massive ecosystem where anything can happen, and none of it is completely up to us.
