Shark Alley
Earlier this year, I’d been lucky enough to visit the Farallon Islands twice with the Oceanic Society; once in early summer and again later in the season. On each occasion, I came home in awe of this wild cluster of peaks rising from the Pacific. At just thirty miles west of the Golden Gate, often obscured by fog, the islands define the phrase “so near, yet so far.”But, as fall rolled on, I felt the urge to make one more trip before the season ended. This time, there was one reason in particular: the chance to see one of California’s most iconic and misunderstood predators, the great white shark (Carcharodon carcharias).
For this third voyage, I joined a Farallones Sanctuary Wildlife Expedition run by Shark Stewards, a nonprofit founded by marine biologist David McGuire. Their mission: “to save endangered sharks and rays from overfishing and the shark fin trade, and protect critical marine habitat through the establishment of marine protected areas.” It’s a vision of healthy oceans with thriving shark populations and protected waters for future generations, and this trip, led by David himself, was one small part of that larger effort.
Every fall, when white sharks return to the Greater Farallones National Marine Sanctuary after their 4,000-mile migration across the Pacific, Shark Stewards leads a handful of educational expeditions. These aren’t cage-diving or “shark watching” tours; they’re ecosystem-focused wildlife trips, part of NOAA’s official White Shark Stewardship Program. Passengers are invited to observe, photograph, and record marine wildlife while learning about shark biology, conservation, and the fragile balance of the ocean.
I knew the odds of actually seeing a white shark were slim. The Pacific is vast, and in previous decades, white sharks were almost hunted into extinction. It's thanks to people like David and their work that we even had a chance, and if there was ever a chance for me, this was it.
We met early in the morning, at Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco, and boarded the Amigo. The trip began much like my earlier journeys, motoring out beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and along the Marin Headlands. The weather, remarkably, was perfect. The ocean was calm, the air warm, the sky clear of the usual fog. I was grateful I’d remembered sunscreen. Pacific harbor porpoises (Phocoena phocoena) darting through the surf, harbor seals (Phoca vitulina) hauled out on rocks, black oystercatchers (Haematopus bachmani) standing just above the waves. A pair of humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) surfaced in the distance, and while I’ll never tire of seeing whales, this time I found myself quietly hoping for something different.
It took us around three hours to reach the Farallones. As usual, there were California (Zalophus californianus) and Steller sea lions (Eumetopias jubatus) on the rocks, and far more common murres (Uria aalge) than I expected, and David pointed out that many were already transitioning into their breeding plumage. Brandt's cormorants (Phalacrocorax penicillatus) and brown pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis) were also there in reasonable numbers, and we even spotted Morris, the lone northern gannet (Morus bassanus) that has made these islands home for years. In terms of species, this was similar to other trips I'd been on, but the sunshine and lack of fog made it easier to get clear photos with a long lens.
The real anticipation began as we neared Mirounga Bay, a relatively sheltered cove on the southeastern side of the island. It’s named for Mirounga angustirostris, the northern elephant seal. Each fall, white sharks gather here to hunt the seals that come ashore to rest and breed. Waiting below the surface, the sharks strike from the depths with astonishing speed and precision. If there was any place to see a great white in the wild, this was it.
The captain eased the Amigo to a stop near ‘Shark Alley,’ one of the best-known feeding areas in the sanctuary. David and his assistant prepared a government-approved seal decoy: a floating, seal-shaped object with a GoPro mounted underneath. They set it adrift behind the boat, hoping to draw the curiosity of any sharks nearby.
Everyone waited patiently ... and waited some more. Just when it felt like nothing would ever happen, someone shouted, “Shark!” Everyone raced to look. It didn’t lunge or thrash or show that famous fin to catch the eye, but then I saw it too. A huge, ghostly white shape cruised slowly past the boat. There was no mistaking it: a great white shark.
My reflex was to lift my camera, but the light, glare, and refraction made focus nearly impossible. The shark was too close and the water too reflective. I switched to my phone and started filming instead. I’m glad I did.
Over the next hour, we were visited two more times for three encounters in total. None were dramatic, but each felt almost sacred: a sudden haunting presence, then gone again into the blue. Whether drawn by the decoy or just curious about our engines, we could only guess. What mattered was that we’d seen them, alive and wild.
By the time we arrived back at the Golden Gate, it was dark. It had been Shark Stewards’ final expedition of the season, and somehow it felt like they’d saved the best for last. David shared footage from the GoPro mounted beneath the decoy. On screen, a great white appeared momentarily — smooth, powerful, and unmistakable — circling before fading back into the depths.
I'm glad I was able to capture some video from these occasions, too, even if I didn't get a stunning photo. But sometimes getting the shot isn't as important as getting the experience.
