The Book Begins
Quick Intro
Welcome! I have a bit of an idea of what I’m doing here, but there’s a good chance all of this will change. I wanted to start out with a quick dump of thoughts and emotions before I leave you to jump into my story which I’m grateful if you’ve taken the time to dive into.
On the date of my 10 year bite-aversary, I wrote a piece where I shared a reflection on how this last decade of my life has impacted me and my outlook towards a number of different things. One of the items I mentioned is a desire to get to a point where I’ve ‘completely’ shared my story and the book is the final piece of that puzzle, which I’ve taken far too long to complete. Perhaps part of that is a fear of what happens after I finish, maybe it’s laziness, or maybe it’s just really bloody difficult to write a book. The truth is, it’s probably a mix of all 3 things to various degrees.
Here’s my perspective: I’ve done difficult things before, I can’t predict the future, so for now, I’m telling myself to stop being lazy and to just share the story as I write it. There’s so much status and pride I originally tied up into publishing a book the traditional way and since that hasn’t worked up until now, I’ve made the call that it’s more important to finish than it is to be precious about the process.
This is not a foreign proposition to me at all as we produced an entire documentary on my story without any backing. What I learned from that is if I didn’t take the leap, and if I didn’t get the help of some incredible people around me, there’s a good chance it would still just be an idea in the back of my head.
I’ll admit that I’m not a writer. What I lack in technical application, I hopefully make up for in the fact that what you’re reading are thoughts and experiences that I’m passionate about and love to share.
So, I do ask for feedback. I want this book to be a cumulative effort, so please share your thoughts; none of it will be unwelcome.
My promise to you is that I’ll continue sharing at least one new chapter per month (although I’m aiming for more) and even just a few words of encouragement is all I’ll need to keep showing up and bringing more of my experience. I’m excited to share this journey with you and hope you can come along for the ride.
This first chapter is all about setting the scene by sharing a little-known detail from the day of the attack. If only I’d known what was coming, maybe I should have taken this event as a bad omen. We then go through what the book is hoping to cover so hopefully by reading this you’ll have a clear idea of what to expect. There’s a comment section down the bottom, I’d love to hear what you think.
- Brett
Part I, Chapter 1 – Day Of The Attack
I wake with a familiar feeling of confusion and drowsiness. However, something feels different about this morning. The buzz of my phone is not that of my regular alarm, and from what I can vaguely make out from my half-opened eyes, it seems much darker than usual. As I reach over to silence the alarm, I realise that it’s actually a phone call that is the cause of all of this.
It’s my boss, Dylan. I glance at the time before I answer the call. 2:30 a.m. is not when I would expect any communication about work, so I figure something must be wrong.
He sounds panicked and flustered, which is not the best energy to be met with when you’ve just woken up, but he begins to explain what’s happening. He tells me he’d received a notification that the alarm at the surf shop had been activated, and he’d gone down to shut it off.
He’s always had issues with that alarm and its phantom activations. Sometimes, it would go off from a drunk pub patron from across the road stumbling into the front window. Other times, it could be triggered by the activity of a family of rats that called the old theatre upstairs their home. He’d become accustomed to this semi-usual occurrence and would often take the five-minute drive down to the shop to override the alarm before heading back to bed.
So you can imagine his shock when he arrived this particular morning to find out that it wasn’t a false alarm. He was not only being robbed, but the shoplifters were still inside, trying to take as much as they could before being discovered.
Dylan tells me he didn’t come prepared, so he didn’t have any ‘weapons’ in his car apart from a spear gun that he could use to scare off the thieves, which he thought might be a bit excessive. Plus, after just getting out of bed, he wasn’t exactly dressed for a showdown like this.
Despite his lack of readiness to react, he took the logical course of action, which was to yell out to the intruders, letting them know he was there and that the police were on their way. They understood the message and began to sprint down the street towards the train line, with Dylan making a half-hearted chase in his boxer shorts. He reached the corner before realising this was a futile effort. Plus, he noticed that he hadn’t seen them take any of his prized possessions—the surfboards he’d spent hours crafting that were showcased in the shop. So, there was no point in potentially putting himself in danger.
I’ve always thought the thieves leaving the surfboards behind was a strange move. They are by far the most valuable items in the shop, but I guess you can only carry so many of them. They’re hard to run with, and you’d probably find it difficult to sell them for cash. I won’t go as far as saying that the thieves are smarter than you think. It’s not a bank heist, after all, but they definitely thought things through.
As Dylan walked back to the shop, he picked up a few discarded packs of socks that had been lost in the chase and decided to call me to let me know what had happened.
He explained how they smashed through the front window and detailed a few things he could see that they’d taken. I soon realised that by dialing my number, Dylan was simply making a comfort call, as there wasn’t much I could do living 45 minutes away.
Still weary, I listened to what he had to say. He felt disgusted by the incident because someone had actively chosen to break into and steal from a small, independent business. They were tarnishing Dylan’s livelihood, and as a close mate who has worked for him for several years, I felt his emotions by association.
It’s difficult to appeal to the motivations of a shoplifter but if you happen to be planning to steal from a shop any time soon, just take a moment to consider that you’re impacting someone’s ability to work, raise a family, and live.
He finishes the call by letting me know there’s nothing for me to do at the moment, but to get to the shop at the normal time so I can help tidy up and put everything back together. So with work technically still a few hours away, I decide to try to get back to sleep.
—
This is how my day started on March 30th, 2016. If I’d known what was to unfold that day, it might have been a better idea to take the break-in as a bad omen and stay in bed. It’s unfortunate how easy these actions can look in hindsight.
I had no idea what was coming, I couldn’t plan, and I couldn’t even suspect that by the end of that day, my life would change completely, profoundly, and irreversibly.
—
When I eventually arrive at the shop in the morning, I am met with two police officers. One who had just talked to Dylan to get his version of events, as well as a catalogue of items that were determined to be missing. And the other, who is dusting for fingerprints in the background. I’m someone who’s always viewed police with a lot of respect. I’ve never been in trouble with the law and my perception is that they are here to help bring order back to a situation where someone had done Dylan wrong.
So, it’s a bit of a reality check when I join the conversation. The officer tells Dylan that they will do their best, but with no solid evidence, they don’t like their chances of finding the intruders or returning the stolen stock.
The other officer had just finished dusting for prints, leaving a terrible mess in her wake. They leave with a notepad of information but no real clues about what to do next.
Understandably tired, Dylan looks deflated after the events of the morning, so I can tell he wants the day to be over already. Without getting him to recount what had happened again, I ask if there’s anything I can do as we stare at the shattered front window. It’s difficult to tell what had been used to smash it, but there’s a perfect human-sized hole in the left half of the pane that was clearly used for entry and exit.
Dylan lets out a sigh and says that my tasks for the day are to continue cleaning up the glass and to compile a complete list of what I think are missing. Also on the list is to tidy up the fingerprinting dust that we now realise has given us more theoretical comfort, rather than answers and identities.
He mentions that Drew will come by later that day with a new front window, although he hates to think about how much all of this will cost him. I offer to take care of things so he can go home and catch up on sleep, but he doesn’t seem interested in the idea. At least while he’s at the shop, he has a small amount of control and feels like he’s doing something productive.
We set about our tasks for the day with a little less conversation than usual. Dylan has always been someone who can make conversation with anyone, no matter who they are or where they’re from. He’s often loud, cheery, and spirited so the silence is jarring, something that we’ve never experienced much as a pair.
I can’t help but feel awful for Dylan. It’s one thing to experience this from my point of view as someone who’s responsible for the shop, but I at least have the option of going home at the end of the day with all of my possessions intact. I try my best to comfort him with niceties, a reminder that the boards are still all there, and the confidence that we’ll live to fight another day. However, he’s clearly distracted with the ‘what ifs’.
“What if I got down here earlier?”
“What if I did a better job at protecting the shop?”
“What if I bit the bullet and invested in better security?”
His negative demeanor begins to rub off on me, and before I know it, I have my own list of “what ifs."
“What if I lived closer to the shop?”
“What if I offered to drive up sooner?”
“What if I expressed my concerns on the shop security rather than thinking no one would ever break into a small, local surf shop?”
These thoughts accumulate over the next few silent hours as we continue to tidy the shop. It’s incredible how far glass is distributed when smashed like it was in this case. I find it as far back as the changing rooms, which are a good 20 metres away from the window. Perhaps it was from the impact, or maybe it stuck to someone’s clothes or shoes when they entered through the hole in the window. It worries me because my dog, Kendrick, often accompanies me to work. If I want him to come back again, I need to ensure there’s no way he can get injured while running around on the carpet. Man, cleaning glass is a painful task…
Drew arrives just after lunch, which provides a much-needed distraction for Dylan and I. I can tell this isn’t the first time Drew has dealt with something like this. He knows not to ask too many questions, and he’s acutely aware that Dylan has repeated the story far too many times already. Thirroul is a very small town, so there’s a good chance he’ll get the information secondhand at some point anyway.
Drew has always been a fixture in the years I’ve worked at the ‘boardroom’ as it’s called. He specialises in glass installations and repairs, so I’ve dealt with him at various stages as we moved and updated the shop. He’s always willing to help out, is a big part of the local boardriders club, and a very keen surfer himself. Usually, when he drops in to see me, he is either ordering a new surfboard, or leaving behind another small piece of glass for Dylan’s house, which keeps needing replacement louvres.
I always enjoy chatting with Drew. He’s one of those people I know I can have a genuine conversation with. So he’s the perfect visitor for today.
Drew’s presence lifts the mood as he distracts Dylan and I while we watch his apprentice remove the old, broken window and prepare the frame for its new fitting. I’m always amazed by how carefree some people can handle glass. I’m a little scarred, both physically and mentally from having a sheet of picture frame glass shatter in my hands years ago so I watch eagerly as the new window is put into its place.
As intrigued as I am by this whole process, there’s a part of me that knows that as soon as the window is fixed, we will no longer need to be in the shop because we can finally lock it up securely.
We don’t do any trade today due to the risk of people stepping on glass, which means there is no reason to remain open late in the afternoon as it’s usually a slow time of day anyway. Drew tells us that he’ll apply some sort of ‘vandal film’ on the window which he says can make the shop much more difficult to break into. So, as Dylan and I watch him apply this, we talk about what’s next.
As I predict, Dylan mentions that we should head home and get some rest. I’m happy to hear this, but mainly because I know he’s been up since before 2:30am, and he shows every bit of it.
When Drew announces that everything is all done, we all stand together, entertaining some final small talk as we lock the shop, say our goodbyes and head our separate ways. It’s nearly 5pm which is when the shop normally shuts so I naturally slip back into my daily routine and walk towards my car.
During the walk, I decide that after a day like this, I need to decompress. It’s been a long, tedious and stressful day that’s taken its toll.
When it comes to decompressing, there’s one thing I know I can turn to that will always make me feel better. I grab my phone and send the same message to two of my friends, Joel and Nick.
“Shit day… going to go for a surf. I think there are waves at Bombo, I’ll be there in 45 mins.”
—
It’s interesting to ponder, but there exists a world where that text message could have been the last communication I ever had with anyone. This leads me to ask — have you ever considered what you want your fleeting words to be? At that time, I most certainly had not because, like most 22-year-olds, I had no reason to think about what my final words could or should be. Some people are ‘lucky’ enough to plan these moments to convey what I can imagine are some painfully beautiful words. However, the reality is that many of us won’t know when our time is up, and those words could be anything from a grocery list, a “thank you, " or “I love you, " to an emoji, or even an insult.
Life is completely random, and I’m sure everyone’s heard about the safeguard of finishing each conversation on a positive note or with a smile, “just in case”. Because you never know what may happen.
Is this a good thing? Or is it catastrophising? It’s hard to say because the way you think about this existential conundrum is most likely going to be influenced by a whole range of factors that are personal and unique to you so the bigger question is perhaps “Does any of this matter?”
I would argue yes because I believe these existential questions present great opportunities to make sense of our experiences and surroundings. After all, what’s the point of living this life if we don’t at least entertain the sometimes unanswerable questions? It’s not always about finding answers but rather leaning into what innately makes us human, which is curiosity.
Curiosity can be expressed both internally and externally. Internally, it manifests through a dissection of your own thoughts, ideas, and experiences. While externally, it’s conveyed through connection, empathy, and asking questions. Most people generally have a preference between these two methods, and I’ve always leaned more toward internal curiosity, which has greatly helped me make sense of the experience I am about to share in this book.
That being said, the catalyst for this book stems from a challenge to step outside my comfort zone and use external curiosity to paint this picture with a different brush. Over the years, I’ve shared this story countless times, most often from my own perspective, where I try to convey the wisdom I’ve gained internally. Through that wisdom, I reflect on many lessons and points of pride, such as my ability to cope with change, demonstrate determination, and build resilience. However, the thing I’m most proud of is the attitude I’ve developed and the respect I’ve gained for sharks.
To put it simply, the question I hope to answer in this book is: if someone who has been attacked by one of these devastating creatures can still respect them, what is stopping others?
As a shark attack survivor, I find myself in a position where people see me as both a terrible statistic and a beacon of hope. I’ve received various responses, from those who say they don’t know how they would cope in my situation, to others who find my view towards sharks inspiring and noble.
As noble as it may seem from the outside, I have never wavered from my position that sharks are beautiful, albeit fear-invoking, creatures. Numerous people have shared their opposing views on this, but my experience, combined with my internal curiosity, has somehow cemented the love I have for the species.
One thing that has never made sense to me is how people can form such strong opinions on sharks when they have most likely never seen them in real life, let alone been attacked by one. I can certainly understand if someone has had an encounter, or lost a loved one to a shark attack, that they might form strong opinions against them, but to this day, I am at a loss to recall any conversations I’ve had with this as a qualifier.
My goal in this book is to lean into external curiosity and find people who have views both for and against sharks to see what perspective they can shed on all aspects of my experience. This will span scientific, religious, cultural, social, and ecological spheres to gain a better understanding of fear and perception in order to answer the question — What can we do to coexist with the ocean’s most misunderstood creatures?