"This isn’t just something that they do by mistake. They’re very calculated."

It’s yet another curio of the animal kingdom that Orcas enjoy eating the fatty and delicious hearts and livers of Great White sharks.

In a technical sense, it’s impressive how the Orca gets to their favoured organ. They make a small tear near the liver or heart and suck the son of a bitch out.

The method is as surgical as it is gruesome. 

“When they come in after they’ve debilitated a shark, whether that’s a ‘karate chop’ or ramming, then they tend to try and flip it upside-down, and that induces tonic immobility, and then the shark basically becomes catatonic, and it’ll just lie there,” explains Doctor Ingrid Visser, who founded the Orca Research Trust in 1998.

“And at that stage the Orca will come in, and they’ll typically grab it from the pectoral fin, then they’ll give it a good shake — viciously, violently, very, very hard — and when you’re underwater you can actually hear the shark ripping, and it sounds like Velcro being ripped apart.

“And then they’re going for the liver, and that’s the real thing they’re targeting — it’s the liver that they’re after.”

It’s the heavyweight showdown of the marine kingdom, says Visser. 

“When you look at how an apex predator like an Orca hunts another apex predator, you see that they think about this, this isn’t just something that they do by mistake. They’re very calculated, they’re very cautious, and sometimes even when it’s a sure thing they’ll come in very slowly.”

It’s a surprise to learn that killing a Great White shark isn’t that hard. These peerless, top-of-the-chain tanks are just as vulnerable as the surfers, the swimmers and the scuba divers they’re suddenly killing with unprecedented regularity.

And you can do it! 

Just make a rope lasso. Let the fish swim through the noose and when the rope passes those iconic, collectable, priceless jaws and just before it reaches the dorsal fin, pull tight.

Four, maybe five minutes, and the White is dead. Hanged.

“Get ’em on the hook and they go neanderthal,” says a shark fisherman who wisely prefers anonymity and asks that I don’t reveal his home port. “Use a powerhead and if you hit the wrong spot the spot the shark’s going to take off with half its face blown off. Of course, the lasso method ain’t perfect, either. Use the wrong people and they can get dragged over the side.”

Illegal in most places, of course.

"How did he get here? Why was he available for hire on such a Keystone Cops project?"

The guard gates opened after a plethora of security protocol. Fingerprints, copy of my ID, vehicle registration and insurance docs, while another guard circled my car looking inside… not exactly a search, but a look see.

Thoroughly vetted, I drove past the small lake toward the home.

A friend of mine had gotten into trouble with a job and she called in a panic for help. The design room I entered was filled with nervous women chatting because they all feared the silence of their minds.

“I bet you don’t have to introduce yourself often, my name is Hippy”.

She had appeared out of a hidden stairway and I reached out my hand to greet her.

“You a Bear fan? We have a big game tonight.”

I was wearing a Chicago Bear hat.

“I loathe the Packers ma’am.”

The next three minutes were surprisingly alert in terms of her sports knowledge.

The rest of the room went quiet, like a vacuum of anxiety.

“If you guys need anything, let Carmen know in the kitchen, thank you for your hard work” was her exit. Crisp as her entrance had been.

The silence was broken once the gaggle was sure that our client had climbed the stairs.

“How did you do that?”

The ladies were in shock that I held a casual conversation with the woman of the house.

“You’ve met her before?” was all they could come up with.

“No, the Mrs has taught her but as you ladies saw, I didn’t mention yoga.”

Nelson Mandela was visiting the home that evening for a private dinner, fundraiser. Big wigs attending to dine and social network. Wealth doesn’t do Fuckbook, but they do expensive meals.

That morning was all I could think about when Chas typed something about Elo and how successful he is or was.

Something just didn’t feel right about it. Sure, he controls OUR sport and is terrible at his job, but how did he get there? More importantly, why was he available for hire on such a Keystone Cops project?

Let’s assume he had some responsibility for Oprah’s programming becoming a monster hit with middle-aged white women. His association with Harpo Productions has always been his pedigree when questioned about his new vocation.

Oprah is ELo’s street cred.

But who would leave an ascending, very lucrative, high-visibility job in entertainment to run a failing sports entity with limited demographic appeal?

He didn’t even surf.

I can’t think of one incentive he could have to make that particular job switch.

The only answer to such a downward career trajectory was he was fired or given the opportunity to step away with dignity.

Nothing else makes sense. No one would trade Oprah for JMD.

Sophie maybe, you ever see her legs?

But Erik appears to be a permanent bachelor, impervious to the charms of Sophie’s feet.

I left the home that day and met a woman walking half-a-dozen dogs, her full-time job. Stunning, she towered over me and I’m 6’1”. Nordic DNA and genetically perfect, yet cold AF personality wise and there was no way I was getting her to smile.

She interrupted me petting the Labs. I do love dogs.

“We have to bathe the pets,” was all she said, humorless.

As I pulled away, I wondered if the poor dogs had to be bathed because I had touched them?

That’s when the dots connected.

The security guards at the party were female… ish.

The huge staff of house keepers were all female. Landscapers, you guessed it, all female (when have you seen female gardeners?).

Was I the only penis on the property?

Heady times.

Why would Elo leave that world to promote such a horrific schedule end at Lowers?

“And they say plastic straws are killing the ocean…”

For the past two weeks, grave fears were held for one of the world’s best waves after a ninety-four-foot super yacht ran aground at Honolua Bay, the one-time site of the WSL’s women’s tour finale.

Videos on Instagram showed the four-bedroom, five-bath Nakoa high and dry on the rocks in front of where surfers paddle out to the world-famous righthand point.

 

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Honolua’s place in surf lore runs deep with four-time world champ Mark Richards describing the joint as “the ultimate wave; the best wave in the world.”

Community feels ran hot as news spread through the island.

“Thanks elites…Your dream life fucks up our only life. Send dis guy back. With massive fines that go back to restoring land and water in Hawai’i. Too many fuck ups over here. We cannot overlook anymore. Barred. No can ever return.”

“Haoles should be banned from water,” said another local. “Every time they around it something goes wrong. They steal it, pollute it, poison it and even drown in it!”

Earlier today, and after a rigging crew spent all day Saturday preparing the Nokoa to be pulled off the reef and aided by favourable weather conditions, the stricken yacht was dragged to open waters.

“I’m beyond words,” said Dan Chang, Chair of the Department of Land and Natural Resources. “We all thought today was it. It was either going to happen or not. I’m extremely pleased.”

 

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As the Nakoa was dragged out to sea a pod of humpback whales began following the Nakoa and the two salvage boats as they headed west.

“If you’re Hawaiian you think about hō‘ailona, or sign. There was no wind until we saw the whales and it suddenly picked up. We all had chicken skin,” Chang said.

Update: Even after a salvage job reported to have cost half-a-million bucks the Nakoa now appears to be sinking just offshore.

 

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