There are only a handful of locations left in the world where whale sharks are not fed for tourism purposes. Pintuyan, a remote fishing village on the island of Southern Leyte in the Philippines, is one of these special places.

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Words and photographs by Zoë Lower

The highly awaited crackle of the radio abruptly pierces through the calming hum of the engine and gentle lapping of the waves against the side of the boat. My heart rate immediately spikes with elation, as all those on board are thrust into a flurry of activity. Cameras are grabbed, masks are donned and finned legs are thrown over the side of the boat in eager anticipation of what’s to come. “Whale shark, whale shark,” cries one of the many spotters out on the water that morning, frantically waving his oar in the air to alert our fellow adventurers. The race is on; our captain cranks the engine in one swift, well rehearsed motion and we speed towards their location, grins ablaze.

This moment is one I had daydreamed of for quite some time. I’d go as far as stating that waiting for this encounter has been the single greatest act of patience of my life. I dedicated 15 months of perseverance to make the dream of swimming with whale sharks in the wild a reality. After three failed attempts due to unsustainable practices and feeding operations throughout Indonesia, I journeyed across the Philippines to the remote town of Pintuyan, where I was finally gifted four days of authentic interactions with these majestic beauties. Here is my story as to why this was such an important and heartfelt commitment for me to make, in the hope that others will choose to follow in these footsteps.

There are some things in life that I consider to be sacred – ensuring a natural encounter with marine life is one of those things. Like many water lovers, my hopeful quest to swim with a whale shark began years ago, as I wistfully admired many underwater photographers’ images of these spotted giants, wondering when my time would come to share in this unparalleled experience. Whilst living in Indonesia last year, I was certain that time would arise when I travelled to Sumbawa, East Borneo and North Sulawesi in the hope of locating an ethical tour company. Sadly, this was merely the start of my fantasy unravelling, as I quickly learned some dark truths about the actual impact that is inflicted by these tours, fuelled by our collective desire to swim alongside the world’s largest fish.

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