White horses take their place as the prevailing southerly wind drags across the surface of the water, rendering the gulf inaccessible for the adventurer with a humble tinny. Now is the time to take a breath, reminisce, and process a remarkable season in Exmouth and on the Ningaloo Reef.

From whale sharks to dugongs, and from orca to a plethora of baleen whales, the Ningaloo Reef and Exmouth Gulf burst at the seams with giants. Every winter’s day spent on the water is a day of immense anticipation followed by overwhelming satisfaction and appreciation for Mother Nature. But even with a season brimming with successful tours punctuated with surprises of welcome visitors including false killer whales, spinner dolphins, curious whaler sharks, and even pelagic seahorses, nothing could have prepared the tourism community for the events that unfolded at the start of October.

Western Australia boasts the largest humpback whale migration on the planet and with such an event, there is bound to be the odd casualty. In a town that was very much ‘slowing down’, preparing itself for the hot and sleepy summer months to come, there came excited whispers of such a whale. A deceased adult humpback had floated into shallow waters and sunk to the sand. Seabirds flocked, following the scent of an oily slick that exuded steadily from the rotting flesh. It was not the prospect of bird watching, however, which excited the marine enthusiasts in town but of what lurked beneath the surface. Birdseye-view photographs soon emerged of the scene: a glowing white whale carcass surrounded by dozens of sleek, black figures, circling the corpse and enjoying a free meal. Tiger sharks. The phrase: ‘like flies on s**t’ sprang to mind, such was the number of feasting tiger sharks, and the fact that these scavenging creatures were providing the ocean with the equivalent service to that that flies perform on land. The days to follow were crammed with nervous excitement, adrenaline, and camaraderie, with half the town sharing in a spectacle of nature that one will cherish forever.

To have one of the largest animals on earth being fed upon by some of the most feared, in three metres of water, 300-400m off shore, seemed too good an opportunity to pass up for any budding photographers or filmmakers. And so it was that early one morning, a handful of pioneers set out to test the waters and experience, first hand, nature in its rawest form.

From the surface the morning light ricocheted off the pale flesh of the whale, creating a white-hot glow, an eerie contrast to the great dark shadows that patrolled the surrounding waters. The smell of death was fierce but, bristling with nervous excitement, several initiates slipped quietly into the ‘shark-infested waters’.

Beneath the whitecaps our heads were on swivels, as we proceeded cautiously and with utmost attentiveness. Out of the grainy mist came the shimmering of flesh and bone, brighter and brighter. A gigantic carcass lay quiet on the sea floor, cloaked by masses of scavenging rabbitfish and scad. Baleen swayed in the current while the lower jaw lay to the side like a colossal archway flat on the sand. We were soon tasting what we had smelled from the surface, unpleasant and sour on the lips. Staying close to one another, with cameras in hand and at the ready, we explored the magnificent carcass. It would only be a matter of time before we got what we came for.