05/25/2026
Our dive master JC with Emerald Charters began his dive briefing with these words:
“Be prepared to have your mind blown.”
JC is more than a dive master. He’s really a shark whisperer.
I’m one of eight divers huddled around him on the deck of a boat heading about three miles offshore out of Jupiter Inlet, Florida, into federal waters. My son Sawyer is my dive buddy, and we’re all here for one reason: to have an up-close experience diving with sharks.
I’ve logged more than 300 dives and stopped counting a long time ago. I’ve been in the proximity of sharks many, many times—but this dive would be different.
Emerald Charters promises an intimate encounter with a specially trained guide—JC—who knows exactly how to hand-feed a shark without feeding a shark your hand.
From the moment you meet him, JC brings a contagious energy. He’s engaging, funny, and absolutely loves sharing his world of shark encounters with fellow divers.During our 40-minute boat ride, he covers the usual briefing: dive site, sea conditions, current, water temperature. But when he starts explaining how to behave within inches of sharks… every diver locks in.
“Keep your hands tucked under your arms,” JC says.
“Stay above me at all times. Sharks will go toward the bait, and the bait crate is the lowest point. Do not go below me.”
Then he grins. “I promise the sharks won’t bite you. If one gets too close, gently push it away on the top of the nose—and don’t punch it. These sharks are my friends… they know me.”
JC even has names for some of them.
“Linda,” he tells us, is a 14-foot lemon shark he knows especially well.
After the briefing it’s time to gear up and be ready to dive. Drift diving is the norm off Florida’s east coast. The Gulf Stream moves north at nearly four knots, so when the captain gives the signal to “dive, dive, dive,” we quickly single-file penguin walk off the stern with giant stride entries—one after another like paratroopers exiting an aircraft.
We move fast to stay with JC, who entered first. He’s tethered to a floating dive flag so the captain can track us from the surface as we drift north.
Our first location is called “Bucket.”
We descend quickly to mid-water, around 60 feet down in 90 feet of water. JC is below us. The dive flag line connects to an eight-foot stainless anchor chain and a milk crate packed with freshly cut barracuda, our shark magnet.
Within what feels like less than a minute, one lemon shark appears. Then another. Then another. Sawyer and I lock eyes—wide-eyed but vigilant— our hands stuffed militantly under our arms.
JC shakes the crate. A cloud of fish oil, scales, and chopped flesh blooms into the blue water.
Another lemon shark arrives.
They move with speed, stealth, and focus—circling JC with one eye on the bait crate and one eye on us … hungry, cautious… powerful, but strangely timid.
JC reaches into the crate. He pauses. Watches.
Then with perfect timing he pulls out a chicken-sized piece of barracuda, spins clockwise in the water, arm extended, while a lemon shark follows in perfect unison, mouth unhinged, teeth flaring forward.
Crunch and Gulp.
I glance at Sawyer. My heart is pounding now.
Not from fear
From pure awe.
Excitement.
Disbelief.
This apex predator and human interaction is otherworldly. It seems both unnatural and strangely intimate, Beautiful, even.
I can see it in Sawyer‘s eyes. I want so badly to talk about what we are witnessing, hand signals suffice until we end the dive.
We surface. Swap tanks. This is a three-tank dive.
Everyone is talking nonstop. “Did you see the size of that shark?” “How many did you count?” “Everybody back on the boat?” We do the required roll call and count down the minutes to dive number two.
JC briefs us again. Next site he calls “Wreck Trek.” A shipwreck turned artificial reef in three pieces. We will will drop near the seabed, drift to the stern section, and gather in a semicircle while he ties off.
We do exactly that.
Eight divers circle the stern, sheltered from the ripping Gulf Stream current.
For a moment, we’re still. JC shakes the milk crate. Then rattles the stainless anchor chain across the shipwreck.
The sound carries underwater.
Within seconds we’re surrounded by yellowtail snapper.
Then a lemon shark. Then a nurse shark. Then another lemon shark. Then another nurse shark.
It’s a shark festival.
Surrounded by swirling schools of yellowtails, every creature in position for food. This dive is different. We are now within five feet of JC. We have a front row seat. The sharks glide over our heads so close you feel it. One slips past. Another comes from a different angle. They weave among us. Straight toward your face—and then at the last second veer left or right.
JC reaches into the crate and pulls out a chunk of bait. He pauses waiting for the perfect moment. Then he spins, sweeping his right hand inches from my camera lens while a lemon shark opens its jaws, devours the barracuda and sweeps past.
My mind is blown.
Everybody’s mind is blown.
JC knows these sharks. And somehow… they know him too.
There were moments when a shark would come face-to-face with JC — pause, almost receiving a kiss, and then gently swim away.
Watching that connection between a person and a wild animal stirred something in me.
It felt deeply human. Deeply respectful. It made me want to protect sharks. Protect our oceans and all marine life.
Addendum: We did a third dive at Wreck Trek. Across all three dives we saw lemon sharks, a bull shark, a massive mature hammerhead, and countless giant grouper.
I understand that shark chumming is controversial.
It’s illegal in Florida state waters—but we were three miles offshore in federal waters.
There’s a strong push to ban the practice federally.
Some in commercial and sport fishing oppose dive charters using bait, arguing it attracts too many sharks and makes it harder to catch game fish. Many believe it attracts sharks to humans to look for food, raising the chance for attacks on swimmers and surfers. Others believe it changes their natural hunting and migration patterns disrupting ecosystems.
I understand those concerns.
But after experiencing this firsthand—and witnessing a true shark whisperer and conservationist connect with marine life underwater—it opened my mind.
Maybe there is room for compromise.
Maybe there are ways to protect this remarkable kind of dive experience while also protecting commercial and sport fishing and minimizing the impact on the behavior of sharks.
The ocean is big.
And after spending time eye-to-eye with creatures like that …
… it feels even bigger.
