Growing up in Florida, it was “cool” to like sharks. A little mysterious, a little dangerous — everything a high-school kid is drawn to.

Although there weren’t many divers at my school, I knew plenty of surfers who frequented the waves of New Smyrna Beach, which the International Shark Attack File recognizes as the “shark attack capital of the world.” One such surfer even ended up on Shark Week, (an annual excuse to sit in front of the TV for a week at the end of summer), after being bit by a shark while on his board. He wore the scar on his foot like a badge of honor — because sharks were cool.

My experience as a teenager is likely why I’ve never quite feared sharks, especially while diving. It’s also probably why I’ve always wanted to experience these animals up close. Sure, I’d seen more than a few nurse sharks and the occasional lemon diving off the coast of Florida, but I wanted to learn more. So I packed my bags and headed off to one of the sharkiest destinations in the Caribbean: the Bahamas.

Citizen Science in the Exumas

I start my trip touring Eleuthera and the Exumas aboard the Bahamas Aggressor. I’d signed up for this particular itinerary because of its citizen-science component: A series of seminars entitled “Sharks, Coral and Conservation in the Bahamas” led by Samantha Whitcraft, director of conservation and outreach for the Sea of Change Foundation and a Scuba Diving Sea Hero.

I have the privilege of buddying up with Samantha, whose teachings continue on each dive. At first, I’m confused by her underwater charades, but I soon catch on — “this coral has stony coral tissue loss disease,” “this coral is especially important to the ecosystem;” “these are two separate coral species that are fighting each other for territory,” she signals.

Every dive is a biology lesson, and I’m thrilled to have a front-row seat in class. I’m also thrilled by how many times the lessons are interrupted by Caribbean reef shark sightings. Sharks, coral and conservation — check, check and check.

After lunch each day, Samantha presents on a new topic, from reef fish identification to Aggressor’s Green the Fleet sustainability program. One of the seminars is on how the Sea of Change Foundation works with Ocean First Institute to measure sharks underwater using laser photogrammetry.

Samantha has a laser rig with her. It’s comprised of two green lasers and a GoPro camera placed between them, and she teaches us how to operate it: Start recording, and point the lasers at the shark’s midsection from a distance of about 20 feet. The footage captured can be used to both size and ID sharks and rays, and this data is entered into a free, open-access catalog for conservation and scientific use.

Throughout the week, we bring the rig underwater to get firsthand experience with data collection. Seeing sharks through the eyes of a scientist, it becomes clear how important they are to the ocean ecosystem and how much goes into the fight for their protection.

As our trip nears its close, we gear up for one of our last dives at a site called the Lost Blue Hole. The dive pros tell us hammerhead sightings are common here, so Samantha grabs the laser rig just in case.

Finning over a seagrass bed toward the edge of the Lost Blue Hole, it takes a second to realize the scene coming into view: No fewer than 30 adolescent sharks (and a couple of freakishly large remoras) fill the crevice, schooling in a circular pattern — a real-life “Sharknado.” Samantha and I break into ridiculous happy dances and watch the show for a few minutes before she gets to work measuring as many sharks as she can.

Although we never spot a hammerhead, it’s the perfect ending to a shark-filled week — and it makes me even more excited for what’s coming next.

Learning from the ‘Shark Listener’

After a week of seeing sharks from a distance, I hop over Grand Bahama Island to get hands-on experience with these animals under the guidance of one of the most influential people in shark diving, education and protection: Cristina Zenato.

Cristina has been working in the Bahamas for over 25 years, building relationships with a group of sharks where she dives day to day off the coast of Freeport, where she works for UNEXSO. She launched a petition in 2011 which helped convince the Bahamian government to fully protect sharks within its 240,000 square miles of waters.

On the boat ride out to our dive site, Cristina explains how to identify her sharks. Each has its own personality and characteristics. Nacho, for example, has a notch in her dorsal fin, Vulcan has an extra-pointy pectoral, Grandma has a dark line under her bottom row of teeth. She also lets me know what hand signals she’ll be using during the dive—a full routine of shoulder shakes, handshakes and petting motions—and reminds me to relax and move slowly underwater.

Then, it’s time to don a chainmail suit complete with a metal mesh shirt, overalls, jacket, gloves, booties and hood.

“The suit is the barrier that drops the barrier between you and the sharks,” Christina says. Knowing you can safely interact with them gives you the peace of mind to do so respectfully and responsibly.

Twenty pounds of stainless steel heavier, I’m ready to jump in. After following the line down, we take off our fins and walk across the seafloor to an open patch of sand, where we’re met by about 10 Caribbean reef sharks.

“People like to call me a Shark Whisperer,” Cristina had said before the dive. “But I’m more like a Shark Listener.”

This is apparent in the way she interacts with the sharks and teaches me to, as well. As each shark approaches, we stick out an arm — offering a handshake, so to speak — and let the shark decide whether it wants to interact or not. My heart pounds in my chest, but Cristina’s calming presence reminds me once again to relax. To move slowly. To enjoy the moment.

As soon as I loosen up, the sharks come up to us like puppies, nuzzling the tops of their heads and muscled bodies into our chainmail gloves. They glide between our legs and right over our heads, obviously having never heard of “personal space.” I try not to flood my mask from smiling too big.

The experience is both more intense and more extraordinary than I could have imagined, and it reshapes how I see sharks. What were once intelligent, food-driven apex predators are now sentient animals that happen to be at the top of the food chain. I leave the Bahamas with an even greater respect for sharks — and reinforcement that they are, in fact, very cool.