Inside Stories

Behind the Scenes: Sirachai ‘Shin’ Arunrugstichai

SOSF Marine Conservation Photography Grant

Words by Jade Schultz

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Aya’s Spot, a narrow channel hidden among the pristine mangroves of East Bimini, is hallowed ground for Shark Labbers: a perfectly protected space where juvenile lemon sharks can be encountered and observed.
Photo by Philippa Ehrlich

We sat in still suspense, submerged in the shallow water, the crowns of our heads just breaking the water’s surface. Our masks and snorkels had become part of our anatomy for that afternoon and there was an unspoken code that we would leave the sanctuary of the water only when the excitement of having seen one of Bimini’s cherished juvenile lemon sharks became too much to take. What evil were we trying to evade? Sand fleas. These minute critters were out in full force after a brief afternoon thunderstorm and each of us was very aware that if one of these tiny menaces managed to sink their teeth into us, we would be itching relentlessly for the next week.

Together with five others from the Shark Lab, I was deep in the middle of the mangroves at Aya’s Spot, one of the lab’s favourite locations for juvenile lemon shark sightings. We were here accompanying Shin on a trip to this remote spot where he was hoping to get the ‘kickass natural history shot’ that would help him tell the story about how vital the mangroves of Bimini are as a nursery area for sharks and many other species. Like statues we waited patiently, suspended between the sea grass and the water’s glassy surface, keeping our eyes peeled for a glimpse of a lemon shark.

Below the surface, time seemed to stand still. The only reminder that a reality existed outside this underwater wonderland was my audible breathing through the snorkel. I was totally mesmerised by the warm, crystal-clear water and the shadows of the mangrove trees that created a black backdrop for tiny particles of organic matter and the fallen orange and yellow leaves dancing above us as they floated past with the incoming tide.

Dappled light permeated through the canopy of the mangroves and shafts of golden sunlight streamed through the natural columns of the trees’ roots. Between those roots wove curious schoolmaster snappers and other underwater residents, cautiously coming closer to investigate the alien visitors. And then I would glance up and realise that everything that was taking place right in front of my eyes was being reflected back to me on the still water’s mirror-like surface.

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Sirachai Arunrugstichai Winner of the 2016 SOSF Marine Conservation Photography Grant

Jade Robyn Schultz Content Marketer and Social Media Manager

One of Justin’s biggest challenges was finding a creative way to capture the work of Dr Mahmood Shivji, who studies shark genetics at Nova South Eastern University. Shin helped him set up an ingenious shot that involved genetic code and a projector.
Photo by Justin Gilligan

It was one of the most surreal and magical moments I have ever experienced and, believe it or not, only one of a number of such moments we were privileged to experience during our time on assignment at the Bimini Biological Field Station.

Since I have been with the Save Our Seas Foundation, I have seen more than a thousand images from Bimini, read numerous blogs and stories about life at the Shark Lab and chatted with a number of researchers and volunteers who have passed through its famous doors. Yet absolutely none of this could do justice to the real-life experience of being at the Shark Lab. And I’m not talking about living on a small, secluded tropical island in the middle of the Caribbean surrounded by clear, turquoise waters that are celebrated for their abundance of elasmobranchs and general marine biodiversity. Sure this has its very evident perks, but anyone who has spent time at the lab will tell you that the true magic that captivates the heart of every visitor happens within those four prefab walls.

It is hard to wrap one’s mind around the set-up of the Shark Lab. Essentially it is a park home with only two bathrooms, four bedrooms, a lab, a kitchen and a common area, yet somehow it manages to sleep and feed up to 25 researchers, volunteers and visitors. The best way of explaining it to others is to ask them to imagine a field station in the Antarctic and then transfer it to a remote island in the Bahamas. Only then can they begin to comprehend that life at the Shark Lab is anything but a working holiday in tropical paradise.

When you walk through those doors, you are giving up the simple pleasures that you take for granted in your day-to-day life. Before arriving you prepare yourself for the obvious big things you’ll long for, such as seeing friends and family, access to your favourite grocery store or restaurant and – a major concern in the 21st century –reliable Internet access. It turns out, though, that it is the small things that never crossed your mind while you were preparing that you find you miss the most: weekend lie-ins, a quiet personal space to retreat to for time alone, and fresh fruit and vegetables (you can’t imagine how much you’ll miss fresh produce!).