Destination - The Farallon Islands, the tip of The Red Triangle.

The Red Triangle spans from Monterey up to Bodega Bay (film location of the Hitchcock classic, The Birds) out to the Farallon Islands (22 miles directly west of the Golden Gate Bridge.) The Farallon Islands is a rookery, home to a wide variety of seals, the number one food source for Sharks. It's called The Red Triangle and gets its name for one reason, it has the most Great White activity on the west coast of the United States and when these awesome predators make a kill, blood covers an enormous area of water.

6:30am

We begin our journey out of the San Francisco Bay. As the sun rises behind us, I realize for the hundredth time why it's called the Golden Gate. The amber morning light multiplies the hues of one of the most photographed bridges in the world. Passing under the bridge, the calm turns to storm as we enter the potato patch. This area garners its name from an overturned tanker carrying a large potato crop. Imagine the sight of millions of potatoes bobbing in the San Francisco Bay. The swells increase to disproportional size in comparison to our tiny fleet. The only thing keeping me from revisiting the previous night's sushi is the fact that I am also on my first shoot for the television program,Destination Diving. Coupled with the opportunity of seeing something that most only witness on PBS or Discovery and the fact it was my first day on the job, there was no way I was spending my time kneeling in the head or leaning over the side of the boat.

8:30am

Arriving at the Farallon Islands, the seas prove to be a bit calmer. The captain pulls out a couple of half-eaten surfboards, attached to rope. He proceeds to toss the boards behind the moving boat, acting as bait for the sharks since chumming is not allowed on the California coast. From the shark's perspective, the boards look oddly like a seal swimming on the surface. Although I can't confirm this, since no sharks were available for comment. I ready my camera and prepare for the greatly anticipated attack. An hour of trolling passes by and still no sharks - no breaches, no crunching boards, no film. My camera was not as fortunate as my host's previous encounters, Golden Gate Expeditions. But the day was not over.

10:00 am

Enough trolling, time to throw in the cage. As the top opens, I jump into the cage. With hookah in mouth, I submerge myself into the cold pacific blue. I feel nothing. My expectations and anticipations are enough to keep me warm. With 15 to 20 foot visibility, the thought of Whitey swimming just outside my view engulfs my mind. A three-foot opening wraps around the cage allowing my camera to grasp an unobstructed view of my subject. Although the opening was only eighteen inches, my masculine sensibilities exaggerated its size. I visualize a monstrous mouth of teeth ferociously biting through the opening with nowhere for me to escape. The crew drops a waterproof speaker in next to me. Instead of the sounds of barking seals, a familiar melody of the Jaws soundtrack fills the water. With regulator in mouth I summon a smirk. Nice touch.

Inside the cage, I turn and turn and turn attempting to capture every angle at all times. Suddenly, I see the ugliest jellyfish and hope it doesn't accidentally drift into my enclosed space.