Blue Sharks at Porthkerris

Dancing with Blue Sharks off Cornwall

It was still dark when the alarm went off at half past five. Coffee, breakfast, and camera kit all came together in the half-light before dawn. By six, we were meeting on the beach, bleary-eyed but buzzing with anticipation. The plan: a full day out on the Celtic Cat, heading ten miles off Lizard Point in search of blue sharks.

Casting Off into the Blue

Before we even set foot on the boat, there was work to be done. Bait buckets were hauled out, chum prepared, and every piece of kit checked and double-checked. The Celtic Cat boards in a way that’s quite unlike any other, via a towed gangplank that stretches into the sea and stays steady against the boat. Once the gear was loaded, we pushed off at 6:30, the sun just beginning to rise over the Cornish coast.

The air was cool and salty, the sea calm. For the next few hours, we focused on one crucial task: getting the chum ready. The secret recipe can’t be given away, but it’s essentially an oily puree of fish, frozen into a block that melts slowly as it drifts. As it does, a slick of scent spreads across the surface, an aromatic invitation sharks can’t resist.

To maximise our chances, we towed the chum perpendicular to the tide for a couple of hours before letting the boat drift naturally. That way, the scent spreads out like a vast underwater net, covering as much ocean as possible. Then came the waiting. Long stretches of quiet, punctuated by the occasional gull or passing bird that, for a while, seemed like the day’s only excitement.

The First Shadows

At 11 o’clock, the first shark appeared, a slender silhouette gliding through the water with casual grace. We watched it circle the boat, letting it grow comfortable before anyone entered the water. When the time came, one snorkeller slipped in, then another. The shark, curious but cautious, soon vanished into the deep blue.

Patience was key. We waited another forty minutes before more sharks arrived, their numbers slowly growing. Chunks of fish were thrown in, not as bait to catch, but as small rewards to keep them happy and interested. It worked. Within the hour, we were surrounded.

At first there were one or two, then five, then what felt like an entire school. By midday, there must have been twenty-five, maybe more, circling, gliding, bumping curiously into cameras and fins. Some came so close that you could feel the subtle pressure wave of their movement, or see the glint in their eyes as they studied you, calm and unafraid.

Into Their World

Swimming with them is something words barely capture. You descend through clear, 30-metre visibility into an alien world of light and motion. The sharks glide effortlessly around you, sometimes beside you, sometimes below, always watching, always curious.

Despite their sleek power, blue sharks aren’t rough to the touch as many imagine. Their skin is soft, smooth, almost silky. They seem utterly at ease, brushing against cameras or drifting past your mask with measured confidence.

We stayed in for a couple of hours before the cold began to bite. The Cornish sea, even on a sunny day, has a way of reminding you who’s really in charge. As I was helped back aboard, numb but euphoric, I caught sight of a fin slicing through the surface, then another. The sharks hadn’t gone anywhere. They were still playing, still investigating, still keeping us company.

Playful Giants

Watching them interact was mesmerising. Two sharks would swim directly toward each other, full speed, like a game of chicken, only to veer off at the last possible moment in perfect synchrony. Others brushed against the hull or drifted through clouds of comb jellies and sea gooseberries glowing faintly in the sunlight.

Even when they hung just out of sight, shadows thirty metres away, patrolling quietly, it never felt threatening. If anything, that was more humbling. You knew they were there, just waiting, watching, part of a world we can only visit.

On the way back, as if to cap the day perfectly, we spotted bluefin tuna slicing through the surface, followed by a pod of dolphins. It was, in every sense, a dream trip.

The Ethics of Baiting

Of course, there’s ongoing debate about baiting sharks for encounters like this. It’s a delicate balance, and one that responsible operators take seriously. The key is knowing when to call it.

If visibility’s poor, it’s not worth the risk. A shark that can’t see properly might mistake a pale hand for a piece of fish. It’s not aggression, it’s confusion.

That’s why this trip felt different. The sharks were fed small bits of fish, not enough to train them to associate boats with food, but enough to keep them calm and content. They weren’t hungry or desperate. They were just curious, playful, and full of life.

Gentle Giants of the Deep

It’s easy to forget, when you see them up close, how misunderstood sharks are. These blues were anything but menacing. They were gentle, inquisitive, and almost social. Even the smallest, barely longer than a metre, moved with the same calm confidence as the larger adults.

But respect is key. They’re still wild animals. You don’t reach out, you don’t chase, and you definitely don’t dangle bare hands near the chum line. The best encounters are the ones on the sharks’ terms.

As the Celtic Cat turned back toward shore and the Cornish cliffs came into view, the feeling was one of quiet awe. Hours of waiting had turned into moments of magic of connection, humility, and wonder.

Sharks aren’t monsters. They’re miracles of the ocean. And if you’re lucky enough to swim with them, you’ll see that for yourself.