Foster’s Predators I Have Known – Ebook Now Online

Alan Dean Foster’s first non-fiction book, Predators I Have Known, is available exclusively online, published by Open Road Media.

The ebook includes video from Foster’s many trips to exotic locations around the globe.

Foster is well known for the ecologically oriented streak in his writing, and frequently advises writers to experience as much of the world as they can – on his own blog, Foster notes that readers of Predators I Have Known will be able to see inspirations for his past and future work in all the strange truth our own world has to offer.

Foster’s Spellsinger series is also available now as ereads at the Open Road site.

Foster’s e-books on Open Road Media:

http://www.openroadmedia.com/authors/alan-dean-foster.aspx

Foster talks about the book:

Read this Excerpt from Alan Dean Foster's "Predators I Have Known"

Silvertips may be the dominant shark in the Bismarck Sea, but that doesn’t mean you should ignore the others. On a dive close to the island of New Ireland, I suddenly found myself fighting an unexpectedly strong shallow-water current. While my fellow divers successfully descended and made their way along a deep reef line, I was picked up, swept backward, and carried away from them. While I enjoy being on my own underwater, I do not like being caught up in currents I can’t swim against.

Like a good swimmer, a good diver knows that you don’t fight a current. The ocean being somewhat bigger and stronger than the most powerful swimmer, it’s not only futile but dangerous to try and battle it head-on. Swim sideways out of the current, or look for something to hold onto, or drift with it until you can safely surface and call for help.

There was no reason to panic. The current was propelling me along the outer edge of our chosen reef. At worst, I could surface and swim to one of two nearby islets. The dive boat itself was not far away. So I relaxed and, like a commuter on a train, watched the world go by.

It turned out that a certain segment of the world going by was also watching me.

There were six of them. Juvenile gray reef sharks, the largest no more than three feet long. Not exactly Jaws, but not domesticated koi, either. They were following me in single file, for all the world like boys trailing their scoutmaster. I kept an eye on them as I enjoyed my colorful surroundings. At any moment, I expected them to become bored and peel off in search of more interesting and easily consumable intruders. They did not.

They were still with me when I started to run low on air. Having half a dozen young sharks tracking you while you are submerged only adds to the beauty and exoticism of your surroundings. Having them interested in you while you are stuck floating on the surface is another matter entirely.

The current had finally succumbed to the influence of the nearby islands, allowing me to maneuver more freely. Before I surfaced and hailed the pickup boat, I decided something had to be done about my persistent entourage. Coming to a deliberate halt, I hovered in some twenty feet of water and glared at the first teenager in line. The group immediately broke apart.

And began to circle me.

The near-perfect ring, myself in the center, incongruously put me in mind of old western movies. I was the wagon train, the sharks the circling Apaches. Except the only thing they were shooting at me were cold, fishy glances, and I had nothing with which to respond. For a crazed moment, I considered wildly waving my arms at them and yelling, “Shoo, shark, shoo!” As this was not a technique I could recall recommended in any marine handbook I had read, I forbore from acting like a fool and kept my arms close to my sides. But I admit I was tempted.

Meanwhile, the readout on my dive computer that indicated the amount of air remaining in my tank continued its inexorable progression toward zero.

I was down to a couple of hundred pounds per square inch when I realized I had to find a way to discourage the sharks or else I would be forced to surface with them still encircling me. Banging on my tank was more likely to attract additional sharky spectators than drive these away. Rushing them was more likely to frighten them off than provoke an attack—but while the likelihood of such an action being successful was in my favor, it was not a certainty. I was not in Las Vegas. The prospective gamble involved teeth, not tokens.

Hoping for a quick pickup from the dive boat, I decided to surface while I still had some air left in my tank. Spreading my arms and legs wide to make myself look as big as possible, I started upward.

The instant I did so, the sharks turned and swam off.

Having completed my safety stop and returned to the surface, I dipped my face back into the water to anxiously scan my immediate surroundings. Not one of the juvenile gray reefs remained within view. My toes, and the rest of me, were safe. I went from feeling mildly threatened to feeling slightly foolish.

Most people know what a puppy’s toy feels like, but it’s not often one gets the chance to know what it feels like to be one.

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