
How the National Aquarium gets new sharks for its jaws-packed exhibit
Why it matters: It's Shark Week, but don't bask by the TV — there's an apex experience at the aquarium's " Shark Alley," where seven species cruise for your views.
Descending into the circular 225,000-gallon tank is the closest you'll get to a cage dive on land.
The intrigue: How do sharks get there? Some species, like Atlantic sandbar sharks, swim constantly to breathe, getting oxygen through water passing over their gills (so no orca-style airlift).
And unlike those randy pandas, sharks aren't brought to the aquarium to breed.
How it works: The aquarium only gets new sharks every few years, curator Jay Bradley tells Axios.
Some of its longest inhabitants are also its farthest travelers: blacktips from Australia, part of an original 2013 exhibit.
They were shipped as easygoing juveniles in individual tanks, flying cargo — no dedicated beluga Boeing for the li'l guys.
Rarely, a baby shark (doodoododododo) is born.
Between the lines: All sharks and rays — fun fact: shark cousins — are quarantined for 90 days in acclimation tanks in the Animal Care and Rescue Center before their permanent debut.
Zoom in: For years, the National Aquarium participated in a shark tagging program in Delaware to track and study sand tiger sharks, where they also snagged new aquarium guests. Sandbars are the most prevalent shark species in the Chesapeake Bay.
The most recent shark newcomers were sand tigers — caught in Delaware as juveniles, placed in tanks with circulating water for breathing and transported to the aquarium via truck.
Threat level: For Atlantic shark attacks — and shark-on-shark attacks — it's low, even though there's a lot of big shark energy in Shark Alley.
That's why bull sharks — a local species sometimes spotted in the Potomac — aren't invited.
"They're tenacious, investigative. They tend to eat other things," Bradley tells Axios. (First rule of Shark Alley: Don't eat Shark Alley.)
Meanwhile, Bradley says local sandbars "are a little shy." Sand tigers can move quickly, "but most of the time they're cruising."
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Atlantic
8 hours ago
- Atlantic
A Gritty and Genuinely Readable Book
This is an edition of The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Welcome back to The Daily's Sunday culture edition, in which one Atlantic writer or editor reveals what's keeping them entertained. Today's special guest is Luis Parrales, an assistant editor who has written about what the border-hawk Catholics get wrong and why the papacy is no ordinary succession. Luis is a new fan of the author Mario Vargas Llosa and a longtime listener of the singer-songwriter Jorge Drexler. His other recommendations include 'Femininomenon,' by Chappell Roan; The Bear; and anything by Conan O'Brien—whom he deems 'the king of American comedy.' The Culture Survey: Luis Parrales Best novel I've recently read, and the best work of nonfiction: I was embarrassingly unfamiliar with the Peruvian novelist Mario Vargas Llosa before his death, in April, besides some high-level lore—his role in the Latin American Boom, his failed presidential bid, the time he socked Gabriel García Márquez in the face. Soon after, I decided enough was enough and picked up his historical novel The Feast of the Goat, published in 2000. Through the brutal regime of Rafael Trujillo, who ruled the Dominican Republic until his assassination at the hands of revolutionaries, in 1961, Vargas Llosa explores how the wounds inflicted by a dictatorship remain long after it officially ends. But as gritty and dark as the novel gets—and it gets dark — The Feast of the Goat is one of the most readable books I've ever encountered. That's both because Vargas Llosa's crisp prose makes the 400 or so pages fly by and, more important, because his novel never loses sight of the power of human resilience. I was a bit more familiar with the moral philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre, who also passed away earlier this year. Although best known for his 1981 book, After Virtue (if you haven't already, read David Brooks's reflections on how its arguments help explain President Donald Trump's appeal), MacIntyre also wrote Dependent Rational Animals. The book offers one of the most persuasive cases I've read against treating individual autonomy as the highest ideal, as well as a plea to view our limitations—aging, illness—and dependence on one another not as failings but as constitutive elements of human nature. Oh, and MacIntyre dedicates long stretches of his book to the intelligence of dolphins. Which is great. A quiet song that I love, and a loud song that I love: Quiet: 'If I Don't Hear From You Tonight,' by Courtney Barnett. Loud: 'Femininomenon,' by Chappell Roan. Something I recently rewatched: Before earning box-office cachet with the Dune series, Denis Villeneuve directed Incendies, a modern Sophoclean tragedy set during a civil war in the Middle East. Nearly 15 years after its release, the film remains one of the most sobering portrayals of familial ties on-screen—of how they can at once inflict unspeakable pain and inspire courage and selflessness. The television show I'm most enjoying right now: The latest season of FX's exquisite The Bear. The last thing that made me snort with laughter: For my money, Conan O'Brien is the king of American comedy, though part of his greatness is that he's always reveled in playing the fool. He doesn't have the commanding swagger of a Dave Chappelle or Bill Burr, opting instead for a style that my colleague David Sims has described as a 'mix of silly surrealism with an old-timey flair.' I've been keeping up with O'Brien since his Late Night days, when I would get home from school and play the previous night's episode, so watching him get the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor earlier this year felt plenty nostalgic. The full ceremony is on Netflix now, and it's a comedic cornucopia for any Team Coco stans. The last thing that made me cry: A few weeks before Independence Day, while visiting New York City, I ended up going to mass at Ascension Church, which has a jazz liturgy on Sunday evenings. Most of my favorite church music leans traditional, yet to my surprise, I felt incredibly moved by the unconventional reverence of melodies with echoes of Art Blakey and Miles Davis. One highlight: the jazz mass's version of the hymn 'This Is My Song.' These lines in particular felt providentially relevant for anybody searching for a more warmhearted patriotism: This is my home, the country where my heart is; here are my hopes, my dreams, my holy shrine; but other hearts in other lands are beating with hopes and dreams as true and high as mine. The last museum or gallery show that I loved: Museo Nacional de Historia, in Mexico City. A musical artist who means a lot to me: The Uruguayan singer-songwriter Jorge Drexler isn't super well known in America—though he did write the first Spanish-language song to win an Oscar for Best Original Song—but he's pretty acclaimed in Latin America and Spain, especially for his lyricism. He can use scientific principles (the law of conservation or the evolution of cells, for example) as metaphors for love, or meditate on weighty political questions (migration, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict) without coming off as preachy. No musician means more to me than Drexler, whose art teems with the wonder of a wide-eyed humanist. Only I discern— Infinite passion, and the pain Of finite hearts that yearn. Here are three Sunday reads from The Atlantic: The Week Ahead The Naked Gun, an action-comedy film starring Liam Neeson as a hapless yet determined detective (in theaters Friday) Season 2 of Twisted Metal, a postapocalyptic action-comedy series with murderous clowns and a deadly demolition tournament (premiering Thursday on Peacock) Black Genius, an essay collection by Tre Johnson that identifies overlooked examples of genius in the Black community (out Tuesday) Essay The Mistake Parents Make With Chores Each September at the Montessori school I run, the preschoolers engage in an elaborate after-lunch cleanup routine. They bustle through the room with sweepers and tiny dustpans, spreading crumbs all over the floor and making a bigger mess than they started with … Contrast this with my own house—where, in a half-hearted effort to encourage my children to take responsibility for our home, I've been known to say, 'You live here!' as they ignore the pile of dishes in the sink. After years in Montessori classrooms, I assumed that a culture of taking responsibility would develop spontaneously in my family. And it might have, had I not made some early mistakes. More in Culture Catch Up on The Atlantic Finally, a Democrat who could shine on Joe Rogan's show Trump's Epstein denials are ever so slightly unconvincing, Jonathan Chait writes. ChatGPT gave instructions for murder, self-mutilation, and devil worship. Photo Album planned wedding date.
Yahoo
12 hours ago
- Yahoo
AI Slop Might Finally Cure Our Internet Addiction
The Atlantic Daily, a newsletter that guides you through the biggest stories of the day, helps you discover new ideas, and recommends the best in culture. Sign up for it here. Finding love is hard. For a while, dating apps seemed to make it easier, putting a city's worth of single people in the palm of your hand. But AI has cast a paranoid pall over what can already be a suboptimal experience. If you get a message that feels a little off, it is hard to know whether you are flirting with a bot—or just someone insecure enough to use ChatGPT as their own Cyrano de Bergerac. In frustration, my friend Lonni has started picking up women at the nail salon like it's 1997. Or, in the midst of an emotionally fraught conversation with a friend or family member, a text might read strangely. Is the person on the other end using AI to compose their messages about the fairness of Aunt Beryl's will or the future of your relationship? The only way to find out is to call them or, better yet, meet them for a coffee. Or maybe you want to learn something. Many of the internet's best resources for getting everyday answers are quickly being inundated with the dubious wisdom of AI. YouTube, long a destination for real people who know how to repair toilets, make omelets, or deliver engaging cultural criticism, is getting less human by the day: The newsletter Garbage Day reports that four of May's top 10 YouTube channels were devoted to AI-generated content. Recently, the fastest-growing channel featured AI babies in dangerous situations, for some reason. Reddit is currently overrun with AI-generated posts. Even if you never use ChatGPT or other large language models directly, the rest of the internet is sodden with their output and with real people parroting their hallucinations. Remember: LLMs are still often wrong about basic facts. It is enough to make a person crack a book. The internet's slide toward AI happened quickly and deliberately. Most major platforms have integrated the technology whether users want it or not, just at the moment that some AI photos and videos have become indistinguishable from reality, making it that much harder to trust anything online. Over time, LLMs might get more accurate, or people might simply get better at spotting their tells. In the meantime, a real possibility is that people will turn to the real world as a more trustworthy alternative. We've been telling one another to 'touch grass' for years now, all while downloading app- and website-blocking software and lockable phone safes to try to wean ourselves off constant internet use. Maybe the AI-slop era will actually help us log off. Even before AI started taking over, the internet had been getting less and less fun for a while. Users have been complaining about Google Search degrading for years. Opening an app to get a ride, order takeout, or find a vacation house can be just as expensive and effortful as taking a taxi, calling in a delivery order, or booking a hotel once was. Social media is a grotesque, tragedy-exploiting, MechaHitler-riddled inferno. Where going online once evoked a wide-eyed sense that the world was at our fingertips, now it requires wading into the slop like weary, hardened detectives, attempting to parse the real from the fake. Nevertheless, as AI companies build browsers and devices that keep users tidily contained in an endless conversation with their own personalized AIs, some people may spend more time online than ever. Its accuracy aside, AI is already valued by many for entertainment, practical help, and emotional support. In some extreme cases, users are falling in love with chatbots or drifting into all-consuming spiritual delusions, but many more are simply becoming thoroughly addicted. The internet's new era may push AI skeptics to spend less time online, while another group ramps up their AI-mediated screen time. That split might have implications for the internet's culture—and the culture at large. Even for those who run from the slop, the internet is already so woven into every part of our lives that going cold turkey is pretty much impossible. But as it gets worse, the real world starts to look pretty good in comparison, with its flesh-and-blood people with whom we can establish trust, less overwhelming number of consumer options, slower pace, and occasional moments of unpredictable delight that do not create financial profit for anyone. I have been experimenting with being less online since 2022, when I quit Twitter. As soon as I got through withdrawal, I could feel my attention span start to expand. I started reading books again. Like a lot of people who left social media, more of my socializing moved over to group chats with people I actually know and in-person get-togethers: quick coffees and camping trips and dinner parties. Remember dinner parties? Later, I quit shopping online, and soon realized that I didn't need most of what I had been buying. The majority of the stuff I actually did need, I could get at the grocery store and my local hardware store, which, like most hardware stores, carries tons of things besides wrenches and bolts. Online shopping might have once been more convenient than schlepping to a store, but I think that's no longer true in many cases. Last winter, when my feet were chronically cold under my desk, I could have spent hours researching space heaters online, trying to guess which reviews were real and which were fake; placed an order online; possibly received a broken or substandard unit; and then had to package it back up and take it to some random third-party store in a return process designed to be annoying. Instead, I walked to the hardware store. 'We have one that oscillates and one that doesn't,' the guy in the vest told me. I took the one that oscillates. It works fine. I am not, I hasten to say, completely offline. Like most people, my job requires me to use the internet. But I am online less. And I am happier for it. I get outside more. I garden and read more books. I still follow the news, but less compulsively. Spending some parts of my day without my attention being monetized or my data being harvested is a nice bonus. It makes me feel kind of like a line-dried bedsheet smells. I find myself dreaming about additional returns to offline existence. I live in Portland, Oregon, where we still have lots of movie theaters and even a video-rental place. I could—I might—cancel all my streaming services and just rent stuff and watch movies at the theater. I could even finally assuage my guilt over the lousy way music-streaming services pay musicians and avoid being fooled by AI bands by going back to CDs and records—and by seeing more artists play live. I don't think I'll be the only one reorienting toward physical media and physical presence: books and records, live theater and music, brick-and-mortar stores with knowledgeable salespeople, one long conversation with one real person instead of 300 short interactions with internet strangers who might be robots. Tech companies may assume that the public is so habituated—or even addicted—to doing everything online that people will put up with any amount of risk or unpleasantness to continue to transact business and amuse themselves on the internet. But there is a limit to what at least some of us will take, especially when the alternative has real appeal. One recent study shows that disconnecting your phone from the internet creates a mood boost on par with pharmaceutical antidepressants. And if more people explore offline alternatives—at least until this whole generative-AI explosion works itself out—it could create a feedback loop, livening up cities and communities, which then become a more tempting alternative to screens. What the internet will become in a post-AI world is anybody's guess. Maybe it'll finally become something transcendent. Or maybe, as the conspiracy theory goes, it is already dead. Article originally published at The Atlantic


Fox News
2 days ago
- Fox News
Expert answers whether sharks would make good security guards for Trump's Alcatraz reboot
'Saving the Blue' shark expert Dr. Tristan Guttridge gives 'Jesse Watters Primetime' a shark week lesson.