|
It was like many Maui mornings. The three of us caught the
current and drifted along the outside of the reef, slowly beginning
our ascent until, far below, something caught my eye. After a
few moments, I made out the white shoulder patches of a manta
ray in about one hundred and twenty feet of water.
Manta rays are one of my greatest loves, but very little is
known about them. They feed on plankton, which makes them more
delicate than an aquarium can handle. They travel the oceans
and are therefore a mystery.
Mantas can be identified by the distinctive pattern on their
belly, with no two rays alike. In 1992, I had been identifying
the manta rays that were seen at Molokini and found that some
were known, but many more were sighted only once, and then gone.
So there I was... a beautiful, very large ray beneath me and
my skeptical divers behind. I reminded myself that I was still
trying to win their confidence, and a bounce to see this manta
wouldn't help my case. So I started calling through my regulator,
"Hey, come up and see me!" I had tried this before
to attract the attention of whales and dolphins, who are very
chatty underwater and will come sometimes just to see what the
noise is about. My divers were just as puzzled by my actions,
but continued to try to ignore me.
There was another dive group ahead of us. The leader, who
was a friend of mine and knew me to be fairly sane, stopped to
see what I was doing. I kept calling to the ray, and when she
shifted in the water column, I took that as a sign that she was
curious. So I started waving my arms, calling her up to me.
Looking back to the ray, I realized she was much bigger than
what we were used to around Molokini - a good fifteen feet from
wing tip to wing tip, and not a familiar-looking ray. I had not
seen this animal before. There was something else odd about her.
I just couldn't figure out what it was.
I felt sick and, for a moment, paralyzed. I knew wild animals
in pain would never tolerate a human to inflict more pain. But
I had to do something. Forgetting about my air, my divers and
where I was, I went to the manta. I moved very slowly and talked
to her the whole time, like she was one of the horses I had grown
up with. When I touched her, her whole body quivered, like my
horse would. I put both of my hands on her, then my entire body,
talking to her the whole time. I knew that she could knock me
off at any time with one flick of her great wing.
As I cut through the first line, it pulled into her wounds.
With one beat of her mighty wings, she dumped me and bolted away.
I figured that she was gone and was amazed when she turned and
came right back to me, gliding under my body. I went to work.
She seemed to know it would hurt, and somehow, she also knew
that I could help. Imagine the intelligence of that creature,
to come for help and to trust!
I could have stayed there forever! I was totally oblivious
to everything but that moment. I loved this manta. I was so moved
that she would allow me to do this to her. But reality came screaming
down on me. With my air running out, I reluctantly came to my
senses and pushed myself away.
I lost view of her and, remembering my divers, turned to look
for them. Remarkably, we hadn't traveled very far. My divers
were right above me and had witnessed the whole event, thankfully!
No one would have believed me alone. It seemed too amazing to
have really happened. But as I looked at the hooks and line in
my hands and felt the torn calluses from her rough skin, I knew
that, yes, it really had happened.
She stayed with me for a moment. I don't know if it was a
second or an hour. Then, as sweetly as she came back, she lifted
her wing over my head and was gone. A manta thank-you.
Source: http://articlesunlimited.holisticnetworkexchange.com
|
