like many Maui mornings, the sun rising over Haleakala as we
greeted our divers for the day's charter. As my captain and
I explained the dive procedures, I noticed the wind line moving
into Molokini, a small, crescent-shaped island that harbors
a large reef. I slid through the briefing, then prompted my
divers to gear up, careful to do everything right so the divers
would feel confident with me, the dive leader.
went pretty close to how I had described it: The garden eels
performed their underwater ballet, the parrot fish grazed on
the coral, and the ever-elusive male flame wrasse flared their
colors to defend their territory. Near the last level of the
dive, two couples in my group signaled they were going to ascend.
As luck would have it, the remaining divers were two European
brothers, who were obviously troubled by the idea of a "woman"
dive master and had ignored me for the entire dive.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
a minute, she lifted away from where she had been riding the
current and began to make a wide circular glide until she was
closer to me. I kept watching as she slowly moved back and forth,
rising higher, until she was directly beneath the two Europeans
and me. I looked at them and was pleased to see them smiling.
Now they liked me. After all, I could call up a manta ray!
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.
my brain clicked in and I was able to concentrate, I saw deep
V-shaped marks of her flesh missing from her backside. Other
marks ran up and down her body. At first I thought a boat had
hit her. As she came closer, now with only ten feet separating
us, I realized what was wrong.
fishing hooks embedded in her head by her eye, with very thick
fishing line running to her tail. She had rolled with the line
and was wrapped head to tail about five or six times. The line
had torn into her body at the back, and those were the V-shaped
chunks that were missing.
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.
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.
she had steadied, I took out the knife that I carry on my inflator
hose and lifted one of the lines. It was tight and difficult
to get my finger under, almost like a guitar string. She shook,
which told me to be gentle. It was obvious that the slightest
pressure was painful.
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!
through one line and into the next until she had all she could
take of me and would move away, only to return in a moment or
two. I never chased her. I would never chase any animal. I never
grabbed her. I allowed her to be in charge, and she always came
all the lines were cut on top, on her next pass, I went under
her to pull the lines through the wounds at the back of her
body. The tissue had started to grow around them, and they were
difficult to get loose. I held myself against her body, with
my hand on her lower jaw. She held as motionless as she could.
When it was all-loose, I let her go and watched her swim in
a circle. She could have gone then, and it would have all fallen
away. She came back, and I went back on top of her.
hooks were still in her. One was barely hanging on, which I
removed easily. The other was buried by her eye at least two
inches past the barb. Carefully, I began to take it out, hoping
I wasn't damaging anything. She did open and close her eye while
I worked on her, and finally, it was out. I held the hooks in
one hand, while I gathered the fishing line in the other hand,
my weight on the manta.
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.
she stayed below me. And then, when she realized that she was
free, she came to life like I never would have imagined she
could. I thought she was sick and weak, since her mouth had
been tied closed, and she hadn't been able to feed for however
long the lines had been on her. I thought wrong! With two beats
of those powerful wings, she rocketed along the wall of Molokini
and then directly out to sea!
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.
in the direction of my divers, whose eyes were still wide from
the encounter, only to have them signal me to stop and turn
around. Until this moment, the whole experience had been phenomenal,
but I could explain it. Now, the moment turned magical. I turned
and saw her slowly gliding toward me. With barely an effort,
she approached me and stopped, her wing just touching my head.
I looked into her round, dark eye, and she looked deeply into
me. I felt a rush of something that so overpowered me; I have
yet to find the words to describe it, except a warm and loving
flow of energy from her into me.
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.
in midwater, using the safety-stop excuse, and tried to make
sense of what I had experienced. Eventually, collecting myself,
I surfaced and was greeted by an ecstatic group of divers and
a curious captain. They all gave me time to get my heart started
and to begin to breathe.
I have not seen her since that day, and I am still looking.
For the longest time, though my wetsuit was tattered and torn,
I would not change it because I thought she wouldn't recognize
me. I call to every manta I see, and they almost always acknowledge
me in some way. One day, though, it will be her. She'll hear
me and pause, remembering the giant cleaner that she trusted
to relieve her pain, and she'll come. ---At least that is how
it happens in my dreams.