This Magic Moment By Jennifer Anderson
It was 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.
The dive 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.
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
I took that as a sign that she was curious. So I started waving
my arms, calling her up to me.
After 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!
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.
Once 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
She had 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.
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
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.
When 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. 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 cut 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 >back.
When 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.
The fishing 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
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.
At first, 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! I lost view of her and, remembering my divers, turned to look
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.
I kicked 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.
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.
I hung 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.
Sadly, 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.
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This Magic Moment By Jennifer Anderson