Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

This Magic Moment

By

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 water column, 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 was wrong.

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 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.

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 manta.

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 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.

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.