The Serenity of the Elasmobranchii

mi casa es su casa

Decades ago, as a young US Coast Guard officer I had the privilege of visiting the Micronesian island of Pohnpei. A magical place and relatively untrammeled by tourists at the time.

My ship was there for a few days of “community service”. While there I caught a ride to a fairly remote beach where, without any real knowledge of what I’d see, I’d wade in with my SCUBA gear.   Truly remote. Not another soul on the beach and I got the sense that the small white sand strip of a beach had rarely encountered humans. As with most diving in Micronesia, the water was crystal clear.  However, in this case, the bottom was all sand. No coral, no reef, and I assumed no obvious undersea activity – in other words a boring dive.

I gently moved along the bottom until I was several hundred yards off the beach and maybe 60 feet under water.  No sign of life. Just brilliant white sand in all directions.

Until it arrived.

I was about to have the most significant encounter of my life. Not dramatic, but truly significant. 

“It” was a Giant Oceanic Manta Ray.  It flew (the only way to describe how a Manta Ray moves) out of the big blue, slowly and gently and began to slowly circle in the water column above me.   I laid on my back on the bottom while the Manta circled. Again, and again – for the better part of an hour.

I have no idea if it was aware of me, perhaps circling me to check me out, or more likely feeding on microscopic plankton.   What I do know is that it was the most serene hour of my life.  Thirty years later, the tendrils of that encounter still affect me. I can still feel a bit of that serenity, contentedness and happiness.  It was me and the Manta. It was a perfect setting of blue and white.  It was silent.  It was ethereal, profound and nearly perfect. I felt welcome, despite being a “foreigner”.  

The Manta is, when one imagines it, a scary looking animal. However, when encountering it in its world, it is incredibly calming, welcoming and gentle.

*****

Years later I found myself in South Africa, in a chicken wire cage, watching a Great White Shark circle me.  The cage is necessary to reduce the risk of injury, but any injury would have been my fault, not the shark’s.  Why?  Because these animals are skittish and easily scared off.  They are also as graceful and serene as the Manta.  

The Manta encounter was serendipitous. The shark encounter was deliberate.  Yet after a full day of using a mix of blood and fish parts (chum) to attract the shark, and even then, having to throw bloody bait into the water to work its appetite up, it was hard to keep the shark from fleeing.  I had to avoid splashing while a slid into the cage because my clumsiness would scare the shark away.   It was us humans who did everything possible to agitate the shark. Otherwise, it was a beautiful, graceful and wary animal. 

I was again a foreigner.   And still welcome.