Scuba Dive

Although Hawaii offered so many things to do above the waves, we couldn’t visit without dipping into the vast, dark blue Pacific Ocean.  Several years back a hotel on the Big Island noticed that the underwater running lights on their dock attracted plankton at night.  In turn, the plankton party attracted fish that liked to eat plankton, most notably manta rays.  Someone figured out that they sat on a gold mine, as the opportunity to see manta rays up close and personal is not a common occurrence, though many people would jump at the chance.  And jump we did, right into a taxi that dropped us off at the doorstep of Hotel Ray.

The program and process for attracting the rays evolved over the years.  The hotel replaced the dock running lights with powerful lights placed on the sea floor in about fifteen to twenty feet of water.  The lights shone upwards towards the surface, creating illuminated water columns.  The columns’ contrast to the dark surrounding water was in itself a sight to see, from the water as well as from the land.

Two types of people comprised the manta watcher group: snorkelers and divers.  Snorkelers would float at the surface, looking down on the manta action.  Divers would descend to the bottom, sitting on the sea floor to watch the excitement above.  The tour leader instructed both groups to stay still, a tough task in the surging shallow waters.  Fortunately, the night shone clear and the sea washed calm.  To enter the water we would climb down the ladder at the dock’s end.  What thoughtful mantas; they could not be more convenient.

The purpose of the lights was to entice the plankton into a condensed and tasty group.  But, the lights could not do the job until the sun stopped performing its primary function.  So, we sat on the beach and waited for an appropriate amount of darkness while our divemaster briefed us on the impending plankton palooza.

Manta rays are notoriously shy creatures,” he said.  “Touching them could cause them to leave, so please look with your eyes, not with your hands.  Although the moon is pretty bright tonight, it will be quite dark in the water if you are not near the lights.  Stick to the group; no swimming off on your own.  We would hate to have to feed you to the mantas for not following instructions,” he concluded with a smile.  Some of the other tour members looked stricken.  Perhaps he should have explained that mantas don’t eat people.  Or, perhaps watching squirming tourists provided an enjoyable diversion for him.  Surely the people in our group who were not knowledgeable about mantas would give him a big tip at the end of the night if they didn’t get consumed.

As darkness approached we made our way down the dock and off the ladder into the water.  The divers entered first so we could descend to the bottom free of entangling snorkeler legs, arms, and rear ends.  A staff member turned on the lights as we descended.  The lighted streams looked like Bat Signals.  I wondered if the beam’s middle held a black symbol in the shape of a manta.

The light attracted small fish in droves, perhaps out of curiosity.  The water in the light columns began to look cloudy, a clear indicator that the plankton had arrived.  Plankton, microscopic tasties that are the oceanic food chain’s building blocks, can’t be seen with the naked eye but large volumes of the critters create a milky haze.  We waited for the mantas just like we had waited for the tuna when we went deep sea fishing.  The Hawaiians sure possessed patience.

Then, a shadow passed through the light, blocking it momentarily.  The shadow moved so fast I could not even tell the animal’s shape; it appeared and disappeared instantly.  My adrenaline popped and my legs tensed as I strained to look all around from my kneeling position.  I didn’t need to be a contortionist; soon the mantas flew through the water from all directions, swooping in and out of sight.  As my eyes adjusted to their speed, I could make out their aerodynamic, triangular shape.  Their bellies were white and reflected the light.  I imagined it would be tougher for the snorkelers on the surface to see the rays since their backs were a dark color, enabling them to blend in with the shadowy water.  The mantas fed with abandon, funneling plankton rich water into their gaping mouths.

After fifty minutes that flew by like five, the divemaster indicated it was time to ascend.  Many of the snorkelers already returned to the dock, tired from keeping afloat.  The divers were ready for another fifty, however, after enjoying their own version of theater in the round on the sandy bottom.  The divemaster left the lights on to illuminate our way back to the dock.  We followed the divemaster along the bottom the short distance to the ladder, ensuring we did not disturb the mantas that continued to feed. 

The entire group gushed about the experience once we all surfaced and dried off.  The mantas were beautiful and graceful and…sooo close.  Hawaii offered a unique opportunity to easily see the animals.  Last time they graced our presence Michael and I traveled thousands of miles to Bora Bora to see them.  And as a bonus, the company that coordinated the Hawaiian event did a great job caring not only for the tourists, but also for the sea life.  We recommended the experience highly to everyone we met on the remainder of our Big Island trip.