Three Manta Rays

My first encounter with a manta ray was while reading “The Girl of the Sea of Cortez” as a teenager. This novel by Peter Benchley is about a young woman that befriends a manta ray on a sea mount located off the coast of the Baja peninsula.

In an uncharacteristic Benchley style, there are no sea monsters or predator sharks in this tale. It is instead the story of young Paloma's struggle to protect the sea life that makes the mount its home. Fishermen, including Paloma’s brother, are eager to exploit the richness of the sea mount and her only help in foiling their attempts is her friend the manta ray. Benchley's vivid descriptions of the underwater world make this book come to life. It is good stuff, especially for impressionable young women that love the sea.

Thus began my own quest to meet the larger, less threatening cousin of the common sting ray, the Manta birostris. However, it wasn’t until I was almost 30 that I had happened to chance upon a manta ray in the wilds of the Gulf of Mexico.

My father and I were out fishing in the relatively deep water at Coast Guard Marker 18. It was a hot, lazy day. We both had lines in the water, but we were more focused on philosophy than fishing. I was perched on top of the motor box looking south and he was lounging in a chair on the deck in the bow facing me.

The conversation had just turned towards the difficult choice between jalapeno or smoked sardines, when all of a sudden - with no warning - something huge leaped out of the water just south of the boat about twenty feet behind where my father sat.

My mouth opened in a big O of wonder as the big black manta ray came completely out of the water, high enough for me to see the bright white of his belly. He hung high in the air for just an instant, then crashed back on the surface, splashing my father with enough water to make him yelp in surprise.

Papa did not get to see the ray in the air, but he turned quickly and we both saw it sport on top of the water for a few moments before diving back down into the depths, leaving only swirling water behind. It left us speechless.

My next close encounter with a manta ray was alone. It was on a calm, very early May morning in the year 2000. My husband Rod and I were staying at Keaton Beach and I decided, since it was such a beautiful morning, to take off by myself for a quick trip on the Wave Runner (jet ski). 

Normally, I didn't take it out alone without the boat along. Y'all know how those darn things are on our coast - they grass up quick and you've got to climb off, get in the water and reach up under and clean the grass out, then get climb back on and go again. Repeat as needed. It can be dangerous to try and do that in rough water over your head when no one is around. Especially if your name is Polly. But, it was a calm day and I had a "system" for the grass problem. Besides, if I didn't come back, someone would come looking, eventually. 

When I left the Keaton Beach channel, the gulf had not yet woken up for the day. The air was crisp and still, the water slick as glass and there was not a boat on the horizon. It was just me and what ever that was breaking swirls on the water. 

After a few detours to check out the swirls, I made my first stop to de-grass in the shallow water at Sponge Point. That way I didn't have to do a lot of climbing and such. It was part of my system. I didn't wait until the intake grassed up over some muddy, deep hole, I got ahead of the situation. I did the same thing at Piney Point coming and going. 

It wasn't long before Grass Island came into view. Often called just Grassy, it is uninhabited island, less than a mile off the coast consisting of marsh grass, with a small shifting beach and adjoining sandbar. Although the island is surrounded by mostly shallow water, there is a deep tide-fed channel running along its southeastern end attracting larger marine species.

It was high tide and I could have cut across the sandbar on the back side to approach, but I chose to come around the front side of the island. When I neared the channel coming around the end, I cut the motor, stood up and drifted over the deep water, looking down hoping to spot a school of mullet.

All I could see below me was black and at first I was puzzled because the water was clear. Then, I realized what it was and from right under me came the big manta ray. He surfaced just in front of me, dwarfing and rocking my vessel. Then he looked me right in the eyes and roiled the water foamy before he banked gracefully to the right, and lazily cruised off towards the south. He made a big upside down W with his wake.

When my heart slowed down, I drifted for a while and flirted with the idea of following. But then I reconsidered. Paloma was a lot braver than me. If I was going to befriend a manta ray, I was going to need a bigger boat.