“Just to be here is so much.” Rainer Maria Rilke, poet novelist

On the Big Island of Hawai’i, in Kona, I signed up for a boat trip to snorkel with manta rays. The trip was canceled five nights in a row because of high surf and strong surge warnings. On our final day before returning to Michigan, the weather services determined the conditions were slightly better, and lifted the warnings. The captain and two crew members met 14 divers and three snorkelers at about 4 p.m. to see if we’d go out or not. Conditions were still very rough, and they were unsure if we could make the trip. We decided to give it a try.

The trip to the dive site was difficult. The boat was a 50-footer, but the swells were big, and we pitched and rolled more than anyone wanted. A few people started puking over the side. Eventually we got to the area where mantas had been seen on previous trips. We were offshore, about 300 yards from the old airport. The shore was broken pieces of lava, and there was nothing around. Waves were crashing against the lava and splashing up 30 feet or more. The captain and crew looked for a mooring device, a permanent loop of cable affixed to two large rocks on the bottom, marked with a small white float. We spent about half an hour circling and looking for the float. Now that we were at idle speed, the boat was pitching and rolling even more. A crew member donned scuba gear, got into the water, and found the float. It was about 10 feet below the surface. The strong surge had moved the mooring rocks into deeper water. Glenn, the boat owner/captain, said he’d never known the rocks to move as much as an inch. We probably should have never left the dock.
Everyone was completely excited about getting into the water with the big fish. I had consulted four fish identification books. They all agreed that mantas are huge, getting up to 23 feet across, in some reports even larger. One manta that came under scientific scrutiny weighed more than 3,000 pounds, and it was 16 feet across. No one has ever weighed a 23-footer.
Mantas are filter feeders, eating plankton. Rays don’t push with their tails like most fish. They have large, specialized pectoral fins, which give them their distinctive diamond shape. They move these huge fins like wings to provide underwater propulsion; it looks similar to flying, with the fins playing the role of wings, and beating a slow cadence.
The plan was for us to get into the water at dusk, see the dive site and the shore while there was still a bit of daylight. We’d come back aboard, eat, and get back into the water with underwater dive lights after it got dark. Plankton are attracted to light; our lights would bring plankton, and the mantas would come to feed on the plankton.
We were to feed on sub sandwiches, potato chips, and pop. Not many people ate; there were probably more pukers than eaters. The crew cut up some raw ginger, which was said to help with nausea. I tried some. Maybe it helped.
Now and then a big swell would hit the side of the boat with a sound like a train wreck. It scared me some, and I thought that the crew looked apprehensive. I’m sure that most of us could have gotten to shore, although one guy said he wasn’t much of a swimmer. Getting from the water onto the jagged chunks of broken lava at shore would have been very challenging, though, especially in such rough seas.
While there was still a bit of daylight we went in. Our group consisted of a boat captain, two crew members, three snorkelers, and a dozen divers. The other two snorkelers, Dave and Reno Mike (I was Michigan Mike) stayed at the stern of the boat, hanging onto the ladder. We didn’t expect to see mantas during daylight. I snorkeled around and saw some reef fish, including a large lion fish, and the beautiful humahumanukunumkapua’a, state fish of Hawaii, part of the triggerfish family. We were in about 40 feet of water, depending on the crests and troughs of the waves. There was plenty of action in the water, but it was easier to be in the water than on the water, aboard a boat that was being tossed around. To my great delight, a moderately sized manta, about 12 feet across, appeared. That may be moderately sized for a manta, but it was an enormous fish. I swam for 20 minutes or so, following this fish, with divers beneath me. After the first 10 seconds I was convinced that seeing a manta was completely worth the expense, the time, and the rough ride. Watching it was wonderful. The gracefulness and speed is astonishing. Mantas swim with seemingly no effort; it looks like slow motion flying. When the time came to re-board the boat, it was learned that only one of the two groups of divers, plus me, had seen the manta. The groups had gone in different directions; one group was lucky, and one wasn’t. The divemasters kept telling us that if one manta had been seen, there would be more once it was dark. The underwater lights we’d carry would attract the plankton, and the mantas would come to enjoy the buffet.
One of the divers was called Fuzzy by his buddies. They’d come as a group. Fuzzy’s wife had come on the manta dive. Mrs. Fuzzy — I never caught her name — sat by me on the boat. She wanted easy access to the rail. She was leaning over the side with great regularity. Turning back, wiping her mouth, she said to me, “I hate it when I’m underwater and I puke into my regulator. But I guess that’s just part of the deal.” She was quite matter of fact about it. A woman from Boston told me in sort of a stage whisper that she’d used some sort of over the counter medication that you aren’t supposed to use if you’ll be diving. “But what the hell?” she said. When I’d been in the water I saw a guy pop to the surface like a cork. “Whoa,” he said, “that surprised me. I shot too much air into my BC. You’re not supposed to do that.” He was fortunate to have been in shallow water. My choice to be a snorkeler, not a diver, was reinforced. I have never met a scuba diver that doesn’t have a tale of near disaster narrowly averted. Had this guy who popped up been in deeper water, such a mistake could have been extremely costly.
When we did go back into the water it was very dark. It was almost moonless, there were no other boats around, and there was no light at all on shore at the deserted airport. The divers were to go to a spot about 50 feet from the boat, deflate their BCs to negative buoyancy, and stay on the bottom shining their lights straight up. The surge was very strong, so they would pick out large rocks to hold onto while they were down. I was to stay on the top, not do any freediving, and shine my light down. The other two snorkelers stayed at the ladder at the stern of the boat.
Mantas feed by doing repetitive backflips. They swoop down to the bottom, then up to very near the surface. They’re upside down at the surface, preparing to loop back down again. All the while they are filtering plankton; they love having divers (and a snorkeler) around using lights to attract the stuff they eat.
We saw at least eight fish. The small ones were bigger than any sting ray I’ve ever seen, and the medium ones were bigger than a large spotted eagle ray. The big ones were shockingly large. It would take some time for the big ones to eclipse a diver’s light. Not because they move slowly; they don’t. They’re just so big. Mantas have cephalic flaps that help them to guide the seawater into their mouths. These flaps were once said to resemble horns, and gave the fish the nickname “devil fish.” But mantas are gentle, graceful animals. Their mouths look big enough, on a big one, to take in a small person, but all they’re interested in is plankton.
These fish came within a foot of me. I could have touched them easily, but it is known that they have a protective mucus covering their skin. Touching them would remove that, so it is not allowed. Mantas do brush against people sometimes, but they know what they’re doing. One brushed against me.
Mantas are counter shaded, dark on top, light underneath. This camouflages them. Looking down from above their dark color blends with the depths; from below, their light color looks like the surface. The light underneath skin is marked with distinctive patches of dark, which allows for identification of individual fish. Manta photos may be submitted for scientific study at mantapacific.com. If you submit a photo of a manta never before identified, you get the honor of naming the fish. If I ever happen to ever be lucky enough to name one, of course it would have to be Cast Iron Filter Feeder, in recognition a great band in which my son once played (see castironfilter.com).
When everyone was completely exhausted we unmoored and headed back to Kona. The seas remained rough all the way back. I’d spent quite a bit of time in the water, and had gotten very cold. I put the heat on high and turned up the fan on the rental car as I head back to our rental condo. Had this Hawai’ian rental car ever had the heat on high? It was that night. The experience was well worth the cold, the nausea, the fear, the expense. If you find yourself in the Kona area of the Big Island of Hawai’i, consider going out with Manta Ray Snorkel & Dive. You’ll almost certainly have calmer seas, and the mantas love to come out for dinner.
Also, don’t miss the Fair Wind catamaran excursion to the Captain Cook Memorial for excellent reef snorkeling.

Partial Bibliography & Notes
A Guide to Sharks & Rays, Leighton Taylor et al, “manta birostris, worldwide in all tropical seas, reported to 29.5 feet across, but probably to 22 feet. Harmless, unless provoked, moderately common in most areas, a 16.5 manta found in The Bahamas weighed more than 3000 pounds. They are mostly solitary, but may swim in small groups. Superbly adapted for pelagic life, they are both graceful and powerful movers, probably swimming almost continuously. Females produce two pups at a time, sometimes ejecting their young into the air while breaching.”

Guide to Corals and Fishes, Jerry & Idaz Greenberg, “Mantas grow to a size of over 20 feet, and 3000 pounds. They are called devil fish, but pose little threat to man. Unlike other rays, the mouth is in the front (rather than underneath). Limblike flaps project forward of the eyes. Mantas swim with their mouths open, straining food from the water.”