I scanned the glittering ocean.
It was 11 am, the water had calmed, the sun shone like a mother-of-pearl button on blue silk, and I had my snorkelling gear at hand. Conditions were perfect; everything was ready.
I was more than ready. Only, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. A dark shape? A leaping figure?
Frigate birds circled above, their angular forms bat-like and vaguely sinister. They turned their heads from side to side as they glided, watching for fish in our wake, and I caught the sun glinting off a bill.
“There’s one!” shouted Frank.
I shot up in my seat and stared in the direction my husband pointed. At first I saw nothing. Then, I spotted the shadow of a manta ray basking just under the surface. A broad, elegant wing tip emerged, curved lazily, and disappeared as the ray rolled into the steel-blue depths.
Earlier that morning, we had set off from Zorritos, on the coast of northern Peru, in a local fishing boat crewed by father and son, Taurino and Alfredo, together with our two kids, and Cleo, the Belgian owner of the hostel where we were staying. Cleo had organised this outing. A marine biologist also accompanied us. Peter volunteered for Planeta Oceano, a Peruvian non-governmental organisation working to conserve and restore coastal and marine environments, in collaboration with Manta Trust and WildAid.
As a child, encyclopedia in my arms, I had often gazed at photos of manta rays and whale sharks and had longed to swim with these "gentle giants". So when I first heard that Planeta Oceano was trying to promote local manta tourism, I was eager to find out more.
Now, my heart sank as the manta slipped away. Would I get a second chance? A silent skein of pelicans undulated towards us, each bird a precise distance from its neighbor, like beads knotted on a string. I admired their dignified flight.
“There’s another!”
We approached the amorphous, dark mass, larger than the first, its outline blurred by the ruffled water. As we neared it, shafts of light marbled its broad, black back. Peter jumped overboard and began to swim towards the manta, holding his GoPro camera like a fencing sword, en garde. His mission: to record the ray’s ventral surface, in order to identify this individual by its unique pattern of spots.
“Quick, Jess, jump in!” Here, finally, was my opportunity; Frank was excited for me.
But I hesitated. I found the idea of launching myself into the forbidding ocean unnerving. I have always been uncomfortable about swimming in bottomless water, and often feel a clutch of unease in my throat at the thought of something looming out of the deep.
It was now or regret it forever.
A Ray of Light
By Jessica Groenendijk
64 - SEVENSEAS