Dancing with a Stingray

Hungry, the stingray cruised the beach for leftover conch bits; I gazed in wonder. Satiated, but wanting more, the stingray torpedoed into a rhumb-line for the conch pile behind me. “Watch out!” the conchman shouted. I quickly gathered my wits and tried to stand, but my bikini bottom had snagged in the conch shells. Extricating my suit would’ve taken only a second, but seconds I didn’t have. “Catch!” the conchman shouted again, then launched himself into an Olympian roll of the shoulder, pitching conch entrails at me. Gooey guts flew through the air, misty slime spinning off like raindrops. I caught the wet mass, not sure of what to do next. “Feed it to him,” he hissed. SAY WHAT?

Clutching the guts by the foot, I shoved them underwater at the eager stingray. It slithered slowly towards me, then stopped at my entangled legs to feed on my proffered entrée-of-the-day. As they were vacuumed from a ventral mouth, the head bobbed up and down, and swirling sands billowed out from beneath giant wing-like pectoral fins. Then something weird happened – the ray partially slithered onto my lap, looking for more. What do I do! What do I do? Newspaper titles blasted in my numb brain of: “Yachtswoman Dies in Shallows from Sea Creature” or “Sea Monster Electrocutes Woman”.

“Don’t move! Mind the tail!” shouted the conchman, then tossed me more conch guts. “Hold it under the snout!” The red tourists, oohed and ahhed, snapping digital photos in rapid succession.

Ever so slowly I placed my open palm beneath the head of the ray, offering it as a token for my life. Nice kitty; please go home to mommy, I cooed in pleading tones. My Buddhist nature screamed trouble: I don’t believe in harassing or taming sealife. This is nuts!

The ray nuzzled my palm, caressing my fingers with soft, velvety lips – like those of a sweet-natured mare. A pleasant tingling sensation rose, and rushed up my forearm. I simply smiled. After poking around for more, the ray swirled around to retreat, whipping a bulbous tail across my trembling feet. I froze, not wanting to startle it with any sudden movement.

This is NOT recommended behavior. Petting or feeding rays encourages human approach The long, whip-like tail of a stingray can inflict severe wounds – stingrays are, in fact, the most common cause of severe fish stings. The barbed spines at the base of the tail contain poisonous glands, utilized as a defense mechanism against predators.

In addition, stingrays are fascinating creatures. On Scud, my husband, Peter, and I see them often. In quiet anchorages, we hear them as they catapult from water into mid-air, landing with a thunderous thump. We dash on deck to watch the show, feeling lucky with their repeated performance. When snorkeling, we see them feeding on mollusks and crustaceans in shallows: We know they are near when broken conch shell shards litter the ocean floor or when a cloud of whirling sands emerge before us, making navigation through swirling sands difficult. We give them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb them, then turn to admire their fluttering ballet, as they glide through still waters. Swimming alongside a pair of leopard rays is a mystical experience. Once, as a young girl while snorkeling for the first time, I was astonished to gaze below me and discover a multitude of eyes blinking back at me from the ocean floor: a school of rays at rest, blanketed in sand for protection against predators.

Next time I decide to wallow in shallows with soapy spikes, I’ll don a face mask to maintain a sharp look-out for lovely sea creatures of the deep – just in case adventure comes drifting my way when I least expect it.

The curvy beach on Anguilla seemed like the perfect spot for a luxurious saltwater bath. An islander stood at one end doing something unusual with large shells; I sauntered towards the opposite end for my reverie. My rain dance on SCUD – our 44’ catamaran – missed the universal signal somehow, so with shampoo and liquid Quell in hand, I took the plunge. A myriad of fuzzy colors enveloped my mask-less vision underwater, and I let myself go for a long period, relaxing in the prettiest waters on earth. Getting on with the business at hand, I finned into the shallows, and standing with legs splayed wide for balance against the slight surf, proceeded to shampoo my hair. Feeling ‘in the groove’ now, I twisted mid-length curls into an impressive lather, shaping them into tall spikes, and then gnarly dreadlocks, while barreling out “Zippa-de-do-dah…”

“Mind your feet, lady!” shouted the islander behind me on the beach. (How did I drift down towards him so fast? I thought.) Shoving aside a bubbly spike of bangs, I squinted with one open eye to see him yanking out the fleshy snail from a queen conch for a gaggle of lobster-red, sunburned tourists, whom had clustered around. I became alarmed when a stifled cry came from one of the women. Suddenly, I felt something soft and slimy glide between my legs. Clawing at the soap in the other eye, I got the shock of my life when I peered down to see a large grey shape undulate between my feet: a giant stingray! What the heck? Then I lost my balance, and tumbled backwards into a pile of holed conch shells, litter from the conchman. Ouch!