Spotted Eagle Rays on the Big Island of Hawaii

You're not on the Big Island of Hawaii long before you hear about the reef manta rays. In fact based on all the promotions you might think these gigantic fish are a bigger tourism draw than the hot lava a couple hours drive away in Volcanoes National Park. When night falls shortly after your late afternoon arrival in Kailua, you can don a thermal wetsuit, board a charter boat, and dive or snorkel in floodlit water to see the rays feeding. Afterwards hot soup is available to take the non-tropical chill off.

Hot soup to warm up in Hawaii? That doesn't sound like my dream trip to the Aloha State.

Fortunately there's another option for seeing rays of a different sort and during the hotter, sunnier daytime. Simply keep your eyes peeled for spotted eagle rays whenever you're near or in the ocean. In fact on the first morning of my visit last week I saw one passing from a small bay into the manmade lagoon at my resort in Waikoloa. With the water less than two feet deep, capturing clear shots from the bridge was like shooting fish in a barrel (pun intended).

Of course there are differences between the eagle and manta rays, namely in size. The manta's wingspan - the distance between its pectoral fins - can reach fourteen feet, almost twice that of the eagle's. Also, the manta eats only plankton while the eagle feeds on small fish and crustaceans. Finally, it's the eagle ray that could be dangerous - however unlikely - as it has several venomous, barbed stingers behind its small pelvic fins, near the base of its long tail.

I started coming to Hawaii over thirty years ago, snorkeling dozens of times in many locations across the islands. I've always used the same mask and fin rental company which provides a one-page color-printed reef guide with photos of the fish you might see. One of the larger pictures is that of a spotted eagle ray, close in graphical size to the page-accompanying green sea turtle.

Over these years I've seen hundreds of turtles: swimming or eating while I snorkel, poking their heads out of the water for a quick breath of air while I gazed from the beach, sleeping on dry land close to breaking surf. However I had never seen a ray until that first morning at my hotel, and I'm happy to say that it was not a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

Right after renting this trip's equipment, I visited the northern side of Makaiwa Bay near the Mauna Launi Resort. It was my first dip in the Big Island's azure water in close to twelve years. Not counting a couple of yellow tangs, the very first critter to appear in my narrow underwater view was, astoundingly, a spotted eagle ray!

The ray is a cartilaginous fish like the shark, possessing a skeleton primarily composed of cartilage instead of bone. One source tells me that Hawaiian natives called the spotted eagle ray hihimanu, or elegant bird. It didn't take long snorkeling with the creature to understand exactly why.

Gliding through the clear water, the ray hugged the sandy floor. Its body looked like an alien spacecraft: one all-encompassing wing, its two side flaps, or fins, undulating gracefully and languidly, propelling the animal effortlessly. Its straight, stiff tail was easily three times the length of its body. And its dark torso was indeed spotted with white marks in an elaborate mosaic.

I got a look at its protruding head, and also its face, as white as its underside. Closed, its mouth looked like a beak, birdlike as maybe a Hawaiian would describe.

Hovering as close as possible, I snapped shots and recorded a few seconds of video. The ray avoided me, assuring me that there was no possibility it would need to use its stinger in self defense. After a minute or two of rapt attention, I turned my gaze to the nearby reef and a cluster of green sea turtles.

Six days later I returned to the same bay but to its southern end. The reef was much more extensive in that area, with elaborate coral formations teaming with fish life. "Fingers" of sandy seafloor demarcated deep canyons between the edifices. Underneath a protective ledge I saw a large sea turtle napping on the ocean bottom.

As I steered to the middle of the bay the coral cliffs gave way to a wide expanse of flat, sandy seabed. A shore-hugging five-minute swim north would have taken me to where I had snorkeled with that last spotted eagle ray. But I didn't have to bother as I soon spotted another one, almost a dozen feet below me. Fins rippling slowly, the creature glided peacefully away. It was my third and final glimpse at the elegant bird.