Belize's Un-Belize-Able Saltwater Petting Zoo

Belize is the quintessential destination for anyone eager to explore the Mesoamerican Reef, the world's second largest coral reef system. The country's entire Caribbean Sea coastline, more than one hundred miles in length, is edged by segments of the reef usually only a short boat ride to the east from local ports.

On my seven-day cruise's stop in Belize, at Belize City, I headed to Caye Caulker, part of the string of barrier islands to the north of the capital city. The sandy cay lies to the west of a section of the reef that's part of a network of pristine marine preserves. Nearby was another unbelievable site - or maybe un-Belize-able as the locals liked to advertise - a sandbar petting zoo of sorts populated by timid sharks and gentle stingrays.

I had turned my back on the reef, quite literally, on my last cruise to Belize over a year ago, when I headed west and inland to Lamanai. While I was in awe of the site's ancient Mayan pyramids and the surrounding jungles filled with exotic birds and howler monkeys, I couldn't stop thinking about the coral reef and the marine life that dwelled practically in sight of my cruise ship.

So this month it wasn't a difficult choice to book a specific water excursion off the Sky Princess as it was my personal preference when I was on that holiday cruise with my husband. At that time, in the spirit of family unity, I had deferred to his first choice, the pyramids.

But this year, it was the Caye Caulker Shark and Ray Encounter I wanted as my belated Christmas present to myself. Admittedly, the title sounded a little bit hokey, reminiscent of the Magic Kingdom's Country Bear Jamboree. But let me assure you, there were no animatronics, cages, or theaters within leagues of the adventure; it was as wild and natural a Belize as you wanted it to be.

After first stopping at quaint Caye Caulker for a bathroom break, the excursion anchored close to the reef where we snorkelers geared up and jumped into thirty feet of water. In three separate groups, we followed our guides to the coral reef ahead. It had actually rained on the boat ride north from Belize City and clouds still obscured the sun. Nevertheless even in overcast light the reef soon came into view in elaborate and natural splendor.

Corals in the forms of fans, columns, and mounds abounded. The green, blue, and pink hues of parrotfish were some of the first colors to boldly announce the rich animal life present. Unlike at many marine preserves, the guides didn't hinder us from snorkeling in the shallows. As a result I was able to photograph from up close a variety of fishes, including some new wrasses, as I navigated the exquisite coral gardens.

In a preview to our upcoming ray and shark encounter, I observed a southern stingray foraging in a sandy patch deep below me. Soon after, our guide surfaced from the nearby seafloor with a mucous sack that at first resembled a jellyfish but was in reality a parrotfish's self-made protective nighttime sleeping bag. The short and chilly swim - still mostly clouded over - ended with the unique discovery of an all-white spotted trunkfish.

Back on our boat, the sun spectacularly appeared as we made our way to Shark Alley, a grassy sandbar in shallow water beyond the reef. As we anchored, the dark shadows in the turquoise water moved excitedly, indicating that quite a few rays and sharks were ready to greet us. When the guides started feeding sardine tails to the critters from the boat, a melee of sharks formed at the water's surface. Seemingly out of nowhere, pelicans, gulls, terns, and frigatebirds joined in the fray.

One by one and finless, we entered the waist-deep water, wearing our masks and snorkels so we could witness the underwater spectacle as we knelt or bent over. I've swam with sharks before in the Bahamas, where guides tethered bait boxes deep below so I could watch nurse sharks circle from a safe distance. However at Belize's Shark Alley, there were no safety protocols as nurse sharks are mostly harmless, much more catfish than dangerous predator. In fact they're so catlike in appearance that they possess fleshy, whisker-like appendages called barbels, located near their mouths, helping to detect food.

The sharks gathered tightly at the boat's stern, high in the water, where the guide continued to feed them. While possessing teeth deeper in their mouths, not on intimidating display, the animals seemed to suck at their prey more than bite it, another reason our safety wasn't of great concern to our guides.

Meanwhile southern stingrays circled the frenzy, some stealthily gliding lower into the pack of creatures. Because of their vastly different forms, the nurse shark and the ray appear to be quite unique species at first look. However according to the American Museum of Natural History they are closely related, both elasmobranchs, in a subclass of fishes with cartilaginous skeletons and five to seven gill slits.

Both species' underside mouths, powerful and almost hidden, intrigued me; I wanted to think they were identical vacuum cleaners, sucking up their prey. However one ray's long obsession with a prickly conch shell reminded me that elasmobranchs' mouths were lethal attack machines when needed.

It was easy to photograph the nurse sharks from below but the stingrays stayed pretty close to the sandbar bottom. But then a guide held a ray high in the water, allowing up close photos. In addition, another guide grasped a shark, flipping it upside down, exposing its belly above the water. Touching the creatures wasn't discouraged. Not surprisingly, the shark's taupe skin was described in terms of sandpaper. In contrast, the undulating body wings of the rays stroking my shins as they squeezed by could be described as more of a gossamer than an abrasive.

One guest got especially close to a stingray in a specific way I never quite did figure out. Back on Caye Caulker for lunch, I'd see the young lady with a round, bloody welt on her abdomen, apparently not painful or serious, further testament that the sandbar petting zoo worked both ways. Had the girl seen that ray molesting the conch shell, I'm not sure she'd have been so receptive to any ray overtures.

It was clear that the creatures were opportunistic feeders and that they relished regular handouts. But the close encounter seemed more like a human festival than a natural history moment. By backing away and turning toward the wide sea around us I enjoyed photographing the elegant motions of the rays gracefully arriving on the scene from the deep. Sharks prowled the landscape's perimeter, looking like the deadly hunters we love to fear. Of course, a few yards behind me at our boat the creatures were acting like puppies and kittens, exactly what we had paid them to be.

The petting zoo experience wasn't over after our lunch break. On the way back to the port of Belize City, off the west coast of Caye Caulker close to dense groves of mangroves, our marine guides had one more hands-on encounter with the local wildlife. But actually, the surprise item on the agenda was more of the hands-in variety.

Large, bony fish known as tarpons inhabited the shallow, muddy environment. Growing over four feet in lengthy, they swarmed our boat as we anchored close to land. Above them were begging pelicans that knew more than any of us tourists what was about to happen.

Our guides proceeded to distribute leftover sardine tails to guests wanting to feed the tarpons. However dropping the fish pieces in the sea was not un-Belize-able enough; feeding required dangling the tail in your extended hand over the water several feet until the fish jumped out and chomped on its meal.

If the guides were successful in repelling the pelicans, most people dropped the bait in terror at the very moment the tarpon's massive gums broke through the water's surface. A few intrepid tourists held on tight, watching the gigantic, hungry fish erupt completely out of the water and clamp onto the sardine. Amazingly, the brave fisherperson's hand was momentarily and completely enveloped in the tarpon's mouth as the tarpon's teeth apparently sat quite far down its throat. Mercifully the fish had much more lip than bite.

I could only think how gross it was. On the forty-five minute ride back to port, passengers flicking sardine scales off their arms and clothes and out of their hair only enforced my impression. A passed bottle of sanitizer didn't assuage any nausea or discomfiture. It was also easily turning into an eight hour excursion and I was dog tired.

Nevertheless, I appreciated the adventure, and the show that it was. The reef was the natural stage, decorated in corals, cast with unimaginably beautiful players in the form of exotic marine life, and lit by dappled sunlight. The sandbar was the VIP party where a select few fans scored lucky invitations to see the Caribbean Sea's biggest stars. After a lunchtime intermission, the tarpon feeding was the finale, the magic show, and the encore, all rolled into one. Ladies and gentlemen, right before my eyes, it was un-Belize-able.