By Bonnie J. Cardone

I had read the stories, I had seen the film (Jack McKenney's The Stingray Man), now it was time to experience the phenomenon myself. I was exceedingly excited. The rays had begun gathering as soon as the boat pulled up. We could see them milling about below us as we stood on the stern.  We stepped off the dive platform and sank to the bottom. Since Stingray City is only 12 feet deep, that didn't take long. My buddy, with a bag of squid clutched to his chest, was supposed to feed the rays while I took photos, but at first, the rays overwhelmed him. Not the slightest bit shy, they fluttered up and down his body, looking for the food they could smell but not yet find. At one point all I could see was his legs, as a huge ray nearly enveloped him. (They don't bite but occasionally leave "hickies!") When one ray left, another took its place. Sometimes there was more than one checking him out. All the while other rays flew above us, beside us, in between us and swirled around us on the sandy bottom. We could reach up and gently feel the velvety undersides of those that passed overhead.

My buddy was not the only one overwhelmed, I was, too. There were simply too many photo ops happening at the same time. Should I shoot the rays searching my buddy's body for food, the rays above us, those in midwater or those on the sand? And, the rays weren't the only creatures competing for handouts - there were also big Yellowtail Snappers, the largest Yellowtails I had ever seen, grown fat on the constant supply of free food. They were accompanied by slimmer, but no less aggressive Blue Tangs.

After a few minutes, both my buddy and I settled down on the sand and focused on the job at hand. He carefully withdrew one piece of squid and fed the nearest ray. The animal took off with its prize and another one came in for a handout. The sand settled gently on the seafloor. The Yellowtails and Blue Tangs circled ever closer, hoping for a morsel missed by the rays.

Flash! Flash! Flash! In no time at all I had finished a roll of 36 exposure film. Leaving my buddy on the ocean floor with his horde of new found friends, I surfaced and climbed aboard the boat. I didn't want to miss anything, so I kept one eye on my buddy as I changed the film in my camera. That turned out to be a major mistake. The second roll of film, taken of a buddy now fully in control of the action, did not go through the camera. What should have been wonderful photos turned out to be a totally unexposed roll of film.