“I felt something touch my arm. My partner beckoned me to follow him and not waste time. We swam in silent tandem back towards the bay where our boat was moored. As we rounded the spur of mangrove, my partner indicated particular stealth and then held his arms wide, indicating large size. Oh yes, another big sting ray that would disappear into oblivion before we got anywhere near.
My partner noticed my scepticism and broke surface, removing his demand valve sufficient to gurgle “Shovel-Nose Shark – huge!” Uh-uh, I thought all of a metre long. Into the gloom we returned and my guide then slowed, stopped and pointed. I peered. Solid gloom. Something vaguely sticking out of the sand – no, two things – no, …… three, all identical. I crept forward on finger tips. What were these three things and why side by side? My eyes accustomed to the low contrast scene. I looked left and right. Suddenly it dawned on me. The three things were all part of the same, and all were in line – occupying only the hind quarter of what I could now see was an enormous flattened body.
My partner was absolutely right. This beast was indeed huge. I estimated it to be ten foot long and to weigh well over half a ton. This was a serious fish. The three vertical ‘sails’ were the tail fin, the adipose fin and the dorsal fin – all almost identical and each standing three quarters of a metre off the floor of the lagoon. The next question was how to do justice to it photographically. I decided, stills first, movie second. The Nikonos around my neck had a new roll of film in it and a 24 mm lens. To make this creature look the size it was, I was going to have to get very close. Very, very close.
At this stage, I was broadside on. On the basis that being hit by half a ton of pointed ray was less to my liking than being flicked in the face by its tail, I decided to try the approach from the rear.
Finger power eased me forward at a snail’s pace. Now my heart was thumping, not because of fright, just because I so wanted a decent shot. Closer and closer I crept, until the caudal fin loomed large in the viewfinder. I began to click away, scared that the percussive note would frighten her away. (The sex of the beast was female, I believe, since I could see no signs of claspers). The ray remained motionless. Click, creep, click, creep. I could now reach forward and easily touch the caudal fin. This was the shot, with those three sails, en-echelon. I backed away and began a laborious circumnavigation on a fifteen metre diameter arc, to get ahead of the ray.
Now I had real reason to be apprehensive. From the front, this shovel nose looked extremely mean, and with those fins at the back end, she sure wouldn’t hang around when she decided to go. Now I was six foot from the snout. Click. Now five feet. Click. Four feet. Click. My nerve ran out. I eased off, reminding myself I still wanted a movie sequence, and a head on my shoulders! I sidled back to the boat, exchanged cameras and re-approached madam, from the side and a little behind. This time I wanted movement, but the roll of film had only twelve seconds of film to run. I crept towards the three sails. A lateral establishing shot first. Got it. Six or seven seconds left. Closer. Just before I settled for the shot – the intention movement of imminent departure – the operculum rose an inch or so. Sure enough, she was off and away in her own ‘smoke’ screen of sand. I shot it, but I would have so liked to be closer and to have had more film. Nonetheless, a memorable encounter and, like all fishy tales, my partner’s arms held wide had been out by a factor of two, but downwards, not upwards on this occasion!”
