In 1996, on a 2 week dive trip to Lanai, Hawaii, I had the good fortune to work a few days as a dive leader of my own group of divers off of a major Maui-based dive boat. It was there that I had my personal 'ultimate dive.'

There were 8 divers on the boat that day at "Monolith Rock," and I led a group of just 2 divers (6 divers went with the regular boat's full-time dive leader). Just before I entered the water, I checked my air pressure and found the tank low. I quickly swapped out the steel 72 and chose a nearby aluminum 80 and found that I had 3500 psi to boot. Wow, was I ready!

The dive plan here was for the three of us to concentrate in shooting pictures of little critters up and down the steep walls of this half city-block long, box-shaped, lava rock, a popular dive site located off the wild, isolated southeast side of the island of Lana'i. As 2nd group into the water, I chose to take our group around Monolith in the opposite direction of the first group. I was sure we'd have great encounters with eels, crabs, and the many colorful reef fish to be found in the many nooks and crannies.

The viz that day was exceptional: at least 150 feet; there was little or no current at depth; and we leisurely made our way all the way around the rock, taking about 40 minutes to do it, shooting fotos whenever the spirit moved us...Our maximum depth was about 90 feet, but we averaged about 60 feet...

I was nearly at the far southern point of Monolith, at about 40 ft, and just about to motion the other divers around the point and back toward the anchor line, when I set myself up for an "artsy" wall shot, framing the sharp lava edges of the wall at the point against the deep blue depths, and aiming up slightly to catch some of the brilliant white sunshine in the upper part of the frame...

...When I was set up for the shot, I held my breath just a second (to squeeze the shutter button), and I noticed a dark shadow pass over me, actually blocking out the sunlight as I fired away!

I looked up just in time to glimpse the largest manta I'd ever seen sail off toward the point...

Well, I didn't remember to check my f-stop, shutter speed or focus distance; I just powered up and went after it, with the camera against my face while I tried to get the whole animal, wingtip to wingtip, into the frame (which was made all the harder because my Sea & Sea MM EX-II is NOT a through the lense focus camera!!! and I had to guess where the photo frame was...)

After I'd shot the third frame, my shutter button wouldn't depress...I WAS OUT OF FILM...ruefully, I watched as the manta flew toward the open ocean, and, at a loss for anything to do to keep it there, as well as to try to lure it back, I resorted my old standby --doing a big, slow flapping of my arms and legs (attempting to mimic it)...but ALAS, it was going, going....GONE. Helpless, I watched as it dissolved into nothingness hundreds of feet away.

I turned around, saw that my divers had dutifully come toward me (BAD DIVEMASTER!) and together the three of us kicked back toward the anchor line, where several divers of the previous group were still hanging off doing their safety stops. As my divers positioned themselves on the line, one of other divers frantically waved to get my attention. She pointed over my shoulder, and, as I turned around and saw the manta reappearing, huge, immense, and heading toward me, I gave my divers a thumbs up toward the boat, and looked again at my pressure gauge...(1700 psi!!!) before swimming toward the Manta.

So it began...the best dive of my life...The manta wanted me to pay attention to it, and wanted me to swim with it, and, for the next 20 minutes stayed with me between 35 and 15 feet deep, and, well, there's no other word for it: cavorted with me...we swam chest to chest (coming close enough for me to touch it --but I never did), only to break off like ballet dancers who'd circle and return to each other; we swam wing tip to shoulder, looking into each other's eyes throughout big arcs that we cut through the water no more than a 100 feet from the boat; sometimes it would speed up, unfurl its flaps and gorge itself on some invisible mouthful of plankton, with me kicking hard behind it to keep up and stay within eyeshot; other times, it would turn or dip or swell up to near the surface, always giving me a chance to come abreast of it...always staying, always.

Before long the other divers were back in the water (as snorkelers now, taking a long surface interval --their 2nd dive of the day was still to be done, and, then, they knew, only after I'd burned off the rest of my tank swimming with "my" Manta)...they chugged about overhead as the Manta and I swam a dance with no name, exploring each other close up and personal, with no fear now of any aspect of our obvious mutual aliennesses, and, really, not even any sense now of anything but the present tense dance to define our bond...

On and on it went, the circling, the swimming together, and every so often I would steal a glance at my gauge (GOOD DIVEMASTER!) only to see that, wonder of wonders, I had only used 100psi since the last time (it was minutes ago!!) that I'd checked it last...

Finally, the Manta tired of this play, or of me in my green and black skin, my noisy scuba, my huge bright blue fins; or perhaps it was the snorkelers above us, (now they were all out in the water, all 8 of them plus the other divemaster (her with a camera), all of them trying to free dive down to us, to have a taste of this experience (and who could blame them)?