As I glide over the top of the Devil’s Jaw dive site off Mexico, unaware that I am being watched, the visibility is terrible. I swim close to the seafloor, searching for something to photograph. My reverie is abruptly interrupted when I hear Cesar shout into his regulator. He’s a bit ahead of me, and as I lift my eyes to find him, instead of the familiar figure of a diver with split fins, a giant black shadow appears in front of me… 

A large manta ray – a big one! I have one and a half tons of fish just five feet away from me, and if it weren’t for Cesar, I might never have known. The manta floats past me slowly, dipping gently and folding its huge pectoral fin to carve a slow right turn. As it travels, its form dissipates into the greenish hues of cold, murky water. I lean sideways to intercept it on what I judge will be its future course, knowing better than to try chasing it.

A second or two later, I cannot see it anymore. I wait, the abyss of the Jaw looming black below me. I wait some more. Just as I start thinking I was wrong and the manta is gone for good, I see it again. It’s moving slowly but steadily toward me, and as it comes within touching distance, I see its large eye lock into mine. We look at each other for a second, two, three. The manta carries two very large remoras on its head. The one closer to me, a sizeable fish about 3 feet in length, shudders and moves off, slightly unnerved by my proximity.

Meanwhile, the manta, completely untroubled, holds my stare. Eventually, I stop kicking, and the manta slowly drifts off, following the same arching path. I see Cesar, some 20 feet away, patiently waiting his turn. He doesn’t have to wait long. The manta ray moves past him a moment later, dips its fin, and glides away. I cannot see it anymore, but I feel this encounter isn’t over yet. I wait, hanging above the blackness, the rocky shelf on my left, contemplating the green wall of cloudy water and waiting. Then the manta ray comes again.

What happens next is a carbon copy of its last pass. A few seconds within arm’s reach from me, looking into my masked face, remoras freaking out. Then past Cesar and gone into the void. This is amazing. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that the manta chooses to come back to us. I am not sure what to call it. Interest? Curiosity? Both terms sound somehow lame to me.