Douglas McCauley, one of our supervisors from Hopkins, recently tagged a two-meter manta ray in the eastern lagoon, and our team has spent the last two days tracking the ray by sonar in our small lagoon boat, noting position every five minutes. With Doug, I took the night shifts, remaining with the manta from 7:30 PM to 7:30 AM for two consecutive nights. Paul and Eva came to relieve us in the morning and tracked the manta during the day.
I will try to give an impression of how the night passed in our little lagoon boat, and I believe Eva will do the same for the daylight hours:
It's 1 AM and raining. The blue tarp strung above me flaps violently in the wind, the waves beneath our boat slap against the fiberglass, and the rain patters all around as I curl up with damp towels trying to catch a wink of sleep before my next shift. The night is fresh, and we are tracking a tagged manta ray in the moonlit waters of the eastern lagoon. Doug is at the helm, somehow using his two hands and tired body to work a hydrophone, steer the boat, avoid the rock ledges that line the lagoon, record data, and hide from the periodic and sudden showers of rain that frequent these latitudes.
Doug calls in on the radio to let them know all is well, and I rise from fitful sleep and strange dreams to assume my post till morning. The manta has been slowly pacing the same ledges all night and making long and lazy lines along the same miles of coastline since we started tracking two days ago. I grab the handle of the hydrophone in one hand and the throttle of the motor in the other and situate the headphones over my ears. The incessant sharp yellow pings of the sonar punctuate the passing moments, and somehow they remind my tired brain of sharp cheddar cheese. Half-delirious, I locate the manta and edge slowly towards the signal, stooping soon to record the 1:05 AM position.
Closer now to the channel, the tides pull strongly across the tidal flats in front of me, and a brisk offshore breeze keeps me well off the rocks as I take the 1:10 AM position. The clouds race by from the east above me, carried swiftly along by the trade winds. A planet – either Jupiter or Venus – is rising over palm-tufted Whippoorwill Island.
The night passes slowly and I watch the moon, stars, and planets dance across the sky. Part of me is occupied with the tasks at hand, part of me thinks “What have I gotten myself into?” and yet another part marvels at the quiet beauty and elegance of this place at night.
-Nick
