This encounter took place off the east coast of Sumbawa, near a vibrant reef close to Banta Island, halfway toward Komodo — the land of the great monitor lizard, the Komodo waran. It was in March 2025. We were aboard a small motor yacht, just the two guides and me, our snorkeling gear glinting in the sun as we searched for the ocean’s wings — the majestic manta rays.
It took me some courage to follow the guides into the water. The sea below was a deep, endless blue – beautiful but intimidating. Still, curiosity won over hesitation, and I slipped in, the water wrapping around me like silk. It wasn’t too deep, perhaps ten meters, but the contrast was striking: before us, the reef burst with life and color; behind us stretched the infinite, inky blue of the open ocean.
The coral reef unfolded beneath us like a living tapestry, a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that seemed almost unreal. Branching staghorn corals reached skyward in delicate, antler-like patterns, their pale tan tips shimmering in the filtered sunlight. Nearby, table corals spread wide like miniature platforms, flat surfaces layered in concentric circles, perfect perches for tiny, darting fish. And mushroom corals, small and round, dotted the reef in subtle oranges and purples, each one a tiny dome shimmering with life.
The reef’s colors were staggering: glowing reds and scarlets, vivid yellows, deep purples, and the palest blues, all interwoven with the shimmering greens of algae and the golden sparkle of sunlight on sandy patches. Tiny polyps peeked from nooks and crannies, like delicate jewels, opening and closing rhythmically in the current.
The reef was alive with motion. Schools of neon damselfish flitted among the branches, their electric blue and yellow stripes flashing as they wove through the coral. Angelfish and butterflyfish, with their intricate patterns of black, white, and gold, glided gracefully in and out of crevices. Small wrasses darted across the sandy bottom, while curious parrotfish, with their beak-like mouths, nibbled at the coral, leaving trails of pink dust in their wake. Occasionally, a clownfish peeked from the protective embrace of a swaying anemone, its bright orange and white stripes almost too vivid to believe.
Even the tiniest creatures played their part: shrimps and crabs hid in the coral’s folds, their movements so quick and precise they seemed like living jewels. And through it all, the water sparkled with sunbeams, creating shifting patterns of light that danced over the coral and sand like liquid gold.
The reef was a kingdom in miniature, each coral and fish perfectly adapted to its place, a riot of colors, forms, and life that made the ocean feel boundless and endlessly enchanting.
In the midst of all the vibrant colors and graceful movements around me, a flash of motion caught the corner of my eye. A shark — sleek, silver, and fast — glided past, effortlessly slicing through the water. It didn’t glance at me, didn’t hesitate, and clearly couldn’t have cared less about my presence. And yet, my heart lurched. My breath hitched. For a moment, panic surged through me like a jolt of electricity. I frantically looked for my guides, who were close by, smiling calmly, utterly at ease. They had warned me about the reef sharks — that they were harmless to humans — but in that instant, all logic evaporated.
I made a frantic sign: I wanted to talk. On the surface, I searched for the yacht, but it was quite a bit away, maybe 200 meters – it was drifting in the open sea, I assumed, to avoid being pushed against the reef. My mind raced even faster. I’m too far. I’m not safe. I want out. My pulse pounded, my thoughts scattered. I was on the verge of losing my cool completely. Then one of the guides leaned in, his warm smile steady and unshakable, and asked gently, “Ulrike, what did the shark do?”
And in that simple question, I realized how absurdly worked up I’d gotten. The shark hadn’t done anything. It was just… swimming. My fear, my frantic thoughts, were all mine — a story my mind had written for me: Get out of here!
A wave of embarrassment mixed with relief washed over me. For a few seconds, I felt a quiet determination: this was another chance to face my fear, to see the reality behind the anxiety. I straightened up, met the guide’s calm gaze, and said, “You’re right. Let’s stay. That shark couldn’t care less about us.” And just like that, the panic dissolved. The water returned to its rhythm, the reef to its colors, and we continued our journey — my heartbeat slowly syncing with the graceful pulse of the ocean around us.
And then — the manta ray appeared.
One of the guides suddenly grew animated, swimming toward me with excitement shining in his eyes. He pointed, and there it was: a majestic, elegant creature, its body wide and flat, gliding effortlessly through the water. Its wings, broad and powerful, moved with a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each sweep moving it forward with the quiet grace of a drifting cloud. Its mouth hung open slightly, as if it were tasting the water, playful and curious — almost like a dolphin, only much larger.
It came toward me, keeping a respectful distance of seven, maybe ten meters, weaving gracefully through the water, then darting away and circling back again. It was a game — a dance of curiosity and mutual respect. Watching it move, the sheer size of its wingspan was overwhelming. One beat of those wings, and the water surged with energy. I could feel it. Its elegance was mesmerizing, impossible to tear my eyes from.
At first, the manta didn’t feel as inviting as the dolphins — a bit distant, almost regal in its mystery. But that changed quickly. It was a creature that connects, that doesn’t shy away, that meets you halfway in the water. Every turn, every glide, felt deliberate, as if it were aware of our presence and choosing to include us in its world.
I became completely absorbed in the dance, forgetting even the second shark that zipped by like a silver bullet a few meters away. It didn’t matter. The moment belonged entirely to the manta ray and us. Its presence was breathtaking — a living, moving sculpture of the sea, playful, enormous, and utterly unforgettable.
Since I didn’t have an underwater camera, here is a photo of the Kommodo dragon 🙂
