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Bora Bora stingrays
are a sociable lot

I was exploring Bora Bora's turquoise lagoon by dinghy this week when the white sand bottom of this candy-colored bay suddenly rose up to greet me.

OK, I thought, I'll walk the boat then.

Shutting down the outboard, I slipped over the side into knee-deep water -- and fell down. Some burrowing animal had dug hard-to-see holes in the sand, causing me to stumble and fall pitifully (and I'm sure hilariously) as I headed to shore.

I'd been lurching like this for only minutes when I saw a dark shape swimming toward me. I kept going, thinking the animal would divert its course from the commotion. But no. The creature headed straight for me.

My first instinct was to leap into the dinghy, but then the animal's outline showed through that clear water, and I lost the urge to flee. This fish on a mission was a stingray.

The diamond-shaped ray was huge, 3 or 4 feet across, and its long stinger-bearing tail trailed behind like a length of barbed wire. But there was nothing to fear from this fish. Rays sting only in defense.

The big ray swam near my feet and then lazily circled the dinghy. Apparently finding me uninteresting, it then took off.

Is this the same ray, I wondered, that's been hanging around the sailboat, fearlessly standing its ground when I dive down to take a closer look?

Or maybe that's just another of Bora Bora's many friendly fish.

There's a reason the stingrays here are so sociable. People feed them.

Concessions on all the islands advertise boat excursions to feed rays and sharks (small black-tipped reef sharks, I'm told).

They even feed the rays in restaurants. A few weeks ago, at a bay-side bistro in Moorea, sting rays crowded around the shallow, lighted waters near our table. I thought they were cruising for small creatures attracted by the lights, and maybe they were. But the real attraction came later when the cooks passed to the diners leftover fish to feed the rays.

"They won't hurt you," an American tourist in a fancy dress said to me as I stood watching. "I did it last night. Watch."

She picked a piece of raw tuna from the bowl, bent down and let the ray gobble it from her hand.

"Isn't that fantastic?" she said.

It is. This woman probably didn't know a stingray from a toaster oven before she came here. Now she's so enamored with these graceful creatures, she's eagerly teaching others of their gentle ways.

I also think it fantastic that rays near my anchorage swim right up to me, confident I'm a safe bet. Sure, they're looking for treats. But after all the suffering we humans have inflicted on the marine animals of the world, I think their ambassadors deserve a few treats.

When I next visited the lagoon's shallow water, no rays paid a visit, but I did see those treacherous holes in the sand, dug solely, I believe, by worms.

This time though, rather than let them launch me face down in the water, I launched myself. I went with mask and snorkel.