Shadows in the Beam

Drawn by curiosity-and an instinct sharpened by evolution-reef manta rays arrive,

circling the artificial light like moths to a flame.

This glow isn’t random. Boat lights act like underwater lighthouses, pulling in dense

swarms of plankton—tiny organisms that are positively phototactic, instinctively drawn to light.

Mantas, ever the opportunists, follow the feast. With mouths agape, they scoop up tiny lifeforms suspended in the current.

A perfect portrait in motion. As plankton rain down like underwater snow,

the manta ray glides upward—a graceful ballet dancer on an invisible stage.

Lit from above and mirrored by the water's surface, the manta becomes a creature of

duality-fluid yet powerful, gentle yet commanding.

Each swoop and spiral is a calculated move in the rhythm of survival.

Not alone. Look closely and you'll spot remoras—often called suckerfish—latched onto the manta's body using a specialized suction pad, visible in this frame if you zoom in.

The nature of their relationship is still up for debate: some scientists consider it commensal, while others suggest it may be mutualistic. Either way, these freeloaders-turned-companions are a familiar sight, hitching a ride through the plankton-rich dark.

The night feeds many. A trio of mantas emerges from the black, each one trailing its own deck of remoras- an underwater caravan gliding through a storm of light and life.

Sometimes, the remoras almost mirror the manta-aligning with its lines, mimicking its flow.

In the inky sea, it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

With each pulse of the wings, the manta dances through the suspended particles-plankton,

bubbles, bits of life and decay-all caught in the theater of light.

In the spotlight, yet timeless. For these mantas, the boat light isn't just a lure-it's a stage.

Their movements-graceful, deliberate-carry the rhythm of a ritual long older than us.