“Am I nuts?” Stingrays, shaped like large wings, swim lazily around Sun Light, our boat bobbing at anchor in North Sound of Grand Cayman Island in the western Caribbean. I snug the borrowed mask against my face, cram my big feet into the lime-green fins, clamp the snorkel between my teeth and slip into the warm crystal-clear water. For a Vermonter, is a relief from the tropic heat, but the little matter of 30 stingrays wending their way between a dozen human bodies floating or standing around does give me — well — pause.

The reality check is when those stingrays, like so many dark blotches skimming over the impossibly-white sand four feet below us, make a beeline for the boat — wanting to be fed. Do I really want to do this?

Orders were, be at slip A19 and board the 32-foot cabin cruiser Sun Light owned and captained by Allan Ebanks, a Caymanian, by 8:30 am. Allan is a bear of a man, very tall, handsome, and surprisingly gentle for his size. His 19-year-old son, George, and young cousin, Joe, help with the cooking chores for the day-long trip. George, a tall, thin, handsome youth has a grin that takes up half his face. The younger Joe is fairly quiet, smaller version of his cousins. All possess a wicked sense of humor.

By 9:30 am the rest of the 12 guests have arrived. Our first stop is for conch, a Cayman Island delicacy. Only we have to provide the little devils by diving for them in the 10-15 foot deep water. Allan outfits me with mask, snorkel and fins. The mask leaks making diving underwater scary (I’d rather take it off and dive, but then I couldn’t see anything). I opt to watch as Allan explores the sandy bottom, moving stray clumps of seaweed to unearth a pointy-looking “rock.” He hands it to me — “my conch.” We are each expected to bring one back for part of our meal. If I’m an example of the success rate of this group, we’ll starve. Fortunately, Sue Richards (an old hand at these trips) manages to bring in seven, upping the conch count considerably.

We spend an hour gathering conch, swimming, goggling at the spectacular underwater scenery. Here the bottom is white sand with clusters of coral head, sea fans, sea rods and fingers. A school of dazzling blue tang dash around chased by yellowtail snapper. The sunlight shines as day through the clear water. Even years of watching Cousteau shows doesn’t do the real experience justice.

Reluctantly for me, it is time to move on. We climb aboard Sun Light.

George demonstrates the fine art of retrieving the conch from its shell. A little axe hole, just there (near the beginning of the shell’s spiral), a knife wiggle, and slurp, as the creature slides out. Voila, a conch! Meanwhile, Allan mixes the ingredients for marinated conch salad — all of it “hot” something. Joe carves up George’s efforts into tiny slivers and mixes the bits into Allan’s sauce. Soon, crackers convey the conch delicacy to hungry, grateful mouths. It is tangy, chunky, and superb.

We arrive at Rum Point, our picnic site. Allan anchors some distance away from land as the beach is quite shallow. We carry our luncheon feast on our shoulders, or float cases into shore. Quickly, lunch is served. Allan had cooked marlin, island rice (with native spices), green salad, and veggies on a two-burner propane camping stove in the cabin. It is a treat. Suitably stuffed with lunch, we happily repack and refloat the gear back to Sun Light.

Minutes later, we anchor at Stingray City, a patch of shallow, sandy bottom just inside the barrier reef. Allan loans me his own mask which fits perfectly. I am ready to conquer the reef! Among other things….

If I float, then the stingrays can’t sting me. If I stand up I am taking a remote chance that I might step on a ray and it wouldn’t like that. But, this is what I came for. Be brave.

Slowly I lower myself, down among the rays.

Until you are actually in the water, hovering over these awesome creatures, it’s hard to believe that they won’t hurt you, they are intelligent, no one has been stung yet (at Stingray City) by the poison barb at the end of their tails, and yes, you can touch them. They are fish, Atlantic Southern Stingrays, from the same class as sharks. They snarfle mollusks from the sandy ocean floor. Normally, they retreat in fear from humans, but years ago, the fishermen of the Cayman Islands made a habit of stopping off at this spot and feeding the rays leftovers from their catches. Through years of conditioning, these 30 rays have been “tamed.”

We don’t feed rays, that is left to the experts. In the water, Allan, George, and Joe hold out leftovers. Rays surround the men and look like they’re chewing up their arms. The rays aren’t, but sometimes I wondered where Allan’s arm disappeared while that ray flapped happily at him. In fact, George and one female ray have a hug-fest going. A ray wraps herself around George’s shoulders — for him, a common occurrence. They like him. He loves them.

The rays swim lazily between us, their “wingtips” curl up just before they touch us. Boldly, I reach out for the tip of a large ray sliding by me. It is like silk slipping over my fingertips. What am I afraid of? Another ray slides under me, we make eye contact. I get the feeling he is telling me that I am the intruder, this is his domain. And suddenly, I relax. My fear, vanquished. I did it.

Eventually, it is time to return to shore. We retreat to Sun Light and strip off our gear. It has been an exhilarating experience. It had never occurred to me that I might “play” with rays, or see, first hand, the bounty of underwater marvels that inhabit the ocean. The word “awesome” comes to mind. I tell Allan, George, and Joe that I think it is an “awesome experience.” By the time we dock, the Ebanks are joyously repeating the Vermont “Awesome! Awesome!” as I try the Caymanian, “Ya, mon!”

Just before I leave the Sun Light, I give Allan a farewell hug. He starts dancing, the two of us whirling around the tiny cabin. Laughing, we part.