Imagine gently petting a 600-pound wild stingray, its smooth skin gliding under your hand like a living, breathing pancake. Sounds surreal, right? But this is exactly what happens in the shallow reefs off New Zealand’s east coast, where a unique wildlife experience challenges everything you thought you knew about these misunderstood creatures. Here, in the crystal-clear waters near Gisborne, a group of 30 people, clad in khaki overalls and boots, gather in a crescent formation, anticipation hanging in the air like the morning mist. They’re not waiting for just any marine encounter—they’re about to meet the stars of the show: eagle rays and short-tailed stingrays, some weighing over 600 pounds. And this is the part most people miss: these giants of the sea aren’t here to intimidate; they’re here to cuddle.
Within moments, the water comes alive. Six rays glide gracefully through the green depths, their movements as fluid as the ocean itself. They brush against legs, their mouths creating a vacuum-like suction as they slurp fish from submerged hands. Any initial fear the group might have felt melts away, replaced by awe and wonder. But here’s where it gets controversial: are these interactions truly natural, or are we crossing a line in our quest for connection with wildlife?
‘Stingrays are like giant sea puppy pancakes,’ exclaims Bella, a 19-year-old who joined New Zealand’s only wild stingray experience, operated by Dive Tatapouri. ‘They’re so affectionate,’ she adds. ‘They just want to be petted and cuddled. It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever experienced.’ Bella, who prefers to use only her first name, describes the encounter as ‘unreal,’ a moment that completely shifted her perspective on these creatures. ‘I never imagined I’d have a stingray right at my feet, letting me pet it. It was honestly breathtaking.’
New Zealand is home to three coastal stingray species, which are abundant and often spotted cruising harbors and coastlines. Yet, there are few places in the world where humans can safely interact with these creatures in their natural habitat. This rarity raises a question: Are we privileged witnesses to a beautiful connection, or are we inadvertently disrupting their lives?
Dean Savage, owner of Dive Tatapouri and a former commercial diver and underwater cameraman, started this business over 20 years ago. But his love for stingrays began much earlier, as a child watching his father, also a diver, interact with these animals. ‘He knew the image of the stingray and the reality of the stingray were two different things,’ Savage reflects. With a passion to share this knowledge, Savage and his wife Chris transformed their former sea urchin processing facility into an eco-tourism business. The nearby shallow reef, home to a stingray nursery, made it the perfect location for this one-of-a-kind experience.
For Savage, the stingrays are ‘not just performing animals.’ They are free to come and go as they please, and he ensures they don’t become dependent on the business for food by limiting the number and length of interactions throughout the year. ‘There are times when we don’t interact with them for a month or six weeks, especially during winter, so they can fend for themselves,’ he explains. ‘We never let them rely on us completely.’
‘They live here, so it’s not hard to get them to hang out with us,’ Savage adds. The stingrays are naturally curious, picking up on the movement of people entering the water and coming to investigate. Visitors then have the option to feed the rays a piece of fish. But there are rules: stand still, let the animals leave when they’re ready, and handle them gently. Disrespect the animals, and you’re removed from the tour. ‘All reef animals must be treated with respect—it’s our responsibility as kaitiaki [guardians],’ Savage emphasizes.
The resident stingrays, some over 20 years old, have become so familiar that they now have names: Pancake, Waffle, Hine, and Charlie. ‘Each has its own personality,’ Savage says. ‘Charlie loves climbing up on you and getting a bit boisterous, while others are laidback, content to sit at your feet.’
In recent years, wildlife tourism has sparked debate, with communities and scientists fearing that too much human contact could disrupt ecosystems, introduce infections, or make animals overly reliant on humans for food. But is this concern justified, or are we underestimating the resilience of these creatures? Clinton Duffy, marine biology curator at Auckland Museum, believes that if handled with care and paired with education, wildlife tourism can be a ‘good conservation advocacy tool.’ ‘As long as people learn something from these experiences, there should be an overall benefit to the species,’ Duffy says. It can also foster empathy. ‘It’s hard to care about animals you know nothing about or have never encountered,’ he adds. ‘Species like stingrays can be great ambassadors for marine conservation.’
The perception of stingrays as aggressive was likely fueled by the tragic death of Australian naturalist Steve Irwin in 2006. While they can inflict serious injuries, and in rare cases, be fatal, they are generally curious, gentle, and ‘really intelligent for a fish,’ Duffy notes. In Māori culture, stingrays, or whai, hold significant cultural, spiritual, and ecological importance. The North Island, or Te Ika-a-Māui—the fish of Maui—is said to resemble the shape of a stingray. For many communities, stingrays are seen as protectors of the coast and shellfish.
By educating visitors about the stingrays’ importance to Māori and teaching them to treat these creatures with respect, Savage hopes to instill a deeper care for them while helping people reconnect with nature. ‘It’s a profound experience for many,’ he says. ‘There aren’t many places where you can have a 600-pound animal nudge your feet with no ill intent, genuinely wanting to be there.’
But here’s the question we must ask ourselves: Are we truly respecting these creatures, or are we exploiting their curiosity for our own amusement? What do you think? Is this type of wildlife interaction a step toward conservation, or a slippery slope toward disruption? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s spark a conversation that matters.
