Ocean Watch

Monday, July 21, 1997

Glowing shrimp a small
yet pleasing discovery

ONE day last fall, I looked up from my desk and gazed out the window of my North Shore office. I pretended I was conjuring up some clever way to phrase a sentence, but actually I was admiring the afternoon light on the surface of the ocean.

It was one of those peaceful days we sometimes get in the fall, after the summer trade winds have stopped but before the winter surf stirs everything up. I stretched, turned back to the computer and then -- went snorkeling.

I didn't get far. About 100 feet from shore, as I was passing a large coral head, a flash of movement caught my eye and then the entire surface of the coral appeared to jerk. I took a deep breath and swam down for a closer look.

What I saw astonished me: The surface of the rock was covered with dozens of shrimp. And not just ordinary shrimp -- these were creatures from outer space.

Most were big, their bodies 2 to 3 inches long. Some had bristly fur on their two front legs, like bottle brushes. Others had extremely long, slender front legs. The rear eight legs were banded in black and white, and their bodies glowed a greenish-gold color that flashed in the fading sun.

I had never seen these odd but beautiful animals before.

I visited the rock for the next several days, admiring the shrimp and bringing friends to see them. Then the surf came up, big time. I had to wait for weeks before it was flat enough to swim there again. When I did, my shrimp were gone.

Come spring, though, they were back. I told a friend, John Hoover, who is writing a book on Hawaii's invertebrates. "They sound interesting," he said. "I'll come out some time and photograph them."

Finally, last week, John and I donned our masks and snorkels and I pointed out my newfound shrimp. But John did not take their picture.

"Fuller brush shrimp," John announced, when we surfaced. "The females have furry front legs but males' front legs are smooth and much longer. These shrimp are green during the day but turn red at night."

"Fuller brush shrimp?" I repeated.

"That's my own name for them," he explained. "Their scientific name is Saron marmoratus. Quite common, really."

What? My extraterrestrial shrimp are common here on Earth? It couldn't be.

I looked up the scientific name John gave me. He was right. The species is common, found not only in Hawaii but throughout the tropical Pacific.

I found color photos of my shrimp in three books. However, each of the three photographs look different from each other and from my own personal shrimp living at Shrimp Rock. Oh, now that I know, I can see the resemblance. But still, I don't think the pictures look much like the little guys living near my house.

Although I prefer the name Fuller brush shrimp, there are others. One is the spiked prawn. Another is 'opae kakala, a broad Hawaiian name for all the shrimp, like this one, that have a beaklike projection, or rostrum, extending forward from their heads.

In ancient Hawaii, collecting shrimp was women's work. A woman would wade out to the reef. Standing in neck-deep water, she would poke one hand into cracks and drive the shrimp into a basket held by the other hand.

I'm impressed. Even in scuba gear, I can barely get a good look at these 'opae kakala. The thought of blindly sticking a hand into reef cracks gives me chicken skin.

So. It turns out my colorful discovery is a species common and well known. That's OK. I'm still proud of my own finding of these creatures. It reminds me of all the wonderful and exciting discoveries I have yet to make in the ocean, even here in my own back yard.

It also confirms my belief that sometimes, when the words just won't come, slipping out for a snorkel is a good idea.