Ocean
Watch
Monday, July 19, 1999
Laissez-faire is
best policy for
sea critters
RECENTLY, while snorkeling off the Kona coast, I watched a scuba diver
beneath me lunge toward a crack in the reef. Seconds later, the diver was
cradling a pufferfish in his two hands. The fish, which had inflated
itself nearly round, looked like a living, breathing balloon.
The man passed the puffer from diver to diver. When it was my turn to
hold the fish, about the size of a small cantaloupe, I looked into the
fish's fat little face and was charmed to see its round mouth pursed like
it was blowing kisses. The skin of the fish felt soft and bristly, like
the hair of a young boy's buzz cut.
When the last diver let the fish go, it hurried away, deflating as it
swam, slowly losing its inhaled water. Soon the fish ducked into a hole to
finish shrinking and recover from its encounter with humans.
When my dive companions and I emerged from the water, we talked
excitedly about the extraordinary little fish. One novice diver lamented,
"I missed my chance to hold a pufferfish."
"You didn't hold it?" I asked. "No. When the dive master
showed it to me, I didn't take it."
"Why not?" I asked, thinking she was concerned about the
potent poison these fish carry in their bodies.
But she surprised me. "I was afraid I might hurt it," she
said.
OH, I felt guilty when I heard that. How do I know I hadn't hurt the
little pufferfish? At the very least, passing a terrified animal from
person to person was cruel and disrespectful.
Years ago, when I was first learning to dive, I believed divers should
neither touch anything on the reef nor take anything from it. Therefore,
when my dive master handed me a sea cucumber during a practice session in
Kaneohe Bay, I didn't know what to do.
I stared at her and the offered sea cucumber for so long that finally
the instructor picked up my hand, plopped the animal down in it and swam
away.
Oh, that sea cucumber was interesting. It felt squishy and leathery at
the same time and it seemed to be changing shape right there in my hand.
When I finished admiring the creature, I spent a lot of airtime trying to
put it back in the exact place I had seen the teacher pick it up. What do
we know, I thought? That particular spot may be the best within miles for
a sea cucumber to live.
Later, after we emerged, the instructor asked me if I liked the sea
cucumber.
"I did," I said. "But I thought we weren't supposed to
touch anything on the reef."
She laughed. "Well, you certainly don't have to. But you'll be
about the only one who doesn't."
AFTER years of diving and writing about marine life, I still believe
that marine animals deserve more respect than they usually get. And the
best way to do give them respect is to leave them alone.
For me, it seems wrong to disturb the creatures. How do I know what
they're doing? What if that cowrie I find is brooding eggs and a massive
reproductive effort is ruined for a few seconds of amusement? Or perhaps
after playing with a nudibranch, an observant predator sees where I leave
it and then eats it. And why should I jeopardize an octopus's life by
making it use up all its ink and energy defending itself from me?
Yes, it's wonderful to watch a marine animal do its stuff, which is
often pretty amazing. I loved feeling the unusual texture of that
pufferfish's skin and seeing its round body and face up close. Still, I
would never have chased and caught the fish myself just to watch it
struggle for its life.
After all, marine animals have feelings too.
