Ocean Watch

A few weeks ago, I wrote about altruism in the animal world, stating that fish don't help other fish out of the goodness of their hearts. But reader Carmen Geshell e-mailed me a story about her two fantail goldfish, Mario and Luigi, that makes you wonder.

Mario, it seems, had a substance abuse problem. His drug of choice was air.

Despite a clean tank and functioning aerator, this goldfish gulped air from the bubbler until he bobbed to the surface. And there he would float, upside down and helpless until the air passed through his system.

Most fish would ignore such self-destructive behavior in a tank mate. Not Luigi. After helping Mario right himself, Luigi then held his bloated buddy against a plant or the side of the tank until the air dissipated, all the while humming "White Rabbit."

OK, I made up the "White Rabbit" part, but I couldn't resist. These two little fish gave new meaning to the terms "getting high" and "coming down."

Mario and Luigi lived together for five years. When Luigi died, Mario followed a few weeks later.

Another e-mail illustrated that humans are the poster species of altruism. Not only do we selflessly aid animals outside our genus, we selflessly aid animals that can kill us.

Reader Robert Budman of Orange, Calif., wrote: "I just got back from Costa Rica, and I have an amazing sea snake story. Interested?"

Do fish swim? "Sure," I e-mailed back.

Here's the story: One morning in Playa Grande, after a spell of huge surf, Robert awoke to the sight of hundreds of yellow-bellied sea snakes of all sizes strewn for miles along the beach.

The snakes "were a little slow because of the night temperatures," he writes, "so I carefully lifted several by the tail, a la 'Crocodile Hunter,' and tossed the ones close to our beach house back to the sea.

"As the morning sun grew stronger, and the little rascals warmed up and became more active, I astutely kept my distance. It was a bizarre and thrilling experience."

Since sea snakes aren't aggressive, especially when cold, I don't think Robert's rescue efforts were particularly dangerous. Still, flinging sea snakes into the ocean is not how most people spend their vacation. Bizarre and thrilling indeed.

In the ocean, the bizarre can also be boring. A friend recently sent me the following story:

For more than a century, researchers have been trying to identify whitish blobs that wash ashore on beaches throughout the world.

In 1896 two boys found the first recorded blob, a 21-foot-long gelatinous mass, on a Florida beach. Local people saw in this rotting 7-ton lump a head, eyes, mouth, tentacles and tail. They declared it a sea monster.

A chunk of this marine ogre made it to the Smithsonian where it sat on the shelf for decades. Over the years, similar blobs appeared on beaches in Tasmania, New Zealand, Bermuda, Nantucket and Newfoundland. Various researchers offered various explanations ranging from space aliens to giant octopods, but no theories were proved.

When a blob the size of a bus ended up on a Chilean beach last summer, researchers got serious. University of South Florida biologists used DNA analysis on that and previous samples and discovered the truth: The blobs are blubber.

Thanks for sharing your stories.