Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
January 5, 1998
THE first time I went snorkeling, I loved it. “What’s this yellow fish called?” I asked my experienced snorkeling partner.
He shrugged.
“What’s that blue one?”
“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” he said.
After a couple of more questions, I got the picture. This guy liked looking at fish but didn’t care at all what you called them.
Not me. I needed to know. In fact, finding out the names of fish was one of my main motivations for returning to school at age 35.
When I took an ichthyology class at the University of Hawaii, however, I found out that learning fish names was harder than I realized. Not only are there hundreds of species of fish in Hawaii, but each bears an English name, a Hawaiian name and a scientific Latin name, which is at least two and sometimes three hard words long.
It was tedious work but I was motivated. I memorized the names.
It wasn’t until years later that I found out a heartbreaking fact: The names change.
In the case of scientific names, a name change comes about because a researcher learns that one species has been given different names in different regions.
BUT which name to settle on?
Usually, it’s the oldest name on record, but that isn’t always so clear. Resistance to the change sometimes ensues, and confusion reigns.
Then there are the common English names. Because Latin names are too hard for the average person to remember and pronounce, most English-speaking folks use English names when speaking of a fish.
But like scientific names, there are often differences here, too, even in the same place. A scrawled filefish in one Hawaii fish book is a scribbled filefish in another; a peacock flounder is also a flowery flounder.
Like scientific names, researchers try to standardize common names, but sometimes the change is just too much and people don’t go along.
Confused? It gets worse.
- Not all Hawaiians agree on which name and which spelling should be used for each fish. While editing one of my books, my editor pointed out I had spelled a Hawaiian fish name wrong. “That’s how it’s spelled in my Hawaiian dictionary,” I told her.
“In last year’s edition, maybe,” she explained. “This year it’s different.”
Arrrrrrrgh!
HERE are some of my favorite fish name stories:
- The species name for the teardrop butterflyfish, which bears one spot on each side, is unimaculatus, meaning one spot. Fine.
But the butterflyfish, which bears two spots on each side, is named quadrimaculatus, meaning four spots. Go figure.
- Many people call our lovely Moorish idols angelfish, but they’re not. The unique Moorish idols are the only species in their family.
They supposedly got their unusual name from Europeans who saw northwest Africans, or Moors, fishing for them and understood the act to have some religious significance. Wrong. For the Africans, the fish was just a skimpy meal.
- The ancient Hawaiians gave some little fish some enormous names.
Humuhumunukunukuapuaa means the fish that grunts like a pig, true of this triggerfish when cornered or caught. Lauwiliwilinukunukuoioi means the fish that looks like the leaf of a wiliwili tree.
- Parrotfish have the most apt common name. Like parrots, these fish are often brightly colored, and their fused front teeth look like beaks.
This common name is universal. I have heard parrotfish called parrotfish in nearly every part of the world.
So, what’s a reasonable person to do when it comes to learning fish names?
Stay flexible. Who cares if someone calls a needlefish a stickfish as long as you both know what you’re talking about?
As long as I know any name for a fish, I’m happy. “That gorgeous blue fish” just doesn’t do it for me.