As small as this boxfish was, it wasn’t about to take any of my crap. Got a little bored on a dive so decided to break some scuba diving rules and corner this boxfish. Boxfish are supposed to puff-up when stressed and lose their buoyancy and float upwards. This guy, or gal, hadn’t read the manual. It darted straight at my mask, several times, almost cornering me. Certainly won’t try irritating a boxfish again while scuba diving.
Scuba diving reveals things of beauty every time you go underwater. Sometimes I glide past in wonder. Other times I stop and stare. This basket starfish kept me gawking for about twenty minutes. I kid you not. Then a gentle tug on my fin from one of my fellow scuba divers forced me away.
The basket starfish. Intricate, beautiful and fragile. Just like all of nature’s creations.
Have you ever wanted to slap someone across the face with a cold fish? No? I certainly have. Maybe I’m just weird like that. I’ve often thought about picking up a huge ocean roamer by its tail and doing a sledgehammer style swing ending with a resounding slap across an unsuspecting human cheek.
Then I was on the receiving end of a cold fish slap while scuba diving. Completely surrounded by a shoal of blue stripe grouper. Fish left, right, top and bottom. Packed in there. Started pushing fish away…. then SLAP…. straight across the face. Kinda scaley. Kinda slimy. Kinda squishy. Kinda fishy. Everything I imagined.
Do I still want to slap someone in the face with a cold fish? Oh, hell yeah. Now more than ever.
Masters, or Missus’, of disguise these crocodile fish certainly are. Rock solid in the camouflage department. They even have iris lappet coverings – so the circular lines of their eyes are broken and they can’t be detected by others being stared at.
While scuba diving, glanced at what I could’ve sworn was a rock jutting out on some loose rubble off the main reef. Certainly didn’t have a crocodile fish in mind. An ever-so slight movement caught my eye. Performed the prefect old-fashioned Hollywood double-take underwater and saw this puppy laying waiting to snap-up a meal. If it didn’t faintly flutter one of its fins I would’ve cruised directly over this crocodile fish thinking it was just another rock.
Keep those scuba diving masks peeled underwater. A crocodile fish could easily be a rock; and a rock may just turn out to be a crocodile fish. And if you happen to spot a real crocodile, I’m afraid you’ve gone up the mouth of a river – and you certainly don’t want to be scuba diving there.
Lionfish won’t bite fishermen or scuba divers, but they will have absolutely no problem stinging the crap out of both, if trying to retrieve a hook or venturing a little too close. Didn’t want to get brave this time. Yes, sometimes I’m not a real man. Kept my distance. It came straight at me; needles swishing like deadly samurai swords being wielded by a professional in slow motion. Luckily without any high-pitched battle sounds, misspelled sub-titles and bad lip-sync.
Swish, swish… hypnotically challenging me. That’s how they baffle and hypnotise their prey too. Poor small reef fish and crustaceans don’t stand a chance. Deadly fingers luring them in for dinner time. Come closer, little ones. Papa lionfish has a belly to fill.
While scuba diving it is advisable to keep well clear of all lionfish as they perform their silent dance of death. Nice fishy-fishy.
Very glad I am not my camera taking a picture of this honeycomb moray eel while scuba diving. Or, more specifically, my frame-limit indicator – which gets snapped-off and dragged back inside this eels’ hole. And there’s no way I’m sticking my hand in to retrieve it. No way. Honeycomb moray eel One – Scuba diver Zero.
So there I am, trying to get as close as possible to this eel. Click. Steady now. Click, click… Slowly now. Very good Mr, or Mrs, Eel. You stay right there. Click. That’s it, pose for me. Good, show some teeth. I’m liking it. Just a little closer. A little more. Click.
I remember a yellow blur and feel something hitting me in the face. I clench my eyes shut, push myself away from the reef and wait for the pain. I feel a tug and hear a loud snap. Shit, that must be my nose being broken by the eel. Luckily it’s not. The honeycomb moray eel slips back into its hole in an instant. I’m pretty much shaken-up but come out unscathed and complete the rest of the dive without my frame-limit indicator; and continuously looking back over my scuba diving cylinder.
Yup, there’s nothing on my brain but pure sex. That’s S E X… capitals from start to finish. Bold. Italic. Underlined. Highlighted. Oh yeah, move aside Heff. Take a hike Valentino. Put Ra Ra Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine, to bed – you’re looking at the real-deal right here.
My secret? No, none of those magic potions. No whispering sweet nothings either. Just one word. Hermaphrodite. Yes, I combine contradictory sex elements and can have sex internally with myself if any one of the hunks and hunkesses in our colony doesn’t tickle my fancy. Or floats my boat, know what I mean? *Wink*
Oh, so you think having sex with yourself is pitiful and sad – well you just stop yourself right there. I can also send out eggs if tantalised by the right, hot male that’s sensitive to my wants and needs. Or, I can pretty easily pop some sperm towards my neighbour if she catches my eye.
Got babies to make. Have to keep the hard coral population going. Can’t have our sea and ocean floors overrun by soft coral. So I use the full capacity of my brain when it comes to sex.