Second Dive of the Day
T E X T A N D P H O T O S B Y N E D A N D A N N A D
e
L O A C H
E
ven after 45 years of diving I still feel like I’m
about to make a great discovery each time I go
underwater. Some would say my optimism is
overblown. For such skeptics I offer the tale of a
recent dive in Indonesia’s Lembeh Strait.
The story begins with my guide, Johan Lumonang, and me
dropping down the coral slope of Tanjung Kubor, a long-
neglected dive site on the western shore of Lembeh Island.
At 70 feet, the incline planes flat into a sand shelf pocked
with encrusted rocks and bits of trash. The barren seascape is
of no concern; we’re not here for beauty. We’re on the prowl
for creatures that have adapted to a world with few hiding
holes by delving into the alchemy of camouflage. A few
species have taken their masquerades to extremes. These are
the animals we’re after. The trick comes in finding them.
There is nothing elaborate about critter hunting. Leaning
forward from fin tips until our masked faces float just above
the sand, we shuffle along inspecting everything we pass. The
eyes have a way of messing with the mind when searching
for creatures designed by nature to not be found. Twigs turn
into shrimp and algae into octopuses. In fact, there is actually
a walnut-sized species of octopus with a lion’s mane of skin
filaments so wispy it looks like a tuft of algae. That creature,
the legendary hairy octopus, a species that has not been
formally described and named, has topped my list of must-
see animals ever since I first heard it existed 10 years ago.
Tanjung Kubor provides the perfect environment for finding
such a critter, but I’ve been hunting similar terrain for years
without ever laying eyes on one of the wily illusionists.
A good guide is indispensible for finding the most
secretive animals, and Johan is one of the best, combining
skill and experience with a bit of magic. Twenty minutes
into the dive he raps on his tank with an unusually rapid
rhythm. I’m by his side in a flash. At the tip of his pointer
sits an odd little octopus with its elongated mantle rising
high from a platform of curled legs. A close look reveals the
faint outline of blue rings running the length of its legs and
spilling onto its mantle. Not quite believing my eyes, I blink
and lean closer. Although tiny, the biological markers of the
blue-ringed octopus (genus Hapalochlaena) are definitely
there. It’s unlike any species I’ve ever seen before — either
underwater or in the pages of guidebooks. To date only three
blue-ringed species have been scientifically described, but
there are at least six candidates for genus status that have
been photographically documented. This fine fellow should
increase the count to seven. I’m still watching the octopus
when Johan comes flying back, motioning excitedly. Realizing
I’m reluctant to leave, he points to his hair. We’re off.
Thirty feet away he comes to a halt where his metal rod, left
as a marker, rises from the sand next to a scattering of rocks.
Leaning forward with his arms spread wide like an umpire
signaling a runner safe, he sweeps his eyes across the bottom.
Seeing nothing, he reaches out and turns one rock and then
another, but no luck. Soon he’s inching forward like a cat after
a lizard. As seconds tick by I watch spellbound from a discreet
distance, hardly daring to breathe. After a minute that seems
like an hour, the target of my decadelong search appears at
the end of Johan’s finger; it’s a fuzzy bump pretending to be
28
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FALL 2012
ENCOUNTERS
Opposite, from top: The yet-to-be-
officially-described hairy
octopus, Octopus sp.; new blue-
ringed octopus, Hapalochlaena sp.
Below: Undescribed blue-ringed
octopus, Hapalochlaena sp.