Someone’s knocking at the door; somebody’s ringing the bell…

Jim and I are anchored in Carlisle Bay, a small bay off the south, southwestern side of Antigua. There’s a tropical depression blowing westward just to our south and because of that, the winds have stirred up the water in the bay so the visibility underwater is only about 10-15 feet.

We jumped off the back of the boat for a little swim and headed toward the south side of the bay to check out the fish in the gloom.

Jim was swimming about ten feet in front of me when I noticed a small school of Sergeant Majors, some Goat Fish and a few Wrasses bobbing in the currents caused by the small waves lapping the rocks. I was only in about 8 feet of water so I was able to see the bottom of sand, rocks and grass pretty clearly. Among the rocks, I spied a cluster of white shells starkly standing out against the background of brownish sand. With poor visibility making it difficult to see far, anything slightly unusual was good cause for closer inspection.

The shells were arranged along the opening of a very old empty Queen Conch shell, long since inhabited by its maker and clearly showing all the signs of the circle of life in the sea. Growing on its top was a coating of algae and sea moss that made it look like it was wearing a sweater. A few barnacles and small sponges were using the shell as their base, adding to the transformation of this once colorful and elegantly curved shell from clean, purposeful beauty to a new kind of opportunistic, utilitarian usefulness.

As I pulled a small scallop shell from the opening, an interesting thing happened. Something pulled the shell back toward the old conch. Because I found the shell on its back, I guessed it was not the new home of a hermit crab, and knew, again from its position and also from its condition, that there wasn’t a conch inside. I snatched a few more shells from their resting place and exposed a single eye looking back at me. I waited and within 60 seconds, a small tentacle snaked out, grabbed one of the shells I had removed and gently put it back in its place. I’d found my favorite of all sea creatures. I’d found an Octopus.

The Caribbean Octopus is a timid little creature with some absolutely amazing qualities. It can change, not only the color of its skin, but also its skin’s texture. It is almost completely made of soft tissue except for a parrot-like beak which it uses to open its primary souse of food, mollusks and crustaceans. An Octopus can squeeze its body through any hole that is larger than the size of its beak and when in danger, can produce an ink cloud that acts as a diversion.

I lifted the Conch shell and move it to a rock ledge about 2 feet under the water’s surface. Keep in mind that this Octopus had stuffed his little self up into the spiral of the shell and absolutely no amount of tugging was going to get him out. I also didn’t want to scare the little fella, however, in retrospect, I suspect I failed at that goal when I removed the first piece of his shell armor.

I lifted the shell so the Octopus was just above the water. Now before you go thinking I’m an Octopus torturer, let me explain. The National Zoo has an invertebrate exhibit that contains a few Octopi. While on a visit there, the Octopus lady told us that if the lids to the little Octopus condominiums are not weighted down with bricks, the crafty little creatures will make a mad dash for the drains in the floors! Little do they know that all they’d get would be a trip into the DC sewer system which, as I’m sure most of you know occasionally explodes. Before they'd know it, they could be shot through a manhole cover in Georgetown and right onto the plate of a tourist having lunch at a sidewalk café. Calamari al la Adrian Fente.

Anyway, there I was, trying to coax Pi (I’ve now named him) out of his hidey hole buy denying him oxygen. Unfortunately for all concerned (me and Pi), I was wearing a mask and snorkel at the time. Nobody and I mean nobody, not even Brad Pitt, looks remotely flattering with a mask and snorkel on. But Pi, bless his little heart, gingerly snaked out one of his many arms in a show of trust and friendship; then he felt flesh (mine) and BAM, back in the shell he went. Now I admit, it had been a few days since I’d seen the inside of a shower, but jeeze, I do swim every day. I couldn’t have tasted that bad. Well I just couldn’t bring myself to hold him out of the water for more than ten seconds so the only thing left to do was wait him out.

Let’s go over some of the pertinent details of the waiting game. I took a year off work (thanks Kurt) and am living on a sailboat. Obviously I don’t really care how long it takes me to get anywhere. If I did, I’d be living on a power boat or in a Winnebago. I had just eaten a nice lunch so was good for another 6 hours as far as needing food goes. The water temperature at the edge of the bay was a balmy 92 degrees so getting cold wasn’t a concern. The only real deterrent to staying in the water for a long time was the mental image I had of that crazy guy from England who locked himself in a ball of water for a week in front of Lincoln Center in NYC. He turned into a prune in about an hour, however, it wasn’t until his doctors told him that his liver and kidneys might shut down that he relented and came out of the ball. By that time, his flesh was so wrinkled that he didn’t look human. What’s the matter with people? That look isn't for me.

Back to the story at hand. Little by little I inched my index finger closer to Pi and little by little he managed to cram himself deeper into that shell until I guess there was just no other place to go. After about ten minutes, Pi extended a tentacle and lightly laid it down on the tip of my finger. All I could think of at the time was “Remain calm, he’s making a move.” What did I do? I yanked my finger back like a big girl and let out a little scream through my snorkel. He, in turn, yanked his tentacle back and this time shut his little eye. About 30 seconds later, he opened it up again, saw the strange man in the snorkel and mask and slammed it back shut. I actually think he was “willing” me away. I’ve tried to do that a bunch of times; it doesn’t work. You open your eyes and the person with bad breath monopolizing your time at a party with tales of economic brawn or work related importance is still right in front of your face. Hell, they might as well have a mask and snorkel on.

Pi’s next attempt at détente came much more quickly. Apparently, the shell was a little cramped and he had had just about enough. This time, his little arm came out and overlapped my finger by about 2 inches. All this time, he was an uninviting shade of brown with little white streaks. Well, let me tell you, right after we made contact, he instantly turned bright white whith blood red streaks, stayed that way for 15 seconds and then gradually went back to the brown. Now that he was back to his old self, he let a few more arms extend out and reached around to the back of the shell. In one fluid movement, he slid his whole body around to the back of the shell and in an instant matched his color to the color of the algae/sea moss and to my amazement, changed the texture of his skin to match the shell’s coating as well. This all happened in less than two seconds. He never made any attempt to swim away from the shell, he just clung to the back and even though I knew he was there, I had to really concentrate on where the shell ended and Pi began.

I reached my hand around to the back of the shell and laid it, palm up, right in front of him. He in turn, immediately shit his pants….no, no, just kidding….he placed two tentacles on my palm and then in less than a minute, he moved off the shell and into my palm. His color changed to a yellowish green and his skin became perfectly smooth again. He was so soft, he felt like velvet. For the next 15 minutes, he just crawled around my hands, from one to the other and then back. He moved about 12 inches up my arm, but then jettisoned himself back to my other hand. All this time, he was changing the color of his skin and the pattern of the color as well.

Eventually, I picked up the conch shell and gently guided him back to the opening. He sat on the edge as I swam him back to his original resting place. As I lowered the shell he slid inside again. I scooped up the white clam and scallop shells and lined them up along the door to the conch condo, took one last look at his little eye and swam back to the boat.

I don’t know why I have this urge to interact with animals. I want so much for them to know that I don’t pose a threat. For some reason, unknown to me, I want them to “know” me and know that I’m a friend. Their complexity is unimaginable. Their consciousness is unquestionable. I am a guest in their home and I guess I want to feel welcome.

I think I’ll have Calamari tonight.