“Which one is the great barracuda, again?” asked one of the children in our dive group while preparing for their first-ever ocean experience in the Andaman Islands. “The one that eats Nemo’s mother!” responded one of her friends before I could get around to describing the physical features of a barracuda. I did not have to substantiate further; the movie reference did the trick. As it turns out, Disney’s Finding Nemo is a fine field guide to the ocean for beginners. Pre-dive chatter between the children continued. “I hope we don’t see a barracuda”, exclaimed someone else.
It is easy for the world to find and adore “Nemo”, the cuddly clownfish that gets lost in the big blue ocean. On the other hand, you will be surprised at how many people find themselves on some level considering the parent clownfish-eating barracuda a villain. Perhaps a part of us fears that if a great barracuda (Sphyraena barracuda) swimming past ever got the opportunity, it might make us its next meal. It is an apex predator, after all, just like sharks.
While this fear might be partially inherent, it is carefully nursed and goaded by a unique genre of storytelling that has gripped us for decades. “Ecological horror” or essentially animal-themed movies whose premise takes sound notes from ecology and spins them into menacing tales that quickly blur the lines between truth and fiction. If the narration of Jaws (1975) is to be believed, white sharks are merely “mindless eating machines without logic”. From movies like Orca and Tentacles to Barracuda and Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, one is spoilt for choice in this thrilling realm!
Admittedly, this fear is intertwined with fascination to some degree. From a young age, our quest into the world of wild animals often begins with excitedly inventorying the most dangerous animals, the most venomous, the ones with the strongest bite amongst a long list of “mosts”. There is a thrill in knowing that great white sharks have 3,000 teeth and that a single box jellyfish has enough venom to kill 60 humans. Great barracudas are one of the fastest fish in the sea, capable of chasing down prey at 58 kmph. Rows of razor-sharp teeth slide into holes in the opposing jaws to clamp down on struggling smaller fish. Sleek and stealthy lone hunters, great barracudas can grow to be as long as five feet.
Each of the few times I have seen these shy and elusive animals has felt like I was about to interrupt a calm and collected monk lost in thought while levitating in the deep blue. Most sightings of this great predator in action will probably disappoint most thrill-seeking divers who hope for Discovery Channel-esque blood and gore.
Great barracudas, like others in the barracuda family, are built for speed. Their elongated torpedo-shaped bodies, tapering heads, and forked tails allow them to cut through saltwater efficiently. Their silvery sheen helps them perfectly blend into their predominant habitat of choice — the plain blue of the water column. When they are not making quick bursts of seemingly lightning-fast movements to hunt down their prey, they lurk in wait. This behaviour, coupled with their excellent camouflage, helps them get to their prey before they are seen. Very often, this is also how a diver comes across a great barracuda in the water. In other words, if one wants to go looking for a great barracuda, the best thing to do is let it find you.
A barracuda attracted to shiny objects might conjure up the image of something like an angry bull charging towards a red cape. What happens in the water is quite the opposite. Hunting barracudas are looking for jacks, tunas, mackerels, and anchovies, all of which are also trying to hide in the featureless blue. What gives them away is the shimmer that escapes from their scales. So, if a silver earring or a dazzling watch catches the eye of a barracuda, all this hunter might do is gently swim closer for an inspection. Who wouldn’t? Barracudas may not be aggressive, but there is no denying that they are inquisitive fish.
I hope that everyone reading this story gets an opportunity to see a great barracuda someday. It might appear out of the blue and glide past you like a missile in slow motion. Take the time to admire this evolutionary marvel in build, teeth, and shine. A few thousand humbling goosebumps might take over your body, a completely natural response to being acknowledged by a great barracuda.