Frightened by A Fish

It’s a strange thing to admit, but I must. I am a marine biologist and divemaster, yet I have been scared by fish on more than one occasion. Theoretically, fish aren’t scary creatures, and they don’t have manipulative, murderous agendas against humans. I guess some incidences turned frightful for me, partly because of their defensive behaviour, the eerie mood of the ocean at the time, and my overly precautious nature of not wanting to become a bizarre statistic or the recipient of a Darwin award. Darwin awards commemorate individuals who die or become sterile due to their own (stupid) actions, thereby selecting themselves out of the human gene pool — it’s a sarcastic honour best avoided.

Trespassing on a trevally

I have been very fortunate to dive and snorkel in remote islands. Unlike popular dive sites, off-the-beaten-path marine vistas I’ve visited are often home to fish that have never seen a human, let alone one that’s trying to swim amongst them. A few years ago, I was conducting baitfish surveys in the languid lagoon waters of the Minicoy Island in Lakshadweep. As I snorkelled around searching for small planktivorous fish (that eat plankton), I had this sinister suspicion of being followed. It wasn’t long before I saw the stalker — a beautiful bluefin trevally was fitfully darting back and forth in the shallows, looking right at me, albeit with the fish side-eye. Out of respect for the fish and the ocean, I rapidly abandoned my survey and got myself out of the water. This was the first time I had noticed “anger” in a fish. This particular one was just not happy to have me around, maybe because I interrupted its afternoon delight.

Another time, a fellow researcher and I were on a SCUBA dive, six metres below sea level surveying baitfish, when a giant trevally, in one solid swift motion, darted right in front of our faces cutting us off mid-swim. The city equivalent of this would be finding oneself in the wrong neighbourhood and being on the receiving end of a drive-by shooting – with the where, who, what and how all a blur. Shortly after, we ended that dive and were probably the first and last people to dive at that remote location off the Island of Suheli in Lakshadweep.

While trevallies are likely incapable of hurting me — their mouths are designed to consume little fish, rather than marine biologists — their sheer power, stealth, and strong tails worried me. I did not want to be on their wrong side.

Moustache Triggerfish Stand-Off

Moustache triggerfish are the larger, heavier-bodied, slightly uglier species from the triggerfish family, giving them the alternative name “titan triggerfish”. The dark band over their mouth resembles a gentleman’s moustache, and the females are notorious for aggressively protecting their eggs from predators, SCUBA divers, and snorkellers. I am very mindful of this fish when I’m on a reef. Moustache triggers protect their eggs in an inverted cone and if you accidentally enter this zone, rest assured you will receive the mother’s wrath.

Anyone who regularly dives at “the wall” in the Andaman Islands is familiar with the resident moustache trigger and her antics. On one particular dive, unfortunately, I had forgotten about her and was not paying any attention when I swam right over her eggs. She attacked me; I felt her tooth on my knee and only then realised what was happening. She continued to charge at me, swimming towards me in a rapid, darting way, with anger in her eyes, biting at my fins. I was too shocked to make my exit from her invisible cone of motherly protection. My dive buddy noticed this and came and stood between the fish and me, in a power stance, standing tall with arms and legs extended in an intimidating way that successfully led the triggerfish to cease her attack. It was astonishing how perceptive this fish was of human body language and behaviour.

Lights Out Lionfish

Marine life has evolved all kinds of defences to survive in the big ocean. For example, the lethal stings of lionfish contribute to their grace and glory. The venom is produced in their fin spines, and if it penetrates any animal, it can cause a severe neuromuscular reaction. I’ve heard the pain is rather debilitating and very dangerous for divers, as it can cause them to lose consciousness, which is not a good thing underwater.

I was on the south end of the Minicoy lagoon in Lakshadweep, busy counting fish and taking pictures of the beautiful shallow water Acropora coral. Snorkelling in less than two feet of water, I awkwardly positioned myself to get some interesting bottom-to-top shots of the coral with the bright tropical sun above. As I tried to stabilise myself by holding onto a piece of rock, I suddenly saw a pair of lionfish right next to where I was working. Any sudden movement of my hand or leg and I would have been stung! This was a serious wake-up call with regards to my situational awareness. Realising that I didn’t have my wits about me that day and did not want a Darwin award, so, I quietly left the space, thanking unseen forces for saving me from painful stings.

Bullied by a Bull Shark

Out of dozens of encounters with sharks, there was only one occasion I was scared. Usually, sighting a shark underwater is a calming, beautiful experience. These top predators are vital to the ecosystem, and their presence is reassuring for a marine biologist. In April 2014, my dive buddy and I had hired a new boat to dive off the windward side of Agatti Island in Lakshadweep. The conditions were rather rough, the boat pitching and screaming, making our new boatman rather nervous. But we knew underwater, at depth, things would be okay, and we had data to collect. As soon as we descended on the reef, I noticed something rather large (almost 2 metres in length) and hefty thrashing about in the shallows. The big fish was a bull shark, very unhappy with our presence, its anger evident in its motion. Paying no heed to the big fish, my dive buddy started following her study subjects towards the reef slope. I followed suit. Luckily, our study survey areas didn’t overlap with the bull’s territory, which perhaps also gave it some peace of mind.

Menaced by a Manta

Probably the funniest encounter I had, which one too many people witnessed for my liking, was also in the Andaman Islands, when we were out snorkelling, looking for manta rays. In crystal-clear blue waters, mantas from a distance look like a dark patch swimming sub-surface. Excited to see one, I swam towards the patch when someone from the boat jokingly said, “saltwater crocodile”! Not wanting to take any chances, I did a quick 180-degree turn and rapidly swam back to boat and out of the water. Of course, the patch was a manta and I the object of ridicule.