Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
October 11, 2002
During a recent visit to the Big Island, my husband and I packed a lunch, rented kayaks and paddled across Kealakekua Bay to the Captain Cook Monument. We snorkeled for an hour or so in this teeming marine sanctuary and then, famished, broke out the food. We settled on a flat rock, leaned over a tide pool and tore into our roasted chicken like medieval peasants, stuffing our mouths with greasy hands while accidentally dropping tiny pieces of meat and skin into the water.
Those scraps awakened a dragon. In a flash, a moray eel appeared from nowhere, snatched a morsel of chicken from the tide pool floor and disappeared. It happened so fast, we couldn’t identify the species, but it was light colored, thumb-size around and about 8 inches long.
OK, it was a baby dragon. Still, the creature shocked us because we could see no place in that tiny pool for an eel to hide. Even after seeing it appear and disappear, and examining the area, we still couldn’t locate its hiding place.
But our eel experience was nothing compared with reader Walter Oshiro’s. A few years ago, as Walter fished off the breakwater at the Makai Research Pier, a huge moray eel, about 5 inches wide, emerged from the water 8 feet away.
“The eel held itself erect, with its head about 2 feet above the water level,” Walter writes. “It held that position for about 10 seconds, swaying slightly as it looked at me with piercing, searching eyes. The eel then lowered itself back into the water.
“I had freshly cut aku belly on the rock at my side. … I didn’t wait to see what would happen. I left the area.”
Walter asks if I’ve heard of morays emerging from the water like this, and wonders if the eel might have snatched the bait — or his bait-scented hand — had he stuck around.
I’ve never heard of a moray eel rising from the water like that, but I do know that morays sometimes slither across wet rocks to enter a tide pool bearing something good to eat.
Given this good sense of smell plus the ability to virtually disappear, moray eels are formidable enemies of creatures that shelter in coral reefs.
They can also be a danger to people handling fish in or near shallow water. When moray eels bite people, however, it’s not for a meal. Bites occur either because the eel felt threatened or because it mistook a hand or foot for a fish or invertebrate.
I recently dropped in at a local emergency room to visit my husband (he wasn’t sick; he works there), and he introduced me to a nice man who showed me his injured thumb. It bore the classic moray eel bite: two long slashes running down the top and two matching slashes underneath. “Ah, a moray eel bite” I said.
The man shrugged. “I guess. I was cleaning fish in a tide pool, and then whomp, I had these cuts. I never saw a thing.”
The man suffered no serious damage and vowed to never clean fish in a tide pool again.
I don’t know if Walter’s big eel would have struck above water, but its appearance demonstrates not only these fishes’ acute sense of smell and bold hunting instincts, but also their gutsy personalities. I mean, how many fish stand up and look you in the eye?
Hawaii hosts 38 species of moray eels, but this is no reason to stay out of the water. Just watch where you place your hands when snorkeling, and keep your fish — or chicken — on high ground.