Honolulu Star-Advertiser © Susan Scott
September 16, 2013
UTUROA, RAIATEA, French Polynesia >> In 2006 I spent two weeks here aboard my 37-foot ketch, Honu, waiting for friends to arrive for a voyage to Australia. After hours of boat work each day, I would climb over the breakwater, don my mask and fins and go snorkeling among the coral heads.
That reef was my magic carpet, transporting me from sweltering boat chores to a fairy-tale landscape that reminded me why I was there. Among the wonders was an anemone with tan tentacles rising from its bright pink disc about 3 feet in diameter. The anemone waved in rhythm to the sea as a dozen or so three-spot damselfish darted in and out of its tentacles.
A pink anemone with tan tentacles is home
to a damselfish, peeking out on the upper right.
©2013 Scott R. Davis
Anemones are close relatives of corals, and like those varied species, some pack a powerful sting.
The stinging cells of the types of anemones that harbor clown fish and other kinds of damselfish aren’t strong enough to hurt healthy human hands.
Gently I touched my anemone’s 2-inch-long tentacles, which felt like tiny, narrow water balloons. The resident damselfish dived for cover, the anemone wiggled and my fingers felt fine.
When my friend Scott arrived with a new underwater camera, off we went to find the anemone. I tickled its tentacles, and the creature curled up a portion of its bright pink underside, practically posing for a photo.
Back on the boat we found bad news. Scott’s new camera had flooded. It was dead, but its memory card lived, recording one good anemone shot.
Later, Scott framed the image and hung it in his Hawaii apartment, where it generated fond memories of the disappointing camera, the amazing marine life of the Society Islands and a remarkable summer of sailing. When I visited Scott two months ago in his current home in Oakland, Calif., there hung the anemone picture, still conjuring up stories about good times with old friends.
Last week I went snorkeling off the same marina, and to my utter delight there was our anemone, looking all plump and healthy and clinging to the same rock.
Running into my old friend shouldn’t have surprised me so. Giant anemones don’t usually move from their home base and can live for a century.
I’ve been sailing in the Society Islands for six weeks and am a tad weary of boat life. Once again, though, the anemone reminded me of why I’m here.
It also generated another story. I hope this lovely carpet continues to work its magic for decades to come.