Materializing out of the hazy blue, they gracefully glide on eight-foot wingspans. Whenever I’ve encountered a spotted eagle ray, this is how it starts. They seem to have an innate curiosity about snorkelers who reflect their quiet study. The spotted eagle rays will deliberately, peacefully, slowly come closer, making a wide circle around me before disappearing back into the mysterious deep blue. It all feels like slow motion. Never threatening or uncomfortable despite their size and advantage. But here’s the thing – if you wait in that quiet moment after they’ve gone, they usually come back around. I love that sense of curiosity, that shared way of seeing the world.

One of my favorite things about snorkeling is being immediately accepted as a part of the underwater world. As long as I don’t stalk the sealife, I can float among them, as one of them, ebbing and flowing with the rhythm of the waves.

It’s been a process. I used to be wary in the water, afraid of things touching me that I couldn’t see (slimy aquatic plants, nibbling panfish, or any variety of things I might step on in the oceans). I always waited for someone else to jump in first so I wouldn’t be alone in the vast unknown.

Once in the water, I stuck close to my snorkel buddy. If I couldn’t see another person in the water, a flush of panic would send me swimming madly back to the perceived safety of social connection. I always swam around instead of over shallow coral heads – you never know who is lurking in those crevices, ready to strike at my soft belly!

But this trip –

I jumped in first. Alone in the water, I saw my first “real” shark (ie, not a nurse shark), a black-tipped reef shark swimming away from me. I was energized!

I followed my curiosity regardless of where others went. I found myself alone, and it was okay. A fellow snorkeler yelled over, “We’re going back to the boat, and I don’t know where any of the guides are.”  I’m not going to get out until I’m cold or the guide says we’re leaving. My buddy was still in the water somewhere. I’m having the time of my life.

I sucked in my belly and floated closely over the coral, fascinated by all the tiny creatures that inhabit these living “rocks”.

In all my years of escaping the cold and snow to be healed by warm waters and humid air, I have never been blessed with so many days of sunshine for snorkeling. The rays of light make the dramatic colors of sealife illuminate with indescribable intensity. Awe at every turn. This is the reward for waiting out four days of high winds, rain, and clouds.

Reef Squid

Caribbean reef squid tend to hang out in the shallows, close to shore, amidst the seagrasses. They often congregate in flotillas of six or more, changing colors to suit their mood or to camouflage themselves from predators. They are iridescent at rest, but turn bright gold, white, or reddish at times.

The Wall

There’s an undersea wall just south of the atoll where the ocean floor drops abruptly away. It’s a popular scuba diving site. As a snorkler on the surface, it’s dramatic as everything fades into the deep blue. Your imagination can get the better of you, wondering who is lurking just outside the reach of your vision. Don’t let it deter you from this exploration of wonder. Each coral head perched along the edge of the wall was staked out by a barracuda. I quit counting after twenty! Let’s just say they were everywhere.

Invasive Lionfish

The Glover’s Reef Marine Reserve protects part of the atoll for spawning grouper.

It’s a year-round no-take zone, with one exception: invasive lionfish. Lionfish are native to the South Pacific and Indian Oceans. Their presence in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean is detrimental to the health and biodiversity of the reef ecosystems. Adult lionfish are voracious fish-eaters, eating the prey normally consumed by snappers, groupers, and other native species, leaving native fish to go hungry. A single lionfish residing on a coral reef can reduce the numbers of native reef fish on that coral patch by 79 percent! Their neurotoxic venomous spines mean they have few predators in the Caribbean. As such, lionfish may be killed throughout these waters without limitation. Our guide speared one and fed it to a nurse shark.

Giant Eel

The green moray eel is the largest eel in the Caribbean, growing up to eight feet in length. No wonder this one had no hesitation free-swimming among a group of gawking snorkelers. He was a bit intimidating!

A Marine Escort

An immense school of tang floated with me and then escorted me back to the boat where all my fellow snorklers (and guides!) were waiting. I felt part of an underwater parade!

There is an endless world of strange, fascinating, dramatic life just below the surface. I encourage you to take a look!

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post Snorkeling Glover’s Reef Atoll appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

A Glimpse into the Life of Caribbean Reef Octopus

With headlamps and flashlights, we slowly step across sharp rocks along the edge of the eastern shoreline. It’s 7:30 pm, and the tide is out on Long Caye on Belize’s Glover’s Reef Atoll. Our guide shines his light on a blurry turquoise blob distorted by the waves on the beige sea floor. “Caribbean reef octopus,” he says. “If you say so,” I think to myself.

We move on. Tidal Splash crabs scatter sideways at our approach. There’s another octopus! This one is in calmer seas, her characteristic shape more easily evident undersea.

She slides in our direction, out of the waves and into the still edge of the ocean where her full brilliance is revealed. Iridescent turquoise-blue and green, spotted with reddish-brown. Slithering, reaching, feeling – hunting! A few more steps and there’s another! This one is already at the water’s edge. He’s after the Tidal Spray crabs at our feet! He strikes with his long arms and misses. But he knows where they went and slinks around a rock to head them off on the other side. He strikes again in a flash and pulls one into his mantle.

At the end of the video, one crab escapes, and one does not. You can see the crab leg in the crevice on the left before the octopus pulls him down.

We watch him for a minute and then leave him with his meal.

A bright red fiddler crab pokes out of her hiding spot to shoo off a Tidal Spray crab and instantly disappears back into the shadows.

Another octopus! This one is also close to shore. She is hunting using a common octopus technique; she spreads her skirt over the bottom to siphon her prey out of the crevices where they hide. We watch her deftly catch something and begin to eat. It’s a sizable meal for her.

 Caribbean reef octopuses are a medium-sized octopus, growing up to twenty inches in diameter. They are short-lived, like most octopus, with a lifespan of just ten to twelve months. In all, along a hundred yards and forty-five minutes, we saw twelve (TWELVE!!) Caribbean reef octopuses on this walk.

Other Exotic Night Life

Also venturing out after dark in the ocean, giant sea slugs called spotted seahares creep along the sea floor. The way they move and explore their environment with their mouth and tentacles, just like a shell-less snail, identifies them as gastropods. Ruffled parapodia on their backs cover their mantle.

They secrete foul-tasting purple ink to cloud the water and deter would-be predators. I’d heard of these animals before, but never expected to see one here!

A gorgeous King Helmet conch (also a gastropod) feasting on a spiny urchin was within reach.

This is a big conch – more than a handful – with a striped, domed shell featuring a flare at one end.

Endlessly fascinating!

Lastly, a young morey eel is tucked into the safety of the coral, part of his striped body visible through a hole. He cautiously peeks his head out from the end of the coral, sees me still there, and retreats into hiding. He’s less than twelve inches long and the diameter of my thumb. A far cry from the six-foot-long green eel I saw snorkeling yesterday!

The sea is full of exotic-looking life at every turn. It never ceases to amaze. I am blessed that so many creatures reveal themselves to me. Even so, this was an exceptional shore walk.

Stay tuned for more Belize wild tales!

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post Tidepooling at Night appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

At first glance, it looks like a lifeless, eons-old rock. So much so that people will stand on it unaware of the life beneath the weight of their feet. The coral ecosystem is teeming with life, among the most diverse ecosystems in the world! 

It’s the network of the oceans, much like mycelium is the network of forests. Twenty-five percent of the ocean’s fish depend on coral reefs for food, shelter, and nurseries for their young.

It’s easy to quickly pass by corals, dismissing them as responseless vegetation, a garden that fish, rays, and marine mammals cruise through. But the “plants” are animals! It’s all alive.

Isn’t the star coral beautiful!? All of these worms will tuck into a hole and disappear when predators (and snorkelers) get too close.

Now that I know, I slowly move over the coral, looking closely. I always find something beautiful, fascinating, and new to me.

Here’s what I’ve learned.

Hard Corals

Hard coral is composed of calcium carbonate (the rock-like stuff) that forms the framework for thousands of polyp colonies. These polyps are animals with a body and a mouth that feed on plankton and tiny fish. It is these colonies of polyps that form coral. 

The healthy coral we see is a result of symbiosis with algae, a relationship that benefits both organisms. The algae live within the polyps and are what give coral its color. Algae produce carbohydrates that the polyps use for food. The coral provides a protected environment for the algae and aids in its photosynthesis.

Soft Corals

Soft corals rely on a flexible, protein-based mesoglea (jelly-like core) reinforced by sclerites, tiny, spiky calcium structures for support. Look at all those tiny polyps on the purple stalks of the sea plume!!

Sea Sponges

Another marine invertebrate that you might not associate with the animal kingdom is the sea sponge. They are filter feeders, structured with canals, chambers, and cavities that enable water to move through the sponge for feeding, gas exchange (“breathing”), and excretion. Sponge larvae are flagellated and can swim; however, adults are non-motile and remain attached to a single spot.

There are flat sponges and tube sponges. They are all so unique in structure, color, pattern, and texture. There are over 5000 known species of sponges inhabiting all of the world’s oceans.

Other Atypical Reef Animals

Some of my other favorite animals in coral reef ecosystems are anemones and sea urchins. Anemones are predatory invertebrate marine animals related to corals and jellyfish. Their mouths are surrounded by stinging tentacles that enable them to prey upon small animals such as fish, crabs, shrimp, and jellyfish. They can be found in deep seas and the intertidal zone, too, where they contract and fold their tentacles into their bodies to avoid drying out until the water returns.

There are 950 species of sea urchins, who like anemones, live from intertidal zones to deep seas. Urchins crawl along on tube feet, feeding on algae and sponges. They come in a variety of colors, long-spined and short-spined, pencil-thick and needle-thin. These dramatic creatures are usually found tucked away within a reef, making them difficult to photograph.

Next time you have the opportunity to see a reef, either below water, from a dock, or tidepooling, stop and stare. You will be amazed!

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post The Fantastic Life of Coral appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

I don’t know what I expected from a sandy spit of coral thirty miles off the coast of Belize, but it wasn’t this! This lush thirteen-and-a-half-acre island is a vibrant, flourishing, diverse patch of nature. What a week!

Atoll: A ring-shaped island, including a coral rim that encircles a lagoon. There may be coral islands or cays on the rim. Most of the approximately 440 atolls in the world are in the Pacific Ocean. Atolls are formed by the sinking of a volcanic island around which a coral fringing reef has formed. Over eons, the volcanic island erodes and subsides completely beneath the ocean. Eventually, the reef and the small coral islets on top of it are all that is left of the original island, and a lagoon has taken the place of the former volcano. 

The western half of the caye is an undeveloped palm forest bisected by nature trails. Every time I walk these paths, I see something new that fascinates me.

Hermit crabs are everywhere, constantly crossing the trails hauling their shells on their backs. At my approach, they recoil into their mobile homes with varying degrees of success.

They outgrow the snail shells that they’ve commandeered and have to make do until they find a bigger, more suitable one. Whenever I notice a large, empty whelk snail shell, I pick it up and carry it with me until I see the right-sized crab in a too-small shell. I place the empty shell next to the crab and step away. The grateful animal will inspect the gift and then quickly make a move.

The locals say that hermit crabs are barometers of the weather; when it’s going to rain, they go up (with a perplexing ability to climb!), and when it’s going to be windy, they dig in and disappear.

I also see lizards on every walk. The anoles live in the trees and understory, basking in every bit of sunlight. Adorable tiny brown anoles, the length of my thumbnail, with adorable teensy feet and a tail equal to the length of their bodies, must’ve hatched yesterday!

The island’s iguanas, mostly spiny-tailed iguanas with a rare green-tailed iguana, are out on the south rock walls, even on gray days. Once I spot one, the others materialize from their camouflage in striking numbers!

When the sun is out, and they’ve charged their batteries, they are along the trails and in the bushes and trees, too.One iguana didn’t flinch as I approached. He was like, “I own this trail, go find your own.” I obliged.

Magnificent frigatebirds flock over the caye, resting on the wind, going nowhere. Great-tailed grackles’ constant chatter fills the air.

A couple of brown pelicans rest on the caye and fish these waters, as do a pair of resident osprey.

Each morning, about twenty minutes before the first rays of sun begin to push back the night, the osprey start calling back and forth in a high-pitched volley reminiscent of raucous gulls. We called them the island roosters for the way they celebrate the start of each new day. Ospreys are adept fish eagles, always announcing their fishing successes and perching on their same favorite branch to pick apart their meal. (Such a courtesy to photographers!).

A green heron hunts a conch pile left by migrant fishermen. Ruddy turnstones walk the sargassum piles, feasting on tiny arthropods. A yellow-crowned night-heron has been regularly spotted in the mangroves near here, but has eluded me all week.

As I’m heading to look for songbirds in the brilliant orange scarlet cordia blooms, a white-crowned pigeon streaks past me, followed instantly by a merlin in hot pursuit. Just a flash and they were gone. Later, I would watch a pair of merlins soaring, dipping, diving, veering like fighter jets they are. 

Years ago, a previous landowner purchased a few gibnuts, large, native, ground-dwelling rodents with dots and stripes on their sides, at a local meat market and set them free on the caye. They’ve since established a breeding population here. I set out to try to find one of these nocturnal, exotic guinea pigs. I noticed what I thought might be gibnut tracks and excitedly went to share my discovery with a fellow traveler. His face fell when I described the track pattern as being similar to a rabbit’s. “There’s a rabbit on the island,” he reluctantly responded, not wanting to stifle my enthusiasm. What?!? Yeah, the same story as the gibnut. Three domestic rabbits from a meat market were neutered and set free here. One remains.

Like cats respond to “Here kitty, kitty, kitty” or “pspsspspss”, rabbits respond to a speedy, high-pitched “bunny-bunny-bunny!” And so it was the next day when I saw a black and white rabbit resting under a deck. I called, and out he hopped!

Towards the end of the week, I did find several gibnut tracks, but unfortunately, never the animal itself, despite some nighttime exploring with my headlamp.

On the last day, an early trail walk finally revealed hummingbirds. Green-breasted mango hummingbirds! A male feeding at the scarlet cordia and a female with a dramatic white belly cut by a stark black stripe flitting around the buttonwood. I’ve never seen these birds before. Black and white on a hummingbird is so exotic!

The yellow-crowned night heron eluded me on the caye all week. Serendipitously, when we docked back on the mainland, there in the marina, perched out on a palm branch, sat a yellow-crowned night heron!

Other scenes from around Long Caye.

If you’re interested in purchasing or licensing any images you see here, please email me at SNewenham at exploringnaturephotos.com, and I’ll make it happen.

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The post A Week on Glover’s Reef Atoll appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.