sharkboy13
Active Member
kinda interesting article i found while searching the web, sry cant gove ya the link (had like a million ads for competitors) :Each summer and fall I spend more time snorkeling, diving, and seining, than I can really afford. I can’t help it. The sea is so full of mystery and wonder, I am utterly powerless to it. After more than 20 years of exploring the waters of New York, I try to tell myself that nothing will surprise me. Nevertheless, every year I see something that completely catches me off guard. I have seen frenzied bluefish chase millions of menhaden into a small harbor, packing them in so tight, that the entire school suffocates. I have snorkeled with ocean sunfish that dwarf my dinner table. I have seen innumerable tropical reef fishes that have no business living in our cold, murky waters: exquisite young french angelfish cleaning parasites off of tautogs and black seabass, aggregations of squirrelfish in the rotted hull of a sunken boat, spotfin butterflyfish in such abundance that they may be the dominant fish species around certain docks and jetties, at least for a few months of the year. Just a few weeks ago I found an octopus living in a submerged toilet bowl – maybe not a strange occurrence in the tropics, but octopus sightings in New York are relatively rare.
Tropical marine life in the Northeastern US is nothing new. Their presence here is simply the result of pelagic larvae, the dispersal mechanism for the majority of marine animals, getting carried hundreds or thousands of miles from a suitable habitat and climate. The Gulf Stream, flowing at a rate approximately equal to all the world’s rivers, combined, provides ample transportation for them. Whereas some of the more oceanic species like jacks and triggerfishes may be able to return to warmer waters before winter sets in, most of the reef species found in our area probably do not.
I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to seeing these brightly-colored wayward fishes in my underwater wanderings, so when I happened upon a tiny lionfish (Pterois volitans) clinging to a wooden piling along the south shore of Long Island in September, 2001, it took a moment for me to fathom the implications. This was not just a stray from the tropical Atlantic. Lionfish are found in the Eastern Pacific, Indian Ocean and Red Sea. This fish was way off course. My first thought was that perhaps someone had released it from his or her home aquarium. Lionfish are certainly popular enough in the aquarium trade. The problem was that this one was no more than an inch long and nearly transparent. I had never seen a lionfish this small (or young) in a pet shop.
I decided, before thinking about it any more, I should catch the fish. It would make a fine addition to one of the display tanks in our lab. Besides, I would need evidence if anyone was to believe my story. The fish was using its fins to hold itself against the piling among some calcareous worm tubes, with its venomous dorsal spines facing out toward me. I took my hand net out from under my arm and placed it against the piling, just below the fish. His head was pointed down, and now toward the open end of my net. Holding the net against the piling with my left hand, I reached for his tail with my right hand. The idea was to shoo him into the net, but the lionfish had other plans. He nestled deep into a crevice between the worm tubes and spread his dorsal spines so that I couldn’t touch him without a high probability of getting stung. I thought for a minute and then reached into my pocket and pulled out my car keys. I gently stuck a key into the crevice and touched his tail. He immediately sprung out into open water, but made no attempt to get away. He just hung in the water column with his elegant fin rays swaying in the wave surge, looking not unlike a stinging jellyfish. I was hypnotized by the beauty of this venomous little stray, and mystified by its presence here. I engulfed the fish with my hand net, and then reached into my pocket for a ziplock bag. Once the fish was bagged, I stood up, removed my snorkeling gear and ran down the beach to catch up with the rest of my party.
I was on a field trip with my professor and some fellow graduate students. We were on our way to a rock jetty about a mile from the parking lot. As usual, I was lagging far behind because I can’t walk past a submerged piling, rock, tire, or any kind of artificial reef, without jumping in the water to see what kinds of interesting marine life have settled on it since the last time I checked. As I approached the group, I held the bag out and, trying very hard to conceal my excitement, I said, “Hey guys. Look what I caught.” The string of exclamations that erupted as they passed the bag around is hardly printable, but needless to say, they were surprised. My professor even expressed some doubt as he accused me of buying the fish and smuggling it out to the beach in my bathing suit.
Tropical marine life in the Northeastern US is nothing new. Their presence here is simply the result of pelagic larvae, the dispersal mechanism for the majority of marine animals, getting carried hundreds or thousands of miles from a suitable habitat and climate. The Gulf Stream, flowing at a rate approximately equal to all the world’s rivers, combined, provides ample transportation for them. Whereas some of the more oceanic species like jacks and triggerfishes may be able to return to warmer waters before winter sets in, most of the reef species found in our area probably do not.
I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to seeing these brightly-colored wayward fishes in my underwater wanderings, so when I happened upon a tiny lionfish (Pterois volitans) clinging to a wooden piling along the south shore of Long Island in September, 2001, it took a moment for me to fathom the implications. This was not just a stray from the tropical Atlantic. Lionfish are found in the Eastern Pacific, Indian Ocean and Red Sea. This fish was way off course. My first thought was that perhaps someone had released it from his or her home aquarium. Lionfish are certainly popular enough in the aquarium trade. The problem was that this one was no more than an inch long and nearly transparent. I had never seen a lionfish this small (or young) in a pet shop.
I decided, before thinking about it any more, I should catch the fish. It would make a fine addition to one of the display tanks in our lab. Besides, I would need evidence if anyone was to believe my story. The fish was using its fins to hold itself against the piling among some calcareous worm tubes, with its venomous dorsal spines facing out toward me. I took my hand net out from under my arm and placed it against the piling, just below the fish. His head was pointed down, and now toward the open end of my net. Holding the net against the piling with my left hand, I reached for his tail with my right hand. The idea was to shoo him into the net, but the lionfish had other plans. He nestled deep into a crevice between the worm tubes and spread his dorsal spines so that I couldn’t touch him without a high probability of getting stung. I thought for a minute and then reached into my pocket and pulled out my car keys. I gently stuck a key into the crevice and touched his tail. He immediately sprung out into open water, but made no attempt to get away. He just hung in the water column with his elegant fin rays swaying in the wave surge, looking not unlike a stinging jellyfish. I was hypnotized by the beauty of this venomous little stray, and mystified by its presence here. I engulfed the fish with my hand net, and then reached into my pocket for a ziplock bag. Once the fish was bagged, I stood up, removed my snorkeling gear and ran down the beach to catch up with the rest of my party.
I was on a field trip with my professor and some fellow graduate students. We were on our way to a rock jetty about a mile from the parking lot. As usual, I was lagging far behind because I can’t walk past a submerged piling, rock, tire, or any kind of artificial reef, without jumping in the water to see what kinds of interesting marine life have settled on it since the last time I checked. As I approached the group, I held the bag out and, trying very hard to conceal my excitement, I said, “Hey guys. Look what I caught.” The string of exclamations that erupted as they passed the bag around is hardly printable, but needless to say, they were surprised. My professor even expressed some doubt as he accused me of buying the fish and smuggling it out to the beach in my bathing suit.
