“Reef Squid“

Squid are ubiquitous in every ocean. On the reef, they are seldom seen alone. Usually, divers and snorkelers will notice a line stretching down the reef — squid all arranged facing the same direction, moving easily along the contour of the bottom. Divers seeking to approach the squid quickly find themselves outmatched; the squid can easily stay out of reach and beyond effective photography range.

Probably the first sea life I saw on my first dive as a PADI divemaster candidate here at St. Elsewhere was just such a line of squid. As I dropped easily from the surface, the squid stretched below me in a line that extended to the limits of visibility in both directions. As my group reached their depth near the bottom, they easily accelerated and were gone.

At night, the situation can be different. Reef squid are sometimes found alone (or perhaps, the diver does not notice the whole line as we might in daylight). Creatures including squid try to avoid too much movement in the dark and can become confused in a diver’s bright lights. Diving in the Lembeh Strait, I began using a Sola focus light from Light and Motion; on its red setting, the light seemed not to alarm the creatures too much. My strobes would temporarily illuminate them, then plunge the world into apparent darkness (where they would be safe). I could still see and focus using the Sola’s red focus light, but that light was much less intense and so less noticeable to my marine subjects. Using that light, the problem became one of adjusting strobes to minimize reflection from the inevitable small particles always suspended in seawater (called “backscatter”).

I have had much less opportunity to attempt photography as a PADI divemaster candidate here in St. Elsewhere. But I am enjoying the scenery and the history surrounding this picturesque small island immensely. Here’s a shot taken just off the pier at St. Elsewhere, near the calm, flat space we have been using to practice and demonstrate dive skill requirements. (Due to bandwidth constraints, this image can’t make it to RickCollierImagery.com until we return. In the meantime, I have posted about it on Nancy’s travel experience blog, “A Shore Dive Kinda Life.” Check it out!)

“Sunken Defenses, American History“

(Top photo ["Reef Squid"]: Night shot with Canon G11 in Ikelite case with twin Ikelite DS125 strobes; integrated lens at 8.1mm, ISO 80, f/5.6 at 1/60 sec.)

(Bottom photo ["Sunken Defenses..."]: Canon G12 in Ikelite case; available light only [no strobes]; integrated lens at 6.1mm, ISO 200, f/3.5 at 1/100 sec.)
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Jettin’ is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Zebra Fans (Lionfish)“

Lionfish come in an incredible array of shapes and sizes. The common lionfish is brown, round, and stubby with feather-like fins — also called “turkey fish.” Turkey fish move languidly, casually spreading their spined fins if approached but otherwise generally daring divers to try. Others are pretty, pink and salmon-colored. Some have long long, graceful spines sweeping the water around them; on others the spines are enclosed in broad fins.

In Lembeh we found the small zebra lionfish. Shades of red, salmon-pink, and orange are striped with white and the fish’s fins are webbed. The dorsal fin is largely clear so the spines on top seem to ripple like brightly colored porcupine quills, but the other fins are bright, colorful orange and red fans. Like most sea life in Lembeh, these are small. Probably because there really aren’t many places to hide on a sandy bottom, they are not very shy. Like all members of the lionfish / scorpionfish family, the spines in their fins are venomous but exclusively defensive. Like all fish, they can get away from a diver with an impossibly quick sprint.

This little fish stands out as a gorgeous addition to an otherwise monotonous dark sand bottom. They are often seen holding station or slowly crawling along the bottom using the hooked spines on their fins. In the daytime, they hunt casually a little above the bottom. Approached too closely, they dart away seeking cover; the one above had to settle for the center of a nearby barrel sponge. In the inadequate cover of the sponge, it spread out to look bigger and present me a frame of poisonous spines. I loved the unique and colorful view.

“Zebra Lionfish“

At night they are quiet and slow, resting quietly on the sand bottom. Approached gently, the photographer can get quite close and frame against the dull brown or black sand bottom. I think the little fellow here might have been asleep.

(Top photo ["Zebra Fans"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with twin DS-125 strobes set to TTL; integrated lens at 13.8mm, ISO 200, f/4.5 at 1/60 sec.)

(Second photo ["Zebra Lionfish"]: Same camera setup; lens at 10.8mm, ISO 200, f/3.2 at 1/60 sec.)
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Zebra Fans is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Orange Skunk“

This is not the shot I was seeking. I was at the Lembeh Resort‘s house reef on a Mandarinfish dive. The mandarinfish do their thing every day at the same time, predictable as sunset (literally). This is the most tame and predictable dive available at the Lembeh Resort. We dropped in and quickly found the patch of reef where the mandarinfish would be easiest to spot, then everybody settled in to wait. The mandarinfish rise gradually, taking … well, a very long time. Minutes, leading to tens of minutes. Maybe even a half hour. It’s not a varied and active dive.

I was spread out above the reef. Neutral buoyancy, pivoting on my outspread fins. Camera ready. Eventually, I began to see the mandarinfish drifting up through the debris below me. They were everywhere, but they were down in the reef and not ready yet to partner up for their nightly show. Did I mention it was boring? Trying to stay motionless above (but not actually on) a reef. There was not a lot of activity here.

I noticed that something was bumping my knee. No damage being done, but something was definitely whacking the wetsuit around my shins. I looked down and saw a tan-brown anemone with two skunk anemonefish (also called clownfish). I wasn’t touching the anemone or the fish, but I was close and had been there a while (at least whole minutes). The anemonefish were protective of their anemone and wanted me gone. They took turns darting out of their anemone home to strike at the overhanging knee. With a deep breath I floated up, moved over, and settled back on the reef to wait some more.

I think I have mentioned before that I just love anemonefish. These orange skunk anemonefish were the brightest, cleanest color I’d seen. The brown anemone was closing up for the night (or maybe just protecting itself from the previously mentioned knee), bringing the short tentacles in close to make a great, compact photo setting. Its color really offset and complimented the color of the fish. I leaned slightly to the left and snapped a couple shots. I still love these little fish. Eventually, the mandarinfish show did happen a few minutes later; no harm done from the premature flashes as I shot the anemonefish.

(Orange Skunk: Canon G11 in Ikelite underwater housing with two Ike DS125 strobes, wired for TTL control. Integrated lens at 10.8mm, ISO 80, f/3.2 at 1/60 second. Camera EV was set to -2/3.)
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Orange Skunk is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Red Ghost“

We were on the wall at the Siladen Timur dive site, on the reef that surrounds the resort island of Siladen (site of the Siladen Resort and Spa). As we drifted with the gentle current, my guide pointed into a small concavity in the reef wall, completely ringed by hydroids. Peering into the depression I saw a red robust ghost pipefish, maneuvering to hide along the reef wall behind the hydroids.

As I watched, the small ghost pipefish moved over a hydroid branch, moving in to the side of the small depression where he was hiding. Soon, he would be back against the reef wall and effectively out of my camera’s angle of view in the small gap. He seemed to speed up as I pushed my camera forward through the hydroids and snapped the shot. (The object in this frame that looks like a tan fern is actually a stinging animal, related to jellyfish.) I collected several hydroid stings to my hands and wrists … but I got the shot.

(Red Ghost: Canon G11 in Ikelite underwater housing with two Ikelite DS-125 strobes wired for TTL control; integrated lens at 8.9mm, ISO 80, f/6.3 at 1/60 sec.)
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Red Ghost is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Lord of the Shrimps“

“This dive I hope we find something special” is how my guide, Luther, answered when I asked “what can we see here?” (In fairness, that was almost always Luther’s answer.) We were at a dive site just off the coast at Tiwoho, near the North Sulawesi city of Manado, in Indonesia’s Bunaken National Park. As was usually the case for the afternoon dives, Luther and I were the only two divers on the boat. Yes, the Siladen Resort and Spa will run one of their large, beautiful wooden dive boats for only one paying diver. (I have to love that.)

We found “something special” near the beginning of the dive. We dropped in over a sloping sandy bottom at 65 feet (about 20 meters). A reef started nearby, at about 50 feet (about 15 meters). In the other direction the sandy slope stretched away towards deeper water. Luther led off angling down the slope towards deeper water. He soon found what he was seeking: A small rock and coral outcropping, surrounded by sand.

At first I saw a lion fish and an eel that quickly moved into holes under the rock/coral covering. I peered underneath and found the rock crawling with shrimp of all types. Most striking to me were the pink and white striped shrimps. I first mistook them for the peppermint shrimp that I have seen before in saltwater fish tanks, but that was wrong. Where the peppermint shrimp is a streamlined, “ordinary” shrimp shape with pink and white stripes running lengthwise, these shrimp had a distinctly humped back and irregular pattern of stripes. These were so-called candy shrimp (camel shrimp). Whatever their name, they were beautiful and everywhere. Scattered amongst the candy shrimp were various kinds of cleaner shrimp, including banded reef shrimp, scarlet-striped cleaning shrimp, and spotted shrimp of several types.

I got down near the sandy bottom to approach closely, then looked up into a crevice in the rock. Inside, a yellow moray eel was watching me. He was half out of his hole and did not seem particularly shy. The many different types of shrimp around seemed to have eyes only for the eel.

(Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with two Ikelite DS-125 strobes; Integrated lens at 9.8mm, ISO 400, f/3.5 at 1/80 sec.)
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Lord of the Shrimps is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Flamboyant Cuttlefish“

Flamboyant cuttlefish. The name of the thing just sounds to me like something I’ve just got to see. We’ve all seen cuttlefish (or perhaps pictures): They’re common in all oceans. The critter is all head, with little tentacles. They are the original source of that thing we hang up in bird cages for our pets to gnaw — the cuttlebone (also useful as a calcium supplement for hermit crabs, snails, reptiles, etc.). They generally come in gray, brown, tan … some inoffensive beige-ish color.

But how does a cuttlefish get to be flamboyant? Having read about them (even seen a few pictures, which I only half-remembered), I really wanted to see a flamboyant cuttlefish. It was on my short list when the dive shop staff at The Lembeh Resort asked what we wanted to see.

We came across a number of flamboyant cuttlefish in the sand along the bottom of the Lembeh Strait. The flamboyant cuttlefish (“Pfeffer’s Flamboyant Cuttlefish,” Metasepia pfefferi) is named the bright warning coloration it adopts when approached. Normally it is very drab — dull shades of brown, looking like a rock on the sandy bottom, “walking” sedately around the bottom using its lower arms (tentacles). It adopts bright shades of red, purple, and pink with that distinctive yellow border when disturbed (for instance, by a hulking diver shoving a large camera lens into its “face”).

“Eclipsing the Subject“

Like almost everything we saw in the Strait, this is a very small beastie; the ones we saw were between two and four inches (say, about 5 to 10 cm) long, including tentacles. The first time we saw one, I assumed it must’ve been a baby. Wrong. We spied many on our dives. They were all tiny. On the last dive we were surprised to find one nearly four or five inches (10-12 cm) long. That one was worthy of conversation back on the dive boat: A giant!

(Top photo ["Flamboyant Cuttlefish"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with twin Ikelite DS-125 strobes under TTL control; integrated lens at 12.1mm on macro setting; ISO 200; f/4.0 at 1/60 sec.)

(Lower photo ["Eclipsing the Subject"]: Same camera and housing but no flash; lens at 6.1mm (normal); ISO 200; f/2.8 at 1/30 sec.)
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Flamboyant is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Comin’ at Ya“

I was hoping to see several weird and wonderful creatures when Nancy and I set out for the Lembeh Strait. The mimic octopus was near the top of my list. Happily, the guides at The Lembeh Resort know exactly what to spot and these little critters are not all that uncommon in the strait.

The mimic octopus must have been there for a very long time, but it was not discovered officially until 1998. Like all octopi, the mimic octopus can change color to blend with its surroundings, but it is usually dark brown and white striped. This is the only octopus known to mimic the appearance and mannerisms other species. It has been known to imitate more than fifteen different species, including sea snakes, lionfish, flatfish, brittle stars, giant crabs, sea shells, stingrays, flounders, jellyfish, sea anemones, and mantis shrimp.

With practice, I learned to spot the mimic octopus. Fining along a few feet above the basically featureless sand bottom, we would sometimes spot what looked like a small hill of sand, topped with two small spikes. The protuberances at the top of the “hill” would be the octopus’ eyes. It’s body and arms were buried under a thin layer of sand. Swiping a stick back and forth across the surface of the sand while approaching the small “hill,” the dive guide was usually able to get the creature to move. The octopus would emerge from hiding before the stick got close enough to threaten his position. Only a couple of times did the little octopus decline our invitation to dance and hold his position; in those cases we left without disturbing the stubborn little beastie.

What probably surprised me most about the mimic was its diminutive size; in life, this octopus is only about the size of an adult male’s hand. I was also impressed at how relatively relaxed and gentle the creature seemed, even after disturbed. Creatures in Lembeh generally tend to hold still, move slowly, and depend on the current to carry them away (or eventually withdraw into a hole or burrow). They generally don’t jet away or flee quickly. Actually, most of the creatures that attract divers to the Lembeh Strait are quite small, photogenic, and generally don’t flee quickly.

“Little Imitator“

Since the creatures generally don’t move fast or far, the Lembeh Strait is a photographer’s dream. Since they are all pretty small, this is also definitely macro territory; underwater photographers here will want macro capability — and quite probably even super-macro magnifying diopters to enlarge the subjects so they fill the photo frame.

(Top image ["Comin' at ya"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with two Ikelite DS-125 strobes on TTL control; integrated lens at 6.1mm; ISO 80; f/5.6 at 1/60 sec.)

(Second image ["Little Imitator"]: Same camera and strobes; 6.1mm; ISO 200; f/3.5 at 1/60 sec.)
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Comin’ Atcha is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Who’s There?“

Mantis shrimp are common in most oceans of the world. They are active predators and tend to prowl shallow reefs and shorelines in daytime. Their vision is excellent, and they are reputed to be intelligent and curious; in an aquarium, these creatures are said to be capable of interacting with their keeper.

I have briefly spied what I took to be mantis shrimp before — inch-long critters that mostly blended into Caribbean reefs. They were small, poorly seen, and too fast for me to photograph. I had read about the more glorious, colorful and larger variants to be found in the Western Pacific so my hopes were high when we arrived at the Lembeh Resort.

I was not disappointed. There are several types of mantis shrimp in the Lembeh Strait, and most are easy to see and not easily intimidated by divers. We saw many, ranging from small, brown or reddish specimens to the giants that may grow as large as a foot (30 cm) or more. On one dive, we even came across two fighting in the sand. None we saw was more striking than the beautifully colored “peacock” or “harlequin” mantis shrimp.

We saw peacock mantis shrimp that were beautifully colored in brilliant hues. They also seemed just a bit curious. The one above actually came a little out of its hole to spy on me. Encountered out on the sand, the little beasties would turn and even come slightly towards a diver — seemingly to get a better look with its large, colorful, articulated eyes. Moving gently, I had little trouble approaching for a photo. (Still, caution was in order: Also known as “thumb splitters,” this little predator’s strike can break a camera housing or spear a finger to the bone.

“Peacock Mantis Shrimp“

(Top image ["Who's There?"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with two Ikelite DS-125 strobes under TTL control; integrated lens at 9.8mm; ISO 80; f/6.3; shutter at 1/60 sec.)

(Second image ["Peacock Mantis Shrimp"]: Same camera and strobes; 18.1mm; ISO 200; f/4.5; 1/60 sec.)
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What Are You? is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Red Seahorse“

I’ve loved seahorses since I was a kid — and still do. As recently as last fall, Nancy and I happened to be visiting an aquarium and were captivated by the seahorse display. We must have watched that one relatively small tank for a half an hour. Like everybody, we eagerly look for and point out seahorses, whenever we see one in a fish tank or aquarium. They’re unusual and improbable. (By what accident did this creature come to be?) They move slowly and gracefully. They are not strong or fast swimmers. They’re calm and inoffensive … in fact, they even seem friendly. They’re cute.

I’ve seen seahorses in the wild before, mostly in the Caribbean around reefs or sea grass beds, where there is plenty of stuff in which to “hide” and anchor themselves by wrapping their tail around a projecting stem or branch. I’ve never seen one really swimming in the wild. I didn’t really expect to see many seahorses in the “muck diving” capital of the world, the Lembeh Strait. The bottom in the strait is sand and mostly featureless; there is often a current; and places where a seahorse might “hide” or attach itself are few and far between.

I was wrong: In fact, seahorses are pretty common in the Lembeh Strait. They are often seen out on the sandy bottom, with nothing nearby to which they might plausibly attach. The ones we saw were pretty large, too: Most were five inches (12 cm) or more. They don’t swim upright and gracefully on Lembeh’s unprotected sandy bottom; rather, their tails extend along the sand, they tilt forward, and current and surge rock them back and forth. Still, the head is up and the seahorse moves purposefully — always away from the diver. Trying to get a good photo of a seahorse in the wild can be a challenge — especially if the seahorse is moving freely along a featureless sandy plain. Somehow, the little creatures always contrive to face away from the huge camera looming near them. Swimming free, they extend their tail, lay down on the bottom, duck their heads, and turn away. If holding on to something, they turn away and tuck their head down, into the bottom and away from the camera.

“Pale Horse“

Eventually I learned that it is possible to “herd” a seahorse. I could position the camera and hold that still with one hand and then extend the other bare hand gently around the seahorse. The little critter would turn himself away from the moving hand as it got closer to him. It wasn’t always easy to hold the camera and take the photo with one hand and at the same time “herd” the seahorse with the other hand — all the while without touching the animal, stirring up sand, or interfering with my own shot. But it did work a couple times. (And not once did I actually touch the seahorse: No seahorses were harmed in the pursuit of these pictures!)

(Top Image ["Red Seahorse"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with two DS-125 strobes on TTL control; macro setting; integrated lens at 10.8mm; ISO 200; f/4.5; 1/60 sec.)

(Lower image ["Pale Horse"]: Same camera and strobes; macro setting; lens at 12.1mm; ISO 80; f/3.5; 1/60 sec.)
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Horses in the Sand is a post from: the Photo Tourist

“Blue Rings“

I have always wanted to see a blue-ringed octopus. I still remember the first time I heard of this little creature; it was a briefing one of the first times I dove in the western Pacific (now decades ago): “You might see a blue-ringed octopus. They’re really small. If you do see one, leave it alone. They are very poisonous; if it bites you, you will die before we can get you help.” Since then, of course, I have read more and seen pictures. People do die from them: Their bite contains a powerful neurotoxin that paralyzes the victim, resulting in asphyxiation as the lungs stop working. But the thing is very small; they say its beak will not penetrate most wetsuits. In the pictures, they are always yellow, with bright blue rings. Always seemed to me hard to miss. I had never seen one before Lembeh.

You can imagine my consternation on this dive when the guide paused by a dark-colored, nondescript, maybe baseball-sized rock in the middle of a featureless sandy bottom and quickly scribbled on his slate: “blue ring octopus.” I looked around carefully. (It didn’t take long — there was only featureless sand and that little rock.) I gestured: “Where?”

My guide extended his bare hand and with one finger gently tapped on a small protuberance on the rock below us. The thing was no bigger than my thumb. Under his finger, it flexed like a little rubber toy. Then it turned brilliant yellow with blue rings, curled up its tiny tentacles, let go of the rock, and let the gentle current carry it away.

With two photographers in the group, getting away wasn’t so easy. We followed; we clicked; we flashed. The little octopus did not ink and did not swim quickly: It just drifted along the sandy bottom with the gentle current, occasionally grabbing onto a stone and trying again to blend in each time. When we were not fooled, the little octopus would again turn yellow, let go, and continue to drift with the current. Finally, it lost patience: With color gradually fading from yellow back to a sandy tan to match the bottom, the little octopus streamlined itself and jetted away.

“Blue Rings, Departing“

(Top photo ["Blue Rings"]: Canon G11 in Ikelite housing with two Ikelite DS-125 strobes and TTL metering; integrated lens at 10.8mm, ISO 200, f/4.5, 1/60 sec.)

(Bottom ["Blue Rings, Departing"]: Same camera, strobes, and settings.)
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Blue Rings is a post from: the Photo Tourist