I am reminded of a trip I took nearly eleven years ago down the Inside Passage with the Nautilus Explorer.
Friday, July 27, 2007, Dillon Rock, Shushartie Bay, British Columbia.
Today we dive on Dillon Rock, a navigation light-marked pinnacle, which according to the British Columbia GIS database was "named in 1850 after William Ward Dillon, RN, master, 1843, who when temporarily serving as master on HMS Daedalus on this station in 1850, made a sketch survey of Daedalus Passage and Shushartie Bay."
We expect to find wolfeels, Giant Pacific octopi (or “GPO” for short), and ratfish at this spot. The always thorough dive briefing advises that wolf eels and octopi are most likely found below 30 feet in the rock’s numerous cracks and crevices.
Wolf eels have intrigued me since I first encountered one named “Captain Crunch” on a dive trip to Campbell River/Quadra Island more than a decade earlier. In writing up this log entry, I checked some of my field guides to review the natural history of wolf eels. The guides’ listing of the adult fish’s length varies from 6 to 8 feet. Primary habitat is dens on rocky reefs in depths from intertidal to 700 feet. Males and females apparently mate for life. The practices of some of the Native tribes along the coast restricted consumption of the wolf eel to the shaman or medicine man for it was believed to increase healing powers. Finally, they are incorrectly referred to as “eels” being most closely related to blennies. While they are alternatively known as “wolf fish” (which sounds a hell of a lot better than “wolf blennie”) comparisons to eels seem inevitable especially given their deceptively ferocious appearance, a feature highlighted in most of the guides.
Marty Snyderman characterizes the fish “as perhaps the fiercest looking of all the reef creatures encountered…Though capable of inflicting serious wounds with the canine like jaw teeth, their looks belie their docile nature.” Gar Goodson relates “they are eel-like, and grow very large; with their powerful canine teeth and stout molars, they can be quite dangerous. Yet divers…report that the wolf eel quickly grows accustomed to diver, even greedily accepts hand held food, much like morays….” Finally, as only he can, Milt Love notes that “wolf-eels are really easy to identify…We are talking about an eel-shaped fish, colored gray…with dark eye spots on its body and fins. Combine this with big canine teeth and massive molars and you can’t miss. Oh yes, the adult males have lumpy misshapen heads and look like the title characters in Chainsaw Flesh Eaters from the Planet of Mutant Savings and Loan Executives….” Finally, from the log entry from a previous trip to the site, Skipper Mike reports, “this is also the only place that I have ever had the extremely rare experience of been bitten by a wolfeel (a male that I believe to be "alpha" came up behind me and latched onto my leg as I lay on the mud bottom taking a picture of another wolfeel). Being bitten by a wolfeel is virtually unheard of.” One thing the sources can’t agree on is spelling; take your choice between “wolf eel”, “wolf-eel”, and “wolfeel”. (The accompanying images show a Dillon Rock wolf eel and me as a Dillon Rock diver. Any resemblance ala the above description is purely coincidental.)
After a quick trip from the Nautilus Explorer, the dive skiff anchors and we descend, seemingly en mass, down the anchor line into the dark green water which gives this part of the eastern Pacific the name “emerald sea”. We switch on the dive lights and with their beams probe the nooks and crannies for the wolf eels and octopi. We quickly locate our objective. The wolf eels abound on this site and prove very willing subjects for observation. The photographers begin a leisurely frenzy of activity as they frame their shots before withdrawing to let their companions have a look see as they move on to the next subject. No one wants for the view of a wolf eel on this dive. I manage to capture a few images of a wolf eel’s face-in-the-hole with my Sony Cybershot. Maybe call this spot should be called “Wolfeel Lairs”. Other divers shoot video to capture side-to-side undulation of a swimming wolf eel. The distinct movement also makes the taxonomically-incorrect comparison to eels inescapable.
Moving along, I spy a pile of shells on a small ledge that marks the base of a crack that rises toward the surface. Rising up a few feet, I observe the mantle and folded arms of a rather large octopus wedged far back in the crack. Divers find several similarly ensconced octopi at the site, but none of us had any luck in coaxing the critters to emerge from the confines of the rock. Unable to draw out the GPO, my attention is diverted by the applause-like movement of the free swimming scallops. I am still amazed by the motion of this bivalve. Most of the scallops I have seen have been firmly and forever cemented to rock faces in Channel Islands of California.
Ascending toward the surface, we encounter a stronger than anticipated current; less than a rip, but enough to pull the kelp down from the surface. We find a sturdy stalk and hang on as the three minute safety stop ticks down on my computer. Breaking the surface we have little time to wait before the dive skiff swings in to pick us up.
We make the second dive at the same spot. While conditions at depth are a little darker than the first dive, the results are pretty much the same—lots of wolf eels and GPO back in their holes. After descending, I help one of the divers connect the inflator hose to the suit. A tab on the end of the connector makes the hook up easy. I had done this same thing for another diver a few days earlier. After the dive he observed that with my bulky dry glove, using one finger instead of two to pull back the connector lock would probably be easier. His advice was right on. Using just one finger makes short work of the task.
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| Me during the dive |
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| Wolfeel during the dive |
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