When I finally met an octopus, it became.. My Octopus Sombrero

By Eric Morris

When I was 12 years old, I never envisioned the caressing arms of a giant octopus engulfing my head. Or that they would be there because my dive buddy thought it would be a good practical joke. I met my dive partner, Jerry, in seventh grade math. I’d been snorkeling in Puget Sound by myself all that past summer and was surprised to find out that the big, solid kid next to me was also a diver—had even tried scuba and wrestled an octopus—two things I’d never done. Class passed swiftly as we whispered where we’d been, what we’d seen and what type of gear we were using. We quickly made plans to dive together that weekend. In those days our favorite spot was diving in the Des Moines/Redondo area, two small, beachfront communities about twenty miles south of Seattle. The underwater terrain all along the Des Moines waterfront consisted of a gently sloping sand bottom with scattered rock boulders and kelp beds. We weren’t old enough to drive and either had to walk miles to the beach (lugging our weight-belts!) or get our parents to take us. Luckily we both had understanding mothers (who were probably glad to get us out of their hair) and usually drove us to the beach. Jerry and I both had wetsuits, so we could snorkel for hours without getting cold. In fact, we often got in the water at Des Moines and snorkeled south all the way to Redondo – a passage several miles long. Being typical boys, we also had spearguns and fancied ourselves hunters. Mostly we shot unfortunate perch and flounders, although we would sometimes land a big cabezon—a type of bullhead that sometimes weighed ten or fifteen pounds and were good eating. We had stumbled across the remains of an old sunken sternwheeler named Otter in the shallows a couple of hundred yards south of the present day Des Moines Marina (there was no marina built when we were diving there). The wreck had once been a sternwheeler named Otter, built in 1874. After years towing coal barges around Puget Sound, she collided with another ship in a fog and ran herself ashore at Des Moines beach in 1890. Everything of value had long since been salvaged. The wood had rotted away, leaving only a ballast pile of rocks covered in kelp. It turned out to be an excellent habitat for rockfish, cabezon—and, as we soon discovered—octopuses. It was while we were snorkeling around the wreck one day that Jerry discovered the signs of an octopus in residence—a mound of empty crab shells deposited outside a hole between some ballast rocks. The shells were leftovers from a crab smorgasbord that the octopus had enjoyed. I was on the far side of the wreck and kelp bed, poking around. Jerry thought it would be fun to introduce me to an octopus, so he took a big breath, dove down fifteen feet and managed to roll over one of the ballast rocks to expose the inhabitant. It was a medium sized specimen, with a span of about eight feet. Startled by sunlight and a potential enemy, the octopus tried to swim away, blowing ink blots behind him in an attempt to elude Jerry. However, Jerry was not fooled and grabbed the octopus by its trailing tentacles, pulling it up to the surface. He quickly had the eight armed critter under control, sort of. Now that Jerry had his wriggling prize at the surface, he swam silently around the kelp, positioned himself and his new friend above me and placed it right on my head. I was blissfully unaware of the wrestling match going on behind me and had been exploring around the perimeter of the ballast pile, looking for anything of interest tucked between the rocks. It suddenly got dark, dark as when a row of octopus suction cups stretch across the glass plate of your mask and suck on, flattening themselves out with the effort of vacuuming. At the same instant I became aware of something rubbery encompassing my head and shoulders and could detect the circular and slimy—and surprisingly firm—feel of suction cups across my exposed chin and lower lip. Keep in mind that I was still a relatively novice snorkeler and while 12 year old boys are basically fearless due to stupidity, we are not immune to terror when it is correctly applied. Jerry had correctly applied The Terror. My first reaction was to pull mightily, with adrenaline-aided strength, on the tentacle wrapped across my mask. This did not release the tentacle, but did pull my mask off. I now had the dubious pleasure of feeling octopus suckers over my entire face rather than just my chin. One particular little suction cup even managed to attach itself to my closed right eyelid—a most discomforting sensation—I can assure you! By now my survival instincts had kicked in, and I was already finning towards the surface—or at least I hoped I was—it is hard to tell which direction is up when when your head is covered with octopus. Thankfully I chose the right way, reached air and took a great breath, which included a trace of tentacle. For those of you interested, it tasted like salty rubber, with an aftertaste of slime. I had one thing going for me in this little adventure—the octopus was as terrified as I was and wanted nothing more than to escape and seek solitude inside its hole. Finding itself perched atop my head and basking in the sun’s rays, the devilfish quickly oozed off to one side and started swimming down and away, trying to make his escape. Jerry had been thoroughly enjoying this whole mismatch. He snorkeled down to the bottom and recovered my mask, bringing it over with a grin so big that I could see it even with a snorkel in his mouth. He then quickly chased down the fleeing octopus and brought it back for me to examine under more favorable conditions. Which I did for some time, and found the creature to be an amazing mass of firm, slippery textures. The skin was a palette of wrinkles, bumps, horns, colors and lines. Its eyes watched us with intelligence. Its breathing gradually slowed down as it seemed to realize we weren’t going to hurt it. It extended tentacles that examined us and then retracted. We passed it gently back and forth between us for fifteen minutes or so and then swam it down to the ballast pile and let it go. Our newfound acquaintance shuffled off smoothly and disappeared between some rocks. All things considered, it wasn’t a bad first date.