The Spider Conch Incident
It’s getting colder in Tokyo these days. Today is 12 degrees Celsius, whatever that means. In order to stave off the chills, I’ve been looking at pictures from my trip to Okinawa that fill me with warm happy memories and make me feel nice and toasty:
Look how warm!
We are pineapples who don't even need to wear coats!
Warm on the inside AND the outside!
As I was going through these pictures I was reminded of something that happened. As per the previous post (or if you know anything about me at all), you know my love for the aquatic world and its creatures runs deep. I’ve always loved exploring tidepools and the far reaches of the shoreline looking for critters under rocks and in crevices. I also have a great eye for spotting unique and beautiful seashells that I enjoy collecting.
(Note: I did not take this fuzzy guy home with me.)
Maybe not your typical “girl’s day out at the beach,” but I don’t tan so working on my beachy glow is immediately off the table as far as beach activities are concerned anyways (you may have noticed my FULL COVERAGE swimwear, this chick isn’t taking any chances), but I digress.
The beaches in Okinawa were breathtaking, and Shota took me to this one beach that was particularly beautiful and secluded.
Shota, knowing me well, had planned ahead and brought snorkeling gear for us to enjoy the scene beneath the surf as well as above it. Fantastic! The reef stretched out for what seemed like miles. We spent hours swimming around, pointing out different kinds of corals and fish, “みてみて!なにこれ?” (“Look, look! What’s this?”) and that’s when I saw it:
A big, beautiful spider conch shell sitting on the bottom.
If you are unfamiliar with spider conches, here is a helpful image:
So naturally, I picked it up.
I examined the shell. It was slightly dirty but honkin big and, as far as I could tell, it was unoccupied. At this point, we were about half a mile away from shore so, because of it’s size, it was quite taxing to bring it back to the beach with me. But true to form, I always accomplish my goals and then there I was sitting on the beach with my prize.
We took some pictures of me with my shell.
I made some “phone calls” between scraping off the barnacles with pieces of dead coral. I called Laurie, the Cohasset harbormaster, many times to report some “irresponsible youths on a 13” Boston Whaler.” She said she would look into the matter.
At last, we had exhausted the photo opportunities as well as ourselves, and the three of us (Shota, the shell and I) began the hour-plus journey home.
It was nearly dusk by the time we got home. We had just begun unloading the car from the day’s activities when I go to check on my shell. Only, much to my horror, when I picked it up I found that there were TWO EYES STARING RIGHT BACK AT ME
JUST
LIKE
THIS:
The way I screamed nearly made Shota drop everything he was carrying and he rushed over wondering what sort of trauma had just befallen me. “LAUREN, DOSHIMASHITA KA” (“LAUREN, WHAT HAPPENED”) and I showed him the unwitting passenger we had taken with us. His reaction was decidedly calmer than mine had been, perhaps because he was expecting something far worse, but all he could say was “OH.....WHAT is THAT!!”
Clearly, Shota, that is the rightful owner of this shell.
I knew, at this point, I had to act fast. Fortunately for this already-quite-unfortunate conch, our AirBnB was right on the beach, so we took her (yes, it was a “her”—I researched the topic quite extensively after this ordeal) down to the shoreline and I put her in the water—face-up so I could see that 1.) she was even still alive and 2.) my curiosity got the best of me and I could not rest until I witnessed how the hell those things flip back over.
We waited.
And waited some more. Man, it felt like ages.
Figuring she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, I became distracted by the other things in our temporary backyard and wandered around a bit. Imagine my disappointment when I finally came back to the spider conch only to see that she had already flipped over! At least the good news here was that my little buddy was still alive (my curiosity would later be quenched by watching several spider conch youtube videos that night).
It had gotten dark. Shota and I headed inside. We recounted the day to each other and laughed about the situation and slept in good conscious knowing that the spider conch would live on.
Of course, this incident didn’t stop me from beachcombing the rest of that week—only now, I would be a little more careful to make sure the shells I was collecting had nobody home.
