Blue thighs and black eyes

 More photos from the aquarium on the pier:

Widehand hermit, Elassochirus tenuimanus. With limpets and algae on his shell.

"The blue colour on the thighs (inner surfaces) of its appendages is a distinctive feature." (Marine Life of the PNW)

Thighs! I never thought to apply that word to the segment of a hermit's legs. I think the "proper" term is Ischium. But I like "thigh".

Unidentified nudibranch

This little guy occasionally let go of the wall and started to swim about, twisting back and forth; sort of dancing in the water.

Swimming scallops, Chlamys hastata.

Look for the eyes; little black dots around the rim of the orange flesh. Or white, where the light hits the tiny mirrors inside.

Another scallop and a red and white striped greenling. (Painted?)

And a very spiny crab. Unidentified.

This year I've got a season's pass, so I'll be back. Maybe I'll be able to identify the fish and the crab next visit.

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Y hay más fotos de los animales en el acuario en el muelle.

1. Un cangrejo ermitaño "de patas anchas", Elassochirus tenuimanus. Lleva una pareja de lapas y algas verdes y color de rosa en la concha. Dice mi enciclopedia — El color azul que lleva en el muslo de sus extremidades es una característica distintiva. — ¡El muslo! Nunca se me hubiera ocurrido darle ese nombre a un segmento de una pata de ermitaño. Creo que el término "apropriado" es isqion. Pero me gusta "muslo".
2. Un nudibranqio sin identificar. Esta criaturita de vez en cuando se saltaba de la pared y empezaba a nadar, torciéndose como si estuviera bailando.
3. Vieras natadoras, Chlamys hastata. Busca los ojos; puntitos negros al borde de la carne anaranjada. O blancas, cuando los espejitos en el interior reflejan la luz.
4. Otra vieira, con un pescado "greenling", vestido en rayas de rojo y blanco.
5. Y un cangrejo muy espinoso. No lo pude identificar.

Este año tengo un pase de temporada, y voy a poder visitar con frecuencia. Tal vez logre identificar al pescado y al cangrejo en la próxima visita.

Chance encounter

 Sometimes you're just in the right place at the right time ... Passing my aquarium on the way to start supper, I caught a glimpse of a naked hermit sheltered in the rosy seaweed. Supper forgotten.

A hairy hermit, Pagurus hirsutiusculus, without the protective shell.

Think about crabs. "True" crabs, they call them; the crabs you see scuttling sideways on the shore. They have a soft body encased in a hinged hard exoskeleton, the carapace on top, the abdomen beneath, sort of like a clamshell. When they grow and need to molt, they open this shell and back out, leaving the perfectly formed crab shape behind.

Hermit crabs don't have the hard covering for the abdomen, which is much larger than that of the "trues". The upper body is encased in a hard casing, but the abdomen hangs out, looking like a sausage, soft and juicy, a tempting taste treat for fish and crabs and shorebirds. So they wear a borrowed shell for protection.

Freshly-molted hermit, showing the upper carapace, two tiny grasping legs, and the front end of the soft abdomen.

As a hermit (or crab) grows, the exoskeleton becomes a tight fit. It doesn't grow with the critter inside, so there comes a moment when he pulls himrself free and backs out, pulling the eyes down out of the eyestalks, the legs and pincers out of their chitinous coating; even the antennas are retracted, leaving the antenna shape behind, attached to the old body shell.

Dried abandoned hairy hermit molt. (2010)

And now the hermit is in danger. He's soft all over; not only that dangling abdomen looks good to eat.  So he heads up, away from the always hungry crabs beneath. He climbs a blade of eelgrass, or, as here, drifts on the seaweed.

Like a butterfly just out of the chrysalis, who rests in the sunlight, slowly unfolding and stretching out her wings until they are stiff enough to fly, the hermit waits in his safe place. He takes in water and swells out before the new carapace hardens, he waits until he feels strong enough to brave the dangers below in his search for a new shell to enclose that vulnerable abdomen.

His colours are pale at this stage, and free of algae and grunge.

My bad: trying to get a clear photo, I moved the seaweed and he fell off, down to the sand. Down where a crab lurked. I quickly rescued him, and set him to rest safely in a small bowl of water, then searched the tank for shells that looked about the right size for him. (Normally, he would do this when he was ready and able to run from the crab.)

And he rested only a few minutes, then chose a shell and moved in.

This one looks about right. Body hardened, abdomen protected. Ready to roll!

I gave him some time to settle in, then returned him and the other shells to the tank. And he ran off, happily, to look for food. Needed a pick-me-up after all that work!

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A veces el azar te sitúa en el preciso momento y lugar ... Iba a la cocina para preparar la cena, pero pasé el acuario y vi un ermitaño desnudo. Se me olvidó lo de la cena.

Foto #1: El ermitaño, un ermitaño "peludo", Pagurus hirsutiusculus, escondido entre las algas marinas.

Considera los cangrejos. Un cangrejo "verdadero", como les llaman: los cangrejos que ves corriendo lateralmente en la playa. Tienen un cuerpo blando, encerrado dentro de un exoesqueleto quitinoso articulado, el caparazón arriba, el abdomen abajo, algo así como la concha de una almeja. Cuando crecen y les llega la necesidad de mudar, abren este exoesqueleto y se retiran, despegándose hacia atrás, dejando en la playa la forma perfecta del cangrejo ausente.

Los cangrejos ermitaños no tienen la corteza dura para el abdomen, y éste es mucho más grande que el de los cangrejos "verdaderos". El cuerpo anterior está cubierto de un caparazón, pero el abdomen se cuelga sin protección. Parece algo así como un chorizo, y así lo ven los cangrejos, los peces, hasta los pájaros costeros, un chorizo delicioso. Por lo tanto, los ermitaños esconden ese abdomen dentro de una concha de caracol prestada.

Foto: un ermitaño recién mudado, mostrando el caparazón, dos patitas que sirven para fijarse a la concha prestada, y la parte anterior del abdomen.

Cuando crece un ermitaño, o por cierto, un cangrejo, este exoesqueleto llega a quedarle chico, incómodo. No crece con el animalito por dentro, y viene el momento cuando se separa buscando la libertad, retirando los ojos de los pedúnculos oculares, las patas y las pinzas de sus formas, hasta las antenas de su corteza, dejando la forma de la antena todavía haciendo parte del viejo exoesqueleto.

Foto: una muda de un ermitaño P. hirsutiusculus, resecada.

Y ahora está en una situación peligrosa. Todo el cuerpo recién mudado es blando; ahora parece buen alimento para los cangrejos y otros depredadores. El ermitaño se escapa, subiendo por las hierbas o escondiéndose entre las algas donde no le alcancen los cangrejos.

Como una mariposa recién eclosionada de su crisálida descansa en el sol, estirando y desdoblando las alas, esperando a que estén suficientemente rígidas para poder volar, el ermitaño espera en su lugar protegido. Toma agua, y se hincha antes de que su piel se vuelva dura, un nuevo exoesqueleto, espera hasta que se siente capaz de arriesgarse allá abajo, donde tiene que buscarse una nueva concha.

Foto: un ermitaño recién mudado tiene los colores claros, las patas limpias, sin algas.

Y fue culpa mia; tratando de sacar una foto, arrimé el alga, y el ermitaño se cayó al suelo, donde peligraba su vida por la presencia de un cangrejo. Lo rescaté de prisa, y le puse en un platito con agua donde nada de amenazaba. Luego le busqué una variedad de conchas más o menos de un tamaño que le quedaría. (Normalmente, el mismo haría esto cuando se sentía con fuerzas.) 

Esperó unos cuantos minutos, y luego escogió una concha y se insertó en ello.

Foto: el ermitaño en el plato, con su nueva concha.

Le dejé un tiempecito para descansar, y luego lo regresé al tanque. Y se fue muy contento a buscar algo que comer. Después de todo ese trámite, tenía hambre.

Growing hermit baby

It's been a while since I had photos of the critters in my aquarium. Somehow, the light is never right, or the residents are in too much of a hurry. Or too small.

That's what it was with today's hermit. A couple of months ago, I noticed two small hermits in the sand, so small they were only recognizable as hermits by the way they moved. Sand grains in pinhead-sized shells. I don't know how they arrived; whether they were born in the tank or hitched a ride in on a bit of seaweed.

But they grew. They found themselves larger shells, still not much bigger than a pinhead. And now I could see legs. With the next size up, I could recognize each one; one had yellow legs, the other has black legs with prominent white patches. Two different species, then.

Little yellow-legs grew faster and changed shells more often. And today he was wearing the largest yet, still only about 4 mm. long. And he came right up to the glass, and his legs had turned orange with blue spots!

Orange legs with blue spots, red antennae, eye stalks, antennules.

And I think he's a grainy-hand hermit, because of the blue spots on his legs. So he very well could have been born in the tank; the adult grainy-hands had been pairing up a while ago.

While I was trying to focus on him, other critters showed up:

Limpet, feeding

Green shore crab, photobombing.

For comparison: here's an adult grainy-hand hermit, from a previous shoot.

Orangey legs with blue spots, red antennae, eye stalks, antennules. Much bigger, of course.

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Hace tiempo que no he subido fotos de los invertebrados que viven en mi acuario. Por alguna razón la luz no servía, o si no, los residentes tenían mucha prisa. O estaban tan pequeños que apenas se veían.

Eso es lo que pasó con el ermitaño de hoy. Hace dos meses vi dos ermitaños miniaturos en la arena, tan chiquitos que solamente los reconocí por su manera de correr. Granitos de arena en conchas tamaño cabeza de alfiler. No sé como es que llegaron al tanque, sea que aquí nacieron, o tal vez vinieron entre la hierba de mar que traje para gimnasio y comida para los otros animales.

Pero crecieron. Se buscaron conchitas más grandes, aunque todavía parecían cabezas de alfiler. Pero ahora se podían ver sus patitas. Y con la siguiente muda, les pude dar nombres; se distinguían el uno del otro. Uno tenía las patas amarillas; el otro tiene patas negras con manchas blancas. Así que son de especies diferentes.

El de las patas amarillas ha crecido más que el otro, cambiando sus conchas más frecuentemente, cada vea a una concha más grande. Y hoy llevaba la más grande hasta ahora, apenas, todavía, de unos 4 mm. de largo. Y se acercó a la pared y vi que sus patas se han vuelto anaranjadas, y tienen puntos azules.

Foto: aquí está, con patas anaranjadas con sus puntos azules, las antenas y los pedúnculos oculares rojos, también las antenulas.

Creo que es un ermitaño de manos granosas, Pagurus granosimanus, por los puntos azules en las patas. Si lo es, bien podría haber nacido en el tanque; hace un tiempo, los adultos se estaban apareando.

Mientras trataba de enfocar, otros residentes del tanque pasaron en frente.

Foto #2: una lapa, comiendo algae.

Foto #3: un cangrejo costero haciéndose un "photobomb".

Foto # 4: Un ermitaño P. granosimanus adulto, para comparar. Tiene patas anaranjadas con puntos azules, y los pedúnculos oculares, las antenas y las antenulas son rojas. Claro que es mucho más grande.

In a crabby mood

 My computer keeps crashing today. So I'm crabby. So is he:

Crab molt, Oyster Bay shore.

Back to work, arguing with a stubborn machine.

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Mi computadora y yo estamos de malas hoy; se me congela la máquina a cada rato.

En inglés se dice, cuando uno está de malas, que está como cangrejo. Así que aquí está un cangrejito que también estuvo de malas. Y ahora dejó su muda en la playa.

Y vuelvo a mi pleito con esta computadora.

Running spots

I made it to the Willow Point reef today on time to catch the low June tide.  I have a bunch of photos to process, but I had to do this one first.

Where the sea lettuce grows over the rocks, walking is hazardous; it's as slippery as polished ice. I was walking slowly, carefully, keeping my eyes on the ground, trying to find bits of mud or stone to step on. Otherwise, I never would have seen this crab.

Well, really, I didn't see it; I saw the movement on the sea lettuce. I couldn't see what was moving, but I took photos anyhow. And look!

A tiny spotted crab!

Two things made it hard to see; first, the size. Those little round balls are the floats of sargassum seaweed. I fished one out of my tank and measured it; lengthwise, it measures 2.5 millimetres. That makes the crab's carapace about 8 mm. across the widest spot.

And second, the spots. It blends in nicely with the blotchy coral leaf seaweeds. And to add to the camouflage, the crab seems to be wearing a hat of green sea lettuce, like the kelp crabs so often do.

I can't find a match for this crab in my guide book.

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Llegué hoy a la playa de Willow Point, a tiempo de aprovechar una de las mareas más bajas del año. Y ahora tengo muchas fotos que tengo que procesar. Pero tuve que hacer esta primero.

Donde la lechuga de mar, Ulva spp., cubre el suelo, caminar resulta peligroso; esa alga, mojada, es tan resbalosa como lo sería hielo pulido. Iba caminando despacio, mirando con cuidado cada paso, buscando algo de piedra o lodo para sostener los pies. Y por eso, llegué a ver este cangrejito.

O mejor dicho, no lo vi. Vi el movimiento encima de las algas. El movimiento nada más; no pude distinguir que fue lo que me llamó la atención. Saqué fotos a ciegas.

Foto: un cangrejito muy pequeñito, lleno de manchas.

Por dos razones fue difícil de ver. Primero, por su tamaño. Esas pelotitas a su lado son los flotadores del alga sargaso. Busqué uno en mi tanque y lo medí. A lo largo, mide 2.5 milímetros. Eso hace que el carapacho del cangrejo mide aproximadamente 8 mm. en la parte más ancha.

Y segundo, por esas manchas. Se confunde muy bien con las manchas del alga coralina. Y para camuflarse aun más, lleva un gorro de lechuga marina, a la manera de los cangrejos kelp.

No encuentro nada como este en mi libro guía.

How they do grow!

Last month, a couple of crabs the size of sand grains came to live and dig in my aquarium. I see them occasionally, digging their little caves under a rock, under the moon snail shell, under an old limpet shell. Each time, they seem to be bigger.

One decided to dig right next to the glass wall, and I was able to get a photo. He's about 3 millimetres across the carapace now.

Definitely bigger than a sand grain.

He's very orange, and his patterns are different than those of the other crabs. Maybe the colour will change as he grows.

One of the tiniest hermits, huge beside the mini-crab, hung upside-down on the tip of an old eelgrass blade, showing me his blue knees and the teeth on his pincers.

The eelgrass blade, near the tip, is about 7 mm. wide.

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Hace un mes dos cangrejitos, el tamaño de un grano de arena, vinieron a vivir en mi acuario. Los veo de vez en cuando, haciendo sus cuevitas debajo de una roca, de la concha de caracol luna, de una concha de lapa. Cada vez, están más grandes. Crecen rapidamente.

Uno empezó una cueva justo enfrente del vidrio, así que pude sacar una foto. Ahora mide aproximadamente 3 mm. a lo ancho del caparazón. Es de un color muy anaranjado, y sus diseños son diferentes que los de los otros cangrejos. Tal vez el color cambie mientras crece.

Uno de los ermitaños más pequeños, pero todavía enorme al lado del cangrejito, se colgó de la punta de una hoja de hierba "Zostera", que mide a esa altura unos 7 mm. de ancho, y me mostró sus rodillas azules y los dientes en su quelípodo.

While I waited

 A browsing deer, tiptoeing delicately through the thimbleberry patch, hears me coming and stiffens into immobility, a few inches taller already; neck, ears, legs all suddenly stretched. If she thinks I may be a danger, she leaves, bouncing straight-legged through the undergrowth.

A bear doesn't bounce. He shuffles. Like a fat man in baggy trousers, not in any hurry, unconcerned, he plods down a trail. His apparent slowness is deceptive; he's gone behind the trees in a moment.

Range cattle. Heavy. Slow. They stand watching, pondering; should we move out of the way? When they make up their minds, its as if the weight were almost too much for their legs.

Every live thing has its own way of moving. Even when we capture only a glimpse, under the trees, in the undergrowth, half behind the rocks, we can recognize them by their gait.

The same goes for the tiny beasties, the flying, crawling, sliding critters. In a tide pool full of seaweeds, a flash of twisty,  splashing movement, gone in an instant, alerts us to the presence of a gunnel; a quick, sharp, straight-line dash into the dark is probably a sculpin. Crabs scuttle sideways, feet first and last. Flatworms ooze like a smear of oil. Anemones caught off guard shrink inwards.

In the aquarium, the crabs dig crab caves. Sliding to the right, dragging sand; slipping quickly back to the left, slightly downhill. Then back dragging sand again. Snails slide along so slowly, then suddenly haul themselves forward with a jerk as they bring their body up to their foot. Hermit crabs, even at rest, are never still; they wave long antennae and bright flag-like antennules constantly. Amphipods are in a continual flutter.

In the wet sand left after I washed off a new batch of eelgrass, a couple of the sand grains were moving. This way, rolling; that way, falling back. Looked like crabs to me, but so, so tiny! The hand lens confirmed it. I gently tipped the sand, with sand-grain crabs into the tank.

I saw them again when I next cleaned the tank, hiding in a corner away from all the activity. Still barely visible. Next, one turned up at the front of the tank, under a rock, excavating his miniature cave. Every time I passed, he was there, busy moving sand one grain at a time.

I found some time and got out the camera with the macro lens and the auxiliary flash, cleaned the glass and sat down to wait for him. And waited. He'd finished making his den, and crab-like, abandoned it to start digging somewhere else, out of sight.

It's all good. I took photos, while I waited, of other tinies.

Young hairy hermit, on section of kelp stipe.

The crab's rock. It was covered in barnacles, but the crabs (larger ones) have eaten most of them and now orange-striped green anemones have moved into the empty shells.

The same stone. With one of the remaining barnacles out fishing.

Eelgrass isopods. Usually they're green; this one, and her babies (look among the red algae beside her) are a dull grey.

The kelp crab again. He's lost his sea lettuce cap and added a bit of rockweed.

On top of the sand where I was looking for the crab, an amphipod.

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Un venado se mueve tranquilamente entre las hierbas, comiendo hojas de frutillas. Me acerco y se endereza, estirando las orejas y el cuello; parece que ha crecido en ese momento. Ahi se queda, como congelado, una estatua viva. Se le ocurre que yo pueda ser peligrosa y se aleja, saltando con las patas tiesas hasta desaparecer entre la maleza.

El oso no salta. Anda sin prisas, sin urgencia. Se ve como un viejo hombre gordo en pantalones grandes y flojos. Como si no te viera, como que no le preocupes, va holgazaneando hasta esconderse tras unas rocas.

Las vacas que andan libres por las montes. Son pesadas. Lentas. Se quedan paradas, mirándote, pensando; —¿Vale la pena salir del camino? — Se deciden después de un rato, pero es como si su peso fuera demasiado para moverse a prisa.

Cada cosa viva tiene su propio movimiento. Aún cuando solamente captamos un vistazo, una curva, unas orejas, unas ancas peludas, ya debajo de los árboles, entre la maleza, tras las rocas; aun así las podemos reconocer por la manera en que se mueven.

Lo mismo pasa con los animalitos pequeñitos, los que vuelan, se arrastran, corren o nadan en las grietas que pasamos sin mirar. En un charco dejado por la marea, lleno de algas marinas, un movimiento rápido, ondulante, y casi de inmediato detenido nos indica la presencia de un pescadito espinoso de marea. Algo que nada rápidamente, como una flecha dirigida al punto más oscuro probablemente sea una esculpina. Los cangrejos corren hacia un lado, con las patas por adelante y atrás.  Los platelmintos (gusanos planos) se escurren como un borrón de aceite. Las anémonas cuando notan nuestra presencia, se encogen y se encierran.

En mi acuario, los cangrejos se hacen cuevas. Se arriman hacia el derecho, jalando y empujando arena consigo, luego regresan sin carga a la oscuridad para recoger más. Los caracoles marinos se deslizan lentamente, y de repente dan un saltito para adelante, trayendo su concha al nivel de la pata. Los cangrejos ermitaños, aun cuando están parados, nunca se quedan quietos. Agitan las largas antenas constantemente, sacuden las banderitas (atenulas) arriba de la cabeza. Los anfípodos vibran continuamente.

Entre la arena mojada que quedó después de lavar un manojo de hierba Zostera, algunos de los granos de arena se movían por si solos. Rodaban para allá, caían para acá. Movimientos de cangrejo, pero ¡tan, tan pequeño! Con una lupa lo confirmé; era un par de cangrejititos. Con cuidado, los vertí en el tanque.

Los vi de nuevo la próxima vez que limpié el tanque, escondidos en una esquina lejos de toda la actividad. Todavía apenas visibles. Luego, uno se presentó en la pared de enfrente del tanque, debajo de una piedra, excavando su cueva miniatura. Cada vez que yo pasaba, allí estaba, ocupado en mover la arena, un grano a la vez.

Cuando tuve tiempo, saqué la cámara con la lente para fotos macro, y el “flash” auxiliar. Limpié el vidrio y me senté a esperar a que saliera mi cangrejito. Esperé. Esperé. No apareció. Aparentemente había terminado de construir su cueva, y a la manera de los cangrejos, de inmediato la abandonó para empezar a hacerse otra, en otra parte.

Total. Todo está bien. No perdí el tiempo. Mientras esperaba, tomé fotos de otras criaturas miniaturas.

Las fotos:

• Un ermitaño pequeño en un pedazo de estipa de kelp. 
• La piedra donde el cangrejito había hecho su cueva. La parte superior había estado cubierta de bálanos, pero los cangrejos más grandes los han estado comiendo. Ahora un grupo de anémonas ha ocupado las conchas vacías.
• Otra foto, con un bálano pescando.
• Una isopoda con su cría. Mira entre las algas rojas al su lado.
• El cangrejo kelp otra vez. Ha perdido su gorro de alga verde, y ahora lleva un pedazo de alga amarilla.
• Y en la superficie de la arena, donde buscaba el cangrejito, un anfípodo.

Little blue eyes

Crabs are busy little creatures; always in motion, digging, rearranging the landscaping, flipping oysters twice their size, climbing, teasing the anemones, sifting sand. Or just running in circles, getting their daily workout. In between times, they come to the glass wall and watch me.

Young green shore crab, Hemigrapsus oregonensis, watching me.

And climbing the seaweed, but still keeping an eye on me.

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Los cangrejos son muy activos, muy trabajadores. Siempre están haciendo algo; excavando hoyos, moviendo piedras y conchas, volteando ostiones el doble de su tamaño, molestando a las anémonas, revolviendo la arena. O dando vueltas y vueltas, como para mantenerse en condición. Y muchas veces, se acercan a la pared de vidrio para mirarme, para ver lo que estoy haciendo.

Este es una cangreja verde costeña jovencita.

Meanwhile, back in the tank ...

I've been too busy; travelling, running errands, catching up on paperwork (a form of procrastination to put off dealing with more challenging paperwork), gardening; all the things I do during a "lazy" summer. Sometime, weeks ago, I took a break and sat down by the aquarium to visit the hermits. And forgot to post the photos.

So here they are. Hermits and a crab.

Poor crabby. He must have tangled with one of the larger crabs, probably trying to hold onto his supper. He's lost a pincer. Luckily, he's got plenty of legs and mouthparts that can serve as spoons and forks, and the next molt, he'll get his pincer back.

Deep in the tank, colours are muted. It's like seeing through a light fog. Here, a hairy hermit looks back at me from her perch on Pacific rose seaweed growing on a stiff red alga. Pacific rose can grow from fragments left after it has been weeded out. I tear out whole handfuls every time I change the water.

A grainy hand hermit with colourful algae decorating his shell..

One of the tiny orange hermits in a brand-new shell. The seaweed here is broken, half-rotted rockweed. Good eating, the hermits say.

Grainy hand hermit (left) and small hairy hermit (right) on eelgrass.

Disaster averted

I don't post very many photos of my aquarium critters these days. It's not a lack of interesting things going on, but most of them don't show up in photos. And have been discouraging, as well.

I've been collecting fresh seawater for the tank every couple of weeks. Until this spring, the best access point (with my heavy 5-gallon buckets) was at a local boat launch, where I had a platform to stand on over water deep enough. Then the city decided to "improve" it. First, it was blocked off with fences, then the heavy machinery came in and played in the mud all summer. I found another access point, a few miles down the road, which worked fine until the winter storms blocked it with logs, and a sign went up, saying that the logs would remain until spring.

Okay. I went back to the old boat launch, that was now open. Very nice: two long piers out into the water, anchored with a post at each end, a clean cement ramp leading down, as opposed to the slippery, uneven slope I stumbled over last year. Very nice. I filled my buckets easily and took them home.

And almost killed my whole tank. As soon as I changed the water, all the anemones shut down immediately. The big brown plumose anemones started sending out her distress symbols: acontia - long white threads streaming out from her body. The crabs and hermits sat still, looking sleepy; they were not interested in food.

"Metty" in a bad mood. Photo from 2015.

But everything looked good! The tank had been scrubbed, the water was clear, the pump and bubbler were going strong. I gave them a few hours to recover, and looked again. Worse. Some of the anemones on the walls had just given up and were mere smears on the glass. "Metty" was an angry brown disk. The crabs were barely moving.

I checked the water. The salinity was 'way down, the acid level 'way up. I corrected these with salt and bicarbonate, added water conditioner. That should have fixed it.

But where did the salt go, and where did the acid come from? The nice, fresh, clean, but still uncured, cement works at the boat launch, maybe? And did the "improvements" include re-routing a stream into the launch site? With fresh water, and possibly lawn and business run-off? What other poisons came along with that cool, clear water?

When, two days later, none of the anemones seemed to be recovering, and no-one had any appetite, I went for water again. This time, to a beach where I had to wade into the surf, then haul my buckets over logs and rocks and slippery sand and a lawn to reach the car. (A man passing by saw my struggles and came to help; much appreciated!)

I changed the water again. The crabs woke up. The hermits discovered their appetites. And slowly, so slowly, the anemones took in water, opened cautious mouths, waved tentative tentacles. My largest pink-tipped green anemone - so beautiful she had been! - had broken down into three or four brownish chunks and fallen to the bottom of the tank. Two of the chunks now anchored themselves to shells and looked about for food.

Today, a month later, they're still cautious. But the pink-tipped anemone is finally pink-tipped again. And the crabs and hermits are enthusiastically pairing up; I have two pregnant crabs.

And spring is coming. And the logs will be gone. And - I hope - no-one will try to "improve" the second boat launch.

"Hi, there!" Waving female crab. She may be newly in berry.

Eye to eye with Ma Crab

Back to the aquarium. Here's a crab.

Blue eyes and a busy mouth

Sand with legs.

The sand seemed to be moving. I collected a bit on my fingertip; it was still moving. The camera saw what my eyes were missing.

A baby crab.

By the shape, longer than he is wide, and pointed at the head, I think he may be one of the kelp crabs.

Nose to the glass

A few random aquarium shots, taken while I waited for a hermit to try on a new shell.

"First dibs!"

Very small crab, just outside his present burrow underneath an oyster.

These crabs always amaze me. I knew he was digging under the oyster before he appeared at his front door, because the whole oyster was bouncing up and down. And the oyster is at least 10 times his length and width, thick and solid. And yet, the crab, standing on his tippy-toes, bounces the whole thing on his back.

I weighed a rock that a crab lifted a couple of years ago; the rock was at least 100 times the crab's weight!

Tiny hermit in an unusual shell. It looks like two broken shells cemented together.

In the second-hand shop, looking over used shells. Someone chose the polka-dot one, and is wearing it today.

Val, festooned as usual, with broken shells and a red algae scarf.

Barnacle eater, looking for the barnacle patch after I moved it. A channelled dogwinkle, probably. The shell is a deep, purplish blue.

Algae-eating snails, like the mud snails and the limpets, move along the glass, their jaws moving rhythmically, cleaning off microscopic algae as they go. Looking closely, I can even see the radula, the belt of tiny teeth inside the mouth.

These predatory snails just hurry about their business; their mouth is never seen on the glass. When they reach a barnacle, they extend a proboscis with the scraping radula* on its tip, bore through the barnacle's shell, inject digestive juices, and then suck out the semi-liquid mess. From an observer's point of view, all that can be seen is a snail stuck on a barnacle, and then later, an empty barnacle shell.

*Microscopic photos and diagrams of this can be found on A Snail's Odyssey.

Lady B., Earth Mover

One of the things crabs do best (and most) is dig. Dig and dig and dig, making holes, burrowing under rocks, undermining oysters; all day and all night. And when they've finished a burrow to their satisfaction, they up stakes and move on, to dig somewhere else.

I discovered Lady Bird* digging right up against the aquarium wall, and videotaped her.



*Named for her "feathers".

Crab feathers

A young crab, in her fresh, new outfit after a molt, came to the front of the tank, begging to have her photo taken.

Green shore crab, Hemigrapsus oregonensis, aka "Lady Bird"

The green shore crab has tiny hairs on its legs, which are usually a bit grungy, a bit frayed, somewhat coated with algae. But fresh from a molt, they are white and clean.

And I hadn't noticed before, but they're not just hairs. They look more like feathers, with a strong shaft and branching fibers.

Zooming in. I've darkened the background to show up the structure. (Click for full-size photo.)

No wonder they pick up so much detritus!

More purple

This time, it's a crab.

Blue, purple, and red-brown crab. Tyee Spit.

Tomorrow: peering past pilings.

Snowy and the Legs

There's another way to work the camouflage trick; be so glaringly white that you look like a sun-bleached piece of broken shell.

Snow-white crab.

This miniature crab was hiding in a shell I brought home on Canada Day. He's about 1/4 inch across, and spends his time hiding under the edge of the clamshell, where he matches the white of the barnacles on top. Only when he ventures out to grab a bite to eat, does he expose those brown and orange legs; they look borrowed, not really his; they don't match.

Pink eyes!

I can't tell what species he is yet. He's too small, and too shy. His colours may change as he grows, too.

And a couple more crabs

This one is a baby.

Red rock crab juvenile, Cancer productus

I pick up loosely closed clamshells, especially those loaded with barnacles. Almost every one is serving as shelter for young critters. This one held the crab, three small stars, and a scale worm. Look for the worm in the hinge, above, one of the stars in the background, below.

The poor crab didn't know how to deal with sunlight and a giant black eye staring at it. First he tried cowering, then ...

... the challenge. "I'm big and brave and I'll pinch you!"

"Or maybe not. If I roll over and fold up, maybe the giant won't see me."

All these poses took less than a minute. Then I closed the clamshell and put it back down under the eelgrass.

The stripy carapace will be discarded as he grows; as an adult, he will be mostly a dark red. The underside, however, will still have those red spots on white.

Most of the young crabs I've been seeing are the Dungeness crabs, Cancer magister.

Two-inch crab, running, under knee-deep water.

The two crabs are cousins, but the differences are fairly obvious. The Dungeness has a smoother carapace, rougher, toothed, pincer arms, and prominent teeth along the edge of the carapace. The Red Rock crab's carapace is bumpy, but his pincer arms are missing the teeth. The teeth on the edge of the carapace are wavy, and fluted like a pie crust.

The Dungeness gets quite a bit bigger; up to 11 inches across the top. The Red Rock will grow to 8 inches.

At every low tide this time of year, the crabbers are out with buckets and nets and crab traps, wading out waist-deep with the traps, or tramping through shallower water with long-stemmed nets. It's the big Dungeness that they're after; sometimes size is a disadvantage.