Heimaey
Photographers know the temptation to work with things just a bit in order to get the shot they want. Snip a blade of grass, ask your subject to turn their head a little, move a leaf here or there, all very legitimate techniques. But my advice is: don’t mess with the wolf eels.
Diving on the outside slope of the 34-year-old lava at Heimaey off the southwest coast of Iceland, I had been documenting the growth of a new kelp forest on the young rocks and was near the end of the dive when I spotted a meter-long wolf eel, (Anarhichas lupus), hidden in the kelp between some large boulders. I tried for several minutes to get a decent shot but I could only approach it from above and the waving fronds of kelp obscured the fish from every angle.
I really wanted a good shot of this fish to share with our guests. Wolf eels, also called wolf fish and stone biters, are one of the largest and most interesting species to be found here in the northern Atlantic. They can grow up to about 5 feet long and have impressively large and ugly heads that support the musculature that allows them to crush the hard shells of the clams that are their prey. So I considered what to do. Wolf eels have a fearsome reputation among fishermen (they are delicious to eat): when they are speared or landed in a boat they will bite anything they can reach and their powerful jaws have been know to snap oars! On the other hand, they are generally shy and docile in the water and some divers have even reported being able to handle them.
So I decided to tickle this one’s tail gently, just to get him to move a little into a better spot. Bad idea. Maybe he was napping or in a grumpy mood, but as soon as I flicked his tail fin, he rounded on me and I just barely got my hand back out of the way in time. The view past his large teeth and down his throat was quite impressive as he settled down again, snapping his jaws at me. Fortunately, I did have the camera running and captured the whole incident very nicely. But next time I think I will let sleeping wolf eels lie.
Photographers know the temptation to work with things just a bit in order to get the shot they want. Snip a blade of grass, ask your subject to turn their head a little, move a leaf here or there, all very legitimate techniques. But my advice is: don’t mess with the wolf eels.
Diving on the outside slope of the 34-year-old lava at Heimaey off the southwest coast of Iceland, I had been documenting the growth of a new kelp forest on the young rocks and was near the end of the dive when I spotted a meter-long wolf eel, (Anarhichas lupus), hidden in the kelp between some large boulders. I tried for several minutes to get a decent shot but I could only approach it from above and the waving fronds of kelp obscured the fish from every angle.
I really wanted a good shot of this fish to share with our guests. Wolf eels, also called wolf fish and stone biters, are one of the largest and most interesting species to be found here in the northern Atlantic. They can grow up to about 5 feet long and have impressively large and ugly heads that support the musculature that allows them to crush the hard shells of the clams that are their prey. So I considered what to do. Wolf eels have a fearsome reputation among fishermen (they are delicious to eat): when they are speared or landed in a boat they will bite anything they can reach and their powerful jaws have been know to snap oars! On the other hand, they are generally shy and docile in the water and some divers have even reported being able to handle them.
So I decided to tickle this one’s tail gently, just to get him to move a little into a better spot. Bad idea. Maybe he was napping or in a grumpy mood, but as soon as I flicked his tail fin, he rounded on me and I just barely got my hand back out of the way in time. The view past his large teeth and down his throat was quite impressive as he settled down again, snapping his jaws at me. Fortunately, I did have the camera running and captured the whole incident very nicely. But next time I think I will let sleeping wolf eels lie.
