Or not. This is the story of a moray eel which was not a moray eel.
I’ve been afraid of moray eels as long as I can remember. It probably goes back to a childhood of being fascinated by the sea, and of hearing a story of a man having his faced ripped off by a pissed off giant eel dozens of meters under the sea.
For whatever reason, although I’ve enjoyed being in the sea all my life, the thought of moray eels in the cracks and crevices of a rock face or reef has put me on edge. Even in the past decade when I’ve actively sought out, and often found, sharks in various parts of the world, I’ve never once found myself fearing these atavistic apex predators, and yet I’m always terrified that there may be an eel nearby…
My friends in the diving world have told me that I was being ridiculous, and I believed them, but our fears are not always rational. I’m scared of spiders, too, even though I know most of them to be entirely harmless. (Having said that, I’ve been bitten by spiders many times, including one month ago when a spider in Thailand bit my arse while I sat typing an essay.)
Last week, in Malaysia, I encountered many moray eels, and although I was filled by fear and repulsion on the first instance, I began testing myself. I start swimming closer and closer, telling myself that I needed a good photo of these animals… They were all different colours and patterns, and in different habitats, yet they all moved in the same lethargic, rippling fashion. They all swung back and forth on the current ever so slightly, mouth agape, eyes alarmingly alert. But as I moved forward I began to appreciate what my diving friends had told me – that they are quite docile animals, unwilling to strike unless proved – ie you stick your hand right in its face. Sure, they seemed wary of me and I didn’t doubt any of them would’ve bitten me if I’d gotten too close, but they were not threatening; they showed no interest in moving towards me.
Today I saw a black and grey moray eel partially in the open, searching for a place to hide. It was being bothered by dozens of small, electric blue fish, and seemed uncomfortable to be in the open. I followed it for a while before its posture indicated that I should get no closer, and I left.
A little later, I was in nearly the same place and I saw what appeared to be the same eel, and once again it was in the open. It moved differently, and appeared to be much smaller than the first one… so I reasoned that perhaps it was the same kind of snake – perhaps the offspring of the first one.
I followed this new eel for a while, pushing myself to get closer and closer. I was able to take several clear photos as it moved slowly across the seabed, and I swam down nearly to the bottom, satisfied that this eel was entirely passive. Perhaps, without the protection of their dark hiding places, moray eels aren’t willing to attack…
Finally, as I got right alongside, the eel buried its head in the sand. I took one final close-range photo and left the poor animal alone, not wanting to cause it any undue stress.
Later that day I was sitting in La Moomba restaurant, using their WiFi to post a photo of a turtle that I had taken earlier. As I looked through my shots from the day, I saw the photos of the moray eel and realized that the final eel was absolutely not an eel at all, and that the similarities in appearance were restricted only to colour. The patterns on the animals’ backs were completely different when viewed closely.
I Googled “Lombok sea snake” and realized that the animal I’d seen was a banded sea krait. I searched a little further and discovered that banded sea kraits are incredibly venomous (50x a cobra’s venom) and kill people when they do stupid things like provoke them by swimming too close to take a photo…
So that was a lucky escape. I would say that I have entirely conquered my fear of moray eels, although it nearly came at a very steep cost.