Note: I wrote this story in 1981 after filming this squid sequence for National Geographic Television. At that time, squid were taken with brail nets and blue sharks predictably arrived to feed on the squid school beneath the fishing boats by the hundreds. Squid eggs often covered the sandy sea floor on the east side of Catalina Island carpeting the ocean floor for as far as you could swim in any direction. And the spawning squid could be seen frequently between January and April as they spawned along the edge of the La Jolla Submarine Canyon covering the entire rim of the canyon with eggs.
Much has changed since then. In 1981 and through 1990 commercial fishermen landed an average of less than 5,000 tons of squid. Today the fishermen use much more efficient purse seine nets. In the last few years the landings have averaged closer to 125,000 tons of squid. Squid are no longer regularly seen spawning on the lee side of Catalina or on the edge of the La Jolla Canyon. Blue shark populations have been so devastated by the on-going drift gill net fishery that they are almost never seen feeding on squid beneath fishing boats.

Night of the Squid

Howard Hall

- ©Howard Hall.

The ocean was perfectly still on a cold, moonless night in February. As our small boat rounded the west end of California's Catalina Island we could see the squid fishing fleet at anchor two miles away; their powerful fishing lights pushing out against the almost total darkness. So calm and dark was the night that the island and the sea could be distinguished from the sky only by a lack of stars. The squid fishing fleet looked like fourteen brilliant fireflies suspended in space.

We approached one of the fishing boats and could see that it was surrounded by a huge glowing mass of squid nearly fifty yards in diameter. Squid are often attracted to artificial lights, and during the breeding season the lights not only attract them, but seem to enhance their courtship activity. The fishermen were busy dipping their six-foot diameter brail net into the writhing mass and winching aboard incredible quantities of the twelve-inch long cephalopods. In two hours they would take over ten tons. At the edge of the fishermen's pool of light and passing through the periphery of the school, were numerous pilot whales and sea lions. And knifing directly through the school, right beneath the brail net were twenty or thirty large blue sharks.

The sharks were the reason we had come. Photographer, Marty Snyderman and I were working on a television special about sharks for National Geographic. Along with Bob Johnson, a marine naturalist and curator of the Cabrillo Marine Museum, and Jennifer Carter, associate producer for National Geographic Television, we had traveled to Catalina specifically to film the predation on squid by blue sharks. But as I watched the scene surrounding the fishing boat, I realized that this was more than just a scene of predation. We were witnessing the culminating episode of an entire population of squid. They had ascended from the dark depths of the sea to mate, lay their eggs, and to die. It was a major event in the marine environment and one that is of critical importance to a large variety of the ocean's inhabitants.

©Howard Hall

The scene directly below the squid boat looked rather intense. The sharks were so engrossed in eating squid that I feared they might accidentally bite a diver in the process. So we tied our boat off a hundred yards behind the fishermen where the density of squid and sharks was greatly reduced. It was decided that Marty and I would make the first dive alone and that Bob and Jennifer would follow later, if all went well.

We dropped over the side of our boat and the ocean exploded in a brilliant flash of green bioluminescence. Then we descended twenty feet and swam through the almost total darkness toward our underwater movie lights, which were hanging over the side by a power cable. Suddenly a blinding flash penetrated the darkness as Jennifer switched on the generator and the movie lights came to life.

Surrounding us were thousands of pulsating squid, their colors fluctuating in flashes from creamy white to reddish brown. They entirely ignored Marty and me as individual squid frantically searched for mates. Below us the dark water would flash with green light as thousands of arrow shaped squid shot up toward our movie lamps. Then, after entering our tiny pool of light, couples would grasp each other and begin frenzied courtship.

During mating, the squid entirely ignore their surroundings. This is their one chance in life to find a mate and insure the replication of their genetic code. I watched in rather morbid fascination as an occasional shark passed through the school devouring the mating pairs. Only two feet in front of my face an especially large blue shark grasped the tail of one member of a mating pair. With its ten sucker arms the male squid continued to embrace its mate as the shark casually drew the pair into its maw. Instead of releasing its dying mate and fleeing, the male continued to hold fast until it too was consumed.

This desperate behavior makes sense in the world of the squid. They live only one year. And during that time they roam the deep sea growing, developing, and maturing in preparation for this one night. It's the most important night of their lives, and it's also their last. After the males mate and the females lay their eggs, they all die. So it's understandable that on this night the squid have no fear of death whether it be in the slashing jaws of the sharks or alone on the sea floor waiting for their rapidly degenerating bodies to cease function.

The night is also special for the sharks. If ever sharks dream, this must be a dream come true. So numerous are the squid and so unconcerned are they with their surroundings that the sharks can effortlessly consume mouthful after mouthful. One blue shark passed me with an enormously distended belly. It grabbed six or seven squid as it passed then suddenly stopped, and, while shaking its head back and forth violently, vomited out about twenty pounds of the dead cephalopods. After the spasm passed, the shark swam forward and began again refilling its belly.

We descended toward the bottom at a depth of one hundred and ten feet. Soon a huge white cloud became visible in our lights below. The expansive plain of sand on the ocean floor was invisible. It was entirely covered with squid eggs. The female squid produces an egg case that is nearly half the length of her body. The first squid to lay her eggs anchors the egg case to the sandy plain by digging headfirst deep into the sand until only her undulating tail fins protrude. After an anchor has been placed, the female squid digs herself out and leaves the creamy white and translucent egg case suspended above the sand by a silken thread. Soon the entire sand plain is covered with eggs and squid begin anchoring their egg cases to the anchors of earlier arrivals. At times the bottom is covered with squid eggs several feet deep and as far as a diver can swim in any direction. Each egg case holds about two hundred individual eggs. After a week, the maturing embryos with their bright red eyes can be seen clearly by a diver if he holds his hand light behind the translucent case. After two weeks the eggs hatch and the tiny squid venture out into deeper water to begin the cycle a new.

The egg covered plain was a frenzy of activity. Here the predation on the squid was even easier than below the squid fishing boat. Not only were squid mating and laying eggs here with complete disregard for the numerous animals that were preying on them, but after mating and laying eggs, the squid were dying by the thousands. The process is not unlike the rapid aging and dying of salmon after they spawn. After mating and laying their eggs, male and female squid cease to be the quick, darting creatures that instantly flash from one color to another. Their bodies quickly begin to degenerate; their long sleek tentacles become twisted and disfigured, and their color becomes a constant ghostly white.

The dying squid offer little resistance to the predators. Numerous species of fish, crab, lobster, and several non-pelagic species of sharks such as angel sharks and horn sharks, find capture of these failing bodies effortless. But even with the thousands of predators devouring squid as fast as they can, the squid die faster than they can be taken. Soon the bottom was littered with their tiny corpses. In some places the dead squid lay in fields three and four feet deep.

Like the blue sharks, the smaller predators had eaten beyond their capacity. I watched as a comically swollen angel shark stared at a squid that was dying right in front of its face. I think the shark just wanted to sleep and rest its stomach, but the squid kept rolling up to its nose in the mild ocean surge. Finally, perhaps out of frustration or simply lack of self-control, the shark snapped up the squid. It chewed on the squid for a while alternating it from one side of its mouth to the other like a cigar. But the shark couldn't swallow it. Finally the shark stopped moving and seemed to go back to sleep, the back half of the squid still sticking out of its mouth.

All the time Marty and I were down, our bright movie lights were attracting more and more squid. A sphere of squid accumulated around our lights like the large one that had developed around the squid boat. At times this school of squid became so dense that we couldn't see more than two feet. When that happened we would swim hard for a few moments to get clear of the school where we could see clearly enough to resume filming. Blue sharks also began to notice the high density of squid around the movie lights. Several of them were passing right before our cameras preying on the school and providing excellent opportunities for filming. Soon, however, the situation got out of control.

The number of blue sharks feeding on the squid surrounding our lights was rapidly increasing as the size of the squid school grew. The sharks would dash through the flashing mass, their nictitating membranes covering their eyes, while snapping out blindly for the inevitable mouthfuls of squid. The risk of being accidentally bitten by one of the sharks was increasing rapidly. When the shark action and density of squid became too great we would hastily swim out of the school. But soon the school was too large for us to find our way clear. The squid became so unbelievably dense that they were getting into my mouthpiece and I could hardly see the light coming from the powerful movie lamps that I held in my hand. I felt something strike my left side and flinched. It may have been Marty accidentally kicking me but I wasn't sure. Then I was struck hard in the head and I saw the face of a shark, its teeth lunging as it gobbled squid just inches from my facemask. I didn't like the idea of swimming back to our boat in total darkness, but the alternative of staying with the lights and being the center of attention had become intolerable.

I dropped the lights and they immediately disappeared into the school. Marty had his hand on my tank, so he instantly (and thankfully) realized what I had done. Then, in the darkness, we raced skyward. We were bumped several more times before we cleared the school, but soon we were in the open and we could slow our ascent rate. It was like being in a cold black cave. At first I couldn't even see the rim of my facemask. But soon, as my eyes began to adjust, I could see Marty's fiery green outline in the darkness as his body movements disturbed the bioluminescent plankton. Then, as we ascended toward our boat, I began to see thousands of streaks of green fire in the water. It was like being in the upper atmosphere on the edge of space during a great meteor shower. All around us brilliant arrows fired down from above. I paused for a moment during my ascent for a last look at this ethereal scene and watched as thousands of squid rained down from above toward the ocean floor to mate, to lay their eggs, and to end their one short year of life.