In fact, one of the eels hadn’t even come out of its den and Diana and I had to go to it and feed it in situ. If we let go of the food too soon, a rockfish would dart in and steel the squid, gobbling it down in seconds. Even that wasn’t a guarantee that they would manage to swallow it.
In fact, they seemed somewhat clumsy going for their food, and it had to be held close to their mouth so that they could take it. The wolf eels, pushy as they were, did not make lunges for it. Much to my surprise, it wasn’t the wolf eels I had to be concerned about, it was the rockfish. She readily agreed and before long we were in the water, hungry eels hovering around us waiting to be fed. Would they bite me in their frenzy to get the food? I didn’t feel “lucky.” I asked my dive buddy Diana if she’d go first and show me how it was done.
#The wolf eel how to
All I could think about was how to manage six hungry eels. My team seemed to think I had been offered the best job, much like diving the shark exhibit. Then, on my second shift I got offered an opportunity to feed them myself. Without the “pink ball” they have been trained to respond to at feeding time, I was just another fish in the exhibit. When I realized the eels were only curious about whether or not I had food, I relaxed. The first time I dove Orford Reef-the exhibit housing six wolf eels-I hate to admit it, but I was nervous. The Oregon Coast Aquarium has a lot to do with this overwhelming change of heart. Like others, I first saw the teeth, the angry-looking face, the evil sidekick reputation (thanks a bunch Disney). While I have never been scared of them, I have always been cautious. Some as shallow as 40 feet, but more often in the 100 to 120 feet range tucked into rocky dens in the Hood Canal. Since 2016 I have seen many more wolf eels.
How on earth does one reconcile these differences? On the one hand we are capable of eating animals, totally detaching ourselves from their experience, life and character and then on the other, of loving and appreciating them, crying when they die, and yes even reading personalities into their actions. It was at this point that I realized how peculiar people are. When we surfaced, my instructor-a tall, “manly man” known for his crabbing prowess and love of a good old tri-tip steak-talked affectionately about this creature, as though he were talking about his dog. It didn’t appear scared, but it also didn’t act aggressively. It was as though it was just as interested in checking us out as we were it. It peered at each of us but didn’t venture out too much further. There, like a frond of seaweed, a thick grey wolf eel was wafting, its fat upper torso tapering into a slim ribbon shape that it kept tucked inside the tire.
He stopped suddenly and gestured toward an old car tire. My instructor was leading the way back up the slope after our deep dive for the Advanced class. The first time I saw a wolf eel was in 2016 at about 60 feet in the Hood Canal in Washington State. While the daring diver will tell you “if you’re careful you can give ‘em a scratch under the chin,” most people will pull back in distaste, the wolf eel’s wrinkly face, and needle-sharp teeth the sole focus of their gaze.īut, spend enough time diving with these creatures and even the most hard-hearted soul will find themselves softening. Unfortunately, wolf eels-much like sharks-have an undeservedly poor reputation. Today their grumpy faces have a way of making me smile, even with a regulator in my mouth. Firstly by reputation, secondly by observation, and more recently as a result of hand-feeding them squid in the Oregon Coast Aquarium. In the couple of years I have spent obsessively scuba diving, I have come to know the wolf eel in many different ways. If sea lions are the dogs of the sea then the wolf eel is the cat of the sea.
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