April | 2024 | Stella Maris Sail

“Fire coral will be the last remaining living coral on earth.”

I remember writing those words once, in a bluster of prophetic arrogance. That’s not exactly the most positive Earth Day message to consider as I dive this week on a shallow reef in the French West Indies at Île Fourchue, Saint Barthélemy.

First of all, fire coral is not even a true coral. Instead, it is more closely related to hydra, a very small predatory animal similar to jellyfish and other stinging anemones. But, for the sake of consistency, I will still refer to it as fire coral.

Fire coral can be either blade-like or encrusting. It is colored a mustard-yellow to dark orange, often with white edges. It has strong stinging cells that on contact cause intense pain lasting from two days to two weeks. Relapses of inflammation, itching, and welts are common. Fire coral releases venom through tiny hairs called cilia. It is their only defense mechanism against predators, including thoughtless human beings. Do not touch it, or any coral.

^{Microscopic venomous hair–cilium–inflicts intense pain that can last from two days to two weeks. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas}

Because fire coral has the unusual ability to grow in two different forms, some marine biologists believe it has a survival edge over other Caribbean corals. It can grow like a bush with a stem and branches sprouting upward, or in sheets that appear as a flat coating across rocks and other surfaces.

“Fire corals have been around for millions of years and what they are doing is pretty darn successful,” says California State University marine biologist Peter Edmunds. For the past 30 years, he has been traveling to the Caribbean to document the life history of fire coral on inshore reefs.

“They are now poised to be… the inheritors of the reef, while other corals, particularly stony corals, die back,” he said. ”When it’s not stormy, they can produce branches and exploit the light and plankton in the water. When it’s storming and everybody gets beaten up, it loses its branches but it still has its sheets, which it can use to spread out and claim more territory.”

^{A sunken granite boulder near shore is slowly becoming encased in a sheathing of fire coral while fire coral branches take root and sprout from the surface of the dead rock. Photograph: © Jeffrey Cardenas}

Researchers believe this adaptation may help save Caribbean reefs, which have been plagued by hurricanes, global warming, disease, and an overabundance of algae. Because fire corals are thriving as other corals die off, they are creating structures for fish and other organisms. Fire corals “are going to be very important habitat providers because they are able to survive under these stresses,” says Colleen Bove, a marine ecologist at Boston University.

But fire coral is not bulletproof. Some species have brittle skeletons that can easily be broken during storms, by anchors, or by careless divers and collectors who are taking fish for the aquarium trade. I watched blueheaded wrasse spawn over fire coral. Rock beauties, butterfly fish, yellow tangs, and the aggressive beau gregory retreat into branches of fire coral when threatened. In Brazil, fire coral colonies are extensively damaged by divers harvesting yellowtail damselfish. The fire coral is deliberately smashed and the fish hiding among the branches are captured in plastic bags.

Bluehead wrasse spawn at midday on a full moon over a pinnacle of fire coral at Île Fourchue, Saint Barthélemy in the French West Indies Video © Jeffrey Cardenas

Reproduction in fire corals is more complex than in other reef-building corals. The polyps reproduce asexually, producing the jellyfish-like medusae. These contain the reproductive organs that release eggs and sperm into the water. Fertilized eggs develop into free-swimming larvae that will eventually settle on the substrate and form new colonies.

Most divers wouldn’t mind seeing less fire coral on the reef, but I like to think of fire coral as a tactile warning to tread more carefully underwater. When the alternative may be a reef of dead rock, the sting of fire coral is a potent reminder that there is still life on that reef. And, it is one of the few ways the habitat has of fighting back.

^{Blue runners feed amid clusters of sargasso being swept over a West Indian reef of fire coral. Photograph © Jeffrey Cardenas}

As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

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Text, Photography, and Videos © Jeffrey Cardenas 2024

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

^{A close encounter with a permit on a shallow reef in the Virgin Islands brings back memories of decades spent fishing for them. Photograph © Jeffrey Cardenas}

It seems like another lifetime ago that I was obsessed with this fish.

This fish is a permit, for those who may not know. For those of you who do know permit, you probably understand my obsession. It is regarded as the most challenging fish to catch on a fly rod. Some saltwater fly fishermen consider catching a permit in shallow water a lifetime achievement. Just look at that eye; it sees everything and quickly senses danger. It’s spooky; it perceives movement above and below the surface of the water. A permit often vanishes before an angler even sees it.

I was a fly fishing guide for several decades in my youth. Serious saltwater anglers made pilgrimages to my home waters of Key West each year for an opportunity to catch a permit. I hunted these fish all day, nearly every day, for years. Some days the results were heroic. Other days ended in humiliation. Many anglers fished for a week, never made contact, and went home in despair.

A few years ago, I traded my skiff for a sailboat, I migrated from shallow water to blue water, and I exchanged my fly boxes for a locker full of charts to navigate around the world. I don’t fish for permit anymore–it’s another story for another time–but I dearly miss my encounters with this great fish. I loved seeing them feed on the flats, their tails quivering with excitement as they discovered a crab, shrimp, or other crustacean on the ocean bottom. But, it has been years since I have even seen a permit.

These two worlds united serendipitously yesterday on a shallow reef off the Caribbean island of St. John. I was underwater photographing a living stand of elkhorn coral in the Virgin Islands National Park when I sensed movement behind me. I swirled around, saw the shadow of a fin, and found myself face-to-face with the lucid eye and the goofy rubber lips of a mature permit. My heart was apparently beating faster than this fish’s heart because while I hyperventilated, the permit merely looked on in curiosity. In all my years of fishing for permit, I have never seen one not flee from contact with a human being. This permit allowed me to photograph it for 30 minutes while it foraged and actively fed in front of me.

Sometimes wild fish, especially those in a protected environment, acclimate to human contact. They hang out with snorkelers in tourist locations because they are being fed junk food. The location of this reef, however, is not a marked dive spot where tourists swim and chum fish for photographs. I never saw another person in the water during the three days I swam on that reef. What is also unique is that this encounter was in national park waters where sport fishing and the taking of fish is allowed. This permit should have been wary of being caught, like every other permit I have seen.

Instead, this was truly a rare moment of coexistence with a wild creature. I’ll mark this day in the logbook of Stella Maris as a reunion with an old friend.

As always, sailing is not just about the wind and the sea; the places, the flora, fauna, and people encountered along the way are equally important.

Instagram: StellaMarisSailing / Facebook: Jeffrey Cardenas

Let this be a time of grace and peace in our lives – Rev. John C. Baker

Stella Maris Sail

New Horizons

Month: April 2024

Kingdom of Fire

A Reunion with an Old Friend