Over the past few days I’ve continued to work off the shores of Rausu photographing a variety of marine life. During my research prior to arriving here, I learned about two animals that are unique within the underwater world of Hokkaido and are considered rather special by the people of Rausu. One is a deep-water species of fish that the locals call the Abachan. It usually lives in very deep water. In this location, it’s right offshore, since the underwater topography drops off very quickly. In wintertime this fish can be found within diveable depths, generally around 100–120 feet deep. The Abachan is small; adults generally measure no more than six inches and are pinkish in color and somewhat translucent. They have a sucker disc on their ventral side and can usually be seen firmly attached to something on the bottom, like rocks or sea stars. Their posture is most often a curled position, with their tail bent around nearly touching their mouth. Off their chin, tiny barbels protrude. Their eyes are somewhat catlike with a golden color. To me they perfectly illustrate cold-water ocean animals, a fish that is right at home in this frozen wilderness.

When I first arrived I began asking Seki-san about this strange looking fish and he explained that he sees them only occasionally during winter dives. On our first five days of diving Seki-san, his assistant Ayako, Mauricio and I all kept an eye out for this elusive little creature as we searched the benthic regions for photo subjects, but we repeatedly came up empty. Yesterday on our second dive, and Abachan was found! Seki-san, who is a master at finding animals underwater, discovered the Abachan at a depth of nearly 100 feet. I was about 20 feet away from him when I saw him wildly waving his flashlight to get my attention. I swam over to see this shy, little, pink fish curled up on a sea star. Its tail fin with tiny streaks of red was curled up near its eye like the delicate fan of a Geisha. I began inching my body ever closer, shooting a few “insurance frames” as I moved in. I finally got into a good position and began to compose the picture I wanted. Mauricio was helping to light the subject so that I could focus, since at this depth very little ambient light exists.  I was just getting into “the zone” of shooting when I noticed a flashing red light at the top of my camera housing. The leak alarm! Water was inside my camera housing. I turned the housing upside down and looked into the port, but didn’t see any water. I knew that there was definitely some in there, otherwise the alarm would not have been activated, but at the moment, I guessed it was only a few drops. This was a brand new housing for my new Nikon D3 camera – a very expensive package and the only D3 I had with me on this assignment. Though I have several other cameras and housings with me, I was really beginning to love this system and wanted to use it as much as possible during my work in Japan.

I had received the housing only two days before leaving for Hokkaido and had it modified with a different bulkhead connector for my underwater strobes before packing it for the flight. I figured the water was most likely trickling in through this connector. Given that I was inches away from the elusive Abachan, and I had no idea if we would ever find another, I made the decision to stay and shoot a few more frames. The wise thing to do would have been to immediately come up, but I pushed it a bit and kept firing. I could see Mauricio positioning his body closer to the sand to peer inside my port looking for water. After another minute or two I again tilted the housing to assess water inside and this time saw substantially more. Time to go. We started ascending up the bank and I handed the leaking housing to Mauricio so that he could get it up on dry land, open it and get the camera out. I grabbed another housing system, moved into shallower water and began searching for my next subject – the revered sea angel.

The sea angel is the second undersea animal considered very special in this region. It is a tiny invertebrate, about 2-3 centimeters in length that flies through the water on diminutive wings. Its scientific name is Clione limacine and is found in various cold-water climes in a number of locations worldwide. Their little bodies are translucent and colored blue, red and orange. Small tentacles that look like horns can be seen on the tops of their heads. I knew that sea angles were found here in winter and had listed them near the top of my shot list. They truly seem otherworldly and to me, embody the spirit of this place perhaps more than any other animal. Seki-san and Ayako spoke of them often and told us how they awaited their arrival, which signaled that the ocean had transformed from autumn into winter. I had received an email a few weeks before I left home telling me they had seen the first Clione of 2008.

Photography by Brian Skerry

Each day on the way to Seki-san’s dive shop I saw sea angels painted on the side of the elementary school and even found Hello Kitty sea angel key chains in local gift shops. Clearly, they have become part of the local lore. But I learned from Seki that there is a National Geographic connection to this local lore. A little over twenty years ago, no one knew that sea angles lived in these waters. But around that time NGM photographer Flip Nicklin was working in Rausu with Japanese filmmaker Koji Nakamora. Flip was helping Koji with an underwater film and noticed the cliones while working underwater. He told Seki-san, who had just launched his dive shop business back then. Since that time, they have taken their place with other celebrated Hokkaido wildlife from brown bears and dancing cranes to snow monkeys. Seki also went on to tell me that Flip was the very first person from the United States to ever dive here. And since that time, no other American divers have come here. So Mauricio and I are the second and third divers from America to dive Hokkaido, as far as we know.

I had seen the cliones on previous dives here, but today was the first time I would try my hand at photographing them. As I shifted my attention from the benthic region to the water column I noticed that it too was alive with life. In the tunnel vision created by my mask I saw delicate sea spiders, their thread-like legs continuously moving, as if performing some mid-water dance and tiny shrimp scrambling towards the surface, clearly on a mission of which I had no clue.  Jellyfish, ctenophores and other little gelatinous creatures all drifted past my view. The water was reasonable clear, with visibility of about 45 feet, but had lots of tiny specs floating within it; sustenance for the inhabitants of this frigid, pale blue domain.

I set my sights on a sea angel flying along at a depth of twenty-five feet and carefully moved in trying not to disturb it with either a wave from my body or the bubbles from my regulator’s exhaust. I looked through my viewfinder, but couldn’t find the clione. I took my eye away from the camera and found the little guy (or little girl, … can’t really tell) a few feet above me now. Their tiny form and constant movement made focusing a real challenge. I spent over ten minutes just figuring out how to keep the sea angels in my camera’s field of view. In this shallower water I was also more buoyant and therefore couldn’t keep as much air in my drysuit, which made me colder. So on the several dives I made to photograph clione, I would spend the better part of an hour rising and sinking in the water column chasing these little, winged creatures around, trying to make the perfect frame, while my fingers and toes went numb. I mused at the contrast from another recent National Geographic assignment during which I was photographing 45-foot long, 70-ton Right Whales. I had gone from shooting a 45-foot whale to a 3-centimeter long sea angel. Quite a difference in subject matter, yet both equally beautiful.

Oh yeah, the D3 was fine. We’ve spent several hours removing the housing’s bulkhead connector and re-installing it. Planning to test it tomorrow, before heading offshore in search of pack ice and seals.

Photography by Mauricio Handler 

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