01x09 - The NIght of the Squid

[bunniefuu]

In the primitive politics
of the underseas world,

many forms of life
long ago learned that

survival depended on the
common strategy of the species.

Under attack, this cohesive
community of strangers

can explode in all directions
like a golden grenade,

distracting predators from
zeroing in on a single victim.

Other species have learned to gather
in massively efficient hunting packs

in their constant scouring of
the sea for the food of life.

And still other creatures learn that
only by mobilizing in vast multitudes

can they perpetuate
their unknown destinies

by giving life to unborn generations.

April 2nd.

Yesterday evening,

when the launch crew was preparing
one of our mini-subs for a test dive,

they spotted a school of 40 to 50
sea arrow squid alongside Calypso.

It's the first time we've seen squid

since we entered
California coastal waters.

All on board have long become alert to
the unexpected ways of oceanic life.

So our curiosity is suddenly quickened

by the sight of several
hundred of the sea jets.

A crewman reflexively moves
to lower another sea light,

deeper into the dark waters.

Oblivious to the dangerous
presence of prowling blue sharks,

thousands and hundreds of thousands
of the translucent phantoms

suddenly well up from the
depths like a living tide,

until Calypso is virtually ensnared
in a sargasso sea of squid.

It is the beginning of
the night of the squid.

Head mini-sub pilot, Albert Falco,

gladly welcomes the unexpected
massing of the sea arrow squid.

They will provide a night dive
with a spectacular opportunity

to test the mini-sub's new
narrow-beam camera lights.

And Calypso's always enterprising chef

also take immediate advantage
of this rare sea bonanza.

Never before in his life

have such delicacies fairly
leapt into his versatile skillets.

At exactly 4.15 a.m., the mini-sub
is swung out over the sea of squid.

Falco reports by telephone
that all systems are go

and that he is ready to fly.

Jacques Delgoutier disconnects
the nylon safety line

and the communications cable.

And alone with his own thoughts,

the intrepid Falco starts
the mini-sub down.

He is about to enter for the first time

into that theatrical, near-
hallucinatory instant of time

which we will soon learn

is the sea arrow's ancestral
convocation of life and death.

At a depth of nearly a hundred feet,

hovering just above the bottom,

Falco begins to describe his
observations from within the sub.

Suddenly he cuts his narrative short

to report he has lost all power
in his propulsion motors.

Gaston cautiously advises
Falco to immediately shut down

all unessential power drains,

even though the mini-subs
have independent life support

and communication systems
adequate for 24 hours.

Falco, in turn, advises topside

he is about to manually release
the sub's cast-iron ballast

and proceed to the surface.

Instinctively, the recovery launch
operator moves to within a few yards

of where he estimates
the mini-sub will emerge.

Gaston informs Falco that
immediately upon surfacing,

the recovery launch will
take the mini-sub in tow.

Falco again acknowledges.

The recovery operation
is always a busy affair.

The surfacing mini-sub,
the noisy launch,

our divers and camera lights
should frighten the squid away.

Instead, untold numbers of
these spectral-like creatures

continue to materialize
around Calypso,

as if by sea magic.

Safely aboard Calypso,

all thoughts of the malfunction
of the sub's motors

are put aside by the divers.

Little in their long experience
beneath the sea

can compare with what
they have seen tonight.

André Laban is the
first to discover a clue

to explain the incredible
gathering of the sea arrows

and their quixotic behavior.

Stuck to the sub's hull is a small
clutch of sea arrow egg cases.

By sheer chance,

Calypso has anchored over one
of the secret spawning grounds

of the elusive sea arrow squid.

Immediately, a radio alert is
put out for Captain Cousteau,

who is ashore on ship's business.

Then a camera team prepares to film
the pre-dawn underwater spectacle

of the sea arrow's mating dance.

Wary of the mindless but
unpredictable blue sharks,

the divers move out
with billies at the ready.

An accidental collision with a blue

in the confusion of the
squid strobe night waters

could cause a serious injury.

With professional detachment,

the camera team executes a final
equipment and buddy check.

And then, they dive.

It is usually impossible for our divers

to approach these normally
shy and fugitive creatures,

even within camera range.

But now, with their single life's moment
of mass mating but a few hours away,

they are completely
oblivious to the intruders.

Amazingly, the divers
can actually touch them.

Even an unflappable mola mola fish

seems to adopt the uncharacteristic
behavior of the squids.

It is as though an entire
generation of sea arrows

is aware that their moment
of truth has arrived.

The divers have never before observed

the unique courtship
antics of the sea arrows.

They begin to collect specimens for
observation in the Calypso Aquarium.

So involved are the squid

in their undulating preamble to the
supreme biological act of their lives,

they appear to be totally
oblivious to all else.

As the divers ascend,

it is like moving through the
strange underwater cyclotron,

aglow with flying particles
of organic energy.

As divers return to Calypso with
the first specimens of sea arrows,

they know from long
experience what lies ahead.

All of us on board have
become observers

of the behavior of life in the sea.

As such, we are necessarily
opportunists.

No matter what our planned
destination or objective may be,

we are prepared at
any time to change,

to take immediate advantage of
whatever unforeseen opportunities

the sea presents,
in her own unfathomable way.

As the specimen squid are transferred
to the ship's aquarium,

they revert for a split
second to sea form.

In the calm of topside,
the divers can now observe in detail

the sea arrow's inky decoys
and his pulsing jet power.

But in the ship's galley,
the irrepressible Remo Amadio

has only thoughts of several
hundred untried variations

in the preparation of squid provençal.

It is the one dimension of
the sea arrow adventure,

which the men and divers of Calypso

will come to look upon
with some lack of relish.

At 8.40 this morning,

I arrived by seaplane at
the anchorage of Calypso,

near an offshore island of the
Southern California coastline.

I was anxious to obtain
from Falco and the divers

detailed eyewitness accounts
of their initial encounter

with the sea arrow
spawning migration.

I was also eager to set into action a
plan I developed on the plane to film,

for the first time in the wild,

the complete procreation
cycle of the sea arrow squids.

Cousteau is immediately
advised by the ship's captain

that the nearby
availability of provisions

will permit the ship to
remain anchored where it is

for an indefinite period of time.

Cousteau is then shown the cause of
the mini-sub's loss of motor power

during its pre-dawn dive.

Squid, sucked into the intakes
of the sub's water jets,

had forced the electric motors to
overload to a fuse-blowing level.

Next, Cousteau holds a
conference with crew leaders

to outline his plan for round-the-clock
filming and television monitoring

of the spawning activities.

Calypso comes alive with action.

Cameras and diving
gear are checked out

with an eye to a unique opportunity

to obtain a rare film document
for the study of marine biologists

concerned with the reduction of squid
stocks in some of the world fisheries.

Most of the 600 living
varieties of the squid family

constitute a vital link in
the undersea food chain.

Many open-ocean
fish and sea mammals

depend heavily and
sometimes exclusively

on squid as their food staple.

While my shipmates set
up the video cameras,

I cannot help figuring out the
terrible damage a single net hole

could do here as a
critical mating begins.

By 8pm, the sea arrows, sensitive
to the ultraviolet rays of sunlight,

have returned to the upper waters.

Courtship has ended
and mating has begun,

foreshadowing 72 consecutive hours
of violence, life and desperation.

Cousteau then urges the divers

to strive for individual close-
ups of the mating action,

an almost impossible task in
the swirling storm of squid.

In the communication shack,

the deep-water mating of the sea arrows

is already under the observation
of a TV monitoring team.

Suddenly, with little warning,
Calypso is plunged into darkness.

René Rubino, the ship's engineer,

moves quickly to discover the source
of the power generator failure.

With the experience
of the mini-sub's

luckless dive the
preceding night in mind,

he first checks the
seawater intake filter

of the generator circulation pump.

A short dozen or a little more than
two pounds of sea arrow gremlins

has brought the total operation of the


With the marine engineer's
silently begrudging salute

to the omnipresent squids,

Rubino proceeds to restore
the ship's power supply.

Our divers move quickly to examine
the generator pump intake screens

located on the underside
of Calypso's hull.

Their purpose is to make recommendations
to the ship's engineer.

He will improvise a device to
prevent a repetition of the incident.

Loss of power would mean our filming of
the squid at night would be interrupted.

A returning diver shows in
a way most natural to him,

the insidiousness of
the sea arrow squids.

A slippery, insinuating capability

which has already paralyzed the
mini-sub and darkened Calypso.

At 9 p.m., Cousteau gives the
go-ahead to commence filming.

Before the night is over,

the eight divers will spend
an aggregate of 16 hours

in the swirling maelstrom
of the mating squids.

They will sh**t one mile of film and
consume 36 tanks of compressed air.

And in the darkness of the sea,
they will be witness to sudden death.

Ordinarily, squids move and maneuver
by the use of swimming fins

located on the sides of
their fusiform bodies.

Their instantaneous jet
propulsion potential

is mainly used when chasing
food or escaping enemies.

The males, however, also use
jet action in the mating process

to fiercely compete
for egg-ripe females.

The ratio of males to females,

all an average age of three years,

is nearly one to one.

But in the mating melee,
there is no pairing of the sexes.

Mating is entirely polygamous
and troilism is common.

Often, in the abandoned frenzy,

frantic males will mistakenly attempt
to couple with other males.

This often leads to indignant violence.

Mainly for camouflage,

all squid have the capability to change
their color to many exquisite hues.

Therefore, one of the most striking
manifestations of the mating act

is the blushing of the males.

At his greatest point of excitement,

waves of maroon sweep
over his head and arms

until he releases the female
from his urgent embrace.


the burgeoning females

have already begun to litter the sea
floor with gelatinous egg cases.

During the next three days,

every female will lay 10 to


each containing on the
average 100 individual eggs.

To prevent sea currents from
carrying the egg cases away

from the temperate waters,

the females painstakingly
anchor the sticky filament

of each capsule to sea flora,
or bottom outcroppings.

Ordinarily, most of the
fastidious females

arrange their egg strands
into communal bouquets,

resembling buoyant
sea chrysanthemums.

During their strenuous labors,

the females continue to welcome
the attentions of males.

For even if the males
spill their adhesive milk

in the water flowing
around the egg clusters,

the sperm will penetrate
the still soft capsules,

and the mystery of life will begin.

Having reached the limits
of their diving time,

the camera teams are
forced to call it a night.

As they slowly move up
through the darkness

to their first decompression level,

they intuitively sense the
shadowy presence of death.

Perhaps attracted by the
grappling of the mating squid

as they are by the helpless
thrashing of wounded sea animals,

the sharks move in.

Normally, the jet-propelled squids are
among the fastest creatures in the sea,

and for their size,
certainly the most elusive.

What a lamentable irony that they
fall victims to jackals of the sea

at the precise moment they join in
vulnerable life-producing embrace.

Low on air,

and confident that the feeding
sharks are safely preoccupied,

the divers surface.

Momentarily, they are cut
off from the carnage below.

At that instant,
the unpredictable happens.

A twelve-foot, tooth-studded blue

arched widely in his
pass at the mating squid,

forcefully reminding the divers that

they too are frail strangers
in his domain.

For fifteen days, Raymond has served
squid to the divers and crew.

They have eaten squid prepared in ink,

fried squid, baked squid,
boiled squid, stewed squid,

squid fricassee,
squid en casserole,

and squid a la squid.

Only André Laban shares
the chef's enthusiasm,

perhaps because it's been hinted

that a daily diet of squid
might help to restore his hair.

But Raymond Coll has another plan

for quickly reducing the cook's
refrigerated stocks of squid.

For several days, he has
observed a California sea lion

being fed fish in a nearby
training enclosure.

But Coll knows that in the wild,

the succulent squid are priority
prey for the agile seals.

Hand-feeding the seal,

Coll is flooded with a warm
memory of an earlier time,

when squid was not the only bond

between him and another seal
he had come to know and love,

named Pepito.

But all of that was in another place,
another time.

The sperm are produced in packets,

which contain many thousands
of sperm, each one.

And these are called spermatophores.

They're produced...

We have invited on board
Calypso Ms. June Lindstedt.

She is an invertebrate zoologist

with the University of Southern
California Marine Biological Laboratory.

Intrigued by our filming
of the sea arrows,

she has agreed to share
her knowledge with us.

Notice the eight arms, the two tentacles,

and the head with its almost human eyes.

Below the eye is the jet-like funnel,

and the rest of the body is
covered by a muscular mantle.

The mating male usually approaches
the female from below and to the side.

Then, using a specially adapted arm,

he transfers to the female
from 20 to 40 sperm packets.

The actual transfer of sperm
packets takes place so fast

that only by special photography
can the action be seen in detail.

For example, here you see
the male holding the female,

and with one arm reach back
to the opening of his funnel.

There, the tip of his arm

curls around an instantly
extruded sheaf of sperm packets.

The arm then swings forward to deposit
the self-ejaculating sperm packets

close to the female oviduct,

which is located
within the mantle cavity.

The male may repeat
this action several times

before releasing his
hold upon the female.

Here, in an extreme
close-up of the action,

you can see clearly
the arm of the male

grasping a compact
bundle of spermatophores,

all of uniform size.

Each spermatophore contains
countless microscopic spermatozoa.

Ms. Lindstedt next explains to Falco

that the female eggs are thus
uniquely fertilized internally.

But in addition, excess
inactive spermatozoa

are stored in a reservoir
by the female

for release during the
actual egg-laying period,

one of nature's many fail-safe methods
for perpetuating the species.

Eggs are produced in the ovary,
and as they pass through the oviduct,

the protective egg case
is formed around them.

The whole mass is then extruded
through the funnel opening,

and not without considerable exertion.

The anchor filament emerges
from the funnel first.

But when the egg case is
completely free of the funnel,

the capsule is moved backward
until the end of the anchor

can be held in the tips
of the female's arms.

She's then prepared to attach the
egg case securely to the sea floor.

This is the moment,

just before the permeable jelly
of the capsule begins to harden,

when the female may diffuse some
of her reservoir of spermatozoa

over the surface of the egg case.

After a short rest period,

the female squid will repeat
this egg-laying process

at regular intervals throughout the
three- to four-day spawning period.

The essence of classical tragic drama

is that the audience knows
from the very beginning

the inevitable outcome of the play,

the irreversible destiny
of the protagonist.

As witness to the fall of another human
being from the pinnacle of his life,

the onlookers are struck
with fear and pity.

For a vicarious instant,

they are terrifyingly aware
of their own ultimate fate.

And so it is in nature.

The tragedy of the sea arrows

is to remind us how fleeting
is our moment of life.

Within 72 hours after the great
gathering of the sea arrows

had turned into an aquabatic orgy,

the divers discover the
first signs of attrition.

Many of the bejeweled sea arrows,

who had arrived so recently
from the reaches of the sea,

now hang on to the kelp, bleached out,
heaving with exhaustion.

Twenty-four hours later, starving males
halt their compulsive mating attacks,

only long enough to cannibalize
weakened females.

Many of the females are too weary

to labor the egg capsules
from their funnels,

and others whose body substance has
been sapped by the creative process

are near death,

some locked in the
arms of expiring males.

The long night of an entire generation
of sea arrows is drawing to a close.

On the fifth day, our divers report
that the mating has come to an end,

that the spawning is finished,
that all is quiet here,

save for the lingering of
an occasional sea arrow.

All others are dead.

Twenty million tiny corpses are strewn
across the wide underwater plains

that lead to the sea world beyond.

The sea arrows have kept
their appointment in Samara.

April 18th.

This morning, we are visited
by a pod of pilot whales.

They have come to feast
upon the sea arrows

as they have done every day
during the spawning of the squid.

But this time,
they will be disappointed.

Now, there are no sea arrows here
for the pilot whales to devour.

So they turn and head out to deeper
waters in search for other bounty.

Living squids are prey for a host of
marine predators, including themselves.

But the greatest toll is taken by fishes
ranging from king salmon to swordfish.

The sea mammals also exact their
measure of the squid population.

The single largest consumer
being the 50-ton sperm whale.

And birds, from sea terns
to the emperor penguins,

take their share too.

Even dead, the sea arrows are prey
to these scavengers of the sea,

the blacksmith fish.

I have asked our divers to
undertake a daylight survey

to determine the size of the
sea arrow spawning grounds.

Perhaps then, we can
estimate the results

of the squid's reproductive activities.

Suddenly, Bernard Delemotte
and Louis Prezelin

are astonished to discover
amidst the jumble of egg cases,

a barely living female sea arrow.

Valiantly, she is attempting to
deliver the last of her issue.

Delemotte's gallantry is only
exceeded by his midwifery.

Continuing their undersea exploration,

the divers spot an angel shark oafishly
dozing on a mop of egg capsules.

Awakened, the angel shark leads
the divers on an unprecedented,

privately conducted tour of the
sea arrow spawning grounds.

A veritable blizzard of life.

Here, in this vast sea nursery,
the silent throb of life begins anew.

Here, a new generation
of sea arrows will be born,

some seven billion strong.

They, like their forebearers, will
live out their inevitable destinies.

And they, too, will have
their great moment.

We have decided to remain

at the sea arrow spawning
grounds for the next month.

The time it will take for the incubation
and hatching of the baby squids.

Every few days, our divers will
collect specimens of egg capsules

for microscopic examination
aboard Calypso.

Cousteau also has the
underwater television camera

moved to the central locus
of the spawning grounds.

On board Calypso, a 24-hour
watch will then be maintained

to observe the changes which
take place in the protective capsules.

Already, the capsules
have increased in size.

And in the weeks ahead,

as the embryos within grow,

the elastic egg cases will stretch,

ultimately expanding to five
times their original volume

at the moment of hatching.

A white, chiffon-like sponge

contrasts sharply with the sea fungus

blossoming rapidly on
the organic egg cases.

This distasteful fungoid growth,

combined with the
toughening of the capsules,

provides for the evolving
squid nearly total protection

from possible bottom-feeding predators.

The iron-stomached starfish is
actually the only known predator

of the baby squids
before they are born.

But it takes nearly three to
four days for the starfish

to digest the leathery capsules.

So they probably resort
to the squid eggs

only when there is no other
easily available food supply.

On the 24th day of incubation,

Cousteau decides to dissect
one of the sea arrow egg cases

for microscopic examination.

The plasticity of the capsule resists
even the scalpels' fine edge.

Next, Cousteau removes
from the gelatinous matrix

a single transparent chorion,

a kind of expandable private aquarium

within which the miniature squid
can maintain a suitable environment

for its individual needs.

To the naked eye, the myriad
colors of this tiny jewel of life

can be seen shining
with radiant brilliance.

And, under the lens of the microscope,

the perfectly formed squid
pulses with a life rhythm

handed down from ancestors


Changing to a higher-
powered objective,

Cousteau shows Falco a close-up
of the rough mosaic-like texture

of the young animal's skin.

Crew members of Calypso accept
Miss June Lindstedt's invitation

to visit her laboratory.

There, with the aid of a
high-powered profile projector,

they will be able to
observe in minute detail,

the complete development
of the sea arrow embryo.

Here we have stripped away
most of the egg capsule

to show the cellophane-like membranes,

which in this case contain
ten-day-old embryos.

As you can see, the individual
eggs are tightly packed together,

but there still remains
ample room inside each

for the growth and
movement of the embryo.

For a more detailed view
of the embryo at this age,

they must be removed
from the turgid chorion.

Three bulges mark the
embryo at this stage.

The uppermost bulge will become the
mantle and most of the internal organs.

The arms of the squid are visible
below the two lateral bulges,

and these bulges will become
the eyes and part of the brain.

The largest mass is the
embryo's external yolk sac.

In the next several views,

you can observe the embryos
as they feed upon the egg sacs,

something like a baby
drinking milk from a bottle.

The yolk contains all the nourishment
needed by the embryo,

and generally it is used
up before hatching.

Although sometimes the squids may hatch
with a residue yolk sac still present.

This 24-day-old embryo
is nearly ready to hatch.

You can easily see the
suckers on his arms

around the nearly depleted yolk sac.

Yes, the eyes are now fully
functional, and I might add,

squid's eye is very similar

in both structure and
function to the human eye.

Ms. Lindstedt then details the anatomy
of the squid's flashing chromatophores,

and speculates on their possible
use as schooling beacons in the dark,

or perhaps as luminescent
lures for ingenuous prey.

She then describes the violent action
of the chorion-contained embryo.

When they are ready to leave
the security of their tiny cells

for the risks and adventures of the sea.

In hatching, the embryo uses a special
organ located just between its two fins.

This Y-shaped protrusion is
used to secrete enzymes

which digest away a portion
of the chorionic membrane.

At the same time, this organ pulsates

and is used mechanically to drill
a perforation in the chorion wall.

It is through this hole
that the embryo first uses

the power of its jet action
to escape from the egg.

Upon hatching, the
one-eighth inch baby squids

are instantly hyperactive,
as you can see here.

And curiously enough,

sometimes the first act of a newly
hatched squid is a defensive one,

the releasing of a cloud
of ink into the water.

You say that's a cloud?

Well, to him that's a cloud of ink.

And who knows,
maybe it's just enough

to save him from becoming a snack
for a hungry two-inch mackerel.

Twenty percent of every new sea
arrow generation dies before hatching,

largely because of changes
in the nursery environment.

Fifty percent of the live-born

are eaten by predators in
the first week of their lives.

The survivors are the only
hope of their species,

for buried in their genes

lies a primeval drive to populate
the oceans of the world.

They, like all varieties of life
on this planet, including man,

will go forth blindly and compulsively
to inherit the earth.

This feeble, pulsing
infant dance of life,

multiplied billions of times over,

is but a prelude to their
massive invasion of the sea.

On May 18th,
Cousteau returns his divers

to the site of the sea
arrow spawning grounds.

Visibility, excellent.

Temperature, 61 degrees.

Here, an instant ago,

where an older generation of sea arrows

had gathered itself
into a vast multitude,

mated, gave birth to
a new generation,

and died, there is nothing.

And here, a split second ago,

where an entirely new generation
of sea arrows were born,

and danced the dance of the young,
there is nothing.

Nothing except that eternally
silent witness, the sea.

It is over, finished.

Let's head south.

And as goes Calypso,

so goes the undersea reveries
of the divers and crew.

Under the keel of Calypso,

the elusive creatures enjoy a freedom
we can only dream about.

At times, the sonar pings of Calypso
awakes unidentified echoes from the deep,

perhaps from migrating masses of sea jets.

One thousand feet deep,
from the diving saucer,

I have seen young ones,
two or three inches long,

probably blinded by our light,

dash head first into the
mud of the bottom,

and then time after time,
soar aloft and dive again.

I also remember one evening,

when Calypso stopped
for an early night dive,

the sea was smooth as a mirror,
the moonless sky black.

Suddenly, for miles around us,

little creatures popped out of the
sea and fell back with tiny splashes.

They were our squids.

For a few minutes,
it looked and sounded like rain.

There is so much mystery.

We still do not know what kind of life
our squids lead between birth and death.

But this much we do know.

In spite of the perils and hazards
of the squid's life in the deep,

the sea arrows will return.

And in countless unknown sheltered bays,
they will relive, as they must,

their tragic ancestral rite of the sea
on some other night of the squid.