Pulau Sekudu is a small islet off Pulau Ubin. No more than a sandy tidal flat rimmed by shapely rocks and rudimentary mangroves, the origins of this isle are (like the Sisters' Islands off the southern coast) shrouded in myth, notably the mysterious ability of certain maidens and living creatures to gain sufficient mass out of nowhere and molecular rearrangement to become geographical features (I thought only the Incredible Hulk could do that). In short, the old legends tell of a frog, a pig and an elephant (a suspicious trio, to say the least) who once engaged each other in an aquatic race from Singapore to Johor.
A few species of amphibians dwell in mangroves and brackish conditions, but given that no amphibian survives in marine conditions, it was hardly surprising that the aforesaid anuran floundered and somehow re-emerged as a flattened pile of tidal flats that is now known as Pulau Sekudu (or Frog Island in Malay). With some imagination, a few of the isle's boulders are said to bear a resemblance to croaking old toads. Despite their well-documented swimming abilities, the jumbo and hog didn't make it either, but consumated their journey by merging to form the island now known as Ubin. My duck thoroughly disapproves of such an unnatural union between a tusker and turd digger, even if both are fellow ungulates.
Fortunately, no mammalian swimmers were there to bother my duck yesterday morning, when we sank our feet into the soft sand of the pre-dawn ebb. I found that my wind-up torch (despite the helpful services of a wind-up marine monkey) lacked the punch to poke through the water for nudibranches and had to content myself with flashing the daylights out of creatures of greater visibility and momentum.
A sea anemone. I am certain my duck stepped on several during the three hours on the island.
Small anemones that have taken up residence on a clam shell.
A tiny chequered cardinalfish that futilely tried to escape my duck's visual attentions.
Fortunately my duck encountered no live cone snails. Their relatives the cowries were fairly abundant though. These marine snails are distinguished by their ability to moo and produce excellent milk smooth, egg-shaped shells that are covered by a colourful mantle in live animals. They are also used as currency by some islandic peoples and are regarded as symbols of womanhood, probably due to the long, slit-like shape of their opening.
Another cowrie, with its mantle barely extended. The mantle, which is part of the animals's soft body, prevents algae and encrusting animals like barnacles from settling on the shell, keeping it clean and shiny like my well-polished duck. On the right is a cone shell whose owner has given up the ghost. In its place now dwells a hermit crab who, true to its name, declined my persistent invitations to come out and play.
Crabs were the among the most common mobile invertebrates, from pea-sized critters clinging to the side of rocks to larger swimming crabs that brandished claws in an effort to disuade my duck from risking mechanical damage.
The sponges, corals and other sessile organisms of the flats housed countless tiny crabs that would appear to be no more than pebbles if they stayed still. Fortunately they like to move and my duck was able to snap a few up with my beak camera. The grey fellow on the right though aroused my suspicions with his nonchalance. He looked like he could give my duck a nasty nip...
A swimming crab. Like ducks, it has paddles on its feet that enable it to flap around in the water. This picture is dedicated to Joe the crabby girl who is encouraged to flap write harder.
Another view of the swimming crab for good measure. It looks like it's busy having its supper (maybe that's why it disregarded my duck).
Husky, who could not make it for this outing, warned me that Sekudu was home to hordes of sea cucumbers. This was displeasing news to my macho duck, who eschews wimpy cucumbers for more masculine protein-filled fare. However, to my surprise, the cucumbers at Sekudu manifest a distinctly non-feminine counternance. In fact, they displayed a girth, flexibility and ability to give good nookie that make my duck green with envy. Woe is my duck, to be outperformed by a marine vegetable!
The bubu is a traditional fish trap with a funnel-like entrance that makes it easy for fish to enter the trap but nearly impossible for them to leave. Ria found one placed by a large rock, in which were several copper-banded butterflyfish and scats. A few of the butterflyfish were already dead and rotting, awaiting discovery by their passive hunter.
Happily free were a couple of tiny filefish no more than an inch long. One was a bumpy green and the other a frilly red. Relatives of triggerfish, filefish are also known as leatherjackets (for their sandpaper-like skin) and some larger species count as natural habitats the chilled shelves of local supermarkets. Why people would eat a creature of such tough epidermal qualities and meagre flesh is beyond my duck.
Two other members of the class Actinopterygii that my duck encountered were a blotchy goby and a juvenile false scorpionfish (?) that was pretending to be a piece of seaweed. My duck was sadly too inadequate to spot other finned fellows like the small seahorse and butterfly flounder unearthed by the Wildfilms crew.
A penaeid prawn and a shrimp that both took an instant dislike to my duck.
By about 5 am, my duck was feeling as limp and spineless as this squid, apart from falling under severe anguish about the inadequacies of his torch, which suffered from acute premature depowerment. I had also got my duck and backside inadvertently wet and weak from squatting too deeply in the sand while trying to seduce a sea cucumber. The tide (and stingrays) was coming in fast and the final piece of wildlife that I could capture was a woebegone seamonkey (right) heading towards the bumboat that would bring us back to the village of ladyboys and land sharks.
i am not woebegone :|
damn u beat me to posting :@
Posted by: monkey | 23 July 2006 at 11:07 PM