Fantastic Metropolis

The Mating Grounds

Eventually, packed tightly together, the crowds lurch within sight of Lake Jackson. The floats, bands, and other parade participants march off into a side alley while we tourists head for the water. The near side of the lake teems with waiting boats. Most of the vessels have been chartered weeks in advance and I hear a few unlucky tourists asking if anyone has a seat available. (All lake traffic, whether rusted fishing boat or two-deck yacht, must adhere to the city council mandated speed of 5 MPH, “so as to facilitate,” according to Sebring City Ordinance 93-0053A, “an atmosphere conducive to the squid’s habits while also reducing the possibility of boating accidents.”)

Among the lines of tourists are a few observers like myself: trained cephalopod biologists eager to record what we can of the mayfly squid’s mating habits, even in such congested conditions.

However, some local biologists do not think much of the Festival, considering it a hazard to the squid. George Grayson, a marine ecologist who has worked for the State’s Department of Environmental Protection for 20 years, told me that the Festival “disturbs the mating cycle. It also disturbs the ecosystem. Most of the tourists are pretty indifferent about tossing their trash in the water. Every year, the town has to hire people to clean up afterwards.”

Nevertheless, after we get on board and the boats begin to move slowly forward toward the center of the lake, everyone quiets down. When the tell-tale silver-green glow begins to cut through the nascent sunlight, it is clear that the squid have once again congregated in great numbers. (Grayson estimates the lake contains more than 2,000 squid.) Excitement gives way to a kind of anticipatory awe. I look around and find that the squid have everyone’s full attention, even the kids. The old man to my right takes off his baseball cap and shoves it into the pocket of his Bermuda shorts. A college student stops writing in her journal.

Then the engines cut off and the silence really encroaches on us, the only sound a quiet ripple of waves against the prow. Everyone gathers along the railing, staring down into the water. They’re looking for the squid and, out here in the center of the lake, with the silt and hydrilla almost completely absent, you can really see into the water.

For a moment, though, I don’t see anything in the water. Then, a boy reaches out between the railing bars and points at something. Everyone leans in the direction of that pointing finger-and there they are, the squid, in numbers, sleek and small and incredibly fast, looking for all the world like Edith Johnson’s hummingbirds retrofitted for the water. They pulse with an emerald light that ripples up and down their silvery bodies. Despite the fact I’ve seen them up close and at a distance, in the wild and in the laboratory, so many times, my breath catches in my throat.

Still no one says anything. I have the feeling I’m not the only one holding my breath. The quick scooting and sliding through the water of these squid, their third eye blinking on and off on the underside of their mantels, at first seems random, chaotic, without purpose… but on second and third glances, I can tell that they’ve already entered the end stages of a complex series of maneuvers that should end in a successful mating. Dozens of squid riddle the water beneath us, and yet, through an ingenious recognition mechanism, no mating pair becomes separated in the process.

This intense level of activity continues for about an hour, until the sun has completely risen, casting a glow on the water that hampers visibility. Then the moment I have been waiting for, the moment I’m not sure my fellow watchers expected, occurs: the activity ceases all across the lake and each mating pair in the water below us lies perfectly still, the male atop the female, the tiny eyes of each seemingly turned up to watch us. With the flashing of colors abruptly ended, the water is dull with our own reflected faces. Several minutes pass. No one speaks. No one moves. Then, all at once, the lake erupts with streaks of emerald-a deep, bright green that suffuses the sides of the white-hulled boats. A gasp rises up all around me. This synchronization of mating and color display may be one of the most beautiful yet mysterious events in the natural world. Despite 20 years of study, no one, from cephalopod experts at Harvard to researchers in the Everglades, has been able to pinpoint the exact how’s and why’s of this phenomenon.

After a few minutes, the display subsides, the squid disappear into the depths of the lake, and everyone begins chattering happily, as if to confirm that it really happened by replaying it again and again in words.