Within a time span of a few hours to a few days after heightened mating activity, the sea floor becomes covered with piles of dead and dying squid. With their life cycle complete after only a year, death is not far away. Their sucker-lined tentacles soon become grossly disfigured, and their bodies show signs of marked deterioration. Shortly after mating, the captivating color shows slow and cease as the adult squid weaken, taking on a sickly, pallid hue. One year later, those that manage to survive will take part in the mating ritual. In another week or so the eggs will hatch, and the newborns will instinctively head for deep water. Five to seven days after an egg casing is planted, you can see the bright-red eyes of the unhatched embryonic squid inside. While each female plants a single egg casing, the sheer number of egg casings transforms the once-brown bottom into a shag carpet of egg casings. It is estimated that only a few will live long enough to reproduce. The whitish 8- to 12-inch-/21- to 31-cm-long egg casing contains approximately 200 eggs. Soon afterwards she will use the sperm to fertilize her eggs.Īfter mating, the females plant a single egg casing in the sand. In an effort to ensure that he perpetuates his own genetic code, a mating male quickly and adeptly passes a packet of sperm underneath the mantle of the female. Often when a male is successful in his efforts to grab onto a female, his tentacles instantly blush a scarlet warning to deter other males from attempting to woo his mate. The color changes are believed to express excitement and communicate with other squid. When mating, squid often change colors rapidly as they pulsate from creamy white to deep purple to brown and green. Squid are capable of swimming forward, backward and sideways with near equal rapidity, jet-propelling themselves with a directable siphon and undulating tail fins as they seek out a mate. It is quite common to see three, four or more males all clutching the same female in an undersea orgy. Market squid are only believed to live for one year, just long enough to reach sexual maturity, mate and die. The instinct to mate among market squid is incredibly strong, and the males appear frantic as they attempt to embrace a female. The event is often referred to as a “run,” and during heavy runs, which can last for several weeks or even months, literally millions of squid gather to mate in coastal canyons and along steep sand drop-offs at the offshore Channel Islands. The mating and egg laying typically occur over sandy bottoms, sometimes at depths as shallow as 30 to 40 feet/9 to 12 m, but more commonly in slightly deeper, cooler water. Also known as common squid, these cephalopods usually inhabit deep water, but they mate and lay their eggs in much shallower surroundings. Of course, there were scenes like the one we were witnessing all over Southern California that night, as the La Jolla Submarine Canyon is only one of any number of sites where market squid gather to mate during typical Southern California winters. Furthermore, a variety of fishes and other animals including bat rays, thornback rays, sheep crabs and sea lions were feeding on the squid. Groups of squid were mating everywhere we looked, and squid egg casings already obscured the sand bottom. My assistant, Mark Thurlow, later told me that he felt like we were diving in a swimming pool three-quarters of the way full of some kind of jiggling pasta. There were squid around our heads, between the second stage of our regulators and chins, under our armpits, between our legs and under our fins. I couldn’t even clear my mask or grab my regulator without simultaneously grabbing a handful of rubbery squid. But with the squid, the dilemma was that there were so many, I was finding it almost impossible to frame up a good shot. As a rule, wildlife photographers, especially those of us who work underwater, are constantly racking our brains trying to figure out ways to get close to animals in order to film them well. Photo Opįor an underwater photographer and filmmaker, it is difficult to ask for a better opportunity to film animal behavior and natural history. With them had come a host of hungry predators and scavengers intent upon feeding on the squid. Literally millions of squid had invaded the La Jolla Submarine Canyon. But the terrestrial celebrations were rather tame compared to the orgies and feasts taking place in the waters immediately off the beach at La Jolla Shores, roughly a mile away. In the streets and bars of San Diego’s famed La Jolla district, bands were blaring, bodies were gyrating and the party-goers were feeling no pain. New Year’s Eve, and the clock was just about to strike midnight.
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