(Maybe 1984)

My Dad and I are diving this morning. We are in about 30’ of water at Emerald Bay, Catalina, Indian Rock. It’s beautiful. The sunlight is still bright at this depth, today it’s casting random alternating shafts of light through the overstory kelp forest. Everyone is out in force, a subfusc bat ray languidly patrols the perimeter, schools of Catalina Bluefish just hang out in formation, red and black Sheepshead drunk-swim about like the village idiot they are, bright orange Garibaldi, self spaced every 20 feet or so, seemingly placed as color pop along the rocky bottom.

God is a spectacular interior designer. It’s mesmerizing.

There happens to be a small octopus proximal to us, maybe 8 or 10 inches in overall length, just a baby. My dad spots the little guy first. He’s just hanging out a few feet away, presumably tending to his daily baby octopus chores.

Dad taps me, pantomimes, “watch this…!” then reaches out to grab it.

My Dad has always been a relentless bully to all forms of marine life. No matter what it is, if it’s sitting there minding its own business, it was my Dad’s sworn duty to poke, grab, disrupt, irritate or otherwise molest, at least until it abandons its post.

Perturbed, the octopus emits a couple clouds of ink, swims a few feet away, settles down and resumes its octopus chores.

This is unremarkable. Poke, squirt, squirt, swim away. I’ve seen this progression before. My Dad will keep after this poor little guy until he darts out of view.

Ho hum. Business as usual.

At round four or five though, to my astonishment, the affronted baby octopus turns and goes on the offensive. Truly a David and Goliath moment. All ferocious beak and tentacles set to attack mode as it charges my Dad and promptly plasters itself to the front of his face mask.

Ever seen the movie Alien? My dad is playing John Hurt’s character here with a face mask full of octopus. Immovable.

Point! Baby octopus.

Respectable move! Not a bad strategy. Disable your opponents vision….

My Dad, tending to his lack of visibility, tries picking and prying at the tentacles with his fat fingers, but is outmatched badly as the dexterous little guy simply moves the one or two being picked at, plenty of purchase with the six or seven other tentacles. The baby octopus is determined to hold fast. This highly choreographed dance goes on for a few minutes.

Presently, my Dad shifts tactics and grabs baby octopus by the mantle (sack of organs that most would think was the animal’s head). Cheap move on Dad’s part. Kinda like resorting to hair pulling. He manages to get a good grip on it and yanks hard…

Too hard evidently, the strap on my Dad’s mask being more elastic than the little guy’s grip, this served to flood his mask.

Point! Match! Baby Octopus.

*Afterword*. No fathers were actually harmed in this encounter. Inconvenient, disorienting and uncomfortable as it is, mask flooding is something that divers are taught to deal with as routine. (Octopus still won)