Is This Even Real? The Oceans Most Bizarre Creatures Live Here...

Though it appears to be just another ordinary stretch of sea, the strait between the Indonesian islands of Lembeh and Sulawesi is in fact the strangest and most mysterious square mile in the planet's oceans. At first glance, the seafloor appears featureless and lifeless. But wherever you are, alien eyes are watching you, and concealed predators lurk everywhere. Apparently bleak and devoid of life, like an underwater moonscape, it's actually the home of bizarre creatures that have evolved unique ways to live in, on and under it, for whom life is a constant battle for survival. In this square mile live some of the most bizarre sea creatures. It's like the set of an extreme sci-fi fantasy. Grotesque miniature monsters that prey mercilessly on anything that strays within their range. A creature that strikes so fast it makes the water boil. Beings communicating using light signals beyond our understanding. Others with eyesight so complex that some believe they arrived from outer space. Extreme measures are needed to survive. Emerging from the seafloor rises one of the ocean's most hideous and gruesome predators. A giant segmented worm. The bobbit grows to three meters long. This nocturnal horror has no eyes and no brain, but it's got evil bear-trapped jaws. The worm lurks just below the surface until a fish passes. And then it strikes. The bobbit worm's not always successful. Sometimes its prey is just too big and too fast. All seems to be lost for this small fish, yet it manages to struggle free. But appearing stunned, it strays back towards the bobbit, which makes no mistake second time, and drags its victim down into its lair. Another fish is unaware of the gruesome bobbit just behind. First strike and the fish seems to have survived. But the worm's powerful pincer jaws have slashed a huge gouge from its side. And the bobbit doesn't hesitate to finish off what it started. So what is it about this small area of sea that attracts so many bizarre creatures? What makes it so unique? Well, scientists have declared this region of the Indo-Pacific Ocean to be the very epicenter of the planet's marine biodiversity. Putting it simply, there are more different species of sea creatures here than anywhere else. The statistics speak for themselves. The Caribbean has around 600 species of reef fish, while researchers believe there may be as many as 5,000 species in this region. And the focal point for all this biodiversity seems to be centered right here in Lembeh. So what does it take to survive in this inhospitable environment? Well, one essential is camouflage. Can you spot the fish? Only when it moves. Unlike the bobbit worm, many creatures live on rather than under the seabed and depend on camouflage to keep them totally invisible. Some, like the octopus, can turn their camouflage on and off at will. But this is taking it to another level. Beneath the indistinct blur of this lump is a crab that conceals its sharp lines by decorating its shell with living sponges, only becoming visible as it lumbers through the nighttime ocean. On an empty seafloor, two leaves drift randomly with the current. In fact, they're not leaves, but fish. Ghost pipefish, their colors and movements identical to the dead tropical vegetation scattered across the seafloor. Another master of camouflage is the hairy frogfish. Filaments on their body make them appear to be just another bit of the seabed, a mix of sand and algae. From its concealment, the frogfish flicks its lure to fish for prey. It's the small one that tries its luck, though it takes on far more than even its huge mouth can swallow. While most creatures try to blend into obscurity, some don't need to and flaunt their presence with bright, vibrant colors. Armed with sharp, poisonous spines, few creatures would attack the sea urchin. A zebra crab hitches a ride, living safe among the urchin's spines. Another species of crab actually uses the urchin as an add-on to the defense offered by its own hard shell. The carrier crab's back legs are adapted so it can carry the urchin. Among the spines of a group of black urchins, a shoal of fish shelter, hovering precisely between the poisonous tips. Ribbon eels rarely leave the safety of their burrows, and this one doesn't need to. With a living food larder on its doorstep, it's become skilled at snatching live prey. The urchin's spines don't deter it as it insinuates itself among them. It's so adept that its smooth, apparently unhurried strike doesn't even disturb the others in the shoal. Another essential for survival here is protection. And if you don't have your own, then you need to find it. Unlike other crabs, hermits don't have their own shells, so they take over empty ones to protect their soft bodies. They're forever changing shells and will do anything to get the one they want, even if there is already another crab in it. They're highly aggressive, and a chance encounter leads to a ferocious battle. On the barren Lembeh seafloor, there are few shells, so every one is fiercely contested. The large aggressor is trying to drag the other crab from its shell. The smaller uses its large claw to effectively shut off the entrance to the shell. The failed aggressor eventually gives up and moves on. The victim checks that all is clear, and then hoists itself back up to continue scavenging. Another battle, this time at night, has a far different outcome. This time, the assailant succeeds in dragging the smaller crab from its shell. Its soft body is clear to see. But while the victor is checking out the shell for size, with everything to fight for, the dislodged crab launches a counterattack. Its surprised assailant decides that enough is enough, and moves on, leaving the victim to slip back into its home. If it can't find a shell, the hermit will use anything. An old bottle will do just fine. And it's not the only creature to make use of human debris. Blennies would usually make their home in a crevice in a reef, but on this barren seabed, it must just make do. Another essential for survival is lethal weaponry. This is where the mantis shrimp comes into its own. Its secret weapons are a pair of spring-loaded hinged arms, which it can unfurl at incredible speeds. It spears its victim to death, with a strike that is one of the fastest limb movements in the animal kingdom. The edge of the club travels from stationary to impact at about 50 miles an hour, the strike taking under three thousandths of a second. This is so fast that it causes the water along the leading edge to boil. The spearer species have arms ending in fiendish barbed spikes, that they use to impale soft-bodied prey like fish, though this time the barbs get tangled on coral rather than prey. But the mantis doesn't make the same mistake twice. Mantis have huge appetites. This one is trying to haul a dead fish bigger than itself into its lair, but the opening is simply not big enough. Like a hooded ghoul, an orange mantis stalks its prey. Despite the drag that water creates on any movement, the strike of the shrimp delivers a blow with the same force as a .22 rifle bullet, and just as fatal. So why of all places is this bare and exposed seafloor home to such a varied collection of creatures? Well, at times strong currents run through the strait. These carry with them the eggs and larvae of many species from the open ocean. Some are eaten by the strait's residents, but others settle on the seabed and have found ways to survive. Today the dwellers of the seafloor don't have to worry too much about predators passing through the strait, just the danger presented by their fellow residents. A pair of eyes and another horror of the nighttime seafloor. A nocturnal ambush predator with a fearsome reputation. Crocodile fish were named because of their similarity in appearance and hunting technique to the saltwater crocodile. It lies in wait, motionless, semi-submerged in the sand, until prey comes within striking distance. Then, look out. Its jaws open wide and clamp shut on their victim within nanoseconds. Crocodile fish demonstrate yet another essential asset for survival here, speed. A head pokes from the seafloor. This is a species of snake eel, creatures that spend the day buried in the substrate, only emerging at night to hunt. Though the seabed looks deserted, in reality it's anything but empty. The silty sand and gravel is just another liquid medium into which creatures sink at will, finding there the protection and safety that's absent on the flat, featureless desert above. While the surface appears devoid of life, a cross-section of the substrate would show a plethora of creatures lurking concealed. Like a child's worm farm, the action is going on below rather than above the surface. Yet another survival strategy that creatures here have developed. Emerging from the sand, a swimming crab scurries to find under cover. It possesses several of the necessities for existence here. Speed, the ability to dig, to bury and hide, a hard shell, and its claws are ferocious weapons. Some crabs here are quite simply bizarre. What is the advantage of their design? What evolutionary journey has led them to this quirky shape? Like cartoon caricatures, this pair rely on speed rather than armour. Built like a tank, the box crab has no exposed weak chinks, yet even this well-armoured creature chooses to bury itself in the sand. Each distinct species has evolved its own unique way of surviving this hostile environment. Crabs need all the protection they can get. As they're a favourite prey for another creature that thrives here. The octopus. Octopus have bodies the consistency of jelly and the chameleon-like ability to change shape, colour and texture in an instant. Soft-bodied, they make a perfect meal and usually hide. Though one octopus doesn't need to hide. These flashing electric blue rings are one of nature's strongest warning signals, alerting any predator to the deadly toxic flesh of this octopus. But when the octopus encounters the mantis shrimp, another lethal hunter of the seafloor, a standoff ensues. Fully grown, the blue ring's head and body may be smaller than a man's thumb, but the neurotoxins contained in its body are estimated to be many times more powerful than cyanide. Spotting prey more its size, the blue ring dulls down its colours as it stalks. Too late, the crab recognises the danger. The blue ring isn't alone in using colour for defence in this grey and generally colourless environment. Sea anemones are predatory creatures, using stinging tentacles to catch their food. Sedentary, they need to attract their prey to come to them. Immune to the stinging cells of its host, a porcelain crab has a safe sanctuary, from which to filter its own food from the plankton. Anemones are predators disguised as flowers of the sea, and their bright displays have an advantage. The vibrant colours also serve as a warning to fish that may be considering feeding on them, that the anemone is poisonous. The vivid orange of these two frogfish might seem to attract attention to themselves. However, their colouration matches precisely that of sponges which are found in patches on the seabed. Sponges that are poisonous to eat. Sheltering under what it believes to be an inanimate sponge, this small fish is about to get a deadly surprise. A squid hunts in the inky darkness of the night-time strait. Squid are cephalopods, as are cuttlefish and octopus. Creatures so alien that they could be from another planet. Creatures that in many ways are more advanced than we humans. They have the ability to change shape and body texture in an instant. They're masters in the use of colour and pattern for both camouflage and communication. Pigment cells in their skin give them the ability to change colour at will, and also to communicate instantaneously using visual patterns that we humans still cannot decipher. While most cuttlefish rely on swimming and speed to escape from predators, this hunting flamboyant cuttlefish would appear to be totally defenceless. No shell, no spines, no turn of speed to escape. Instead, when threatened, waves of colour undulate over its body, transforming the drab, crawling blob into a thing of pulsating beauty. And that is all the protection that it needs. For these colours warn any predator, eat me if you dare. Because the flesh of the flamboyant cuttlefish is considered to be just as toxic as that of the blue-ringed octopus. Eyes in the sand watch every movement on this strange seafloor. But none are as bizarre as those of the mantis shrimp. Its eyes are the most complex of any creature on the planet, able to see circular polarised light. The eyes can distinguish between 100,000 colours. That's ten times as many as we humans. They also have trinocular vision. Three sections of each eye can scan independently, allowing the shrimp to look in many directions all around it. This vision is so much more advanced than anything else known that scientists are studying it in the hope of unravelling its secrets. If they can, it could help engineers refine the high-tech communication systems of the future. Mantis shrimps have been around the planet for over 400 million years. A combination of its outer-space vision and its ferocious aggressiveness has led it to be described as the magnificent, ultra-violent, far-seeing shrimp from Mars. Few creatures blatantly venture out onto this hostile seafloor in daytime, but the inimicus has nothing to fear. Protected by sharply barbed and venomous spines, it's easy to understand why they have no known natural predators. Crawling slowly, using its specially adapted fins to awkwardly drag itself along, you wonder how it can ever catch the fish on which it feeds. But at night, the answer is revealed. Part-burying itself, it waits motionless for prey to pass by, and then strikes like lightning. But even the inimicus draws the line at feeding on another venomous predator. The lionfish. So still is the inimicus that this fish thinks it's an inanimate object under which it can shelter safely. In contrast, the octopus has no armour nor spines. On the reef, there are always plenty of nooks and crannies into which they can squeeze their fluid bodies to hide. But here, on the desert seascape of Lembeh, octopus have solved the problem of protection in a novel way. They've developed an uncanny ability to gather items from the seafloor with which to build a protective home. A homeless octopus has gathered several broken pieces of shell to use as building material. But then it gets lucky and finds an empty bivalve shell intact. Perfect residence. Now it's got all the protection that it needs. Not all octopus build homes. This passing mimic octopus lives in holes on the seafloor and relies on camouflage and its uncanny ability to imitate the body shape and movement of other creatures to ensure its safety while out hunting. The octopus's ingenuity means that even human debris is adapted to create its lair. The perfect hunting lodge where it lurks until prey passes by. Then the octopus scurries out. Only momentarily leaving safety to grab its victim. Unlike the mimic, it doesn't have to stray far from safety to feed. Whether building homes for themselves to compensate for the lack of cover or relying on disguise and hiding in the sand, creatures have evolved to survive in even this most desolate seascape. It's not only the variety of bizarre creatures found here but also the adaptations and behaviours that can be observed. That have gained this tiny area of the Indonesian sea the reputation of the planet's most bizarre patch of ocean floor. While the seabed appears desolate and devoid of any sanctuary, there are occasional tiny islands of coral. Like oases in an arid desert, shoals of fish gather here, hovering anxiously around minimal cover, trusting in safety and numbers for survival. But these oases are few and far between. Schooling catfish apply the same principle of safety and numbers as they forage across the night-time seafloor. A predator would be hard-pressed to pick out any individual from this swirling mass. This lizardfish has caught a meal almost as large as itself. Its victim is so big that the lizardfish can only gulp it down bit by bit, gradually forcing the fish down into its gut. Their large jaws enable them to consume creatures almost as big as themselves. In this region of sparse pickings, the meal will last it for many days. The lizardfish's hunting technique is to lie motionless on the seabed until something passes close by and then to snatch their prey from the water column. Many undersea creatures hunt for their prey, expending massive amounts of energy foraging across the seafloor or buzzing round the ocean to feed. However, for others, feeding is a long waiting game as they remain totally immobile, blending perfectly into their surroundings, waiting for their prey to come to them. When it does, the strike is like lightning. These are the ambush predators of Lembeh. A combination of camouflage, mimicry and immobility give them the element of surprise. No movement betraying the presence of a deadly killer. To their prey, there's nothing to fear until the surprise attack, seeming to come from nowhere. In a region as barren as the Lembeh seafloor, the wait is often days rather than hours. But this scorpionfish has found a perfect hunting ground on an abandoned net. Small fish sheltering here are totally oblivious to the predator in their midst. A pair of eyes scan the nighttime ocean. Then a killer erupts from below the seafloor. Yet another horror of the night. Many creatures only venture out at night to feed. In the absence of any shelter on the flat seafloor by day, the inky blackness of the night affords them protection. But it's only the illusion of safety because with the night, the most efficient and deadliest of predators also emerge. This concealed hunter with eyes on the top of its head and a large viciously fanged mouth is the stargazer. Any prey passing overhead is silhouetted against the starlit ocean surface. As it consumes its prey, it spits out the worm-like lure that it often uses to attract its victims. No Hollywood special effects creator could better the nightmare creatures that nature has evolved on this strange and often horribly dangerous square mile of Indonesian sea. With so many predators and so few safe havens, it's hard to understand how anything survives here. Yet among all this madness, the cycle of life continues. And when the time's right, creatures seize the opportunity for mating. Every species has its own courtship ritual. Brightly colored sea slugs, nudibranchs, prepare to mate. Hermaphrodites, they have both male and female sex organs. They can lay many thousands of eggs. Male frogfish are attracted to the female frogfish when she's ready to lay her eggs. Two smaller males respond and there's a standoff between them, both competing for the opportunity. As she comes close to the moment of release, she's followed tightly by both males, jostling for position and the chance to fertilize the eggs. Just as we outgrow our clothes, crabs outgrow their shells. When the female crab molts and her new shell is still soft, is when she's ready to mate. The shell splits along a special seam that runs around the body to allow her to shrug off the whole old shell intact. What at first appeared to be two crabs grappling together now appears to be three. In fact, it's the male, the female and her discarded shell. The female struggles to shrug off her old shell. The male stays close throughout. Until her new shell hardens, the female is totally vulnerable to predators. She seems entangled. The last claws don't want to come loose. And finally she's free and immediately scurries under the shelter of the male. He will mate with her and then carry her beneath him till she's able to again fend for herself. With the female safe below him, the pair sink into the protection of the seafloor. Many sea creatures simply mass spawn, releasing their eggs into the plankton. However, the aggressive mantis shrimp also has a caring side to its nature. It carries its clutch of thousands of eggs with it until they're ready to hatch, providing the next generation with the optimum chance of survival. In contrast, other creatures do not show this degree of parental care, leaving their eggs unattended. Flamboyant cuttlefish lay their eggs individually. On the reef, the female would place them in crevices in the rock or coral to protect them from predators. On the barren Lembeh seafloor, they have to make do with what they can find. In this case, the discarded half of a coconut shell. Like all cuttlefish, the flamboyant breeds only once and then dies. The eggs are left unprotected to incubate. White and opaque when first laid, the sack becomes translucent when ready to hatch. Eventually, the hatchling cuttlefish pushes its way through the soft egg sack. The moment they settle on the seafloor, they behave exactly like adult flamboyants and start hunting and feeding. Already, the colorflashes warn predators that even this tiny mouthful is in fact one of the ocean's most poisonous meals. Against all the odds, another new life emerges onto the sea's strangest square mile. The frogfish embodies everything that's needed to survive here. Masterful use of camouflage, total immobility when lurking as an ambush predator, a lightning-fast strike when prey strays close. Camera lights have drawn in a small shoal of fish and this frogfish seizes the opportunity to gorge itself on this unexpected feast. Snatching the darting silver prey with what's undoubtedly the fastest mouth in the sea. One swallowed, but immediately the greedy frogfish looks to hunt for more. It's feast or famine on the Lembeh sand. Its belly distends with each fish it catches, the still-alive fish twitching inside it. Another frogfish has to work harder to find a meal in the nighttime ocean. It's actually fishing for food by using its undersea equivalent of a fishing rod. With allure resembling a juicy worm, it tempts in its prey. The fish only see a tantalizing, wriggling morsel, not the immobile eating machine attached to it. A couple of cautious steps and the frogfish strikes. A prey almost as big as itself. This one meal will sustain it for many days. The frogfish wanders off into the dark ocean to find a place to settle, where its camouflage will blend seamlessly again with the ocean floor. An undersea oddity, but perfectly adapted to life in the sea's strangest square mile.