10/12/2026
Large clumps of Fringed Filament Worms encrust the reef at Beaver Point, along the coastline of Ruckle Park on Salt Spring Island. Beneath one such clump, an explosion of vibrant pink caught my lens - a colony of hydroids, like tiny hands reaching out for whatever meal the water carries past.
Our first dive here was lovely: little current and excellent visibility. After a surface interval, we returned to much the same conditions… until we rounded the point.
The current began to build, and the visibility started to slide. Within minutes, we were getting a much better understanding of why these tiny mouths and many more were here in such impressive numbers.
We looked at each other, then down towards a bottom well below us we could no longer see. Which one of us had stirred it up?
Neither, as it turned out.
The lesson of the quivering kelp at Kitty Islet came to mind: when the kelp quivers, that water means business. I remembered finding the bottom and a solid handhold to keep from being swept away, then working my way towards the surface, handhold by handhold.
The kelp was several years ago now, but the memory is still close—and so is the respect it taught us. These days, I just smile a little, settle myself, and draw on that experience. But the lesson still carries weight.
We headed back to the gentler, clearer waters of the bay we’d crossed to reach the wall. The hydroids stayed behind, tiny hands outstretched. Dinner was coming to them.
Dive buddy: Keith, who was also there that day for the quivering kelp :)
