ROBERT GARDNER -- The Verdict

The recent story about a giant squid brought up memories of a giant

octopus I encountered.

As a mudflat urchin, I had learned how to catch an octopus at an early

age: Just pour salt down a hole in a mudflat that is surrounded with

clean shells and out slithers an octopus. We all had baby octopuses in

bottles of water at home.

During my abalone diving days, I came into contact with larger

octopuses with regularity. They were timid, inoffensive creatures with

about a 3- to 4-foot span. So much for my early contact with octopuses.

I fast forward to World War II days. I was temporarily on the staff of

the 21st Bomber Command on the island of Saipan. I lived in a tent with

some war correspondents near a nice lagoon. Because I had little to do in

my job, I spent a lot of time in that lagoon with my ever-present swim

fins and face mask.

A war correspondent from Baltimore became interested in my diving,

frequently borrowing my face mask to look at the fish in the lagoon.

Well, one day, I was swimming over a rock the size of a small house

and looked down into a hole in the top of that rock. I saw the tentacle

of a good-sized octopus. I told the correspondent. He conceived of the

idea of taking an underwater picture of me pulling that octopus out of

that hole. Splendid idea. Lousy execution.

The correspondent made an underwater camera by simply putting his

camera in a prophylactic. Then he went to the B-29 machine shop and had a

spear made.

And so came the big day. The correspondent stationed himself and his

underwater camera on one side of the hole. From the other side, I shoved

the spear down into the hole. The theory was that the spear would

penetrate the thin skin where the tentacle meets the head of the octopus.

Unfortunately, the spear was a tad dull. It just jabbed the octopus to

the extent that he decided, all on his own, to come out and see just what

or who was annoying him.

The tentacles began to come out. They got bigger and bigger and, when

the head finally emerged, I estimate that octopus had about a 15-foot

span. He looked at me with those hooded eyes. Now, when an octopus

becomes frightened or annoyed, he spits out a purple stream. I’m

reasonably sure this octopus was really scared because he spurted out a

huge stream of this purple liquid. The whole lagoon turned purple.

I headed for shore and broke every record Johnny Weismuller ever had

getting there. I looked back and there was the correspondent up to his

waist in that purple water, wailing at the top of his voice. I wish I

could say I swam out and saved him, but that would not be true. I stood

there safely on the beach and told him to swim ashore.

End of heroic story of the biggest octopus I ever saw. Needless to

say, the correspondent got no pictures in that purple water.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and former judge. His

column is published Tuesdays.