Listening for Dugongs

New Caledonian Lagoon & The Red Sea

In this blog post, I’m sharing dugong encounters through stills from earlier dives in the Red Sea, alongside more recent footage and hydrophone recordings from the New Caledonian lagoon.

Have you ever heard a dugong vocalise? Read on :-)

 

 

In sunlit, coastal waters stretching from the eastern shores of Africa across the Indo-Pacific, along a fragmented range that includes the Red Sea, the Indian Ocean, northern Australia, and scattered Pacific islands, lives one of the ocean’s most gentle and elusive mammals, the dugong, sometimes called sea cow. 

 

Scientifically known as Dugong dugon, the dugong is a marine mammal belonging to the order Sirenia, the same ancient lineage as manatees. Its closest known relative, Steller’s sea cow, was hunted to extinction in the 18th century, an early warning written into the history of human–marine relationships.

 

 

Long before marine biology gave the dugong its Latin name, sailors glimpsed these animals rising from the water and told different stories. In dim light and long solitude, the silhouette of a dugong surfacing could be mistaken for something almost human. For this reason, dugongs, along with their sirenian relatives, are believed to have inspired ancient mermaid legends, myth born from misrecognition, wonder shaped by waves...

Physically, dugongs are distinct. Their smooth, greyish bodies taper into a whale-like fluked tail, unlike the rounded paddle-shaped tails of manatees. They typically grow to about 3 meters in length and weigh around 400 kg, but can grow larger.

 

 

The dugong is the world’s only fully marine herbivorous mammal, completely dependent on seagrass and never visiting freshwater.

Its rounded, downturned snout is perfectly adapted for grazing, allowing it to uproot seagrass with slow, deliberate precision.

 

Though often described as silent, dugongs are far from mute. Beneath the surface, they produce a surprising variety of sounds often described as: chirps, trills, barks, squeaks, quacks, and croaks.

These vocalisations are relatively quiet by underwater standards, suggesting that dugong communication occurs over short distances, well suited to the shallow, seagrass-filled habitats they call home.

Today, dugongs face a range of ongoing pressures, from seagrass loss and coastal development to boat strikes, fishing gear, and in some regions, illegal hunting. Unlike Steller’s sea cow, they still have a chance, if the shallow habitats they depend on are allowed to endure.

The dugong is a living species that once inspired myth. Protecting the dugong is about caring for the breathing world beneath the surface and keeping our ancient sense of wonder for the sea.

 

 

In the end, the dugong does not need to be a mermaid to be magical. This peaceful creature reminds us that wonder still moves slowly through the shallows, asking only for space, quiet, and time.

Bigfin Reef Squid

New Caledonia, Coral Sea, South Pacific

POV beneath our boat: I know you’re not supposed to sneak up on the neighbours… I’m just trying to make new friends 😉🦑

Meet the Bigfin Reef Squid, a hypnotic creature that moves through the ocean in a flicker of color, changing shades in a split second to communicate, hunt, and hide.

With one of the fastest growth rates in the marine world, it can reach full size in just a few months.

 

 

With W-shaped pupils for excellent underwater vision, lightning-fast reflexes, and complex cognition, these curious little hunters are far more advanced than most people realize. 👀

Closely related to octopuses and cuttlefish, they’re part of the cephalopod family, known for their problem-solving abilities, three hearts, and even blue blood.

Powered by jet propulsion, they can vanish into the blue in an instant, one moment curious, the next completely gone. 💨🦑 

 

Smart, fast, and seriously mesmerizing, an incredible creature to encounter in the wild. 💙

The Fascinating World of Rays

New Caledonia, Coral Sea, South Pacific

Beneath the surface, some of the sea’s most graceful animals move through a hidden world we cannot see...

 

There is something special about rays. I truly love to encounter and observe them. Each meeting feels like a quiet privilege, leaving a distinct, lasting impression. There’s a calm awareness in their movement that’s hard to put into words, but impossible to forget.

 

Rays are closely related to sharks, and like them, they don’t have bony skeletons. Instead, their skeletons are made of cartilage, the same flexible material found in our noses and ears. This small detail makes a big difference. Without heavy bones, rays are lighter and more agile, able to move through water with a kind of effortless control.

 

Most rays live near the ocean floor, and their bodies are perfectly designed for it. Their eyes sit on top of their flattened bodies, keeping watch above, while their mouths are underneath, ready to feed on what lies below. They often eat a mix of benthic crustaceans, molluscs, worms and small fish and squid hidden in the sand.

 

 

Something really fascinating is how they find their food...

Rays can sense electricity.

They sense this through sensory organs called Ampullae of Lorenzini, specialized electroreceptors found in sharks, rays, and a few other fish. Appearing as tiny pores on the head, these jelly-filled canals detect faint electrical, magnetic, and temperature changes, allowing them to navigate and hunt even in complete darkness.

Every living creature produces tiny electrical impulses through muscle and nerve activity, far too subtle for us to notice. Yet for a ray, these currents form a hidden map, revealing even prey buried beneath the sand through faint electrical traces.

It’s a reminder that the ocean is full of information we can’t see, a hidden layer of life constantly unfolding.

Not all rays follow the same path. Manta rays, for example, leave the ocean floor behind and swim in open water. They feed on plankton, filtering tiny organisms as they glide forward with slow, rhythmic movements. It’s a completely different lifestyle, but just as graceful.

 

Rays are not defenseless. Stingrays carry a venomous barb on their tails, which they can use if threatened. Electric rays can generate shocks strong enough to stun predators or prey. These abilities sound dramatic, but rays rarely use them unless necessary.

Still, their calm nature doesn’t protect them from danger.

Many ray species are now under threat due to overfishing, pollution, and habitat destruction. As they grow slowly and have few offspring, their populations don’t bounce back quickly. Once they disappear from an area, recovery takes many years, sometimes even decades. 

 

 

Rays move at their own pace, in a world that often feels like it’s speeding up. They don’t fight the current, they seem to belong to it. Maybe that’s what makes watching them so calming.

They remind us that not everything powerful needs to be fast. Sometimes, strength looks like stillness. Sometimes, it looks like a ray, gliding quietly through the sea, aware of a world we can’t even sense.

 

 

 

From Stripes to Spots: The Zebra Shark

New Caledonia, Coral Sea, South Pacific

When we hear the word shark, we might imagine sharp teeth, speed, and danger. But many sharks does not fit that picture. Among coral reefs and sandy bottoms of the Indo-Pacific lives a creature as gentle as it is surprising, the zebra shark (Stegostoma tigrinum).

 

 

As juveniles, zebra sharks are patterned in bold black-and-white bands, hence the name. Adults, however, lose their stripes. Their bodies turn golden-brown, sprinkled with small dark spots, more like a leopard than a zebra. This shift is so striking that they also are called “leopard shark” even though that name officially belongs to a different species.

 

 

Fully grown, zebra sharks can reach up to 2.5 meters in length, their bodies slender but strong. Their most distinctive feature is their tail, which can stretch to nearly half their total length, a ribbon of muscle that carries them with unhurried grace. 

 

During the day, zebra sharks are often found resting on sandy seafloors, motionless but watchful. Unlike many sharks, they don’t need to constantly swim to breathe, they can pump water across their gills while still. When they do move, it is with an elegance, slowly but with purpose. They are not fierce hunters but patient foragers, using strong jaws to crush mollusks, crustaceans and sea urchins.

 

 

Zebra sharks also hold one of evolution’s quiet marvels. In the absence of males, females have been documented reproducing through parthenogenesis, life continuing without mating, proof that nature is always finding a way. 

And yet, despite surviving millions of years of change, zebra sharks now face threats that may outpace their resilience; overfishing, fin trade and decline of coral reefs. 

They are listed as Endangered, with conservationists racing to protect what remains of their declining populations.

 

 

This is a creature of contrasts; born in stripes, matured in spots; a shark that can lie perfectly still for hours, yet roam the ocean’s reefs as if time itself had paused; a hunter, yet one of the gentlest giants of the sea; an ancient survivor, fragile in the ever-changing age of humanity.

 

 

Each encounter with these beautiful beings leaves me with a quiet awe, the kind of admiration that only comes when you meet a creature on its own terms, in its own world. 

Sometimes we find them resting on the sand, their spotted bodies so beautifully patterned they seem more like a dream than reality.

 

 

When they swim, they move softly, almost sinuously, their long tails sweeping slowly through the water. Sunlight dances in shifting patterns across their skin. In such moments, it feels as if the ocean itself is holding its breath and their calm acceptance of my presence feels like being allowed into a secret.

To drift alongside a zebra shark is to feel both small and connected, reminded that the ocean’s mysteries are not distant, but alive and breathing right before your eyes. They remind us that sharks are not just symbols of fear, but of fragility, beauty, and survival. And for me, every encounter is a gift, a reminder that our role is not to dominate the ocean, but to care for it, so that its living mystique may endure.

 

 

 

 

In the Presence of a Manta

New Caledonia, Coral Sea, South Pacific

Diving beside a manta humbles you gently. Its vast, effortless motion reminds you how small, and how fortunate, you are to be here. 

When it turns, curious and unhurried, the line between observer and observed fades. In its presence, scale shifts: human urgency feels misplaced, surface concerns grow distant.

What remains is movement, breath, and a quiet joy, so deep that it follows you long after the dive.

Watch the mantas glide through the water in the video below, and let yourself be carried by the same quiet presence.