Octopus Californicus

Encounters with octopuses (not octopi) often leave people feeling like they have met another sentient being. I know PhD scientists who “don’t trust them” and omnivores who won’t eat them. Unlike most other invertebrates, octopuses are sophisticated enough to use tools, steal cameras from divers, recognize human faces, and escape from aquarists.

Cephalopod evolution (octopus, squid, nautilus) diverged from human evolution an estimated 600 million years ago. Octopus bodies are extraordinary:

• they have large, decentralized brains and nervous systems, with nearly two thirds of neurons residing in eight semi-independent arms,
• chemoreceptors in the suckers which line each arm provide the ability to taste by touch,
• light-sensitive proteins present in the skin may be the key to understanding how an octopus can “see” its surroundings and use its chromatophores to camouflage itself quickly even on a complex or moving background, and
• they edit their own RNA more frequently than other animals, a recent discovery which means that a large portion of their genome can evolve faster and more dynamically in response to changing environments than would be possible by evolution through reproduction.

Despite their vastly different anatomy, octopuses display behavioral and cognitive complexity which many people regard as consciousness. For example, theory of mind is the ability to understand that others have different knowledge, beliefs, desires, intentions, and perspectives. A typical human child does not develop theory of mind until he or she is four or five years old. Octopuses have relatively short lifespans, from six months to five years, but their behaviors suggest that they also possess this advanced understanding of awareness.

I started reading Sy Montgomery’s book The Soul of an Octopus on Shimada last year. I brought it to sea with me again this year, and I finally finished it when Last Straw got stuck in Eureka due to weather. The book includes many detailed stories about the author’s interactions with octopuses. She explains why she believes that octopuses can use the sense of taste in their suckers not only to choose foods they prefer, but maybe also to understand differences between individual humans. She describes an octopus who responds differently to a visitor who smokes cigarettes, perhaps because it can taste nicotine through his skin. She also points out that there are analogs to some human hormones in animals, including estrogen, testosterone, adrenaline and cortisol, so she wonders if an octopus could also sense our state of mind—aggressive, depressed, relaxed or anxious, for example. It’s easy to anthropomorphize any animal, including octopuses, and ideas like these do exist outside the realm of current scientific understanding. But it is interesting to contemplate the mind of a creature so unlike ourselves that displays an unexpected level of intelligence.

One day off the coast of California, I found a tiny octopus in a net full of large rockfish and skates. Its skin was smooth and white, the body limp and unresponsive. I knew from experience during the hake survey that it’s possible to keep squid alive in seawater until they can be released, so I grabbed the deck hose and filled up a container for this little octopus. It didn’t respond immediately, but I could see that its eyes were open and the siphon was working, blowing little ripples across the surface of the water. Remembering Sy Montgomery’s stories about socializing with octopuses in the book, I pulled off one of my gloves and stuck my bare hand in the tray to let the octopus touch my skin. I took a deep breath and tried to summon up the human body chemistry of empathy and compassion. Relax, I thought. Don’t give up and die. I’m going to release you soon!

Nothing changed immediately. I set the tray aside and continued working on the rest of the catch. By the time we’d finished sorting and sampling, the little octopus had regained its color and pattern of papillae on its skin, and its tiny arms curled up perfectly. I took a quick picture, and as promised, released it over the rail back into the ocean.

I hope it was lucky enough to survive the trip from Last Straw back to the sea floor, and that it could find the habitat it needs to live its full life span and produce another generation of mysterious creatures that challenge us to push the boundaries of what we understand about the ocean and ourselves.