Shells and Skulls
- Location
- Canada
There seems to be something about this island that causes gigantism. First the spiders, then the boars, and now even the crabs; all are far larger than my paltry biology knowledge says they should be. Gravity, skeletal structure and simple blood flow wouldn't allow such a massive increase in size for no reason. Even the dinosaurs grew up in an atmosphere designed for such massive creatures.
The massive crabs in front of me probably laugh at such arguments. Each was the size of a big car, dark red legs poking out of equally large shells. Black eyes swiveled inquisitively everywhere, sometimes peering at me, but generally content to take care of their own business.
Which was, surprisingly, cleaning themselves. When I woke up, a few were still dragging themselves onto the beach, their shells dripping with accumulated muck. They would drag themselves free of the water, crawling rather quickly to the edge of the beach, where they would start meticulously preening themselves. Half a dozen legs deliberately scooping out the dirt and detritus that had been in their shells was a fascinating sight.
Speaking off, their shells don't inspire much confidence in me either. Remember how I said they were hermit crabs? Each crab was using a different kind of shelter. Some looked to be using snail shells, some sea cones, others were using nautilus shells. One was even using half of a hollowed out beak. Not that strange, considering hermit crabs have been known to use beer bottles, cups and even sections of pipes for their shells.
Except for the size difference of course. Meaning, if I ever were to head into the ocean, I would have to deal with giant snails, immense sea cones and massive nautiluses. Not to mention whatever the fuck that beak came from.
On the positive side, I at least figured out where those wide tracks came from. Most of the hermit crabs (or Titanshells, as I've nomenclatured them) have shells with upward facing holes and smooth bottoms. So instead of lifting themselves off the warm sand, they just drag themselves through it. Might even be why their bottom shells are so smooth. Perhaps they were making them more hydrodynamic? Clever, although it does run the risk of wearing out the shells quicker.
Of course, this makes me think of why the Titanshells would prefer speed even at the expense of weaker shells. Of predators whose blows their absurdly large shells cannot withstand. Of leviathans in the deep, krakens with tentacles that can bend steel and Lovecraftian monsters that dwarf mountains, all of which would go through those massive shells like they were so much bark.
Sometimes I hate my thought process.
I'm idly munching on a piece of coconut (one of the last on this section of the beach), watching the Titanshells begin the trek back into their aquatic home. The seagulls and crabs (who interestingly seem to not be affected by any sort of gigantism) have started swarming, zeroing in on the piles of refuse that the Titanshells had divested themselves off. Seems like a good source of food if I ever find myself near the beach again.
There seems to be one still left. It's more on the small size, a smart car rather than an SUV, and using a clam shell as a home. Not a very good home, mind you, as it was constantly readjusting the shell to try and find a comfortable position. An impossible task, given the shape of the shell. It seemed to know it too, given the irritated way it snapped at the circling seagulls.
By the time it finished and began it's slow, ponderous way back to the sea, the sun was high and clear in the sky. Time for the day to begin.
The massive crabs in front of me probably laugh at such arguments. Each was the size of a big car, dark red legs poking out of equally large shells. Black eyes swiveled inquisitively everywhere, sometimes peering at me, but generally content to take care of their own business.
Which was, surprisingly, cleaning themselves. When I woke up, a few were still dragging themselves onto the beach, their shells dripping with accumulated muck. They would drag themselves free of the water, crawling rather quickly to the edge of the beach, where they would start meticulously preening themselves. Half a dozen legs deliberately scooping out the dirt and detritus that had been in their shells was a fascinating sight.
Speaking off, their shells don't inspire much confidence in me either. Remember how I said they were hermit crabs? Each crab was using a different kind of shelter. Some looked to be using snail shells, some sea cones, others were using nautilus shells. One was even using half of a hollowed out beak. Not that strange, considering hermit crabs have been known to use beer bottles, cups and even sections of pipes for their shells.
Except for the size difference of course. Meaning, if I ever were to head into the ocean, I would have to deal with giant snails, immense sea cones and massive nautiluses. Not to mention whatever the fuck that beak came from.
On the positive side, I at least figured out where those wide tracks came from. Most of the hermit crabs (or Titanshells, as I've nomenclatured them) have shells with upward facing holes and smooth bottoms. So instead of lifting themselves off the warm sand, they just drag themselves through it. Might even be why their bottom shells are so smooth. Perhaps they were making them more hydrodynamic? Clever, although it does run the risk of wearing out the shells quicker.
Of course, this makes me think of why the Titanshells would prefer speed even at the expense of weaker shells. Of predators whose blows their absurdly large shells cannot withstand. Of leviathans in the deep, krakens with tentacles that can bend steel and Lovecraftian monsters that dwarf mountains, all of which would go through those massive shells like they were so much bark.
Sometimes I hate my thought process.
I'm idly munching on a piece of coconut (one of the last on this section of the beach), watching the Titanshells begin the trek back into their aquatic home. The seagulls and crabs (who interestingly seem to not be affected by any sort of gigantism) have started swarming, zeroing in on the piles of refuse that the Titanshells had divested themselves off. Seems like a good source of food if I ever find myself near the beach again.
There seems to be one still left. It's more on the small size, a smart car rather than an SUV, and using a clam shell as a home. Not a very good home, mind you, as it was constantly readjusting the shell to try and find a comfortable position. An impossible task, given the shape of the shell. It seemed to know it too, given the irritated way it snapped at the circling seagulls.
By the time it finished and began it's slow, ponderous way back to the sea, the sun was high and clear in the sky. Time for the day to begin.
~~~
One of the things I've been neglecting is actually exploring the island and documenting it. Sure, I've jotted down some notes and mapped my route when I remember, but I never really made a concentrated effort. That needed to change.
Compared to my previous attempts at venturing into the island, this time was more focused. I wasn't looking for food or water or shelter. Instead, I was simply aiming to explore and map the island. Discover game trails, sources of fresh water, non-exploding fruit. Maybe even a better shelter, as fond as I am of my current cave.
So with that, I buried Pot and my journal in the sand, far enough from the coastline that I didn't fear it being washed away. Yes, there was a risk of it getting stolen and I would need to actually remember things instead of writing it down straight away, but I would prefer if I had two hands free when venturing into the unknown. Well, technically one hand, considering the machete.
So with just that, and some last few coconuts in my stomach, I headed out into the unknown.
The first few hours were largely peaceful. I headed south away from the grasslands, avoiding striking deeper into the heart of the island. I could see a mountaintop from where I was standing, but I didn't want to head there yet. Not likely for anything of immediate use to be there now.
Instead I was trudging through a thick forest, similar yet different than the one where my cave was. I traveled quickly, focused more on landmarks and interesting flora/fauna rather than foraging for food. I did not the sounds of another stream, which was good for my water situation.
There were a lot of life in this part of the forest, compared to mine. I often heard scurrying in the bushes, signalling some small vermin fleeing from me and more than once I climbed rapidly up a tree because I thought I heard something. Usually, it was just my imagination but once, a great tidal wave of fur flashed between my feet, the creature appearing and disappearing almost instantaneously. I learned to move quietly then, to avoid twigs and leaves and listen to the sound of the forest. Anytime the background noises vanish, it's a good sign you should vanish too.
And how knows. Maybe you'll see something interesting while up in the trees. Like a rotting skeleton enshrined in vines on a nearby ledge. Vines that seemed strangely motile.
[] Ignore: Remember what I said about no free lunches? Yeah.
[] Investigate: There are times when you need to take risks. This is one of those times.
Compared to my previous attempts at venturing into the island, this time was more focused. I wasn't looking for food or water or shelter. Instead, I was simply aiming to explore and map the island. Discover game trails, sources of fresh water, non-exploding fruit. Maybe even a better shelter, as fond as I am of my current cave.
So with that, I buried Pot and my journal in the sand, far enough from the coastline that I didn't fear it being washed away. Yes, there was a risk of it getting stolen and I would need to actually remember things instead of writing it down straight away, but I would prefer if I had two hands free when venturing into the unknown. Well, technically one hand, considering the machete.
So with just that, and some last few coconuts in my stomach, I headed out into the unknown.
The first few hours were largely peaceful. I headed south away from the grasslands, avoiding striking deeper into the heart of the island. I could see a mountaintop from where I was standing, but I didn't want to head there yet. Not likely for anything of immediate use to be there now.
Instead I was trudging through a thick forest, similar yet different than the one where my cave was. I traveled quickly, focused more on landmarks and interesting flora/fauna rather than foraging for food. I did not the sounds of another stream, which was good for my water situation.
There were a lot of life in this part of the forest, compared to mine. I often heard scurrying in the bushes, signalling some small vermin fleeing from me and more than once I climbed rapidly up a tree because I thought I heard something. Usually, it was just my imagination but once, a great tidal wave of fur flashed between my feet, the creature appearing and disappearing almost instantaneously. I learned to move quietly then, to avoid twigs and leaves and listen to the sound of the forest. Anytime the background noises vanish, it's a good sign you should vanish too.
And how knows. Maybe you'll see something interesting while up in the trees. Like a rotting skeleton enshrined in vines on a nearby ledge. Vines that seemed strangely motile.
[] Ignore: Remember what I said about no free lunches? Yeah.
[] Investigate: There are times when you need to take risks. This is one of those times.
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