Photographic Evidence Proves That Squid Can Fly

Once, while boating off the coast of Jamaica in 2001, marine biologist Silvia Maciá and her husband caught a glimpse of an oddly familiar creature leaping from the waves, soaring with ease over the surface of the ocean.

As the animal propelled itself for some 30 feet, Maciá realised she was witnessing the most unusual sight -- a flying squid.

So intrigued by what she saw that day, Maciá would go on to co-author a paper examining similar observations, though essential photographic evidence of the incredible phenomenon remained elusive, until now.

Maciá's study, featured in a 2004 issue of the Journal of Molluscan Studies, found that the gliding behavior of her squid wasn't entirely uncommon, noting around six species known to leap from the water -- occasionally winding up on the decks of boats. But from she witnessed that day near Jamaica, squids weren't just exiting the water aimlessly. Rather, they appeared to be flying.

"From our observations it seemed like squid engaged in behaviors to prolong their flight," she said. "One of our co-authors saw them actually flapping their fins. Some people have seen them jetting water while in flight. We felt that 'flight' is more appropriate because it implies something active."

But unfortunately such eyewitness accounts were all that the scientific community had to go on. Soon, however, that would change.

According to Ferris Jabr, who wrote of the mystery surrounding flying squid in a piece for Scientific American, undeniable proof of the cephalopod's airborne antics surfaced just recently.

From the deck of a cruise ship along the coast of Brazil, a retiree named Bob Hulse snapped some high-resolution photographs of something unusual leaping from the sea: what appears to be dozens of squid propelling themselves through the air -- quite possibly the first time the impressive display has been caught on film.


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The Invasion of the Diablos Rojos: Humboldt Squid

MEXICAN fishing fleets call them diablos rojos, or "red devils" - and when Stanford University graduate student Julie Stewart wrestles the first Humboldt squid aboard our research vessel, the Fulmar, in California's Monterey Bay, it becomes obvious why.

This beast is angry, and has flashed from white to a deep maroon. It's nearly 1.5 metres long, including the tentacles, which flail in Stewart's hair until she can offload the catch into a cooler filled with seawater. That only gives the squid ammunition, as it can now fire a powerful jet of water and ink at anyone who strays into its sights.

"Ink in your eye stings," warned Stewart earlier. She is also careful to avoid the animal's sharp beak, which can deliver a nasty bite. Within a minute or so, Stewart and her colleague John Field of the US National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration have attached an electronic device to one of its fins. It's time to return the devil to the depths.

We are out on the Fulmar on this bright December day to learn about the animals' movements. When the device detaches and surfaces, it should send a radio signal to reveal its location, and transmit data revealing how the animal has been migrating up and down in the water. This is key to understanding why the Humboldt squid (Dosidicus gigas) has invaded the waters off central California, and how it may affect the region's valuable fisheries.

While the total size of the invading horde is still unknown, observations from autonomous submersibles and sonar indicate that they often swim in dense schools of at least 100 individuals. "We've seen densities as high as eight per cubic metre," says William Gilly, Stewart's supervisor at Stanford's Hopkins Marine Station in Pacific Grove.