The ocean floor doesn’t seem to be a very safe place for a small fish. It resembles a place full of traps where all its inhabitants have a continuous and uncontrollable appetite.
However, this doesn’t seem to bother the boxfish, which strolls carefreely through the reef propelled by its weak caudal and pectoral fins, which give it a speed that is almost ridiculous for its environment. Its mouth, rather than a defensive weapon, resembles a perpetual kiss dispenser. Driven by its great curiosity, it often approaches scuba divers, staying at a short distance from them.
The secret to such tranquility lies in a truly efficient defense system. Boxfish are covered by a carapace-like skeleton, a kind of bony armor upon which the skin rests. This armor only has small holes that allow for the passage of eyes, mouth, and fins. Furthermore, its vibrant colors resemble a neon sign that says, “Don’t try to eat me, I’m venomous.” In fact, the toxicity of its flesh keeps it away from the circle of “friends” of the wildest predators, including humans.
When night falls, tired of strolling around the reef, it simply rests on the seabed to sleep. Its slumber is so deep that a diver on a nocturnal visit to the ocean floor can hold it in their hands for several seconds without it waking up. Yet another reason to explore the depths of the sea.
“You cannot defend what you do not love, and you cannot love what you do not know.”