Skip to main content

Christmas Crabs

Question: Have you ever tried to crack open a coconut? Using just your hands? No machete, no hammer and chisel, no quarter-stick of dynamite, just good ol’ grip strength and the will to succeed? Well, it’s damn difficult. Unless, that is, you are a member in good standing of the hermit crab species Birgus latro, colloquially known as the coconut crab. Among these stalwarts, opening coconuts is but the work of a moment.

Coconut crabs inhabit islands in the central Pacific and Indian oceans. They are known primarily for two traits. First, they can easily open and dine on the meat of coconuts, and second, they are absolutely gigantic. Some lesser known facts about these plus-sized crustaceans: They can climb trees; they do not partake exclusively of coconuts; they have a habit of stealing stuff; they detect scents with mammal-like precision; and certain superstitious people believe that eating coconut crab works as an aphrodisiac. (It doesn’t. At all. In any way. Aphrodisiacs are in your head. You could make pencil erasers aphrodisiacs if you decided to. Stop killing animals for dipshit reasons.)

("Hey, I'm walkin' here!")
Anyway, moving on. Exactly how big is a coconut crab? In essence, the answer is A Whole Lotta Big. They are so big that they freaked out Charles Darwin when he first saw them. Coconut crabs are the largest arthropods (lobsters, spiders, scorpions, etc.) living on land. From leg tip to leg tip, a fully mature coconut crab can be three feet across, and can weigh up to 10 pounds. Unverified reports claim that their bodies alone can measure up to three feet in length.

Their front legs, the ones with the enormous pincers at the ends, are very strong, strong enough that coconut crabs are able to lift nearly 65 pounds – or you know, your average third-grader. Part of their lifting ability is because they possess a grip strength of 3,300 newtons. That’s 10 times stronger than ours, and surpasses the bite force of many land animals. A researcher named Shinichiro Oka was pinched by a coconut crab, and said of the experience: “While it was only a few minutes, I felt eternal hell.” They don’t go out of their way to attack humans, but if you back one into a corner it is likely to take umbrage, and you might end up with fewer fingers than you had when you initiated the conference.

("You want claws? I got claws for ya...")
Because they have evolved so much raw power, coconut crabs are perfectly suited for eating their namesake fruits (coconuts are not nuts), but they are known to munch upon various other things as well. Almost all crabs will eat carrion if it is in the offing, and coconut crabs are no exception. Getting one’s daily vittles by feasting on something that is just lying there ready to be feasted on is way easier than mucking about with trees and coconuts.

("Are you the Uber guy?")
The crabs are, however, still predators, and as such are known to hunt for eggs, baby birds, and rodents, among other foodstuffs. They have even been observed working in what appeared to be an almost team-like way to stalk, kill, and eat adult seagulls and red-footed boobies. On islands where they share territory with people, coconut crabs have molested pets and snipped apart chicken wire to get inside amongst the hens. And, during times when groceries are hard to come by, coconut crabs have no problem eating other coconut crabs, and if that doesn’t work out, they will actually pinch off one of their own legs and eat that.

("Okay, stop me if you've heard this one...")
Coconut crabs live inside fallen trees, beneath rock ledges, and in underground burrows, easily excavated with those prodigious front claws. They spend the bulk of their time in their dens, usually coming out only at night to find some chow. It is easy for them to hunt in the dark because they can smell with great precision. Biologists believe that up to 40% of a coconut crab’s brain is devoted to its sense of smell. Granted, crustaceans aren’t exactly known as Mensa candidates, but still…

From the time naturalists first started paying attention to coconut crabs, they have told stories about the crabs’ penchant for pilferage. Earning the nickname “robber crabs,” they have swiped items as diverse as cooking pots and footwear. One was even observed schlepping around a bottle of whiskey. In 2020, coconut crabs on Christmas Island destroyed a researcher’s $6000 thermal imaging camera, and that same year an Australian SAS officer had his rifle stolen by coconut crabs. It was found later in the jungle, all chewed up.

("I'm prettier than you.")
These astonishing, perplexing crabs, with their gorgeous red, blue, and purple shells, can live up to 60 years. That means at least one coconut crab out there could have hatched the same year I was born. The idea is exhilarating. It inspires a feeling of connectedness with these marvels of evolution. It satisfies my biophilia.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Steller's Sea Cow - 1768

  Ever heard of Vitus Jonassen Bering? How about Georg Steller? No? Well, Bering was a Danish cartographer and Steller was a German naturalist. They lived in the early 1700s, and worked together for Imperial Russia, under whose auspices they led expeditions to map the Arctic coast of Siberia. In 1741, while they were sailing around between Alaska and Russia, in what would come to be called the Bering Sea, the ship carrying Bering and Steller ran aground during a storm, on the shores of what would come to be called Bering Island. (Vitus Bering was notoriously humble.) The island wasn’t inhabited (by humans), and was a pretty desolate place. (Vitus Bering) Having lost their stores during the wreck, the expedition members were in immediate need to food. The island didn’t offer much in the way of nourishment, but the water around it did, in the form of sea otters and, more importantly, an oceangoing mammal that would be named Steller’s sea cow. (Steller also had a very low opinion ...

Lone Wolf? No Thanks

The “lone wolf” trope has permeated Western culture for what feels like forever (or at least since Reagan was in office). It is meant to connote notions of going it alone and rugged individuality . Lone wolves don’t need anyone’s help to tackle dangerous situations or, indeed, to face any of life’s travails. Lone wolves wear a lot of leather, ride motorcycles sans helmets, can bullseye a bad guy’s noggin from all the way over there, and can kick your ass using any and every type of martial art practiced in the entire history of kicking people for fun and profit. Lone wolves are strong, vigorous, mysterious, and unknowable. Here’s the thing. Being an actual lone wolf – as in an actual wolf that is not a member of an actual pack – pretty much sucks, and our version of the idea is tediously idealized nonsense. The governing reality in the life of wolves (red and gray) is that they are very social animals – the most pack oriented of all canids, with the possible exception of hyena...

Well, That Plan Sucked

Over the course of our long history, we humans have from time to time taken it upon ourselves to designate some animals as pests, and to declare that they must be controlled. Our reasons for wanting to exert our authority over these animals are myriad, but generally boil down to the idea that the animals are either eating or damaging something, and we would prefer that they discontinue doing so. We have attempted to control pests in a bunch of different ways. One of which is the introduction of predator species, in the hope that they will predate upon our pests and send them packing. It’s an idea that looks good on paper, sounds even better around a conference table, but is all too often disastrous in practice. Today we are going to take a look at some of these introduced species (sometimes referred to as “biocontrols”) with an eye toward understanding what they were meant to do versus what they actually did. We’ll begin with one of the most notorious. Cane Toad ( Rhinella mari...