Creature Feature
A Fearless Powerhouse
Getting to know the damselfish.
Story & Photos By Kelly Currington
Peering out the window on approach to the Turks & Caicos Islands you are greeted by the most brilliant turquoise water anywhere. This sight is mesmerizing on its own, but what lies beneath the initial beauty is even more alluring, an alien world of beautiful, exciting, and weird creatures.
When you slip below the surface of that exquisite turquoise sea on a dive, you never know what you will encounter because every dive is different. You can dive the same site every day and it will offer up different treasures each time. Part of the fun is looking for common and uncommon creatures and watching their behavior and personalities. Each species has unique traits, and individuals within that species have a specific personality.
There is a species that you will see on most every reef dive who has such a fierce nature it might startle you at first. They are not afraid of larger creatures, including sharks, barracuda, and divers! But this little creature can do you no harm, other than accelerating your heart rate for a split second. Who is this little spitfire? Let me introduce you to the damselfish.

The Sergeant major is a species of damselfish, exhibiting the same fearless personality. The fiesty fish above is displaying its brilliant defensive colors.
Damselfish are small, oval-shaped fish that inhabit reefs in the Caribbean, as well as South Florida and the Bahamas. They are interesting little creatures with BIG personalities! There are over 388 described species of damselfish. They vary in size, color, habitat, and ecologies. A few examples of damselfish are Sargent Majors, Yellowtail Damselfish, Blue Chromis, Dusky Damselfish, and to my surprise, Anemonefish (not found in the Caribbean). As with most fish, the juveniles have completely different coloring than the adults they grow into.
Male damselfish are amazing partners. They are the ones who prepare the nests for a female to lay her eggs. The males try to attract females by rising and then quickly swimming back down; this is called a “signal jump.” Besides the visual display, this courtship ritual also produces a pulsed sound, which females are attracted to. She will choose mates based on the vigor of the signal jump, indicating a strong and healthy male.
During spawning season, the females will visit male territories to lay their eggs. Depending on the distance between territories, she may spawn her entire clutch in one visit if the distance is far, or she may visit numerous times, depositing smaller clutches if it is close. Each time she visits a male territory, she may choose a different male based on their courtship display. (She’s a little promiscuous in her pursuit of continuing the species!)
Once a female picks her male, at dawn she will lay her tiny, sticky little eggs in a single layer, forming one solid patch in the nest the male has prepared. Then he fertilizes them. The number of eggs can range from around 200 to over 2,000, so he is a busy boy! Then he will guard the nest and aerate the eggs, protecting them from predators and other male damselfish until they hatch in three or four days.

This male damselfish is guarding the nest and aerating the eggs until they hatch in three to four days.
Once the eggs hatch, the larvae drift into the pelagic environment for 24 to 40 days before they settle on the reef, where they become sedentary. This means they spend their entire life defending a small feeding territory where they tend their algae, continuously clearing unwanted objects and algae that isn’t to their taste. These little powerhouses are diligent in their duties and will run off any perceived threat to keep them away from their babies and their algae gardens. Growing and cultivating algae provides them with a constant supply of sustenance, but they also consume benthic invertebrates and plankton as well.
Most species of damselfish grow to 4 to 5 inches in length (12.5 cm) as adults. But they have no idea how small they are, kind of like a chihuahua. It is fairly easy to identify them when you are diving on a reef because suddenly you will see this small fish swim straight at your mask or your hands in a rapid propulsion, then return to their sponge or coral head. They will repeat this defensive move until they feel like the threat has admitted defeat. They have been known to nibble on a diver’s wetsuit or rash guard in the midst of this charge. Once a diver gets over the shock of being charged by this little dynamo, who has no fear of another creature that is so much bigger than they are, they will see the beauty and personality of this tiny warrior. Damselfish have to be fearless because their natural predators are groupers, snappers, and other large bony fish, including lionfish which are invasive to the Caribbean.
I usually lay out a lot of specific physical details about the creatures I write about, but with this little fish, I think their personality is their most beautiful, and misunderstood, attribute. I would like to introduce you to a very special Longfin damselfish I met a few years ago—a sassy, spunky, beautiful girl. I was on a dive, looking down into a sponge when I felt a tiny pinch on my hand and a bump against my mask. Startled me to say the least. I had no idea and didn’t see anything at first, then it happened again. This little dark fish swam straight at me, bumping my mask again and then quickly returning to the sponge.
I had heard of this fish from fellow divers who called damselfish “Satan” because of their ability to run divers off. I went back the next week and was surprised to be greeted by the same unwelcoming attitude at the exact sponge. I had an idea!

Moonbeam was a fiesty Longfin damselfish who charged at, nipped, and bumped the author’s mask in the first weeks of their budding friendship.
I wondered if this fish could recognize me from week to week. Could I build trust with her? I decided to always wear the same rash guard and leggings to dive that site and to talk (through my regulator) to her. It took weeks for the experiment to start showing signs of success, but when it did it was eye-opening. Each time I dived there, I would try to film her and she would charge my camera dome repeatedly. I decided to extend my hand and talk to her calmly. At first, she would nip my hand and retreat, then charge again and nip. Instead of pulling my hand away, I would leave it there in an attempt to show her that I was not a threat, trying to build trust. I began to notice that her nips became less and less intense as the weeks rolled by.
I started to see her personality and spirit emerge, so I decided to name her MoonBeam, because she had such a bright light about her, the same way moonlight reflects off the ocean at night. I looked forward to this dive to see if I had made any progress with her; plus, I really enjoyed watching her.
Each week as I approached the structure, I would start calling MoonBeam’s name to see if she would come out before I got to her sponge. It took a while, but eventually she would be hovering over it as I reached her. I would extend my hand for the initial nip before attempting to video her, which she never approved of and would always charge my camera. I believe she could see her reflection in my dome and considered the “other” fish a threat.
One day something magical happened. As I approached her home saying her name, I could see her above her sponge, which made me smile. I did my usual gesture of extending my hand, but instead of nipping me, she just bumped my hand. It was huge to me! Over the next couple of weeks, the same routine happened every time I saw MoonBeam until one day she did something I had never seen before. When I extended my hand, she swam inside my hand, fanned my palm with her tail, and then “kissed” the inside of my hand by touching her lips to it gently. She swam circles around my hand and then swam back into my palm. My mask filled with happy and amazed tears.
Others were skeptical and said this was all in my head, so I just smiled and invited them to witness it with their own eyes. Every time I would take a diver to see MoonBeam, she now welcomed me by swimming into my hand and kissing it before swimming circles around it and returning. When they would extend their hand, they would get nipped in total rejection. I must admit I giggled a little and it made me believe even more that she recognized my presence and trusted that I would not harm her.
This went on for about a year and a half until one day I approached her home and called her name . . . and nothing. A lump formed in my throat, and I called her name again as I hovered over her sponge . . . still nothing. I moved from sponge to sponge calling her and looking for that familiar greeting, to no avail. I must have spent the better part of 40 minutes circling the structure searching for MoonBeam. Maybe she moved to a different sponge . . . maybe she had been scared away by something—I had to find her.
When I was forced to surface, my mask was filled with tears of sorrow and my heart physically ached. What had happened to MoonBeam? Why was she not there? I couldn’t bear to think about that; my heart was broken. For the next couple of weeks, I would not dive that site because I felt too much sadness and there was a part of me that was empty.
I was forced to dive the site again for work and I dreaded my approach to the structure where MoonBeam had brought me so much joy. I avoided her area for most of the dive, but then I had an overwhelming feeling that I needed to go say good-bye to her home. I hesitantly headed towards her sponge. It looked strangely worn and unhealthy, which reminded me that she was no longer there to tend to it, and I quietly asked out loud, “MoonBeam, where are you?” My eyes filled with tears again.

The return of Moonbeam to her territory after a two week absence, although a bit tattered, brought the author great joy.
As I turned to leave, I felt a bump against my hand and it startled me. I turned to see a damselfish with ragged fins. I reached my hand towards him/her, expecting the reaction I had received from every damselfish besides MoonBeam. To my surprise, this tired-looking beauty swam into my hand and fanned my palm. I squealed with happiness, it was MoonBeam! I couldn’t believe that she had been gone for two weeks and was back because damselfish don’t typically leave their small territory. But it was her. it looked like she had been through something traumatic. It could have been an attempted attack from a predator, a storm surge, or a fight with another damselfish—there was no way for me to know,. But I did know that she was back and that she recognized me. Whatever had caused her trauma, it did not waiver her trust in me. She gradually healed and I continued to visit her every week for the next year until I had to move back to the States.
I went back two years later and she was not there. Because damselfish can live anywhere from 5 to 20 years depending on the species, I choose to believe that she is out there living her best life guarding a new sponge. I hovered over “our” spot on the Thunder Dome and remembered all the amazing encounters I had been lucky enough to share with this special little creature. I will carry her in my heart for the rest of my life.
When you enter the sea, slow down and truly “see” each living creature as a soul with feelings, intelligence, and personality. No matter how big or small, each deserve our respect and protection. Our very existence depends on healthy oceans, and healthy oceans need balanced ecosystems. We must protect that balance.
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This spectacular shot was captured by Seth Willingham, also known as @waterproject on Instagram. He’s been a professional photographer for 15 years, traveling the world capturing images of nature from beautiful destinations. He says, " From the moment I first saw Turks & Caicos from the airplane window I knew this place was going to be different. On our first night at Grace Bay, we were blessed with a glorious sunset and the colors of the sky and water were truly mind blowing."
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