Group Sex RR13
$195.00 USD
Once a month in the waters of Palau, thousands of twinspot snappers (Lutjanus bohar) congregate in the early morning. They come from far and wide, showing up on cue. No one knows quite exactly how they coordinate across vast distances, though it seems reasonable to assume that tides, currents, the moon, temperature and light all play a role.
They gather for the purpose of reproduction, spawning en masse to be exact.
Picture yourself 20m (66ft) or more below the surface, holding position as best you can. The shape of the reef channels and concentrates the outgoing current, nudging you bit by bit, ushering you toward the middle of the Pacific. The world is a monochrome blue; there is no contrast when you look across or down. The murk of pre-dawn restricts your vision.
You think you see a dark, pulsing mass rising from the deep. It’s your first time experiencing this. The only thing you hear is the mechanical sucking and exhale of air from your SCUBA unit, your life support. You hear yourself breathing faster, tell yourself to relax. But it’s no use. You are too excited. You feel your pulse racing, jacked up by both anticipation and the exertion required to keep from being swept away.
Thousands upon thousands of fish approach. You see individual fishes, and yet, the group also moves as one, appearing at times as if there were a single super-organism pursuing its biological imperative.
Then it happens. Streams of fish burst forth, rising above the aggregation. Ten, fifteen, maybe more in a line of quivering bodies, earnest males in pursuit of the female lead, emitting streams of sperm in hopes of fertilizing the eggs she casts into the water.
It’s over in a matter of seconds. The pinnacle is reached. The fish collapse, merging back into the collective.
As soon as one spawning run finishes, another begins. Then another, and another. The pace accelerates until there are fish everywhere rocketing upward like fireworks, dozens upon dozens, hundreds upon hundreds, thousands upon thousands.
The water grows thick with gametes, an opaque genetic soup. Hormone-crazed fish charge through the mist, rushing past, clouding up the water even more.
This image was the winner of the Under Water category of the 52nd Wildlife Photographer of the Year contest (#WPY52) organised by the Natural History Museum in London.
This is a Limited Edition Collector's Print in a series of 50. Each print is numbered and chopped with my logo. Sizes listed are the dimensions of the printed image in inches (see FAQ for equivalent sizes in centimeters). There is an additional white border around the image to allow for framing. A complete list of image and paper sizes can be found in the FAQ.
They gather for the purpose of reproduction, spawning en masse to be exact.
Picture yourself 20m (66ft) or more below the surface, holding position as best you can. The shape of the reef channels and concentrates the outgoing current, nudging you bit by bit, ushering you toward the middle of the Pacific. The world is a monochrome blue; there is no contrast when you look across or down. The murk of pre-dawn restricts your vision.
You think you see a dark, pulsing mass rising from the deep. It’s your first time experiencing this. The only thing you hear is the mechanical sucking and exhale of air from your SCUBA unit, your life support. You hear yourself breathing faster, tell yourself to relax. But it’s no use. You are too excited. You feel your pulse racing, jacked up by both anticipation and the exertion required to keep from being swept away.
Thousands upon thousands of fish approach. You see individual fishes, and yet, the group also moves as one, appearing at times as if there were a single super-organism pursuing its biological imperative.
Then it happens. Streams of fish burst forth, rising above the aggregation. Ten, fifteen, maybe more in a line of quivering bodies, earnest males in pursuit of the female lead, emitting streams of sperm in hopes of fertilizing the eggs she casts into the water.
It’s over in a matter of seconds. The pinnacle is reached. The fish collapse, merging back into the collective.
As soon as one spawning run finishes, another begins. Then another, and another. The pace accelerates until there are fish everywhere rocketing upward like fireworks, dozens upon dozens, hundreds upon hundreds, thousands upon thousands.
The water grows thick with gametes, an opaque genetic soup. Hormone-crazed fish charge through the mist, rushing past, clouding up the water even more.
This image was the winner of the Under Water category of the 52nd Wildlife Photographer of the Year contest (#WPY52) organised by the Natural History Museum in London.
This is a Limited Edition Collector's Print in a series of 50. Each print is numbered and chopped with my logo. Sizes listed are the dimensions of the printed image in inches (see FAQ for equivalent sizes in centimeters). There is an additional white border around the image to allow for framing. A complete list of image and paper sizes can be found in the FAQ.
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