Dazzling lights in cuttlefish courtship

UNDER disco lights, the annual courtship of the giant cuttlefish draws the snorkelling crowds to the waters of Whyalla.

Rhythm of life ... a male cuttlefish woos a female at Point Lowly at Whyalla, South Australia /Greg Adams

HE stands aloof, checking out the talent. There she is, the object of his desire, confident yet demure – the colours she chooses making her blend into the surrounds.

He'd better act fast or he'll miss his chance. The odds aren't in his favour: at least eight other males are vying for this cold beauty.

He puffs his chest and in a bold display glides towards her, his sensual arms reaching for her, then enclosing her in a loving embrace.

At first she plays hard to get, darting off. Is he the best choice? She can see other males, bigger and better-looking.

But this one is persistent. He's touching her all over now, his skin quivering, eyes bulging. She gives in to his charms and comes face-to-face with her new lover.

Then, with the niceties over, he sucks her whole head into his mouth and, ah, fertilises her eggs.

Welcome to intimacy, cuttlefish style.

From my position, floating a metre away in wetsuit, snorkel and flippers, it's fascinating. I feel like a bit of a perve, but this alluring display of fluttering flaps and a kaleidoscope of ever-changing colours is irresistible.

As the sun breaks through the gloomy clouds above, the sea bed lights up. Dark weeds lighten to an olive green – and so do the cuttlefish; mottled grey rocks shine white and black – and so do the cuttlefish.

They are the chameleons of the ocean, changing their colour and even texture as they move along the sea bed.

And every year, from May to August, they come in their thousands to the cold waters and rocky coastline between Fitzgerald and False Bay, just out of Whyalla, to mate.

Nobody seems to understand why they converge in this one area, but it's a phenomenon that attracts divers, snorkellers, scientists, researchers, writers and TV crews from all over the world.

It really is a case of survival of the species for these giant Australian cuttlefish, which can reach up to 60cm in length and weigh up to 5kg.

Usually, the bigger males win the underwater battle of the bold, but sometimes cuttlefish brains win out over brawn.

Smaller, less impressive males often disguise themselves as females, worming their way close to their prospective partners. While the big bruisers are busy showing off, the little guys sneak in for some quick nookie then scuttle off before they get hurt.

Once the male cuttlefish has had his way, so to speak, he stands guard, protecting the female – and his future offspring.

The female slips off quietly to lay her tear-shaped eggs, which she attaches to the underside of the rocky ledges lining the coastal strip.

If the male leaves her side, another male will sidle in, spurt water at the female to dislodge any sperm, then take his turn at the mating ritual.

What the females lack in loyalty to one partner, they make up for in stamina, mating over and over again for the whole season.

It's all a very sexy little dance – if you're a cuttlefish. In fact, their deft touch is obviously something to die for.

Sadly, that's exactly what happens. Cuttlefish typically only mate for the one season, two if they are extremely lucky.

Worn out after four months in really cold water, they turn white and slowly expire, leaving a legacy that will hatch a few months later.

The Sunday Telegraph