There were many things I enjoyed about the Cabrillo Aquarium, but foremost enjoyed the open, small, quiet, "mom + pop" store, warm feeling that breathed within. Most other aquriums I have had the opportunity to enter have been very big and plastic. No personality what-so-ever. Yet Cabrillo had a down-to-earth feeling that showed in the people within. People were having a good time, and everything had a "real" quality to it. Nothing seemed fake or commercial. Cabrillo was about the education and exhibition of marine animals, and that was it. It was quite refreshing, actually.

Well, other than the size of the afor-mentioned aquarium, the other odd fact I took away from my visit, was that Western lobsters have no claws. This may sound silly to you, but to a boy whose spent most of his life near lobster traps, these lobster "wanna-be's" were quite shocking. I never had any idea that there were lobsters in California in the first place...(Hey, what can I say? I'm an artist, not a biologist), let alone, they were...well...freaks.

I learned that true lobsters have claws on the first three pairs of legs, with very large claws on the first pair. These are the most valuable and are often marketed alive; the heavily muscled abdomen and claws are the parts eaten. Unlike true lobsters, spiny lobsters, so called because of their very spiny bodies, do not have large claws. Usually only the abdomen is eaten and is marketed as lobster tail. And here I thought all lobster was from New England.

Another first for me was to see the inside or mouth, rather, of a starfish. Like everyone else, when I thought of a starfish, I pictured that loveable little orange star, that just sat at the bottom of the ocean looking very at peace with itself.

Starfish arms, I learned, typically five in number and are hollow and, like the disk, covered with short spines and pincerlike organs. On the lower side are grooves with rows of tube feet, which may be sucker-tipped. Its tube feet let it creep in any direction or cling to steep surfaces, such as the glass of a tank. They also use their suction feet to force open the shell of their prey, such as a sandollar, then insert the stomach and start digesting. Sounds like a creature from a horror flick.

Another marine animal I had seen before, in its natural habitat, back home, and also here at Cabrillo, was the jelly fish. I remember walking around Boston Harbor with my friends on many occasions, only to look down upon the black water, where the only thing you could see were hundreds of jelly fish, swimming merrily along their way.

I learned that jellyfish are seperated into two groups. Those that are free-swimming, or medusae, form the first, and those that are sessile, which are stem animals that are attached to seaweed and other objects by a stalk.

I was especially impressed by the jellyfish tank, where they had about seven jellyfish swimming around in circles. I remember a small jellyfish that just sat there the entire time. At first I thought he was dead, but when he finally moved, I realized he was just taking it easy, riding the current that was being generated by the bigger jellyfish within the tank.

I was amazed yet again when I came upon the tank with the small octopus. This was the first time I had ever scene an actual living octopus. I was impressed with the beauty of the animal, and the quiet strength that it insued. Just sitting there in the corner of it's tank, it looked like a creature that was not to be messed with.

They said most octopuses move by crawling along the bottom with their suckers, though when alarmed they may shoot swiftly backward by ejecting a jet of water from the siphon. When endangered, they eject an inky substance, which is used as a screen; the substance produced by some species paralyzes the sensory organs of the attacker. It lives in holes or crevices along the rocky bottom and is secretive and retiring by nature. It feeds mainly on crabs and other crustaceans.

This last part really made sense, especially when you looked near ground where the still octopus occupied. The bottom was covered with bits and pieces of what was once a small crab. Pieces of shell, an arm, and various legs lay strewn across the sandy floor. A memorial of what seemed a greatly one-sided battle. You felt bad for the poor crab who had to fight such a great beast, until you looked closely at the opposite side of the tank.

There, in the shadows, sat a small, one-legged crab. This crab looked like hell. One claw missing, a couple limbs nowhere to be found. We found this quite funny. Not that this poor crab just had the hell beat out of him, but that the crab knew that it wasn't over. He sat quietly at the corner of the tank, never moving, still as a rock, and his eyes never leaving the resting octopus who lie a scant two feet away. I'm telling you this crab new what was coming, and he wasn't going to be surprised. It was like a cartoon. You could almost see the fear written across the face of this poor animal.

And that's what I think about when I remember Cabrillo Marine Aquarium. Not the jellyfish, the football fish, the dead great white shark, nor the moray eels, who seemed to evily watch all those who dare pass by their tank.

All I remember is a little crab, frozen with fear. You could almost hear him thinking, "How the hell did I get here?!". I'd like to think that he's still there...waiting...watching...playing David the octopuse's Goliath.

Who knows, maybe someday I'll go back and there will be the crab, with his one arm raised mightily up in the air, standing heroically above the body of the dead octopus, while simultaneaously, all the other crabs throughout the aquarium chant his name like the hero he is.

I'd like to think so...but I doubt it.

P.S. Why do they call it a "marine" aquarium? Aren't they all "marine"? Are there other kinds of aquariums? "Desert" aquariums... "Automotive" aquariums...?