One of the only island food-gathering activities that I hadn’t participated in was crab catching. There are red crabs that wander around on the sea floor and pick at chunks of coral and debris, but I’ve been told that many of these types are poisonous and we have to be very careful about catching them. There are also humungous coconut crabs that scurry in the shadows and munch on coconuts. These are the largest land invertebrates on the planet and are also the only animal besides a human that can open a coconut. However, my crab hunting expedition was focused on finding the small brown mangrove crabs.
Mangrove crabs live in the mangrove forests. Their existence is spent scouring the mucky swamps and salty sands to find tiny pieces of food. They make hundred of holes down by the seashore and have created a vast system of tunnels. Most of them are about the size of a baseball, but some can be larger than a grapefruit. Their coloration is mostly brown, but they also have shades of red, white and purple on the underbellies. These crabs have 4 sets of legs on either side of their bodies that stick out like a spider. Most have one large pincer claw and one smaller claw. Their eyes stick up from their bodies and they have tiny mouths under their hard carapace.
Chuukese people usually cook the crabs in a soup. Sometimes they mix it with coconut milk, and other times they just let the crab create its own tasty juices. The body of the crab actually has the majority of the meat, because the legs and claws are rather scrawny. They don’t taste like Alaskan King crab legs, but they are still a yummy treat.
The best time to catch crabs is at nighttime in the mangrove forest after a rainy day. When there is a heavy rain, the crab holes fill up with fresh water and the crabs venture out from their homes to search for food. My friend Ainer and I went down to mangroves on a cloudy Thursday night to see if we could snag a few. We brought flashlights and an empty rice bag. We didn’t need nets or spears or hooks, our hands would do the job.
I was giddy with excitement as we made our way into the forest. I was hoping to see crabs scurrying about in every shadow and racing across the mangled roots of the trees. From my experience in the sea, I knew that the night brought out a whole new cast of characters and entirely changed the environment that I have been accustomed to during the day. I was also looking forward to have another chance to marvel at the intricate root systems of the mangrove trees and observe the unique area where marine and terrestrial ecosystems collide.
Unfortunately, the crabs decided not to go out for their nightly stroll. We walked for almost an hour and didn’t see a single crab. We jumped over tree stumps, tight rope walked over water on twisted roots, and carefully trudged through muddy quagmires. A couple of times, I saw a crab right before he retreated into the darkness of his hole. I was dismayed by the lack of crabs, but I tried to take solace in the beauty of the midnight saunter.
We sat down for a while and thought about giving up and heading back with no crabs. But then we figured we might as well give it one more shot and go deeper into the forest. Our walk continued for another half hour before we got to a shallow puddle that was about 40 feet across. Ainer thought this was a good spot to find crabs and urged me to push forward.
The ground ahead of me was no longer brown dirt, but instead looked like grayish sand with about a centimeter of water on the top. I took one step on the grayish mud and sssquisshh, I sunk down to my knees in muddy sand. I wrenched my foot out of the muck and took another step, but again sunk knee deep into the sludge. I pulled out my other foot, but no sandal was attached to it. I had to stick my hand down into brown ooze and fish around for my $1 sandal. After about 5 or 6 slow steps, I finally got my foot on a root and pulled myself out of the quicksand. Ainer told me to just take off my sandals and go barefoot. I listened to his advice and didn’t put my shoes back on until we left the forest.
We walked around the edge of this puddle and slid deep into the soft mud more than once. I was constantly scanning everywhere around me to look for a sign of a crab, but so far I was shit out of luck. Then my light hit something bright and it reflected a shiny whiteness from behind buttressed root! My heart lit up with excitement, and I trudged over to see if it was a crab. My enthusiasm was soon crushed when I noticed that it wasn’t a crab, but rather the edge of a decaying diaper that was sinking in the mud.
As our trek through the mosquito infested swamp continued, we didn’t find many crabs, but we found plenty of diapers. Dozens of diapers. The white baby poop receptacles were bloated with water and looked like rotten marshmallows that had been dunked in a bucket of diarrhea. The mud splattered pink clouds and blue teddy bears that adorned the diapers didn’t do much to brighten their appearance.
Our motivation towards crab hunting was greatly curtailed by the piles of pungent poopy panties that floated by our feet. It wasn’t too appetizing to think of eating a crab that had been feasting on the decaying feces of our village babies.
We did end up snagging a few crabs on our way out and didn’t leave entirely empty handed. To catch a tiny crab like this, the trick is to approach it from behind. You must grab its lower abdomen between your thumb and forefinger, and try to keep your fingers out of the way of its angry claws. I only caught one.
I returned with my single crab and fervidly scrubbed myself from head to toe. I cleaned myself to the best of my ability and tried to sterilize the poop and mud that had seeped into my pores. Needles to say, I am considering retiring from my crab catching career and moving on to other forms of food gathering that don’t involve diapers.
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