Astronaut Trail Shell Club: Winding Bay & the Quest for the Cone Formerly Known as Abbotti

Note:

Jim Cordy will lead an Astronaut Trail Shell Club trip to Eleuthera in 2015 June 11 - 18th.

This trip is open to non-members.

You can contact Jim by phone at 321-452-5736 or email him at corshell@cfl.rr.com

Conus, with their simple and streamlined architecture, are the art deco shells of the snail world They fascinate without the rococo frills of a Murex or Spondylus. A cone shell’s structural appeal is subtle, even if some species throw out all the stops where markings are concerned. They are never plentiful in the Bahamas and the pleasure of finding one is accentuated when you roll it back and forth on your palm. This is one centered damn shell. Evolution does some goofy problem solving, but there is nothing goofy about a cone.

photo © Ellen Bulger

And as far as behavior goes, what’s cooler than a snail that hunts with venomous darts? The vast majority of cone species are harmless but the mystique of the venom, of the danger, adds a touch of dark glamour. On yeah, you think, this baby is deadly, a ruthless predator... of worms!

And so we love them, the cones.

The cone to score on Eleuthera is Abbott’s. The many color variations are why, despite a taxonomic downgrade, the shells remain appealing to collectors. But it is a trick to find one. It takes persistence. It takes some effort. Abbott’s cones live along the front-side reefs on the eastern side of Eleuthera, the Atlantic side.

photo © Ellen Bulger

We find them in Winding Bay.

It’s a bit of a hike along the beach to get to the spot where we make our base of operations. We try to pare down what we carry: snorkeling gear, mesh bags, beach towels, cameras, sunglasses, hats, water, a sandwich & a granola bar or two. One year George Dick brought out some Cuban cigars, but you know, just the necessities!

It’s a bit of a maze, the route we swim to reach the close reef in the middle of the bay where the cones are. Jim scouts the hard bottom along the reef, looking under stones and rubble (putting them back where he found them, as every sheller should). Full disclosure: it takes a knack to find the cones. I’ve gotten maybe four of them over a half dozen visits. I am easily distracted. I do a bit of shell hunting and I take photos and just generally poke around for an hour or two. When I swim in for a break and lunch, Jim keeps hunting, working for his shells.

photo © Ellen Bulger

Back on land, I swap out my mask for hat and sunglasses. I hang my gear on a fallen tree, bare wood bleached white by the sun. After a tuna sandwich and a thick slice of the best pineapple of my life, I go for a hike south down towards the entrance to Half Sound Bay. This is one of my favorite beach hikes in all the world. There are outcrops of rocks and small cliffs that form small bays. When the tide is up, the climbing is just interesting enough to be fun.

photo © Ellen Bulger

I poke around under the trees to see what recent storms have washed up: hawser anacondas, pieces of hull, glass bottles, buoys and, of course, plastic trash from a hundred nations. On one trip, Joanne Mann got a dark green glass fishing float the size of a duckpin bowling ball. I was so jealous! Then I found one of my own with the netting still attached, dangling from the branch of a mangrove. Awesome.

Photos © Ellen Bulger

Back in the water, I don’t even try to look for cones during my afternoon swim. I’m lazy. But just noodling around, I have found nice chanks and queen conches, including the pineapple-yellow job that ended up on the cover of American Conchologist Magazine.

photo © Ellen Bulger

The colors have faded, but ah, the sculpture!

I watch triggerfish feeding in the shallows, rolling themselves sideways to feed in water no deeper than the length of my hand. They slip in and out with the surge of the waves, playing what looks to be a dangerous game for their supper. Eventually, reluctantly, I head back to the beach...