Ageing colourfully. This guy! — Norfolk Island's Reef

Out on A Swim

‘Out on a swim’ is a coral reef blog that tells the stories of the characters who live under the waves and what has caught my eye when ‘out on a swim’ in the lagoons of Norfolk Island. It is also a record of the difficulties Norfolk Island’s reef faces, like many others around the world, as a result of the poor water quality that has been allowed to flow onto it.

This page shows the most recent blog posts. For the complete catalogue, visit the ‘Out on a swim index’ page.

This blog is rated in the Top 20 Coral Reef Blogs in the world.

Green moon wrasse, Norfolk Island, 17 July 2024

As is often the case while I’m out on my swim, last week this guy was circling me, right in my face, peering at me as he swam around and around. He’s the alpha male in the Emily Bay and channel area of Norfolk Island’s reef. The boss – a green moon wrasse, Thalassoma lutescens.

In the oblique afternoon light I could see he was looking a little scarred and care-worn. Like an old war horse with a few battle scars.

Which got me wondering. How long has he been swimming beside me? When did I first capture him on camera?

In a blog post back in September 2021, I remarked, ‘The green moon wrasse were very active and inquisitive this week. One, in particular, followed me for a good half an hour as I made my way around the reef off the Salt House.’

That ‘one’ was this guy.

I tend to take him for granted because he is always around, in my face, posing for photos. I apologise for anthropomorphising here, but he’s inquisitive, fearless, and oozes chutzpah. He’s like a pet puppy.

I was rather emotional after seeing him looking visibly older, but it spurred me on to see when he first appeared in my life. I pored over my green moon wrasse folder of photos (and there are quite a few in there), checking all the images out for matching markings on each side of their faces. I ended up with quite a few that are definitely him, and quite a few that are ‘maybe’s. Below are the definites.

The first definite photo is in November 2020, at which stage he was a young adult, probably having recently transitioned from female to male. By that November the blue band around his middle, only sported by terminal males, had intensified in colour.

Since then he’s gained a few dents and scars, probably had lots of babies, and generally lived the best life a green moon wrasse can live.

Here’s his story in photos.

(Cont’d below)

Left side

28 November 2020

4 September 2021

21 November 2022

5 December 2022

1 February 2023

8 March 2023

25 November 2023

2 July 2024

Right side

28 November 2020

7 May 2021

28 October 2021

26 November 2021

25 January 2023

14 May 2023

26 July 2023

2 July 2024

Green moon wrasse are said to live five to seven years in the wild, which means that our lovely old friend could well be classified as an elder. I am guessing that one day soonish he just won’t be there, but at least I can show my appreciation for his friendly, show-pony cheek with his own dedicated blog post.

You’ve gotta love him!

And if you want to see the different colours at different life stages for this species of fish, go to my fish page on this site, and scroll down to W for Wrasses.

Postscript – May 2025

I wrote this post, above, in July 2024, when Harry was beginning to look his age but was still very much part of my swims. I kept seeing him after that, but by early March 2025 he seemed different – paler, slower and more lethargic than usual. On 8 March he swam over to me, stayed nearby for a while, then eventually moved off. And I haven’t seen him since.

I kept looking for him for the next couple of months, hoping he might suddenly reappear, but I suspect that was the last time I saw him. After photographing and interacting with this wild fish for around five years, it felt strangely sad to realise he may simply have reached the end of his life.

He taught me a great deal – not just about green moon wrasse, but about what you begin to notice when you keep returning to the same reef, year after year, and start recognising the individuals who live there.

These are my last two photos of Harry, 8 March 2025

November 1, 2026

When algae move in – the changing reef neighbourhood

Algae are a natural part of Norfolk Island's reef, changing with the underwater seasons. But sometimes their beautiful green growth conceals a rather sad story. In the fifth article of my six-part photographic series, I revisit familiar places to see how algae have changed over the years – and what might be hiding underneath.

October 30, 2026

The slow disappearance – disease on the reef

What happens after coral disease has run its course? In the fourth article of my six-part photographic series, I revisit colonies I've watched lose living tissue, sometimes alarmingly quickly. From a potentially century-old brain coral that lost most of its living tissue in less than 100 days to the algae-covered skeletons left years later, these photographs reveal the longer-term consequences of coral disease on Norfolk Island's reef.

October 28, 2026

When storms rearrange the reef

Sometimes the sea rearranges a reef in a matter of hours! In the third article of my six-part photographic series, I revisit corals broken, overturned or swept away by powerful swells and storm surges. Some disappeared altogether, while others found surprising ways to survive. Five photographic sequences reveal just how dramatically Norfolk Island's reef can change.

October 26, 2026

When the reef fights back – coral growth and recovery

Not every coral story ends badly! Among six years of underwater photographs are some wonderful examples of growth, survival and recovery. From corals that have grown spectacularly to others that have survived bleaching, breakage or even being turned upside down, this second article in my photographic series celebrates some of the reef's more encouraging stories.

October 24, 2026

The neighbours – six years of watching the same reef

When I began photographing Norfolk Island's reef in 2020, I simply recorded whatever caught my eye. Six years later, those photographs have become a record of individual corals and their changing fortunes – growth, competition, survival and loss. This is the first of six articles looking back at what I've seen, and sometimes what I wish I hadn't.

October 10, 2026

Pulling the rugosity from out of the reef

What do ‘rugosity’, structural complexity and channeling your inner fish have in common? Quite a lot, as it turns out. This week I’m looking at how all the lumps, bumps, branches, holes and ledges on a reef create habitat – with a brief detour into one of my long-standing tricks for navigating tertiary study: write down the jargon until it starts to make sense.

September 27, 2026

How does a sea slug smell?

It started with a close-up of a little Elysia and two rhinophores that looked like tiny rolled-up scrolls. Once I noticed them, I started going back through years of sea-slug photos and realised just how wildly different these sensory organs can be – ridged, rolled, curled, tubular and, in sea hares, distinctly rabbit-eared. So this week’s rabbit hole is all about how sea slugs ‘smell’ underwater, and why their noses come in so many different shapes.

September 19, 2026

The Elite Fleet sails in

Nearly six years ago, my very first blog post was about the strange blue and violet creatures that live at the ocean’s surface – a group I christened Norfolk Island’s ‘Elite Fleet’. Since then I’ve seen plenty of bluebottles and the occasional violet sea snail, but never a by-the-wind sailor. Until this morning. Velella velella is not a true jellyfish, but a colonial hydrozoan with a transparent sail that lets the wind help carry it across the ocean. So what exactly is this extraordinary little creature, how does it ‘sail’, and what connects it to the rest of the fleet?

September 18, 2026

In a nutshell – where I stand on the proposed Norfolk Island Marine Park

I support the proposed expansion of Norfolk Marine Park and its renaming as Norfolk Island Marine Park. There is much to welcome – strong offshore protection, no mining, and recognition of the importance of sustainable local fishing. But I also have some reservations. Why does Cascade need to be removed from the Marine Park at all? How will more than 430,000 km² actually be monitored and enforced? How do we make sure Norfolk people have a genuine role in management? And, above all, how do we ensure that the enormous new park does not draw attention away from the small, stressed reef immediately beside us?

September 13, 2026

No seagrass, but plenty of turtles

Norfolk Island does not have seagrass, although one of our most conspicuous green algae is often mistaken for it. Feather and grape Caulerpa can both form striking patches across the lagoon. I take a closer look at what Caulerpa actually is, why it is so easily confused with seagrass, and where our green turtles fit into the story.