California Beach Hopper or Orchestoidea californiana

As fleas go, they’re giants. Not giants in the sense of Bikini-Atoll-nuclear-mutant-gone-bad giants. But by flea standards, they’re positively huge — about 1 inch long. That’s probably because they’re not parasitic dog or cat fleas, but rather, amphipods — shrimp-like creatures who dine on organic matter at the outer limits of the tideline.

California Beach Hopper/Beach Flea – ©ingridtaylar

This was our first face-to-face with a beach flea, also known as the California Beach Hopper. It was sunrise on a Mendocino Beach with a -2.1 tide — a beach surprisingly devoid of abalone divers along a coastline literally trampled by them.

In our solitude, we had the time and space to look between our toes. And for the squeamish, what we saw was squirm worthy: hundreds of translucent flea-like figures hopping and falling in the sand around us.

Shrimp people don’t make me squirm. My weak point is when a reptile gapes in such a way as to emulate venomous snake. I genuinely appreciate (and wouldn’t harm) a reptile, but my own reptilian brain hasn’t caught up with my more enlightened 21st century brain. I once rescued a harmless fence lizard from a swimming pool. As I put him down, to recover from his near-drowning, he turned in my hand, looked me in the eye, and gaped the widest gape I’d ever seen on a lizard. My heart said “lizard, lizard” but my old brain said “snake, snake!” My parasympathetic reflexes kicked in and I accidentally dropped him — fortunately, from just inches above the grass. He survived.

Thankfully, I didn’t grow up with water moccasins chasing me in the bayou. Listening to my southern friends talk about snakes dropping into boats like vines makes me glad that “northern” and “European” are in my blood.

But back to the beach fleas . . .

Beach Flea – ©ingridtaylar

They might as well be drunk the way they hop and stumble. I know this because I was flat on the sand, watching them through my telephoto as they jumped, then tumbled, jumped then tumbled. And as they fell, invariably, another Beach Hopper would arrive to challenge the fallen flea. A scuffle of sorts would ensue, and then each beach flea would move on. The Beach Hoppers with burrows weren’t immune from intrusion either, as this photo establishes:

Beach Hopper Burrow Scuffle – ©ingridtaylar

I confess that I can’t distinguish between amiable and antagonistic actions of beach fleas, but my understanding is that mating occurs in the burrow, and that what I was seeing outside probably constituted territorial exploration and arguments over burrows.

Beach Hoppers were at this spot because it happened to be on the cusp of the high-tide seaweed line. They dine upon elements of seaweed. They’re normally out and about at night — sometimes in the early morning hours. They themselves become food for animals like shorebirds, so the acquisition of a burrow is undoubtedly high on the priority list.

Beach Flea Heading Home - ©ingridtaylar