My encounters with giant Pacific octopuses have been varied over the 42- plus years I’ve been a recreational diver, but one experience in the San Juan Islands stands out from all the rest. At the time I got jumped, I was kneeling on a mixture of gravel and loose rock near the pier.

When the first tentacle slid over my left shoulder and across my chest, I was not especially alarmed. I assumed my dive buddy had found an octopus and had swum over with it to show me. When an octopus is pulled off the bottom, it panics and grabs onto anything it can. I looked around, saw no one else, and realized that something very different was happening. I knew I had to react before my reg was yanked out of my mouth. I reached back with my right hand and grabbed as much as I could. Thanks to the loose gravel and rocks around us, I was able to pull the octopus off the bottom. If the strata had been solid rock, I wouldn’t have been able to budge the animal, and I might still be there. As soon as the octopus lost contact with the bottom, it released me and started backing away. At that point, my astonishment gave way to feeling very annoyed. I was probably as red as the octopus. For years I had defended the animals. “Oh no, they aren’t aggressive,” I’d say. “They’re shy, inoffensive creatures.” And here was one making a liar out of me. So I went after it, yelling into my reg and shaking my fist as the octopus backed down the slope. Every time I feinted at it, it would stop and cock its tentacles. It was not afraid of me, and I got the impression it was willing to go a few more rounds. The standoff ended when I ran low on air and had to surface. The only possible explanation I’ve been able to think of for the octopus’ behavior was that maybe when I knelt down, it was there, camouflaged, and I had laid a fin on it and annoyed it. I’ll never know for sure.