The Worst Critter Ever On My Boat

Reading Behan Gifford’s rats post made me glad I’ve never had a rat aboard, but I’ve had worse in my book.

I was cruising and surfing my way around the Society Islands and met a young Aussie, Luke, and his American girlfriend, Jenny. They’d been camping on the islands, sleeping in a tent. One thing led to another and I invited them aboard for a few days of surf exploration:



Luke on the far right; Jenny in the middle

On their first night aboard we’d just turned in, with me up in the forepeak and them in the main salon, where the table drops down to make a double berth. We’d been in bed for about twenty minutes when I heard Luke scream. By the time I got on my feet Luke and Jenny were in the cockpit, with Jenny shining a flashlight up Luke’s ass.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“Something stung me, like a wasp! It must be in our sheets. Look for it.” Luke replied.

I searched through their bedding, and found nothing.

“I can’t find anything. It must have flown away.”

“It’s gotta be there! Look for it.”

I poked through their bedding again, carefully, then shined a flashlight under the bunk. Still nothing. Luke was now retching overboard, as the poison from whatever stung him was making him sick.

I was fairly sure I’d never find anything, but I flipped through their sheets one last time, then shined my flashlight under the bunk again, where a deep cave ended with the slope of the port side of the boat. I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye and redirected the beam of my flashlight. A giant black centipede, which did not like the light, scuttled through a gap under the settee and disappeared.

“Oh. My. God.”

I know exaggeration is common in such situations, but I can compare the size of the centipede to a piece of trim under my table, and tell you that this centipede was at least eight inches long, and about an inch and a half wide with all its squiggly legs and antennae. Let me also point out that I’ve got a serious phobia about big creepy-crawlies. I’ve been known to whinny like a schoolgirl at the sight of a cockroach, and a cockroach is theoretically harmless. This creature had just reduced a big, strong Aussie surfer dude to puking overboard with a flashlight up his ass. What chance did I have?

If you don’t believe how scary a Tahitian centipede is, look at this, and ours was WAY bigger. Ewwww! Ewwwww! EWWWWWWWW! (and why isn’t it biting this guy?):

Watch the original video on YouTube ↗

This centipede was now lost in the bowels of my boat. A wave of dread came over me, knowing this thing was now in the walls, or under the floorboards, and knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, or enjoy life aboard, as long as it was around. If I fumigated the whole boat there still wouldn’t be any satisfaction, because it would die quietly somewhere, and I’d find it dead, say while I was lying on my back servicing the fresh water pump.

“Catch it, mate! Catch the bastard!”

I halfheartedly grabbed the colander off the galley bench top, and a bread knife, but I knew all was lost. I’d just have to sink the boat.

“I dunno, Luke, I think it’s run off.”

Luke jumped down the companionway with fire in his eyes and said, “Gimme that,” as he took the knife and the colander.

“Where is it?”

“Well, it was under there, but now it’s gone.”

I shined the flashlight under the bunk again, and there it was again!

Luke somehow lifted the bunk with his knee, lunged in, and chopped the centipede in half with the bread knife. Now the two halves of the centipede were going crazy in opposite directions, but Luke soon had both scooped into the colander. He climbed back up into the cockpit, and threw the two halves of the centipede overboard. My hero!

I just could not have done what he did. I would have got spooked and blown it, losing the centipede into the bowels of the boat again.

I looked in the Merck Manual and read about centipede stings. I reassured Luke that it said they were very painful, but not dangerous. It dawned on me the next day that the Merck Manual only covers North American medical issues, and doesn’t delve into the 8000 different species of centipede found worldwide, many of which are much more venomous than their North American cousins.

The offending centipede must have come aboard with Luke and Jenny’s camping gear.

Luke was up all night in pain and hurling, and still felt wonky the next morning:

…but felt well enough to surf that afternoon.