Country diary: Finally, my search for a starfish is over

Though common starfish (Asterias rubens) are easy to find in rockpools, they’re an unfamiliar sight on the pebbly shores of Hayling Island. So my curiosity was piqued last May when swimmers started mentioning that they’d spotted them clinging to the chains that anchor the swim zone marker buoys.

Of course, when I swam out and gazed into the depths, there was no sign of the promised galaxy of echinoderms. I put it down to an unfavourable tide state, but the starfish remained elusive throughout the summer and autumn. Even when conditions were seemingly perfect, the chains and seabed were always bare.

They soon became the equivalent of a “bogey bird” – a particular species that eludes the seeker time after time. To gain true bogey status, the evasive creature must have been seen by practically everyone in your social circle. Sure enough, even friends with little interest in marine invertebrates nonchalantly recounted their sightings when they heard about my futile attempts.

Throughout winter and into spring, the water clarity has been poor and sea temperatures too cold to safely swim to the buoys, putting my quest on hold. But gale-force winds and powerful waves have battered the coast overnight, and when we gather for an early morning swim, we find the strandline strewn with mounds of seaweed, branches as thick as my arms, chalky cuttlebones, ray egg cases, spongy balls of empty whelk egg capsules and, atop a pile of slipper limpet and whelk shells, a starfish.

Its spiny skin is pale orange, suggesting it has come from deeper waters, as specimens found in the shallows tend to be more vibrant. Starfish can be found at depths of up to 600 metres, but are often swept on to beaches during stormy weather. This is believed to be caused by a behaviour known as “starballing”, which is triggered by environmental change. The starfish bloat their bodies, curl their five arms into a ball and tumble along the seabed, carried by the currents.

Once beached, they tend to perish quickly. But, to our surprise, this individual’s hundreds of hollow tube feet are still rippling, so we scoop it up and return it to the sea.

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