At 3 am on a bitterly cold March night, I found myself standing on a 10m-long fishing boat in the middle of the Sea of Japan. The temperature hovered around freezing and a kerosene-soaked scrapwood fire blazed in a metal pail on the ship’s slippery deck. Above, a flock of screeching gulls circled and occasionally dive-bombed our ship, while a dozen fisherman were frantically hauling up their nets, trying to reel in their catch before the birds did.
Suddenly a blaze of neon blue flashed from underneath the water and thousands of firefly squid squirmed around in the nets, lighting up the cold black night. It was Hotaru Ika season: every year from March to June, these tiny bioluminescent cephalopods ignite the 14km-long shoreline of Toyama Bay in a spectacular light show that rivals the neon canyons of Tokyo’s Shinjuku.
At 3 am on a bitterly cold March night, I found myself standing on a 10m-long fishing boat in the middle of the Sea of Japan. The temperature hovered around freezing and a kerosene-soaked scrapwood fire blazed in a metal pail on the ship’s slippery deck. Above, a flock of screeching gulls circled and occasionally dive-bombed our ship, while a dozen fisherman were frantically hauling up their nets, trying to reel in their catch before the birds did.Suddenly a blaze of neon blue flashed from underneath the water and thousands of firefly squid squirmed around in the nets, lighting up the cold black night. It was Hotaru Ika season: every year from March to June, these tiny bioluminescent cephalopods ignite the 14km-long shoreline of Toyama Bay in a spectacular light show that rivals the neon canyons of Tokyo’s Shinjuku.
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