While snorkeling recently, I pulled my underwater camera, a Nikon Coolpix, from my pocket only to find the door to its battery compartment flapping open in the current. When I held the camera above the water’s surface, seawater poured from the electrical core.

Oh, well. Because the occasional flooded camera is just life in the ocean for me, I continued my swim. And, of course, being unable to take pictures, I found marine animals posing like movie stars.

The first one to confound me was a Hawaiian green lionfish, a species found only in Hawaii which grows to about 6 inches long. I see these fish often on my reef, but they are nearly always juveniles tucked far inside the arms of antler coral or sandwiched between two rock crevices, making them nearly impossible to photograph.

Now here was a full-grown adult, perched on top of a rock.

Hawaii has two species of endemic lionfish, one called red (8 inches long) and one called green, although both are multicolored. Like all members of their scorpionfish family, our lionfish have venomous spines that can deliver a painful sting. The fish, however, are not aggressive, and sting only if cornered or threatened.

Lionfish hunt for crabs and shrimp at night, spreading their lovely side fins wide to steer their prey into corners. The fin display is also a warning to would-be predators to back off or suffer the consequences.

The lionfish resting right out in the open would have made an excellent picture, but being cameraless, all I could do was dive down, admire the fish’s red eyes and bright fins, and move on.

Moray eels, large and small, are common on Hawaii’s reefs, but the one I saw that morning was the biggest I’ve seen here. The eel’s enormous head poked out from under a round coral head that I call Octopus Rock because I once found an octopus perched on top.

The coral head, about the size of a compact car, is slightly raised from the seafloor on one side, allowing a variety of animals to shelter below.

The eel’s dark brown head was as big around as a man’s upper arm, and as the fish opened and closed its mouth, its needlelike teeth flashed white.

This was probably a yellowmargin moray called puhi paka, meaning fierce eel, growing to 4 feet long. It might also have been a giant moray, an eel that grows to 8 feet long. In either case, it’s good I didn’t have my camera, because this was one an adult fish to leave alone. When I dived down for a closer look, the eel advanced from its hiding place rather than retreated.

Amazingly, these large predatory eels let cleaner shrimp pick their teeth. Just before I moved away, I saw a red-and-white barber pole shrimp inching toward the eel’s gaping mouth.

I never thought I would consider a flooded Coolpix a gift, but swimming without it was surprisingly liberating. Rather than angling, circling and gauging the light for pictures, I just watched, appreciating the animals for the marvels that they are.

Still. What pictures I missed! When I got home I ordered a new camera.

To reach Susan Scott, go to www.susanscott.net and click on “Contact” at the top of her home page.