Attack of the killer hermits

In the great conflict that is man's struggle against adversity, many battles have been fought in hopes of taming nature.  And so my own war began when we bought the Casa Finca, our house in the hills of Bonaire.  A few epic battles with nature have already been won and lost there.  First, the herd of very naughty goats that were tamed back by a small fence.  Then the invasion of mocking birds and bats attempting to roost in my chandelier and build nests in my aluminum christmas tree.  And of course the ever present and extremely stealthy iguana that sees the edge of our pool as his toilet.  He is known affectionately as the phantom crapper.  But it is a new enemy that has attacked this summer, the dreaded hermit crab.  The Casa Finca straddles some ancient rode that hermit crabs have used for centuries to reach the ocean a couple of hundred feet below. (Or at least that's the tale I've chosen to believe)  At night, they come crawling out of every century plant and cactus on the property making their way through the parking court to the front door.  I'm not talking about a dozen crabs, I'm talking about an army of hermits.  If the door is open to catch the breeze, they come right in and head towards the ocean on the other side of the house.  If the door is closed there is a pile up on the hermit crab freeway as they all try to climb the stucco walls of the house.

At first I thought these creatures to be peaceful and even felt sad when I was told that the local fishermen crack them out of their shells and use them for bait.  When I found one naked after his shell was cracked by a swift kick across the courtyard from my dad who had been bitten as he sat at his work table, I gave the poor animal one of my prize kokolishi shells for a larger home.  Now I see these vicious creatures in a new light.

The photographs above are the ringleaders from the gang of 30 or so nasty hermits that I caught eating my dive boots!  My nightly ritual of rinsing my dive boots in a refreshing mix of mountain spring fabric softener and water and then laying them in the drive to dry was ruined by a pack of neoprene eating, long pincer hermit crabs!  I came back from dinner to find a mountain of crabs on top of my boots and the backs of my shoes completely gone.  I intended to get even with these trouble makers.  An opportunity presented itself a few days later when a I hired some local guys to help clean up the yard and haul away the undergrowth.  The fisherman in this group asked if he could have all the tasty hermits he found for bait.  I immediately got him a 5 gallon bucket.  He filled not one, but two buckets to the brim.  Oh joy, rapture, no more attacking hermits, they are all food for fish.  Within hours of my new hero hauling off 10 gallons of hermit crabs, night fell and with it came the steady march of a new army of hermit crabs headed straight for the front door.  I don't know the scope of their numbers, but I feel certain I have lost the war.  The cost of living in paradise just went up by a pair of new dive boots.