The story, Would Rather Be A Buzzkill Than A Bearkill, reminded me that wildlife does not need to be large to mess you up for good. 

Years ago, as tourist season was ending, my father found himself getting a coffee in a famous terrace overlooking the sea. A young kitchen hand was taking advantage of the slow day to fish from the parapet of the terrace. At some point, the sinker dipped, and the boy started pulling up a small, ugly brown fish. My father immediately recognized it for a Greater Weever, a species with poisonous spines on its back, and rushed towards the boy.

Father: “Wait, wait! Don’t…”

Kitchen Hand: “What the f*** do you want, old—AHAAAAAAAAAH!”

The boy was still reeling in the fish as he was replying to my father, and as soon as the fish sensed being grabbed, it had raised its spikes and done its thing.

Father: “Now you know what the f*** I wanted.”

The best remedy against Greater Weever poison is hot water. The best prevention is wearing reef shoes and not manhandling unknown fish!