Secrets from the deep

Venture into the bowels of London's Natural History Museum and you'll discover a realm of deep-sea monsters and rarely seen oddities. Melissa Hobson meets the curious denizens of the Spirit Collection

- Melissa Hobson

Before I realise what's happening, the lid is off - and James Maclaine is pulling out a fistful of deep-sea anglerfish. I hadn't been expecting him to plonk his bare hand inside the jar. I peer more closely. It looks... squishy.

Maclaine, senior curator of fish at London's Natural History Museum, is giving me a behind-the-scenes look at some of the specimens that aren't on public display: some are too large to feature in the main exhibits, others too precious. Dotted around the room are glass jars filled with curious specimens preserved in spirits, many over 100 years old. Maclaine removes a few with the casual air of someone who's been surrounded by rare curios every day for decades.

Animals that are too big for the jars are placed in steel tanks. The clanging of chains as a heavy metal lid is winched off announce that one is being opened. A chemical smell with a hint of smoked mackerel wafts our way. Then Maclaine hauls out the wrinkled snout of a primeval beast from the dark liquid - over time, fish oil seeps into the preserving fluid, staining it a rusty red - and I see one of the planet's longest-lived species: a Greenland shark. These behemoths can live to at least 250 years old, but might even reach the age of 500.

Though only half the size of the expected maximum length for the species, this 3.5m-long specimen is too heavy to lift clear from the tank. Its gaping mouth reveals teeth perfectly designed for chomping on large food items such as dead whales: the top teeth latch on while the bottom slice. “It grabs on, rolls and saws through flesh,” explains Maclaine. What's not immediately evident is that the carcass is stuffed with something rather unorthodox. The shark had looked sunken and strange after dissection, so the team “just shoved a load of lab coats in it”, says Maclaine, laughing at the idea that the stitches might burst in 100 years' time, spewing foetid lab coats and puzzling future researchers.