Sea Urchins: Rare beauty. Incredible diversity. Perfect symmetry.

By Anders Hallan

Urchins on Bundeena Beach.

Paradoxically, this journey starts far from the coast. About an hour’s drive inland from Sydney, Australia, tucked away in the foothills of the World Heritage area of the Blue Mountains, lies the only sea urchin museum in the world.

There is no better place to acquaint yourself with the region’s incredible richness of these marine creatures than just here—the Sea Urchin Science Centre and Gallery, run and owned by Ashley Miskelly, a world-renowned expert on this topic. Met with an exquisite chorus of bell birds against a backdrop of towering eucalyptus trees, the museum is just a creek away from the expansive wilderness of the national park.

Yet, as you enter the warehouse-sized building, you’ll find yourself very much immersed in a world of all things marine. Here, the walls are lined with large, vibrant prints, you’ll find carefully curated book stands and shelves of marine paraphernalia, and there are dozens of displays of exquisite seashells, all arranged according to family and placed on long, wide benches. Below are large drawers of meticulously organized and labeled specimens.

But it is in the next room where the true treasures are found—in this space, you are met with floor-to-ceiling glass cabinets and carefully placed educational display stands, exclusively dedicated to sea urchins.

A variety of sea urchins from the collection of Ashley Miskelly.

The sheer diversity curated here is baffling—from specimens so exquisite in their intricate patterns and sculpture they could easily rival Fabergé eggs, to deep-sea oddities resembling impossibly stretched pumpkins or deflated car tires.

Here are sand dollars the size of dinner plates, urchins with spines appearing like trumpets or prehistoric trees, and bite-sized pieces that would look right at home in a French patisserie. Some are so rare they can be seen here and nowhere else, while others may be common but presented here as the utmost example of their species—selected for their size, quality or beauty.

And, on a stand prominently placed near the center of the gallery, there are examples from the place that I suspect started it all—Sydney Harbour.

Colorful sea urchin from the collection of Ashley Miskelly.

It is not difficult to become fascinated with marine life in a place like Sydney. It was growing up just here that Ashley found his passion, and it was here that I arrived at the dawn of the millennium and where I myself became infatuated.

Underwater wave vortex, Sydney Australia (RugliG/Shutterstock.com).

But what makes this place so special? Perhaps part of the reason is the crystal-clear water—even in the middle of the city, at the bustling Circular Quay or the ever-crowded Darling Harbour, the water is a pristine window into the world below the surface. Set in a sprawling natural harbor called Port Jackson, bordered to the north and south by the equally impressive Botany Bay and Middle Harbour, Sydney hosts endless coves and beaches, dramatic headlands, and expansive rock pools surrounded by sandstone formations whose intricate shapes defy the most vivid imagination.

Inland, the ancient Hawkesbury River is in part to thank for these formations as well as the clarity of the water—carving its way through the sandstone plateau since time immemorial, it has incised spectacular valleys and canyons, transported unthinkable volumes of sand seaward, and—thanks to its near-parallel course with much of this coast—shielded it from the input of mud and silt from rivers that would otherwise reduce underwater visibility.

Left to right: Eastern fiddler ray (RugliG/Shutterstock.com). Western Blue Groper (RugliG/Shutterstock.com). Weedy Sea Dragon (Sean Pavone/Shutterstock.com).

That is how you can peer through this looking glass and see stingrays, sea turtles, or perhaps elaborately adorned pennant fish with their long fins trailing the water column like underwater accessories. Put on a snorkeling mask, and you might discover exotic creatures like pineapple fish, weedy seadragons, lionfish, and shovelnose sharks. Above water, perhaps just a stone’s throw from a café or public park, further treasures abound—here are rock platforms, their sandstone hues tainted rust by saltwater, hosting innumerate limpets and whelks, pockmarked by little pools with anemone, octopus, and sea urchins. With a bit of luck, you may spot a seal, or even penguins, all within the confines of this bustling harbor city.

Hikers near Bondi Beach.

Moving seaward, out from the shelter of the harbored areas, large sandstone cliffs and headlands come into view—standing atop one of these, among a richness of heath, shrubby trees, and wildflowers, you may witness migrating whales in winter, evading the southern chill on their way to the tropics as they dwarf nearby sailboats, yachts, and trawlers. Both to the north and south, an immense coastline with beaches awaits; some vast and desolate, some hemmed in by rocky headlands and aromatic gum forests, and others lined with cafes and fish-and-ship shops and largely visited by locals.

And—these are the exception rather than the rule—some are world famous and frequented by throngs of people in search for the optimal surf, suntan, or selfie. There are walking tracks here that can keep you busy for days, perhaps weeks, as you follow this ever-meandering, striking urban coastline. There are the obvious spectacles—take the imposing waves, sporting hues of dark blue to aquamarine in one moment, only to transform in an instant into a bubbling cauldron of pristine whitewater as they smash against the cliffs.

Directing your gaze inland, there are the impressive views of successive peninsulas, draped in lush green bushland as they give way to a skyline punctuated by buildings and structures so famous they don’t need naming here. Yet, there are hidden treasures too—look closely, and you just might be rewarded with the view of fresh water, filtered through protected peatlands inhabited by birds, frogs, and damselflies, trickling down incongruously damp overhangs dressed in moss. Equally incongruous, perhaps, is that only a short ferry ride or drive from the city is a place where you can wander down a street filled with cafes, shops, and restaurants, buy a gelato, and stroll directly into the wilderness of the world’s second oldest national park—all before your ice cream has melted.

As you venture farther out from the city and its suburbs, you will encounter ample opportunities to wander in natural spaces where seashells, urchin tests (the hard shell-like skeleton beneath the spines), cuttlebones, and strands of seaweed outnumber people by orders of magnitude. Take, for instance, Stockton Dunes, a few hours’ drive north—here, cascades of enormous, shifting sand dunes extend as far as the eye can see along a pristine coastline. These magnificent, ever-changing formations are the southern gatekeepers of Port Stephens—a pristine natural harbor with superb marine life, from humpback whales and turtles, tropical egg cowries, intricately patterned volute shells, to—of course—sea urchins.

Left to right: Conolampas heart urchin, Dermechinus horridus, Heterobrissus niasicus, Pseudoboletia indiana with spines.

However, you don’t need to venture far out of Sydney to witness a richness of sea urchins. At the confluence of the colder temperate waters of the south and balmier, tropical waters from the north, Sydney and its surrounding regions hosts an impressive array of species—in fact, more than fifty dwell within the harbor area alone. Perhaps one of the most variable of all urchin species anywhere—Holopneustes inflatus—can be found here. Exhibiting endless variations in color and pattern (below), and for reasons unknown more variable here than anywhere else within its range, tests can be found washed up in balls of seagrass after storms, or occasionally scattered among shells and marine debris in the wrack line.

Variation in Holopneustes inflatus.

Venture into the water, and you may spot Phyllacanthus parvispinus—a sputnik urchin (below) whose somewhat sinister spines have seen it mistaken for landmines. Beneath the spines, however, a beautiful test is revealed; remarkably symmetrical and sculpted to perfection, this endemic Australian urchin dons tests of subtle lime, pink, and cream. Why sea urchins bother to flaunt such exquisite colors and patterns hidden beneath their spines remains a mystery to science. Take, for instance, the endless permutations of Holopneustes mentioned previously—why put up such a visual feast, only to hide it beneath spines? For now, we are left to admire these marine wonders without the answer.

Left to right: Phyllacanthus magnificus, Phyllacanthus irregularis, Phyllacanthus parvispinus.

Like the inland location of the Sea Urchin Science Centre and Gallery, I too grew up far away from the coast, among the undulating farmlands and forests of southern Norway. My early childhood was spent in a place where people drove across a frozen lake in winter to get to the neighboring town, and my earliest memories include refusing to get dressed in winter clothing to go outside. Simply put, I was never particularly enamored with the cold.

As much as I love Norway, it is perhaps not so surprising then that when I moved to Australia in my twenties, I immediately felt at home the moment I got off the plane in Sydney. It was as if every parameter had been tweaked from those of northern Europe—the temperature and humidity buoyed, the colors saturated, the birdlife outrageously loud (think raucous cockatoos or the mocking laughter of a kookaburra), the air strangely fragrant. But what struck me more than any of these, was the omnipresence of water—clear, blue, and filled with life.

Before taking seashells or sea urchin tests from any beach, familiarize yourself with laws on collecting, as removing specimens in some areas may be prohibited. Make sure shells are empty and sea urchins are not living before collecting. If the shell still has an animal inside or the urchin’s spines or cilia are moving, gently return it where you found it.

Learn more at seaurchinscience.com.

All photos by Anders Hallan except as marked. Images of the Sea Urchin Science Centre and Gallery and its specimens used with permission of Ashley Miskelly.

Learn more about seashells

Learn more about identifying shells, the history of seashell collecting, great shelling beaches, and the lives of the animals who make the shells we find on the beach. Articles ›

No live shelling: Be sure shells are empty and sand dollars, sea stars, and sea urchins are no longer alive before you bring them home.