WELLINGTON, New Zealand — Ned is a perfectly nice snail. If he had a dating profile, it might read: good listener, stable home, likes broccoli, seeks love.
But he’s already exhausted his local options and it’s not because he’s picky or unappealing. Instead, he’s a common garden snail with an uncommon anatomical problem that’s ruining his love life.
Ned’s shell coils to the left, not the right, making him the 1 in 40,000 snails whose sex organs don’t line up with those of the rest of their species. Unless another lefty snail is found, the young gastropod faces a lifetime of unintentional celibacy.
That dire prospect prompted a New Zealand nature lover who found the snail in her garden in August to launch a campaign to find his perfect match. But Ned’s quest for true love, perhaps predictably, is slow.
Giselle Clarkson was weeding her home vegetable patch in Wairarapa on the North Island when a snail tumbling out of the leafy greens caught her eye. Clarkson, the author and illustrator of a nature book, “The Observologist,” has an affection for snails and had long been on the lookout for a sinistral, or left-coiled shell.
“I knew immediately that I couldn’t just toss the snail back into the weeds with the others,” she said. Instead, she sent a photo of the snail, pictured alongside a right-coiled gastropod as proof, to her colleagues at New Zealand Geographic.
The magazine launched a nationwide campaign to find a mate for Ned, named for the left-handed character Ned Flanders in “The Simpsons,” who once opened a store called The Leftorium. That explains the male pronouns some use for Ned, although snails are hermaphrodites with sex organs on their necks and the capacity for both eggs and sperm.
“When you have a right-coiling snail and a left-coiling snail, they can’t slide up and get their pieces meeting in the right position,” Clarkson said. “So a lefty can only mate with another lefty.”
The fact that romantic hopefuls need not be a sex match should have boosted Ned’s prospects. But his inbox has remained empty except for photos of “optimistically misidentified right-coiling snails,” Clarkson said.
“We’ve had lots of enthusiasm and encouragement for Ned, a lot of people who can relate and really want the best for them, as a symbol of hope for everyone who’s looking for love,” she said. “But as yet, no lefties have been forthcoming.”
Ned’s relatable romantic woes have attracted global news coverage, but New Zealand’s strict biosecurity controls mean long-distance love probably isn’t on the cards. Other left-coiled snails have gotten lucky through public campaigns to find mates before, however, so Clarkson remains optimistic.
In 2017, the death of British sinistral snail Jeremy — named for left-wing politician and gardening lover Jeremy Corbyn — prompted a New York Times obituary after his eventful two-year life.
A quest to find left-coiled mates for Jeremy prompted the discovery of two prospective matches, who initially preferred each other. But Jeremy got the hang of it eventually, and by the time of his death had 56 offspring — all of them right-coiled.
It was a fascinating chance for scientists to investigate what produces left-coiled snails, with the cause most likely a rare genetic mutation. Studies of snail farms in Europe prompted researchers to estimate about 1 in every 40,000 snails is a lefty.
Back in Wairarapa, Ned’s constant presence in a tank in Clarkson’s living room has kindled a life of quiet companionship and existential questions.
“Maybe snails don’t have a concept of loneliness,” Clarkson found herself thinking. What if Ned didn’t mind being single?
However the young snail feels about his prospects, Ned probably has time. Garden snails live for two to five years and his shell suggests he’s about 6 months old, Clarkson said.
Still, she feels pressure to see him romantically fulfilled.
“I have never felt this stressed about the welfare of a common garden snail before,” she said. “I check on Ned almost obsessively.”
