Epiphytes

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned them before, but after visiting the San Mateo County Fairgrounds today for a garden show, I’m feeling planty. And having just bought a little green bromeliad to join my ever-expanding window garden in Hanover, I was inspired just now to read a little more about epiphytic plants and bromeliads in general.

In Costa Rica, especially in the wetter areas, space is valuable. Once a tree has a foothold in the soil and a clear view of the sun, it can take off and spread its canopy as wide as possible, filling in the spaces and cutting the light off from the understory of the forest. Even in the lower light smaller, larger-leaved plants can grow and soak up whatever trickles down from their bigger cousins. Every inch of ground besides the continually cleared paths has something growing on in, whether it’s bare rock covered by lichens and liverworts and mosses or soil sprouting ferns and palms. But some plants have found yet another space to call their own- epiphytic plants, a “type,” but not a taxonomic distinction, use structures not their own to lift themselves above the ground, toward the light and the rain.

Mosses, liverworts, and lichens can also be considered epiphytes, since they grow on tree trunks and bare rocks- they aren’t parasites and don’t suck nutrients out of the trees or substrates that they grow on, but rather use ambient moisture and nutrients that collect in tiny pockets. The epiphytes that capture my attention, however, are the orchids and bromeliads, showy and beautiful waxy leaves and flowers that spring seemingly from nothing and adorn the branches of canopy trees.

Image

The spiky additions to the branches bearing reddish leaves are bromeliads, some of my favorite plants. They’re known sometimes as “air plants” because they don’t always grow in dirt, but rather absorb whatever they can from surfaces and the atmosphere around them. Pineapples, possibly the most famous of the bromeliads, do grow on the ground and in the soil, but many others live their whole lives without ever touching the surface of the earth, sending fluffy wind-borne seeds from tree to tree or budding off little clones of themselves to propagate. 

If the seeds manage to hit a tree (or a fencepost, telephone pole, rooftop, or cliffside,) they can sprout and slowly add leaves. Eventually they flower and send out more fluffy seeds, or set out little clones. 

Soon to come, photos of my favorite little bromeliad-in-a-jar. It lives on my windowsill and is soaking in some water at the moment- it was looking a little dry.

 

Fear Not, Gentle Readers!

For Agent Red Squirrel is not gone. I took some time off from blogging, as one is wont to do after nearly three months of intensive post-age, and have since I last posted returned to my native lands through much struggle and airport-sleeping. But I have now returned to the lands of the internets and intend to continue blogging my little heart out.

In other words, I have a big ol’ backlog of photos and stories from this past trip, and potential other fun adventures in the coming term, so stay tuned! My goal is to explore some of the ecology stuff and tell a few more awesome stories that I skated over in my haste to tell you about all the adventures we were having. Currently, my plan is to post at least once every two days, as my back-to-school schedule allows.

It took Dad and I about 16 hours longer to get home than it should have (thanks, U.S. Customs slowdown! We love you too!) but we did make it, and I have showered and obtained clean laundry (I actually do really love you Mom, you are the BEST). The dogs have been patted, the fish have been fed, the brother has been punched, and the photos have been sent to be printed (wheee)! The real posts will commence forthwith!

Image

Puddles and Lil’ Booger

Puddles is what we have decided to name our new friend. He’s not as dear to me as Nacho (see one of my posts from Monteverde for the story of Nacho the Science Dog) and he was not as lingering a companion, but Puddles is very beautiful nonetheless.

Image

See why we call him Puddles? Tyler found him under a giant lump of dead coral, and we coaxed him into one of our sampling buckets to get a better look at him. He was obviously unhappy, so we didn’t hold on to him for too long- just long enough to watch him change from bright turquoise to green and red and back again.

Puddles might have been the reason we didn’t find any mantis shrimp in that section of the beach, though- octopuses are listed as major predators of the formidable mantis shrimp. Seems like “squishy” would not be the best strategy for tackling the smashers and spearers of the stomatopod world, but cephalopods are supposed to be very smart, so maybe there are some secret plans and clever tricks involved…

I still doubted, however, that this little lady could take on our mantis shrimp:

Image

 

BABY OCTOPUS

 

Image

She was just so weensy, and so floppy that it wasn’t, in fact, difficult to imagine that Tyler had just sneezed her right out. Hence her nickname, Booger.

When they’re that young, it’s hard to ID them to species, but she (it, he, I don’t really know…) is likely the same type of Caribbean Reef Octopus as Puddles. Which is good, because that species is not known to be venomous, and this little Booger bit Tyler quite hard with her teeny little beak. 

Booger actually managed to escape captivity all by herself, but not before I got this shot of her post-battle pose:

Image

If I were a witch (I totally am not, please do not be suspicious in any way because IT’S NOT TRUE I SWEAR) my familiar would definitely be an octopus. The inconvenience of carrying around a bucket of seawater would be far outweighed by the awesomeness of their square pupils, the wiggliness and versatility of their soft bodies and extendo-sucker-arms, and the constant reminder of the Beatles’ song “Octopus’ Garden,” which I have loved since I was small. Plus according to Zak, one of our TAs, they’re GREAT conversationalists.

 

Turning Over Rocks

You know how sometimes you really need to go looking for the good stuff? Like, the best and cutest hostel on Cape Cod, or the tastiest hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in San Francisco, or the awesome snarky humor that your quiet friend can express just with eyebrows and three-word sentences: none of this stuff is flying banners or running newspaper ads or leaping out of the water to attract your gaze (dolphins are SUCH attention-seekers…). But you have to take the time to peek into the little jewel-boxes of the world, and you have to pay close attention to the AWESOME STUFF that lives in and under the algae-encrusted rocks right at the waves’ edge.

Seriously, there is a ton of stuff down there! At first glance it looks like just a pile of moldy rocks- cast-off and dead coral chunks, bits of limestone, and old cracked conch shells- but under all the rocks there’s a zoo and a half of biota. Everything from sneaky hidden anemones to sea urchins, flatworms to crabs and suckerfish and sea stars… 

Image

I was a big fan of this little guy- we found him on the underside of a big slab of limestone. I think he’s a Stippled Clingfish- an algae grazer. 

Image

This one wasn’t technically under a rock, but more washing over them in the edges of the waves. I honestly have no idea what it is, beyond the vague inkling that it’s a cnidarian (jellyfish) of some kind. It didn’t seem to sting me, but its tentacles were very delicate.

Image

This last pretty lady was inside of a conch shell- when I picked it up, all these legs came wriggling out into my hand.

Don’t miss the little stuff! Go and pick up some rocks, and look behind those doors you’ve always wondered about. There could be some pretty schweet stuff in there. 

Mantis Shrimp Are Super Weird

Image

A mantis shrimp is not actually either a mantis (insect) or a shrimp (decapod) but is, in fact, an arthropod. They are referred to in science as “stomatopods,” which as far as I can tell means “mouth-foot” (don’t ask me why… I do not know). They’re pretty much filled to the brim with wizardry and badassery.

The wizardry comes into play in their two stalked, independently moving eyes. They’ve got 16 photoreceptor pigments (humans I think have three?), twelve of which are for color sensitivity… but that’s not all. Each eye has three parts, and can perceive depth independently of the other… but that’s also not all. At least some mantis shrimp can use those other four photoreceptors to see polarized light, both linear and circular. What even does that mean? It means WIZARD VISION. It also potentially means that mantis shrimp have better vision than anything else in the animal kingdom, and a possible secret language of light in which to send each other signals. What are they up to down there on the seafloor?

Image

The badassery is derived both from their absurd good looks (that is one handsome arthropod, no?) and their incredibly powerful front legs. Like praying mantises, these guys have nearly rocket-powered striking front legs that they use to stun or kill their prey- stomatopods’ hunting appendages are so powerful that they create cavitation bubbles (spontaneous air) underwater behind their super-fast strikes. The sound you can hear from mantis shrimp hunting is not snapping from hitting their prey- it’s the collapsing air pockets that then exert further force on the hapless, stunned, or killed little edibles. Mantis shrimp are divided into “spearers” and “smashers”- some spear their prey (or invading fingers) with lightning-fast stabby motions, and some use club-shaped elbows to smash open shells or knock out prey (or fingers). Their name in German, “fangschreckenkrebse,” translates to “scary-claw crab.” Fairly accurate… at least as accurate as mantis shrimp.

Moral of the story: Mantis shrimp are super weird and crazy awesome. But keep your hands clear- their wizard vision and rocket-claws will help them mess your fingers right up. 

Conch Eyes are Hilarious

I can’t stop looking at them. They are so bizarre. 

Image

I keep staring at their googlyness. 

What are they thinking about behind those googly, googly eyes?

A bit of natural history: The Queen Conch (Strombus gigas) is a really big mollusk that eats mostly plants (turtle grass, algae of various kinds) and occasionally some poor sessile animal that can’t get out of the way of the conch’s ever-questing mouthparts. They’re harvested commercially for food and for their incredible shells, over a foot in length at maturity. And their eyes are SUPER GOOGLY.

Doing Science- Marine Biology is Hard

In part because of this little guy: 

Image

It’s a turtle grass anemone, growing on (you guessed it) turtle grass, in the big lagoon where we were surveying conch and algae populations. Any attempt to walk through the turtle grass with any exposed leg skin resulted in many unknown (and very painful) sting marks and even blisters… the less painful stings were usually from hydroids also growing as epiphytes on the seaweed. Meanwhile, if we weren’t walking through the grass towing all our gear, we were swimming, clearing masks, clearing ears, diving for conches, taking notes, swallowing water, losing fins, and floundering away from alarmingly large tarpons and barracudas. 

People did not evolve in the oceans. It’s a foreign environment for so many reasons, but a compelling and attractive one for many of the same; so much is left to be explored, and so much is left that is still new to individuals and to humanity in general. There aren’t any answers for so many of the questions I have about underwater systems yet. And there’s so much neat stuff to see!

During our marathon 5-hour lagoon research session (don’t worry, we drank lots of non-salty water afterwards to make up for any losses sustained in the morning), we ran into a number of exciting creatures, among them the aforementioned tarpon and barracuda. Similar-sized fishes (aka HUGE), the tarpon and barracuda are both solitary predators that were cruising the lagoon presumably in search of some mid-sized fishes to chomp on. While startling, these guys didn’t present as much of a threat to us as the spiny sea urchins and stinging anemones in the grass.

Almost as surprising as the appearance of a six-foot-long fish in a five-foot-deep lagoon was the banded coral shrimp, a cleaner of larger fishes (like Jaques from Finding Nemo, anyone?). It had set up its cleaning station on a small bit of rock surrounded by sand and turtle grass, and was working on a two-year-old Nassau grouper when we swam by and scared off its client. They’re so cute! This one came out to play with me:

Image

Worth it? I think so. I’m exhausted, many in our group are sunburnt or dehydrated or both, and we’ve all felt the stings of the anemones and hydroids along with the more mental sting of knowing that we’re ill-suited for our study environment especially in comparison to the sleek predators sharing space with us… but the adventure, as always, continues.