Tropical trophic cascade slows decomposers

In the rough and tumble natural world, consumers such as lions, lady bugs, llamas and lizards get most of the press, while producers such as peas, pumpkins and phytoplankton come in a close second.  Consumers earn their name because they get their energy from consuming other organisms, while producers produce their own energy (using photosynthesis or chemosynthesis) from inorganic molecules.  Often ignored in this ecosystem structural scheme are decomposers, which get their energy from breaking down the tissue of dead organisms.  They should not be ignored.  Much of the energy transferred through ecosystems passes through decomposers.

One reason they are overlooked is that most decomposers are tiny. Some of the largest decomposers are detritivores, which actually eat the dead materials (detritus), in contrast to other microbial decomposers such as bacteria and fungi.  Shredders are detritivores commonly found in streams and rivers; these aquatic insects eat portions of dead leaves and, in the process, shred them into much smaller pieces that energize other decomposers. Many researchers had noted that shredders were relatively rare in tropical streams, in part because there are many other larger consumers in the ecosystem that are willing to eat dead leaves and any shredders associated with them. Thus Troy Simon and his colleagues expected that shredders, such as the caddisfly, Phylloicus hansoni, would play, at best, a minor role in the streams they studied in the Northern Range Mountains in Trinidad.

stream

A typical headwater stream located in the Northern Range mountains of Trinidad. Waterfalls in the uppermost reaches of these streams act as a barrier to the upstream movement of guppies, but not killifish and crabs, which can move over land during periods of heavy rain. Credit: Joshua Goldberg.

We will discuss interactions between several species in these aquatic systems.  Trees are important producers as they shed leaves into the streams; these leaves are broken down by shredders such as the aforementioned caddisflies and also microbial decomposers.   The major consumers are omnivorous crabs, Eudaniela garmani, which eat leaves and caddisflies (and many other items), and two fish species. Killifish, Anablepsoides hartii, eat caddisflies, other invertebrates and also the occasional small fish (including fish eggs).

killifish

Hart’s killifish (Anablepsoides hartii) are primarily insectivorous and major consumers of leaf‐shredding caddisflies. Credit: Pierson Hill.

Guppies, Poecilia reticulata, are much smaller than killifish, maxing out at 32 mm long in comparison to the killifish maximum length of 100 mm.  But guppies are much more omnivorous, feeding on leaves, leaf-shredding insects and even killifish eggs and larvae.

guppies

Male (left) and female (right) Trinidadian guppy (Poecilia reticulata). Guppies are omnivorous, feeding broadly on detritus as well as plant and animal prey, including young killifish. Credit: Pierson Hill.

Amazingly, killifish can disperse over land, as can crabs (less amazingly).  This allows them to bypass barrier waterfalls during wet periods, which results in them being the only large consumer species above waterfalls in many Trinidad streams.  Guppies lack killifish dispersal abilities, so they are often confined to stream reaches below significant waterfalls.  These species, and their consumption patterns are highlighted in the figure below.

SimonFig1

Diagram of the two detrital-based food webs.  Above the waterfall is the KC reach, named after its two important consumers, killifish and crabs.  Below the waterfalls is the KCG reach, named after its three important consumers, killifish, crabs and guppies. Arrows show direction of energy flow within the ecosystem.

Simon and his colleagues wanted to know how interactions among all of these species influenced the rate of leaf decomposition.  The researchers constructed identical-size leaf packs of recently fallen leaves of the Guarumo tree, Cercropia peltata, and attached them to copper wire frames within each reach of the stream.  They periodically harvested a subset of the packs and measured the amount of decomposition by drying and weighing the leaves, and comparing this weight to the starting weight of the leaf pack.  In addition, they collected all invertebrates > 1 mm long from each leaf pack and identified them to species or genus.

To control the consumers involved in each interaction, Simon and his colleagues constructed underwater electric exclosures which created an electric field that convinced all fish and crabs to exit (and stay out) within 30 seconds of being turned on, but did not influence invertebrates in any detectable way.  Killifish are active day and night, guppies only during the day, and the researchers believed that crabs were active primarily at night. The researchers set up four treatments: control (C) with 24 hour access to consumers, experimental (E) with 24 hour exclusion of consumers, day-only exclusion (D) and night-only exclusion (N).  The researchers expected that the day-only exclusion treatments would selectively exclude guppies, while night-only exclusion would selectively exclude crabs. They then placed the leaf packs into each exclosure, turned on the current, and ran the experiment for 29 days.  Five replicates of each treatment were done above and below the waterfalls.

simonexperiment

Electric exclosures established in the stream. Leaf packs were tied to the copper frame and periodically harvested over the 29 days of the experiment. Rectangular tiles shown in treatment frames were part of a separate study. Credit: Troy N. Simon.

We’re finally ready for some data.  The two graphs on the left represent the downstream reach below the waterfalls, where killifish, crabs and guppies are naturally present (KCG).  The two graphs on the right represent the upstream reach above the falls, where only killifish and crabs are naturally present.  There was no evidence in the downstream reach that excluding consumers influenced decomposition rates (top left graph).  However, when consumers were present (C treatment) in the upstream reach, decomposition rates were reduced by about 40% in comparison to treatments when consumers were partially (D and N) or completely (E) excluded (top right graph).

SimonFig3

Mean (+SE) for (a,b) decay rate of Cecropia peltata leaves (percentage of mass lost per day) and (c,d)  biomass of Phylloicus hansoni (milligrams of dry mass per gram of Cecropia). 24-hour treatments allow full macroconsumer access [control (C)] or completely exclude macroconsumers [electric (E)]. Twelve-hour treatments exclude access to either diurnally active [day (D)] or nocturnally active [night (N)] macroconsumers. Different letters above the bars indicate statistically significant differences between the treatments.

The two bottom graphs above look at the biomass of the caddisfly, Phylloicus hansoni, which was easily the most abundant macroinvertebrate within the leaf packs.  There was no significant difference in caddisfly abundance below the waterfall regardless of treatment (bottom left graph above).  Above the waterfalls, caddisfly abundance was severely depressed in the controls (C) where killifish were free to feed on them (bottom right graph).

One piece of evidence that killifish ate caddisflies and depressed their abundance was that surviving caddisflies were much smaller in the control treatment leaf packs than in any of the experimental treatment leaf packs.  This suggests that  killifish with unimpeded access to caddisflies were picking off the largest individuals.

SimonFig4

Mean (+SE) caddisfly length in mm (y-axis) for each treatment, 

These findings support the hypothesis that a trophic cascade prevails in the KC reach, in which killifish eat caddisflies, thereby slowing down decomposition. But in the KCG reach, guppies eat killifish eggs and larvae and compete with them for resources, thereby reducing killifish abundance, and interfering with the establishment of a trophic cascade.

Lastly, the researchers explored whether the same trophic cascade operated in upper reaches but not in lower reaches of other streams in the area. Surveys of six streams indicate a definite “yes” answer, with Cecropia decay rate and caddisfly biomass much lower in the upper reaches.

SimonFig6

(Top) Mean (+SE) decay rate for Cecropia peltata
leaves (percentage of mass lost per day) and (b) caddisfly biomass (milligrams of dry mass per gram of Cecropia) in the landscape study (n = 6 streams). Different letters above bars indicate statistically significant differences  between treatments.

Surveys of each stream indicated that killifish were much more abundant in the upper reaches where guppies were not found, but guppies were much more prevalent in the lower reaches than were killifish.  These findings indicate that this detrital-based trophic cascade, with killifish eating caddisflies and thereby slowing down decomposition, is a general pattern in the upper reaches of these tropical streams.  However, Simon and his colleagues caution us that different streams will have different groups of organisms playing different ecological roles.  Thus the presence of detrital-based trophic cascades will depend on the particulars of which species are present and how abundant they are in a particular stream.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Simon, T. N., A. J. Binderup, A. S. Flecker, J. F. Gilliam, M. C. Marshall, S. A. Thomas, J. Travis, D. N. Reznick, and C. M. Pringle. 2019. Landscape patterns in top-down control of decomposition: omnivory disrupts a tropical detrital-based trophic cascade. Ecology 100(7):e02723. 10.1002/ecy.2723. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

 

Hot ants defend plants from elephants

I’ve lost a lot of sleep over ants.  As a spider researcher, I often placed ants on spiderwebs to lure my spiders out of their underground retreats and onto their webs. The problem was that these harvester ants (Pogonmyrmex species) were fierce, so to minimize damage to myself, I was forced to capture them in the very early morning, when they and (alas) I were very sluggish.

acacias_thorn copy

Swollen thorn (domatia) that serves as living quarters for acacia ants. Credit: T. Palmer.

Todd Palmer has worked with ants for many years, including research on ant-plant mutualisms in which acacia trees provide domatia (swollen thorns) as ant living quarters and extrafloral nectaries as ant food, while ants provide protection from herbivores such as elephants, kudus and steenboks.

Similar to my efforts with ants and spiders, Palmer wanted to reduce ant-induced damage to himself and his colleagues, so he often took advantage of early morning ant sluggishness for purposes of manipulating acacia trees. On the other hand, if he wanted to study aggressive responses, he learned that mid-day was best. Recognizing the daily patterns of ant activity got Palmer, Ryan Tamashiro (Palmer’s undergraduate research student) and Patrick Milligan (Palmer’s graduate student) thinking about how these different levels of activity would influence herbivores, many of which tend to be most active during dawn and dusk when temperatures are low and ants are relatively sluggish.

Elephant side

Elephants are major herbivores that can cause enormous damage to acacia trees. Credit: T. Palmer.

Four species of ants live in domatia on branches of Acacia drepanolobium, the dominant tree species at Mpala Research Centre in Laikipia, Kenya.

Acdr habitat

A grove of Acacia drepanolobium. Credit: T. Palmer.

In order of relative abundance, the ant species are Crematogaster mimosae (52%), C. sjostedti (18%), Tetraponera penzigi (16%) and C. nigriceps (15%).  Previous research showed that C. mimosae and C. nigriceps are the two most effective acacia defenders.

Cnigriceps copy

Crematogaster nigriceps on an acacia tree. Credit: T. Palmer.

Ants are poikilotherms, whose body temperature, and presumably their activity levels, fluctuate with environmental temperature.  As these ants live in acacia branches, the first order of business became to determine how branch temperature fluctuated with time of day during the 21 days of data collection.  Not surprisingly, branch temperature peaked at mid-day, and was lowest at dawn and dusk (temperatures were not measured during the night).

TamashiroFig S!

Variation in branch surface temperature with time of day. Horizontal bars are median values; boxes are first and third quartiles.

Tamashiro, Milligan and Palmer next asked how ant activity level related to branch temperature.  Different ant species don’t get along so well, so each tree hosted only one ant species.  For each tree surveyed, the researchers counted the number of ants that passed over a 5 cm branch segment during a 30 second time period (they did this twice for each tree),  The researchers discovered a strong correlation between branch surface temperature and baseline ant activity, with C. mimosae and C. nigriceps showing greatest activity levels at all temperatures, which increased sharply at higher temperatures.

TamashiroFig 1a

Ant activity levels in relation to branch surface temperature. Shaded areas are 95% confidence intervals for each species.

Do higher temperatures cause a stronger aggressive response to predators or other disturbances? Tamashiro and his colleagues tested this by rapidly sliding a gloved hand over a 15 cm segment of a branch three times and then resting the gloved hand on the branch for 30 s.  They then removed the glove and counted the number of ants that had swarmed onto the glove.  Again, C. mimosae and C. nigriceps showed the strongest aggressive response, which increased sharply with temperature

TamashiroFig 1b

Aggressive swarming by ants in relation to branch surface temperature. Shaded areas are 95% confidence intervals for each species.

While a gloved hand is a nice surrogate for predators, the researchers wanted to know how the ants would respond to a real predator, and whether the response was temperature dependent.  At the same time, they wanted to determine whether the predator would change its behavior in response to changes in ant defensive behavior at different temperatures.  They used eight somali goats (Capra aegagrus hircus) as their predators, and C. mimosae as the focal ant species for these trials.

Cpl. Paula M. Fitzgerald, USMC - United States Department of Defense

Somali goats in Ali Sabieh, Djibouti. Credit: Cpl. Paula M. Fitzgerald, USMC – United States Department of Defense.

The researchers chose eight trees of similar size for their experiment, and removed ants from four of the trees by spraying them with a short-lived insecticide, and preventing ant recolonization by spreading a layer of ultra-sticky solution (Tanglefoot) around the based of each treated tree.  Goats were allowed to feed for five minutes.

TamashiroFig2

Number of bites (top graph) and time spent feeding (bottom graph) by goats in relation to branch surface temperature. Shaded area is 95% confidence interval.

Tamashiro and his colleagues measured the number of bites taken (top graph) and the amount of time spent feeding (bottom graph) at different branch temperatures.  Both measures of goat feeding were not influenced by branch temperature if there were no ants on the trees (blue lines and points).  But if ants were present (red lines and points), goat feeding decreased sharply with increasing branch temperature, presumably reflecting more aggressive ant defense of the plants.

These findings have important implications for acacia trees, which are a critical species in the sub-Saharan ecosystem.  Previous research has shown that elephant damage is strongly influenced by the number of swarming ants on a particular tree; a greater number of swarming ants are associated with less elephant damage. Many vertebrate browsers feed throughout the day, but may feed preferentially at dawn and dusk, when temperatures are cooler and ant-defense is weakest. Browsing is particularly problematic for acacia saplings, which are usually attacked by small-bodied vertebrates such as steenbok, which forage primarily at night when ants are least active.  Thus the effectiveness of ant defense may be compromised by mismatches between vertebrate activity periods and ant activity periods.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Tamashiro, R. A., P. D. Milligan, and T. M. Palmer. 2019. Left out in the cold: temperature-dependence of defense in an African ant–plant mutualism. Ecology 100(6): e02712. 10.1002/ecy.2712 . Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

 

 

Mystifying trophic cascades

Within ecosystems, trophic cascades may occur when one species, usually a predator, has a negative effect on a second species (its prey), thereby having a positive effect on its prey’s prey. Today’s example considers the interaction between a group of predators (including several fish species, a sea snail and a sea star) their prey (the sea urchin Paracentrotus lividus) and sea urchin prey, which comprise numerous species of macroalgae that attach to the shallow ocean floor. These predators can negatively affect sea urchin populations either by eating them (consumptive effects), or by scaring them so they forage less efficiently (nonconsumptive effects). If sea urchins are less abundant or less aggressive foragers, the net indirect effect of a large population of fish, sea snails and sea stars will be an increase in macroalgal abundance.

Maldonado Halo

A large sea urchin grazing in a macroalgal community.  Notice the white halo surrounding the urchin, indicating that it has grazed all of the algae within that region. Credit: Albert Pessarrodona.

Many humans enjoy eating predatory fish, and we have overfished much of the ocean’s best fisheries including the shallow temperate rocky reefs (4 – 12 m deep) in the northwest Mediterranean Sea. Removing these predators has caused sea urchin populations to explode, overgrazing their favorite macroalgal food source, and ultimately leading to the formation of urchin barrens – large areas with little algal growth, low productivity and a small nondiverse assemblage of invertebrates and vertebrates.

DCIM112GOPRO

A sea urchin barrens whose macroalgae have been overgrazed by sea urchins. Credit: Albert Pessarrodona

Albert Pessarrodona became interested in this trophic cascade after years of diving in the Mediterranean. He noticed that in Marine Protected Areas, predatory fish abound and there are few visible urchins and lots of macroalgae. In nearby unprotected areas where fishing is permitted, urchins graze out in the open brazenly, and urchin barrens are common. He also wondered whether a second variable – sea urchin size – might play a role in this dynamic. Were large sea urchins relatively immune from predation by virtue of their large size and long spines, allowing them to forage out in the open even if predators were relatively common?

Urchinfig1

Interactions investigated in this study.  (a) Predators consume either small (left) or large (right) sea urchins (consumptive effects). (b) Sea urchins eat macroalgae. (c) Predators scare small or large sea urchins, reducing their foraging efficiency (nonconsumptive effects). (d) Predatory fish indirectly increase macroalgal abundance.

Pessarrodona and his research team used field and laboratory experiments to explore the relationship between sea urchin size and their survival and behavior in high-predator-risk and low-predator-risk conditions. High-risk was the Medes Islands Marine Reserve, which has had no fishing since 1983 and boasts a large, diverse assemblage of predatory fish, while low-risk was the nearby Montgri coast, which has a similar habitat structure, but allows fishing. The researchers tethered 40 urchins of varying sizes to the sea bottom (about 5m deep) in each of these regions, left them for 24 hours, and then collected the survivors to compare survival in relation to body size in high and low-risk conditions. They discovered that large urchins were much less likely to get eaten than were small urchins, and that the probability of getting eaten was substantially greater in the high-risk site.

UrchinFig3a

Probability of being eaten in relation to sea urchin size (cm) in high-risk (blue line) and low-risk (green line) habitats.

Pessarrodona and his colleagues followed this up by investigating whether the relatively predation-resistant large urchins were less fearful, and thus more likely to forage effectively, even in high-risk sites. Previous studies showed that sea urchins can evaluate risk using chemical cues given off by other urchins injured in a predatory attack, or given off by the actual predators. To explore the relationship between these cues and sea urchin behavior, the researchers put either large or small sea urchins into partitioned tanks with an injured sea urchin. Water flowed from one partition to the other, so the experimental sea urchins received chemical cues from the injured urchins. They also had a group of sea urchins placed in similar tanks without any injured sea urchins as controls. The experimental sea urchins were given seagrass to feed on, and the researchers calculated feeding rates based on how much food remained after seven days.

Small sea urchins were not deterred by the presence of an injured urchin (left graph below), while large sea urchins drastically reduced their feeding rates in response to the presence of an injured urchin (middle graph). This was startling as it flew in the face of the commonsense expectation that small sea urchins (most susceptible to predation) should be most fearful of predator cues. The researchers repeated the experiment (under slightly different conditions) placing an actual predator (a fearsome sea snail) on the other side of the partition. Again, large urchins showed drastically reduced foraging rates (right graph below).

UrchinFig4

Sea urchin responses to predation risk cues in the laboratory. When exposed to injured urchins – symbolized as having a triangle cut out – (A) small urchins did not reduce their grazing rate, while (B) large urchins drastically curtailed grazing. (C) When exposed to a predatory snail on the other side of a partition, large urchins sharply curtailed grazing. n.s = no significant difference, **P<0.01.

It turns out that large sea urchins are the critical players in this trophic cascade because they do much more damage to algal biomass than do the smaller urchins (we won’t go through the details of that research). The question then becomes how this plays out in natural ecosystems. Do consumptive and non-consumptive effects of predators in high-risk sites reduce sea urchin abundance and reduce the foraging levels of large sea urchins so that macroalgal cover is greatly enhanced? Pessarrodona and his colleagues surveyed high-risk and low-risk sites for sea urchin density and algal abundance. They set up 45 quadrats (40 X 40 cm) at each site, measured each sea urchin’s diameter, and estimated the abundance of each type of algae by harvesting a 20 X 20 cm subsample from each quadrat and drying and weighing the sample.

The findings were striking. Small and large sea urchins were much less abundant at high-risk sites than at low-risk sites (left graph below). At the same time, macroalgae were much more abundant at high-risk sites than at low-risk sites (right graph below).

UrchinFig5bc

(Left graph) Density of small and large sea urchins in high-risk and low-risk habitats. (Right graph) Biomass of macroalgae of different growth structures in high-risk and low-risk habitats. Canopy algae are taller than 10 cm, while turf algae are lower stature. Codium algae are generally not grazed by sea urchins. **P<0.01, ***P<0.001.

UrchinFig6a

Summary of interactions.  Arrow width indicates relative importance.

To summarize this system, predators reduce small sea urchin abundance by eating them (consumptive effects), and reduce large sea urchin foraging by intimidating them (nonconsumptive effects). The net indirect effect of predators on macroalgae is a function of these two effects. Large sea urchins are the major macroalgae consumers, but, of course, large sea urchins develop from small sea urchins.

The $64 question is why large sea urchins fear predators so much, while small (more vulnerable) urchins do not. The quick answer is that we don’t know. One possibility is that small sea urchins may be bolder in risky environments since they are more vulnerable to starvation (have fewer reserves), and also have lower reproductive potential since they are likely to die before they get large enough to reproduce. In contrast, large sea urchins can survive many days without food because of their large reserves. In addition, large urchins are close to sexual maturity, and thus may be unwilling to accept even a small risk to their well-being, which could interfere with them achieving reproductive success.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Pessarrodona, A.,  Boada, J.,  Pagès, J. F.,  Arthur, R., and  Alcoverro, T. 2019.  Consumptive and non‐consumptive effects of predators vary with the ontogeny of their prey. Ecology  100( 5):e02649. 10.1002/ecy.2649. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Spiders eat spiders sometimes

In human society, a guild is an association of craftsmen or merchants that work together to achieve a common goal. For example, 14thcentury Paris boasted over 350 different guilds, including drapiers (cloth makers), knife-makers, locksmiths, helmet-makers and harness-polishers. Ecological guilds are similar to human guilds, in that members of the same guild depend on the same resources for survival. But members of the same ecological guild are  different species, each of which uses a similar resource, or group of resources.  As we shall now discover, as in human guilds, members of ecological guilds don’t always get along very well.

A guild is part of a food web, which is a summary of the feeding relationships within a community.  Israel Leinbach, Kevin McCluney and John Sabo were interested in one particular part of a food web – the relationship between a large wolf spider (Hogna antelucana), a small wolf spider (Pardosa species) and a cricket (Gryllus alogus).  Both spiders are in the same guild, because they obtain their energy from similar sources – insect prey.  This cricket specializes on willow and cottonwood leaves that fall to the ground in the semi-arid floodplain of the San Pedro River in southeast Arizona. Under natural conditions, the researchers observed the large spiders eating both the small spiders and crickets.  However, they never observed the small spider eating the relatively large cricket (which averages 20 times its mass), though small spiders are delighted to eat many other (smaller) insect species.

spideeatscricket.jpg

A large wolf spider subdues and begins to consume a cricket.  Credit: Kevin McCluney.

The researchers argue that even though guild members specialize on similar resources, it is important to consider how other resources might influence the relationships among the species.  During the dry season, water is a critical limiting resource.  As it turns out, large spiders, crickets and small spiders are very different in how much energy and water they contain. From the table below you can see that the small Pardosa spiders are very low in water content, but pack a huge amount of energy into their tiny bodies.  Crickets of both sexes have a high water content, but contain a relatively small amount of energy in their large bodies. Thus small spiders have a much higher energy/water ratio than crickets or large spiders.

SpiderTable2

Mean (+/- 1 standard error) dry mass, energy, water and energy/water ratio of the three species discussed in this report.

When water is limiting, the large spiders might devote themselves to eating crickets to take advantage of their very high water content. But when water is not limiting, the large spiders would be expected to turn their attention to eating small wolf spiders, which are much dryer, but much higher in energy per unit body mass. The researchers reasoned that providing water to large spiders should increase the rate of intraguild predation (in this case large spiders eating small spiders).

SpiderFig1

Interactions among the three species when water is limiting (Control – left) and abundant (Experimental – right).  Black arrows are direct effects, while gray arrows show the direction of energy flux).

Leinbach and his colleagues set up a mesocosm experiment using 2 X 2 X 2 meter cages in which they experimentally manipulated community composition and water availability.

spidercages.jpg

Network of cages set up in the San Pedro River floodplain. Credit: Kevin McCluney.

All cages, except controls, received either one large male or female spider, two small spiders (sex unknown) and two crickets (again either male or female). Controls received no large spiders, and were used to establish a baseline survival rate for the two potential prey items (small spiders and crickets). To test for the effects of water availability on predation by large spiders the researchers placed water pillows that held approximately 30 ml of water into half of the enclosures. They predicted that large spiders would primarily eat energy-rich small spiders in cages with water pillows, but prefer water-rich crickets in cages without water pillows. The water pillows had minimal impact on cricket water levels as they got plenty of water from their food (green water-rich leaves)

spiderwaterpillow.jpg

A large wolf spider sucks water from the water pillow.  Credit: Kevin McCluney.

Leinbach and his colleagues used per capita interaction strength as their quantitative measure of predation effects.  If prey survival was lower in the experimental cages than  in the control, there was a negative interaction strength – indicating that large spiders were eating a particular prey type.  When the researchers provided them with water, large spiders of both sexes ate significantly more small spiders than they did  without water supplements.

SpiderFig4

Interaction strength (effect of predation) of large spider (Hogna antelucana) on the small spider (Pardosa species).  Both male and female large spiders have significant negative effects on small spiders when water is supplemented (blue bars), but have minimal effects without water supplements (gray bars).

But the story was very different with crickets.  The researchers expected that when supplemented with water, large spiders would bypass the water-rich crickets in favor of the energy-rich small spiders. Surprisingly, instead of crickets in cages with pillows surviving as well as controls, they actually survived better – at least male crickets did. One possible explanation is that spiders may emit odor (or other types of) cues that affect cricket behavior in a negative way, for example by causing them to feed more cautiously and inefficiently. Once the large spiders have killed the small spiders, there may be fewer spiders around to smell up the place, and crickets may feed more efficiently, and thus survive better.

spidermccluney.jpg

Israel Leinbach searches for spiders and crickets within a cage. Credit Kevin McCluney.

I asked Kevin McCluney if there were any other surprising findings, and he pointed out that large male and female spiders showed very similar consumption patterns.  He expected that females would need more energy because egg production is very energy demanding.  One explanation for this lack of difference is that large male spiders may expend considerable energy wandering around in search of sexually receptive females, and their overall energy needs may be similar to those of females. Balancing the demands of energy, water and sex may be equally demanding for both sexes of large spiders, and may lead to adaptive feeding on different levels of the food chain as environmental conditions shift.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Leinbach, I.,  McCluney, K. E., and Sabo, J. L. 2019. Predator water balance alters intraguild predation in a streamside food web. Ecology 100(4):e02635. 10.1002/ecy.2635. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Invasive crayfish hit the self-destruct button

One important feature of a biological invasion is that invaders can change an entire ecosystem in a substantial way.  A possible outcome of this change is that, in theory, an invasive species could inadvertently make an ecosystem less suitable as a habitat for itself.  Does this happen, and if so, under what circumstances?  One reason invasive species are so successful is that they usually can increase in population size very quickly.  Ecologists have discovered that species with the potential to increase very quickly may also have the potential to decline equally rapidly and then increase again, going through repeated boom-bust cycles of population size.  Thus if an invasive species starts to decline, it does not always mean that this decline will continue over time. Consequently, monitoring a biological invasion for only a few years may give a misleading picture of long-term prognosis for the invasive species and the ecosystem.

Eric Larson was able to address these problems when he began his postdoctoral research with David Lodge at the University of Notre Dame in 2014. Lodge (and John Magnuson before him) has studied the rusty crayfish (Faxonius rusticus) invasion in 17 northern Wisconsin lakes since the 1970s, using the same bait (beef liver) and the same traps on the same days each year.

Gantz_BeefLiver

Crysta Gantz prepares to bait a trap with beef liver, which the crayfish love, but she – not so much! Credit: Eric R. Larson.

Three graduate students (the other co-authors of the paper) had continued data collection and done extensive mapping of the lake bottoms.  When Larson joined the research program he had about 40 years of data and 17 well-described lakes.  He knew that rusty crayfish were declining in some lakes and not others, and he and his colleagues were ready to explore whether these declines could be tied in to some environmental variable that the crayfish were influencing in some lakes, but not others.

AllequashLake

Allequash Lake. Credit Eric R. Larson

As an avid fisherman (more in my mind than in actuality), I have, on many occasions, caught a nice bass only to have it regurgitate the contents of its stomach, which usually includes bits of crayfish.  As it turns out, predacious fish such as bass love to eat crayfish, and crayfish are more likely to survive in environments that provide hiding places such as rocks or luxurious macroalgae that grow in sand or muck. The problem is that crayfish enjoy dining on macroalgae, so they can do themselves a disservice by eating their shelter from predators, effectively changing their environment so that their invasion is no longer sustainable.  Does this actually happen?

rusty_crayfish

Two rusty crayfish discuss the issues of the day. Credit: Eric R. Larson.

Larson and his colleagues continued collecting data on 17 lakes, and used their long-term data set to evaluate whether rusty crayfish populations were not declining (steady or increasing), declining or occupying an ambiguous gray zone where there was no clear trend in how the population was changing. The analysis showed that three lakes were not declining since the rusty crayfish invasion, eight lakes had declined substantially and six lakes were ambiguous.

LarsenFig1

The researchers turned their attention to the lake-bottom substrate.  Were rusty crayfish more successful in rocky bottom lakes that gave them continuous predator protection?  Their analysis indicated that the three lakes where the invasion was going strong had the rockiest substrate, while the eight lakes experiencing population declines after the rust crayfish invasion were significantly less rocky.

LarsenFig2

Proportion rocky substrate in lakes whose rusty crayfish populations are in decline (red), have an ambiguous trend (black) or are not in decline (blue). The horizontal line within each box is the median value, box bottom and top are 25th and 75th percentile, and whiskers are the 10th and 90th percentile. Non-overlapping letters above the bars (a and b) indicate significant differences between the groups.

The researchers conclude that in the absence of rocky substrate, the rusty crayfish is eating the aquatic macrophytes that grow from the sandy lake bottom, thereby exposing itself to predators.  Larson and his colleagues recommend simultaneous surveys of crayfish populations and density of aquatic macrophytes to see whether lakes may oscillate between states dominated by one or the other.

rusty_trap1

Captured crayfish. Photo Eric R. Larson

Researchers want to know how commonly invasive species modify habitat in a self-destructive way.  A literature review of invasive species declines failed to find much evidence, but there are not enough long-term data sets to get a sense of how frequently this occurs. The problem is that researchers need to monitor the invasive species population and the relevant habitat variables for an extended time period.  The jury is still out on this question and only time (and careful data collection) will tell.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Larson, E. R.,  Kreps, T. A.,  Peters, B.,  Peters, J. A., and  Lodge, D. M.  2019.  Habitat explains patterns of population decline for an invasive crayfish. Ecology  100( 5):e02659. 10.1002/ecy.2659. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Fewer infections found in forest fragments

As human populations expand, we are converting ecosystems from one state to another.  In the case of tropical forests, conversion of forest to cropland may leave behind fragments of relatively undisturbed forest surrounded by a matrix of cropland or other forms of development.  Conservation ecologists are exploring whether ecological processes and ecosystem structure in these fragments work pretty much like normal forested regions, or whether fragments behave differently.  To do this, in a few locations around the world such as the Wog Wog Fragmentation Experiment in New South Wales, Australia, researchers have systematically created forest fragments of various sizes.  They can then ask a variety of questions comparing fragments vs. intact forest. For example,  how does species diversity, or how do processes such as competition, predation and mutualism differ in the two landscapes?

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Aerial photo of Wog Wog Fragmentation Experiment at the time the experiment began in 1987. Credit: Chris Margules.

Julian Resasco was working as a postdoctoral associate in Kendi Davies’ lab at the University of Colorado on a study that looked at changes in invertebrate communities in response to fragmentation at Wog Wog. Beginning in 1985, researchers had set up a network of pitfall traps, which are cups that are buried with their tops level to the ground, so that any careless organism that wanders in will be trapped in the cup.  Some pale-flecked garden skinks, Lampropholis guichenoti, also had the misfortune to become entrapped and became subjects for the study. The invertebrates, and the 186 unfortunate skinks were preserved in alcohol and stored as part of the Australian National Wildlife Collection.

Museumspec

Skink museum specimens at the Australian National Wildlife Collection. Credit: Julian Resasco.

Much later, Resasco arrived and began dissecting skink guts to analyze the prey items for a study that looked at how the skinks shifted prey consumption (their feeding niche) in response to fragmentation. While dissecting the skink guts, he noticed that some of the skinks had worms (nematodes) inside their guts.  These nematodes were relatively common among skinks from continuous eucalypt forests, rare among skinks from eucalypt fragments, and absent from skinks in the cleared, pine plantation matrix.

ResascoFig1

Top. The study area in southeast Australia, showing location of continuous forest, forest fragments and surrounding matrix.  Dots indicate locations of pitfall traps. The matrix was planted in pine seedlings soon after fragmentation.  Bottom. The pale-flecked garden sunskink Lampropholis guichenotti. Credit: Jules Farquar

As it turned out, the nematode was a new species, which Resasco and a colleague (Hugh Jones) named Hedruris wogwogensis. Nematodes in the genus Hedruris use crustaceans as intermediate hosts, which alerted Resasco and his colleagues that the terrestrial amphipod Arcitalitrus sylvaticus, which was very common in the pitfall traps, was probably an important intermediate host.  When amphipods from pitfall traps were examined microscopically, a small portion of them were infected with Hedruris wogwogensis. The researchers concluded that amphipods became infected when they ate plants that harbored nematode eggs or young nematodes, which then developed in amphipod guts, and were passed on to skinks that ate the amphipods.  Thus somewhat inadvertently, one aspect of the study transitioned into the question of how fragmentation can influence the transmission of parasites.

After concluding their skink dissections, Resasco and his colleagues discovered that skinks in continuous forest had five times the infection rate as did skinks in fragmented forest.  In addition, no skinks collected in the matrix were infected. Infected skinks harbored a similar number of nematodes, whether they lived in continuous forest or fragments (see the Table below). Lastly, amphipods were considerably more common in skink guts and pitfall traps from continuous forest, less so in fragments, and least in the matrix.

ResascoTab1good

Summary of data collected by Resasco and his colleagues. Nematode intensity is the mean number of nematodes per infected skink. Nematode abundance is the mean number of nematodes per skink (infected and uninfected). 

The researchers put these findings together in a structural equation model.  The boxes in the model below represent the variables, while the numbers in smaller boxes over the arrows are the regression coefficients, with larger positive numbers (in black) indicating stronger positive effects, and larger negative numbers (in red) indicating stronger negative effects.  The model revealed three important findings.  First, habitat fragmentation strongly reduced amphipod abundance.  High amphipod abundance was associated with high nematode abundance (that is the +0.20 in the model), so lower amphipod abundance from fragmentation reduced nematode abundance. Second, habitat fragmentation positively affected skink abundance – more skinks were captured in fragments than in intact forest, but this increase had no effect on nematode abundance in skinks.  Finally, note the direct arrows connecting “Fragmentation” to “Log nematode abundance in skinks”.  This indicates that other variables (beside amphipod abundance) are reducing infection rates in skinks that live in fragments and the matrix.

ResascoFig3

Structural equation model showing effects of fragmentation on nematode infection in skinks. Amphipods are the intermediate host.  Black arrows indicate significant positive effects of one variable on the other, while red arrows indicate significant negative effects. Solid lines represent fragments compared to controls and dashed lines represent the matrix compared to controls. Thicker lines are stronger effects.

At this point, we still have an incomplete understanding of the system.  We know that fragmentation reduces amphipods, which require a moist and shaded environment to thrive.  Reduced amphipod abundance leads to lower nematode infection rates in skinks.  But we know that other variables are important as well; perhaps nematodes survive more poorly in fragment and matrix soils. Interestingly, pine trees were planted in the matrix and are beginning to mature and shade out the matrix environment. Amphipod abundances are on the rise, so the researchers predict that nematode infection rates will begin to increase accordingly.  Those studies have begun.

IMG_2646

Eucalypt forest canopy at Wog Wog. Credit: Julian Resasco.

Looking at the bigger picture, it is clear that fragmentation may decrease (as in this study) or increase the abundance of an intermediate host. As an example of fragmentation increasing intermediate host abundance, the researchers describe a study in which fragmentation increased the abundance of the white footed mouse, an intermediate host for black-legged ticks (that host the bacteria that causes Lyme disease). We need to unravel the connections between landscape factors and the various species they influence, so we can begin to understand how human changes to the landscape can influence the transmission of diseases.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Resasco, J.,  Bitters, M. E.,  Cunningham, S. A.,  Jones, H. I.,  McKenzie, V. J., and  Davies, K. F..  2019. Experimental habitat fragmentation disrupts nematode infections in Australian skinks. Ecology  100( 1):e02547. 10.1002/ecy.2547. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Invasive crayfish depress dragonflies and boost mosquitoes

Paradoxically, obliviousness and intense focus can be two sides of the same coin, as the following story highlights.  As a new graduate student at the University of Minnesota, I took a field ecology course at the University’s field station at Lake Itasca (famously known as headwaters of the Mississippi River).  One afternoon we watched dragonflies at a small pond; the male dragonflies were obviously patrolling territories and behaving thuggishly whenever intruders came by, and amorously whenever females of their species approached.  Surprisingly, territorial males chased off male intruders of any species, even though they posed no reproductive threat to them.  Why, I wondered…  So I sat there for many hours and kept very careful track of who chased whom, and for how long.  Big focus time. Ultimately, these observations blossomed into my doctoral dissertation.  Unfortunately, these observations also blossomed into the most virulent case of poison ivy known to humanity, as my intense focus on dragonflies obliviousized me to the luxurious patch of poison ivy, which served as my observation perch.

Anax junius Henry Hartley

Anax junius dragonflies in copula.  The male has the bright blue abdomen.  Credit: Henry Hartley.

Despite this ignoble incident, dragonflies remain one of my favorite animal groups.  They are strikingly beautiful, brilliant flyers, and fun to try to catch. In addition, they have so many wonderful adaptations, including males with penises that are shaped to scoop out sperm (previously introduced by another male) from their mate’s spermatheca, and females who go to extremes to avoid repeated copulation attempts, for example, by playing dead when approached by a male. Thus I was delighted to come across research by Gary Bucciarelli and his colleagues that highlighted the important role dragonflies play in stream ecosystems just west of Los Angeles, California.

Back Camera

Captured dragonfly nymph.  Dragonflies require from one to four years to develop in aquatic systems, before they metamorphose into terrestrial winged adults. As nymphs, they are fearsome predators on aquatic invertebrates. As adults, they specialize on winged insects, though there are stories of them killing small birds. Credit: Gary Bucciarelli

Bucciarelli and his colleagues came up with their research question as a result of working in local streams with students on a different project.  They wanted to know if invasive non-native crayfish (Procambarus clarkii) affect the composition of stream invertebrates and whether removal of crayfish could lead to rapid recovery of these invertebrate communities.

crayfish, egg masses, clutches

Invasive crayfish, P. clarkii, sits on the stream bottom. Credit: Gary Bucciarelli

The researchers collected stream invertebrate samples and noticed a dramatic pattern – in all the streams with crayfish there were numerous mosquito larvae, but in all of the streams without crayfish there were no mosquito larvae and much greater numbers of dragonfly nymphs. This led them to formulate and test two related hypotheses. First, dragonfly nymphs (Aeshnaspecies) are more efficient predators on mosquitoes (Anopheles species) than are the invasive crayfish. Second, crayfish interfere with dragonfly predation on mosquitoes in streams where crayfish and dragonflies are both present.

Field Sampling

Student researchers collect stream samples. Credit: Gary Bucciarelli

Bucciarelli and his colleagues systematically sampled 13 streams monthly from March to October 2016 in the Santa Monica Mountains. Eight streams have had crayfish populations since the 1960s, while four streams never had crayfish, and one stream had crayfish removed as part of a restoration effort in 2015. Overall, streams with crayfish had a much lower number of dragonfly nymphs than did streams without crayfish.  In addition, streams with crayfish had substantial populations of Anopheles mosquitoes, while streams without crayfish (but much higher dragonfly populations) had no Anopheles mosquitoes in the samples.

BuccTable1

Number of mosquito larvae (MSQ) and dragonfly nymphs (DF)  by month in streams with crayfish (CF – top row of data) or without crayfish (CF Absent – bottom row)

This field finding supports both of the hypotheses, but the evidence is purely correlational.  So the researchers brought the animals into the laboratory to test predation under more controlled conditions.  They introduced 15 mosquito larvae into tanks, and exposed them to one of four treatments: (1) a single crayfish, (2) a single dragonfly nymph, (3) one crayfish and one dragonfly nymph, or (4) no predators. The researchers counted the numbers of survivors periodically over the three day trials. As the graph below indicates, dragonflies are vastly superior consumers of mosquito larvae compared to crayfish.  However, when forced to share a tank with crayfish, dragonflies stop hunting, either huddling in corners or actually perching on the crayfish.  By 36 hours into the experiment, all of the dragonflies had been eaten by the crayfish.  After three days, mosquito survival was similar when comparing tanks with crayfish alone with tanks that had both a crayfish and a dragonfly.

BuccFig2A

Mean number of surviving mosquito larvae in tanks with a lone dragonfly (DF), a lone crayfish (CF), one crayfish and one dragonfly (CF+DF) in comparison to controls with no predators.

Bucciarelli and his colleagues conclude that dragonfly nymphs are much more efficient predators of mosquito larvae than are crayfish. But when placed together with crayfish, dragonfly foraging efficiency plummeted. Field surveys showed a negative correlation between crayfish abundance and dragonfly larvae, and much greater mosquito larva populations in streams with crayfish.  This supports the conclusion that invasive crayfish cause mosquito populations to increase sharply by depressing dragonfly populations and foraging efficiency.  This is a complex trophic cascade because crayfish increase mosquito populations despite eating a substantial number of mosquito individuals.

The researchers argue that crayfish probably relegate dragonfly larvae to inferior foraging habitats, thereby limiting their efficiency as mosquito predators. As such, ecosystem services provided by dragonflies to humans are greatly diminished.  Recently, several new mosquito species that are disease vectors have moved into California.  Thus the loss of dragonfly predation services could pose a public health threat to the human population.  Bucciarelli and his colleagues recommend removing the invasive crayfish to restore the natural community of predators, including dragonflies, which will then naturally regulate the increased number of potential disease vectors.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Conservation Biology. The reference is Bucciarelli, G. M., Suh, D. , Lamb, A. D., Roberts, D. , Sharpton, D. , Shaffer, H. B., Fisher, R. N. and Kats, L. B. (2019), Assessing effects of non‐native crayfish on mosquito survival. Conservation Biology, 33: 122-131. doi:10.1111/cobi.13198. Thanks to the Society for Conservation Biology for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2019 by the Society for Conservation Biology. All rights reserved.