It’s all happening at the ecotone

December 30, 2019 by fredsingerecology

In an effort to make order out of the chaos of existence, scientists often resort to classifying stuff. To make order of the natural world, ecologists classify different regions of the world into distinct biomes – large geographical areas with characteristic groups of organisms adapted to that particular environment. Familiar examples of terrestrial biomes are tropical forests, temperate grasslands and desert, and in the aquatic world examples include open ocean, coral reefs and rivers. But what happens at ecotones, where two or more biomes come together? Research has shown that ecotones can be biodiversity hotspots, as the diverse habitats attract many different species, and may also attract edge specialists – species that are particularly adapted to conditions on the border between the two biomes.

Sara Weinstein collects data at the ocean to land ecotone. Credit: Anand Varma.

Sara Weinstein’s graduate research explored the ecology and transmission of raccoon roundworm, Baylisascaris procyonis, a widespread raccoon parasite that causes severe disease in other animals (including humans). She was dissecting raccoons to study infection patterns and as she describes “it would have been a waste of perfectly good raccoon guts to not also examine the rest of the parasite community.” This examination would allow her to determine whether the generalization that ecotones are biodiversity hotspots for terrestrial and aquatic organisms also applies to the much more murky world of gut parasites.

A raccoon poses next to a culvert. Credit: SB Weinstein.

Working with four other researchers, Weinstein compiled a database of published accounts of gastrointestinal parasites from surveys of 256 raccoon populations. They then used this database to classify parasites as either core or satellite. Core parasites are locally abundant, common over a large region and can occupy a broad ecological niche. Satellite parasites are rare, restricted to a small portion of a region and have narrow ecological niches.

Microphallus sp. – a group of relatively rare satellite trematodes collected from a raccoon gut. Credit: SB Weinstein.

Weinstein and her colleagues found that the data divided raccoon gut parasites into two distinct groups.

Top graph. Parasite frequency across raccoon populations. Most parasite genera were found in less than 10% of the raccoon populations. Dashed line indicates 30% cutoff between satellite and core genera. Bottom graph. Proportion of raccoons infected with each parasite in relation to range-wide prevalence. Larger data points indicate more populations surveyed for a given parasite.

There were eight taxa (genera) that were found in more than 40% of raccoon populations. In contrast there were 51 genera that were found in fewer than 30% of raccoon populations, with the vast majority of these found in fewer than 10% of raccoon populations in the survey (top graph on left). The eight common taxa – core parasites – also tended to be present in more individuals within each population than did the 51 less common genera of satellite parasites (bottom graph on left).

Having defined core and satellite parasites, the researchers then did a thorough analysis of the gut contents of 180 raccoon collected by trappers and animal control agents in Santa Barbara County between 2012 – 2015. They hypothesized that the prevalence of core parasites should not be overly affected by ecotones. In contrast, satellite parasites should increase in ecotones, because ecotones provide unique environmental conditions that would be suitable to some of the less common species in the parasite community.

In Santa Barbara County, Weinstein and her colleagues identified four core parasites and nine satellite parasites within the population, with a mean of 2.24 parasite species per raccoon. Racoons nearer to the marine ecotone harbored more parasite species than did raccoons more distant from the marine ecotone, a result of much greater richness of satellite species (left graph below). The story was very different for the freshwater ecotone. Overall, parasite richness was relatively constant in relation to distance from the freshwater ecotone. There were actually fewer core parasites but more satellite parasites near the freshwater ecotone (right graph below).

Left graph. Total parasite richness (orange line) in relation to distance from shore. Satellites (orange fill) increased in abundance near the shore, while core parasites (maroon line) were steady. Right graph. Total parasite richness in relation to distance from freshwater.

Why did core parasite richness decline near the freshwater ecotone? Weinstein and her colleagues believe that diet may play an important role. For example, the core parasites Atriotaenia procyonis and Physoloptera rara were more common in raccoons far from freshwater, probably because racoons are infected by these two parasites as a result of eating terrestrial (but not aquatic) insect species that are intermediate hosts for these two parasite species. As it turns out, these intermediate insect hosts prefer upland habitats that tend to be located relatively distant from the freshwater ecotone.

Increased abundance of rare parasites at ecotones has important implications for human health. Several emerging infectious diseases, such as lyme disease, yellow fever and Nipoh virus are associated with ecotones. Habitat development by the expanding human population is causing increased habitat fragmentation, creating more ecotones, and potentially increasing the prevalence of these and other, equally unfriendly, parasites.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Weinstein, S. B., J. C. Van Wert, M. Kinsella, V. V. Tkach, and K. D. Lafferty. 2019. Infection at an ecotone: cross-system foraging increases satellite parasites but decreases core parasites in raccoons. Ecology 100(9):e02808. 10.1002/ecy.2808. 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

June 9, 2019 by fredsingerecology

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Kelp consumption curtailed by señorita

July 10, 2018 by fredsingerecology

Miranda Haggerty was diving through a kelp forest, and noticed that many kelp bore a large number of tiny limpets that were housed in small scars that they (or a fellow-limpet) had excavated on the kelp’s surface. This got her thinking about how these scars might affect the kelp, and equally relevant, whether there were any limpet predators that might lend the kelp a hand (or a mouth) by removing limpets.

A limpet grazes on a kelp frond. Credit: Jerry Kirkhart

Feather boa kelp (Egregia menziesii) is a foundation species within the subtidal marine system off the California coast, providing food and habitat for many species that live on or among its fronds. The tiny seaweed limpet, Lottia insessa, specializes on feather boa kelp, grazing on its fronds and living within the scars. Many invertebrates and fish live within the kelp forest, but the most abundant fish is the señorita, Oxyjulis californica. Haggerty wondered whether the señorita might benefit the kelp (directly) by removing limpets, or (indirectly) by scaring limpets away – what ecologists call a trait-mediated indirect interaction.

The señorita – a fearsome predator of limpets. Credit: Miranda Haggerty

The first order of business was to determine whether the limpets were actually harming the kelp. Haggerty and her colleagues approached this in two ways. First they chose 94 kelp plants from kelp forests off the California coast. From each individual they chose one grazed and one ungrazed frond (each 3 m long). Grazed fronds averaged 5-10 scars and at least 2 limpets per meter of length. Every three weeks they visited their kelp to score for broken fronds. In 29 of 30 cases, the grazed frond broke before the ungrazed frond (in the remaining cases the entire plant was missing, or both fronds broke and the researchers could not tell which had broken first).

Photo of feather boa kelp showing grazing scars, including one housing a limpet (left). Diagram of feather boa kelp showing multiple fronds (right).

But the researchers were concerned that perhaps limpets chose to graze on weaker fronds, so the breakage was not caused by grazing scars, but by limpet choice. To account for this concern, Haggerty and her colleagues chose 43 ungrazed kelp plants, placed three limpets on one frond, and chose a second, equal-sized frond as an unmanipulated control. Once again, they visited their plants every three weeks, and discovered that grazed fronds broke first in all 20 pairs that the sequence of frond breakage could be determined. Clearly, limpet grazing is bad news for feather boa kelp.

How does the señorita fit into this system? The researchers designed a laboratory experiment to address this question. They used 10 large tanks (1700 L), and set up five different experimental treatments to compare direct effects of predation, and indirect effects of predator presence, on limpet grazing, and ultimately on kelp survival. To isolate the direct effects of predation from the indirect effects of predator cues on limpets, Haggerty and her colleagues placed four kelp fronds into fish exclosure cages, which were housed in the large tanks, and placed three limpets onto some of these fronds. To mimic actual predation (CE treatment in Table below), they removed limpets by hand at a constant rate typical of señorita predation. For the NCE treatment (testing indirect effects of predator presence) they introduced señorita into the large tank so the limpets experienced the predator cues, but were not eaten. The different treatments are summarized in the table below. These experiments ran for one week and each treatment was replicated 10 times.

HaggertyTableFinal Each day the researchers monitored the number of limpets and grazing scars. After one week, Haggerty and her colleagues counted the number of grazing scars, and measured the breaking strength of each frond by clamping the frond’s end to a table and pulling on the opposite end with a spring scale until it broke. They then recorded the amount of force needed to break the frond.

Clamped kelp frond whose breaking strength has been tested. Notice that the frond broke at a grazing scar (right). Credit Miranda Haggerty.

Not surprisingly, the predator control (PC) kelp (limpets present without señorita) had the most scars and lost the greatest amount of tissue. Kelp receiving the consumptive predator effect treatment (CE) had fewer scars and lost less tissue than PC. But interestingly, kelp receiving NCE and TPE treatments had significantly fewer scars than the CE kelp, and were statistically indistinguishable from each other. Thus, in the laboratory, the presence of señorita cues (NCE treatment) was more important than actual predation (CE treatment) in reducing kelp scarring and tissue consumption (top and middle graph below). As a result, the NCE treated kelp were stronger (had greater breaking strength) than were the CE treated kelp (bottom graph below).

Mean (+ standard error) number of grazing scars (top), mass of tissue consumed (middle) and breaking strength (bottom) of kelp in response to five experimental treatments. CE = consumptive effect, NCE = non-consumptive effect, TPE = total predator effect, PC = predator control, LC = limpet control. Different letters above bars indicate significant differences between the means when comparing treatments.

Haggerty and her colleagues replicated this experiment, with a few experimental design modifications, in a field setting. As with the laboratory experiment we’ve just discussed, the researchers found a very strong non-consumptive effect. The researchers suspect that these limpets respond to chemical cues emitted by their señorita predators. They could not respond to many types of sensory cues because they lack auditory organs, and the experimental design prevented fish from transmitting any shadows (visual cues) or vibrational cues. In addition previous studies have shown that some limpet species use chemoreception for predator avoidance, foraging and homing. However, the nature of this chemical cue is yet to be discovered for this predator-prey system.

Schooling señorita. Credit: Miranda Haggerty

Trophic cascades occur when the effects of one species on another species cascade down through the ecosystem. In this case, señorita predators directly and indirectly reduce limpet density, which increases the survival of kelp – a foundation species for this ecosystem. The researchers point out that this trophic cascade only occurs in the southern feather boa kelp range, because señorita are absent further north. We don’t know if limpets have other predators in the northern range, but we do know that the kelp are structurally more robust further north, so they (and the ecosystem) may be relatively immune to limpet-induced destruction.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Haggerty, M. B., Anderson, T. W. and Long, J. D. (2018), Fish predators reduce kelp frond loss via a trait‐mediated trophic cascade. Ecology, 99: 1574-1583. doi:10.1002/ecy.2380. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2018 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Seaweed defense – location, location, location.

June 13, 2018 by fredsingerecology

If you’re ever feeling sorry for yourself, you should know that things could have been much worse; you could have been the brown seaweed, Silvetia compressa. So many problems! Ocean waves come crashing over you, threatening to pull you off your life-sustaining substrate. Ocean tides recede, exposing you to harsh sun and dangerously dry conditions. Perhaps worst of all, the fearsome predator Tegula funebralis eats away at your body, and you are powerless to defend yourself from its savage ravages.

Tegula snails chomp away on Silvetia seaweed in northern California. Credit: Emily Jones.

As it turns out, Silvetia is not so powerless after all. After being partially grazed by Tegula, the seaweed can induce defenses that reduce its palatability. From prior work, Emily Jones noticed that seaweed from northern California shorelines was much more sensitive to grazing than was seaweed from southern California shorelines. It took fewer grazing snails to elicit palatability reduction in northern Silvetia than it did in southern Silvetia. She decided to focus her PhD work with Jeremy Long on documenting these geographic differences, and figuring out why they exist.

Emily Matthews (near) and Grace Ha (far) survey snails and seaweed in a northern California site. Credit: Emily Jones.

Environmental conditions vary along the California coast. Northern seaweed populations experience cooler temperatures (air ~5-20 °C; water ~10-12 °C) and more nutrients (nitrate levels up to 40 umol/L) than do southern populations (air 5-37 °C; water ~14-20 °C; nitrate levels < 2 umol/L). In addition, Jones and Long surveyed Tegula abundance at three northern California and three southern California sites, counting every snail in 20 quadrats placed in the low, mid and high intertidal zone at each of the six sites (360 0.25 X 0.25m quadrats in total) . They discovered that seaweed was much more likely to encounter Tegula along northern coastlines.

Percent of plots with Tegula snails in northern sites (Stornetta, Moat Creek and Sea Ranch – blue bars) and southern sites (Coast, Calumet and Cabrillo – orange bars). High, Mid and Low refer to location within the intertidal zone (high is closest to shore and regularly exposed at low tide).

Given these differences in snail abundance, we can now understand why Silvetia is more sensitive in its northern range to Tegula grazing. But how strong are these differences in sensitivity? Jones and Long developed a simple paired-choice feeding preference assay to test for differences in palatability. At each location (north and south), the researchers gave test snails a choice between feeding on seaweed that had been previously grazed by either 1, 4, 7, 10 or 13 Tegula snails, or to feed on seaweed with no grazing history. The test snails grazed for five days, and the researchers measured the amount of seaweed consumed for each group. They discovered that even a little bit of previous grazing (the 1-snail treatment) made northern test snails prefer non-grazed northern Silvetia, while only high levels of previous grazing (the 10 and 13-snail treatments) had similar effects on southern snails tested on southern Silvetia.

Amount of previously-grazed and non-grazed Silvetia eaten by Tegula in paired choice tests. (Top) Northern Selvetia, (Bottom) Southern Silvetia. Error bars are 1SE. * indicates significant differences in consumption rate.

These findings raised the question of whether the cooler and more nutrient-rich environmental conditions at the northern site were somehow causing this difference in consumption of previously-grazed seaweed. The researchers designed a series of common garden experiments at the Bodega Marine Laboratory, in which seaweed from both locations were tested in the same environment. Silvetia was exposed to grazing by two snails, or by no snails for 14 days. When test snails were given the choice of non-grazed or previously-grazed northern Silvetia, they much preferred eating non-grazed Silvetia. In contrast, they showed no preference when given a similar choice between non-grazed or previously-grazed southern Silvetia. This indicates that seaweed from the north are responding more to grazing by reducing palatability than are seaweed from the southern locations.

Amount of previously-grazed and non-grazed northern and southern Silvetia eaten by Tegula in paired choice tests.

In theory, there could be a tradeoff between induced defenses, such as reduction in palatability in response to grazing, and constitutive defenses, which an organism expresses all of the time. Examples of constitutive defenses are thorns or spines in plants, and cryptic coloration or body shape in many insects. Jones and Long found no evidence for such a tradeoff; in contrast southern Silvetia actually had lower levels of constitutive defenses, as both northern and southern Tegula strongly preferred eating southern Silvetia in paired choice tests.

Amount of northern and southern Silvetia eaten by northern and southern Tegula in paired choice tests.

These geographic differences in seaweed sensitivity to grazing are probably due to long-term differences in environmental history. Southern Silvetia seaweeds live in stressful conditions (high temperatures and low nutrients), and the physiological cost of mounting an induced defense against low and moderate levels of grazing may be too high to be worthwhile. We also don’t know what the overall grazing rates are in the north versus the south, and importantly, how variable the grazing rates are in each location. Highly variable grazing rates would select for a strong set of induced responses, which could be turned on and off as needed, allowing seaweed, or any plant, to defend itself against new or more hungry herbivores moving into their environment.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Jones, Emily and Long, Jeremy D. 2018. Geographic variation in the sensitivity of an herbivore-induced seaweed defense. Ecology. doi: 10.1002/ecy.2407. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2018 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

Plant communities bank against drought

May 3, 2018 by fredsingerecology

Many plants shed their young embryos (seeds) into the soil where they may accumulate in a dormant (non-growth) state over years before germinating (resuming growth and development). Ecologists describe this collection of seeds as a seed bank. Marina LaForgia describes how scientists were able to germinate and grow to maturity some 32,000 year old Silene stenophylla seeds that was stashed, probably by an ancient squirrel, in the permafrost! With increased climatic variation predicted by most climate models, she wanted to know how environmental variability might affect germination of particular groups of species within a community. In addition, she and her colleagues recognized that most ecological studies investigate community responses to disturbances by looking at the aboveground species. It stands to reason that we should consider the below-surface seed bank as a window to how a community might respond in the future.

Some seedlings coming up from the seed bank. Credit:Marina LaForgia.

Seed banks can be viewed as a bet-hedging strategy that spreads out germination over several (or many) years to reduce the probability of catastrophic population decline in response to one severe disturbance, such as drought, flood or fire. In some California annual grassland communities, species diversity is dominated by annual forbs – nonwoody flowering plants that are not grasses. Many forbs produce seeds that can lie dormant in the seed banks for several years. Though these forbs are the most diverse group, there are also about 15 species of exotic annual grasses that dominate the landscape in abundance and cover. These grasses dominate because they produce up to 60,000 seeds per m², they grow very quickly, and they build up a layer of thatch that suppresses native forbs. However, seeds from these grasses cannot lie dormant in the seed bank for very long.

Area of field site dominated by Delphinium (purple flower) and Lasthenia (yellow flower). Looking closely you can also see some tall grasses rising. Credit Marina LaForgia.

How is drought affecting these two major components of the plant community? LaForgia and her colleagues answered this question by collecting seeds from a northern California grassland at the University of California McLaughlin Natural Reserve in fall 2012 (beginning of the drought) and fall 2014 (near the end of the drought). They used a 5-cm diameter 10-cm deep cylindrical sampler to collect soil and associated seeds from 80 different plots. The researchers also used these same plots to estimate aboveground-cover, and to identify the aboveground species that were present. The research team germinated and identified more than 11,000 seeds.

Plants germinating in the greenhouse. Credit Marina LaForgia.

The researchers knew from previous work on aboveground vegetation that exotic annual grasses declined very sharply in response to drought. In contrast, the native forbs did relatively well, in part depending on their specific leaf area (SLA) – a measure of relative leaf size, with low SLA plants conserving water more efficiently. It seemed reasonable that these same patterns would be reflected belowground. Recall that most grass seeds are incapable of extended dormancy, while many forbs can remain dormant for several years. Consequently, LaForgia and her colleagues expected that grass abundance in the seed bank would decline more sharply than would forb abundance. In addition, they expected that high SLA forbs would not do as well as low SLA forbs during drought.

The researchers discovered very sharp differences between the two groups over the course of the drought. Exotic annual grasses declined sharply in the seed bank, while native annual forb abundance tripled. Aboveground cover of grasses declined considerably, while aboveground cover of forbs increased modestly. Clearly the exotic grasses were suffering from the drought, while the forbs were doing quite well.

(a) Seed bank abundance of grasses (red circles) and forbs (blue triangles) at beginning of drought (2012) and near end of drought (2014). (b) Percent cover of grasses (red circles) and forbs (blue triangles) at beginning of drought (2012) and near end of drought (2014). Data are based on samples from 80 plots. Error bars indicate one standard error.

We can see these differences on an individual species basis, with most of the grasses declining modestly or sharply in abundance, while most of the forbs increased.

Mean change in seed bank abundance per species based on 15 exotic grass species and 81 native forb species.

It is not surprising that the grasses do so poorly during the drought. Presumably, less water causes poorer germination, growth, survival and seed production. In addition, because grass seeds have a low capacity for dormancy, grass abundance will tend to decrease in the seed bank very quickly with such a low infusion of new seeds.

But why are the forbs actually doing better with less water available to them? One explanation is that grass abundance and cover declined sharply, causing the forbs to experience reduced competition with grasses that might otherwise inhibit their growth, development and reproductive success. The tripling of native forbs in the seed bank was much greater than the 14% increase in aboveground forb cover. The researchers reason that the drought caused many of the forb seeds to remain dormant, leading to them building up in the seed bank. This was particularly the case for low SLA forbs, which increased much more than did high SLA forbs in the seed bank.

We can understand exotic grass behavior in the context of their place of origin – the Mediterranean basin, which tends to have wet winters. In that environment, natural selection favored individuals that germinated quickly, grew fast and made lots of babies. Since their introduction to California in the mid 1800s, 2014 was the driest year on record. It will be fascinating to see if these exotic grasses can recover when, and if, wetter conditions return. Can we bank on it?

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is LaForgia, M.L., Spasojevic, M.J., Case, E.J., Latimer, A.M. and Harrison, S.P., 2018. Seed banks of native forbs, but not exotic grasses, increase during extreme drought. Ecology99 (4): 896-903. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2018 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

“Notes from Underground” – cicadas as living rain gauges

January 31, 2018 by fredsingerecology

Given recent discussions between Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un about whose button is bigger, many of us with entomological leanings have revisited the question of what insects are most likely to dominate a post-nuclear world. Cicadas have a developmental life history that predisposes them to survival in the long term because some species in the eastern United States spend many subterranean years as juveniles (nymphs), feeding on the xylem sap within plants’ root systems. Magicicada nymphs live underground for 13 or 17 years, depending on the species, before digging out en masse, undergoing one final molt, and then going about the adult business of reproduction. This life history of spending many years underground followed by a mass emergence has not evolved to avoid nuclear holocausts while underground, but rather to synchronize emergence of billions of animals. Mass emergence causes predator satiation, an anti-predator adaptation in which predators are gastronomically overwhelmed by the number of prey items, so even if they eat only cicadas and nothing else, they still are able to consume only a small fraction of the cicada population.

Mass Magicicada emergence picturing recently-emerged winged adults, and the smaller lighter-colored exuviae (exoskeletons) that are shed during emergence. Credit: Arthur D. Guilani.

Less well-known are the protoperiodical cicadas (subfamily Tettigadinae) of the western United States that are abundant in some years, and may be entirely absent in others. Jeffrey Cole has studied cicada courtship songs for many years, and during his 2003 field season noted that localities that had previously been devoid of cicadas now (in 2003) hosted huge numbers of six or seven different species. He returned to those sites every year and high diversity and abundance reappeared in 2008 and 2014. This flexible periodicity contrasted with their eastern Magicicada cousins, and he wanted to know what stimulated mass emergence.

Protoperiodical cicadas studied by Chatfield-Taylor and Cole. Okanagana cruentifera (top) and Clidophleps wrighti (bottom). Credit Jeffrey A. Cole.

Cole and his graduate student, Will Chatfield-Taylor, considered two hypotheses that might explain protoperiodicity in southern California (where they focused their efforts). The first hypothesis is that cicada emergence is triggered by heavy rains generated by El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO), a large-scale atmospheric system characterized by high sea temperature and low barometric pressure over the eastern Pacific Ocean. ENSO has a variable periodicity of 4.9 years, which roughly corresponds to the timing Cole observed while doing fieldwork. The second hypothesis recognized that nymphs must accumulate a set amount of xylem sap from their host plants to complete development. Sap availability depends on precipitation, and this accumulation takes several years in arid habitats. So while ENSO may hasten the process, the key to emergence is a threshold amount of precipitation over a several year timespan.

Working together, the researchers were able to identify seven protoperiodical species by downloading museum specimen data (including where and when each individual was collected) from two databases (iDigBio and SCAN). They also used data from several large museum collections, which gave them evidence of protoperiodical cicada emergences back to 1909. Based on these data, Chatfield-Taylor and Cole constructed a map of where these protoperiodical cicadas emerge.

Maps of five emergence localities discussed in this study.

The researchers tested the hypothesis that protoperiodical cicada emergences follow heavy rains triggered by ENSO by going through their dataset to see if there was a correlation between ENSO years and mass cicada emergences. Of 20 mass cicada emergences since 1918, only five coincided with ENSO events, which is approximately what would be expected with a random association between mass emergences and ENSO. Scratch hypothesis 1.

Let’s look at the second hypothesis. The researchers needed reliable precipitation data between years for which they had good evidence that there were mass emergences of their seven species. Using a statistical model, they discovered that 1181 mm was a threshold for mass emergences, and that three years was the minimum emergence interval regardless of precipitation. Only after 1181 mm of rain fell since the last mass emergence, summed over at least three years, would a new mass emergence be triggered.

Cumulative precipitation over seven time periods preceding cicada emergence.

The nice feature of this model is that it makes predictions about the future. For example, the last emergence occurred in the Devil’s punchbowl vicinity in 2014. Since then that area has averaged 182.2 mm of precipitation per year. If those drought conditions continue, the next mass emergence will occur in 2021 at that locality, which is longer than its historical average. Only time will tell. Hopefully Mr. Trump and Mr. Jong-un will be able to keep their fingers off of their respective buttons until then.

note: the paper that describes this research is from the journal Ecology. The reference is Chatfield-Taylor, W. and Cole, J. A. (2017), Living rain gauges: cumulative precipitation explains the emergence schedules of California protoperiodical cicadas. Ecology, 98: 2521–2527. doi:10.1002/ecy.1980. Thanks to the Ecological Society of America for allowing me to use figures from the paper. Copyright © 2017 by the Ecological Society of America. All rights reserved.

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