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Tag: natural history

Let there be . . . fish!

Posted on 2016-02-192023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

Today my students and I visited the Monterey Bay Salmon and Trout Project hatchery, to learn about local efforts to save the federally endangered coho salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch). The coho is one of five species of Pacific salmon found on the coast of North America, the other four being the Chinook (O. tshawytscha), the chum (O. keta), the sockeye (O. nerka), and the pink (O. gorbuscha). The coho’s range extends in the North Pacific from northern Japan up along Russia, across the Aleutians, and down the coast of North America to the northern bit of Monterey Bay. In our area the coho return to their natal streams (Scott Creek, Big Creek, and occasionally the San Lorenzo River) during the winter rains in January and February.

The local population of coho make up an evolutionarily significant unit (ESU). This means that they are locally adapted to the extent that they are biologically and genetically distinct from other populations. For example, coho from Alaska, where they are much more common, cannot be successfully transplanted into our watershed because they are genetically programmed to spawn in the fall, the time of year when our streams are dry or disconnected from the ocean due to sand bars. So these fish aren’t just any old salmon. They have evolved to live in this particular watershed and as such are irreplaceable.

Our first stop of the morning was to the fish trap on Scott Creek. The weir, the structure that extends across the river in the photo below, traps fish that are swimming upstream. Once on the upstream side of the weir, the fish are directed into the cage, from which they can be removed so that fisheries biologists can collect life history data–species, sex, weight, length–before they are released to continue their journey upstream (if they are steelhead) or transported to the hatchery to be spawned (if they are coho).

Students visiting the fish trap on Scott Creek. 19 February 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Students visiting the fish trap on Scott Creek.
19 February 2016
© Allison J. Gong

No fish were in the trap when we got there this morning but our host, a NMFS biologist named Erick, told me that eight coho had been caught yesterday. We did see a pair of steelhead swimming in the water upstream of the weir. Anytime I see a fish out of water, I forget how difficult it is to find them when they’re in their natural habitat. The spots on a steelhead’s back blend in perfectly with the ripples of the water and the gravel of the stream bed.

Pair of steelhead in Scott Creek. 19 February 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Pair of steelhead in Scott Creek.
19 February 2016
© Allison J. Gong

Do you see two faintly reddish blurs in the photo above? Those are the fish. They are facing upstream, to the right. The larger fish on the top is the female.

After the visit to the fish trap on Scott creek we drove up to the hatchery, which is located along Big Creek. The hatchery’s day-to-day operations are run by a couple of people from MBSTP. During the busy seasons staff and interns from the NMFS lab in Santa Cruz work up there, too, so the little hatchery building gets quite crowded. We were fortunate to get to see pretty much all the steps involved in trying to return an endangered species from the brink of extinction.

Male salmon, called bucks, are held in pens outdoors. They can contribute more than one sperm donation in a season, just as in the wild a male can fertilize the eggs of more than one female. A buck is taken from the pen, sedated, and then is milted for his sperm. The milt is collected into a glass test-tube and kept dry; once the sperm make contact with fresh water they become activated, and there is a 30-second window during which they can fertilize eggs. Sperm can also be damaged by exposure to UV radiation, so the test tubes are always held in a closed hand. Back inside the hatchery building Erick takes a look at the sperm under a microscope to make sure they can swim properly.

Female salmon are called hens. Before eggs are taken the hens are anaesthetized and examined by palpation and ultrasound to confirm that their eggs are mature. A sample of ovarian fluid is taken and sent off to be tested for disease. When a hen passes the ripeness test she is sliced open to release her eggs into four metal basins.

Collecting a sample of ovarian fluid from a ripe coho hen. 19 February 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Collecting a sample of ovarian fluid from a ripe coho hen.
19 February 2016
© Allison J. Gong

A single female’s eggs are fertilized by the sperm of four males. The fisheries biologists keep a detailed matrix of who mates with whom, so that they can avoid additional inbreeding in a population of fish that has already undergone a genetic bottleneck. Milt that has been collected from broodstock males is placed over the eggs. Fertilization occurs once fresh water is added to the basin. The egg-sperm combination is swirled (“just like panning for gold,” Erick explained) for two minutes, then the eggs are rinsed and disinfected before being placed into a 100% humidity cold incubator held at 11°C.

The eggs remain in the incubator until the embryos have developed eyes. Then they are transferred into trays through which water flows. When they’ve absorbed most of their yolk sac they get placed into large indoor trays where they will be fed until they are big enough to go into the outdoor tanks. They’ll spend about a year in the outdoor tanks and should then be ready to undergo the process of smoltification, during which their physiology undergoes the alterations necessary for the transition to marine life.

Erick explains hatchery operations, standing next to one of the outdoor pens where smolts are held. 19 February 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Erick explains hatchery operations, standing next to one of the outdoor pens where smolts are held.
19 February 2016
© Allison J. Gong

When I took last year’s class to the hatchery we didn’t get to see much activity because there were so few fish returning due to the prolonged drought and low water in the creek. This year’s El Niño, which has brought rain, has also made it possible for the fish to get into the creeks. Coho are a 3-year species, so the fish returning this year were born in 2013. These fish outmigrated as smolts into drought conditions, and fortunately for them they return during a rainy year. Their progeny will outmigrate in 2017, hopefully into a strong upwelling which will produce lots of food. And when they return in 3-4 years, I hope that there is enough rain for their creek to flow.

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Birds on the brain

Posted on 2016-02-16 by Allison J. Gong

This past weekend I participated for the first time in the Audubon Society’s Great Backyard Bird Count, in which ordinary folks spend at least 15 minutes observing birds in their own yards. Turns out you can also observe in other sites, but I opted to watch birds from my back deck. As my house backs up to a more or less wild arroyo, I decided to count the entire canyon as my backyard. I’m neither clever nor coordinated enough to take photos while trying to identify birds, so I have no pictures to share with you. I do, however, have data!

Saturday 13 February 2016, 16:51-17:18

Saw and was able to identify:

  • American robin (Turdus migratorius)
  • Dark-eyed junco (Junco hyemalis)
  • Oak titmouse (Baeolophus wollweberi)
  • Golden-crowned sparrow (Zonotrichia atricapilla)
  • Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) – nesting in a eucalyptus tree across the canyon!
  • Fox sparrow (Passerella iliaca)
  • California towhee (Melozone crissalis)
  • House finch (Carpodacus mexicanus)
  • Northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos)
  • Anna’s hummingbird (Calypte anna)

Heard and was able to ID:

  • Western scrub jay (Aphelocoma californica)
  • California quail (Callipepla californica)
  • Northern flicker (Colaptes auratus)
  • American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos)

Sunday 14 February 2016, 12:14-12:33

Saw and was able to ID:

  • Northern mockingbird
  • Red-tailed hawk (the same nesting pair)
  • Wrentit (Chamaea fasciata)
  • Turkey vulture (Cathartes aura)
  • Anna’s hummingbird

Heard and was able to ID:

  • Chestnut-backed chickadee (Poecile rufescens)
  • Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus)

Monday 15 February 2016, 16:57-17:27

Saw and was able to ID:

  • Red-tailed hawk (in nest)
  • Anna’s hummer
  • Purple finch (Carpodacus purpureus)
  • Dark-eyed junco
  • Chestnut-backed chickadee
  • American crow
  • American robins
  • Golden-crowned sparrow
  • Wrentit
  • Fox sparrow
  • Western scrub jay

Heard and was able to ID:

  • Bushtit (Psaltriparus minimus)
  • Northern flicker (Colaptes auratus)

All told, in the three observation periods I identified a total of 20 birds from my backyard. Granted, what I’m calling my “backyard” is a lot bigger and more wild than most, which is why I love living where I do: I get to look down to watch birds in flight. I have no idea if 20 is a lot or a few bird species to see at one time in a single location. There are at least that many other species I see commonly or occasionally but that didn’t show up this weekend.

This little project helped me validate my intuition by demonstrating that the middle of the day is not the best time to watch birds if your goal is to see lots of different birds. Clearly, more birds are active in the early evening than during midday. I intended to have a sunrise observation period but never managed to get my act together enough to pull it off. I would expect perhaps as many species as in the early evening, but not necessarily all of the same species. As I write this I can hear the hooting of a pair of great horned owls, audible even over the din of the chorus frogs. The owls hoot back and forth to each other, sometimes all night and into the hour or so before sunrise. Even though I’ve never seen one, it makes me happy to know that they’re in my backyard, along with the raccoons, skunks, opossums, nesting hawks, deer, and the occasional bobcat (and who knows, maybe even a mountain lion every once in a great while). I am fortunate to have all of this nature literally right outside the back door. I do indeed live in paradise.

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Seek and ye shall find

Posted on 2016-01-072025-02-17 by Allison J. Gong

Before Christmas I was invited to speak at one of the monthly public talks hosted by the Seymour Marine Discovery Center. I’m always happy to be asked to speak to students or the public, so my default answer to these requests is “Yes!” Usually for this kind of presentation I get to choose the topic, but this time my name came up because one of the Seymour Center staffers came up with “bees, banana slugs, and bat stars” so that’s what I was given to work with. When my brain took hold of this topic and these very disparate animals, the common theme that came to mind was . . . wait for it . . . reproduction. So yes, this is going to be another sex talk.

What this means is that I need to provide some information on the talk and photos so that the Seymour Center can start publicizing the event, which is in March. Banana slugs are still in the mix, and I don’t have any pictures of them, so this afternoon I took advantage of a break between storms to go hiking in the forest and look for slugs. I’d been feeling a little cabin fever for the past few days because of the rain and my own recovery from bronchitis which sapped all of my energy, so I was grateful for an excuse to leave my desk and get outside for a bit.

I headed out to the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park, knowing that where there are redwood trees there should also be banana slugs, especially after all the rain we’ve had recently. You know how when you’re looking for something you can’t find it, and when you’re not looking for it you see them all over the place? That’s how this hike began. It turns out that looking for banana slugs under a deadline makes them very hard to find. And I did have a deadline, as I’d promised to have the blurb and photos for my talk ready today.

After about half an hour of slowly meandering along the trails and getting distracted by all the fungi that popped up after the rains, I did see a banana slug:

Banana slug (Ariolimax sp.) at The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park. 7 January 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Banana slug (Ariolimax sp.) at The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park.
7 January 2016
© Allison J. Gong

That is such a gastropod face! Banana slugs are really cool (and ectothermic, too) animals. One of my buddies in grad school kept one for a pet in our office bullpen; we called it Terry, because slugs are hermaphrodites and deserve androgynous names. Terry really liked eating mushrooms and lettuce.

Banana slugs, and all of the terrestrial snails and slugs, are pulmonate (“lung”) gastropods. Most of their marine relatives, with whom I spend so much quality time in the lab and in the field, are prosobranch (“gill in front”) gastropods. The nudibranchs and sea hares, which are so photogenic and conspicuous, are opisthobranch (“gill on back”) gastropods. As these names imply, the prosobranchs and opisthobranchs possess gills (although they are very different kinds of gills) and thus live in water. The pulmonates don’t have gills; they live on land and breathe air. [There are aquatic pulmonates, too. Only a few are marine, and most live in fresh water. They have to come to the surface to breathe.]

So, what is the lung of a banana slug? It’s actually the mantle cavity, that oh-so-molluscan feature, that in prosobranchs contains the gill(s). In the pulmonates, the mantle cavity is highly vascularized, as you’d expect from any gas-exchange surface, and opens to the outside by a hole called a pneumostome.

Here’s the pneumostome of my first banana slug of the afternoon:

Anterior region of a banana slug (Ariolimax sp.), showing the pneumostome on the right side of the mantle. 7 January 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Anterior region of a banana slug (Ariolimax sp.), showing the pneumostome on the right side of the mantle.
7 January 2016
© Allison J. Gong

The pneumostome is always on the right side of the animal’s mantle. You can actually watch it open and close as the slug breathes.

I found a second slug about an hour into the hike.

Banana slug (Ariolimax sp.) at The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park. 7 January 2016 © Allison J. Gong
Banana slug (Ariolimax sp.) at The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park.
7 January 2016
© Allison J. Gong

See? No pneumostome on the left side.

If I’d had the time, I would have put the slugs together to see if they’d mate. It is a sex talk I’m prepping for, after all. Heck, what would be even better would be to find two slugs already in copulo. No such luck today, though. What’s good about not finding everything that I was looking for today is that it gives me incentive to keep going out to search for it. And in the meantime, I’ve got to start studying up on local fungi. I saw so many different kinds of mushrooms today that now I’m motivated to fill in this particular gap in my knowledge. Might as well take advantage of the El Niño rains, right?

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Gotta getta gecko

Posted on 2015-12-212023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

This past weekend I was in the San Joaquin Valley to celebrate my dad’s 80th birthday. On a cold and rainy Saturday morning we gathered at my parents’ house to take care of some last-minute things before the big party later that evening. We were in the backyard when I noticed a tiny lizard on the patio under a table. It was so still even as I approached that at first I thought it was dead, but when I touched it it turned its head away from my finger and twitched a leg. Amidst suggestions of “Pick it up” and “Don’t squish it!” I coaxed the little guy onto my hand and held it out for pictures, hoping I’d have time to ID it after all the birthday festivities.

Small lizard found in my parents' backyard in Fresno, California. 19 December 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Small lizard found in my parents’ backyard in Fresno, California.
19 December 2015
© Allison J. Gong

Cute little thing, isn’t it? The entire body is only about 5 cm long. It didn’t look like any of the native lizards or salamanders that I’ve seen, and a little research on the excellent website California Herps confirmed that it is indeed an alien species.

Hemidactylus turcicus, the Mediterranean house gecko, has been living in California since at least as early as 2007. It is a nocturnal gecko that is usually associated with human dwellings, as artificial lights attract the moths and other insects that the gecko preys upon. The predatory habits of this H. turcicus make it a welcome, if informal, house pet in its native range. I was unable to find how H. turcicus made it into California from the Mediterranean, but I bet the original “colonists” were escaped pets. Since they are small (no longer than 15 cm) and nocturnal, they are not considered to be a threat to native California lizards, although their distribution in California seems to expanding northward.

Like most other geckos, H. turcicus has vertical pupils and doesn’t have eyelids. In this picture you can see the pupil. We watched our little guy lick its eyeballs several times, which is what geckos do to keep their eyes clean and moistened.

Head detail of H. turcicus, showing the vertical pupil. 19 December 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Head detail of H. turcicus, showing the vertical pupil.
19 December 2015
© Allison J. Gong

There’s no way of knowing how long this little gecko has lived in my parents’ backyard, or now long it will live after I let it go. Now that I know about them, I’m going to keep an eye out for them around here where I live. According to the California Herps species map for H. turcicus, there has been at least one verified sighting in Santa Cruz County. They don’t seem to be particularly shy, but their nocturnal behavior and small size may make them difficult to see even if they are fairly abundant. If one makes it into my house, I’ll welcome it and hope my cats don’t catch it. I wouldn’t mind another mouth in the house, if it’s one that I don’t have to feed.

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Happiness is . . .

Posted on 2015-10-282023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

. . . taking a small group of highly motivated students into the field!

My invertebrate zoology class this semester has only 10 students, which allows me a lot more freedom to improvise on the fly and actually participate in the course instead of having to stand back and supervise 30 of them at the same time.

Most of my class getting started on their investigative journalist assignment at Point Pinos. 27 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Most of my class getting started on their investigative journalist assignment at Point Pinos.
27 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

Their job was to interview at least six marine invertebrates and suss out answers to the Big 6 questions: Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How? In other words, to do a small bit of preliminary ecological investigation into animals they don’t already know much about. Some of the students also used the time to scope out the site for their independent research projects, which they will be starting soon.


. . . serendipity!

This past couple of classes I lectured on Platyhelminthes and Nemertea, and we saw both on the field trip.

The flatworm, Eurylepta californica, was spotted by a keen-eyed student, who thought at first it was a nudibranch but then noticed the ruffling edge and decided it must be something else.

Eurylepta californica, the "chocolate drizzle" polyclad flatworm, at Point Pinos. 27 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Eurylepta californica, the “chocolate drizzle” polyclad flatworm, at Point Pinos.
27 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

This individual was a bit less than 2 cm long. I’ve only seen it at Point Pinos. Such a cool animal!

Some day I want to find one of these at a site where I can collect, and bring it back to the lab for closer observation.

On each of these class field trips to the intertidal there’s at least one conversation that goes something like this:

  • Student: Allison! I found this thing! What do you think it is?
  • Me, from several rocks over: Well, what does it look like?
  • Student gives a vague description, which usually isn’t very helpful.
  • Me: Is it alive?
  • Student: I think so.
  • Me: Color?
  • Student: Sort of orange. (or brown or purple or whatever)
  • Me: Shape? Size?
  • Student: This big (holds up fingers or hands to indicate size, then describes shape).
  • Me: Is it hard or squishy?
  • Student: I don’t want to touch it! Is it going to hurt me?
  • Me: Not unless it’s a big crab. Just touch it and tell me what it feels like!
  • <pause>
  • Student: Hey, it didn’t hurt me!

This conversation occurs as I make my way over to see what it is. Eventually I can take a look at the whatever-it-is and explain as best I can. The nemertean that we saw yesterday resulted in a conversation similar to this, but the student had pretty much decided on her own that she had found a nemertean. By the time I made it over to where she was pointing the worm had just about disappeared into a mussel bed, which is where they hang out. I could see enough to determine that it was Paranemertes peregrina.

Paranemertes peregrina, a nemertean worm, at Pistachio Beach. 31 January 2015 © Allisoin J. Gong
Paranemertes peregrina, a nemertean worm, at Pistachio Beach.
31 January 2015
© Allison J. Gong

Nemerteans are unsegmented, slimy, predatory worms that feed by shooting out a sticky proboscis and wrapping it around prey. Some have a stylet at the end of the proboscis with which they can repeatedly stab the prey and inject toxins. They may not be much to look at, but watching them in action should make you glad that you’re not a small animal.


. . . being in the right place at the right time!

Yesterday we saw octopuses! Three of them, I think. And one of the most glorious sea anemones I have ever seen.

Octopus rubescens crawling around at Point Pinos. 27 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Octopus rubescens crawling around at Point Pinos.
27 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong
A beautiful Anthopleura xanthogrammica anemone at Point Pinos. 27 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
A beautiful Anthopleura xanthogrammica anemone at Point Pinos.
27 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

The octopuses that were out of the water were duly rescued by my students. The red one that I photographed turned out to about the length of my hand when it swam away into the depths of a tidepool. Watching the students release this little animal back into the water was a fitting way to close out what had been a fantastic field trip.

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A pilgrimage, of sorts

Posted on 2015-10-262023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

If I were the type of person to make and keep a bucket list, today I would have been able to cross off one item. For some reason until today I’d never managed to get to Ed Ricketts’ Great Tidepool, even though I’d been several times to Point Pinos which is right around the corner. Today I had intended to do some collecting for a colleague back east, but it was just as well that those plans changed as I didn’t find what I was supposed to collect. However, since I had blocked out the time I thought I might as well take advantage of the opportunity to scope out a new site.

Now that we’re back in afternoon low tides, fighting darkness becomes a real problem. Today’s low tide was at 16:28 and I had plenty of time to poke around and explore. Tomorrow I’m taking my class to the intertidal for an afternoon field trip, and on Wednesday I’ll do some collecting of my own, almost literally racing against nightfall. Still, it was wonderful just to be out there again.

Sign

I’d heard about all the sea hares in the intertidal, and they were out in full force this afternoon. There were dozens of them, hanging out in ones and twos, either emersed or submerged just below the water line. They are big animals, about the size of a football, and silky soft to the touch.

California sea hare (Aplysia californica) in the Great Tidepool in Pacific Grove. 26 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
California sea hare (Aplysia californica) in the Great Tidepool in Pacific Grove.
26 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

The sea hares are herbivores, and they continued to munch on red algae even when completely emersed. At one point I accidentally either stepped on or kicked one, because suddenly the water around my feet started turning purple. I looked around for the culprit and found a large sea hare (almost half a meter long) heading towards the depth of a pool, oozing huge amounts of purple ink. And by “oozing” I really mean spewing. It looked like a volcano shooting lava into the water:

Color me impressed! Here’s the animal that made all the ink:

California sea hare (Aplysia californica) exuding ink. 26 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
California sea hare (Aplysia californica) exuding ink.
26 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

It was a good day for molluscs. I saw a couple of these little chitons, Chaetopleura gemma. They are only about 1.5 cm long, and the ones I’ve seen in the field are orange, often with one of the valves an entirely different color.

Chaetopleura gemma, a small chiton. 26 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Chaetopleura gemma, a small chiton.
26 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

And there were some other chitons, too. This is a beautiful specimen of Katharina tunicata:

The black katy chiton (Katharina tunicata). 26 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Black katy chiton (Katharina tunicata).
26 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

In this species the girdle, the tough lateral edges of the mantle extend dorsally to nearly cover the eight plates on the back. They are one of the easiest chitons to identify in the field because of this feature.

And on my way out I saw a large (~7 cm) mossy chiton, Mopalia muscosa. These chitons can be fairly abundant at the sites I visit; every time I see one it’s like meeting up with an old friend.

Mossy chiton (Mopalia muscosa). 26 October 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Mossy chiton (Mopalia muscosa).
26 October 2015
© Allison J. Gong

I find chitons very interesting, maybe because they can be quite abundant and yet are often overlooked. Many of them look not too different from the rocks they live on, and they don’t exactly lead the most active lives when we see them. However, if we were to spy on them at high tide, I bet we’d see a lot more action from chitons. And maybe it’s the very stillness of chitons that make them so easily foulable by other organisms. The Mopalia in the photo is host to a lot of spirorbids (tiny polychaete worms that live in spiral calcareous tubes) and various algae.


The Great Tidepool holds a special place in the hearts of marine biologists in the Monterey Bay region because it is where Ed Ricketts did much of his collecting and formulating the ideas that would become the field of marine ecology. He was a gifted writer and I find that his books convey not just his understanding of the rocky intertidal, but an affection for the animals that live there. Scientists are often assumed to be rather cold, dispassionate people; Ed Ricketts proved otherwise. If you’ve never read any of Ricketts’ writings, I recommend Between Pacific Tides, as well as the memoir that he wrote with his friend John Steinbeck, Log from the Sea of Cortez.

I want to be Ed Ricketts when I grow up.

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Cuteness warning: High alert!

Posted on 2015-09-232023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

This morning I was doing some routine cleaning of animal-containing dishes at the marine lab when I noticed a little blob of snot on the outside of the bowl I was working on. Normally I just wipe off blobs like that, but something about this one caught my attention in a different way and I paused to take a closer look at it. What I saw made me glad I hadn’t given it the old Kim-Wipe™ treatment.

It was this:

Very small juvenile nudibranch (Melibe leonina). 23 September 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Very small juvenile nudibranch (Melibe leonina).
23 September 2015
© Allison J. Gong

This little 3mm blob of cuteness is the tiniest Melibe I’ve ever seen. Melibe is one of my favorite creatures of all time. It’s an entertaining animal that has unfathomable amounts of charm. Unlike most other nudibranchs, which prey on other animals (typically cnidarians, sponges, or bryozoans), Melibe is a filter feeder. It sweeps its large oral hood, visible to the right, through the water to capture plankton. The flat large-ish structures projecting from the animal’s back like wings are cerata, of which there will eventually 4-5 pairs when the slug reaches adult size. The cerata function as gas exchange surfaces; they also contain extensions of the digestive system. When a Melibe is mishandled or stressed, it drops cerata, which can then be regenerated.

Melibe is the most animated of slugs. I dropped a few brine shrimp nauplii on this little guy to see if it would be able to catch them. Unfortunately it looked more like the nauplii were ganging up on the Melibe than the other way around. However, I know from experience that even larger Melibe take a while to figure out how to eat brine shrimp.

But isn’t that the cutest slug you’ve ever seen? It has tiny bright blue dots on its body! Those two little flaps on the top surface of the oral hood are rhinophores. I know they look like ears, but they are chemosensory rather than auditory organs.

And look how fast this little nudibranch can crawl! Remember, it’s only 3mm long, and it’s making pretty good progress getting to the corner of the bowl.

When dislodged from whatever it’s crawling on, Melibe can swim. I thought this one would attach itself to the underside of the surface tension, as they often do, but it thrashed for quite a while before sort of accidentally finding the bottom of the dish again.

And do you know what the best thing about Melibe is? It smells like watermelon. I kid you not. If you touch a Melibe, your finger will smell like watermelon Jolly Ranchers. How could an animal possibly be any cooler than that?

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Thar she blows!

Posted on 2015-09-162023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

Let’s just get this out of the way: I live in a paradise of natural beauty. Sometimes I still can’t believe that I get to call this gorgeous place my home. However did I get so lucky?

Case in point. For the last week or so a juvenile humpback whale has been hanging out in a small cove right off the road that winds along the coast in Santa Cruz. Several of my friends had shown me pictures and video of it, but every time I went out I got skunked. I saw lots of seabirds, though, and that itself was pretty amazing.

Mitchell's Cove in Santa Cruz, CA. 16 September 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Mitchell’s Cove in Santa Cruz, CA.
16 September 2015
© Allison J. Gong

Pelicans (Pelecanus occidentalis) and Caspian terns (Hydroprogne caspia) plunge-diving? Check. Common murres (Uria aalge) in the air and hanging out on the surface of the water? Check. Attempted kleptoparasitism by a gull on a tern that had caught a fish? Check. That was really cool. Oddly, though, I didn’t see any sooty shearwaters today.

This past Saturday I went down to Mitchell’s Cove and saw some amazing seabird behavior. The pelicans and terns were both plunge-diving, and then being mobbed by gulls and other hangers-on every time they came up with a fish. And in the background there was an unending stream of shearwaters flying from right to left.

I love how the pelicans fly along above the surface, then fold their wings and transform into arrows before shooting into the water. Good thing they don’t have nostrils, isn’t it? The terns do the same thing. Through the binoculars I watched the terns looking down for prey before committing to a dive; from what I could see they almost always came up with a fish.

The aforementioned humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) was putting on a show this morning for the local humans. I wandered down at about 08:45 on my way to the marine lab. There were about 40 people scattered on the beach and along the side of the road. I settled myself on a rock with my camera and binoculars at hand. It took only a couple of minutes to see this:

Humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) lunge-feeding at Mitchell's Cove in Santa Cruz, CA. 16 September 2015 © Allison J. Gong
Humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) lunge-feeding at Mitchell’s Cove in Santa Cruz, CA.
16 September 2015
© Allison J. Gong

Judging by size, this whale appears to be a juvenile. It was swimming just beyond the surf break, where the water was shallow enough that I could see the ripples just beneath the surface as the whale swam by. In this 2-minute video, the whale surfaces to breathe a few times and takes two lunging mouthfuls of fish and water before turning away and heading to slightly deeper water.

If I didn’t have an actual job to do, I could have stayed out there longer, just to keep observing all the action. As it was, my arrival at the marine lab was delayed by about 40 minutes. Oh well. But I didn’t have any time-crucial tasks or meetings this morning so nobody’s schedule was affected except my own, and if I can’t take advantage of serendipitous sightings like this then what’s the point of living in paradise?

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Chasing the bloom

Posted on 2015-08-212023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

Having read multiple news accounts of domoic acid (DA) events up and down the Pacific coast of the U.S., I decided to do my own informal survey of the culprit that makes DA. Domoic acid is a naturally occurring toxin that is produced by some (but not all) species of the diatom Pseudo-nitzschia during a plankton bloom. It is ingested by filter-feeding animals such as mussels and anchovies and gets passed to higher trophic levels as these animals are themselves preyed upon. The filter feeders are thought to be unaffected by the DA they ingest, but due to bioaccumulation the toxin occurs in higher concentrations in the tissues of the predators. Humans can be affected by DA also, when they eat contaminated shellfish, for example. This is why coastal states advise seafood foragers not to collect and eat bivalves (clams, mussels, oysters) when DA is detected in the water. When humans are sickened by domoic acid, the affliction is called Amnesic Shellfish Poisoning (ASP).

I had originally hoped to collect a sample from a boat over deeper water, but when those plans failed to materialize I did the best I could on my own:  I went out to the end of the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf and threw the net from there. As soon as I hauled the net back up I could smell the diatoms. Yes, diatoms have a smell, as does just about anything when you concentrate it enough. The diatom smell is rich and organic, but not at all unpleasant.

This is what the sample looked like:

All those clear needle-like things are chains of Pseudo-nitzschia cells. When they are reproducing quickly (a.k.a. “blooming”) the cells remain connected by their tips (see below). Longer chains indicate favorable conditions for asexual reproduction in diatoms; I saw some chains that were 12+ cells long. The small whitish things zooming around are barnacle nauplii. Obviously barnacles are having lots of sex right now.

Pseudo-nitzschia is a pennate diatom, which simply means that the cells are pen- or boat-shaped. Some of the pennate diatoms have a raphe, or slit-like opening on the frustule through which a tiny bit of protoplasm can be extruded. These diatoms, of which Pseudo-nitzschia is one, don’t swim but can actually scoot around on surfaces. Don’t believe me? Then watch this long chain of Pseudos move back and forth like a train on tracks.

Here’s a still shot at higher magnification:

Cells of the pennate diatom Pseudo-nitzschia sp. 21 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Cells of the pennate diatom Pseudo-nitzschia sp. 21 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

See how the individual cells remain connected to each other by their overlapping tips? Each of the cells is about 75 µm long and contains two roughly rectangular chloroplasts that are golden brown in color.

Pseudo-nitzschia wasn’t the only diatom in the sample, either. I saw surprising numbers of Coscinodiscus, a genus of centric diatoms, ranging in size from 160-250 µm in diameter. Coscinodiscus frustules are beautifully sculptured, making the cells look like fancy buttons.

Cells of the centric diatom Coscinodiscus sp. 21 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Cells of the centric diatom Coscinodiscus sp. 21 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

That little bleb at about 10:00 on the larger diatom is a dinoflagellate, Peridinium or Protoperidinium, that came along for the ride. There is also a chain of Pseudos making a cameo appearance in the bottom of the photo.

The other unusual diatom in the sample was Chaetoceros. This diatom has a name that hints at the morphology of the cells:  “chaet-” is Greek for “spine” or “bristle”. Indeed, the cells of Chaetoceros are box-shaped and have four long spines that link adjacent cells together to form chains.

Cells of the centric diatom Chaetoceros sp. 21 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Cells of the centric diatom Chaetoceros sp. 21 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

The intriguing question that came to my mind was “Why now?” Around here I’ve grown accustomed to a typical succession of phytoplankton in Monterey Bay, with diatoms (especially Chaetoceros) blooming in the spring and early summer, corresponding to our usual upwelling season, then giving way to dinoflagellates in the late summer and fall when upwelling abates. And yes, we did have a major Pseudo-nitzschia bloom back in April and May. Diatoms bloom in response to high levels of nutrients, especially nitrate, that occur when upwelling returns nutrients to surface waters. We did have a few weeks of decent upwelling in the spring. Then El Niño started to build and we went through several weeks of warm, clear water when diatoms were pretty much absent and we saw phytoplankters such as silicoflagellates and coccolithophores, which can thrive in waters that are too nutrient-depleted for diatoms.

And now the diatoms are back. Chlorophyll levels in nearshore waters are high right now all along the central California coast. These data are from CeNCOOS, an ocean observing system:

Chlorophyll concentrations along the central California coast, 17-19 August 2015. © CenCOOS
Chlorophyll concentrations (µg/L) along the central California coast, 17-19 August 2015.
© CeNCOOS

Assuming that the chlorophyll being measured is in the cells of Pseudo-nitzschia and other diatoms, it appears that we’re having a return to springtime conditions. Bait fish are back in the Bay, and following them are dolphins and birds. I would dearly love to do some whale watching this fall; we may have another spectacular season for humpback whales. Whatever the cause for this apparent late-season rebirth, this autumn is shaping up to be interesting.

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Fair is foul, and foul(ing) is fair

Posted on 2015-08-202023-01-06 by Allison J. Gong

Next week classes for the Fall semester begin, and this will be my fourth term teaching a marine invertebrate zoology class at this particular institution. I have built this class on a foundation of comparative anatomy and functional morphology; lab activities include dissections (to observe how bodies are put together) and diversity labs (to examine the morphological diversity within major taxa). This year I wanted to include a lab with a broader ecological context. So back in April I hung a box of glass slides from one of the boat slips at the harbor. The idea is that the students in the invert zoo class will examine the slides after they’d been marinating in the ocean for several months and have to figure out what’s growing on them.

The organisms that have and will continue to colonize the slides are members of what is rather disparagingly referred to as a “fouling community.” To be fair, they can be nuisances, fouling docks and pilings, boat hulls, water intake and outflow pipes, and pretty much anything that is left in the water for any significant amount of time. In fact, my friend Adam has a job scraping fouling organisms off the bottoms of boats at the harbor; boat owners either pay to have this done or do it themselves every so often. But to me, these animals and algae form a fascinating ecological community that illustrates many of the principles I teach to my students.

Harbors are some of the places where exotic (i.e., non-native) species are first detected. It is not uncommon for many of the species in a fouling community to have evolved elsewhere and been transported (usually, but not always, unintentionally) to a new location, where they grow swiftly and often out-compete the native species. Obviously, not all species introductions “take” and it’s anybody’s guess how many species were dumped in a new site and failed to stick around. The ones that do take, though, tend to become very prominent.

So, back to my slide box. It was still there, hanging from a string about 2.5 meters below the bottom of the dock. As I pulled it up, I was relieved to see different colors and textures:

Slide box hanging from a floating dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Slide box hanging from a floating dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

Up close, it looked even more promising:

Slide box hanging from a dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Slide box hanging from a dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

Even without knowing what all the differently colored blotches are, you can tell that there’s a lot of stuff growing. I’m not going to dismantle the box until we use it in lab in early November, but I thought it might be worth a closer look. It just so happened that I had both a clean bucket in my car and the foresight to bring it with me onto the dock. This photo shows that the slides themselves are covered with growth:

Slide box hanging from a floating dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Slide box hanging from a floating dock at the harbor. 20 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

The red encrusting sheet is the bryozoan Watersipora, probable species subtorquata, an invasive species that is found in harbors all along the California coast. The pale orange blobs are colonies of sea squirts; it is difficult to identify them to species without examination under a microscope. There is also quite a bit of a brown upright branching bryozoan that I think belongs to the genus Bugula.

As an unabashed aficionado of all things hydroid, I’m always very pleased to see certain species of ‘droids at the harbor. They are simply so beautiful that I love looking at them. This is the hydroid Ectopleura crocea. It is common but sporadic and patchy at the harbor, and usually isn’t one of the first species to colonize an area. Its congener, E. marina, occurs in the intertidal; I can find it fairly reliably in a particular pool at Davenport Landing and have occasionally seen it elsewhere.

Ectopleura crocea growing out of a colony of Watersipora subtorquata. 20 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
The hydroid Ectopleura crocea growing out of a colony of Watersipora subtorquata. 20 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

Having reassured myself that my slide box was doing well I took some time to check out other bits of real estate in that area of the dock. I played around with the super-macro setting on my camera, with mixed results. I do now know, though, that it works underwater:

Tentacular array of a serpulid polychaete worm. 20 August 2015. © Allison J. Gong
Tentacular array of a serpulid polychaete worm, with bryozoans in the background. 20 August 2015.
© Allison J. Gong

I found a cooperative barnacle and took some video footage of feeding behavior. Barnacles are strange crustaceans that lie on their backs and kick their modified thoracic appendages through the water to capture small particles. What a weird way to make a living. But the animal is always right, and barnacles can be quite efficient at clearing water.

And, finally, does anybody know the source for the title of this post? Answer in the comments section, please!

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