Change is the only constant …

The diatoms I saw in my sample from the littoral of Lake Popovo (described in the previous post) reminded me of an assemblage that I had seen in another lake which, apart from its location, has much in common with Popovo. This lake is Wastwater, in the western part of the English Lake District (see “The Power of Rock …”).  Like Popovo, it is situated in a remote a region of hard volcanic rocks and, as such, has very soft water and is subject to few of the pressures to which most of our freshwaters are subject.  The photograph above shows me sampling Wastwater in about 2006 (more about this photograph, by the way, in “A cautionary tale …”).

I wrote about Wastwater when I was writing my book Of Microscopes and Monsters, the precursor of this blog.   I focussed, in particular, on an experiment that my friend Lydia King had performed as part of the research towards her PhD.  Her previous work had established that there were relationships between the types of algae that she found in lakes in the Lake District and the amount of nutrients that they contained.  She also saw that the types of algae she found depended upon how acid or alkaline the water was.  But the water chemistry only explained a part of the variation in the algae and now she wanted to find out about the variation that was not explained by this.   In particular, she wanted to know how much of the variation was due to the way that the algae interacted with each other.

Lydia’s experiment involved putting clay pots into the shallows at the edge of Wastwater and then watched how the algal communities changed over the course of six weeks.  She also examined small parts of the pots at extremely high magnifications using a scanning electron microscope.   These micrographs, and subsequent conversations with her, had inspired some of my early paintings and I returned to this subject several times, finally producing a series of three pictures that showed changes in the algae over time.

The microbial world of the littoral zone of Wastwater after two weeks of colonisation showing unidentified small unicellular blue-green alga,  unidentified small unicellular green alga; thin filaments of Phormidium,  Achnanthidium minutissimum and Gomphonema parvulum.

The first of these shows the surface of the plant pot after being submerged in Wastwater for two weeks.   You could think of this as a patch of waste ground that was, at the start of the experiment, bare of vegetation.   If we watched this patch over a number of weeks, we would notice some plants appearing: scattered stalks of grass, perhaps some rosebay willow herb, dock or plantains. A gardener might dismiss these as “weeds”, although this term has no ecological meaning but ecologists prefer to think of these as “pioneers”: plants adapted to colonising new habitats, growing quickly (which might mean producing lots of seeds in a short space of time or producing rhizomes or runners) and covering the ground.  This same process has taken place on Lydia’s plant pot in Wastwater: the “weeds” in this case are scattered thin filaments of the blue-green alga Phormidium, the diatoms Achnanthidium minutissimum and Gomphonema parvulum plus a number of spherical green and blue-green cells that she couldn’t identify.   Such is the scale that we are working at that this open landscape still contains about 92000 cells per square centimetre.

The microbial world of the littoral zone of Wastwater after three weeks of colonisation.   The composition is similar to that in the previous figure but the density of cells is greater.

When she came back a week later, much of the empty space had been infilled; there were now about 300,000 cells per square centimetre.  These mostly belonged to the same species that she had found the week before.  The difference is that they are now rubbing up against each other and this has some important consequences.  All plants need light and nutrients to grow and algae are no exceptions.   Sunlight provides the energy for photosynthesis but now, at week three, the density of algae is such that there is a chance that some of the light will be intercepted by a neighbouring cell.   The total amount of sunlight that filters through the water to the pot surface is already much lower than that available at the lake surface; now it has to be shared out between many more cells.   At this point, properties such as fast growth rates that helped our pioneers to colonise the plant pot become less relevant, and it is algae that are better adapted to capturing the limited light that will survive.

So when Lydia came back to Wastwater after six weeks, she saw a very different community of algae on her pots.   There was still a lot of Achnanthidium minutissimum, but rising above these was the elegant art deco shape of Gomphonema acuminatum (also found in Lake Popovo) which, importantly for our story, grows on a long stalk.  There are also cells of “Cymbella affinis” (the correct name at the time that Lydia was working but see comments in the previous post about the nomenclatural history of this species).   This, too, grows on a long-stalk, the better to grow above the Achnanthidium and other pioneers.   If we continue to use the analogy of a patch of wasteland, then it has now reached the point where it has been invaded by shrubs such as hawthorn and blackthorn.   However, in a terrestrial habitat this would happen two or three years after the first pioneers had arrived, not six weeks as Lydia had observed for the algae.   She also found the diatom called Tabellaria flocculosa which forms filaments.  These often start out loosely-attached to the substratum but more often break free and become entangled around the other algae.   In our “wasteland” analogy, these would be the brambles.

The microbial world of the littoral zone of Wastwater after five weeks of colonisation.  Gomphonema acuminatum, “Cymbella affinis” and Tabellaria flocculosa have now joined the assemblage seen in the two earlier dioramas.

The experiment finished shortly after this, terminated when the apparatus was overturned.  Whether by a wave or by vandalism, Lydia will never know but this event is, itself, a metaphor for the harsh world in which benthic algae have to survive.  In real life, the many cobbles in the littoral zone will be rolled by wave action or, as we have seen in other posts, invertebrate grazers could have removed much of the “shrubbery”, leaving a “pasture” composed of the tough, fast-growing species such as Achnanthidium minutissimum to dominate samples.   The “successions” we see in the microscopic world not only take place much more quickly than those in the macro world, but they also rarely have a stable “climax”: just a brief pause before the next onslaught from the physical, chemical and biological processes that shape their existence.


King, L., Barker, P. & Jones, R.I. (2000). Epilithic algal communities and their relationship to environmental variables in lakes of the English Lake District. Freshwater Biology 45: 425-442.

King, L., Jones, R.I. & Barker, P. (2002). Seasonal variation in the epilithic algal communities from four lakes of different trophic state. Archiv für Hydrobiologie 154: 177-198.


Diatom hunting in the Pirin mountains

I started 2018 peering down my microscope at a sample that I collected whilst in Bulgaria back in the summer.   I have written about my trip to the Pirin mountains before (see “Desmids from the Pirin mountains”) but the diatom sample that I collected from Lake Popovo had remained unexamined since I got back.

I had waded into the littoral zone of this steep-sided corrie lake and picked up a few of the smaller stones, which I had then scrubbed with the toothbrush stowed in my rucksack to remove the thin film of diatoms.  These, like most of the algae that I collect on my travels, get treated to a bath in local spirits to ease the journey back to the UK.  This is not an ideal preservative for soft-bodied algae but is not a problem when your primary interest is diatoms with their tough silica cell walls.  Once I got back, I had them prepared and mounted ready for inspection, but then got distracted by other things and have only just got around to having a proper look.

The two most abundant taxa were the Achnanthidium minutissimum complex (probably at least three species) and Cymbella excisiformis.  Together, these constituted over eighty per cent of all the diatoms in the sample.  Ten years ago, I would have called the organism I was calling Cymbella excisiformis by a different name, Cymbella affinis, but opinions have shifted more than once.  The original Diatomeen im Süsswasser-Benthos von Mitteleuropa has images of C. affinis that are actually C. tumidula, and also describes C. excisa as a separate species.   However, the most recent view is that C. affinis and C. excisa are two names for the same species, with C. affinis taking precedence.   To confuse matters yet further, the population illustrated below shows a gradation of features from “C. affinis” to “C. excisiformis”, suggesting that the use of length:width as a discriminating factor is over simplistic.  Krammer tried to explain his rationale for distinguishing between these species in his 2002 monograph but he uses the name “C. excisa” for the organism called “C. affinis” in our 2017 English edition.  Confused?  You will be ….

Cymbella excisiformis” from Lake Popovo, Pirin Mountains, Bulgaria, August 2017.   Based on Lange-Bertalot et al. (2017)’s criteria of length:breadth 4.2-5.3 in C. excisiformis compared to 3.1 – 3.8 in C. affinis, images a., b. and c. are C. excisiformis whilst d., e., f. and g. are C. affinis.   Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100th of a millimetre).

This is another good example of points that I have made several times before: that we should always try to identify populations rather than single cells, and that we should treat dimensions stated in the literature as indicative rather than definitive (see “More about Gomphonema vibrio”).    Length:width, in particular, can change a lot during the life-cycle of the diatom.

Species of Gomphonema were also present in the sample.  Though not numerically abundant (none constituted more than one per cent of the total count), they included some large cells which, in addition, have extensive mucilaginous stalks, so their contribution to total biomass is greater than their low abundance suggests.   I’ll write more about the ecology of these species in the next post.   Finally, I also found other Cymbella species, as well as some Encyonema and Encyonopsis, and a few valves of Eucocconeis flexella, a relative of Achnanthidium and Cocconeis which has a distinctive diagonal raphe.

Gomphonema spp. from Lake Popovo, Pirin mountains, Bulgaria, August 2017.   h., i.: G. acuminatum; j.: G. truncatum; k.: unidentified girdle view; l.: G. pumilum.  Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100th of a millimetre).

There is, at this point in time, no official Bulgarian method for assessing the ecological status of lakes using diatoms so I have evaluated Lake Popovo as if it were a low alkalinity lake in the UK instead.  Using the method we developed, this one sample has an Ecological Quality Ratio of 0.92, which puts it on the border between high and good status.   Looking around the lake, I see no reason why it should not be firmly in high status but, at the same time, I am using an evaluation method that was designed for lakes 2000 kilometres away, so maybe we should not expect perfect results.    However, I have performed similar exercises at other lakes far from the UK and also got similar results (see “Lago di Maggiore under the microscope”) which points to a basic robustness in this approach.

The outflow of Lake Popovo leads into a cascade that ends in the first of a series of lakes, the “Fish Popovski” lakes.   I wrote about the desmids in this lake back in September (see “”Desmids from the Pirin mountains”) and will return to this sample in order to describe the diatoms in another post.   But, meanwhile, the assemblage at Popovo reminded me of the littoral algae in another lake that I really should tell you about …

Miscellaneous diatoms from Lake Popovo, Pirin mountains, Bulgaria, August 2017.   m.: Cymbella sp.; n.: Encyonema neogracile; o. and p.: Eucocconeis flexella (raphe valve and girdle view respectively).  Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100th of a millimetre).

Lake Popovo, photographed from close to the location from which my sample was collected.  The brass plate on the rock at the right hand side gives the altitude as 2234 metres above sea level.  The photograph at the top of the post shows Lake Popovo against a backdrop of the Pirin mountains.


Hofmann, G., Werum, M. & Lange-Bertalot, H. (2011).   Diatomeen im Süßwasser-Benthos von Mitteleuropa. A.R.G. Gantner Verlag K.G., Rugell.

Krammer, K. (2002).  Diatoms of Europe volume 3: Cymbella.   A.R.G. Gantner Verlag K.G., Ruggell, Germany.

Lange-Bertalot, H., Hofmann, G., Werum, M. & Cantonati, M. (2017).   Freshwater Benthic Diatoms of Central Europe: Over 800 Common Species Used In Ecological Assessment (edited by M. Cantonati, M.G. Kelly & H. Lange-Bertalot).   Koeltz Botanical Books, Schmitten-Oberreifenberg.

The UK lake diatom assessment method is described in:

Bennion, H., Kelly, M.G., Juggins, S., Yallop, M.L., Burgess, A., Jamieson, J. & Krokowski, J. (2014).  Assessment of ecological status in UK lakes using benthic diatoms.  Freshwater Science 33: 639-654.

Details of the calculation can be found in the UK TAG method statement.

The multiple dimensions of submerged biofilms …

My recent dabbling and speculation in the world of molecular biology and biochemistry (see “Concentrating on carbon …” and “As if through a glass darkly …”) reawakened deep memories of lectures on protein structure as an undergraduate and, in particular, the different levels at which we understand this.   These are:

  • Primary structure: the sequence of amino acids in the polypeptide chain;
  • Secondary structure: coils and folds along the polypeptide chain caused by hydrogen bonds between peptide groups;
  • Tertiary structure: three-dimensional organisation of protein molecules driven by hydrophobic interactions and disulphide bridges; and,
  • Quaternary structure: the agglomeration of two or more polypeptide groups to form a single functional unit.

This framework describes journey from the basic understanding of the nature of a protein achieved by Frederick Sanger in the early 1950s, to the modern, ore sophisticated awareness of how the structure determines their mode of action. I remember being particularly taken by a description of how sickle cell anaemia was caused by a change of a single amino acid in the haemoglobin molecule, altering the structure of the protein and, in the process, reducing its capacity to carry oxygen.

There is a metaphor for those of us who study biofilms here. To borrow the analogy of protein structure, the basic list of taxa and their relative abundance is the “primary structure” of a biofilm. Within this basic “name-and-count” we have various “flavours”, from diehard diatomists who ignore all other types of organisms through to those who go beyond counting to consider absolute abundance and cell size in their analyses. Whatever their predilection, however, they share a belief that raw taxonomic information, weighted in some way by quantity, yields enough information to make valid ecological inferences. And, indeed, there are strong precedents for this, especially when the primary goal is to understand broad-scale interactions between biofilms and their chemical environment.

But does this good understanding of the relationship between biofilm “primary structure” and chemistry comes at the expense of a better understanding of the inter-relationships within the biofilm. And, turning that around, might these inter-relationships, in turn, inform a more nuanced interpretation of the relationship between the biofilm and its environment? So let’s push the metaphor with protein structure a little further and see where that leads us.

The “tertiary structure” of a submerged biofilm: this one shows the inter-relationships of diatoms within a Didymosphenia geminata colony.  Note how the long stalks of Didymosphenia provide substrates for Achnanthidium cells (on shorter stalks) and needle-like cells of Fragilaria and Ulnaria.   You can read more about this here.  The image at the top of the post shows a biofilm from the River Wyle, described in more detail here.

We could think of the “secondary structure” of a biofilm as the organisation of cellular units into functional groups. This would differentiate, for example, filaments from single cells, flagellates from non-flagellates and diatoms that live on long stalks from those that live adpressed to surfaces. It could also differentiate cells on the basis of physiology, distinguishing nitrogen-fixers from non-nitrogen fixers, for example. We might see some broad phylogenetic groupings emerging here (motility of diatoms, for example, being quite different from that of flagellated green algae) but also some examples of convergence, where functional groups span more than one algal division.

Quite a few people have explored this, particularly for diatoms, though results are not particularly conclusive. That might be because we cannot really understand the subtleties of biofilm functioning when information on every group except diatoms has been discarded, and it might be because people have largely been searching for broad-scale patterns when the forces that shape these properties work at a finer scale. General trends that have been observed include an increase in the proportion of motile diatoms to increase along enrichment gradients. However, this has never really been converted into a “take-home message” that might inform the decisions that a catchment manager might take, and so rarely form part of routine assessment methods.

Next, there is a “tertiary structure”, the outcome of direct relationships between organisms and environment, interdependencies amongst those organisms to form a three-dimensional matrix, and time. This is the most elusive aspect of biofilm structure, largely because it is invariably destroyed or, at best, greatly distorted during the sample collection and analysis phases. This has been little exploited in ecological studies, perhaps because it is less amenable to the reductive approach that characterises most studies of biofilms. But I think that there is potential here, at the very least, to place the outcomes of quantitative analyses into context.  We could, in particular, start to think about the “foundation species” – i.e. those that define the structure of the community by creating locally stable conditions (see the paper by Paul Dayton below).   This, in turn, gives us a link to a rich vein of ecological thinking, and helps us to understand not just how communities have changed but also why.

The tertiary structure of a Cladophora-dominated biofilm from the River Team, Co. Durham.  Cladophora, in this case, functions as a “foundation species”, creating a habitat within which other algae and microorganisms exist.   You can read more about this in “A return to the River Team”.

Finally, if we were looking for a biofilm “quaternary structure” we could, perhaps, think about how the composition at any single point in space and time grades and changes to mould the community to favour fine-scale “patchiness” in the habitat and also to reflect seasonal trends in factors that shape the community (such as grazing).   Biofilms, in reality, represent a constantly shifting set of “metacommunities” whose true complexity is almost impossible to capture with current sampling techniques.

Some of this thinking ties in with posts from earlier in the year (see, for example, “Certainly uncertain”, which draws on an understanding of tertiary structure to explain variability in assessments based on phytobenthos communities).  But there is more that could be done and I hope to use some of my posts in 2018 to unpick this story in a little more detail.

That’s enough from me for now.  Enjoy the rest of the festive season.

Selected references

Foundation species:

Dayton, P. K. (1972). Toward an understanding of community resilience and the potential effects of enrichments to the benthos at McMurdo Sound, Antarctica. pp. 81–96 in Proceedings of the Colloquium on Conservation Problems Allen Press, Lawrence, Kansas.

“secondary structure” of biofilms

Gottschalk, S. & Kahlert, M. (2012). Shifts in taxonomical and guild composition of littoral diatom assemblages along environmental gradients.  Hydrobiologia 694: 41-56.

Law, R., Elliott, J.A., & Thackeray, S.J. (2014).  Do functional or morphological classifications explain stream phytobenthic community assemblages?  Diatom Research 29: 309-324.

Molloy, J.M. (1992).  Diatom communities along stream longitudinal gradients.  Freshwater Biology, 28: 56-69.

Steinman, A.D., Mulholland, P.J. & Hill, W.R. (1992).  Functional responses associated with growth form in stream algae.  Journal of the North American Benthological Society 11: 229-243.

Tapolczai, K., Bouchez, A., Stenger-Kovács, C., Padisák, J. & Rimet, F. (2016).  Trait-based ecological classifications for benthic algae: review and perspectives.  Hydrobiologia 776: 1-17.

“tertiary structure” of biofilms

Bergey, E.A., Boettiger, C.A. & Resh, V.H. (1995).  Effects of water velocity on the architecture and epiphytes of Cladophora glomerata (Chlorophyta).  Journal of Phycology 31: 264-271.

Blenkinsopp, S.A. & Lock, M.A. (1994).  The impact of storm-flow on river biofilm architecture.   Journal of Phycology 30: 807-818.

Kelly, M.G. (2012).   The semiotics of slime: visual representation of phytobenthos as an aid to understanding ecological status.   Freshwater Reviews 5: 105-119.

Meetings with remarkable Gomphonema …

Having written about Gomphonema rhombicum in my previous post, I thought it would be worth staying with Gomphonema and showing some images of G. vibrio.   This is a diatom that I had rarely encountered previously but which cropped up in separate email conversations with Chris Carter and Geoff Phillips in the space of a couple of months.  Chris’ samples come from a small man-made pond at Yardley Chase, an SSSI in Northamptonshire (photographed above), whilst Geoff’s was from Phragmites stems in a Norfolk marsh dyke.  Both have hard water (Geoff’s location: pH: 7.6; alkalinity: 275 mg L-1 CaCO3; conductivity: 700 mS cm-1) and good water quality (TP: 60 mg L-1; TN: 1.5 mg L-1).   This set of conditions prompted me to dig out some samples from Croft Kettle, a location I wrote about a couple of years ago (see “The desert shall rejoice and blossom …”) where I had a vague memory of having seen something similar.

Valves of Gomphonema vibrio are relatively large (30 – 95 x 7 – 10 mm, according to Hofmann et al., 2017) and club-shaped with a slight swelling at the centre.  Overall, the valves are more slender than was the case for G. rhombicum (see illustrations in the previous post).   The striae are coarse (7 – 10 in 10 mm) and mostly radiate, but there is a distinct central area where there is a single stria on each side more distantly spaced from the adjacent striae than in the rest of the valve.  On one side, this stria is very short (sometimes it can be hard to see); on the other side, it is longer and ends with a distinct stigmoid (an isolated pore).    The central endings of the raphe are often turned to the same side.

Cleaned valves of Gomphonema vibrio from a pond at Yardley Chase, Northamptonshire.  Yardley Chase is shown in the image at the top of the post.   Images are in pairs, each at a slightly different focus plane.   All photos by Chris Carter.

Chris also sent me some photographs of the living cells, showing a clear stalk protruding from the narrower “foot” pole, as well as a beautifully-clear H-shaped chloroplast.  The presence of a stalk in this species just doubles my annoyance at not having checked for the same in G. rhombicum before cleaning the valves.

There are, it seems, remarkably few records of Gomphonema vibrio from the UK.  I can find no other records from rivers and Helen Bennion found just two other records of recent samples in the UCL database, both from Scotland: Loch Levan and Loch Davan.  Three of the five records are from ponds, which may be significant, and two of these were epiphytes, though there are not enough records here to make any firm pronouncements about habitat preferences.  However, the picture that is emerging is of a species that definitely has a preference for moderately hard to hard water with relatively low nutrients. If that is the case, then it could well be a species that used to be more common that it is now, as many habitats such as these will have deteriorated in recent decades due to agricultural enrichment.   It is certainly a very different habitat from the soft water, fast-flowing stream from which I recorded G. rhombicum in Bulgaria.

Live cells of Gomphonema vibrio from a pond at Yardley Chase, Northamptonshire.  Photos by Chris Carter. 

That makes a total of five records from the UK which, even allowing for the muddled taxonomy (which I’ll talk about in the next post) and the fact that the diatoms of small ponds are rarely studied, suggests that this may be a genuinely rare. It is listed as an “endangered species with persistent risk factors” on the German red list, with a forecast of further decline over the next ten years.   I’ve voiced my concerns about “rarity” and red lists before (see “A red list of endangered British diatoms?”) but will stick my neck out on this one and suggest that Gomphonema vibrio might be a candidate.


Lange-Bertalot, H., Hofmann, G., Werum, M. & Cantonati, M. (2017).   Freshwater Benthic Diatoms of Central Europe: Over 800 Common Species Used In Ecological Assessment (edited by M. Cantonati, M.G. Kelly & H. Lange-Bertalot).   Koeltz Botanical Books, Schmitten-Oberreifenberg.

The underwater world of Ennerdale Water …

I’ve tried to capture the world of microscopic benthic algae many times but never, until now, attempted the same effect with plankton.   The picture below illustrates the problem that I face: whereas the benthic flora are organised with, for the most part, a clear three-dimensional structure and known dependencies amongst organisms (species A, for example, being epiphytic on species B), plankton are randomly distributed in a very dilute solution.   My picture  below, which is based on four phytoplankton samples collected by the Environment Agency in the summers of 2014 and 2016.

A representation of the phytoplankton of Ennerdale Water with cells of Rhodomonas and Kephyrion depicted at a realistic density (c. 1000 – 2000 cells per millilitre).

I had to address two issues in producing this image, which is based on four phytoplankton samples collected by the Environment Agency in the summers of 2014 and 2016: depicting the phytoplankton cells at approximately the correct density and making sense of the list of names that appeared on the list.  Ennerdale Water is a very nutrient-poor lake and cell concentrations during the summer are in the order of 1000 to 2000 per millilitre.  That sounds a large number until you consider the scale at which we are working.   For simplicity, I assumed spherical cells of about 20 micrometres diameter (= 1/50th of a millimetre) at a density of 1000 cells/ml.    That equates to one cell per micrometre which is 1 mm x 1 mm x 1 mm.   Using these assumptions, each cell is 50 diameters distant from its nearest neighbour, which means the foreground of a picture should contain only two small cells and a lot of blue paint.

Next, I need to know what algae to paint and the problem here is that 85 per cent of the cells in the Environment Agency phytoplankton analyses were described as “picoplankton < 2 micrometres diameter” or “nanoplankton 2-20 micrometres diameter” (the latter divided into flagellates and non-flagellates).  There are, apparently, big difficulties in naming many of the cells found as preservation with Lugol’s Iodine coupled with the long time in storage before analysis can lead to loss of useful diagnostic features.   Cells in the nanoplankton category can, in theory, belong to any one of a number of groups of algae but If I focussed just on those organisms that could be named, I see that the Cryptophyta Rhodomonas lacustris var nannoplanctica (formerly R. minuta var. nannoplanctica) predominates, followed by Chrysophytes, of which Kephyrion is the most abundant.   So these are the two cells that I have put in the foreground.

I subsequently turned up a paper from 1912 by the father and son team of William and George West who looked at the phytoplankton of Ennerdale Water and a number of other lakes in the Lake District and Scotland.  The range of taxa that they found was quite different to that recorded in these recent surveys with samples dominated by desmids and almost no Chrysophytes or Cryptophytes recorded at all. That may, in part, be due to differences in methods – they collected samples using a “silken tow net”, which would probably have missed the very small Chrysophyta and Cryptophyta (an earlier paper by them tells us of the size of the nets but not the mesh itself) .  Some desmids that they found were found in the recent surveys but in much smaller quantities and it is possible that this was partly an artefact of the differences in sampling technique.  The idea of comparing count data from old papers with modern records is appealing but, in most cases, separating genuine changes in composition from differences introduced by sampling and analytical methods is always difficult.

Excuse these ramblings … there is, as you can see, not a lot of pictorial interest in the underwater world of an oligotrophic lake.   If you want excitement, tune into Blue Planet II, David Attenborough’s latest series for the BBC You will find sex and violence galore there.  The underwater world of Ennerdale Water is a quieter, more serene and certainly less televisual place.  Maybe that’s not such a bad thing …


Lund, J.W.G. (1948) A rarely recorded but very common British alga, Rhodomonas minuta Skuja. British Phycological Bulletin, 2:3, 133-139.

West, W. & West, G.S. (1909). The British freshwater phytoplankton, with special reference to the desmid-plankton and the distribution of British desmids.   Proceedings of the Royal Society of London Series B 81: 165-206.

West, W. & West, G.S. (1912).  On the periodicity of the phytoplankton of some British lakes.  Journal of the Linnaean Society, Botany 40: 395-432.

What a difference a storm makes …

I was back at Croasdale Beck last week and noticed a rather dramatic change to the meander just upstream from our regular sampling spot.   If you look at the photograph that heads the post “A tale of two diatoms …”, you’ll see the stream flowing around this meander.  Now, however, it has cut a new, shorter channel that bypasses the meander altogether.   We visited the stream just a few days after Storm Ophelia had passed through although, judging by the grass growing on the gravel of the abandoned meander, it was not necessarily this particular event that reshaped the stream.

Croasdale Beck is an unruly tributary of the River Ehen, rising on the fells above Ennerdale Water and tumbling down across rough grazing land and some semi-improved pasture (as in the picture above) before joining the Ehen in Ennerdale Bridge.   This is not the first time that we have seen conspicuous changes in the channel after a storm.  The magnitude of the flood is illustrated by the hydrograph below, which went off-scale for a period, as the discharge exceeded 3000 mega litres per day (300 MLD is the approximate limit for safe wading, in my experience).   I noticed that there was much less green algae present than we usually record at this time of year, although the diatom film was still quite thick.   Some of the stones that I picked up to sample had the slimy biofilm on the underside, suggesting that they had been recently rolled by the flooded river.   Croasdale Beck has no lake to buffer the rise and fall of the floodwaters and a huge amount of energy is carried down in a short period of time as the water surges downstream.

By the time we had arrived, the floodwaters had subsided and the sheep were contentedly grazing the surrounding land.  The stream itself was almost back to base flow (in contrast to the River Ehen which was still only just wadable).  Only the meander looked different …

The hydrograph for the River Ehen, as the aftereffects of Storm Ophelia make their way downstream.

Winning hearts and minds …

I write several of my posts whilst travelling, though am always conscious of the hypocrisy of writing an environmentally-themed blog whilst, at the same time, chalking up an embarrassing carbon footprint.  Last month, however, I participated in my first “eConference”, in which the participants were linked by the internet.  With over 200 people from all over Europe, and beyond, attending for all or part of the three days, there was a substantial environmental benefit and whilst there was little potential for the often-useful “off-piste” conversations that are often as useful as the formal programme of a conference, there were some unexpected benefits.  I, for example, managed to get the ironing done whilst listening to Daniel Hering and Annette Battrup-Pedersen’s talks.

You can find the presentations by following this link:   My talk is the first and, in it, I tried to lay out some of the strengths and weaknesses of the ways that we collect and use ecological data for managing lakes and rivers.  I was aiming to give a high level overview of the situation and, as I prepared, I found myself drawing, as I often seem to do, on medical and health-related metaphors.

At its simplest, ecological assessment involves looking at a habitat, collecting information about the types of communities that are present and match the information we collect to knowledge that we have obtained from outside sources (such as books and teachers) and from prior experience in order to guide decisions about future management of that habitat. At its simplest, this may involve categoric distinctions (“this section of a river is okay, but that one is not”) but we often find that finer distinctions are necessary, much as when a doctor asks a patient to articulate pain on a scale of one to ten.  The doctor-patient analogy is important, because the outcomes from ecological assessment almost always need to be communicated to people with far less technical understanding than the person who collected the information in the first place.

I’ve had more opportunity than I would have liked to ruminate on these analogies in recent years as my youngest son was diagnosed with Type I diabetes in 2014 (see “Why are ecologists so obsessed with monitoring?”).   One of the most impressive lessons for me was how the medical team at our local hospital managed to both stabilise his condition and teach him the rudiments of managing his blood sugar levels in less than a week.   He was a teenager with limited interest in science so the complexities of measuring and interpreting blood sugar levels had to be communicated in a very practical manner.  That he now lives a pretty normal life stands testament to their communication, as much to their medical, skills.

The situation with diabetes offers a useful parallel to environmental assessment: blood sugar concentrations are monitored and evaluated against thresholds.  If the concentration crosses these thresholds (too high or too low), then action is taken to either reduce or increase blood sugar (inject insulin or eat some sugar or carbohydrates, respectively).   Blood sugar concentrations change gradually over time and are measured on a continuous scale.  However, for practical purposes they can be reduced to a simple “Goldilocks” formula (“too much”, “just right”, “not enough”).  Behind each category lie, for a diabetic, powerful associations that reinforce the consequences of not taking action (if you have even seen a diabetic suffering a “hypo”, you’ll know what I mean).

Categorical distinctions versus continuous scales embody the tensions at the heart of contemporary ecological assessment: a decision to act or not act is categorical yet change in nature tends to be more gradual.   The science behind ecological assessment tends to favour continuous scales, whilst regulation needs thresholds.  This is, indeed, captured in the Water Framework Directive (WFD): there are 38 references to “ecological status”, eight in the main text and the remainder in the annexes.  By contrast, there are just two references to “ecological quality ratios” – the continuous scale on which ecological assessment is based – both of which are in an annex.   Yet, somehow, these EQRs dominate conversation at most scientific meetings where the WFD is on the agenda.

You might think that this is an issue of semantics.  For both diabetes and ecological assessment, we can simply divide a continuous measurement scale into categories so what is the problem?   For diabetes, I think that the associations between low blood sugar and unpleasant, even dangerous consequences are such that it is not a problem.  For ecological assessment, I’m not so sure.  Like diabetes, our methods are able to convey the message that changes are taking place.  Unlike diabetes, they are often failing to finish the sentence with “… and bad things will happen unless you do something”.   EQRs can facilitate geek-to-geek interactions but often fail to transmit the associations to non-technical audiences – managers and stakeholders – that make them sit up and take notice.

I’d like to think that we can build categorical “triggers” into methods that make more direct links with these “bad things”.  In part, this would address the intrinsic uncertainty in our continuous scales (see “Certainly uncertain …”) but it would also greatly increase the ability of these methods to communicate risks and consequences to non-technical audiences (“look – this river is full of sewage fungus / filamentous algae – we must do something!”).   That’s important because, whilst I think that the WFD is successful at setting out principles for sustainable management of water, it fails if considered only as a means for top-down regulation.   In fact, I suspect that Article 14, which deals with public participation, is partly responsible for regulators not taking action (because “costs” are perceived as disproportionate to “benefits”) than for driving through improvements.   We need to start thinking more about ensuring that ecologists are given the tools to communicate their concerns beyond a narrow circle of fellow specialists (see also “The democratisation of stream ecology?”).   Despite all the research that the WFD has spawned, there has been a conspicuous failure to change “hearts and minds”.  In the final analysis, that is going to trump ecological nuance in determining the scale of environmental improvement we should expect.