Notes from Windermere

Langdales_from_Miller_Ground_May19

Just before the trip to the Shetland Islands I wrote about in the previous post, I spent two days in the Lake District teaching a course on identifying macroalgae for the Freshwater Biological Association.  It coincided with a period of gorgeous weather, showing Windermere at its absolute best (as the photo at top of the post shows).  Only a month ago my wheels were spinning in the snow on Whinlatter Pass (see “How to make an ecosystem (2)”).

Looking up Windermere towards the high peaks of the Lake District’s volcanic centre, I find myself reflecting on how geology creates the diversity in landscapes and aquatic features that, in turn, creates variety in the microscopic flora and fauna (see “The Power of Rock”).   A nuanced understanding of the aquatic world requires one to view the grand panorama at the same time as focussing on organisms that are scarcely visible with the naked eye.

One of the locations that we visited during the course was Cunsey Beck, which flows out from Esthwaite Water and, a few kilometres later, into Windermere.   Esthwaite is one of the more productive of the lakes in this region and we usually find a healthy crop of algae in the beck.   This year was no exception and, amongst the different forms we collected were some long straggly growths that had a slighty gelatinous feel.  Back at the laboratory we put part of one of these growths under the microscope and saw a large number of individual cells set in a jelly matrix.   This identified the alga as Tetraspora gelatinosa, a green alga that I have written about before (see “More from the Atma River …”) although not for some time.

Tetraspora_Cunsey_Beck_May19

Tetraspora gelatinosafrom Cunsey Beck, Cumbria, May 2019.   The picture frame is about five centimetres wide.

The genus Tetraspora gets its name from a mode of division that leaves many of the daughter cells in groups of four (visible in the lower illustration).  These, in turn, are embedded in mucilage, and repeated divisions can lead to growths becoming visible with the naked eye.   Three species have been recorded from Britain and Ireland, of which the Cunsey Beck population is most likely to belong to T. gelatinosa.   In the past, it might have been called Tetraspoa lubrica, which has a more tubular thallus; however, this is now thought to just be a growth form of T. gelatinosa that is associated particularly with fast-flowing rivers.  As far as I can tell, no-one has performed any detailed molecular genetic studies on this genus to better understand the relationships between these different growth forms so we will have to go with current convention for now.

Tetraspora_Cunsey_Beck_x400

Tetraspora gelatinosaunder the microscope.   Cells in the foreground are about ten micrometres in diameter.   Photograph by Hannah Kemp.

I’ve seen Tetraspora in a wide range of habitats – on stones in fast-flowing, relatively soft water rivers in Norway and growing on plant stems in the littoral zone of hard water ponds in Ireland.   Most of my records are from the spring, though I should add that spotting some of the smaller gelatinous colonies (barely more than near-transparent dots on the stone surface) does take some practice and I suspect that I have missed it on a few occasions too.

The microscopic image of Tetrasporawas taken during the course using a Carson Hookupz, a neat device which allows a smartphone to be attached to a microscope (or any other optical device).   It takes a little fiddling to get the set-up right but, once this has been achieved, the quality of pictures we obtained was excellent.   My microscope engineer tells me that he is selling large numbers of these to schools and colleges as it means that students can capture images during practical classes that they can subsequently use in reports or just (as was the case during our course) as an aide mémoire.

Hookupz_in_action

The Carson Hookupz 2.0 as it comes out of the box (left) and (right) in action during the Identifying Macroalgae course at the Freshwater Biological Association.

Langdales_at_dusk_May19

Looking north from Miller Ground towards the central Lake District peaks as the sun sets.  The photograph at the top of the post was taken from nearby but shows the view in early morning.  

 

Advertisements

Hyperepiphytes in the Shetland Islands

Gossa_Water_May19

I was lucky enough to spend a couple of days in the Shetland Islands during last week’s spell of warm weather and spent one of my mornings there hiking in shirtsleeves across moorland to a remote loch.   Good infrastructure is a legacy of the Shetland Islands’ association with the oil industry, and this includes a strong mobile network, meaning that I managed to find this particular loch using the Ordnance Survey maps on my smartphone. I would not normally rely upon a mobile signal to navigate across such remote terrain but in Shetland it is often possible.  I would, nonetheless, recommend keeping a paper map and a GPS in your kit just in case, as I did lose the signal on a few occasions during my stay.

Most of the lochs in the northern part of mainland Shetland are shallow, peaty water bodies, with soft water and relatively sparse assemblages of aquatic plants.   Parts of the littoral zone of this particular loch, however, had extensive growths of submerged mosses.  It is a long time since I was proficient at identifying aquatic mosses but these clumps look likeWarnstofia fluitans to me, though I am willing to be proved wrong.  I did try to remove some leaves and have a proper look but that task was complicated by tufts of attached filamentous algae.   In their submerged state, these formed distinct clusters at intervals along the straggly stems of the moss but, once removed, the filaments collapsed to smother the leaves and confound my attempts to run a scalpel blade along the stem.

Warnstofia_Gossa_Water_May19

Submerged colonies ofWarnstorfia fluitans(?) smothered byOedogoniumfilaments in Gossa Water, north Mainland, Shetland (HU 4354 6047). Gossa Water (one of five that share this name in the Shetland Islands!) is illustrated in the photograph at the top of this post.

The filamentous alga proved easier to unmask: the unbranched filaments, reticulate (net-like) chloroplasts and distinctive ‘cap cells’ all identifying it as the green alga Oedogonium.  As is often the case, however, the populations lacked any sexual organs so it was impossible to know which species (see “The perplexing case of the celibate alga“ and, for a rare case of a sexually-mature filament, “Love and sex in a tufa-forming stream”).   Abundant epiphytes can be another feature of Oedogonium: unlike several other filamentous green algae it produces little mucilage which makes it easier for diatoms, in particular, to colonise.  As well as colonies of needle-shaped cells of Fragilaria gracilis there were also several Achnanthidium cells and, entangled around the filaments and the moss, chains of Tabellaria flocculosa.   Given that the Oedogonium was, itself, an epiphyte, these diatoms are ‘hyperepiphytes’, a term that attracts remarkably few Google hits, almost all associated with lower plants.

The ‘cap cells’ are one of the most distinctive features of Oedogonium and results from a distinctive mode of cell division that leaves rings of scar tissue at the point where the two cells split.   That we see four or more of these scars on a few cells whilst the great majority have none suggests that we are looking at a primitive form of specialisation, with a few cells in a filament being responsible for all the cell division.  What is more, these cap cells are also often the ones that form oogonia (see “Love and sex in a tufa-forming stream” for an illustration of this) and asexual zoospores, so there must be something slightly different in the biochemistry within these cells that drives these processes.   However, at this point the formal scientific literature goes strangely silent apart from a single paper published in 1962.  Curiously, the evolution of multicellularity is one of those big questions that attract a lot of top academics (see the reference to a recent paper in Nature Scientific Reports below)  whilst a genus of algae that seem to show some faltering first steps towards specialisation of some cells are largely ignored.  Another case of the “trailing edge” of science?

Gossa_Oedogonium

Oedogonium filaments growing on Warnstofia fluitans in the littoral zone of Gossa Water, north Mainland, Shetland, May 2019.   The arrow on the top image shows the “cap cells”.   Note also the cluster of Fragilaria gracilis(plus a few cells of Achnanthidium) on the lowermost filament and, in the middle image, two of the many cells of Tabellaria flocculosa that were entangled with the Oedogonium filaments and moss stems.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50thof a millimetre). 

Oedogonium_zoospores

A zoospore being released from a filament of Oedogonium.  This series of photographs was taken by me in about 1993 and I have no details of the location from which it came.  The filament is about 40 micrometres (= 1/25thof a millimetre) in diameter.

Reference

Herron, M.D., Borin, J.M., Boswell, J.C., Walker, J., Chen, I-C. K., Knows, C.A., Boyd, M., Rosenzweig, F. & Ratcliff, W.C. (2019).  De novo origins of multicellularity in response to predation.  Nature Scientific Reports 9, Article number: 2328

Rawitscher-Kunkel, E. & Machlis, L. (1962).  The hormonal integration of sexual reproduction in Oedogonium.   American Journal of Botany 49: 177-183.

St_Ninians_tombola_Shetland_May19

Sightseeing in Shetland: the tombolo (sandy isthmus) linking St Ninian’s Isle with Mainland in the Shetland Islands, May 2019.

Algae in a stone forest

Shilin_panorama_#1

A change in location from the previous post: this one is being written on the roof terrace of a guest house in Kunming, in Yunnan Province, China, whilst sipping a cup of the local pu’er tea.   I’m in China with my family visiting my eldest son who works in Chengdu, a sprawling metropolis of 11 million people in Sichuan Province, and have escaped to the warmer climate and more sedate environs of Kunming (only 6 million people) for a few days.  We’ll then move on to Dali (a mere village, by comparison, with less than half a million people) before returning to Chengdu.

From Kunming we travelled about 120 km southeast to Shílín, the site of a strange Karst phenomenon known as the “stone forest”, a collection of upright pillars of limestone often with other limestone blocks perched precariously on top.   In geomorphological terms, we are looking at a limestone pavement on a huge scale, but with substantial erosion of the “grykes” (the gaps between the “clints”).   Geologically, it is a little more complicated than that, with the Permian limestone being later overlain by basalt which was subsequently eroded away to leave a red soil.  However, that is enough to give you some context for what follows.

The photograph at the top of the post gives you some idea of what the stone forest looks like, and also some idea of the crowds to be expected at mainstream tourist attractions in China.  At times, the mass of people and, in particular, the overlapping amplified commentaries from tour guides, dressed in the costumes of the local Sani ethnic minority, made the experience almost unbearable.  But then, as is often the case, you turn a corner, the hubbub dies away, and you are able to enjoy the ethereal landscapes almost undisturbed.  In our case, however, we turned a corner too many, found ourselves outside the officially-sanctioned tourist beat and were unceremoniously ejected by an officious security guard.

Once we had talked our way back into the park through the main entrance, using Ed’s Mandarin skills, the park was noticeably quieter.   Most of the organised tours squeeze the stone forest and a local cave network into the same trip so the morning crowds had been hustled back onto their coaches, and the whole experience in the park was much more pleasant.   Walking through the Major Stone Forest gives you an ants-eye experience of living in a limestone pavement habitat, with the clints towering above you and only occasional glimpses of sunshine.   The park authorities have provided a concrete path and steps to lead you through but it is, at times, an arduous trek with some narrow and low gaps through which to squeeze.   This, in turn, lets you get up close to the limestone and, in my case, gets the phycological antennae twitching …

Shilin_panorama_#2

The Major Stone Forest at Shílín from the inside.   The photo at the top of the post shows the Major Stone Forest from the main public viewing area.

The limestone from which the stone forest is made is largely slate-grey in colour, rather than the creamy beige that I normally associate with this rock.   Only after reading one of the interpretation boards in the park did the penny drop, and I realised that I, and thousands of other tourists, had each spent 130 RNB to stare at algae.   After my brush with officialdom in the morning I was not in the mood to scrape at the rocks to collect a sample but am guessing we are looking at the Cyanobacterium Gloeocapsa alpina or something similar (see “The mysteries of Clapham Junction …”).   We were visiting the park close to the end of the long dry season but for the next few months the climate here will be much damper, creating a more conducive environment for these microorganisms to grow.

A few of the rock faces, particularly those associated with seepages, had multicolour streaks, with the grey supplemented with pinks and greens.  The former may well be other Cyanobacteria (possibly Schizothrix) and the greens could be Apatococcus, Desmococcus or a relative (see “Little round green things …”).  There were also a few orange-red patches of Trentepohlia (see “Fake tans in the Yorkshire Dales”).   All of these are forms are familiar to me from the UK and, whilst it would be rash to assume that the species were identical to those I find back home, the genera are generally cosmopolitan, so some extrapolation can be permitted.

Shilin_algae_Apr19

Algal crusts on rocks in the Major Stone Forest at Shílín, April 2019. The left hand image shows a mixture of Cyanobacteria and (possibly) green algae on a vertical surface associated with a seepage; the right hand image shows Heather photographing a growth of Trentepohlia nearby.

Trentepohlia_Shilin_Apr19

Trentepohlia growths inin the Major Stone Forest at Shílín, April 2019.  The picture frame spans about 10 centimetres. Photograph: Heather Kelly.

I did hunt around for some verification for these names but it is not possible to access Google Scholar in China without a VPN.  I am limited to whatever Bing throws up, and have not yet been able to find any papers on the algae of Shílín.  What I did find, during these searches, however, was an article about the world’s largest Haematococus farm, which is very close to here.   I’ve described Haematococcus in earlier posts (see “An encounter with a green alga that is red”) and mentioned that it was the source of the food colouring astaxanthin.   The combination of the limestone geology, warm weather and the huge market for food additives in China makes this possible.  Travelling in China with two vegetarians makes me realise that, even in this enormous, technocratic country, the market for natural products is growing.

Shilin_panorama_#3

 

 

Survival of the fittest (2) …

As well as the bright green flocs of Tribonema, the stream draining the Hadjipavlou chromite mine also had bright orange-red growths on some of the pebbles on its bed.  These seemed to be composed primarily of the Cyanobacterium Chamaesiphonthough I am still not sure what species.   Using the limited literature I have, from the UK and Germany, I would opt for either Chamaesiphon polymorphusor C. polonicus.   This particular alga was very easy to remove from stones, compared to other epilithic Chamaesiphon species (see “A bigger splash …”).  This is a feature of C. polymorphus, though the colour is more typical of C. polonicus*.  On the other hand, that bright colour could be the response to high solar radiation, so maybe my north European guides are not that reliable.  It could be something else altogether.

Chamaesiphon_polonicus_Troodos

Chamaesiphon growths on pebbles in the stream draining Hadjipavlou chromite mine in the Troodos mountains, Cyprus, March 2019.

Chamaesiphon_Troodos_Mar19

Colonies of Chamaesiphon from Hadjipavlou chromite mine under the microscope.   Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100thof a millimetre). 

In addition to the Chamaesiphon, there were a few diatoms, mostly Achnanthidium minutissimumand Meridion circulare.   These are typical species of metal-rich streams, as is the general lack of diversity that was evident.   There were also a few filaments of the cyanobacterium Phormidium, along with quite a few Paramecium and Vorticella.  As these are both heterotrophs that feed on organic matter, their abundance is probably at least partly a reflection of the long time that the sample spent in my suitcase between collection and analysis.  The latter is a fascinating organism to watch: it is a goblet-shaped cell with a fringe of cilia around the lip (or “peristome”).  These beat in unison to create water currents that draw small particles towards the cell.   These particles mostly at least an order of magnitude smaller than the algae)  are then collected in food vacuoles where they are digested.   A few of these vacuoles can be seen in the image of Vorticella below.

Vorticella is attached to its substrate by a stalk which contains contractile filaments, giving it spring-like qualities.  Watching a Vorticella is a beguiling experience, with the undulating rows of cilia drawing food into the vestibule (as the opening is known).  At intervals, the whole cell lurched across the field of view as the “spring” in the stalk suddenly contracted, shortening the stalk.  After this, the stalk would gradually extend again, the cilia not having missed a beat meanwhile.   This process may simply be a device that enables the Vorticellato exploit its locality to the full, as well as creating some additional turbulence to keep a steady flow of particles towards the peristome.  To be honest, I haven’t seen a more convincing explanation but, even if we don’t know why it does what it does, Vorticella is a fascinating organism to watch, whether or not I understand what is going on.

I’ll be coming back to talk more about the diatoms in a future post, and writing these posts has also reminded me that I’ve never written about the interesting mine sites almost on my own doorstep.  I cut my ecological teeth looking at these habitats back in the 1980s and they are striking examples of natural selection in action.   So, plenty of potential for more left-field natural history …

Hadjipavlou_organisims_Mar19

Other organisms present in the Hadjipavlou chromite mine. a. – d.: Meridion circulare; e. Phormidiumsp.; f. Vorticellasp.   Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100thof a millimetre). 

* Note: after I had written this post Brian Whitton confirmed that it was, most likely, Chamaesiphon polonicus.

Survival of the fittest (1) …

Hadjipavlou_mine_March19

When I signed up to a trip to Cyprus in late March I was anticipating feeling some warm Mediterranean sun on my skin after the ravages of the British winter.  I did not expect snow and sleet.   However, as one of our destinations was the Troodos mountains, the location of Cyprus’ only ski resort, maybe it was a case of unrealistic expectations.   Fortunately, we realised our mistake just in time to pack some warm clothes, and the unseasonable weather did, at least, mean that the spring flowers at lower altitudes were, even by Cypriot standards, particularly impressive.

I was in Cyprus primarily as a camp follower on a reconnaissance trip for a geology and botany excursion next year.   Cyprus is, to put it in layman’s terms, the outcome of a collision between the African and European continental plates.   The Troodos mountains are a geologist’s paradise, having a wide range of features arising from this and from associated volcanic activity.   As the molten rocks cooled, minerals precipitate out and the resulting geological strata reflect differences in the melting points of these minerals.   Some of these minerals, such as chromite, are commercially valuable and have been mined for centuries.   Indeed, the name Cyprus itself is derived from cuprous, the Greek word for copper, which was mined here since 4000 BC.

The Hadjipavlou mine is set amidst pine forests close to the highest point of the Troodos.  It was an active chromite mine from 1950 to 1954 and from 1979 to 1982 but was abandoned when cheaper sources of chromite became available in South Africa.   Over a million tonnes of ore were extracted in the period when the chromite mines in the area were active, but now there are few obvious signs apart from this adit driven into the hillside.   A small stream bearing water that has percolated through the rocks and collected in the mine’s galleries emerges from the mine entrance and tumbles down the hillside to join the stream below.   This, on closer inspection, has some quite interesting microbial growths.

First of all, having been told that this is a chromite mine, you might expect the water to carry toxic concentrations of heavy metals.   So you might also be surprised to see abundant growths of bright green algae thriving in the stream immediately downstream of the mine entrance.   This is, in fact, a common phenomenon in mine waters and happens, we think, because the fast-growing algae evolve metal tolerance whilst the animals that feed on them are slower to adapt.   This is, literally, survival of the fittest and, with nothing to eat them, the algae grow prolifically.

These filaments belong to the genus Tribonemawhich, despite being bright green in colour, actually belongs to the yellow-green algae, the Xanthophyta, rather than to the green algae.  This group is actually more closely related to the diatoms than to the green algae, though it can be hard to understand why simply by peering through a microscope.  One useful test is to add a little iodine  solutionto the slide: this binds to the starch inside green algae cells, staining them a dark brown colour.   The Xanthophyta, by contrast, do not have starch as their storage product so the cells are not stained by iodine.   The only other member of this group that I have discussed in this blog is Vaucheria, a very different alga (see “Who do you think you are?”).

Tribonema_affine_Troodos

Tribonema cf affinein the channel draining the Hadjipavlou chromite mine in the Troodos mountains, Cyprus, March 2019.   a. close-up of the alga in situ; b.  microscopic view of filaments; c. fragments of disintegrated filaments showing the H-shaped cell endings.  Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 100thof a millimetre).   

Tribonemahas simple, unbranched filaments with two or more plate-like chloroplasts arranged around the cell periphery.   One other feature is the arrangement of the cell wall, which tends to consist of two overlapping halves.  When filaments disintegrate (as they often do) the fragments have an H-shape, with each end forming half the cell wall of a different cell.   The cells are, in fact, cylindrical but this is not apparent with the flattened perspective of a high magnification objective.   This feature is not universal in the Xanthophyta, nor is it unique to this group (a few green filamentous algae show the same characteristic) but it is a useful hint that you may be looking at Tribonema.

Whilst lush growths of algae is a common feature of streams draining mines, the species that form these growths can vary.   In the northern Pennines, I am used to seeing green algae in these habitats, but there are at least three different genera that I find.  Typically there is just one filamentous alga in this location, and they tend to be  constant over time: they are reliable sources for material for undergraduate practical classes as a result.  There is more to this story but I will have to come back to it at some point in the future.  .

There is also more to the algal flora of the Hadjipavlou chromite mine but, again, that will have to wait for another post.  I should also confess that, although I visited the mine briefly last year, these samples were collected by Heather, whilst I was sitting snugly below the snow line.

The complexities of measuring mass…

Benthotorch_in_action

Once upon a time, measuring the quantity of algae growing on the beds of streams and rivers was a painstaking, slow process that invariably revealed large amounts of spatial and temporal variation that, very often, obscured the ecological signals you were looking for. That has changed in the last decade thanks to the availability of field fluorimeters such as the BenthoTorch.  This makes it much quicker and easier to measure chlorophyll concentrations, the usual proxy for algal quantity.  Thanks to devices such as this it is now much easier to discover that your ecological signal is masked by spatial and temporal variation.

We’ve generated a lot of data about the fluxes of algae in the River Ehen using a BenthoTorch over the past five years and are in a position where we can start to make some generalisations about how the quantity of algae vary over the course of a year.  In broad terms, the results I showed in “The River Ehen in January” back in 2014 have not varied greatly over subsequent years, with peak biomass in mid-winter and low biomass in the summer (due, we presume, to intense grazing by invertebrates).  Curiously, we see a much less distinctive seasonal pattern in the nearby Croasdale Beck, but that is a story for another day….

The BenthoTorch uses an algorithm to partition the fluorescence signal between three major algal groups and, though this is not without issues (see below), I thought it might be interesting to see how these groups varied with biomass trends, and consider how this links to ecological theory.  The first group I’m considering are the green algae which, in this river, are mainly filamentous forms.   The general pattern, seen in the graph below, is for a gradual increase in the proportion of green algae, which fits with the current understanding of thicker biofilms having greater structural complexity with filamentous algae out-competing attached single celled algae to create a “canopy” of algae that are more effective at capturing light and other resources.  The relationship is, however, strongly wedge-shaped so, whilst many of the thickest biofilms have a lot of green algae, there are also thick biofilms where green algae are scarce or even non-existent.  Croasdale Beck shows a similar, but less pronounced, trend.

green_algae_in_Ehen

Relationship between the proportion of green algae and the total quantity of benthic algae (expressed as chlorophyll concentration) in the River Ehen (a.) and Croasdale Beck (b.).   The blue lines show quantile regression fits at p = 0.8, 0.5 and 0.2.   The image at the top of the post shows Ben Surridge using a BenthoTorch to measure algal biomass beside Croasdale Beck in Cumbria.

The second graph shows that this pattern of a gradual increase in proportion is also the case for diatoms and, once again, there is a broad wedge of points with an upward trend.  But, once again, there are also samples where biomass is high but diatoms are present in very low numbers or are even absent.   What is going on?

The problem is clear I think, if one looks at the final image in “The only way is up …” where the very patchy nature of algal communities in the River Ehen (and, indeed, many other rivers).   There are plenty of algae on this boulder, but not organised in a homogeneous manner: some zones on the boulder are almost pure diatom whilst others are almost pure green algae (and there are also zones that are almost pure Lemanea– I’ll come to that in a future post).   We try to sample the stones as randomly as possible so you can see the potential for getting very different numbers depending on where, on a stone, we point the BenthoTorch’s sensor.

diatoms_in_the_Ehen

Relationship between the proportion of diatoms and the total quantity of benthic algae (expressed as chlorophyll concentration) in the River Ehen (c.) and Croasdale Beck (d.).   The blue lines show quantile regression fits at p = 0.8, 0.5 and 0.2.  

With experience, you can make an educated guess about the types of algae present in a biofilm.  I’ve tried to capture this with my watercolours, using washes of raw sienna for the diatoms and a grass-green for the green algae, which roughly matches the colour of their respective growths in the photo in my earlier post.   The two groups of algae a are relatively distinct on that particular boulder.   The top row roughly matches the upper “edge” of the graph showing variation in diatoms, whilst the bottom row emulates the upper “edge” of the graph showing variation in green algae.  These are the two extreme situations; however, we also often see darker brown growths in the field, which can be recreated by mixing the raw sienna and grass-green together.  When I peer through a microscope I often see green algae smothered in diatoms: genera such as Oedogoniumare particularly prone as they have less mucilage than some of the others we find in the Ehen. Their filaments often host clusters of Fragilariacells as well as Achnanthidium minutissimum, whilst stalked Gomphonemaand chains of Tabellaria flocculosaoften grow through the tangle of green filaments.   The dark brown colour is deepened yet further by the colour of the underlying rock, so my effort on white watercolour paper is a little misleading.

colour_patches

A colour chart showing how different proportions of green algae and diatoms influence the colour of biofilms.

The final graph shows how, as the average biomass increases in the River Ehen, so the variability in biomass also increases.   The River Ehen is one of the cleanest rivers I know but I suspect that this pattern in benthic algal quantity could be reproduced in just about any river in the country. What I would not expect to see in any but the purest and most natural ecosystems is quite so much variation in the types of algae present.   Once there is a little enrichment, so I would expect the algae to become more of a monoculture of a dominant filamentous alga plus associated epiphytes.  Like much that happens in the microscopic world of rivers, it is easier to describe than it is to measure.

That, however, is only part of the story but I’ll come back to explain the patterns in the other main groups of algae in the Ehen and Croasdale Beck in my next post.

mean_biomass_by_stdev

The relationship between mean chlorophyll density and the standard deviation (based on measurements from five separate stones) for samples from the River Ehen and Croasdale Beck. 

 

Secular icons?

paintings_at_botanic_gardens_Mar19

I’ve got two pictures on display as part of an exhibition at Durham University Botanic Gardens, both showing abstract or semi-abstract views of algae.  One is my sextych of the alga Apatococcus(see “Little round green things …”) and the other is a triptych based on Haematococcus, an alga which I wrote about in “An encounter with a green alga that is red” back in 2013.   Both pictures were painted for my final degree show back in 2008 and both addressed questions about the boundaries between abstract and representational art.

The point that I was trying to make with these images is that the boundary between abstract and representational art depends partly on what the viewer knows about the subject matter and, in the case of algae, this is usually not very much.  In cases such as these, the legend becomes very important as a means of bridging the gap between abstraction and reality by providing just enough information to help viewers make sense of the content (see “How to win the Hilda Canter-Lund Prize (2)”).   In the case of microscopic images, this should always include some indication of scale, written in terms that non-biologists can easily understand (I would always write “1/100thof a millimetre”, rather than “10 micrometres”, for example).

Haematococcus_MGK

Haematococcus. Triptych.   2008 50 x 130 cm Acrylic, resin and PVA on canvas.

This issue of viewers being able to “unlock” the meaning of images extends beyond the abstract/representational boundary that I encounter when displaying images of the microscopic world.  Exactly the same challenges occur when, for example, secular western Europeans look at eastern Orthodox icons, a subject that occasionally creeps into this blog (see, for example, “Unorthodox icons”.   My own curiosity about this art form led me to spend a week studying icon painting at the Quaker College in Woodbrooke, in the suburbs of Birmingham.  About ten minutes away from Woodbrooke there is the Serbian Orthodox church of St Lazar (built after the second world war by Yugoslav refugees with financial support from the Cadbury family, the Quaker philanthropists who also established Woodbrooke).

I talked a little about the practice of icon painting in “The art of icons …”.  Today, I am more interested in the symbolism.   A secular westerner can look at many of the icons I’ve depicted and broadly catagorise the contents: most would recognise that Fr Nenad, the priest of the Selly Oak Orthodox church, is holding an icon that depicts the crucifixion, for example, or that the icon just to the left of the centre of the doors in the iconostasis in the lower image depicts the Virgin and Child.  However, the symbolism goes much deeper.   I have a spotter’s guide to icons (sad, I know …) and it lists twenty eight different variants on the basic depiction virgin and child, differing in the physical relationship of Mary and Jesus, their facial expressions and the setting.  Each of these have a slightly different meaning for the Orthodox faithful.   The westerner sees “virgin” and “child”, the eastern Orthodox devotee sees so much more.

St_Lazar_Bournville

The Serbian Orthodox Church of the Holy Prince Lazar in Selly Oak, Birmingham with, right, Father Nenad displaying an icon of the crucifixion. 

What’s all this got to do with painting algae, you may ask.   Scientific illustratation and icon painting are two branches of applied art, where the subject matter serves a higher purpose.  Both, in their own way, try to help viewers understand their place in the world.  If you are not religious, you may not be comfortable with this comparison but, for most of Europe, east and west, until the Enlightenment, this would have been the case.   In both cases, however, the image cannot be viewed in isolation, the viewer needs the appropriate “keys” to unlock meaning.   Even then, the viewer is not a passive observer.   The icon requires a response from the viewer, it is the focus for contemplation and meditation and, I suggest, scientific images, when displayed as “art” should play a similar role, inviting viewers to reflect upon the mysteries of the natural world and demanding a response.

St_Lazar_iconostasis

The iconostasis at the Serbian Orthodox Church in Selly Oak.