Algae from the Alto Duoro …

From the highlands of Serra da Estrela w headed north-west towards the vineyards of the Duoro Valley from which the grapes that make port are picked.  I’m supposed to be on holiday but, as the narrow road twists and turns down a steep hillside, with vineyards on both sides, I see a case study in how humans alter rivers and their catchments to suit their needs.  I wonder if the passengers on the cruise ships that move sedately through this beautiful landscape have any idea of just how difficult this same journey would have been just fifty years ago.   Now there are 51 large dams within the watershed, regulating the flow and, at the same time, generating much-needed hydroelectricity.   Before these were in place, the only way to get the port from the quintas in the Alto Duoro to Porto was to load the barrels onto a “barco rabelo”, and then to plot a perilous path through the rapids before using a combination of sail, oars and oxen to make the slow journey back upstream (you can see videos of these journeys on YouTube).

A replica of a barco rabelo moored in the Rio Duoro at Porto, September 2018.

The Rio Douro is a type of river that is rare in the UK but very common throughout the rest of Europe in that it crosses (and, for part of its course, forms) national boundaries.  There are a few rivers in Ireland which straddle borders (the Foyle is one, and some of the headwaters of the Shannon can be found in County Fermanagh) but, mostly, this is a complication that our river managers do not have to face.  By contrast, eighty per cent of the Rio Douro’s catchment lies in Spain (where it is called the Duero) and it is actually the largest watershed on the Iberian Peninsula.   The whole European project, and its environmental policy in particular, makes so much more sense when you are looking at a well-travelled river.

Our immediate objective was the Quinta do Bomfin at Pinhão, which produces grapes for Cockburns’, Dow’s and Taylor’s ports.  However, after a morning walking through the vineyards and following a tour of the winery (the robot that has replaced human grape treaders has, we learned, been carefully calibrated to match the pressure that a human foot exerts, lest the grape seeds are crushed, imparting bitterness to the resulting wine) plus some port tasting, the lure of the river was too strong.

A view across the Douro Valley from Quinta do Bomfin at Pinhão.   This, and the previous two photographs, were taken by Heather Kelly.

The river bank at Pinhão is lined with rip rap (loose stones) enclosed in mesh cages to protect it from erosion from the waves created by the many cruise ships that make their way up the river with tourists.   This, along with the floating jetties at which they embark and disembark, meant that it was not easy to get access to the river; however, I eventually found a small slipway close to the point where a small tributary joins.  There were a few loose stones with a green film in shallow water that I could just reach, plus some algal mats coating the concrete of the slipway at water level.   I managed to get small samples of each to bring back for closer examination, attracting the usual curious stares from passers-by in the process.

The mats on the slipway were composed of an alga (technically, a cyanobacterium) that has featured in this blog on several occasions in the past: Phormidium autumnale (see “In which the spirit of Jeremy Clarkson is evoked”).   This is the time of year when the Douro is at its lowest so living at this point on the slipway means that it spends a small part of the year exposed to the air, but most of it submerged.

Phormidium cf autumnale on a slipway beside the Rio Douro at Pinhão, September 2018.  The left hand image shows the mats on the lower part of the slipway; the right hand image shows individual filaments.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).

The stones beside the slipway had a thick greenish film which, when I looked at it under a microscope, turned out to consist largely of bundles of thin cyanobacterial filaments belonging to a relative of Phormidium: Homoeothrix janthina (kindly identified for me by Brian Whitton).   Homoeothrix differs from Phormidium in that the filament are often slightly tapered, rather than straight-sided and usually aggregated into colonies, often growing vertically towards the light rather than intertwined to form mats.   It is a genus that I see in the UK (including, sometimes, in the River Wear) but which I have not previously written about on this blog.   The photos below show tufts of filaments but it would be quite easy to imagine several of these clumps joined together to form a hemispherical colony, before I disrupted them with my vigorous sampling technique.

Left: the rip rap at the edge of the Douro at Pinhão from which I sampled algae in September 2018; right: the stone after vigorous brushing with a toothbrush.

Bundles of filaments of Homoethrix janthina from the River Douro at Pinhão. Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).

Many of my posts try to make the link between the algae that I find in lakes and rivers and physical and human factors in those water bodies and their surroundings.  That is not an easy task in a large river basin such as that of the Douro as there is so much more of a hinterland including large towns in Spain such as Valladolid.   The river, to some extent, integrates all of these influences and, whereas the vines around Pinhão have their roots in nutrient-poor granite and schist soils, the river’s journey to this point has covered a range of different rock types, including chalky clay soils in the Spanish part of the catchment and the water reflect this.   This cocktail of physical alteration and pollution, shaken up with a dash of international relations, recurs in the largest rivers throughout Europe and is either a fascinating challenge for an ecologist or a complete pain in the backside, depending on your point of view.

I’ll come back to the Douro in a few weeks, once I’ve had a chance to have a closer look at the diatoms.  Meanwhile, I have one more stop on my travels along the Rio Douro, at the port lodges of Vila Nova de Gaia to try some vintage port …

Reference

Bordalo, A.A., Teixeira, R. & Wiebe, W.J. (2006).  A water quality index applied to an international shared river basin: the case of the Douro River.  Environmental Management 38: 910-920.

The end of the journey: port maturing in barrels at Cockburn’s lodge in Vila Nova de Gaia.

 

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Transitory phenomena …

Fieldwork in the River Ehen has been an unusually pleasurable experience over the past few months, even to the extent of abandoning waders altogether and wearing just a thin pair of neoprene beach shoes and shorts as I worked.   Curiously, there were few obvious signs of the prolonged period of low flow here, but that is partly due to the pumps installed by United Utilities to keep the river running whilst the lake was drawn down (see “Life in the deep zone …”).   I did, however, find some intriguing green patches on fine sediments at the margins.

Most of the bed in this part of the river consists of much coarser sediments than these which are, I suspect, silt and sand deposited on the occasions when Ben Gill (which joins the Ehen immediately below Ennerdale Water) is flowing.   Current velocity is lower at the edges of the river, allowing fine sediments to settle out and create temporary sandbanks.   One decent spate will be all that is needed, I suspect, to wash much of this downstream.  However, there has not been a period of prolonged high flow for several months and there is, as a result, a thin green mat of algae growing on the upper surface of this sediment.

Mats of Oscillatoria on fine sediments beside the River Ehen just downstream from Ennerdale Water, August 2018.   The total length of the mats in the left hand photograph is about one metre. 

I scraped up a small sample to examine under my microscope.  I was expecting to see the broad filaments of the cyanobacterium Phormidium autumnale which I often find at a site about five kilometres downstream (see “’Signal’ or ‘noise’?”) but what I saw was much narrower filaments, some of which were slowly gliding forwards and backwards.   These belong to a species of Oscillatoria, a relative of Phormidium that is common in the plankton.  A few species, however, do live on surfaces and can, as I could see in the Ehen, form mats.  I have, in fact, described a different mat-forming species of Oscillatoria (O. limosa) from the River Wear close to my home (see “More from the River Wear”) and this, too, had been favoured by a long period of warm weather and low flow.   The filaments in the River Ehen were much narrower – just a couple of micrometres wide – and had relatively long cells (two or three times longer than wide) but, in other respects, they clearly belonged to the same genus.

Microscopic views of Oscillatoria filaments from the River Ehen, August 2018.   The upper photograph was taken at medium magnification (400x) and the lower image was taken at 1000x.  The constant motion of the filaments means that it is not possible to use stacking software to obtain a crisp image.  Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 1/100th of a millimetre). 

The motion that I could see is thought to be due to a layer of tiny fibres (“microfibrils”) which wind around the inner layer of the cell wall in tight spirals.   Movement is caused by waves that are propagated along these fibres, meaning that the filament actually rotates as it moves (though this is almost impossible to see with a light microscope).   The filaments can move either towards or away from light, depending on the intensity, at a speed of up to 11 micrometres per second (that’s about a millimetre a day or, for any petrolheads who are reading, 0.00004 kilometres per hour).  This allows the filaments can adjust their position so that they are neither in the dark nor exposed to so much light that they are likely to do damage to their photosynthetic apparatus (see “Good vibrations under the Suffolk sun” for more about this).   The result is that filaments will tend to converge, Goldilocks-style, at the point where light conditions are “just right”.  You can see some sediment particles settling on the top of the mat in one of the images and we can expect the filaments to gradually adjust their positions, incorporating these particles, over time.

Last year, I wrote about Microcoleus, a relative of Oscillatoria, which formed mats on saltmarshes and explained how this could be the first stage of colonisation of damp habitats by plants (see “How to make an ecosystem”).   We are seeing the same processes happening here, but the life expectancy of these mats is much lower.  They may well be gone next time I visit, depending on how the Cumbrian climate behaves over the next couple of weeks.   They are transitory phenomena, here today and gone tomorrow but, like the subjects of some of my other recent posts, particularly favoured by the long period of settled weather that we have enjoyed over recent weeks.

Reference

Halfen, L.F. & Castenholz, R.W. (1971).  Gliding motility in the blue-green alga Oscillatoria princeps.  Journal of Phycology 7: 133-145.

Note: you can read more about how the heatwave has affected fresh water in the Lake District in Ellie’s MacKay’s recent post on Freshwaterblog

How to make an ecosystem

I visited Scotland vicariously last week (meaning that I did not actually cross the border but a little bit of Scotland made its way south to me).   In this case, my wife had been reconnoitring potential sites for a field course along the Fife coast and had visited the sand dunes at Tentsmuir National Nature Reserve to see if the plant succession there would make a suitable exercise for her students.  Behind the sand dunes there was a low lying area of saltmarsh and, within that, large areas of algal mats.  I’m guessing that, having brought me a bottle of Highland Park whisky as a reward for not killing her houseplants during her previous trip to Scotland, she thought that my liver deserved a break.

Tentsmuir is a dynamic ecosystem, with sand dunes on the coastal side and, in places, a complete succession from colonising grasses on the seaward side to mature forest on the land.   However, there are also slacks behind the dunes which are periodically inundated by seawater, leading to the development of saltmarshes.   The periodic wetting and drying of saltmarshes is ideal for filamentous algae and these, in turn, create a mesh of interlocking filaments that binds the sand grains and traps organic matter.   Over the course of many tidal cycles, conditions become suitable for higher plants such as glasswort and sea asters.   I have a soft spot for saltmarshes and sand dunes as these are the habitats where I made some of my first forays as an ecologist (see “How to be an ecologist #4”); however, I have never looked in detail at the algal mats before.   So, I poured myself a glass of Highland Park, turned on my microscope and teased out a few of the filaments from my present.

Algal mats from saltmarsh at Tentsmuir National Nature Reserve.  The left hand picture shows a plant of Salicornia europaea agg. (Common Glasswort, or “samphire”) surrounded by algal mats (photo: Heather Kelly).  The right hand picture demonstrates how the mat retains its integrity after being removed from the saltmarsh.

The mat, in this case, seemed to be made up predominately of two types of alga: the yellow-green alga Vaucheria and the Cyanobacterium Microcoleus chtonoplastes.   I often see Vaucheria in freshwaters so it was the Microcoleus that attracted my attention.   It belongs to the same family as the Phormidium that we met in Mallerstang (see “The stresses of summertime …”) and we can see several of the same features: rows of almost identical cells and, in particular, no “heterocysts”, specialised cells that are responsible for nitrogen fixation.   Technically, the chain of cyanobacterial cells is referred to as a “trichome” and these are enclosed in a “sheath” (seen most clearly in genera such as Scytonema: see “Tales from the splash zone …”).  In Phormidium there is a single trichome per sheath but each sheath of Microcoleus contains several, often twisted around each other to form rope-like bundles.

Microcoleus cf chthonoplastes from the saltmarsh at Tentsmuir National Nature Reserve, August 2017.  Scale bar: 10 micrometres (= 100th of a millimetre).

Although I mentioned that Microcoleus lacked heterocysts, this does not mean that it is not capable of nitrogen fixation.   The reason that cyanobacterial cells need heterocysts is that the nitrogenase enzyme only works in anerobic conditions.  The oxygen that is produced as a result of photosynthesis is, therefore, a toxin that needs to be kept away from nitrogenase. Heterocysts have thick cell walls and less chlorophyll as means of keeping the nitrogenase in an oxygen-free environment.  However, some non-heterocystous cyanobacteria, including Microcoleus, are able to fix nitrogen at night (when the photosynthetic apparatus is not pumping out oxygen) .   As there seems to be no protection for the enzyme inside the cells, it is possible that the daily destruction of enzyme is offset by renewed synthesis when light levels fall and there is no more oxygen being produced internally.   Nitrogen-fixation is already an expensive process for cells, requiring a large amount of energy, and this will increase the cost further.  However, in the case of the saltmarsh at Tentsmuir, there is a large amount of habitat available and few other organisms capable of exploiting it, so perhaps this is an investment worth making?

The benefits of that investment then “trickle down” (or up, depending on your point of view) through the ecosystem.   The cyanobacteria “fix” carbon and nitrogen and, in effect, create the soil within which other organisms thrive.  Janet Sprent, of the University of Dundee, calculated that, assuming nitrogen to be the limiting nutrient, then the fixation by Microcoleus and other cyanobacteria in such habitats could probably support the biomass of higher plants that is usually observed.  They are, in other words, a self-perpetuating “green manure” that creates a habitat within which other organisms can thrive.  In turn, by binding sand, they help to stabilise coastal features and, in turn, protect other coastal habitats and the communities that live amongst these.

References

Malin, G. & Pearson, H.W. (1988).  Aerobic nitrogen fixation in aggregate-forming cultures of the nonheterocystous Cyanobacterium Microcoleus chthonoplustes. Journal of General Microbiology 134: 1755-1763.

Omoregie, E.O., Crumbliss, L.L., Bebout, B.M. & Zehr, J.P. (2004).  Determination of nitrogen-fixing phylotypes in Lyngbya sp. and Microcoleus chthonoplastes cyanobacterial mats from Guerrero Negro, Baja California, Mexico.  Applied and Environmental Microbiology 70: 2119-2128.

Sprent, J.I. (1993).  The role of nitrogen fixation in primary succession on land.  pp. 209-219.  In: Primary Succession on Land (edited by J. Miles & D.W.H. Walton), Blackwell Scientific Publications, Oxford.

Sroga, G.E. (1997).  Regulation of nitrogen fixation by different nitrogen sources in the filamentous non-heterocystous cyanobacterium Microcoleus sp.  FEMS Microbiology Letters 153: 11-15.

Tales from the splash zone …

ennerdale_161005_2

Mougeotia was not the only alga that intrigued me in Ennerdale Water during my recent visit (see “Fifty shades of green …”).   Alongside the green tufts, and also just at water level, there were dark spots and patches on the rock that yielded to a gentle scrape with my finger nail.   The colour suggested Cyanobacteria, so I popped a little into a sample bottle to examine later.

stigonema_ennerdale_oct16

Patches of Stigonema mamillosum and Scytonema cf crustaceum growing at water level on granite boulders on the southern shore of Ennerdale Water, October 2016.   The scale bar is approximately one centimetre.

The surprise, when I looked down my microscope, was not that it was cyanobacteria, but that there were at least three genera mixed together.   The first of these was Scytonema cf crustaceum, characterised by a thick brown sheath and the presence of double “false branches”, formed when both ends of a broken filament continue to grow and, eventually, burst out of the sheath (see “Poking around amongst sheep droppings”).   In the image below you can see the narrow blue-green filament of cells within the much broader sheath.

Also present was Stigonema mamillosum, a representative of a genus with a more advanced morphology than other Cyanobacteria, with branched filaments that can be several cells thick (see “More from the River Atma”), and Calothrix sp., which has tapering filaments in a much thinner sheath.   All three genera have the capability to fix atmospheric nitrogen, so thrive in nutrient-poor habitats such as Ennerdale (see also “Both sides now …”).   Calothrix, in addition, is able to scavenge phosphorus from the water, releasing enzymes from the long colourless hairs (just about visible to the right of my photograph).

scytonema_crustaceum_oct16_

Scytonema cf crustaceum from the littoral zone of Ennerdale Water, October 2016.   Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).

stigonema_mamillosum_oct16_

Stigonema mamillosum and Calothrix sp from the littoral zone of Ennerdale Water, October 2016.   Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).

I found superficially-similar growths on rocks on the north east side of the lake, but it was clear, even from the appearance in my sample bottle, that this was something different.  The tangles of filaments from the southern shore of the lake, where I had started, had no other form when suspended in water, than an amorphous blob.  However, the material from the north-east side formed distinct “tufts”.   The superficial similarities continued when I peered down the microscope: once again the chains of blue-green cells were enclosed within a thick brown sheath and, once again, there were false branches.  This time, however, the false branches were single, not double, and formed acute angles with the “parent” filament, rather than the near perpendicular double false-branches that we saw in Scytonema.   These features are characteristic of Tolypothrix (Brian Whitton suggests T. distorta) and it is these acute branches that impart the “bushy” appearance to the colony.   Like the cyanobacteria that I found on the southern shore, Tolypothrix is capable of nitrogen fixation so, its presence here is confirmation of the nutrient poor status of the lake.

tolypothrix_ennerdale_oct16

Tolypothrix distorta (var. penicillata?) from the littoral zone of Ennerdale Water, October 2016.  a: low power view of a tuft of filaments (approximately 5 mm in length); b: filaments showing single false branching (x100 magnification); c: medium power (x400) view of false branch.   Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).

Nitrogen-fixation involves busting apart the strong bonds of atmospheric nitrogen in order that the cell can use the nitrogen to build the proteins that it needs to function.  This requires a lot of energy and, as a result, the investment is only worthwhile if other sources of nitrogen are very scarce.   That energy could, otherwise, be diverted to more useful purposes.  The presence of so many different types of nitrogen-fixing organism around Ennerdale is sending out a clear sign that this is a nitrogen-poor habitat.  Algae such as Mougeotia cannot fix nitrogen, and they presumably have to make other sacrifices (a slower growth rate, perhaps?) in order live alongside these Cyanobacteria.   As far as I know, the energy costs of scavenging phosphorus from organic compounds in the water has not been calculated but the same principle must apply: the cell has to create more of the phosphatase enzymes than normal, in order to produce a surplus that can leak through the cell membrane and react with organic molecules in the vicinity.   Again, that all requires energy that can be used for other purposes.  In contrast to nitrogen fixation, this is an ability that Cyanobacteria share with some other algae including, possibly, Mougeotia.

Finding these algae in a one of the most remote lakes in the country, where the impact of humans is very low, I start to wonder how many of our other lakes would have had such an assemblage of organisms before agricultural intensification and the rise in population numbers.   Nature is, naturally, parsimonious in the way it distributes the inorganic nutrients plants need.   Necessity, we are told, is the mother of invention and the diversity we see in near-pristine habitats such as Ennerdale Water is as much the result of plants and algae finding their own individual solutions to grabbing their share of the scant resources available.   There’s enough here for a BBC natural history documentary … apart from an anthropomorphic mammal or bird.  Which is another way of saying … no chance …

A bigger splash …

Ennerdale_from_nr_Croasdale

This post continues my occasional series on insignificant black or dark brown spots on submerged stones (see “Both sides now …” for another recent episode).  I found these particular specimens on a cobble in Croasdale Beck in Cumbria, close to my regular haunts around the River Ehen and Ennerdale Water and thought that, with algae grabbing headlines for the wrong reasons yet again, I should write something positive about them.   What kind of weird world do we live in when people think it strange that algae thrive in a warm, well-lit swimming pool, whilst simultaneously lauding other people who devote four years of their lives to practising jumping into that same pool?

Chamaesiphon_fuscus_Croasda

Colonies of Chamaesiphon cf fuscus (mostly 2-3 mm in diameter) growing on a submerged cobble in Croasdale Beck, Cumbria, August 2016. 

There was something about the regularity of the outlines of the dark brown / black spots on some of the more stable stones in this flashy beck that attracted my attention.   I’ve scraped a lot of dark smears and smudges off rocks in the past and often been disappointed when all I find are inorganic iron or manganese deposits.  Over time, one gets an eye for what is and is not an algal growth (or, for that matter, a submerged lichen) and even, in some cases, for the type of alga that formed the growth.   In this case, I had a good idea, straight away, that I was looking at a member of the genus Chamaesiphon, a cyanobacterium (blue-green alga).

Members of this genus are unicellular and form dense mats of cells that can be difficult to photograph.   I could not get a really clear view of individuals within this particular colony so, instead, have included some of Chris Carter’s photographs of another member of the genus.   You can see the short, club-shaped cells, each in a sheath and many topped by small “exospores” which bud off from the mother cell to propagate the colony.   The sheath has a brown tinge, presumably to the “sun-screen” compounds that we have met before in cyanobacteria.   Most of the members of the genus live on submerged rocks, but a few live on other algae (see “More from the River Ehen”).   Most of the rock-dwelling species indicate at least good conditions in rivers, but one species, C. polymorphus, is tolerant of more enriched conditions, which complicates use of a straight genus-level identification for rapid assessments.

Chamaesiphon-polonicus-Cald

Chamaesiphon polonicus from Caldbeck, Cumbria, photographed by Chris Carter.  Top left: looking down on colony; other images: side views showing cells in their sheaths and, in a few instances, with exospores. 

Oddly (to me at least) press coverage of the Olympic diving pool story has only used the word “algae”, never telling us what sort of alga is responsible for the problem.   This is equivalent to the commentators saying that “animals” have just made a perfect leap off the 3 metre springboard, leaving the audience to work out whether the subsequent splash was made by a slug or a human.

But I should end on a positive note: better, perhaps to compare the algae not with the divers but with the judges who assign the final scores.   That’s because a few minutes mooching around a stream or beside a lake can usually reveal enough from the types of algae that live there to give some insights into the health of the stream.   My visits to Croasdale Beck over the past year or so have shown me enough to suggest that this little Cumbrian stream probably deserves the algal equivalent of an Olympic medal.  But I doubt that we’ll get much press coverage for saying that…

Both sides now …

Ennerdale_looking_NW_July16

I diverted from my usual haunts in the upper River Ehen in Cumbria recently in order to explore Ennerdale Water in greater detail.   I am used to see it from the western end as we do our fieldwork, but the length of the journey to and from the River Ehen means that we rarely have time to linger.  Finally, however, we found a July day when we could circumnavigate the lake.  “July day”,”Lake District” and “fieldwork” sounds like an intoxicating combination.  However, the photograph above shows it was not quite as idyllic as it might have been (or, even, as it was on the day before).  Hence the title of this post, borrowed from a beautiful Joni Mitchell song which includes the line “But clouds got in my way”.

In the far past, the lakes of the Lake District were thought to have “evolved” at different speeds following their formation at the end of the last Ice Age.  Ennerdale Water and Wastwater, surrounded by hard volcanic rocks which erode very slowly, were regarded as the two most “primitive” lakes, whilst Windermere and Esthwaite Water were thought to be the two most “evolved”.   That is now known not to be the case: the geology is very important in determining the type of lake, not just because erosion is the source of the inorganic salts that give the water a particular chemical character, but also because this influences how man uses the lake.   In the case of Ennerdale Water, only about five per cent of the catchment is cultivatable, and this, in turn, influences the amount of inorganic fertiliser that is added to the meagre supply of salts provided by the underlying rocks.   Ennerdale is, as a result, one of the least chemically-disturbed of all English lakes.

At the far south east end of the lake, close to where the River Liza enters the lake, I was intrigued to see some very dark spots on the rocks.  They looked like they might be cyanobacterial colonies, so I picked a few off with my forceps and put them into a bottle for later investigation.  When I was able to look at them, the following day, I saw clumps with brown filaments radiating out, and each gradually narrowing towards the tip.   Closer examination showed that the cells that made up each filament had a blue-green colour, but were each enclosed in a brown pigmented sheath.   The filaments showed a characteristic form of “false” branching, in which the daughter filament breaks off from the mother, but is contained within the same sheath.   At the base of many of the filaments, I could see a modified cell (slightly lighter and less granular than the others) called a “heterocyst”, which was responsible for nitrogen-fixation.   These are all characteristics of the genus Rivularia, which is a good indicator of very high status water.

Ennerdale_cobble_with_Rivul

A cobble (about 15 cm long) from the littoral zone of Ennerdale Water, SW end.  The dark cyanobacterial colonies are about 3-4 mm across.

Rivularia_Ennerdale_July16

Rivularia biasolettiana from the littoral zone at the south east end of Ennerdale Water, Cumbria, UK.  a. low power (x100) image showing radiating filaments gradually narrowing in width; b. filaments showing false branching (a heterocyst is present, but hard to see); c. false branching in a filament of Rivularia with heterocyst arrowed.   Scale bar (b. and c.): 10 micrometres (= 1/100th of a millimetre).

The presence of Rivularia here was interesting to me for several reasons.   First, it continues a series of observations that suggest that this genus is not confined to hard water habitats in Britain and Ireland, as once thought (see “more about Rivularia” and links) although earlier posts have also referred to its presence in soft water habitats in Norway.   I’m also fairly sure that the organism that I collected from this trip to Ennerdale is different to the one that I find in the River Ehen and, indeed, at other locations around the Ennerdale perimeter, but that is a subject for another day.

The second comment to make is that the presence of cyanobacteria (blue-green algae) is usually a sign of an unhealthy, enriched habitat, not the very high quality habitat that Ennerdale, in fact, represents.  Blue-green algae in the phytoplankton is, very often, a bad sign, suggesting enrichment by inorganic nutrients.  Several species combine the ability to fix nitrogen with positive buoyancy, which means that they have two distinct advantages over other algae as they compete to exploit limited light and nutrients.  Some of these blue-green algae are also toxic, which has implications for how the lake and its water is used.

Those blue-green algae that live attached to surfaces in streams and in the littoral zone of lakes play by a different set of rules, however.  As they cannot use positive buoyancy to compete for light, they are more likely to be overgrown by faster-growing algae in the scrabble to capture available light.   This means that investment in expensive nitrogen fixation machinery is only an advantage when other algae, too, are very short of nutrients.  And a shortage of nutrients is the natural state for most freshwater ecosystems.

I chose the title of this piece, originally, because I felt that I had looked at Ennerdale Water from both sides now.  However, the same lyric could just as well apply to blue-green algae.   The water manager sees them as a problem; in some situations, however, they can be a positive sign.   So we can, in fact, look at blue-green algae from both sides too … from give and take and still somehow … I really don’t know life (microscopic life especially) at all ….

No excuse for not swimming …

Lyons_lake_Hetton-le-Hole

Lyon’s Lake, Hetton-le-Hole, County Durham, May 2015.

After my sojourns in the Lake District and Latvia, I find myself back home in north-east England for a few days.   Whilst I was away, a small packet had arrived in the post, containing a sample of algae collected from a local lake. The bottles contained globules of bright green jelly-like material, with enough integrity to pick up with the fingers and they were intriguing enough for me to drive across one lunchtime to take a closer look at the lake where they came from.

Hetton Lyons Country Park is on the Permian Limestone plateau about 10 kilometres from where I live. It is on the site of a former colliery which closed in 1960 and the surrounding land has been reclaimed and partially converted to a country park.   The lake – probably a hectare or so in size – is used for angling and water sports, and the paths around the edge were busy with cyclists and dog-walkers.   It is on the edge of Hetton-le-Hole, a small town whose odd name refers to its location in one of the more sheltered parts of the plateau.

Aphanothece_stagnina_Hetton

A mucilaginous colony of Aphanothece stagnina (left) with (right) a microscopic view of the individual cyanobacterial cells embedded in mucilage. Scale bar: 25 micrometres (= 1/40th of a millimetre).

There were plenty of green algae around the margins of the shallow lake but, amidst this in a few locations, I could also see the small globules of the alga resting on the bottom which, like the colonies I had been sent, could easily be picked –up.    Under the microscope, these resolved into tiny cyanobacterial cells, mostly oval in outline and about five micrometres in diameter.   These belong to Aphanothece stagnina, a relative of the Gloeocapsa alpina, which we have seen in two other recent posts (see “The mysteries of Clapham Junction” and “Poking around amongst sheep’s droppings …”), albeit in very different habitats.

The word “cyanobacteria” alone is usually enough to make the manager of a recreational lake break out in a sweat.   Many cyanobacteria produce toxins that can affect the nervous system and the liver. This means that no contact water sports (swimming and canoeing, for example) can take place and dog-owners have to be warned not to let their pets drink from the water.   However, as far as I can tell from a brief search on the internet, Aphanothece is not a genus that is often reported in association with toxic blooms.   One less excuse, then, not to go wild swimming in a lake in north-east England on a breezy May afternoon …