Springing into life …

Spring officially started on 1 March, as if the officialdom has any say in the natural order.    But then officials also say that rivers should stay in their channels and that fallen trees should be removed because they make streams “untidy”.  All “official” pronouncements on the seasons (if not the natural order generally) deserve to be treated by aquatic biologists with a pinch of scepticism.   A peek below the surface of the Lake District’s streams, for example, suggested that spring was already well underway even before officials had approved its start, with the upper surfaces of cobbles and boulders in streams on my regular beat smothered with thick orange-brown diatom films.  But, then, algae have always had a difficult relationship with officialdom.  

Back home, after a fieldtrip beset by equipment problems and leaky waders, I had a chance to look at the organisms responsible for these growths.  First observation was that whilst the presence of films was almost universal, their composition differed from stream to stream.  On the other hand, there were some consistencies that helps pull these differences together to produce a coherent narrative.   One final confession before going any further: my fieldwork issues necessitated staying an extra night, and the algae collected on the first day did not look as healthy when examined under the microscope as those collected on my second day.   

Broadly speaking, all of the biofilms looked like the photograph below, with a mix of Achnanthidium and Gomphonema species, along with a seasoning of Fragilaria and Tabellaria.  They differed, however, in the details.  The films in Croasdale Beck, a small stream flowing off the fells around Ennerdale Water (most recently discussed in “The algae that got away …”) were dominated by the diatom Gomphonema parvulum, whereas those from the Rivers Ehen and Irt had one or more relatives.  In “Diatoms and dinosaurs” I referred to this as “Gomphonema gracile” but then went on to explain why this name was problematic.   Since then, the name G. gracile has been kicked into the long grass for different reasons, so I’ll call it “G. graciledictum” but still retain my original scepticism along with the further proviso that identifying diatoms from live material is not always straightforward.  

Diatoms from the River Irt, February 2022.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).   The photograph at the top of the post shows the diatom films smothering cobbles on the bed of the River Irt at Lund Bridge.  
Gomphonema parvulum from Croasdale Beck, near Ennerdale Bridge, Cumbria in late February 2022.  All valve views, with the exception of the rightmost image.  Apologies for the shrivelled chloroplasts.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).  
Gomphonema cf graciledictum from the River Ehen, just above Ennerdale Bridge, February 2022.  The main image shows cells attached to branched stalks whilst the bottom row shows valve (left) and girdle (right) views.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre). 

I don’t think it is a coincidence that these thick biofilms are dominated by species of Gomphonema.  You can see stalks emerging from the bases of several of the cells I have photographed.  These help the cells exploit space vertically by creating dense “bushes” and, in turn, means that these species are “ecosystem engineers” on a tiny scale, creating habitat and opportunities for other algae too.  Just as terrestrial bushes such as hawthorn can act as windbreaks, so these tiny underwater bushes will also slow the flow of water, both reducing physical stress and making nutrients more accessible to the algae.   And, just as hawthorn bushes provide branches on which birds can perch, as well as for lichens to grow, other organisms grow in and around Gomphonema.   I’ve written about this before (see “The curious life of biofilms …”) but it is easy to overlook because most of us count cells and ignore the stalks that are so important in this process of habitat creation.  

The abundance of algae we observed, however, is likely to be due to the low numbers of grazers at this time of year. I did see a few chironomid and simulidae larvae during this trip, but fewer large grazers.  From this point of the year onwards, the quantity of algae in these rivers generally declines, probably because invertebrates become more active as the water warms, and the algae are a valuable food resource for them.  This period, however, represents a window of opportunity when – cold water aside – they can grow with relatively few constraints.   The constraint, as I’ve commented before, lies with the ecologists themselves, relatively few of whom want to venture out to explore these habitats in winter.  And, with the right foot of my wader getting gradually damper as streamwater drips in, I’m wondering if they might just have a point.  

Gomphonema cf graciledictum from the River Irt at Lund Bridge, February 2022.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre). 

Reference

Reichardt, E. (2015).  Gomphonema gracile Ehrenberg sensu stricto and sensu auct. (Bacillariphyceae): a taxonomic revision.  Nova Hedwigia 101: 367-393.

Some other highlights from this week:

Wrote this whilst listening to: Gregorian Chant for Lent and Easter by the Gregorian Chant Schola of Saint Meinrad Archabbey, Indiana, USA.

Currently reading: Chronicles from the Happiest People on Earth by Wole Soyinka.

Cultural highlight: J’ai perdu mon corps (I lost my body).  French animated film from 2019.   Unique. Also, wonderful new British film Ali and Ava, directed by Clio Barnard and set in Bradford.

Culinary highlight: Sichuan-style fish head and frogs leg soup with plenty of whole chillis, served “hot pot”-style using a laboratory hot plate.

Promising young algae …

Spring has arrived in Cassop Vale.  Leaves are appearing on many of the trees and the ground vegetation has the green flush of a new beginning.   More importantly, the herd of emo-fringed highland cows have been moved away, to give the plants more chance of flowering, and there is some warmth in the sun in the middle of the day.

From my point of view, the biggest change since I was last here is the appearance of an extensive floc of green algae covering much of the pond’s surface.   I had a hunch, from their appearance, that these would be predominately Spirogyra, but was not expecting the sight that greeted me when I put a small piece of a floc under the microscope. 

Flocs, predominately Spirogyra, in the margins of Cassop Pond, April 2021.

I find Spriogyra and its relatives quite regularly on my travels, but usually in the vegetative state.  It is relatively unusual to find them as they undergo sexual reproduction (see “Fifty shades of green …”).  But there was plenty of evidence of this process (termed “conjugation”) in Cassop Pond’s green flocs.  There were plenty of vegetative filaments, each about 20 micrometres wide and with a single helical chloroplast.  But there were also many ellipsoidal zygotes apparent.   When I looked more closely, these were inside filaments which were linked to an adjacent filament by a narrow tube.   What started out as an early morning natural history trip has turned out to be the algal equivalent of Saturday night on Newcastle Quayside.   

For those of you unused to dating, Spirogyra style, here is a quick guide.   First, put on your best helical chloroplast (two or more, if you are daring), then head out to find a partner amongst the many other filaments in your particular floc.   Little is known about Spirogyra’s preferences, but we can assume that many species are not heterosexual, so don’t be shy: sidle up to any filament you fancy.   He/she/it might well play hard to get at first, so maybe you need to drop a hint.  Make sure your potential date gets a whiff of your aftershave (that’s what I assume “hormonal interactions between the paired filaments” means).  If he/she/it gets the hint, then you can indulge in a little mutual meiosis to get yourselves into the mood.    

Spirogyra from flocs in Cassop Pond, April 2021.   a. vegetative filament; b. two filaments undergoing sexual reproduction with zygotes in the lower filament.   Narrow filaments of Aphanizomenon gracile are also present.   Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).  

Now we’ve got that all-important emotional (okay … hormonal) connection, it is time to get physical.   An embarrassing bulge appears on the side of your filament but, fortunately, a similar one should appear on the side of your date’s filament at about the same time.   Eventually, these fuse to form a tube that links you both together.  The correct term for this is the “copulation canal” which is as frank as it is alliterative (it could also be called a “tupping tube”, I guess?). The protoplast of both cells now contracts and one (the “boy”, for want of a better analogy) crawls, amoeba-like, through the tube and fuses with the “girl” protoplast to form a zygote.  That’s as far as our frisky filaments in Cassop Pond have got.  If our phycological peep-show continued for longer, we would see the green zygotes gradually become brown in colour as thick, resistant walls grew around them, and the cell contents were processed into starch and lipid-rich food reserves.   They would then sink to the bottom of the pond and rest, dormant, until conditions were ripe for its germination.

Features of Spirogyra conjugation: a. a vegetative cell in one of the two aligned filaments; b. conjugation canals developing between the aligned filaments; c. a zygote.  Scale bar: 20 micrometres (= 1/50th of a millimetre).  

Why here, why now?   Nitrogen limitation has been quoted as one of the triggers for conjugation and the presence of a nitrogen-fixing cyanobacterium (Aphanizomenon gracile) plus nitrogen-fixing diatoms (Epithemia– see “Working their passage”) in the pond at the same time lends support to this hypothesis.  Also, the yellow-green appearance of the flocs is also a hint that they may be nitrogen-limited.   However, there are also reports of conjugation happening on a predictable annual pattern in some locations.  The two possibilities are not mutually exclusive, we should remember.  

Meanwhile, on dry land, there are plenty of other plants getting down to the complicated business of reproduction too.   We saw goat willow (Salix caprea) and hazel (Corylus aveana) as well as lesser celandine (Ficaria verna) in flower, and leaves of primroses yet to bloom.   You can read more about those here.   Just remember, when enjoying the sight of spring flowers, that the botanical bacchanalia takes place in less obvious ways in the water too.

Some other highlights from this week:

Wrote this whilst listening to:  Horses and Easter by the Patti Smith Group (see below).   And a 1977 BBC “Sight and Sound in Concert” recording of Jethro Tull, which I remembered seeing when it was first broadcast.

Cultural highlights:   The film Black Bear – a rather dark and challenging, but ultimately rewarding, film.

Currently reading:  Just Kids, by Patti Smith.  Best read with Horses and Easter as a soundtrack.  The geographer in me also reads it with a map of New York to hand, as it is a book with a very strong sense of place.

Culinary highlight:.our local Indian restaurant makes a rather good lamb shank, cooked in aromatic spices which, with basmati rice and a side order of bhindi, is just about unbeatable.