Bugs in Birds Hill

Although I am a botanist by training, over the last six years I developed a real passion for insects. It all started when I planted a wildflower garden in my back yard. I would sit on my patio after work, drink iced tea and watch an amazing variety of insects visit my flowers. When I started working here at the Museum I decided to pursue this interest by studying the pollinating insects in one of Manitoba’s rarest ecosystems, the tall-grass prairie.

For the last two weeks I’ve been sitting quietly on a stool in various places in Birds Hill Provincial Park to record the visitation sequences of pollinating insects. My favourite fly (I don’t imagine too many people can say they have one of those) is a little bee fly called Anastoechus. They look like tiny little pussy willows with wings and I think they’re adorable! They feed on the nectar of Western Silvery Aster and other flowers with their long proboscises, and parasitize grasshoppers by laying their own eggs on grasshopper eggs. The bee fly larvae then hatch and eat the grasshopper larvae. Cool! Gross too!

Rob also identified a strange beetle that I had seen on prairie roses. I was doing field work at Living Prairie Museum when I observed male beetles chewing off all the stamens of rose flowers, which I thought was a bit odd. Later on I saw beetles mating on the emasculated flowers. Rob told me it was a “rose-emasculating beetle” (a pretty fitting name), and that the males trimmed the stamens to make a little “love nest” to attract females. So I guess it’s not just humans that use roses to attract mates.

Much less attractive scents -from our point of view at least- get other beetle species in the mood for love, namely the smell of rotting meat. I was hiking along a trail in the park to get to some of my research plots when I saw a congregation of about 20 mating beetles crawling over what looked like part of a carcass. I hypothesized that they were probably interested in laying eggs in or near the meat. A bit of research led me to conclude that they were likely American Carrion Beetles (Necrophila americana). Turns out that if you’re an American Carrion Beetle, carcasses are the equivalent of night clubs; males hang out there and wait for attractive females to show up. Then when the females arrive, they pounce on them so they can’t meet any other guys! Pretty clever!

This week I became a willing donor of bodily fluids to one of the local Hairstreak (Satyrium) butterflies. It landed on my hand while I was monitoring one of my plots and proceeded to lap up my sweat (given the heat this week there was no lack of it), presumably to get the salts. It licked my hand for about 30 minutes and even continued to do so while I walked to my car. I’ve also, in times past, donated salt to the local sweat bees. For this reason I usually pause before slapping something on my limbs lest I accidentally squish a friendly butterfly or bee instead of a mosquito (I’m not too keen on donating blood since I get horrible itchy welts).

The more I learn about insects through my observations of them, the more fascinated I become. Hopefully some of my fascination has now rubbed off on you. Now get off your computer and go look at some bugs!

I didn’t really understand this quote by Socrates until I started working on my Master’s degree. I soon discovered that no matter how much I learned, there was always much more TO learn. Although it is fair to say that scientists find answers, it is just as accurate to say that we discover questions.

Research sounds pretty simple. You start by asking an interesting question about how the world works, and then formulate an idea regarding what the answer will be based on your knowledge of the subject and a literature review (a hypothesis in scientific speak). If you’ve designed your study well, you should soon have an answer to your question. However, the answer you get usually creates additional questions that you hadn’t even thought to ask. Questions that need to be answered before you can publish your research, and send you to “back to the ol’ drawing board” to write yet another grant proposal. Science is kind of like cutting off the head of the mythical hydra: more heads (questions) keep popping up to replace the ones you’ve already dealt with. Ultimately this isn’t a bad thing as it ensures that good science gets done, but sometimes it can make you feel like you’re running on an unstoppable treadmill.

One of things that can greatly affect the interpretation of data is the weather. One manuscript of mine was rejected because the reviewers deemed that only one year of data was insufficient to make any generalizations about pollinator communities. Collecting another year’s worth of data allowed me to demonstrate that insect and plant communities can vary substantially in terms of their abundance from year to year due to differences in the weather. I was fortunate to be able to compare a relatively cool summer (2004) to one that was more typical (2005). In general, it seems to take at least two field seasons (and ideally more) to detect meaningful patterns in nature due to variability in the weather. I’ve learned that a scientist has to build flexibility and redundancy into his/her research plans to obtain at least some good data and take advantage of serendipitous observations.

Ah it’s a beautiful day here in Whiteshell Provincial Park. It’s warm and sunny; perfect weather for lying on the beach. Unfortunately that’s not what I did today because I am not here on vacation: I am working. After a quick breakfast I was on a hiking trail near Falcon Lake, where no botanist (at least to my knowledge) has gone before. What was I doing? After putting on my nearly impenetrable mosquito-proof clothing and gloves, and my backpack full of gear, I set out to collect spring fungi, lichens, mosses and plants (mostly sedges and ferns) that had not been collected in the area before. If you’re wondering why I’m doing this, go back and read my blog “41 Uses for a Dead Plant.”

Even though the trail I was on was only 5 km long, it took me 3.5 hours to reach the end. Botanists spend a lot of time staring intently at the forest floor and periodically crawling around on it to find tiny little plants and lichens. I spent half an hour in one little patch of birch and fir collecting a bewildering diversity of Cladonia lichens. The only problem with pausing for so long is that all the mosquitoes, horseflies and black flies find you. The hike back was not so buggy as I stopped only occasionally to collect a few plants that I missed.

At one point I stopped to collect some mushrooms from an old log. Breathing deeply, I was enchanted by the scent: the rich smell of decaying wood combined with the resinous scent of fir needles and the crispness of moss. It smelled like life. I wondered briefly how many species of insects, fungi and bacteria were in a single handful of this humus? Probably millions. Urban soils, poisoned and stripped of all their diversity, just don’t have the same odor. I’m not sure why people insist on ripping out the native vegetation at their cabins and replacing them with lawn; it just doesn’t smell as good.

At the end of my hike, I was sweating profusely (it was very humid), hungry, thirsty and experiencing “the willies” from being surrounded by the various insects that were intoxicated by the large quantities of carbon dioxide I was exhaling (I’m not in peak hiking condition yet). Once I got to my car, I headed back to the cabin for a late lunch and a much needed shower. After lunch I hiked along the shore of the lake to collect some aquatics. The remainder of the day was spend carefully pressing and labeling my specimens, making spore prints, putting mushrooms in the dehydrator and recording field notes. Tomorrow I get to do this all over again.

Given the choice between being out here and being in my office at the computer, I would much rather be out here. I’ve seen several deer, leopard frogs, a great blue heron, butterflies, lots of birds and a really cool bright yellow slime mold! At night the local pair of loons serenades me to sleep.

Next week I will be going out to Whiteshell Provincial Park to do some collecting. Why you might ask? I’m trying to fill in Manitoba’s botanical black holes.

While looking through several recent botanical publications I noticed an odd pattern. The Canadian distribution for quite a few species was listed as being: British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Ontario, Quebec and Newfoundland but not Manitoba. Since the species’ were found on “rock outcrops in the boreal forest” or “acidic bogs”, a lack of appropriate habitat was probably not the reason why they had not been found here. The answer, quite simply, is that no one has ever collected samples of those species in Manitoba before, even though they are probably quite common. In total, there are at least 74 species of lichens and 85 species of moss that likely occur here, but are undocumented, representing a black hole in our knowledge of the provinces’ biodiversity. If we, as a society, are to protect our nation’s biodiversity we need to know what exists here. Although we know which birds, mammals, fish, amphibians, and reptiles are native to Manitoba, our understanding of the invertebrate, fungal, and botanical diversity is still very incomplete.

For anyone out there worried that I “kill” plants when I collect them, you can stop worrying. I only collect a single branch with a few flowers and/or fruits, leaving the root system intact and the plant still very much alive. Since the bulk of fungi consist of subterranean “roots” called hyphae, collecting a few mushrooms does not kill the fungi. I do much less damage to wild plants when I collect them than the various wild herbivores do when they eat and trample them. Further, I do not collect any species that are protected under federal or provincial legislation, or that are rare and present in small numbers.

One of my latest endeavours is to try and complete The Manitoba Museum’s botanical collection by obtaining at least one specimen of every species found in the province. In 2008 it was estimated that the Museum possessed slightly less than 83% of all vascular plants, 45% of all lichens, 21% of all bryophytes, 4% of all fungi and less than 1% of all algae. Further, the Museum possesses fewer than five specimens of 45% of our vascular plant species and of most non-vascular plants and fungi. This means that we simply don’t know how widely distributed our native species are or whether their distribution has changed over the years.

The fact of the matter is that this project will likely never be completed during my stint as Curator here. Documenting biodiversity simply isn’t “sexy” enough to attract the large amounts funds that are needed to do the job properly. I would need to spend several months every year hiking around in the bush with a team of field assistants to achieve this goal. Then I would need staff to properly preserve and catalogue the specimens, and additional collection space to store them in. This year I can only spend 13 days in total to do my field collecting. Given the lack of funding to document the provinces’ biodiversity, the most I can expect to do is make the hole a little bit smaller.

Attending conferences can provide scientists with wonderful opportunities to network, develop new insights into natural phenomenon, refine research, and initiate new partnerships. As a Museum professional I also get to visit Museums and develop ideas for new exhibits and programs at my own institution. On the lighter side, scientists also share a few drinks, commiserate with each other (I had my funding cut too!), meet old friends, exchange field stories, and sometimes even get funky on the dance floor after the conference banquet.

I got to meet the late Stan Rowe (the Canadian ecologist who wrote “Home Place”) when I was a twenty-something graduate student. Instead of saying something impressive, I smiled and stared at him blankly like I was an imbecile for a few seconds before eventually remembering to ask him to sign my copy of his book. It reminded me of that scene in “A Christmas Story” when Ralphie finally meets Santa but can’t remember that he wants a Red Rider BB Gun for Christmas.

A colleague of mine recounted a similar tale of how he met the late Stephan J. Gould, one of the most famous palaeontologists in the world. He was visiting the field museum over the lunch hour of a conference but didn’t realize they were serving food, instead choosing to drink three bottles of free beer on an empty stomach. It was in this slightly inebriated state he ran in Stephan. Instead of the witty banter that he would have liked to have engaged in with the world’s most preeminent palaeontologist, he muttered something nearly unintelligible and completely forgettable. Ah such is life!

As you get older you clam up a lot less, probably because you actually have some original research of your own to discuss with other scientists. I had a wonderful time chatting with Jane Goodall when she came to the Museum in 2005 for the Chimpanzee exhibit that we hosted. At the Canadian Botanical Association conference this year I was able to meet Irvine Brodo, the Canadian lichenologist that I have admired ever since reading his book on lichens of North America. Who knows? Perhaps one day I’ll know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of the clumsy yet heartfelt admiration that young scientists have for their older colleagues.

Last week I attended the Canadian Botanical Association/Society for the Preservation of Natural History Collections joint conference in our nation’s capitol. I was able to meet Curators and Collection Managers from Museums all over the world, as well as attend a tour of the collections facilities at the Agriculture Canada Central Experimental Farm and the Canadian Museum of Nature.

Just about every person I talked to told me about how they are storing specimens in their hallways due to lack of space, losing knowledgeable Curators and collections staff at their institutions (sometimes only half their original staff is left), and scrounging for funding to digitize their collections and facilitate biodiversity research around the world.

I don’t have a problem with technology per se; I use the internet and e-mail daily, and I record field data using a PDA and a GPS. But lots of people can’t seem to stop using technology (e.g. cell phones) and become blind to everything else around them (e.g. innocent pedestrians). I once heard about a woman who fell into an open manhole because she was too busy sending a text message to actually pay attention to where she was going!

Oscar Wilde once said that “we know the price of everything but the value of nothing.” The fact that so little money is spent on even the most basic biodiversity work (we don’t even know the number of species on the earth within an order of magnitude) suggests that we as a society do not value it at all, even though it is the most valuable thing on earth. Perhaps the ecological and economic catastrophe that BP (and in fact everyone who drives a car) is responsible for in the Gulf of Mexico will help to change our minds about what is truly important: thriving, functioning ecosystems that help to feed and employ millions of people, or cheap oil for our gas-guzzling SUV’s? Subsidies for big corporations or money for scientific research and conservation? The choice is ours to make.

Does anyone remember the book “101 Uses for a Dead Cat” that came out in the 1980’s? I know, I know animal rights activists accused the cartoonist of encouraging cruelty to animals but I can’t imagine that anyone took it seriously. I mean who would ever turn a dead cat into a pencil sharpener or a pair of roller blades?

So in the interest of education, here’s my own take on the what-to-do-with-a-dead-something theme, with the goal of letting everyone know some of the things that dead plants at The Manitoba Museum, and at other Museums and Universities, are really used for.

11. Documenting the ecological relationships between plants, animals, and fungi.

12. Documenting changes in ecosystems over time (i.e. sand dune stabilization rates).

13. Documenting the location of illegal marijuana and poppy fields.

14. Documenting the mutations that occur when native plants are bombarded with gamma radiation (we have an entire collection of mutant plants from the Whiteshell Nuclear Research Establishment stored here).

15. Determining the authenticity of wooden artifacts (e.g. did this wooden necklace really come from a lost tribe in New Guinea? Not if it’s made of Bur Oak!).

21. Indicating water quality. The presence of certain plants indicates salinity in the groundwater.

22. Documenting the kinds of plants that were used by ancient peoples and how they were used. I’ve had to identify fossilized seeds found in clay pots during the Museum’s archaeological digs.

23. Determining which wild plants are ancestral to our modern cultivars.

24. Helping scientists identify plants that may produce useful chemicals for modern medicine and other industrial applications.

25. Determining the distribution of species.

26. Determining the habitat requirement of species (this is useful information for reclamation scientists).

27. Indicating the location of certain metals such as nickel.

28. Acting as a reference collection for the identification of species.

35. Determining how plants distribute their seeds.

36. Aiding in forensics investigations. Museum collections have been used to identify plant materials found at crime scenes and on the clothing of suspects.

37. Preparing manuscripts, books, floras, field guides and DVD’s that facilitate the identification of plant species by farmers, agronomists, consultants, government employees, students and naturalists.

When the great British explorer William Dampier began collecting plants back in the late 1600’s he had no idea that his specimens would be used for the purposes that I have just listed. I am humbled to think that the specimens that I collect will someday be used in marvellous and completely inconceivable ways to help our species’ collective descendants solve some of the problems they will inevitably be faced with.