Category Archives: biology

On Woodpeckers (notes from an accidental ornithologist)

European Green Woodpecker, Picus viridis, female. (Photo: Tim Jones)
Eurasian Green Woodpecker, Picus viridis, female. (Photo: Tim Jones)

Through a combination of photography and a creeping fascination with avian behaviour and taxonomy (thanks to my wife giving me Colin Tudge’s The Secret Life of Birds for my birthday) I think I’m turning into some sort of accidental ornithologist.  Point being, you can expect the occasional photo-flavoured birdy post; and today – it’s woodpeckers!

The female Eurasian Green Woodpecker (Picus viridis) above is one of the three most common woodpeckers found in the UK .

Photographically, woodpeckers are a challenge. The whole family is jumpy, taking off as a matter of principle at the sniff of a threat.  So, considering I was sneaking up with no hide, I’m pleased how these turned out.  Here are a few more of the male/female pair and a juvenile.  You can tell the male by the red flash under his eye (click thumbnail to open slideshow):

And this male Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major)was snapped only a few days ago (click thumbnail to open slideshow):

Globally, there are 218 species4 in the Picidae family to which woodpeckers belong, living in every country with trees except for Australia and New Zealand.

Here are two more I snapped in California.  The first set shows an Acorn Woodpecker Melanenpes formicivorus and the Ladder-backed Woodpecker Picoides scalaris (click thumbnail to open slideshow):

Here’s a video of a female Ladder-back hunting for bugs:

Acorn Woodpeckers are expert at turning trees into communal larders or caches.  Pecking thousands of small pits in a single tree, they’ll place an acorn in each one – ready for harder times.

This set, again taken in California, is of a female Williamson’s Sapsucker – a member of the family specialising in eating the sap out of small wells drilled into the bark of pine trees:

 

Woodpeckers are a wonderful showcase for evolutionary adaptation.

Bird foot types (WikiCommons)

Sharp claws set on toes laid out in the zygodactylous pattern – two toes facing forward, two back – are ideal for tree climbing.  (Parrots and cuckoos are set up similarly, and elsewhere in the animal kingdom – Chameleons.)

Then there’s the way they hold themselves on the tree trunk.

Like rock climbers and photographers favour three points of contact for security and stability, woodpeckers have evolved a stiff tail to brace against the tree trunk and make a sturdy triangle with their splayed legs.  The Sapsucker below demonstrates nicely; you can see her two tail quills bending under the pressure.

Williamson's Sapsucker pressing tail against tree
Williamson’s Sapsucker – three points of contact

Having formed this miniaturised drilling platform, woodpeckers set-to doing their thing, which for a Ladder-backed woodpecker is banging its beak into bark and wood at up to 28 times a second, repeating the act several hundred times a day1.

Williamson's Sapsucker, Sphyrapicus thyroideus, Los Angeles area, USA (Photo:Tim Jones)
Williamson’s Sapsucker, Sphyrapicus thyroideus, Los Angeles area, USA (Photo:Tim Jones)
Great Spotted Woodpecker pecking for termites (Photo:Tim Jones)
Great Spotted Woodpecker pecking for termites

The aim is to locate and consume insects and sap from under tree bark, a task for which their long, barbed tongue is well suited. But as this Great Spotted demonstrates, the birds are not above pecking the ground if there are bugs and termites to be had.

As hole-dwellers, woodpeckers also peck to hollow out a nest – a process that can take up to a month and involve the removal of tens of thousands of wood chips4.

For me, the woodpeckers’ most impressive adaptation is the multi-element shock absorber system that’s developed in and around its skull to prevent brain damage from all that bashing.

Woodpecker Head. Source: Digital Morphology, http://digimorph.org/specimens/Melanerpes_aurifrons/
Shock absorption in woodpecker skull (Picture credit:IOP and Digital Morphology.)

The full complexity of the system has only recently come to light.  X-rays of a woodpecker’s head showed that the massive deceleration occuring at beak strike is cushioned and spread out thanks to elasticity in the beak, a spongy area of bone at the front of the skull, and a further special structure – the Hyoid – that directs pressure from the rear of the birds tongue around the back of its head1.

Well that’s a wrap on woodpeckers for the moment.  Next phase is to try and catch these guys on HD video; they’re doing some great little courting dances this time of year.  Reaches for camouflage gear….

 

References and further reading

1) A mechanical analysis of woodpecker drumming and its application to shock-absorbing systems. Sang-Hee Yoon and Sungmin Park 2011 Bioinspir. Biomim. 6 016003 IOP Publishing doi: 10.1088/1748-3182/6/1/016003

2) Digital Morphology. (Images at: http://digimorph.org/specimens/Melanerpes_aurifrons/)

3) Birds of Europe. Mullarney, Svenson, Zetterstrom, Grant. Princeton University Press, 1999. ISBN-13: 978-0-691-05053-9

4) The Secret Life of Birds. Tudge, Colin, Penguin, 2008.

5) Cornell Lab of Ornithology  – All About Birds (Woodpecker page)

 

Also of interest?

BBC Oct 2011 How Woodpeckers avoid Head Injury

Return to the Land of Charnia

However impressive my best Bear Grylls outdoorsman pose might be, it’s nothing compared to the rocks I’m standing on.

Tim Jones in Swithland Wood, Charnwood Forest
Charnwood Forest
Charnia masoni (Wikicommons)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For this is Leicestershire’s Charnwood Forest, whose +600 million year old outcrops are some of the oldest on the planet. It’s also the area where the very first precambrian macrofossils were discovered by Roger Mason in 1957 (Ref.1).

Before that time, nobody dreamt fossils of this age existed.

And to think I was born only eight miles away in Leicester; gee-whizz.  (The pic above was taken after a family get-together for my birthday a couple of weeks ago. Suspect this was a subliminal attempt to feel younger by standing on something very old.  Can’t say it was entirely successful.)

David Attenborough most recently brought Charnwood and the appropriately named fossil Charnia to popular fame in his 2010 series First Life.  And, as it turns out, he and I  are both Leicester lads who first explored Charnwood as schoolboys.  On which cue I’m handing any further science communication on this ancient world over to Sir David; here he introduces the fern-like Charnia masoni (most relevant part at 2:10 thru 5:50):

And in this piece for Radio 4 he says more about the region, Charnia masoni and its broader implications, plus more on his early fossil-collecting days in Leicestershire:

Bradgate Park, Charnwood Forest (Photo:Tim Jones)

Sources

(1) Guide to the Geology of Bradgate Park and Swithland Wood, Charnwood Forest. British Geological Survey, BGS Occasional Report OR/10/041 (pdf is here)

(2) First Life. BBC, 2010

(3) The Story of Charnia and the British Association Festival of Science

(4) A fascinating account of fossil discovery in Charnwood prior to 1957 by Tina Negus at charnia.org (Thanks Tina Negus)

You might also like on Zoonomian: Attenborough on Darwin
Note: the rocks I’m standing on in the photo are in Charnwood Forest but are not the same outcrop of fossil-bearing rocks in the film

Christmas RATions for a Frolicking Fox

Forget the turkey – RATS are the Christmas treat for this ravenous reynard.

Fox with freshly caught rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox with freshly caught rat (Photo:Tim Jones)

I caught this juvenile fox in the garden this Christmas Eve morning enjoying a little pre-lunch entertainment courtesy of an unfortunate rodent.  Very similar to watching a cat play with a mouse.  Here’s the series:

Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Spot the rat competition (Photo:Tim Jones)
Amazing throw: rat is the blur at high right (Photo: Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)

Fox playing with rat (Photo:Tim Jones)
What ?   (Photo:Tim Jones)


Update 30/12/12  Foxy Fame

Our star is currently promoting the forthcoming production of Ben Jonson’s Volpone by the Playing Up Theatre Company at the Rondo Theatre in Bath during February, where the Sly Fox has apparently developed a taste for chickens.

a4fox

 

 

 

Of related interest…

Post by Ed Yong here at DISCOVER on how foxes might be using magnetism to help catch prey.

A Web of Intrigue

I got up yesterday morning at what for me is quite an early hour – 6.30ish.  So with no CSI on the box at that time, I chose the healthy option and went for a walk in the park.  Where I took this picture:

spider web with water droplets
Spider web with water droplets (Photo: Tim Jones)

That’s only kind of true.  What I actually took was this picture:

Spider Web with water droplets
Zoom out. Spider web with water droplets (Photo: Tim Jones)

and only later discovered the fine structure of water droplets clinging to the spider’s thread when I got home and fired up the computer.

A beautiful and fascinating sight.  But, as per usual, the deeper beauty is in the science behind WHY droplets deposit in such regular patterns.

One Google later, I’d found this relevant study described in a Nature News piece (full research paper doi:10.1038/nature08729 behind pay-wall; also as per usual…).

The News piece describes work by Lei Jiang from the Beijing National Laboratory for Molecular Sciences on the hackled orbweaver spider Uloborus walckenaerius.  The authors found that if you get in close enough, spiders’ silk appears not as a simple thread but is covered in puffs of minute nanoscale fibres.  When the puffs get wet they contract into tight beads or knots connected by thinner pieces of silk, necklace fashion.  Additional water migrates and accumulates on the rough surface of the knots in preference to the smoother connecting silk, forming the uniform droplets we see.  The research also inspired thoughts around practical offshoots, like the possibility of a man-made equivalent for the manufacture of highly water absorbent materials.

I didn’t see any ‘puffs’, but I’m pretty pleased with the resolution I achieved with a good but relatively straightforward camera.  That said, I’m feeling the need to get some of that spider silk under the microscope.

Here’s one more picture taken on the same day, of a single strand of web stretching between two trees; would you believe a distance of over 20ft?

Single filament spider silk (Photo:Tim Jones)
Single filament spider silk (Photo:Tim Jones)
Single filament spider silk (Photo:Tim Jones)
Single filament spider silk (Photo:Tim Jones)

The water is clearing from one portion, and the dry filament is just visible in the close-up view.   In the technical jargon, we can say the ratio of droplet size to silk diameter is ‘amazing’.

And if you’re wondering where the spider/s were all this time?  Me too.  For the arachnophiles, here’s one I took earlier.

spider
Spider (Photo:Tim Jones)

Echoes of Muybridge – Photographic Pioneer

Do the four jackdaws taking off across the left-right diagonal here remind you of anything?

Jackdaws taking off
Was Muybridge inspired by their ancestors?  Click for larger image.  (Photo: Tim Jones, Darkroommatter.com)
Eadweard Muybridge
Eadweard Muybridge (Photo: WikiCommons)

For me, the regular spacing and apparent connected motion of the birds is reminiscent of  the work of nineteenth century photography pioneer, Eadweard Muybridge.

Born in 1830, Muybridge photographed many sequences of birds in flight like the one below.  But he’s probably better known for his animations of galloping horses, revealing for the first time that, at certain points, horses literally fly.

Eadweard Muybridge's Bird in Flight
Eadweard Muybridge’s Bird in Flight

Muybridge’s techniques revealed an animal’s true motion, knowledge that until his arrival had been lost in a blur of busy limbs.

Before photography, the motion of horses in motion was often mis-represented. Baronet with Sam Chifney Up, by George Stubbs.  (Photo: Tim Jones of a painting at Huntington Library)
Before photography, the motion of horses in motion was often mis-represented. Baronet with Sam Chifney Up, by George Stubbs. (Photo: Tim Jones of a painting at Huntington Library)

I should explain that Muybridge made sequenced compilations of stills taken of a single animal, while my picture is a happenstance capture of several birds taking off in close proximity and in apparent sequence: reminiscent of an airfield scramble or ducks flying up a wall.  So I’ve got an illusion evocative of Muybridge, not a simulation, and the motions of different birds cannot be linked. (Or can they? Formation take-off?  I’m reminded never to under-estimate the Corvidae family!)

By another happenstance, it turns out Muybridge was born and raised in the town where I now live: Kingston-upon-Thames in Surrey.  And while he spent most of his working life in America, Muybridge left the materials of his important photographic legacy to his home town, where they reside in the Kingston Museum and Archive, five minutes walk from where I’m sitting.

A good selection of Muybridge material is normally on display in the museum, representative of his animal and human figure work, but also featuring his definitive 1878 panorama of San Francisco (link to America Hurrah website).

Muybridge’s San Francisco Panorama (Photo credit: America Hurrah)

And if you’d like to find out more about Muybridge and his legacy, there couldn’t be a better time.  Beginning this week, Wednesday 8th September, the Tate Britain will launch a Muybridge retrospective, and our own Kingston Museum will, from September 18th, host the Muybridge Revolutions exhibition, featuring unseen exhibits like Muybridge’s collection of Zoöpraxiscope discs.  The Kingston exhibition is part of a broader range of Muybridge related activities being coordinated by Kingston University with Kingston Council.

Fallow deer.  (Photo:Tim Jones, Darkroommatter.com)

But returning to my jackdaws in a more romantic frame.  I like to ponder Muybridge walking the same routes I take  today as I photograph the wildlife of Home Park; his meeting the ancestors of present-day jackdaws, deer and rabbits; and with his frustration at the unfathomable rapidity of their movements, the seed of motion photography being sown….

Update 12 October 2010

The powers that be are projecting Muybridge animations onto the side of Kingston on Thames police station. Very nice.

Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station
Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station (Photo:Tim Jones)
Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station
Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station (Photo: Tim Jones)
Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station
Muybridge on Kingston upon Thames police station (Photo: Tim Jones)

Latest Reading – Dr Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation

O.K. – so I was the last person on the planet to see E.T., I still watch TV on a cathode ray tube, and I’m seven years late reading Olivia Judson’s hugely entertaining, accessible, not to say stimulating, guide to evolutionary biology: Dr.Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation, making this an admittedly after-the-event review, but a recommendation all the same.

Throughout the guide, Judson stays in character as sex therapist Dr Tatiana, helping all manner of creatures out with their sex problems – agony aunt style.

Olivia Judson
Olivia Judson (Photo: Tim Jones)

And creatures it is.  Ranging from a stick insect jaded with the tedium of ten week copulations; to a praying mantis who finds sex so much more satisfying after biting off her lover’s head; to a fruit fly dismayed that he’s run out of sperm; to a queen bee’s concern that her mates leave their genitalia inside her after sex.

Mixed in with these familiar heterosexual and homosexual practices are gang rape, cannibalism, self-sacrifice, and deception – all to a background of hopeless promiscuity.

The entertainment is delivered by a fascinating cast of cads, bints, sluts, and whores, bonking away at romantic locations  – including the inside of a rat’s intestines.

Lestes sponsa (Emerald Damselfly)
Damsel flies “have evolved some of the fanciest penises around”  Lestes sponsa (Photo: Tim Jones)

That’s the language and tone then: spirited rather than crude I’d say, but probably not first choice for your great gran.

The anthropomorphism is extreme, caricatured, and humorous enough to make any questions around ambiguity and appropriateness non-issues (at least for me).   It’s clever too, each section introducing a discussion on an aspect of evolutionary biology with some fun, if not a giggle, then quickly morphing into serious, yet always palatable, science.

Stick Insect
Stick insects can copulate for 10 weeks continuously (Photo: Tim Jones)

The concepts are familiar: sex ratios, altruism, asexual vs sexual reproduction, dangers of recessive genes and such like; so perhaps I’ve not been under a log after all.  I kept getting flashbacks to ideas I’d first read about in Richard Dawkins’s Selfish Gene or Matt Ridley’s The Red Queen.  By comparison, Judson’s style in the guise of Dr Tatiana is deliberately and overtly entertaining; but not at the cost of scholarly rigor (there are 62 pages of  Notes and Bibliography).

Praying Mantis
Male praying mantis prefer not to give head (Photo: Tim Jones)

Previous reading certainly didn’t stop me picking up a bunch of new facts and figures on the more macabre and icky side of sexual reproduction.  Knowledge any schoolboy/girl  would be proud to have in his/her  armoury.

Insects dominate Dr Tatiana’s surgery hours, but mammals and birds  do get a look in.   Like the girl hyena concerned over the size of her pseudo-phallus, or the moorhen bemused that his girlfriends are always fighting with each other.

But now I’m giving too much away.

Amazon have the paperback Dr Tatiana on for about £6.50 in the UK, and there’s also a DVD of the TV series based on the book.  No brainer – go get it!

Blinking Crows

Question to any crow experts out there.  I recently spotted these two standing together, and noticed that they seemed never to blink at the same time – as if consciously taking it in turns.   It’s easy to tell when a crow blinks by the opaque whiteness of the inner eyelid.  This went on for a minute or two.

crow
Nudge, nudge...
crow
Wink, wink...

crow
Say no more...

So, is this some kind of coordinated look-out tactic crows and/or other birds follow to maximise safety?   They were long leisurely blinks, so that might make sense.  Or was this a one off behaviour –  and I’m making up my own stories?

The things that preoccupy one on these warm summer evenings…..

Update September 2010

I found this pic going through my archives; taken in Windsor, UK.  Look at the eyes.   Still a small sample of two.

Blinking crows in Windsor
Blinking crows in Windsor

Unlikely Ink?

oak galls
Oak Galls, Andricus kollari (I believe this particular tree is a Californian coastal scrub oak, Quercus dumosa.)(photo:Tim Jones)

A good few Zoonomian posts are based on things or events I just happen to stumble onto.  And that’s certainly the case with these oak galls I snapped on a trail walk this week.

These hard woody growths, about 1.5 inches across, are induced by insects interfering with the oak plant’s bio-chemistry.

Typically a wasp, like Neuroterus albipes in the photo, lays an egg on an oak twig, along with chemicals that react with the plant’s hormones to trigger growth of the gall, making both a home and ready meal for the wasp grub.   On occasion, secondary parasites of other species may join the ‘host’ grub after the gall has formed.  It looks from the multiple holes like that’s what’s happened here.

wasp
Gall Wasp (Wikicommons)

Historically, oak galls have been useful to humans as a main ingredient of Iron Gall Ink, in common use from before the middle ages to Victorian times.   I made iron gall ink as a kid, which probably explains why I got so excited when I saw these.  And while I’ll concede the skill is probably not a 21st century essential, making the stuff is quite satisfying.

So if you’re up for a little kitchen science, you will need: a handful of oak galls, some ferrous sulphate and, optionally if you want the ink to have a good consistency, some Gum Arabic.

The chemistry begins when the crushed galls are mixed with water, causing the tannin, or gallo-tannic acid COOH.C6H2(OH)2O.COC6H2(OH)3 in them to form gallic acid C6(COOH)H(OH)3H.  Adding hydrated ferrous sulphate FeSO4, 7 H2O  to this forms the ink, a soluble ferrous tannate complex.

As regards procedure, you should get a workable product by smashing up 5 or 6 oak galls and boiling them down to about a 1/4 pint in water and filtering the liquid through a cloth or handkerchief; then dissolve about a teaspoon of ferrous sulphate in a shot-glass sized measure, and mix the two together.  Instant medieval ink.   For a much more thorough and professional approach, see this article from the Conservation Division of the Library of Congress.  BTW – ferrous sulphate can be bought in art shops, garden supply stores, and some health stores – you want iron(II)sulphate, FeSO4 – not anything else.

Ferrous Sulphate (Wikicommons)

The advantage iron gall ink brought over previous inks was its permanence. Because ferrous tannate is water soluble, the ink soaks into the paper, where the ferrous tannate oxidises to insoluble – and darker – ferric tannate, which is now trapped in the fabric of the paper.  Various refinements are seen in recipes, such as the addition of extra acid, maybe as vinegar, to keep the ink from oxidising in the pot, as it were.  A drawback of iron gall inks is their corrosive action, sometimes only apparent over a long period, and in extreme cases resulting in writing literally dropping out of the paper.

Despite the corrosion issues, many famous documents were written in iron gall ink, including the dead sea scrolls (the black ink that is; the red ink is cinnabar, or mercuric sulphide HgS), and the Constitution of the United States.

The Dead Sea Scrolls are written in iron gall ink (Wikicommons)