November 10, 2010 1 Comment
Please come visit me at The Biology Files. Everything’s the same except the name. I just like the new name better.
Hot science from the aughties to today by the author of The Complete Idiot's Guide to College Biology
November 10, 2010 Leave a comment
When you’re in utero, you’re protected from the outside world, connected to it only via the placenta, which is supposed to keep you and your mother separated. Separation is generally a good thing because you are foreign to your mother, and she is foreign to you. In spite of the generally good defenses, however, a little bit of you and a little bit of her cross the barrier. Scientists have recently found that when that happens, you often end up toting a bit of mom around for decades, maybe for life.
The presence of cells from someone else in another individual is called microchimerism. A chimera in mythology was a beast consisting of the parts of many animals, including lion, goat, and snake. In genetics, a chimera carries the genes of some other individual along with its own, perhaps even the genes of another species. In microchimerism, we carry a few cells from someone else around with us. Most women who have been pregnant have not only their own cells but some cells from their offspring, as well. I’m probably carrying around cells from each of my children.
Risks and benefits of sharing
Microchimerism can be useful but also carries risks. Researchers have identified maternal cells in the hearts of infants who died from infantile lupus and determined that the babies had died from heart block, partially from these maternal cells that had differentiated into excess heart muscle. On the other hand, in children with type 1 diabetes, maternal cells found in the pancreatic islets appear to be responding to damage and working to fix it.
The same good/bad outcomes exist for mothers who carry cells from their children. There has long been an association between past pregnancy and a reduced risk of breast cancer, but why has been unclear. Researchers studying microchimerism in women who had been pregnant found that those without breast cancer had fetal microchimerism at a rate three times that of women who with the cancer.
Microchimerism and autoimmunity
Autoimmune diseases develop when the body attacks itself, and several researchers have turned to microchimerism as one mechanism for this process. One fact that led them to investigate fetal microchimerism is the heavily female bias in autoimmune illness, suggesting a female-based event, like pregnancy. On the one hand, pregnancy appears to reduce the effects of rheumatoid arthritis, an autoimmune disorder affecting the joints and connective tissues. On the other hand, women who have been pregnant are more likely to develop an autoimmune disorder of the skin and organs called scleroderma (“hard skin”) that involves excess collagen deposition. There is also a suspected association between microchimerism and pre-eclampsia, a condition in pregnancy that can lead to dangerously high blood pressure and other complications that threaten the lives of mother and baby.
Human leukocyte antigen (HLA)
The autoimmune response may be based on a similarity between mother and child of HLA, immune-related proteins encoded on chromosome 6. This similarity may play a role in the immune imbalances that lead to autoimmune diseases; possibly because the HLAs of the mother and child are so similar, the body clicks out of balance with a possible HLA excess. If they were more different, the mother’s immune system might simply attack and destroy fetal HLAs, but with the strong similarity, fetal HLAs may be like an unexpected guest that behaves like one of the family.
Understanding the links between microchimerism and disease is the initial step in exploiting that knowledge for therapies or preventative approaches. Researchers have already used this information to predict the development of a complication in stem cell transplant called “graft-versus-host disease” (GVH). In stem cell transplants, female donors with previous pregnancies are more associated with development of GVH because they are microchimeric. Researchers have exploited this fact to try to predict whether or not there will be an early rejection of a transplant in kidney and pancreas organ transplants.
(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and photographer Ferdinand Reus).
November 9, 2010 Leave a comment
Timeline, 2008: From about 420 to 350 million years ago, the rulers of Earth’s seas were an unattractive-looking armored fish known today as the placoderms. This group, consisting of many species, were the bulldogs of the fish world, heavy-bodied with big ugly mouths full of protruding, potentially dangerous bony plates. Some of them were quite small, but a few species grew as large as 20 feet in length. They were the dominant vertebrate worldwide for about 70 million years.
Conventional scientific wisdom would say that these ancient fish reproduced the way modern representatives of ancient lineages do: external fertilization, the sperm fertilizing the egg with a little help from water. The wisdom was so conventional, in fact, that experts placed the rise of internal fertilization—delivery of the sperm into the female via an act of copulation—a good 200 million years after the placoderms swam the seas.
A catastrophe on the reef
In what is now Western Australia, something terrible happened about 380 million years ago in the shallow seas covering a coral reef: the oxygen that fed the reef suddenly plummeted, leaving the coral starved and unable to support the food web built around it. The outcome was a rapid, catastrophic loss of all of the species on the reef, including the placoderms. Thanks to stable plate tectonics and some good sediment coverage, these hapless animals remained preserved for the subsequent millions of years until a team of fossil hunters uncovered them. They now populate one of the most famous fossil finds in the world, the Gogo fossil sites, which are packed with perfect specimens of long-lost species.
The role of Sir David Attenborough, the world’s coolest naturalist
Among those perfect specimens—so perfect, in fact, that three-dimensional samples are available—is a species that now has the name Materpiscis attenboroughi. The name means “Attenborough’s mother fish” and requires a bit of explanation. Back in the late 1970s, Sir David Attenborough produced a wonderful nature and science series called Life on Earth. In the series, he highlighted the Gogo sites, and his interest led researchers to name the fish after him. But the first part of the name, the genus name Materpiscis, means “Mother fish.” Why? Because when this 10-inch fish died during that catastrophic reef loss, she died just before becoming a mother.
We know this because a couple of researchers working on her fossilized remains decided at the last minute to expose the fossil to one more round of acid treatment. They had pretty much decided to write her up as she was, which would have been plenty because of the preserved 3D perfection of her remains. But they agreed to that last treatment, which gently etches away layers of the fossil to reveal what lies beneath. They are glad they did, because what that last treatment exposed, inside of the adult fish, is a tiny, fossilized fish embryo, about a quarter of the size of its mother.
Eureka! Again, and again, and again
Anyone looking at that embryo, inside of that fish, might have had any number of “Eureka” thoughts in that moment. Eureka! It’s a fish embryo, 380 million years old! There aren’t that many of those lying around. But even more important, Eureka! It’s a fish embryo inside of the mother. That means that the egg was fertilized inside of the mother, where the embryo grew, nourished in her body, just as mammals do it. The embryo was even attached by a tiny, fossilized umbilical cord. A final Eureka! just might be that we can confirm the sex of this fish just based on the fact that she was pregnant when she died.
This just in: Sex is fun
The presence of an internally developing embryo in this placoderm sets the assumed evolutionary timing of internal fertilization back about 200 million years. No one would have guessed that these ancient, armored bulldog-like fish would represent the earliest-known internal fertilization. And the fact that fertilization was internal means that these animals must have copulated, the standard mechanism for getting sperm into the female to meet the egg. That recognition led one of the embryo’s discoverers to remark that this animal represents the earliest example a species engaging in “sex that was fun.”
November 8, 2010 1 Comment
Timeline, 2009: As humans, we are a bit limited in our imaginations. For example, we’d probably never consider climbing onto the edge of a toilet seat and licking the sides while…um…employing the toilet for standard uses. Perhaps one reason—among many obvious choices—is that we’re not tree shrews living in the wilds of Borneo in Southeast Asia.
If you’re now envisioning tree-dwelling rodents enjoying the civilized development of having their own toilet, you’re not too far off. Borneo is home to a number of unusual relationships between species, but none may be stranger than the one that has developed between the tree shrew and the pitcher plant. The pitcher plant is carnivorous, and as its name implies, has a pitcher-shaped structure that it uses to trap its food.
The many uses of the pitcher plant
Normally, a pitcher plant growing on the ground is the perfect trap for hapless animals drawn to its minimal nectar output. For some species, they’re not a death trap but a place to brood offspring—one frog uses the pitcher plant to lay its eggs, where trapped, digested insects may provide some nourishment. The insects fall in because the funnel-shaped pitcher part of the plant has a slippery lip that acts as a deadly superslide for any insect that alights on it. Unable to gain a foothold, the animal slides helplessly into the plant’s interior, landing in a pool of digestive enzymes or bacteria that slowly break it down.
What does a pitcher plant do with digested insect? It does what any organism, plant or otherwise, does with its food—it extracts nutrients from it. One primary nutrient that plants (and everything else) require is nitrogen. This element is part of life’s important building blocks for DNA and RNA and the amino acids that make up proteins. Thus, to grow and reproduce, organisms must acquire nitrogen from somewhere. Some plants form a partnership with bacteria to get their nitrogen. Pitcher plants digest insects for it.
Unless no insects are available. While ground-growing pitcher plants in Borneo can subsist on available ants and other crawly critters, some pitcher plants grow on vines and trees, where ants are largely unavailable. In addition, mountainous environments are not known for harboring lots of ants, so the pitcher plant needed a new plan for getting its nutrients.
Nectar for nitrogen
The plan, it seems, was selection for making more nectar, reducing the slippery factor, and behaving like both a toilet and a food source for an abundant animal in the Borneo mountains, the mountain tree shrew. Using video cameras, researchers based at a Borneo field station captured one of the most unusual mutually beneficial relationships in nature: the tree shrew, while enjoying the abundant nectar uniquely produced by these aerial pitcher plants, also poops into the pitcher plant mid-meal. The plant, perfectly shaped for the tree shrew to park its rear just so while it eats, takes up the feces and extracts nitrogen from it. In fact, these pitcher plants may derive up to 100 percent of their nitrogen from the tree shrew poop.
Researchers think that this friendly relationship must have been in the making for a very long time. The pitcher plant opening is perfectly shaped and oriented so that the nectar collects just at the lip and the shrew must orient while eating so that the funnel-like pitcher collects any poop that emerges. The plant also has developed sturdier and thicker structures that can support the weight of a dining/excreting tree shrew, which isn’t much at less than half a pound, but quite a bit for a plant to support.
As odd as this adaptation may seem, it’s not unique. Ground-dwelling pitcher plants have formed similar mutually beneficial relationships with insect larvae that help themselves to some of the insect pickings that fall in. These larvae excrete any leftovers, and the plant harvests nutrients from these excretions. Interestingly, the tree shrew itself dines on insects, so the pitcher plant is still indirectly deriving its nitrogen from insects even when it uses tree shrew poop. It’s just getting it from the tail end of a rodent intermediary instead.
November 4, 2010 1 Comment
Timeline, 2008: Sexual selection is a mechanism of evolution that sometimes butts heads with natural selection. Under the tenets of natural selection, nature chooses based on characteristics that confer a competitive edge in a given environment. Under this construct, environment is “the decider.” But in sexual selection, either competition between the same sex or a choice made by the opposite sex determines the traits that persist. Sometimes, such traits aren’t so useful when it comes to the everyday ho-hum activities like foraging for food or avoiding predators, but they can be quite successful at catching the eye of an interested female.
Those female opinions have long been considered unchanging. In the widowbird, for example, having long, flowing black tailfeathers is a great way to attract the lady widow birds. But perhaps they don’t call them widowbirds for nothing: if those male tailfeathers get too long, the bird can’t escape easily from predators and ends up a meal instead of a mate. In these cases, natural selection pushes the tailfeather trait in one direction—shorter—while sexual selection urges it the other way—longer. The upshot is a middling area for tailfeathers length.
This kind of intersexual selection occurs throughout the animal kingdom. Probably the most well-recognized pair that engages in it is the peacock and peahen. Everyone has seen the multicolored baggage any peacock worth his plumage drags around behind him. A peacock will fan out those feathers in an impressive demonstration, strutting back and forth and waving its tail in the wind, showing off for all he’s worth. It’s a successful tactic as long as nothing is around that wants to eat him.
Frogs hoping for a mate find themselves elbow deep in the “paradox of the lek.” The lek is the breeding roundup for frogs, where they all assemble in a sort of amphibian prom. For the males, it’s a tough call, literally. They must call loudly enough to show the females how beautifully androgenized they are—androgens determine the power of their larynx—while at the same time not standing out enough to attract one of the many predators inevitably drawn to a gathering of hundreds of croaking frogs. Trapped in this paradox, the frog does his best, but natural selection and sexual selection again end up stabilizing the trait within expected grooves.
This status quo has become the expectation for many biologists who study sexual selection: natural selection may alter its choices with a shifting environment, but what’s hot to the females stays hot, environmental changes notwithstanding. But the biologists had never taken a close look at the lark bunting.
A male lark bunting has a few traits that may attract females: when it shakes off its drab winter plumage and takes on the glossy black of mating season, the male bird also sports white patches on its wings that flash through the sky and sings a song intended to draw in the ladies. But the ladies appear to be slaves to fashion, not consistently choosing large patches over small, or large bodies over lighter ones. Instead, female lark buntings change their choices with the seasons, selecting a large male one year, a dark-colored male with little in the way of patches the next, and a small-bodied male the next. Lark buntings select a new mate each year, and the choice appears to be linked to how well the male will aid in parenting duties, which both parents share. It may be that a big body is useful in a year of many predators, but a small body might work out better when food supplies are low.
The researchers who uncovered this secret of lark bunting female fickleness watched the birds for five years and based their findings on statistical correlations only. For this reason, they don’t know exactly what drives the females’ annually varying choices, but they speculate that environmental factors play a role. Thus, sexual selection steps away from the realm of the static and becomes more like—possibly almost indistinguishable from—natural selection.
October 28, 2010 2 Comments
Timeline, 2008: They say that in space, no one can hear you scream (or at least that Alien movie said it). The reason for that is that sound waves require matter to be propagated, and in the vacuum of space, there is no matter. Hard as your vocal cords may push, they can’t make the sound travel through nothing.
That vacuum carries other complications for people beyond an inability to chat unprotected. Space is cold—temperatures run close to absolute zero, or -272 Celsius. With the vacuum, there is no oxygen and no pressure. And let’s not forget the bombardment with deadly cosmic rays and, if you’re hanging around just above Earth, UV rays 1000 times more powerful than those we experience on terra firma.
Boiling saliva and bubbling blood. Ewww.
Thus, if you send person or a dog or an ape unprotected into space, within minutes, the lack of pressure would lead to an uncomfortable death involving boiling saliva and bubbling blood. Yet, there are organisms known to survive the environment of space, primarily some bacteria and lichen, the symbiotic combination of algae and fungus. Now, we’ve learned that a little critter that lives on lichen also can be quite the intrepid space traveler.
Water bears–not even remotely like bears
The space animals—the first animals, in fact, known to pull off unprotected space travel—are representatives of two species of tardigrades. There are up to 1000 species of these little animals, more familiarly known as “water bears” because of their rotund, bear-like appearance. Researchers had noted their hardiness under earthbound conditions, observing that although the animals thrive in a damp environment, when conditions go dry, they can shut down for as long as 10 years until the environment moistens up again. Some accounts have compared the water bears to “Sea Monkeys,” the brine shrimp of comics advertisements that come to you dried up in a little packet, only to “miraculously” come to life when you add water.
On a September 2007 European Space Agency mission, scientists decided to test the tardigrades in the most hostile environment available—in space just above planet Earth. They tested two species of water bear, Richtersius coronifer and Milnesium tardigradum, both entering space as dried out versions of their usual selves. The 120 animals from each species were divided into four groups, one that remained on Earth as a control, two that were exposed to the vacuum of space and different combinations of UV rays, and a fourth that experienced only the vacuum of space without the radiation.
Vacuum OK, UV bad
The animals spent 10 days traveling unprotected far above the earth before returning to Earth, where they were hydrated in the lab. Amazingly enough, all three groups of space-traveling tardigrades initially perked right up and lived for a few days. After that, however, only the vacuum-alone group maintained that rate of survival. In the UV-exposed groups, animals that had experienced the vacuum of space and exposure to UV-A and UV-B survived at rates between 10% and 15%. Animals that had been exposed to all three types of UV—A, B, and C—all died.
Nevertheless, the animals that did survive appeared to thrive, reproducing heartily and generally living the usual life of the unusual water bear. Researchers find their ability to withstand radiation particularly intriguing, given that the bombardment would normally shred the DNA of most organisms. Investigators hope to find out more about how the bears resist the perils of space, seeking perhaps to co-opt some of the tardigrade’s techniques to use in protecting astronauts.
Space, schmace. How about 4000 m deep?
Tardigrades didn’t really need to travel into outer space—or really, inner space—to prove their toughness. They are known to live as high as 6000 meters up in the Himalayas and as deep as 4000 meters down in ocean trenches. Water bears have also been found living in apparent ease in hot springs above boiling temperature.
October 27, 2010 1 Comment
Timeline, 2006: The narwhal has a history as striking as the animal itself. Vikings kept the narwhal a secret for centuries even as they peddled its “horn” as that of a unicorn. Narwhal tusks were so prized that monarchs paid the equivalent of the cost of a castle just to have one. They were thought to have magic powers, render poison ineffective, cure all manner of diseases, and foil assassins.
A tooth and nothing but a tooth
As it turns out, the horn is really just a tooth, an extremely long, odd, tooth. The narwhal tusk, which usually grows only on males from their left upper jaw, can reach lengths of six feet or more. Sometimes, males will grow two tusks, one on each side. The tooth turns like a corkscrew as it grows, stick straight, from the narwhal’s head. They are such an odd sight that scientists have been trying to figure out for centuries exactly what that tusk might be doing there.
Some have posited that the narwhal uses the tusks in epic battles with other male narwhals. Others have fancifully suggested that the animal might use the long tooth to break through the ice, ram the sides of ships (nevermind the disconnect between when the tusk arose and when ships entered the scene), or to skewer prey—although no one seems to have addressed how the narwhal would then get the prey to its mouth.
Gentle tusk rubbing
The facts are that the narwhal rarely, if ever, appears to duel with other narwhals. Its primary use of the tusk appears to be for tusking other males, in which the animals gently rub tusks with one another. They also may be used in mating or other activities, although that has not yet been demonstrated. But what has been discovered is that the narwhal ought to be suffering from a severe case of permanent toothache.
Arctic cold strikes a narwhal nerve
Anyone who has ever had exposed nerves around their teeth knows that when cold hits those nerves, the pain usually sends us running for the dentist. Now imagine that your tooth is six feet long, has millions of completely exposed nerve endings, and is constantly plunged in the icy waters of the Arctic. You’ve just imagined being a narwhal.
Dentist on ice
A clinical instructor at the Harvard School of Dental Medicine who thinks of nothing but teeth made this discovery about the narwhal. The instructor, Martin Nweeia, can wax rhapsodic about teeth and how central they are to our health and the stories they can tell even about how we lived and died. He has carried his tooth obsession beyond his own species, however; his passion led him to spend days on Arctic ice floes, watching for the elusive narwhal, or at least one of the tusks, to emerge from the deadly cold water. He also befriended the local Inuit, who rely on the narwhal as a source of food and fuel oil.
His fascination and rapport with the Inuit people ended with his viewing several specimens of narwhal tusks. What he and his colleagues discovered astonished them. The tusks appeared to consist of open tubules that led straight to what appear to be millions of exposed nerve endings. In humans, nerve tubules are never open in healthy teeth. But in the narwhal tusk, which is an incredible example of sexual dimorphism and the only spiral tooth known in nature today, these open tubules were the norm.
The researchers speculated that the animals may use this enormous number of naked nerves as a finely sensitive sensory organ. In addition, it is possible that the teeth transmit voltage through a process called the piezo effect, in which crystals generate voltage when a mechanical force rattles them. In the case of the narwhal, who swim quickly through the water, water pressure might provide the force. Because narwhals are among the most vocal of whales, the tusks could also be sound sensors.
Why would dentists be so interested in the tusks of a whale? Examinations of the narwhal tusks have revealed that they are incredibly flexible, unlike our teeth, which are strong but also rigid and comparatively brittle. It is possible that understanding the narwhal tusk might have clinical applications for developing flexible dental materials for restoring pearly whites in people.
October 25, 2010 Leave a comment
Timeline, 2005 and 2010: Literary folk have often noted the passion and emotion of Ludwig van Beethoven’s works. Lucy Honeychurch, the heroine of E.M. Forster’s A Room with a View, became “peevish” after playing Beethoven, and of course there’s the famous hooligan Alex from A Clockwork Orange, who was roused to stunning displays of violence after hearing “Ludwig van.” Given Beethoven’s own behavior, which was punctuated by violent rages, frequent sudden outbursts, and wandering the streets humming loudly, it’s not surprising that his music would communicate his passion.
A heavy metal influence?
A study in 2005 (news release here) yielded results that suggested that much of his anger, however, was attributable to the effects of heavy metal…specifically, lead. Beethoven became sick in his 20s (he also went deaf in his 20s), and suffered until his death at the age of 56 from a variety of illnesses, including chronic diarrhea and other stomach ailments. His death was lingering and painful, and some people thought that he had suffered from syphilis. Yet now many of his symptoms fit the classic description of slow lead poisoning. Among the effects of lead poisoning are irritability, aggressive behavior, headaches, and abdominal pain and cramping, all of which Beethoven experienced.
Doctor to businessmen to Sotheby’s to science
Some samples of the great composer’s hair and skull are available today for sophisticated testing for metals. A Viennese doctor apparently snagged a few fragments of his skull 142 years ago and the pieces eventually made their way through the family to a California businessman. The hairs were cut by a student soon after Beethoven died and ended up at a Sotheby’s auction. A few years ago, tests on the hairs suggested that Beethoven’s body harbored high levels of lead—hair accumulates and retains such toxins better than any other tissue—but because the testing method destroyed the hair, further tests were not completed.
Wobbling electrons solve the mystery?
Since that time, a powerful new X-ray technique has become available. The Department of Energy’s Argonne National Laboratory owns the X-ray. In the facility, subatomic particles fly through a tubular tunnel almost at the speed of light, emitting as they travel X-rays 100 times brighter than the sun’s surface. These X-rays can bounce off of the surface of even a tiny sample. As they bounce off of the sample, electrons wobble out of place, releasing energy in a pattern that is specific to the atom being bombarded.
Researchers were interested in Beethoven’s hair and skull pieces. The team that evaluated the samples actually works on developing bacteria that can take up heavy metals and render them relatively harmless; such organisms would be useful in environmental detoxification. They placed Beethoven’s hair in their high-powered X-ray. The electrons wobbled and the pattern indicated that Beethoven was simply full of lead. In fact, they reported that the poor man had about 60 parts per million of lead in his body, which is 100 times normal levels. It certainly was enough to make a person manifest the various symptoms that characterized most of Beethoven’s life.
The team also looked for a pattern that arsenic would emit, and they found none. This result seemed to exonerate Beethoven from having had syphilis, since arsenic would have been the treatment of choice for such an ailment.
Not so fast
At the time the study results were revealed, ideas about how did Beethoven built up so much lead abounded. Some suggested that his body was less able than normal to rid itself of the heavy metal, through which he’d have been exposed by many channels. His stomach problems and temperament led him to consume much wine, and the vessels for drinking wine contained lead. In addition, his medicines probably were stored in lead-lined bottles or vials, and he may well have visited spas—for his health, ironically—at which he consumed or swam in mineral water containing lead. In one report, Beethoven’s poor doctor was identified as the likely culprit in his demise.
Fast-forward five years to 2010. A deeper analysis (news release here) of the bone fragments from Beethoven’s school indicated that his lead levels were not that spectacular. The bone is the reservoir for most of the lead the body takes up, and Beethoven’s bones simply didn’t have enough to have caused his various physical ailments. While the experts seemed to be in agreement that the results point away from lead, a new heavy metal mystery arose from the results. One skull fragment they tested had about 13 mcg of lead per gram of bone, nothing to write home about, while another sample turned up with 48 micrograms per gram, a much higher level. Nevertheless, we must look elsewhere for what killed one of the world’s greatest western composers. Ideas being tossed around include lupus and heart disease. What we do know is that he lived in terrible pain, both from his maladies and from the treatments designed to help, including pouring hot oil in his ears, according to one Beethoven scholar quoted in the New York Times.
Another wrongly accused suspect
Heavy metals have featured in other historical whodunits. For example, Napoleon reportedly died of stomach cancer during his exile on Elba, but one analysis showed that he actually died of slow arsenic poisoning, suggested to have been at the hand of his closest assistant. Then, much like Beethoven’s story, a later study showed that arsenic likely played no role in the great general’s death.
October 22, 2010 5 Comments
Timeline, 2010: People with a blood alcohol level of 0.3 percent are undeniably kneewalking, dangerously drunk. In fact, in all 50 states in the US, the cutoff for official intoxication while driving is 0.08, almost a quarter of that amount. But what has people staggering and driving deadly appears to have no effect whatsoever on some bat species.
Why, you may be wondering, would anyone ask this question about bats in the first place? Bats are not notorious alcoholics. But the bat species that dine on fruit or nectar frequently encounter food of the fermented sort, meaning that with every meal, they may also imbibe a martini or two worth of ethanol.
Batty sobriety testing
Recognizing this exposure, researchers hypothesized that the bats would suffer impairments similar to those that humans experience when they overindulge. To test this, they selected 106 bats representing six bat species in northern Belize. Some of the bats got a simple sugar-water treat, but the other bats drank up enough ethanol to produce a blood alcohol level of more than 0.3 percent. Then, the bats got the batty version of a field sobriety test.
Bats navigate by echolocation, bouncing sound waves off of nearby objects to identify their location. To determine if the alcohol affected the bats’ navigation skills and jammed the sonar, the researchers festooned a ceiling with dangling plastic chains. The test was to see if the animals could maneuver around the chains while under the influence of a great deal of alcohol. To their surprise, the scientists found that the drunk bats did just as well as the sober ones.
Some bats hold their drink better than others
Interestingly, the bats did show a human-like variation in their alcohol tolerance, with some bats showing higher levels of intoxication than others. But one question that arises from these results is, Why would bats have such an enormous alcohol tolerance?
As it turns out, not all of them do. These New World bats could, it seems, drink their Old World cousins under the table. Previous research with Old World bats from Egypt found that those animals weren’t so great at holding their drink. Thus, it seems that different bat species have different capacities for handling—and functioning under the influence of—alcohol.
One potential explanation the investigators offer for this difference is the availability of the food itself. In some areas, fruit is widely available at all times, meaning that the bats that live there are continually exposed to ethanol in their diet. Since they can’t exactly stop eating, there may have been some selection for those bats who could get drunk but still manage to fly their way home or to more food. In other bat-inhabited areas, however, the food sources vary, and these animals may not experience a daily exposure to intoxication-inducing foods.
Alcohol driving speciation?
This study may be one of the first to identify a potential role for alcohol in the speciation of a taxon. Bats as a group underwent a broad adaptive radiation, meaning that there was a burst of speciation as different bat species evolved in different niches. Factors driving this burst are thought to have included different types of fruit; for example, tough fruits require different bat dentition features compared to soft fruits. Now, it seems that alcohol availability may also have played a role in geographical variation of alcohol tolerance in bats. Bats with greater tolerance would have been able to exploit a readily available supply of alcohol-laden foods.
What’s next in drunk-animal research? The investigators who made this unexpected bat discovery have a new animal target—flying foxes, which aren’t really foxes at all but yet another species of bat that lives in West Africa. We’ll have to wait and see how these Old World bats compare to the New World varieties when it comes to holding their liquor.
October 21, 2010 Leave a comment
Today, I did my first reading/teaching presentation from The Complete Idiot’s Guide to College Biology. Below are a couple of excerpts from what I read today.
From Chapter 16: Darwin, Natural Selection, and Evolution
Evolution, a change in a population over time, can be a controversial concept, and things were no different when Darwin first proposed his theory of how evolution happens. Since that time, we’ve identified several other ways by which evolution can occur. Scientists have synthesized natural selection and genetics and worked out a way to identify if evolution is happening in a population.
The Historical Context of Darwin’s Ideas
Charles Darwin was born on February 12, 1809, into a society with fixed ideas about the role of divinity–specifically the Christian God–in nature. Darwin’s destiny, as it turned out, was to address nature’s role in nature, rather than God’s. He was not completely comfortable in some respects with that destiny, but this man was born with his ear to the ground, listening to Nature’s heartbeat. He was born to bring to us a greater understanding of how nature fashions living things.
Yet, he did not emerge into a howling wilderness of antiscientific resistance. Scientists and philosophers who had come before him had posited bits and pieces of what would become Darwin’s own theory of how evolution happens. But it required Charles Darwin to synthesize those bits and pieces–some of them his own, gathered on the significant voyage of his lifetime–to bring us a complete idea of how nature shapes new species from existing life.
Alfred Russel Wallace: The Unknown Darwin
Alfred Russel Wallace developed the theory of evolution by natural selection at the same time as Darwin. His road to enlightenment came via his observations on another island chain, the Malay Archipelago. Like Darwin, Wallace was a naturalist savant, and on this archipelago alone, he managed to collect and describe tens of thousands of beetle specimens. He, too, had read Malthus and under that influence had begun to formulate ideas very similar to Darwin’s. The British scientific community of the nineteenth century was a relatively small world, and Wallace and Darwin knew one another. In fact, they knew each other well enough to co-present their ideas about natural selection and evolution in 1858.
Nevertheless, Wallace did not achieve Darwin’s profile in the field of evolution and thus today does not have his name inscribed inside a fish-shaped car decal. The primary reason is likely that Darwin literally wrote the book on the theory of evolution by means of natural selection. Wallace, on the other hand, published a best seller on the Malay Archipelago.
From Chapter 13: DNA
DNA, as the central molecule of heredity, is key to many aspects of our lives (besides, obviously, encoding our genes). Medicines and therapies are based on it. TV shows and movies practically feature it as a main character. We profile it from before we’re born until after we die, using it to figure out what’s wrong, what’s right, what’s what when it comes to who we are, and what makes us different and the same.
But it wasn’t so long ago that we weren’t even sure that DNA was the molecule of heredity, and it was even more recently that we finally started unlocking the secrets of how its genetic material is copied for passing along to offspring.
The History and Romance of DNA
The modern-day DNA story is dynamic and fascinating. But it can’t compare to the tale of the trials, tribulations, and downright open hostilities that accompanied our recognition of its significance.
Griffith and His Mice
Our understanding started with mice. In the 1920s, a British medical officer named Frederick Griffith performed a series of important experiments. His goal was to figure out the active factor in a strain of bacteria that could give mice pneumonia and kill them.
His bacteria of choice were Streptococcus pneumoniae, available in two strains. One strain infects and kills mice and thus is pathogenic, or disease causing. These bacteria also have a protein capsule enclosing each cell, leading to their designation as the Smooth, or S, strain. The other strain is the R, or rough, strain because it lacks a capsule. The R strain also is not deadly.
Wondering whether or not the S strain’s killer abilities would survive the death of the bacteria themselves, he first heat-killed the S strain bacteria. (Temperature changes can cause molecules to unravel and become nonfunctional, “killing” them.) He then injected his mice with the dead germs. The mice stayed perky and alive. Griffith mixed the dead, heat-killed S strain bacteria with the living, R-strain bacteria and injected the mice again. Those ill-fated animals died. Griffith found living S strain cells in these rodents that had never been injected with live S strain bacteria.
With dead mice all around him, Griffith had discovered that something in the pathogenic S strain had survived the heat death. The living R strain bacteria had picked up that something, leading to their transformation into the deadly, pathogenic S strain in the mice. It was 1928, and the question that emerged from his findings was, What is the transforming molecule? What, in other words, is the molecule of heredity?
Hershey and Chase: Hot Viruses
A fiery debate tore through the ranks of molecular biologists and geneticists in the early twentieth century, arguing about whether proteins or DNA were the molecules of heredity. The protein folk had a point. With 20 possible amino acids, proteins offer far more different possible combinations and resulting molecules than do the four letters (nucleotide building blocks) of the DNA alphabet. Protein advocates argued that the molecule with the most building blocks was likely responsible for life’s diversity.
In a way, they were right. Proteins underlie our variation. But they were also fundamentally wrong. Proteins differ because of differences in the molecule that holds the code for building them. And that molecule is DNA.
Like what you’ve read? Read the rest in The Complete Idiot’s Guide to College Biology.