Notes from the Field: Octoroks

Scientific name

Octorokus infletus

Meaning: Octorokus from [octorok] in Hylian; infletus from [inflate] in Latin.

Translation: inflating octorok; all varieties use an inflatable air sac derived from the swim bladder to float and scan the horizon.

Varieties

Octorokus infletus hydros [aquatic morphotype]

Octorokus infletus petram [mountain morphotype]

Octorokus infletus silva [forest morphotype]

Octorokus infletus arctus [snow morphotype]

Octorokus infletus imitor [deceptive morphotype]

All octoroks.jpg
The various morphotypes of inflating octoroksA: The water octorok, considered the morphotype closest to the ancestral physiology of the species. B: The forest octorok, with grass camouflage. C: The deceptive octorok, which has replaced its tufted vegetation with a glittering chest as bait. D: The mountainous octorok, with rock camouflage. E: The snow octorok, with tundra grass camouflage.

Common name

Variable octorok

Taxonomic status

Kingdom Animalia; Phylum Mollusca; Class Cephalapoda; Order Octopoda; Family Octopididae; Genus Octorokus; Species infletus

Conservation status

Least Concern

Distribution

The species is found throughout all major habitat regions of Hyrule, with localised morphotypes found within specific habitats. The only major region where the variable octorok is not found is within the Gerudo Desert, suggesting some remnant dependency of standing water.

Octorok distribution.jpg
The region of Hyrule, with the distribution of octoroks in blue. The only major region where they are not found is the Gerudo Desert in the bottom left.

Habitat

Habitat choice depends on the physiology of the morphotype; so long as the environment allows the octorok to blend in, it is highly likely there are many around (i.e. unseen).

Behaviour and ecology

The variable octorok is arguably one of the most diverse species within modern Hyrule, exhibiting a large number of different morphotypic forms and occurring in almost all major habitat zones. Historical data suggests that the water octorok (Octorokus infletus hydros) is the most ancestral morphotype, with ancient literature frequently referring to them as sea-bearing or river-traversing organisms. Estimates from the literature suggests that their adaptation to land-based living is a recent evolutionary step which facilitated rapid morphological radiation of the lineage.

Several physiological characteristics unite the variable morphological forms of the octorok into a single identifiable species. Other than the typical body structure of an octopod (eight legs, largely soft body with an elongated mantle region), the primary diagnostic trait of the octorok is the presence of a large ‘balloon’ with the top of the mantle. This appears to be derived from the swim bladder of the ancestral octorok, which has shifted to the cranial region. The octorok can inflate this balloon using air pumped through the gills, filling it and lifting the octorok into the air. All morphotypes use this to scan the surrounding region to identify prey items, including attacking people if aggravated.

inflated octorok
A water morphotype octorok with balloon inflated.

Diets of the octorok vary depending on the morphotype and based on the ecological habitat; adaptations to different ecological niches is facilitated by a diverse and generalist diet.

Demography

Although limited information is available on the amount of gene flow and population connectivity between different morphotypes, by sheer numbers alone it would appear the variable octorok is highly abundant. Some records of interactions between morphotypes (such as at the water’s edge within forested areas) implies that the different types are not reproductively isolated and can form hybrids: how this impacts resultant hybrid morphotypes and development is unknown. However, given the propensity of morphotypes to be largely limited to their adaptive habitats, it would seem reasonable to assume that some level of population structure is present across types.

Adaptive traits

The variable octorok appears remarkably diverse in physiology, although the recent nature of their divergence and the observed interactions between morphological types suggests that they are not reproductively isolated. Whether these are the result of phenotypic plasticity, and environmental pressures are responsible for associated physiological changes to different environments, or genetically coded at early stages of development is unknown due to the cryptic nature of octorok spawning.

All octoroks employ strong behavioural and physiological traits for camouflage and ambush predation. Vegetation is usually placed on the top of the cranium of all morphotypes, with the exact species of plant used dependent on the environment (e.g. forest morphotypes will use grasses or ferns, whilst mountain morphotypes will use rocky boulders). The octorok will then dig beneath the surface until just the vegetation is showing, effectively blending in with the environment and only occasionally choosing to surface by using the balloon. Whether this behaviour is passed down genetically or taught from parents is unclear.

Management actions

Few management actions are recommended for this highly abundant species. However, further research is needed to better understand the highly variable nature and the process of evolution underpinning their diverse morphology. Whether morphotypes are genetically hardwired by inheritance of determinant genes, or whether alterations in gene expression caused by the environmental context of octoroks (i.e. phenotypic plasticity) provides an intriguing avenue of insight into the evolution of Hylian fauna.

Nevertheless, the transition from the marine environment onto the terrestrial landscape appears to be a significant stepping stone in the radiation of morphological structures within the species. How this has been facilitated by the genetic architecture of the octorok is a mystery.

 

Notes from the Field: Cliff racer

Scientific name

Cinis descendens

Meaning: Cinis: from [ash] in Latin; descendens from [descends] in Latin.

Translation: descending from the ash; describes hunting behaviour in ash mountains of Vvardenfell.

Common name

Cliff racer

cliff racer
A cliff racer hovering above a precipice on Vvardenfell.

Taxonomic status

Kingdom Animalia; Phylum Chordata; Class Aves; Subclass Archaeornithes; Family Vvardidae; Genus Cinis; Species descendens

Conservation status

Least Concern [circa 3E 427]

Threatened [circa 4E 433]

Distribution

Once widespread throughout the north eastern region of Tamriel, occupying regions from the island of Vvardenfell to mainland Morrowind and Solstheim. Despite their name, the cliff racer is found across nearly all geographic regions of Vvardenfell, although the species is found in greatest densities in the rocky interior region of Stonefalls.

Following a purge of the species as part of pest control management, the cliff racer was effectively exterminated from parts of its range, including local extinction on the island of Solstheim. Since the cull the cliff racer is much less abundant throughout its range although still distributed throughout much of Vvardenfell and mainland Morrowind.

Morrowind
The province of Morrowind, which largely contains the distribution of the cliff racer. The island of Solstheim is found to the northwest of the map (the lower half of the island can be seen in brown).

Habitat

Although, much as the name suggests, the cliff racer prefers rocky outcroppings and mountainous regions in which it can build its nest, the species is frequently seen in lowland swamp and plains regions of Morrowind.

Behaviour and ecology

The cliff racer is a highly aggressive ambush predator, using height and range to descend on unsuspecting victims and lashing at them with its long, sharp tail. Although preferring to predate on small rodents and insects (such as kwama), cliff racers have been known to attack much larger beasts such as agouti and guar if provoked or desperate. The highly territorial nature of cliff racer means that they often attack travellers, even if they pose no immediate threat or have done nothing to provoke the animal.

Cliff_Racer_(Online).png
A cliff racer descends upon its prey.

Despite the territoriality of cliff racers, large flocks of them can often be found in the higher altitude regions of Vvardenfell, perhaps facilitated by an abundance of food (reducing competition) or communal breeding grounds. Attempts by researchers to study these aggregations have been limited due to constant attacks and damage to equipment by the flock.

Demography

Prior to the purging of cliff racers in the early 4E by Saint Jiub, the cliff racer was overly abundant throughout its range and considered a pest species by native peoples. Although formal studies on the population structure of the species was never conducted due to their aggressive nature, suppositions of migratory rates, distances and geographies suggested that potentially three major (ESUs) populations existed; one of Solstheim, one of Vvardenfell, and another of mainland Morrowind.

Following the control measures implemented, the population size of these populations of cliff racers declined severely; however, given the survival of the majority of the population it does not appear this bottleneck has severely impacted the longevity of the species. The extirpation of the Solstheim population of cliff racers likely removed a unique ESU from the species, given the relative isolation of the island. Whether the island will be recolonised in time by Vvardenfell cliff racers is unknown, although the presence of any cliff racers back onto Solstheim would likely be met with strong opposition from the local peoples.

Adaptive traits

The broad wings, dorsal sail and long tail allow the cliff racer to travel large distances in the air, serving them well in hunting behaviour. The drawback of this is that, if hunting during the middle hours of the day, the cliff racer leaves an imposing shadow on the ground and silhouette in the sky, often alerting aware prey to their presence. That said, the speed of descent and disorienting cry of the animal often startles prey long enough for the cliff racer to attack.

The plumes of the cliff racer are a well-sought-after commodity by local peoples, used in the creation of garments and household items. Whether these plumes serve any adaptive purpose (such as sexual selection through mate signalling) is unknown, given the difficulties with studying wild cliff racer behaviour.

Management actions

Although suffering from a strong population bottleneck after the purge, the cliff racer is still relatively abundant across much of its range and maintains somewhat stable size. Management and population control of the cliff racer is necessary across the full distribution of the species to prevent strong recovery and maintain public safety and ecosystem balance. Breeding or rescuing cliff racers is strictly forbidden and the species has been widely declared as ‘native pest’, despite the somewhat oxymoron nature of the phrase.

Notes from the Field: Nugs

Scientific name

Nuggula minutus

Meaning: Nuggula from [nug] in Dwarven; minutus from [smaller] in Latin.

Translation: smallests of the nugs; the smallest species of the broader nug taxonomic group.

Common name

Common nug

Nug creature
A wild nug.

Taxonomic status

Kingdom Animalia; Phylum Chordata; Class Mammalia; Order Eulipotyphyla; Family Talpidae; Genus Nuggula; Species minus

Conservation status

Least concern

Distribution

Throughout the underground regions of Thedas; full extent of distribution possibly spans the full area of the continent.

Thedas Map.jpg
The continent of Thedas. The nug is likely distributed across much of the subterranean landmass, although the exact distribution is unknown.

Habitat

Nugs are primarly subterranean species, largely inhabiting the underground tunnels and cave systems occupied by Dwarven civilisation. However, nugs can be found on the surface predominantly in forested regions with accessible passageways into the subterranean realm.

Behaviour and ecology

Nugs are non-confrontational omnivorous species, preferring to hide and delve in the dark underground systems below the world of Thedas. Thus, nugs will typically avoid contact with people or predators by hiding in various crevices, using their pale skin to blend in with the surrounding rock faces. Reports of nugs in the wild demonstrate that nugs are remarkably inefficient at predator avoidance, despite their physiology; however, nug populations do not appear to suffer dramatically with predator presence, suggesting that either predators are too few to significantly impact population size or that alternative behaviours might allow them to rapidly bounce back from natural declines.

Given the lack of consistent light within their habitat, nugs are effectively blind, retaining only limited eyesight required for moving around above the surface. Nugs feed on a large variety of food sources, preferring insects but resorting to mineral deposits if available food resources are depleted. Their generalist diet may be one physiological trait that has allowed the nug to become some widespread and abundant historically.

Demography

Although the nug is a widespread and abundant species, they are heavily reliant on the connections of the Deep Roads to maintain connectivity and gene flow. With the gradual declination of Dwarven abundance and the loss of entire regions of the underground civilisation, it is likely that many areas of the nug distribution have become isolated and suffering from varying levels of inbreeding depression. Given the lack of access to these populations, whether some have collapsed since their isolation is unknown and potentially isolated populations may have even speciated if local environments have changed significantly.

Adaptive traits

Nugs are highly adapted to low-light, subterranean conditions, and show many phenotypic traits related to this kind of environment. The reduction of eyesight capability is considered a regression of unusable traits in underground habitats; instead, nugs show a highly developed and specialised nasal system. The high sensitivity of the nasal cavity makes them successful forages in the deep caverns of the underworld, and the elongated maw of the nug allows them to dig into buried food sources with ease. One of the more noticeable (and often disconcerting) traits of the nug is their human-like hands; the development of individual digits similar to fingers allows the nug to grip and manipulate rocky surfaces with surprising ease.

Management actions

Re-establishment of habitat corridors through the clearing and revival of the Deep Roads is critical for both reconnecting isolated populations of nugs and restoring natural gene flow, but also allowing access to remote populations for further studies. A combination of active removal of resident Darkspawn and population genetics analysis to accurately assess the conservation status of the species. That said, given the commercial value of the nug as a food source for many societies, establishing consistent sustainable farming practices may serve to both boost the nug populations and also provide an industry for many people.

Moving right along: dispersal and population structure

The impact of species traits on evolution

Although we often focus on the genetic traits of species in molecular ecology studies, the physiological (or phenotypic) traits are equally as important in shaping their evolution. These different traits are not only the result themselves of evolutionary forces but may further drive and shape evolution into the future by changing how an organism interacts with the environment.

There are a massive number of potential traits we could focus on, each of which could have a large number of different (and interacting) impacts on evolution. One that is often considered, and highly relevant for genetic studies, is the influence of dispersal capability.

Dispersal

Dispersal is essentially the process of an organism migrating to a new habitat, to the point of the two being used almost interchangeably. Often, however, we regard dispersal as a migration event that actually has genetic consequences; particularly, if new populations are formed or if organisms move from one population to another. This can differ from straight migration in that animals that migrate might not necessarily breed (and thus pass on genes) into a new region during their migration; thus, evidence of those organisms will not genetically proliferate into the future through offspring.

Naturally, the ability of organisms to disperse is highly variable across the tree of life and reliant on a number of other physiological factors. Marine mammals, for example, can disperse extremely far throughout their lifetimes, whereas some very localised species like some insects may not move very far within their lifetime at all. The movement of organisms directly facilitates the movement of genetic material, and thus has significant impacts on the evolution and genetic diversity of species and populations.

Dispersal vs pop structure
The (simplistic) relationship between dispersal capability and one aspect of population genetics, population structure (measured as Fst). As organisms are more capable of dispersing longer distance (or more frequently), the barriers between populations become weaker.

Highly dispersive species

At one end of the dispersal spectrum, we have highly dispersive species. These can move extremely long distances and thus mix genetic material from a wide range of habitats and places into one mostly-cohesive population. Because of this, highly dispersive species often have strong colonising abilities and can migrate into a range of different habitats by tolerating a wide range of conditions. For example, a single whale might hang around Antarctica for part of the year but move to the tropics during other times. Thus, this single whale must be able to tolerate both ends of the temperature spectrum.

As these individuals occupy large ranges, localised impacts are unlikely to critically affect their full distribution. Individual organisms that are occupying an unpleasant space can easily move to a more favourable habitat (provided that one exists). Furthermore, with a large population (which is more likely with highly dispersive species), genetic drift is substantially weaker and natural selection (generally) has a higher amount of genetic diversity to work with. This is, of course, assuming that dispersal leads to a large overall population, which might not be the case for species that are critically endangered (such as the cheetah).

Highly dispersive animals often fit the “island model” of Wright, where individual subpopulations all have equal proportions of migrants from all other subpopulations. In reality, this is rare (or unreasonable) due to environmental or physiological limitations of species; distance, for example, is not implicitly factored into the basic island model.

Island model
The Wright island model of population structure. In this example, different independent populations are labelled in the bold letters, with dispersal pathways demonstrated by the different arrows. In the island model, dispersal is equally likely between all populations (including from BD in this example, even though there aren’t any arrows showing it). Naturally, this is not overly realistic and so the island model is used mostly as a neutral, base model.

Intermediately dispersing species

A large number of species, however, are likely to occupy a more intermediate range of dispersal ability. These species might be able to migrate to neighbouring populations, or across a large proportion of their geographic range, but individuals from one end of the range are still somewhat isolated from individuals at the other end.

This often leads to some effect of population structure; different portions of the geographic range are genetically segregated from one another depending on how much gene flow (i.e. dispersal) occurs between populations. In the most simplest scenario, this can lead to what we call isolation-by-distance. Rather than forming totally independent populations, gene flow occurs across short ranges between adjacent ‘populations’. This causes a gradient of genetic differentiation, with one end of the range being clearly genetically different to the other end, with a gradual slope throughout the range. We see this often in marine invertebrates, for example, which might have somewhat localised dispersal but still occupy a large range by following oceanographic currents.

River IDB network
An example of how an isolation-by-distance population network might come about. In this example, we have a series of populations (the different pie charts) spread throughout a river system (that blue thing). The different pie charts represent how much of the genetics of that population matches one end of the river: either the blue end (left) or red end (right). Populations can easily disperse into adjacent populations (the green arrows) but less so to further populations. This leads to gradual changes across the length of the river, with the far ends of the river clearly genetically distinct from the opposite end but relatively similar to neighbouring populations.
River IDB pop structure.jpg
The genetic representation of the above isolation-by-distance example. Each column represents a single population (in the previous figure, a pie chart), with the different colours also representing the relative genetic identity of that population. As you can see, moving from Population 1 to 10 leads to a gradient (decreasing) in blue genes but increase in red genes. The inverse can be said moving in the opposite direction. That said, comparing Population 1 and Population 10 shows that they’re clearly different, although there is no clear cut-off point across the range of other populations.

Medium dispersal capabilities are also often a requirement for forming ‘metapopulations’. In this population arrangement, several semi-independent populations are present within the geographic range of the species. Each of these are subject to their own local environmental pressures and demographic dynamics, and because of this may go locally extinct at any given time. However, dispersal connections between many of these populations leads to recolonization and gene flow patterns, allowing for extinction-dispersal dynamics to sustain the overall metapopulation. Generally, this would require greater levels of dispersal than those typically found within metapopulation species, as individuals must traverse uninhabitable regions relatively frequently to recolonise locally extinct habitat.

Metapopulation structure.jpg
An example of metapopulation dynamics. Different subpopulations (lettered circles) are connected via dispersal (arrows). These different subpopulations can be different sizes and are mostly independent of one another, meaning that a single subpopulation can go locally extinct (the red X) without collapsing the entire system. The different dispersal pathways mean that one population can recolonise extinct habitat and essentially ‘rebirth’ other subpopulations (the green arrows).

Weakly dispersing species

At the far opposite end of the dispersal ability spectrum, we have low dispersal species. These are often localised, endemic species that for various reasons might be unable to travel very far at all; for some, they may spend their entire adult life in a sedentary form. The lack of dispersal lends to very strong levels of population structure, and individual populations often accumulate genetic differences relatively quickly due to genetic drift or local adaptation.

Species with low dispersal capabilities are often at risk of local extinction and are unable to easily recolonise these habitats after the event has ended. Their movement is often restricted to rare environmental events such as flooding that carry individuals long distances despite their physiological limitations. Because of this, low dispersal species are often at greater risk of total extinction and extinction vertices than their higher dispersing counterparts.

Accounting for dispersal in population genetics

Incorporating biological and physiological aspects of our study taxa is important for interpreting the evolutionary context of species. Dispersal ability is but one of many characteristics that can influence the ability of species to respond to selective pressures, and the context in which this natural selection occurs. Thus, understanding all aspects of an organism is important in building the full picture of their evolution and future prospects.

An identity crisis: using genomics to determine species identities

This is the fourth (and final) part of the miniseries on the genetics and process of speciation. To start from Part One, click here.

In last week’s post, we looked at how we can use genetic tools to understand and study the process of speciation, and particularly the transition from populations to species along the speciation continuum. Following on from that, the question of “how many species do I have?” can be further examined using genetic data. Sometimes, it’s entirely necessary to look at this question using genetics (and genomics).

Cryptic species

A concept that I’ve mentioned briefly previously is that of ‘cryptic species’. These are species which are identifiable by their large genetic differences, but appear the same based on morphological, behavioural or ecological characteristics. Cryptic species often arise when a single species has become fragmented into several different populations which have been isolated for a long time from another. Although they may diverge genetically, this doesn’t necessarily always translate to changes in their morphology, ecology or behaviour, particularly if these are strongly selected for under similar environmental conditions. Thus, we need to use genetic methods to be able to detect and understand these species, as well as later classify and describe them.

Cryptic species fish
An example of cryptic species. All four fish in this figure are morphologically identical to one another, but they differ in their underlying genetic variation (indicated by the different colours of DNA). Thus, from looking at these fish alone we would not perceive any differences, but their genetic make-up might suggest that there are more than one species…
Cryptic species heatmap example
The level of genetic differentiation between the fish in the above example. The phylogenies on the left and top of the figure demonstrate the evolutionary relationships of these four fish. The matrix shows a heatmap of the level of differences between different pairwise comparisons of all four fish: red squares indicate zero genetic differences (such as when comparing a fish to itself; the middle diagonal) whilst yellow squares indicate increasingly higher levels of genetic differentiation (with bright yellow = all differences). By comparing the different fish together, we can see that Fish 1 and 2, and Fish 3 and 4, are relatively genetically similar to one another (red-deep orange). However, other comparisons show high level of genetic differences (e.g. 1 vs 3 and 1 vs 4). Based on this information, we might suggest that Fish 1 and 2 belong to one cryptic species (A) and Fish 3 and 4 belong to a second cryptic species (B).

Genetic tools to study species: the ‘Barcode of Life’

A classically employed method that uses DNA to detect and determine species is referred to as the ‘Barcode of Life’. This uses a very specific fragment of DNA from the mitochondria of the cell: the cytochrome c oxidase I gene, CO1. This gene is made of 648 base pairs and is found pretty well universally: this and the fact that CO1 evolves very slowly make it an ideal candidate for easily testing the identity of new species. Additionally, mitochondrial DNA tends to be a bit more resilient than its nuclear counterpart; thus, small or degraded tissue samples can still be sequenced for CO1, making it amenable to wildlife forensics cases. Generally, two sequences will be considered as belonging to different species if they are certain percentage different from one another.

Annotated mitogeome
The full (annotated) mitochondrial genome of humans, with the different genes within it labelled. The CO1 gene is labelled with the red arrow (sometimes also referred to as COX1) whilst blue arrows point to other genes often used in phylogenetic or taxonomic studies, depending on the group or species in question.

Despite the apparent benefits of CO1, there are of course a few drawbacks. Most of these revolve around the mitochondrial genome itself. Because mitochondria are passed on from mother to offspring (and not at all from the father), it reflects the genetic history of only one sex of the species. Secondly, the actual cut-off for species using CO1 barcoding is highly contentious and possibly not as universal as previously suggested. Levels of sequence divergence of CO1 between species that have been previously determined to be separate (through other means) have varied from anywhere between 2% to 12%. The actual translation of CO1 sequence divergence and species identity is not all that clear.

Gene tree – species tree incongruences

One particularly confounding aspect of defining species based on a single gene, and with using phylogenetic-based methods, is that the history of that gene might not actually be reflective of the history of the species. This can be a little confusing to think about but essentially leads to what we call “gene tree – species tree incongruence”. Different evolutionary events cause different effects on the underlying genetic diversity of a species (or group of species): while these may be predictable from the genetic sequence, different parts of the genome might not be as equally affected by the same exact process.

A classic example of this is hybridisation. If we have two initial species, which then hybridise with one another, we expect our resultant hybrids to be approximately made of 50% Species A DNA and 50% Species B DNA (if this is the first generation of hybrids formed; it gets a little more complicated further down the track). This means that, within the DNA sequence of the hybrid, 50% of it will reflect the history of Species A and the other 50% will reflect the history of Species B, which could differ dramatically. If we randomly sample a single gene in the hybrid, we will have no idea if that gene belongs to the genealogy of Species A or Species B, and thus we might make incorrect inferences about the history of the hybrid species.

Gene tree incongruence figure
A diagram of gene tree – species tree incongruence. Each individual coloured line represents a single gene as we trace it back through time; these are mostly bound within the limits of species divergences (the black borders). For many genes (such as the blue ones), the genes resemble the pattern of species divergences very well, albeit with some minor differences in how long ago the splits happened (at the top of the branches). However, the red genes contrast with this pattern, with clear movement across species (from and into B): this represents genes that have been transferred by hybridisation. The green line represents a gene affected by what we call incomplete lineage sorting; that is, we cannot trace it back far enough to determine exactly how/when it initially diverged and so there are still two separate green lines at the very top of the figure. You can think of each line as a separate phylogenetic tree, with the overarching species tree as the average pattern of all of the genes.

There are a number of other processes that could similarly alter our interpretations of evolutionary history based on analysing the genetic make-up of the species. The best way to handle this is simply to sample more genes: this way, the effect of variation of evolutionary history in individual genes is likely to be overpowered by the average over the entire gene pool. We interpret this as a set of individual gene trees contained within a species tree: although one gene might vary from another, the overall picture is clearer when considering all genes together.

Species delimitation

In earlier posts on The G-CAT, I’ve discussed the biogeographical patterns unveiled by my Honours research. Another key component of that paper involved using statistical modelling to determine whether cryptic species were present within the pygmy perches. I didn’t exactly elaborate on that in that section (mostly for simplicity), but this type of analysis is referred to as ‘species delimitation’. To try and simplify complicated analyses, species delimitation methods evaluate possible numbers and combinations of species within a particular dataset and provides a statistical value for which configuration of species is most supported. One program that employs species delimitation is Bayesian Phylogenetics and Phylogeography (BPP): to do this, it uses a plethora of information from the genetics of the individuals within the dataset. These include how long ago the different populations/species separated; which populations/species are most related to one another; and a pre-set minimum number of species (BPP will try to combine these in estimations, but not split them due to computational restraints). This all sounds very complex (and to a degree it is), but this allows the program to give you a statistical value for what is a species and what isn’t based on the genetics and statistical modelling.

Vittata cryptic species
The cryptic species of pygmy perches identified within my research paper. This represents part of the main phylogenetic tree result, with the estimates of divergence times from other analyses included. The pictures indicate the physiology of the different ‘species’: Nannoperca pygmaea is morphologically different to the other species of Nannoperca vittata. Species delimitation analysis suggested all four of these were genetically independent species; at the very least, it is clear that there must be at least 2 species of Nannoperca vittata since is more related to N. pygmaea than to other N. vittata species. Photo credits: N. vittata = Chris Lamin; N. pygmaea = David Morgan.

The end result of a BPP run is usually reported as a species tree (e.g. a phylogenetic tree describing species relationships) and statistical support for the delimitation of species (0-1 for each species). Because of the way the statistical component of BPP works, it has been found to give extremely high support for species identities. This has been criticised as BPP can, at time, provide high statistical support for genetically isolated lineages (i.e. divergent populations) which are not actually species.

Improving species identities with integrative taxonomy

Due to this particular drawback, and the often complex nature of species identity, using solely genetic information such as species delimitation to define species is extremely rare. Instead, we use a combination of different analytical techniques which can include genetic-based evaluations to more robustly assign and describe species. In my own paper example, we suggested that up to three ‘species’ of N. vittata that were determined as cryptic species by BPP could potentially exist pending on further analyses. We did not describe or name any of the species, as this would require a deeper delve into the exact nature and identity of these species.

As genetic data and analytical techniques improve into the future, it seems likely that our ability to detect and determine species boundaries will also improve. However, the additional supported provided by alternative aspects such as ecology, behaviour and morphology will undoubtedly be useful in the progress of taxonomy.

From mutation to speciation: the genetics of species formation

The genetics of speciation

Given the strong influence of genetic identity on the process and outcomes of the speciation process, it seems a natural connection to use genetic information to study speciation and species identities. There is a plethora of genetics-based tools we can use to investigate how speciation occurs (both the evolutionary processes and the external influences that drive it). One clear way to test whether two populations of a particular species are actually two different species is to investigate genes related to reproductive isolation: if the genetic differences demonstrate reproductive incompatibilities across the two populations, then there is strong evidence that they are separate species (at least under the Biological Species Concept; see Part One for why!). But this type of analysis requires several tools: 1) knowledge of the specific genes related to reproduction (e.g. formation of sperm and eggs, genital morphology, etc.), 2) the complete and annotated genome of the species (to be able to find and analyse the right genes properly) and 3) a good amount of data for the populations in question. As you can imagine, for people working on non-model species (i.e. ones that haven’t had the same history and detail of research as, say, humans and mice), this can be problematic. So, instead, we can use other genetic information to investigate and suggest patterns and processes related to the formation of new species.

Is reproductive isolation naturally selected for or just a consequence?

A fundamental aspect of studies of speciation is a “chicken or the egg”-type paradigm: does natural selection directly select for rapid reproductive isolation, preventing interbreeding; or as a secondary consequence of general adaptive differences, over a long history of evolution? This might be a confusing distinction, so we’ll dive into it a little more.

Of the two proposed models of speciation, the by-product of natural selection (the second model) has been the more favoured. Simply put, this expands on Darwin’s theory of evolution that describes two populations of a single species evolving independently of one another. As these become more and more different, both in physical (‘phenotype’) and genetic (‘genotype’) characteristics, there comes a turning point where they are so different that an individual from one population could not reasonably breed with an individual from the other to form a fertile offspring. This could be due to genetic incompatibilities (such as different chromosome numbers), physiological differences (such as changes in genital morphology), or behavioural conflicts (such as solitary vs. group living).

Certainly, this process makes sense, although it is debatable how fast reproductive isolation would occur in a given species (or whether it is predictable just based on the level of differentiation between two populations). Another model suggests that reproductive isolation actually might arise very quickly if natural selection favours maintaining particular combinations of traits together. This can happen if hybrids between two populations are not particularly well adapted (fit), causing natural selection to favour populations to breed within each group rather than across groups (leading to reproductive isolation). Typically, this is referred to as ‘reinforcement’ and predominantly involves isolating mechanisms that prevent individuals across populations from breeding in the first place (since this would be wasted energy and resources producing unfit offspring). The main difference between these two models is the sequence of events: do populations ecologically diverge, and because of that then become reproductively isolated, or do populations selectively breed (enforcing reproductive isolation) and thus then evolve independently?

Reinforcement figure.jpg
An example of reinforcement leading to speciation. A) We start with two populations of a single species (a red fish population and a green fish population), which can interbreed (the arrows). B) Because these two groups can breed, hybrids of the two populations can be formed. However, due to the poor combination of red and green fish genes within a hybrid, they are not overly fit (the red cross). C) Since natural selection doesn’t favour forming hybrids, populations then adapt to selectively breed only with similar fish, reducing the amount of interbreeding that occurs. D) With the two populations effectively isolated from one another, different adaptations specific to each population (spines in red fish, purple stripes in green fish) can evolve, causing them to further differentiate. E) At some point in the differentiation process, hybrids move from being just selectively unfit (as in B)) to entirely impossible, thus making the two populations formal species. In this example, evolution has directly selected against hybrids first, thus then allowing ecological differences to occur (as opposed to the other way around).

Reproductive isolation through DMIs

The reproductive incompatibility of two populations (thus making them species) is often intrinsically linked to the genetic make-up of those two species. Some conflicts in the genetics of Population 1 and Population 2 may mean that a hybrid having half Population 1 genes and half Population 2 genes will have serious fitness problems (such as sterility or developmental problems). Dramatic genetic differences, particularly a difference in the number of chromosomes between the two sources, is a significant component of reproductive isolation and is usually to blame for sterile hybrids such as ligers, zorse and mules.

However, subtler genetic differences can also have a strong effect: for example, the unique combination of Population 1 and Population 2 genes within a hybrid might interact with one another negatively and cause serious detrimental effects. These are referred to as “Dobzhansky-Müller Incompatibilities” (DMIs) and are expected to accumulate as the two populations become more genetically differentiated from one another. This can be a little complicated to imagine (and is based upon mathematical models), but the basis of the concept is that some combinations of gene variants have never, over evolutionary history, been tested together as the two populations diverge. Hybridisation of these two populations suddenly makes brand new combinations of genes, some of which may be have profound physiological impacts (including on reproduction).

DMI figure
An example of how Dobzhansky-Müller Incompatibilities arise, adapted from Coyne & Orr (2004). We start with an initial population (center top), which splits into two separate populations. In this example, we’ll look at how 5 genes (each letter = one gene) change over time in the separate populations, with the original allele of the gene (lowercase) occasionally mutating into a new allele (upper case). These mutations happen at random times and in random genes in each population (the red letters), such that the two become very different over time. After a while, these two populations might form hybrids; however, given the number of changes in each population, this hybrid might have some combinations of alleles that are ‘untested’ in their evolutionary history (see below). These untested combinations may cause the hybrid to be infertile or unviable, making the two populations isolated species.

DMI table
The list of ‘untested’ genetic combinations from the above example. This table shows the different combinations of each gene that could be made in a hybrid if these two populations interbred. The red cells indicate combinations that have never been ‘tested’ together; that is, at no point in the evolutionary history of these two populations were those two particular alleles together in the same individual. Green cells indicate ones that were together at some point, and thus are expected to be viable combinations (since the resultant populations are obviously alive and breeding).

How can we look at speciation in action?

We can study the process of speciation in the natural world without focussing on the ‘reproductive isolation’ element of species identity as well. For many species, we are unlikely to have the detail (such as an annotated genome and known functions of genes related to reproduction) required to study speciation at this level in any case. Instead, we might choose to focus on the different factors that are currently influencing the process of speciation, such as how the environmental, demographic or adaptive contexts of populations plays a role in the formation of new species. Many of these questions fall within the domain of phylogeography; particularly, how the historical environment has shaped the diversity of populations and species today.

Phylogeo of speciation
An example of the interplay between speciation and phylogeography, taken from Reyes-Velasco et al. (2018). They investigated the phylogeographic history of several different groups of species within the frog genus Ptychadena; in this figure, we can see how the different species (indicated by the colours and tree on the left) relate to the geography of their habitat (right).

A variety of different analytical techniques can be used to build a picture of the speciation process for closely related or incipient species. A good starting point for any speciation study is to look at how the different study populations are adapting; is there evidence that natural selection is pushing these populations towards different genotypes or ecological niches? If so, then this might be a precursor for speciation, and we can build on this inference with other complementary analyses.

For example, estimating divergence times between populations can help us suggest whether there has been sufficient time for speciation to occur (although this isn’t always clear cut). Additionally, we could estimate the levels of genetic hybridisation (‘introgression’) between two populations to suggest whether they are reasonably isolated and divergent enough to be considered functional species.

The future of speciation genomics

Although these can help answer some questions related to speciation, new tools are constantly needed to provide a clearer picture of the process. Understanding how and why new species are formed is a critical aspect of understanding the world’s biodiversity. How can we predict if a population will speciate at some point? What environmental factors are most important for driving the formation of new species? How stable are species identities, really? These questions (and many more) remain elusive for a wide variety of life on Earth.

 

Of birds and bees: where do species come from?

This is Part 2 of a four part miniseries on the process of speciation: how we get new species, how we can see this in action, and the end results of the process. This week we’re taking a look at how new species are formed from natural selection. For Part 1, on the identity and concept of the species, click here.

The Origin of Species

Despite Darwin’s scientifically ground-breaking revelations over 150 years ago, the truth of the origin of species has remained a puzzling and complex question in biology. While the fundamental concepts of Darwin’s theory remain heavily supported – that groups which become separated from one another and undergo differing evolutionary pathways through natural selection may over time form new species – the mechanisms leading to this are mysterious. Even though the heritable component of evolution (DNA) was not uncovered for a hundred years after publishing ‘On the Origin of Species’, Darwin’s theory can largely explain many patterns of the formation of species on Earth.

The population-speciation continuum

The understanding that groups that are separated progress into species through differential adaptation leads to a phenomenon as the ‘speciation continuum’: all populations exist at some point on the continuum, with those that are most differentiated (i.e. most progressed) are distinct species, whereas those least differentiated are closely related or the same population. Whether or not populations progress along this continuum, and how fast this progression happens, depends on the difference in selective pressure and speed of evolution in the populations. Even if two populations are physically separated, they might not necessarily form new species if the separation is too short-term or if they do not evolve in different ways. Even if they do differentially evolve, whether or not they develop reproductive isolation is not always consistent.

Speciation continuum figure
A vague diagram of the population-speciation continuum. In this figure, we have two different organisms (Taxa 1 and Taxa 2) and we’re comparing their genetic similarity/differences (the grey arrow). At the bottom left of the chart, there are very few genetic differences between the two, likely indicated that they are from the same population (or closely related e.g. siblings). As we progress towards the upper left, the two start to diverge from one another, first to different populations of the same species, different subspecies of the same overarching species, and eventually becoming so different that they must be new species (i.e. are genetically incompatible and thus reproductively isolated). Exactly where this cut-off is a bit of a grey area (the species boundary) and is unlikely to be consistent across species.

Furthermore, how these populations are changing may affect the rate or success of speciation: if the traits that evolve differently across the population also cause them to be unable to breed, then they may quickly become reproductively isolated and thus new species. For example, Momigliano et al. (2017) demonstrated the fastest known rate of speciation (within 3000 generations) in a marine vertebrate in a species of flounders. Flounders that adapted to a higher salinity environment became reproductively isolated from their sister population as their sperm could not tolerate the high salinity conditions (directly preventing breeding and causing reproductive isolation).  This strong and rapid selection to an environment, and its subsequent selection on reproductive ability, was cutely described as a “magic trait”.

Modes of speciation

Darwin’s model of speciation describes what is called “allopatric speciation”, whereby physical separation of populations by some form of barrier (often attributed to changes such as climatic shifts, mountain range formations or island separation) isolates populations which then independently evolve until they reach a point of differentiation where they can no longer interbreed. Thus, they are now separate species (based on the Biological Species Concept, anyway). Allopatric speciation has traditionally believed to be the most common process of speciation, and is consistently used as the model for teaching and understanding speciation.

While this physical separation is the strongest and most immediately obvious method of speciation, other forms without geographic barriers have been documented. “Sympatric speciation” involves speciation events where there are no apparent geographical barriers that separate populations: instead, other factors may be driving their divergence from one another. This can relate to different microenvironments within the same area, where one population migrates and adapts to an environment which excludes the other population. This is referred to as “ecological speciation” and has been particularly noted within lake fish radiating into different habitats. There are a number of other mechanisms by which sympatric speciation could also occur, however, including temporal isolation (e.g. different flowering times in plants), sexual selection (e.g. a mutation leads to a new physiology that is more attractive to others with that physiology) or polyploidy (e.g. a ‘mutation’ causes an organism to have multiple copies of its genome, making it effectively reproductively isolated from its neighbours due to incompatible sex cells).

Allopatric vs sympatric speciation
Representations of allopatric and sympatric speciation using our friends the fruit-eating catsA) An example of allopatric speciation. Similar to how we’ve seen it before, a geographic barrier (the dashed green line) separates the ancestral species in two; each of these groups then evolve in different directions based on the different environmental pressures of each zone. After enough divergence, these two groups become reproductively isolated from one another and thus are different species. B) An example of sympatric speciation. We start with a single species of red apple eating cats, which form one contiguous group. A mutation within the group produces a new type of fruit-eating cat; one that feeds on green apples (grey cats). Because these feed on a different food source, they move into a different part of the environment, associating with other green apple-eating cats and less with red apple-eating cats. Over time, and with strong enough selection for apple preferences, these two types may become different species.

Sympatric speciation has received a great deal of controversy, due to the fact that some levels of gene flow could occur across the two populations with relative ease (compared to allopatric populations). This gene flow should cause the two populations to reconnect and prevent each population from evolving differently from one another (as changes in one population’s gene pool will be introduced into the other). Speciation with gene flow has been shown for some species, based on the idea that the pressure of natural selection (i.e. being adapted to the right habitat) is much stronger than the level of gene flow (i.e. the introduction of non-adapted genes from the other population), so the two populations still diverge genetically.

Gene flow across populations (through hybridisation) will balance out the different allele frequencies of the two gene pools, preventing adaptive alleles from moving towards fixation as per the standard natural selection process. While the effect of gene flow might slow the process, taking longer for the populations to diverge to the species level, speciation can still be achieved. Thus, the balance of gene flow and adaptive divergence is critical in determining whether ecological speciation is possible.

Sympatric speciation figure
A slightly more convoluted example of sympatric speciation. A) We start with a single species of small orange cats (top row), which can share readily share genes with one another. A mutation within the species creates a new type of cat; one that is much larger and has tufted ears. Although there are somewhat morphologically distinct from one another, they’re still genetically similar enough to continue to breed and share genes across the two types. However, with the big size comes a new ecological niche and these big cats differentially evolve to be grey (to hide better from their new bigger prey, perhaps) whilst the non-mutated group stays the same size and colour. Because large grey cats will preferentially breed with other large grey cats and not with small orange cats, this group genetically diverges from the ancestor to form a new species. B) A representation of the genetic changes between the two groups over time. The figure shows the genome (the grey bar) of the cat; the y-axis is the level of genetic differentiation between the two (measured as Fst). The different coloured sections represent specific genes within the genome, whilst the dashed line represents the average Fst across the whole genome. At initial divergence (top), there is little difference between the two. However, as the new big cats form and evolve, we can see the average Fst increase, with strong peaks around particular genes (blue and green; those related to the changes in physiology). As the two groups continue to diverge, this average raises even higher until genetic changes cause the reproduction-related genes (red and yellow) to become too different to allow for hybridisation, making the two species reproductively isolated (the red X in A)).

The reality of species

While the distinction between divergent populations and species might be a complex one, development in genomic technologies and greater understanding of evolutionary patterns is helping us uncover the real origin of species. And while species might not be as concrete a concept as one might expect, understanding the processes that generate new species and diversity is critical for understanding the diversity within nature that we see today, and also the potential diversity for the future (and why protecting said diversity is important!).

What is a species, anyway?

This is Part 1 of a four part miniseries on the process of speciation; how we get new species, how we can see this in action, and the end results of the process. This week, we’ll start with a seemingly obvious question: what is a species?

The definition of a ‘species’

‘Species’ are a human definition of the diversity of life. When we talk about the diversity of life, and the myriad of creatures and plants on Earth, we often talk about species diversity. This might seem glaringly obvious, but there’s one key issue: what is a species, anyway? While we might like to think of them as discrete and obvious groups (a dog is definitely not the same species as a cat, for example), the concept of a singular “species” is actually the result of human categorisation.

In reality, the diversity of life is spread across a huge spectrum of differentiation: from things which are closely related but still different to us (like chimps), to more different again (other mammals), to hardly relatable at all (bacteria and plants). So, what is the cut-off for calling something a species, and not a different genus, family, or kingdom? Or alternatively, at what point do we call a specific sub-group of a species as a sub-species, or another species entirely?

This might seem like a simple question: we look at two things, and they look different, so they must be different species, right? Well, of course, nature is never simple, and the line between “different” and “not different” is very blurry. Here’s an example: consider that you knew nothing about the history, behaviour or genetics of dogs. If you simply looked at all the different breeds of dogs on Earth, you might suggest that there are hundreds of species of domestic dogs. That seems a little excessive though, right? In fact, the domestic dog, Eurasian wolf, and the Australian dingo are all the same species (but different subspecies, along with about 38 others…but that’s another issue altogether).

Dogs
Morphology can be misleading for identifying species. In this example, we have A) a dog, B) also a dog, C) still a dog, D) yet another dog, and E) not a dog. For the record, A-D are all Canis lupus of some variety; and are domestic dogs (Canis lupus familiaris), C is a dingo (Canis lupus dingo) and is a grey wolf (Canis lupus lupus). E, however, is the Ethiopian wolf, Canis simensis.

How do we describe species?

This method of describing species based on how they look (their morphology) is the very traditional approach to taxonomy. And for a long time, it seemed to work…until we get to more complex scenarios like the domestic dog. Or scenarios where two species look fairly similar, but in reality have evolved entirely differently for a very, very long time. Or groups which look close to more than one other species. So how do we describe them instead?

Cats and foxes
A), a fox. B), a cat. C), a foxy cat? A catty fox? A cat-fox hybrid? Something unrelated to cat or a fox?

 

Believe it or not, there are dozens of ways of deciding what is a species and what isn’t. In Speciation (2004), Coyne & Orr count at least 25 different reported Species Concepts that had been suggested within science, based on different requirements such as evolutionary history, genetic identity, or ecological traits. These different concepts can often contradict one another about where to draw the line between species…so what do we use?

The Biological Species Concept (BSC)

The most commonly used species concept is called the Biological Species Concept (BSC), which denotes that “species are groups of interbreeding natural populations that are reproductively isolated from other such groups” (Mayr, 1942). In short, a population is considered a different species to another population if an individual from one cannot reliably breed to form fertile, viable offspring with an individual from the other. We often refer to this as “reproductive isolation.” It’s important to note that reproductive isolation doesn’t mean they can’t breed at all: just that the hybrid offspring will not live a healthy life and produce its own healthy offspring.

For example, a horse and zebra can breed to produce a zorse, however zorse are fundamentally infertile (due to the different number of chromosomes between a horse and a zebra) and thus a horse is a different species to a zebra. However, a German Shepherd and a chihuahua can breed and make a hybrid mutt, so they are the same species.

zorse
A zorse, which shows its hybrid nature through zebra stripes and horse colouring. These two are still separate species since zorses are infertile, and thus are not a singular stable entity.

You might naturally ask why reproductive isolation is apparently so important for deciding species. Most directly, this means that groups don’t share gene pools at all (since genetic information is introduced and maintained over time through breeding events), which causes them to be genetically independent of one another. Thus, changes in the genetic make-up of one species shouldn’t (theoretically) transfer into the gene pool of another species through hybrids. This is an important concept as the gene pool of a species is the basis upon which natural selection and evolution act: thus, reproductively isolated species may evolve in very different manners over time.

RI example
An example of how reproductive isolation maintains genetic and evolutionary independence of species. In A), our cat groups are robust species, reproductively isolated from one another (as shown by the black box). When each species undergoes natural selection and their genetic variation changes (colour changes on the cats and DNA), these changes are kept within each lineage. This contrasts to B), where genetic changes can be transferred between species. Without reproductive isolation, evolution in the orange lineage and the blue lineage can combine within hybrids, sharing the evolutionary pathways of both ancestral species.

Pitfalls of the BSC

Just because the BSC is the most used concept doesn’t make it infallible, however. Many species on Earth don’t easily demonstrate reproductive isolation from one another, nor does the concept even make sense for asexually reproducing species. If an individual reproduced solely asexually (like many bacteria, or even some lizards), then by the BSC definition every individual is an entirely different species…which seems a little excessive. Even in sexually reproducing organisms, it can be hard to establish reproductive isolation, possibly because the species never come into contact physically.

This raises the debate of whether two species could, let alone will, hybridise in nature, which can be difficult to determine. And if two species do produce hybrid offspring, assessing their fertility or viability can be difficult to detect without many generations of breeding and measurements of fitness (hybrids may not be sustainable in nature if they are not well adapted to their environment and thus the two species are maintained as separate identities).

Hybrid birds
An example of unfit hybrids causing effective reproductive isolation. In this example, we have two different bird species adapted to very different habitats; a smaller, long-tailed bird (left) adapted to moving through dense forest, and a large, longer-legged bird (right) adapted to traversing arid deserts. When (or if) these two species hybridised, the resultant offspring would be middle of the road, possessing too few traits to be adaptive in either the forest or the desert and no fitting intermediate environment available. Measuring exactly how unfit this hybrid would be is a difficult task in establishing species boundaries.

 

Integrative taxonomy

To try and account for the issues with the BSC, taxonomists try to push for the usage of “integrative taxonomy”. This means that species should be defined by multiple different agreeing concepts, such as reproductive isolation, genetic differentiation, behavioural differences, and/or ecological traits. The more traits that can separate the two, the greater support there is for the species to be separated: if they disagree, then more information is needed to determine exactly whether or not that should be called different species. Debates about taxonomy are ongoing and are likely going to be relevant for years to come, but form critical components of understanding biodiversity, patterns of evolution, and creating effective conservation legislation to protect endangered or threatened species (for whichever groups we decide are species).

 

How did pygmy perch swim across the desert?

“Pygmy perch swam across the desert”

As regular readers of The G-CAT are likely aware, my first ever scientific paper was published this week. The paper is largely the results of my Honours research (with some extra analysis tacked on) on the phylogenomics (the same as phylogenetics, but with genomic data) and biogeographic history of a group of small, endemic freshwater fishes known as the pygmy perch. There are a number of different messages in the paper related to biogeography, taxonomy and conservation, and I am really quite proud of the work.

Southern_pygmy_perch 1 MHammer
A male southern pygmy perch, which usually measures 6-8 cm long.

To my honest surprise, the paper has received a decent amount of media attention following its release. Nearly all of these have focused on the biogeographic results and interpretations of the paper, which is arguably the largest component of the paper. In these media releases, the articles are often opened with “…despite the odds, new research has shown how a tiny fish managed to find its way across the arid Australian continent – more than once.” So how did they manage it? These are tiny fish, and there’s a very large desert area right in the middle of Australia, so how did they make it all the way across? And more than once?!

 The Great (southern) Southern Land

To understand the results, we first have to take a look at the context for the research question. There are seven officially named species of pygmy perches (‘named’ is an important characteristic here…but we’ll go into the details of that in another post), which are found in the temperate parts of Australia. Of these, three are found with southwest Western Australia, in Australia’s only globally recognised biodiversity hotspot, and the remaining four are found throughout eastern Australia (ranging from eastern South Australia to Tasmania and up to lower Queensland). These two regions are separated by arid desert regions, including the large expanse of the Nullarbor Plain.

Pygmyperch_distributionmap
The distributions of pygmy perch species across Australia. The dots and labels refer to different sampling sites used in the study. A: the distribution of western pygmy perches, and essentially the extent of the southwest WA biodiversity hotspot region. B: the distribution of eastern pygmy perches, excluding N. oxleyana which occurs in upper NSW/lower QLD (indicated in C). C: the distributions relative to the map of Australia. The black region in the middle indicates the Nullarbor Plain. 

 

The Nullarbor Plain is a remarkable place. It’s dead flat, has no trees, and most importantly for pygmy perches, it also has no standing water or rivers. The plain was formed from a large limestone block that was pushed up from beneath the Earth approximately 15 million years ago; with the progressive aridification of the continent, this region rapidly lost any standing water drainages that would have connected the east to the west. The remains of water systems from before (dubbed ‘paleodrainages’) can be seen below the surface.

Nullarbor Plain photo
See? Nothing here. Photo taken near Watson, South Australia. Credit: Benjamin Rimmer.

Biogeography of southern Australia

As one might expect, the formation of the Nullarbor Plain was a huge barrier for many species, especially those that depend on regular accessible water for survival. In many species of both plants and animals, we see in their phylogenetic history a clear separation of eastern and western groups around this time; once widely distributed species become fragmented by the plain and diverged from one another. We would most certainly expect this to be true of pygmy perch.

But our questions focus on what happened before the Nullarbor Plain arrived in the picture. More than 15 million years ago, southern Australia was a massively different place. The climate was much colder and wetter, even in central Australia, and we even have records of tropical rainforest habitats spreading all the way down to Victoria. Water-dependent animals would have been able to cross the southern part of the continent relatively freely.

Biogeography of the enigmatic pygmy perches

This is where the real difference between everything else and pygmy perch happens. For most species, we see only one east and west split in their phylogenetic tree, associated with the Nullarbor Plain; before that, their ancestors were likely distributed across the entire southern continent and were one continuous unit.

Not for pygmy perch, though. Our phylogenetic patterns show that there were multiple splits between eastern and western ancestral pygmy perch. We can see this visually within the phylogenetic tree; some western species of pygmy perches are more closely related, from an evolutionary perspective, to eastern species of pygmy perches than they are to other western species. This could imply a couple different things; either some species came about by migration from east to west (or vice versa), and that this happened at least twice, or that two different ancestral pygmy perches were distributed across all of southern Australia and each split east-west at some point in time. These two hypotheses are called “multiple invasion” and “geographic paralogy”, respectively.

MCC_geographylabelled
The phylogeny of pygmy perches produced by this study, containing 45 different individuals across all species of pygmy perch. Species are labelled in the tree in brackets, and their geographic location (east or west) is denoted by the colour on the right. This tree clearly shows more than one E/W separation, as not all eastern species are within the same clade. For example, despite being an eastern species, N. variegata is more closely related to Nth. balstoni or N. vittata than to the other eastern species (N. australisN. obscuraN. oxleyana and N. ‘flindersi’.

So, which is it? We delved deeper into this using a type of analysis called ‘ancestral clade reconstruction’. This tries to guess the likely distributions of species ancestors using different models and statistical analysis. Our results found that the earliest east-west split was due to the fragmentation of a widespread ancestor ~20 million years ago, and a migration event facilitated by changing waterways from the Nullarbor Plain pushing some eastern pygmy perches to the west to form the second group of western species. We argue for more than one migration across Australia since the initial ancestor of pygmy perches must have expanded from some point (either east or west) to encompass the entirety of southern Australia.

BGB_figure
The ancestral area reconstruction of pygmy perches, estimated using the R package BioGeoBEARS. The different pie charts denote the relative probability of the possible distributions for the species or ancestor at that particular time; colours denote exactly where the distribution is (following the legend). As you can see, the oldest E/W split at 21 million years ago likely resulted from a single widespread ancestor, with it’s range split into an east and west group. The second E/W event, at 15 million years ago, most likely reflects a migration from east to west, resulting in the formation of the N. vittata species group. This coincides with the Nullarbor Plain, so it’s likely that changes in waterway patterns allowed some eastern pygmy perch to move westward as the area became more arid.

So why do we see this for pygmy perch and no other species? Well, that’s the real mystery; out of all of the aquatic species found in southeast and southwest Australia, pygmy perch are one of the worst at migrating. They’re very picky about habitat, small, and don’t often migrate far unless pushed (by, say, a flood). It is possible that unrecorded extinct species of pygmy perch might help to clarify this a little, but the chances of finding a preserved fish fossil (let alone for a fish less than 8cm in size!) is extremely unlikely. We can really only theorise about how they managed to migrate.

Pygmy perch biogeo history
A diagram of the distribution of pygmy perch species over time, as suggested by the ancestral area reconstruction. A: the initial ancestor of pygmy perches was likely found throughout southern Australia. B: an unknown event splits the ancestor into an eastern and western group; the sole extant species of the W group is Nth. balstoniC: the ancestor of the eastern pygmy perches spreads towards the west, entering part of the pre-Nullarbor region. D: due to changes in the hydrology of the area, some eastern pygmy perches (the maroon colour in C) are pushed towards the west; these form N. vittata species and N. pygmaea. The Nullarbor Plain forms and effectively cuts off the two groups from one another, isolating them.

What does this mean for pygmy perches?

Nearly all species of pygmy perch are threatened or worse in the conservation legislation; there have been many conservation efforts to try and save the worst-off species from extinction. Pygmy perches provide a unique insight to the history of the Australian climate and may be a key in unlocking some of the mysteries of what our land was like so long ago. Every species is important for conservation and even those small, hard-to-notice creatures that we might forget about play a role in our environmental history.

Emotional science: passion, spirituality and curiosity

“Science is devoid of emotion”

Emotion and spirituality are concepts that inherently seem at odds with the fundamentally stoic, empirical nature of scientific research. Science is based on a rigorous system of objectivity, repeatability and empiricism that, at face value, appears to completely disregard subjective aspects such as emotion, spirituality or religion. But in the same way that this drives the division of art from science, removing these subjective components of science can take away some of the personal significance and driving factors of scientific discipline.

Emotions as a driving force in science

For many scientists, emotional responses to inquiry, curiosity and connection are important components of their initial drive to study science in the first place. The natural curiosity of humanity, the absolute desire to know and understand the world around us, is fundamental to scientific advancement (and is a likely source of science as a concept in the first place). We care deeply about understanding many aspects of the natural world, and for many there is a strong emotional connection to our study fields. Scientists are fundamentally drawn to this career path based on some kind of emotional desire to better understand it.

Although it’s likely a massive cliché, Contact is one of my favourite science-fiction movies for simultaneously tackling faith, emotion, rationality, and scientific progress. And no doubt any literary student could dissect these various themes over and over and discuss exactly how the movie balances the opposing concepts of faith in the divine and scientific inquiry (and the overlap of the two). But for me, the most heartfelt aspect the movie is the portrayal of Ellie Arroway: a person who is insatiably driven to science, to the point of sacrificing many things in her life (including faith). But she’s innately an emotional person; when her perspectives are challenged by her observations, it’s a profound moment for her as a person. Ellie, to me, represents scientists pretty well: passionate, driven, idealistic but rational and objective as best as she can be. These traits make her very admirable (and a great protagonist, as far as I’m concerned).

Ellie Arroway photo
Also, Jodie Foster is an amazing actress.

I would not, under ordinary circumstances, consider myself to be particularly sentimental or spiritual. I don’t believe in many spiritual concepts (including theism, the afterlife, or concepts of a ‘soul’), and try to handle life as rationally and objectively as I can (sometimes not very successful given my mental health). But I can’t even remotely deny that there is a strong emotional or spiritual attachment to my field of science. Without delving too much into my own personal narrative (at the risk of being a little self-absorbed and pretentious; it’s also been covered a little in another post), the emotional connection I share with the life of Earth is definitely something that drove me to study biology and evolution. The sense of wonder and curiosity at observing the myriad of creatures and natural selection can concoct. The shared feeling of being alive in all of its aspects. The mystery of the world being seen through eyes very different to ours.

Headcase headspace artwork
More shameless self-promotion of my own artwork. You’ll notice that most of my art includes some science-based aspects (usually related to biology/evolution/genetics), largely because that’s what inspires me. Feeling passionate and emotional about science drives both my artistic and scientific sides.

Attachment to the natural world

I’d guess that there are many people who say they feel a connection to nature and animals in some form or another. I definitely think this is the case for many biologists of various disciplines: an emotional connection to the natural world is a strong catalyst for curiosity and it’s no surprise that this could develop later in life to a scientific career. For some scientists, an emotional attachment to a particular taxonomic group is a defining driving force in their choice of academic career; science provides a platform to understand, conserve and protect the species we hold most dear.

Me with cockatoo
A photo of me with Adelaide Zoo’s resident Red-tailed Black Cockatoo, Banks (his position was unsolicited, for reference). Giving people the opportunity to have an emotional connection (as silly as that might be) with nature can improve conservation efforts and environmental protection, boost eco-based tourism, and potentially even make people happier

 

An appeal to reason and emotion 

Although it’s of course always better to frame an argument or present research in an objective, rational matter, people have a tendency to respond well to appeal to emotion. In this sense, presenting scientific research as something that can be evocative, powerful and emotional is, in my belief, a good tactic to get the general public invested in science. Getting people to care about our research, our study species, and our findings is a difficult task but one that is absolutely necessary for the longevity and development of science at both the national and global level.

Pretending the science is emotionless and apathetic is counterproductive to the very things that drove us to do the science in the first place. Although we should attempt to be aware of, and distance, our emotions from the objective, data-based analysis of our research, admitting and demonstrating our passions (and why we feel so passionate) is critical in distilling science into the general population. Science should be done rationally and objectively but driven by emotional characteristics such as wonder, curiosity and fascination.