For anyone who has had to study geography at some point in their education, you’d likely be familiar with the idea of river courses drawn on a map. They’re so important, in fact, that they are often the delimiting factor in the edges of countries, states or other political units. Water is a fundamental requirement of all forms of life and the riverways that scatter the globe underpin the maintenance, structure and accumulation of a large swathe of biodiversity.
Australia is renowned for its unique diversity of species, and likewise for the diversity of ecosystems across the island continent. Although many would typically associate Australia with the golden sandy beaches, palm trees and warm weather of the tropical east coast, other ecosystems also hold both beautiful and interesting characteristics. Even the regions that might typically seem the dullest – the temperate zones in the southern portion of the continent – themselves hold unique stories of the bizarre and wonderful environmental history of Australia.
The two temperate zones
Within Australia, the temperate zone is actually separated into two very distinct and separate regions. In the far south-western corner of the continent is the southwest Western Australia temperate zone, which spans a significant portion. In the southern eastern corner, the unnamed temperate zone spans from the region surrounding Adelaide at its westernmost point, expanding to the east and encompassing Tasmanian and Victoria before shifting northward into NSW. This temperate zones gradually develops into the sub-tropical and tropical climates of more northern latitudes in Queensland and across to Darwin.
The divide separating these two regions might be familiar to some readers – the Nullarbor Plain. Not just a particularly good location for fossils and mineral ores, the Nullarbor Plain is an almost perfectly flat arid expanse that stretches from the western edge of South Australia to the temperate zone of the southwest. As the name suggests, the plain is totally devoid of any significant forestry, owing to the lack of available water on the surface. This plain is a relatively ancient geological structure, and finished forming somewhere between 14 and 16 million years ago when tectonic uplift pushed a large limestone block upwards to the surface of the crust, forming an effective drain for standing water with the aridification of the continent. Thus, despite being relatively similar bioclimatically, the two temperate zones of Australia have been disconnected for ages and boast very different histories and biota.
The hotspot of the southwest
The southwest temperate zone – commonly referred to as southwest Western Australia (SWWA) – is an island-like bioregion. Isolated from the rest of the temperate Australia, it is remarkably geologically simple, with little topographic variation (only the Darling Scarp that separates the lower coast from the higher elevation of the Darling Plateau), generally minor river systems and low levels of soil nutrients. One key factor determining complexity in the SWWA environment is the isolation of high rainfall habitats within the broader temperate region – think of islands with an island.
Contrastingly, the temperate region in the south-east of the continent is much more complex. For one, the topography of the zone is much more variable: there are a number of prominent mountain chains (such as the extended Great Dividing Range), lowland basins (such as the expansive Murray-Darling Basin) and variable valley and river systems. Similarly, the climate varies significantly within this temperate region, with the more northern parts featuring more subtropical climatic conditions with wetter and hotter summers than the southern end. There is also a general trend of increasing rainfall and lower temperatures along the highlands of the southeast portion of the region, and dry, semi-arid conditions in the western lowland region.
A complicated history
The south-east temperate zone is not only variable now, but has undergone some drastic environmental changes over history. Massive shifts in geology, climate and sea-levels have particularly altered the nature of the area. Even volcanic events have been present at some time in the past.
One key hydrological shift that massively altered the region was the paleo-megalake Bungunnia. Not just a list of adjectives, Bungunnia was exactly as it’s described: a historically massive lake that spread across a huge area prior to its demise ~1-2 million years ago. At its largest size, Lake Bungunnia reached an area of over 50,000 km2, spreading from its westernmost point near the current Murray mouth although to halfway across Victoria. Initially forming due to a tectonic uplift event along the coastal edge of the Murray-Darling Basin ~3.2 million years ago, damming the ancestral Murray River (which historically outlet into the ocean much further east than today). Over the next few million years, the size of the lake fluctuated significantly with climatic conditions, with wetter periods causing the lake to overfill and burst its bank. With every burst, the lake shrank in size, until a final break ~700,000 years ago when the ‘dam’ broke and the full lake drained.
Another change in the historic environment readers may be more familiar with is the land-bridge that used to connect Tasmania to the mainland. Dubbed the Bassian Isthmus, this land-bridge appeared at various points in history of reduced sea-levels (i.e. during glacial periods in Pleistocene cycle), predominantly connecting via the still-above-water Flinders and Cape Barren Islands. However, at lower sea-levels, the land bridge spread as far west as King Island: central to this block of land was a large lake dubbed the Bass Lake (creative). The Bassian Isthmus played a critical role in the migration of many of the native fauna of Tasmania (likely including the Indigenous peoples of the now-island), and its submergence and isolation leads to some distinctive differences between Tasmanian and mainland biota. Today, the historic presence of the Bassian Isthmus has left a distinctive mark on the genetic make-up of many species native to the southeast of Australia, including dolphins, frogs, freshwater fishes and invertebrates.
Don’t underestimate the temperates
Although tropical regions get most of the hype for being hotspots of biodiversity, the temperate zones of Australia similarly boast high diversity, unique species and document a complex environmental history. Studying how the biota and environment of the temperate regions has changed over millennia is critical to predicting the future effects of climatic change across large ecosystems.
To expand on this, we’re going to look at a few different models of how the spatial distribution of populations influences their divergence, and particularly how these factor into different processes of speciation.
What comes first, ecological or genetic divergence?
The order of these two processes have been in debate for some time, and different aspects of species and the environment can influence how (or if) these processes occur.
Different spatial models of speciation
Generally, when we consider the spatial models for speciation we divide these into distinct categories based on the physical distance of populations from one another. Although there is naturally a lot of grey area (as there is with almost everything in biological science), these broad concepts help us to define and determine how speciation is occurring in the wild.
A step closer in bringing populations geographically together in speciation is “parapatry” and “peripatry”. Parapatric populations are often geographically close together but not overlapping: generally, the edges of their distributions are touching but do not overlap one another. A good analogy would be to think of countries that share a common border. Parapatry can occur when a species is distributed across a broad area, but some form of narrow barrier cleaves the distribution in two: this can be the case across particular environmental gradients where two extremes are preferred over the middle.
This can be tricky to visualise, so let’s invent an example. Say we have a tropical island, which is occupied by one bird species. This bird prefers to eat the large native fruit of the island, although there is another fruit tree which produces smaller fruits. However, there’s only so much space and eventually there are too many birds for the number of large fruit trees available. So, some birds are pushed to eat the smaller fruit, and adapt to a different diet, changing physiology over time to better acquire their new food and obtain nutrients. This shift in ecological niche causes the two populations to become genetically separated as small-fruit-eating-birds interact more with other small-fruit-eating-birds than large-fruit-eating-birds. Over time, these divergences in genetics and ecology causes the two populations to form reproductively isolated species despite occupying the same island.
As you can see, the processes and context driving speciation are complex to unravel and many factors play a role in the transition from population to species. Understanding the factors that drive the formation of new species is critical to understanding not just how evolution works, but also in how new diversity is generated and maintained across the globe (and how that might change in the future).
Since evolution is a constant process, occurring over both temporal and spatial scales, the impact of evolutionary history for current and future species cannot be overstated. The various forces of evolution through natural selection have strong, lasting impacts on the evolution of organisms, which is exemplified within the genetic make-up of all species. Phylogeography is the domain of research which intrinsically links this genetic information to historical selective environment (and changes) to understand historic distributions, evolutionary history, and even identify biodiversity hotspots.
The Ice Age(s)
Although there are a huge number of both historic and contemporary climatic factors that have influenced the evolution of species, one particularly important time period is referred to as the Pleistocene glacial cycles. The Pleistocene epoch spans from ~2 million years ago until ~100,000 years ago, and is a time of significant changes in the evolution of many species still around today (particularly for vertebrates). This is because the Pleistocene largely consisted of several successive glacial periods: at times, the climate was significantly cooler, glaciers were more widespread and sea-levels were lower (due to the deeper freezing of water around the poles). These periods were then followed by ‘interglacial periods’, where much of the globe warmed, ice caps melted and sea-levels rose. Sometimes, this natural pattern is argued as explaining 100% of recent climate change: don’t be fooled, however, as Pleistocene cycles were never as dramatic or irreversible as modern, anthropogenically-driven climate change.
The glacial cycles of the Pleistocene had a number of impacts on a plethora of species on Earth. For many of these species, these glacial-interglacial periods resulted in what we call ‘glacial refugia’ and ‘interglacial expansion’: at the peak of glacial periods, many species’ distributions contracted to small patches of suitable habitat, like tiny islands in a freezing ocean. As the globe warmed during interglacial periods, these habitats started to spread and with them the inhabiting species. While it’s expected that this likely happened many times throughout the Pleistocene, the most clearly observed cycle would be the most recent one: referred to as the Last Glacial Maximum (LGM), at ~21,000 years ago. Thus, a quick dive into the literature shows that it is rife with phylogeographic examples of expansions and contractions related to the LGM.
And this loss of genetic diversity isn’t just a hypothetical, or an interesting note in evolution. It can have dire impacts for the survivability of species. Take for example, the very charismatic cheetah. Like many large, apex predator species, the cheetah in the modern day is endangered and at risk of extinction to a variety of threats, and although many of these are linked to modern activity (such as being killed to protect farms or habitat clearing), some of these go back much further in history.
Believe it not, the cheetah as a species actually originated from an ancestor in the Americas: they’re closely related to other American big cats such as the puma/cougar. During the Miocene (5 – 8 million years ago), however, the ancestor of the modern cheetah migrated a very long way to Africa, diverging from its shared ancestor with jaguarandi and cougars. Subsequent migrations into Africa and Asia (where only the Iranian subspecies remains) during the Pleistocene, dated at ~100,000 and ~12,000 years ago, have been shown through whole genome analysis to have resulted in significant reductions in the genetic diversity of the cheetah. This timing correlates with the extinction of the cheetah and puma within North America, and the worldwide extinction of many large mammals including mammoths, dire wolves and sabre-tooth tigers.
Understanding the impact of the historic environment on the evolution and genetic diversity of living species is not just important for understanding how species became what they are today. It also helps us understand how species might change in the future, by providing the natural experimental evidence of evolution in a changing climate.
The first major component that is needed for SDM is the occurrence data. Some methods will work with presence-only data: that is, a map of GPS coordinates which describes where that species has been found. Others work with presence-absence data, which may require including sites of known non-occurrence. This is an important aspect as the non-occurring sites defines the environment beyond the tolerance threshold of the species: however, it’s very likely that we haven’t sampled every location where they occur, and there will be some GPS co-ordinates that appear to be absent of our species where they actually occur. There are some different analytical techniques which can account for uneven sampling across the real distribution of the species, but they can get very technical.
Our SDM analysis of choice (e.g. MaxEnt) will then use various algorithms to build a model which best correlates where the species occurs with the environmental variables at those sites. The model tries to create a set of environmental conditions that best encapsulate the occurrence sites whilst excluding the non-occurrence sites from the prediction. From the final model, we can evaluate how strong the effect of each of our variables is on the distribution of the species, and also how well our overall model predicts the locality data.
Species distribution modelling continues to be a useful tool for conservation and evolution studies, and improvements in analytical algorithms, available environmental data and increased sampling of species will similarly improve SDM. Particularly, improvements in environmental projections from both the distant past and future will improve our ability to understand and predict how species will change, and have changed, with climatic changes
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.
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.
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.
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.
All of these questions can be addressed with a combination of genetic, environmental and ecological information across a variety of timescales. However, the overall field of biogeography (and phylogeography as a derivative of it) has traditionally been largely rooted on a strong yet changing theoretical basis. The earliest discussions and discoveries related to biogeography as a field of science date back to the 18th Century, and to Carl Linnaeus (to whom we owe our binomial classification system) and Alexander von Humboldt. These scientists (and undoubtedly many others of that era) were among the first to notice how organisms in similar climates (e.g. Australia, South Africa and South America) showed similar physical characteristics despite being so distantly separated (both in their groups and geographic distance). The communities of these regions also appeared to be highly similar. So how could this be possible over such huge distances?
Dispersal or vicariance?
Two main explanations for these patterns are possible; dispersal and vicariance. As one might expect, dispersal denotes that an ancestral species was distributed in one of these places (referred to as the ‘centre of origin’) before it migrated and inhabited the other places. Contrastingly, vicariancesuggests that the ancestral species was distributed everywhere originally, covering all contemporary ranges within it. However, changes in geography, climate or the formation of other barriers caused the range of the ancestor to fragment, with each fragmented group evolving into its own distinct species (or group of species).
In initial biogeographic science, dispersal was the most heavily favoured explanation. At the time, there was no clear mechanism by which organisms could be present all over the globe without some form of dispersal: it was generally believed that the world was a static, unmoving system. Dispersal was well supported by some biological evidence such as the diversification of Darwin’s finches across the Galápagos archipelago. Thus, this concept was supported through the proposals of a number of prominent scientists such as Charles Darwin and A.R. Wallace. For others, however, the distance required for dispersal (such as across entire oceans) seemed implausible and biologically unrealistic.
A paradigm shift in biogeography
Two particular developments in theory are credited with a paradigm shift in the field; cladistics and plate tectonics. Cladistics simply involved using shared biological characteristics to reconstruct the evolutionary relationships of species (think like phylogenetics, but using physical traits instead of genetic sequence). Just as importantly, however, was plate tectonic theory, which provided a clear way for organisms to spread across the planet. By understanding that, deep in the past, all continents had been directly connected to one another provides a convenient explanation for how species groups spread. Instead of requiring for species to travel across entire oceans, continental drift meant that one widespread and ancient ancestor on the historic supercontinent (Pangaea; or subsequently Gondwana and Laurasia) could become fragmented. It only required that groups were very old, but not necessarily very dispersive.
From these advances in theory, cladistic vicariance biogeography was born. The field rapidly overtook dispersal as the most likely explanation for biogeographic patterns across the globe by not only providing a clear mechanism to explain these but also an analytical framework to test questions relating to these patterns. Further developments into the analytical backbone of cladistic vicariance allowed for more nuanced questions of biogeography to be asked, although still fundamentally ignored the role of potential dispersals in explaining species’ distributions.
Modern philosophy of biogeography
So, what is the current state of the field? Well, the more we research biogeographic patterns with better data (such as with genomics) the more we realise just how complicated the history of life on Earth can be. Complex modelling (such as Bayesian methods) allow us to more explicitly test the impact of Earth history events on our study species, and can provide more detailed overview of the evolutionary history of the species (such as by directly estimating times of divergence, amount of dispersal, extent of range shifts).
From a theoretical perspective, the consistency of patterns of groups is always in question and exactly what determines what species occurs where is still somewhat debatable. However, the greater number of types of data we can now include (such as geological, paleontological, climatic, hydrological, genetic…the list goes on!) allows us to paint a better picture of life on Earth. By combining information about what we know happened on Earth, with what we know has happened to species, we can start to make links between Earth history and species history to better understand how (or if) these events have shaped evolution.
Climate change seems to be the centrefold of a large amount of scientific research and media attention, and rightly so: it has the capacity to affect every living organism on the planet. It’s our duty as curators and residents of Earth to be responsible for our influences on the global environmental stage. While a significant part of this involves determining causes and solutions to our contributions to climate change, we also need to know how extensive the effects will be: for example, how can we predict how well species will do in the future?
Predicting the effect of climate change on all of the world’s biodiversity is an immense task. Climate change itself is a complicated system, and causes diverse, interconnected and complex alterations to both global and local climate. Adding on top of this, though, is that climate affects different species in different ways; where some species might be sensitive to some climatic variables (such as rainfall, available sunlight, seasonality), others may be more tolerant to the same factors. But all living things share some requirements, so surely there must be some consistency in their responses to climate change, right?
How predictable are species responses to climate change?
Well, evidence would surprisingly suggest not. Many species, even closely related ones, can show very different responses to the exact same climatic pressures or biogeographical events. There are a number of different traits that might affect a species’ ability to adapt, particularly their adaptive genetic diversity (which underpins ‘adaptive potential’). Thus, we need good information of a variety of genetic, physiological and life history traits to be able to make predictions about how likely a species is to adapt and respond to future (and current) climate changes.
Although this can be hard to study in species of high extinction risk (getting a good number of samples is always an issue…), traditional phylogeographic methods might help us to make some comparisons. See, although the modern Earth is rapidly changing (undoubtedly influenced by human society), the climate of the globe has always varied to some degree. There has always been some tumultuousness in the climate and specific Earth history events like volcano eruptions, sea-level changes, or glaciation periods (‘ice ages’) have had diverse effects on organisms globally.
Using comparative phylogeography to predict species responses
One tool for looking at how different species have, in the past, responded to the same biogeographical force is the domain of ‘comparative phylogeography’. Phylogeography itself is something we have discussed before: the ‘comparative’ aspect simply means comparing (with complex statistical methods) these patterns across different and often unrelated species to see how universal (‘congruent’) or unique (‘incongruent’) these patterns are among species. The more broadly we look at the species community in the region, the more we can observe widespread effects of any given environmental or geographical event: if we only look at fish, for example, we might not to be able to infer what response mammals, birds or invertebrates have had to our given event. Sometimes this still meets the scale we wish to focus; other times, we want to see how all the species of an area have been affected.
Typically, comparative phylogeographic studies have looked at the neutral components of species’ evolution (as is the realm of traditional phylogeography). This includes studying the size of populations over time, how well connected they are and were, what their spatial patterns are and how these relate to the environment. Comparing all of these patterns across species can allow us to start painting a fuller picture of the history of biota in a region. In this way, we can start to see exactly which species have shown what responses and start to relate these to the characteristics that allowed them to respond in that certain way (and including adaptation in our studies). So, what kinds of traits are important?
What traits matter? Who wins?
Often, we find that life history traits of an organism better dictates how they will respond to a certain pressure than other factors such as phylogeny (e.g. one group does not always do better than another). Instead, individual species with certain physical characteristics might handle the pressure better than others. For example, a fish, bird and snake that are all able to tolerate higher temperatures than other fish, birds or snakes in that region are more likely to survive a drought. In this case, none of the groups (fish, birds or snakes) inherently do better than the other two groups. Thus, it can be hard to predict how a large swathe of species will respond to any given environmental change, unless we understand the physical characteristics of every species.
We can also see that other physiological or ecological traits, such as climatic preferences and tolerance thresholds, can be critical for adapting to climatic pressures. Naturally, the genetic diversity of species is also an important component underlying their ability to adapt to these new selective pressures and to survive into the future. Trying to incorporate all of these factors into a projected model can be difficult, but with more data of higher quality we can start to make more refined predictions. But by understanding how particular traits influence how well a species may adapt to a changing climate, as well as knowing the what traits different species have, might just be the key to predicting who wins and who dies in the real-world Game of Thrones.