The Mounds of Brazil

As I mentioned a couple of posts back, I recently spent a week in Brazil.
I always imagined that when I finally made it to the Southern hemisphere, it would be this amazingly wonderful naturalistic experience. I’d get off the plane and gaze at the stunning peaks from the Lord of the Rings movies. In the near-distance a herd* of kangaroos would bound towards old-growth eucalyptus forest. A bit further away, penguins would be leaping off jagged cliffs into the ocean and just off the tarmac ancient clumps of Welwitschia would be growing in the sandy soil. Maybe I’d have landed just after dusk, and the Southern Cross would be rising in the evening sky.
*Pack? Flock? Gang? What is a group of kangaroos called, anyway?
It wasn’t anything like that.
This was a work-trip, and the company doesn’t pay me to go out and commune with nature. They pay me to sell stuff to big companies in high-rise buildings in cities. Sao Paulo is either the first or second largest city in the Western Hemisphere, and flying in the sheer scale of the place is awe-inspiring- an endless sea of towers riding out of the smog.
Tangent: Only SciFi buffs will get this one. Years and years ago, I read Asimov’s Foundation Trilogy. The capital of the Galactic Empire was the planet Trantor, whose entire surface was covered by one, continuous, planet-wide city. We landed in Sao Paulo just as the sun was rising, and as I looked out of the window, my first thought was “Trantor.”
I spent most of the week in Sao Paulo, where most of the companies we sell to (banking, financial services) are headquartered. The city is remarkable not only for its scale, but for its contrasts. In urban Brazil First and Third Worlds exist side-by-side, and as you go about the city on your business, you cross between the two repeatedly. In First World Brazil, you meet in offices where you’re served coffee in china cups and saucers, and dine in elegant restaurants atop skyscrapers, or ensconced in opulent multi-level shopping malls, watch over by private security staff. In the Third World Brazil you step quickly around piles of trash, watch your pockets and stay off the streets after dark.
Extra Detail: In my office here in Salt Lake City, out of 45 coworkers, I know of only one who’s been mugged*. In my company’s Sao Paolo office, which has about 35 staff, a colleague with whom I spoke could not think of a single coworker who had not been mugged. I could do an entire post full of nothing Brazilian robbery-tales heard over the week, with everything from roadblocks to teams of gun-toting motorcycle bandits who prey upon motorists stuck in traffic.
*It was Matt, who was mugged while on an LDS mission in, yes that’s right, Brazil.
Speaking of motorcycles, a few posts back I mentioned the wide variance in levels of risk tolerance accepted by me and my physician. I experienced a similar disconnect in risk-acceptance in Sao Paulo, but this time with me on the caution end of the spectrum.

Wherever you go in SP or Rio, motorcyclists are weaving in and out of traffic. My favorite moment- which I failed to get on film- was when a motorcyclist as lane-splitting alongside our taxi at ~70 KPH, maybe 12 – 15” from my door, and as he did so was dialing a cell phone with his left hand!

Speaking of taxis, they’re remarkably clean, efficient and courteous in Brazil, as well as very reasonably-priced. They put American taxis to shame. Another area where Brazil puts us to shame is air travel. I took 3 domestic flights in the country. All of them- and the accompanying airport-check-in/security experiences- were delightful- well-organized, on-time and courteous.
Tangent: I should mention that I very much liked the Brazilians I met, worked and interacted with during the week, and that specifically, they were a pleasure to sell to. By “pleasure to sell to…” BTW I don’t mean that they were particularly easy to sell to, but simply that I enjoyed doing business with them. When you’ve sold in a dozen or so countries to at least as many nationalities, certain countries/peoples stand out as more or less pleasurable to do business with. One of my favorite peoples to do business with for example is the Dutch. They’re courteous, straightforward, open-minded and pragmatic. One of my least favorite peoples to do business with is the English*- despite the common language and history I find their indirection and evasiveness exasperating. The same qualities that make both their humor and their literature so wonderful- full of subtlety and irony- make them a royal pain in the ass to hammer out a deal with.
*Before you get on my case for being all anti-Brititic** or what-not, my paternal grandparents were British subjects who met and wed in the UK before emigrating to the US. My father was a dual US/UK citizen until his 40’s. My ancestors include Howe’s second-in-command at Saratoga and a passel of other Englishmen who spent their lives working, fighting and/or dying across the British Empire. My maternal grandfather fought for the British army in WWI. I’ve been to England several times and have generally liked the Brits I’ve known. I just don’t like selling to them.
**I am making up one new word per post.

Nested Tangent: Like many Americans, I’m tempted to award 1^st place to the Canadians, but am ruling them ineligible due to my own bias. As an American I inevitably perceive Canadians as being more or less like Americans, except way, way nicer*.
*Note to Canadian Readers: I’m sorry. I know that annoys the crap out of you when we describe you as “nice Americans”, but it's the truth. That’s really how you seem to us.
And it seemed that the Brazilians enjoyed doing business with me. Wherever I went I was warmly received, and people seemed almost oddly charmed with me. On my fourth day in Brazil I found out why. Ever since growing my beard, I’ve taken it for granted that my doppelganger is Mahmoud Ahmedinejad. But in Brazil it appears I have an even closer double: Rafinha Bastos (pic right), one of the country’s most popular stand-up comics, and co-host of the TV show Custa o Que Custar (“Whatever it Takes”), a weekly comic/ironic news roundup of current events.

Co-workers Matt and Sid claim I even sound a bit like him.
After 4 days in SP we flew up to Rio for the day, and then on to Brasilia, the capital, for a day and a night. Brasilia lies several hundred kilometers North and inland from Rio and SP and is situated in what’s called the cerrado- a type of neotropical savanna, most of which is now farm or rangeland*. Brasilia is a planned city which didn’t exist until the late 1950s. The architecture of the city is striking- a 1950’s vision of what the future would (or ought to) look like. Brasilia feels sort of like someone plopped down the set from a Jetsons episode in the middle of a savannah.
Side Note: Historically, the cerrado has been a pretty crappy place for agriculture, with chronically acidic and nutrient-poor soils. But in recent years Brazil has made huge progress in making the cerrado agriculturally productive, both through new farming techniques and modification/adaptation of alien crops, such as African grasses and Asian soya, to the cerrado climate. A detailed briefing can be found in the August 28 issue of The Economist.
After the crowding, bustle and craziness of SP and Rio, Brasilia seemed wide-open, organized and clean, with wide roads, minimal traffic and clear skies. It was dry- not unlike Utah- and I felt oddly at home there. We spent the day driving between the offices of various government-owned banks, pitching our wares. After lunch we squeezed in a quick tour of the sights for the Americano, including drive-bys of the Palacio do Planalto (President’s office), National Congress, Supreme Court, and various museums and monuments. The tour ran a bit late, and my colleagues urged the taxi driver to hurry to our next appointment. As we did so, we were driving alongside a recently-burned field when I noticed unusual earthen mounds protruding from the ground, mounds that I’d seen countless times in photos, but never before in real life. I’d spent nearly a week in malls, offices, taxis and airplanes, and now, finally, I was seeing something really cool…
“Stop! Tell him to pull over!” I cried. We slowed to a stop and I bounded out of the cab, sprinting across the charred cerrado in my dress shoes, jacket and tie flying. Moments later one of my colleagues, Ricardo, joined me, and together we examined the remarkable termite mounds of the Brazilian cerrado.

All About Termites

What everybody knows about termites is that they’re little white bugs that eat wood, and they live in colonies, like ants. So they’re basically little white ants that eat houses, except that’s not really what they are at all.
All termites eat cellulose, but only a minority of species regularly attack houses. Termites (pic right of worker, not mine) have been around at least since the Cretaceous, and likely since the Jurassic- long before houses were available to eat. They digest cellulose with the help of micro-organisms in their gut, and what’s interesting is that these micro-organisms take on different forms. In about 40% of termite species, the gut-assistants are protozoans, single-celled eukaryotes, meaning that, like us, they have “standard” cell structure with a well-defined nucleus. But the in other 60%, the gut-assistants are prokaryotic (bacteria). These gut assistants can comprise up to 1/3 of the weight of a given termite, and are “transmitted” from individual to individual by trophallaxis, which in the case of termites generally occurs (ew, ick) anus-to-mouth. Termites are eusocial insects, meaning that they are divided into distinct breeding and sterile worker (and sometimes soldier) castes, like ants and (many) bees, and like those insects live and work together in large colonies.
But termites (pic left of soldier, not mine) are different from ants and bees in a number of ways, not least of which is their gender-demographics. In ants, bees and wasps, all workers are female. Males only exist as drones, who basically mate (or try to mate) and then promptly die. Termite workers are both male and female, generally (but not always) sterile. And termite colonies have not just a queen, but a king!
Termite reproductives, or alates- male and female- leave the nest upon maturity to seek out mates, just like the drones and virgin queens of ants, bees and wasps. But unlike those insects, after the termite couple hooks up, the male doesn’t drop dead. Instead the couple goes off together to attempt to found a colony. The king not only continues to live, but also to mate with the queen throughout their long* lives. It’s sort of the Ozzie and Harriet version of the ant/bee/wasp story.
*Up to 17 years in captivity.
On the cerrado termites initially nest underground, but as their colonies grow and expand, they grow not only down, but up. Termite mounds, though new to me, occur over large stretches of South America, Africa and Australia. Though they’ve been known to reach heights of 9 meters, 1 to 3m is more typical. Calling it a “mound” grossly understates the complexity and function of the structure. Termite mounds leverage updrafts to cool the interior of the mound. And even more remarkably, over the course of the day termite workers will selectively open and close specific tunnels to control airflow and regulate internal temperature. This is important not just to manage the temperature of the nurseries, but also- in many cases- of the fungal gardens. Many termite species raise fungi of the genus Termitomyces, which obtain nutrients from the excrement of the termites. The mounds of such fungal-farming species contains carefully temperature-controlled farm/latrine chambers where the fungus grows.
Extra Detail: In Northern Australia the species Amitermes meridionalis builds mounds that are tall, wide and very thin, almost like tombstones. These mounds are always oriented on a North-South axis, and it’s believed that the termites are able to sense the Earth’s magnetic field. The North-South alignment maximizes the exposure of the mounds to the sun at dawn and dusk, but minimizes it at mid-day.
Gazing across virtually any un-developed field around Brasilia you’ll spot dozens and dozens of these mounds, hinting at the millions and millions of termites within and below. In large areas of the tropics termites occupy a similar niche as do earthworms in temperate regions as primary tillers of the soil. And due to the amount of vegetable matter they consume, they’re regarded as pests, not only for crop damage but because they so quickly remove nutrients from the already nutrient-poor tropical soils.
Side Note: One other, much less scientific, but surprising, personal observation for me was just how hard the mounds are. Viewed from a distance they look sort of sandy and crumbly, almost like they ought to wash away in the rain, but to the touch they feel like rough concrete pillars- you’d need a hammer and chisel to take one apart*. According to Ricardo, some years ago the Brazilian government funded a study to determine and possibly replicate the chemical structure of the mounds, with an eye to using the substance as a base for roadbeds.
*Also according to Ricardo, one thing that does routinely take them apart is the Southern Tamandua, Tamandua teradactyla, one of four species of anteaters native to the Americas. Its claws are well-adapted to tearing into termite mounds.
Termites can create such structures (diagram right, not mine) because, like other eusocial insects, they cooperatively work together in large numbers. Eusociality is fascinating not just in its scale, but in its origins. How did it come about? Why would some insects not reproduce so that their mother and (a few of) their siblings might?
This same question actually bugged Darwin, who cited the evolution of eusociality as a special difficulty in his theory of natural selection. Several decades later, a neat explanation was proposed based on the reproductive genetics of ants, bees and wasps, which, together with sawflies, comprise the order Hymenoptera.
Hymenopterans use a haplodiploid system of gender-determination, which means that while females have 2 sets of chromosomes, males have just one. Imagine if instead of X and Y chromosomes, human females had 46 chromosomes (like they do now) but males had just 23. This arrangement leads to some interesting implications for how “family members” are related to one another. Since a male bee or ant has only 1 set of chromosomes, then every one of his sperm cells contains every one of his genes- because that’s all he’s got. A female bee or ant has 2 sets, and so each of her ova contains ½ of her genes.
So a queen bee goes on her (one and only) mating flight and mates with a drone. She receives a bunch of sperm, which she then stores internally for the rest of her life, using it to fertilize (potentially) many thousands of eggs. Her daughters- workers and new queens alike- will receive ½ of her genes and all of their father’s genes, which means that on average they will share- between sisters- ¾ of their genes*.
*But they’ll share only ¼ of their genes with their brothers. This is because haplodiploid males have no fathers; they’re the result of unfertilized eggs. The brothers share ½ their genes with each other, and- oddly- with their sisters, which makes sense when you think about it.
This means that hymenopteran females are more closely-related to their own sisters than they would be to their own offspring- if they could have them- which leads to the so-called haplodiploid hypothesis of eusociality: If you’re a hymenopteran female, the best way to propagate more copies of your own genes is to help your mom make more sisters. It’s a great little story, a triumph of the modern synthesis of Darwinian natural selection and Mendelian genetics*, first(?) proposed by W.D. Hamilton back in the 1960’s, and told countless times since, in textbooks, popular science books, YouTube videos and blogs**.
*Which is why Darwin couldn’t have figured it out, not being exposed to Mendel’s work.
**Including this one, 2 years ago, when I talked about bees.
But the haplodiploid hypothesis doesn’t always hold up quite so tidily in the real world. For starters, many hymenopteran queens, including honeybees, mate with multiple- sometimes dozens- of different males on their mating flight, making their daughters only ¾ or ¼ - related to one another. On the other hand, this might not be an issue if eusociality had evolved prior to polyandrous mating.* But thousands of species of hymenopterans are not eusocial, and, perhaps more troubling, eusociality has evolved in non-hymenopterans, and non-haplodiploid animals, such as… termites.
*And in fact this paper in 2008 claimed to show that all hymenopteran eusocial lines originated from monogamous-mating ancestors.
Termites are diplodiploid, like us; both males and females have 2 sets of chromosomes. And eusociality has arisen in beetles, shrimp and even mammals (naked mole rat, Heterocephalus glaber), all of which are diplodiploid.
In recent years, the consensus on the origins of eusociality has focused more on the broader issue of kin selection (also pioneered by Hamilton), defined as “the evolution of characteristics which favour the survival of close relatives of the affected individual”*. From the perspective of kin selection, the question is whether and when, from a genetic perspective, eusociality is a good deal.
*John Maynard Smith’s definition.
Extra Detail: I’m way understating the current and ongoing controversy around the origins of eusociality. Just 2 weeks ago, 3 Harvard biologists- including E.O. Wilson- published a paper in Nature arguing that natural selection explains eusociality just fine without resort to kin selection. The paper has generated strong criticism from, among others, Richard Dawkins and Jerry Coyne.
Consider an individual’s relatedness to the next generation*. A termite worker is 50%-related to its reproductive brothers and sisters, and only 25%-related to their offspring. For eusociality to be a good deal from the perspective of the worker, its reproductive siblings have to produce way more nieces/nephews than it (the worker) would be likely to produce offspring “going it alone”. (At least 2:1, though that’s an oversimplification, as we’ll see in a moment.)
*By “next”, I don’t just mean successive rounds of siblings, because at some point its queen/mom is going to die. You have to consider its “downlines”**, which since it has no offspring, are its nieces/nephews.
**Sorry. Living in Utah, it is inevitable that a titch of MLM-ese would make its way into the blog.
A hymenopteran worker is 75%-related to its reproductive sisters, and so 37.5%-related to their offspring. Given that it would be 50%-related to its own (hypothetical) offspring, the “good deal” niece vs. daughter ratio for a worker bee would be considerably less than 2:1, or more like 1.33 (50/37.5). So while haplodiploidy may not be a requirement for eusociality, would it make it either likelier to occur or easier to sustain? (The ratio is unrealistic because it ignores that in a non-eusocial context, her sisters- potentially all of them- would still be producing nieces/nephews as well, just not as many of them.)
I don’t know, and it is, as I’ve mentioned, a way controversial topic in evolutionary biology, but a possible hint may lie in the occurrence of eusociality. At present it’s thought to have evolved independently at least 17 or 18 times*. (New instances have been discovered just in the last couple of decades, and I imagine it’s likely more will be…)
*By “times”, I don’t mean species. There are probably a million(?) species of animals in the world with eyes, but eyes are believed to have evolved independently maybe several dozen times (~40-70). Similarly there are thousands of eusocial animal species, but the evidence is that eusociality itself has evolved only around ~17 or 18 times.
Of those 17 or 18, 11 were within Hymenoptera. Another 1 was with Thrips*, who although not closely-related to Hymenoptera, are also haplodiploid. Another instance was with aphids, who are cyclically parthenogenic, leading to inter-relatedness issue at least as weird and compelling as those in haplodiploidy. So 13 out of 17 (or 18) instances of eusociality appear to be linked with haplodiploidy or parthenogenesis. Kin selection may not depend on haplodiploidy, but it doesn’t seem to hurt.
*Order Thysanoptera. Teeny-weeny insects about 1mm long that root around in the soil and eat (mostly) stuff like fungal spores. 2 cool things about them. First, they’ve been around since the Permian; they’re one of the kinds of creatures that survived the cataclysmic Permian extinction, which made the K/T extinction event (dinosaurs) look like a rainy day at the park. Second, they have just one mandible, always on the left.
Of the remaining instances, 1 or 2 occurred in mammals (Naked Mole Rat, and possibly the Damaraland Mole Rat, Fukomys damarensis). 1 occurred in crustaceans (sponge-dwelling pistol shrimp, Synalpheus regalis), 1 occurred in beetles (Austroplatypus incompertus) and 1 in… cockroaches.

Roaches?!

Which leads us to the weirdest-thing-I didn’t know-about-termites: they’re cockroaches. Not just “closely-related to…” cockroaches, but cockroaches. Here’s a cockroach family tree. Cockroaches only form a monophyletic group if you include termites.
Most Americans, if they’re familiar with any cockroaches, know the German Cockroach*, Blattella germanica, and the American Cockroach**, Periplaneta americana. An American Cockroach is more closely-related to a termite than it is to a German Cockroach. And both the German and American Cockroaches are more closely-related to termites than either is to the desert cockroaches.

*Which infested all of my college dorms. Sometimes late at night, I wonder which destroyed more brain cells during my college years- maryjane or the chemical residue from those roach-killer fog-bombs I used to detonate in my room periodically.
**Which infested the house outside of San Diego where I was born. Despite the name, it’s native to the Old World. In does well in the tropics and has been spread by shipping, which explains why it does so well in a warm-climate port like San Diego.
Side Note: See the Mantids branch of the family tree? Yup, that’s right- a Praying Mantis is pretty much a big green carnivorous roach.
The cockroaches most closely-related to termites are the Wood Cockroaches (genus = Cryptocercus). Wood Cockroaches live and care for young socially (but not eusocially) and digest cellulose with the aid of internal gut protozoans, which are closely-related to those inside of termites, and which the roaches transmit anus-to-mouth to their young. This required transmission has been suggested as a possible factor in roach/termite social evolution; without extended parent-offspring care/association, such transmission might not occur. Termites are wood roaches that became monogamous and took the next step to sterile worker and soldier castes. It’s a very different path to eusociality than that followed by the hymenopterans, who appear to have evolved from social predatory wasps.
I’ve talked a lot about mounds and termites without mentioning the species of the mounds I checked out. It’s not easy to know; the termites only come outside/above ground at night, but more importantly, there are well over a dozen common mound-inhabiting species in the Brazilian cerrado. Researchers in the 90’s found that over a third of termite mounds in the cerrado contain more than one species of termite; some housed up to 14 different species! The relationships between these cohabitants are not entirely clear, but in at least some cases appear to be mutualistic. Different species of termites have different defensive mechanisms. Cortartermes sp., for example, a common mound-cohabiting species, has soldiers which specialize in chemical warfare. Perhaps multiple modes of defense compliment one another, benefiting the various cohabiting species.
Many mounds also contain 1 or more ant species. In some cases these are abandoned mounds, but in many others they’re mounds currently occupied by 1 or more species of termite as well. In some of these cases it appears that the ants may be playing a mutualistic defensive role in the mound, which is curious in that ants are generally the most reliable enemies of termites (the Tamandua notwithstanding.) In any case, there’s a lot happening inside those mounds.
From the taxi Marcio yelled at us to hurry; we were late for our appointment. Ricardo and I turned away from the termite mounds of the cerrado and jogged back toward the human mound of Brasilia.
Note about sources: An especially helpful paper was Evolution of Eusociality in Termites, Barbara Thorne. Additional information on eusocialty came from Eusociality: Origin and consequences, Edward O. Wilson and Bert Holldobler. Phylogenetic info on cockroaches/termites came from Death of an order: a comprehensive molecular phylogenetic study confirms that termites are eusocial cockroaches, Daegan Edward et al. Info on polyspecific mounds came from Ant and termite mound coinhabitants in the wetlands of Santo Antonio da Patrulha, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil, E. Diehl et al. Info on ancestral monogamy of eusocial hymenopterans came from Ancestral Monogamy Shows Kin Selection Is Key to the Evolution of Eusociality, William O.H. Hughes et al. Additional info on- and specific examples of-eusociality came from this online course module developed by Zachary Huang of Michigan State University. The termite caste graphics used in the family tree were pulled from a pest control company website- I forget which one.

The Valley Of Death, And 2 Kindred Spirits

Special Note: This post involves 2 highly poisonous wildflowers. They’re cool and interesting and all, but pretty dangerous. Don’t screw around with them.

This past weekend was actually a second Bachelor Weekend, with Awesome Wife and the Trifecta visiting family on the East Coast. (I joined them last night, here in the Boston area.) Saturday was the Tour de PC, and Sunday of course I was trashed. But after some kicking back, eating waffles* and downing some ibuprofen, by late afternoon I felt inspired enough to undertake a “recovery ride.”

*My Bachelor Diet consists of the following four food groups: Waffles, Pasta, Grilled Asparagus, and Peanut Butter Cap’n Crunch. It’s not really a “Pyramid”; I like to think of it as my “Food Tesseract.”

Tangent: I don’t really believe in “recovery rides.” My “recovery” the day following a big race is primarily lazing around, drinking a couple of beers and maybe calling a friend or two to either brag or commiserate about how I did. No, the real reason was that I’d been out of the backcountry for a full week, and was about to be away again for another week, and I wanted to see what was blooming.

I needed something easy and shady, so drove up Mill Creek, and pedaled up and round Dog Lake, then up the Great Western trail East for a ways. This is a great stretch of singletrack- smooth, rolling and shady- and while popular with bikers, it sees few hikers. After a few miles the trail reaches a little vale with a big meadow and a stream running through it and across the trail. I call this little vale the Valley Of Death.

Tangent: OK, I admit that “Valley Of Death” is way dramatic-over-the-top, like something out of one of the Lord of the Rings movies. But I wanted a zinger title, and “Couple of Toxic Wildflowers in a Meadow in a Gentle Draw” just didn’t quite have the same punch.

The Valley Of Death is one of the prettiest meadows around; from late May until early September, something wonderful is always blooming. When I last visited, 10 days earlier, it was dominated by Mountain Bluebells and Case’s Fitweed. Both are still present, though past peak. Instead the Valley Of Death is now dominated by 2 absolutely spectacular late bloomers, both of which are deadly poisonous.

Tangent: Big Water trail is now practically lined with Western Coneflowers, the bizarre ray-less composites I blogged about last week but neglected to get a photo of. Here’s a nice close-up.

IMPORTANT NOTE: I’ll cover the toxicology of each in just a moment. But the important thing is to be super-careful with both of these flowers. If you touch or handle any part of either, make sure to thoroughly wash your hands before eating, preparing food, or picking your teeth/nose. Don’t touch them at all if your hands have any open cuts, sores or scratches. Do not obtain water from the stream. And do not, under any circumstances, ingest any portion of either of these 2 plants.

Deadly Poisonous Flower #1

The first is, in my opinion*, the most elegant and fascinating flower in the entire Wasatch: Western Monkshood, Aconitum columbianum. Aconitum is a genus of some 250 species spanning the Northern hemisphere. It’s part of the Buttercup family, Ranunculaceae, and so is related to things like Columbine and Larkspur (which are also both flowers that do real interesting and unusual things with their sepals.) In Europe it’s known as Wolfsbane. It favors mountainous areas with moist, well-drained soils and plenty of open sun. Here in the Western US, A. columbianum is our only species.

*And I look at a LOT of wildflowers in the Wasatch, so my opinion should count for something.

The first amazing thing about this flower is its fascinating and unique anatomy. Each blossom bears a distinctive “hood”, giving the flower its name. The hood is actually one of 5 sepals, with 2 more on the sides, and the final 2 on the bottom.

The flower has only 2 true petals, which have evolved into special nectar-receptacles, called nectaries, and these are borne on long stalks and tucked up under the hood.

Pretty much the only thing that pollinates Monkshood are Bumblebees, which wriggle up in between and under the 2 side sepals, crawling over the stamens and stigma- smearing pollen everywhere and all over themselves- and then reach up with their super-long tongues, under the hood and into the nectaries. It’s a totally wild anatomy, whose evolution was apparently driven by Bumblebees, on whom it is dependent for reproduction.

Just as cool as Monkshood’s anatomy is its toxicology. The key ingredient is the compound aconitine (C34H47NO11*), which, although it was used for centuries in traditional European and Asian medicine, can be a deadly poison. Aconitine acts directly on nerves, and used properly it sometimes served as an analgesic and fever-reducer. Unfortunately aconitine has a really, really narrow range of effectiveness, meaning that it’s extremely difficult to modulate the dose such that it produces the desired effect without sickening or killing the patient. In stronger doses it affects the nerves responsible for regulating heart rate and respiration, leading to slowed heart rate and eventually full cardiac arrest. Ingested it is if anything more awful, producing abdominal burning and vomiting after only an hour, followed by eventual heart failure. Victims remain clear-headed and lucid right up until the point of death. Even skin contact with sap from leaves/stems can cause tingling and numbness in the hands/arms and lowered heart rate. In Nepal, Japan and elsewhere, hunters have made arrow poison from the plant.

*A big-ass molecule that does complex, freaky stuff, but which- like so many other organic compounds- is comprised of the same 4 ultra-common elements. Organic Chemistry rocks.

Monkshood, or Wolfsbane, has traditionally been considered a tool or even defense against, werewolves. Supposedly if the flowers casts a yellow shadow on someone’s chin, that someone is a werewolf*.

*I haven’t yet tested this, but I have noticed that OCRick has an excessive amount of body hair. I will attempt to work such a test- casually, of course- into our next Mill Creek ride.

Kindred Spirit #1

Tangent: When I arrived at the Valley Of Death, there was a bike lying by the stream. A little ways off I saw a mtn biker, a woman roughly my age, poking around and taking photos of flowers. Yes, that’s right- she was taking photos of flowers. In a year and a half of this project, this was the first mtn biker I’d seeing doing what I’m always doing. We chatted a bit about the flowers, the beauty of the meadow, and she identified the Corn Lily for me. We rolled off our separate ways, but I left the Valley Of Death feeling reassured, and not quite so unusual and weird. I’m not the only mtn-biking botany geek in Utah!

Deadly Poisonous Flower #2

The second flower is a tall stalk bearing zillions and zillions of little flowers. When you get up close, each flower has 6 petals (multiple of 3) and when you check out the leaves, the newest growth is at the base, not the tip, of the leaves, marking this plant as a monocot. And when you look more closely at the “petals”, you’ll see that 3 are actually sepals, identifying this plant as a lily. In fact it’s Corn Lily, Veratrum californicum, a beautiful plant when in bloom, but absolutely deadly.

Veratrum is a genus of about 40 species found around the Northern hemisphere. Its exact phylogeny is still unsettled, but it appears to be closely-related to Zigadenus, the Death Camases. Veratrum species are more common in Eastern North America, but V. californicum is found in well-watered meadows throughout the Rockies.

Corn Lily is a source of several gnarly alkaloids which can cause all sorts of nasty poisoning, and in fact some Indian tribes used the juices of its crushed roots as arrow poison. But even worse, a couple of these alkaloids can lead to serious birth defects in the offspring of livestock who munch on its foliage.

One such alkaloid is jervine (C27H39NO3*) which causes holoprosencephaly, a condition in which the brain of the developing fetus fails to form into 2 distinct hemispheres. Another alkaloid is cyclopamine (C27H41NO2**) which causes a special form of holoprosencephaly called cyclopia, which results in malformation of the face, nose, mouth, and you guessed it- eyes. It was so named because it was implicated in the birth of a series of 1-eyed lambs in Idaho in the late 1950’s.

*See? Here’s another super-powerful compound made out of the same 4 molecules.

**And another one!

These alkaloids “work” by disrupting a mechanism called the Hedgehog Signaling Pathway, which has nothing at all to do with hedgehogs, but rather is a communication mechanism used to direct the specialized growth of different cells, determining whether that cell becomes part of an eye or nose or tail or whatever.

Pretty freaky and awful, huh? Wait- it gets worse.

Another common name for Corn Lily is False Hellebore. Hellebores (genus = Helleborus) is a group of about 20 species of plants, at least some of which bear a passing resemblance to Corn Lily*. In addition, some hellebores have long been used in folk medicine as treatments for nausea and cramps. And nausea and cramps are of course common problems for… (have you put this together yet?)… pregnant women.

*The resemblance is only superficial. Hellebores are not monocots, but rather belong to the Buttercup family, and so are- ironically- fairly closely related to Monkshood. Aren’t these family trees like a big soap opera?

So here in this beautiful meadow, which- if you are a Salt Lake area mountain biker- you’ve probably passed through dozens of times, stands enough deadly toxin to kill you and probably everyone you know (or at least your Dunbar number) and/or do worse to their unborn children. So stop and admire the Valley of Death, but don’t play Euell Gibbons here.

Kindred Sprit #2

Tangent: As I typed this post the following morning on my flight to Atlanta, my seatmate glanced over a couple of times at the text and diagrams on my laptop and then asked, “What are you working on?” I explained, as I have many times, that I have this rather odd hobby that has nothing at all to do with my work, and expected the familiar, polite smile and nod that says, “OK- weird guy.” Only he didn’t. He was a botanist- an honest-to-goodness live botanist, on his way home to Durham after attending the American Botanical Society meeting up at Snowbird. For the next 2 hours we talked about research and lilies and pines and Mexican oaks and population genetics and polyploidy, and all of the things I love to go on about in this blog that you probably skip over on your way to the next tangent. We showed each other photos of flowers and grasses and pine needles and ground cover, and he shared with me pics and background of his primary subject of study- 2 species of evergreen ground-cover shrub of the genus Pixa… Pixa…something-or-other. (Oh crap I forget- hey Wade, if you read this can you remind me in a comment or email?) After nearly 2 decades of avoiding in-flight chatter with seatmates, I finally had a truly wonderful conversation with a fascinating seatmate.

Nested Tangent: A cool thing about talking to a real botanist is you learn how many Latin names are pronounced. For example Poaceae, the grass family, is not pronounced “poh-uh-SEE-uh”, (as I’d been pronouncing it) but rather “POY-see”, like Boise with a “P”.

The botanist’s story was also inspiring. At age 32, having put his wife through law school, he decided he no longer wanted to be a social worker, but rather wanted to pursue his passions for plants and the outdoors. Today, having obtained his Master’s and about a year away from his PhD, his eventual career path is uncertain, but he’s pursuing his dream. He woke up and changed paths. He’s living my secret fantasy. Way to go, Wade.

Euro-Post #3: Three Things About Me & Airplanes

Flights home from Europe are long and boring. Every time I have one coming up I think about how I’ll use the down-time to think over various things I haven’t gotten around to thinking through, but what I usually end up thinking about is… air travel. So rather than fight it, here at 34,000 feet over the Atlantic, roughly 500 miles East of St. John’s Newfoundland, I’ve decided that rather than fight it, I’ll blog about it.

First Thing

The first thing about me and air travel is I don’t like it. No I’m not afraid of flying or anything (though perhaps I should be- see the Third Thing, below.) I just dislike it. I dislike sitting still, I dislike the lack of control I have over my travel time, delays, and arrival, I dislike the food, I dislike people reclining their seats, I dislike being treated like I’m being admitted to a maximum security prison- I even dislike chatterbox seatmates.

Tangent: I used to politely go along when I had chatty seatmates. Part of it was I didn’t want to be rude, but another part of it is that I work in sales, and salespeople are always telling stories of great leads or contacts they made on planes. But one day about three years(?) ago I thought about it for a while and realized that no “lead” I’d ever obtained from a flight-seatmate had ever panned out, after more than a decade of flying and selling, and I thought- that’s it. I’m done. I’m not “chatting” anymore. Now when I get a chatter next to me, I either bury my face in a book, start working on my laptop and pop in headphones, or if those approaches don’t work, just turn toward them with my nicest, sweetest smile, and say, “You know, I’m not a big chatter.”

I had unlimited time, I’d drive everywhere. Seriously. If I could take as long as I needed to get to any meeting or vacation spot or whatever, I would always drive. I mean it. I love road trips. I’d drive to Ottawa for a meeting. I’d drive to Boston to see my parents or Chicago to see my sister, or Zihuatenejo for vacation.

When I’m flying over the ocean, I wonder what I’d do with unlimited time. I’m fascinated by the endless expanse of water below. When I look down I realize that this is what most of the world looks like- blue and flat. I’m not sure I’d ever become a big-time yachtsman/sailor, sailing back and forth to my company’s conference every year even if I had unlimited time. So I guess in my ideal, unlimited-time life I’d still fly for overseas trips. But I wouldn’t chat.

Second Thing

The second thing is that when I do fly, I like to look out the window. (Pic right = Newfoundland coastline) Hardly any other frequent fliers I know look out the window. But the way I see it, I love to spend all day or more climbing remote peaks for a view, and yet here I am, more than twice as high as I’ve ever climbed- I should at least look at the freaking window.

There are 2 times I most enjoy looking out the window. The first is when I’ve explored the route we’re flying over by car, bike and/or foot. For example when I fly to Phoenix or Las Vegas or San Francisco or San Diego, I know the geography well enough that I can follow the entire route in my head. (Denver’s trickier- the ranges are too closely packed together…) On the flight to Phoenix I get a wonderful view of Little Creek if I sit on the left side.

The other thing I enjoy about looking out the window is recognizing places I’ve previously seen only on maps. The ice-bound straits between Newfoundland and Labrador have been my favorite so far, but others include the English Channel, Lake Geneva, the Pyrenees, Corsica and Elba.

Third Thing

The third thing is that I survived a plane crash. (I referenced this event in a previous post, in the “Timeline of My Life” graphic.) It was in September 1997. My flight- a Frontier Airlines flight from Salt Lake to Denver had just taken off, when the pilot came on the intercom and said, “Carmen, could you please come to the cockpit?” A flight attendant unbuckled and entered the cockpit. The pilot came on a moment later, announced that we’d had a hydraulic failure and were returning to the airport. That was the only information we got. The plane was quiet as we turned around and descended, and I think we were all thinking our own thoughts, but nobody cried or (visibly) prayed or showed any signs of panic. We landed smoothly, then rolled off the end of the runway- the hydraulic failure disabled the plane’s brakes. We finally rolled to a stop on the grass, and quickly evacuated out the inflatable slide. (Those slides work great. Just like in the diagram in the seatback card.) There were fire trucks and ambulances all round; they’d been ready for the worst. We milled around on the tarmac for a few surreal minutes, shaking the pilot’s hand and slapping him on the back, and everyone realizing we had another 30 or 50 years of living ahead of us.

Tangent: Following the crash I went for a mtn bike ride, and on the way home experienced the 2^nd of the 3 bee-stings on the lower lip I mentioned in my beekeeping post. My lower jaw remained swollen for a couple of days, creating the misunderstanding that I’d been injured in the crash.

We’re over Newfoundland now. Mine is the only window open. (Everyone else is watching Movie #3.) The interior of Newfoundland looks like endless woods, hills and lakes. It looks magnificent. Almost home. I’m ready. I miss the Trifecta. I miss the Wasatch. I miss toilets with big bowls full of water.

Tangent: Seriously, what is with those Euro-toilets? They always have about a cup of water in the bowl which is nigh-impossible to bulls-eye with a falling turd, and therefore accounts for the brush beside every toilet.

Note to Europeans: Big, water-filled bowls = cleaner toilets

Quick Botany Item

So I feel I should include at least some botanical nugget in order to save this post from being completely off-theme. Here it is. I’ve written a bunch about pines. The closest pines to me at home are the Austrian Pines in our yard. But I’ve never collected a cone from them for my collection because my rule is that I only collect from native habitat- or at least somewhere in its native range. Yesterday I encountered these Austrian Pines, in Austria! (specifically outside the Kuntehistoriches Museum.) Got my cone.

Euro-Post #2: Two Things About Me, More Euro-Hydrology, And Changing Larches

Here are 2 interesting things about me. And don’t worry, only one of them involves bragging.

Tangent: I keep seeing this thing on people’s blogs that says they got sent some chain-email that says they have to write 7 (10? 12? I can’t remember) interesting things about themselves, and then they go on about how they were born with an extra appendix or once peed next to John Denver in the men’s room of the Kansas City Marriott. But that’s not what happened with me. These are just two seriously interesting things that I’ve known about for a while, but was just reminded of again in the last couple of days.

First Thing

So here’s the first thing: I heal really quickly. Seriously. After my last post about rolling my ankle, it swelled up way, way bigger than normal. And even though the swelling’s gone now you can see some of the residual bruising in this photo. The day after, Friday, I was hobbling around Prague like a cripple. The next day I felt pretty decent, and yesterday- are you ready?- I ran 3 miles, pain-free. For a mid-forties guy who’s drunk enough Czech beer in the last week to kill a small pony, I think that’s pretty impressive.

Second Thing

The second thing is this: Wherever I go- and I mean like wherever, like other countries where nobody looks like me- people ask me for directions. Really, this is true (and Awesome Wife confirms it.) First off, I travel all the time in the US for work, and people always stop and ask me for directions. But people also regularly stop and ask me for directions in other countries, including: France, England, Spain, Italy, Cyprus, Canada, Mexico, Cuba, Netherlands, Monaco and now the Czech Republic. Now admittedly, in a few of these countries I look somewhat like a native, namely in Spain and Cyprus (I was going to include Italy, but I dress way too shabbily to pass for an Italian.) But in no way do I look Slavic or Latino, and what’s more, even when it’s obvious I’m a foreigner, people keep pressing me for directions! Here’s a typical example from last night, in downtown Prague:

WOMAN: Excuse please, do you speak English?

ME: Yes, I do.

WOMAN: Can you tell me please where ees “Abel Coffee House”?

ME: I’m sorry, I don’t know it.

WOMAN: (Thrusting map in my face) I theenk eet ees here, close to Old Town Square.

ME: You know, I’m actually not from around here. But I’m sure you could pop your head in the restaurant up there and ask them if they know where it is…

WOMAN: But look at map, I think ees here, no?

Seriously, you’d think after I opened my mouth, they’d say to themselves: Oh OK, this guy’s a clueless foreigner like me, I’ll move on and ask one of the 2 or 3 million people who actually live in this place… But no, they carry on, somehow under the impression that if they press me just a bit harder I’ll suddenly break down and reveal a hidden wealth of native-inhabitant knowledge that I’ve been somehow holding back under a finely-practiced veneer of Clueless American Tourist.

I can only think of 2 plausible explanations, one only remotely plausible, and the other totally, completely and ridiculously implausible, but way, way cool.

OK, so the first possible explanation is that people sense in me a willingness to help. And in all fairness, I am a reasonably helpful guy. Today for example I actually did give directions to a group of lost Irish tourists in Prague’s Jewish Quarter, and in a restaurant this evening I helped translate for a Spanish couple. So maybe I give out some subconscious, “Ask me, I’m happy to help!” vibe without knowing it (which would be ironic because in most situations- shopping, traveling, in a meeting at work- I’m hoping nobody asks me anything.)

The other, way far out, possible explanation is this: I have a phenomenal sense of direction, and at some subconscious level, people can sense this about me.

OK, I know this sounds totally wacky-tobacky, but the first part is true. I have an amazing sense of direction. I almost never get lost. (OK so I guess both of these things involve me bragging.) I’m particularly good in the backcountry, but I’m even pretty darn good in strange cities. I probably just have good mental-spatial skills, but maybe there’s more.

Today Awesome Wife and I took a boat ride today on the Vltava, which was lots of fun. One the way we passed a bunch of ducks and swans (and these birds, which I couldn’t identify.) And it was pretty cold, which made me think about how these birds are going to migrate South pretty soon.

Bird migration is an amazing thing, both from a physiological and an evolutionary perspective, but the thing about long-distance migration that’s most amazing is navigation. Ornithologists have spent lifetimes trying to understand how migrating birds navigate, and it’s not 100% clear, but here’s an interesting thing that’s come out of that research: it appears that many birds are able to navigate using the Earth’s magnetic field. Evidence includes successful migration by birds that can’t see, as well as experiments attaching magnets to the backs of pigeons, who are then completely unable to navigate.

So what if, just what if, there is a “magnetic sense” in some birds? And if there’s a magnetic sense in some birds, could there, just maybe be a magnetic sense in some mammals? And if… OK you know where I’m going with this: Maybe I have a sense of the Earth’s magnetic field or some other sense of direction that other people can somehow subconsciously sense that I have…

OK, this last “theory” is way dumb. But seriously, people are like always asking me for directions.

Back to Euro-Rivers

So let’s get back to something a little more grounded in reality: Hydrology.

The Vltava winds its way North up to Melnik, CZ, where it joins the Elbe before crossing into Germany, traversing that country, passing through Dresden and Hamburg before dumping out in the North Sea. But here’s the thing; when the Vltava meets up with the Elbe, it’s actually bigger than the Elbe at that point, so it’s not really a tributary so much as it is the Elbe. In Europe rivers are extra fascinating because they so often cross or divide multiple countries and languages.

I’m typing this on a train from Prague to Vienna. Sometime in the next hour, as we approach the Czech city of Brno, we’ll cross the European continental divide. Where we are now, all water eventually drains into the Atlantic/North Sea/Baltic. From Brno on South, all water eventually drains into the Mediterranean. The specific basin we’re entering, the Danube, is particularly interesting. The Danube is the longest river in Europe, originating in the Alps near Basel, Switzerland, swinging up into Bavaria North of Munich, then passing through Vienna, Budapest then Croatia, Serbia, Romania, Bulgaria, Moldova and Ukraine before dumping out into the Black Sea, which in to drains into the Mediterranean through the Bosporus in Turkey. That is a ton of countries and languages. Just like back home, road trips always are way more interesting when you know the hydrology.

The train’s passed out of the rolling plains and is climbing between wooded hills covered with some type of PLT. I don’t know European trees well, but even from here I can recognize Spruce and Larch. I’ve never seen Larch in the Fall before; the needles are a beautiful gold, getting ready to drop.

So one other cool thing happened today. Awesome Wife and I love traveling in Europe, but we’ve learned to tolerate the micro-sized hotel rooms. It’s like a law of Euro-Physics that no matter how large the room appears on the website, it’ll be tiny when we get there. This afternoon we arrived in Vienna and completely shattered the law- this room is huge! And reasonable! Wow!