Category Archives: Biodiversity

Lend us a Darwin?

It’s been a momentous month for science, following the announcement that the CERN group have found the first hard evidence of the existence of the predicted Higgs boson.  Finally we seem to be getting to the crux of what matter actually is, funded by sums of money that those of us involved in biodiversity, ecology and conservation research cannot conceive.  The journalists have clearly enjoyed their role of demonstrating that they understand the highly technical concepts explicit within the Higgs quest.  But why is it that some science writers seem to be able to “get” the most complex of theoretical physics yet struggle to understand what the environment is and why it is important to understand how it functions, its current state, and its preservation?

In sharp contrast to the CERN coverage was a rather silly analysis by BBC correspondent Michael Easton.  His piece concluded that the idea of the UK as a predominantly urban country is a “myth” because the UK National Ecosystem Assessment has found that “6.8% of the UK’s land area is now classified as urban” and further that “78.6% of urban areas is designated as natural rather than built”.  Therefore, in Easton’s opinion, the proportion of the UK that is built upon is 2.27%, ergo, the rest is natural and everything’s ok.  I’ve searched for both of those quotes in the document that he cites but can’t find them.  But leaving aside sloppy scholarship that would shame a first year undergraduate, to focus purely on the directly urbanised fraction of this country ignores the fact that over 40% of the country is designated as “enclosed farmland” with much of the remainder devoted to agriculture of one form or another.    That agriculture supports the urban population, of course, and so the urban “footprint” extends far beyond the physical infrastructure of our towns and cities.

Easton’s analysis assumes that because it’s green, it’s natural.  Which ignores the fact that the majority of our “green and pleasant land” supports only a limited biodiversity.  The notion of what is “natural” is a complex one and can’t simply be equated to attractive landscapes with lots of trees and green fields.  That’s no more “natural” than an aesthetically pleasing painting; both are human constructs and both reflect human interpretations of the world.

The problem with these kinds of ad hoc analyses by journalists is that people who read them assume it’s based on solid evidence and that the writer knows what they are talking about.  In this case, the statistics have been spun to suggest that that we should not worry so much about the UK’s environment because only about 2% is urbanised.  Urbanisation is not the biggest threat to biodiversity by any means and in fact urban environments can support greater levels of biodiversity than “countryside”.

It was therefore nice to see the publication of a perfectly timed study by David Tilman and colleagues showing that biodiversity loss has a greater impact on how ecosystems function, in terms of productivity, than other factors such as nitrogen deposition, drought, increased carbon dioxide, fire, etc.  This is mega-ecological research at CERN-like scales involving thousands of measurements in 11 long-term studies, some lasting over a decade.   It’s the kind of science we require if we are to understand how the loss of biological diversity might affect the environment on which we depend.

One evening last week I took up an invitation to speak to a group of students from Emory University in the States, currently staying in Oxford for a summer school.  They were an attentive lot, and the politest and best dressed group of students I’d ever encountered, though in fairness my talk followed a formal dinner at Regents Park College, their British base.  I began by asking if anyone had a £10 note.  A few held one up and were able to identify the profile of Charles Darwin and the fact that there were images of a hummingbird and flowers, plus HMS Beagle, printed on one side.  “That’s how important Charles Darwin (and pollinators) are to us” I stated “We put them on our money!” 

That’s perhaps stretching the point a little as Darwin’s interest in hummingbirds was limited – on its release the £10 note was originally criticised by Steve Jones as “there are no hummingbirds on the Galapagos Islands”.  True, but it was the whole voyage which inspired Darwin’s ideas, not just his brief visit to that archipelago, and hummingbirds are to be found across mainland South America.  Darwin certainly mentions seeing them in a couple of his Beagle notebooks, which are searchable online.  The great man also had a strong interest in flowers and pollinators, so the images are more fitting than Steve Jones believes.  In any case, a “Darwin” quickly became British slang for a tenner and “Lend us a Darwin?” is a useful shorthand when borrowing money from friends.  As a brilliant writer and explainer of complex ideas, Darwin was a science populariser long before the distinction was made.  Many of his books were best sellers in their day and all were founded on solid data and examples gleaned from his contacts around the world.  Current science writers could learn a lot from him.

Scientists Must Write (and Speak and Listen and Review and Edit)

“Scientists Must Write” was the title of a book published back in the late 1970s by a former tutor of mine, Robert Barrass, at what was then Sunderland Polytechnic (now the University of Sunderland).  I had assumed the book was now a long gone publishing memory and no longer available.  But it turns out that Robert updated it in the early 2000s and it’s still in print.  Almost 30 years (30!) later I can clearly remember Robert impressing upon us the importance of good writing skills for scientists-in-training.  At the time I was as far from being a professional scientist as it’s possible to be and so didn’t fully grasp this, but nonetheless what he said chimed with my own notions that writing was important, even for a scientist.

Nowadays I realise that it’s not just the writing of standard, academic papers, book chapters and books which  is essential: writing of all kinds is a necessary facet of the life of a research active scientist.   This June sees the publication of two contrasting articles that illustrate this point.  The Royal Horticultural Society’s journal The Plantsman has published a piece entitled “The Importance of Native Pollinators“, whilst the historical journal Notes and Records of the Royal Society has published my paper on “John Tweedie and Charles Darwin in Buenos Aires“.  Neither of these is standard academic fare, at least for me.  The first is a popular article aimed largely at gardeners and others interested in understanding more about pollinator conservation.  The second, whilst academic and rigourously peer reviewed, is primarily historical rather than scientific.

Why am I writing popular conservation articles and historical papers?  Largely for different reasons, though they are linked by my overall fascination with biodiversity.  The Plantsman article is an example of taking ideas and findings from the LBRG‘s research and presenting it to a wider audience who might, at the least, find it interesting and hopefully useful.  One might describe it as “popular science” though I don’t really like the term: it suggests that it’s somehow different to “real” science, which is not the case: it’s really only the format of the presentation which is different.

The John Tweedie/Charles Darwin paper reflects my desire to understand where our scientific knowledge of biodiversity comes from.  As scientists and conservationists, we draw conclusions about species’ distributions, conservation threats, extinctions, and so forth, based on information from specimens that have been collected by people like Tweedie and Darwin, and curated at places such as Kew and the Natural History Museum.  By its nature it’s a historical process and historical research helps us to understand how we arrived at our current understanding.  The only reason we know that 23 species of bee have gone extinct in England since about 1800 for example, as I cite in my Plantsman article, is that over the past two centuries specimens and observations have been recorded and analysed.  This is an ongoing process, exemplified by the BWARS project mapping the spread of Bombus hypnorum   the most recent addition to the UK’s native bee list.

As well as writing we scientists gain much from listening to what others in our field have to say and a well attended, and very interesting, meeting in London last week launched the British Ecological Society’s Macroecology Special Interest Group .  The range of talks spanned community structure, interaction networks, ecosystem services, latitudinal gradients and disease biology, all at the large spatial and temporal macroecological scales covered by this subdiscipline of ecology.  Or is it really a multidisciplinary field, a merging of old fashioned biogeography with more modern ecological approaches?  Who knows, perhaps this is sterile semantics; as I mentioned to one of the organisers in the pub afterwards, “macroecology” seems to me to be more about a philosophy of approach rather than a field in itself.

Formal teaching has largely finished for the time being, so in addition to research activities and university administrative work, much of the remainder of the last couple of weeks seems to have been taken up with editorial and peer reviewing duties for journals, including PLoS ONE, for which I’m an academic editor. This can be time consuming and thankless, but is absolutely vital if the whole system of scientific publishing is not to grind to a halt.  Scientists must write, but that writing is supported by a body of individuals who act as peer reviewers, editors, proof readers, and so forth.  Collectively that eats up a lot of scientist-hours and is something we should never take for granted.

The Roof Tiles of Chirche (Darwin’s Unrequited Isle part 3)

Architectural analogies in evolution are not new.  The most famous (and, in its time, controversial) is perhaps Gould and Lewontin’s “Spandrels of San Marcos and the Panglossian Paradigm” in which these prominent evolutionary biologists suggested that some features of the biology of species were secondary “emergent” structures which formed from the conjunction of other, evolved characteristics.  That is to say these features are not evolved in their own right, they are simply by-products of the evolution of other factors.  In this respect they are like “spandrels” – the ornamented space between two structurally significant elements, for example the arches and the domed roof they uphold in the Basilica di San Marco in Rome.  Gould and Lewontin were following a metaphorical path that had been traversed by many major figures in evolutionary biology.  Most notably, Darwin used the notion of the architect, contrasting natural with artificial selection, in a number of his books, including “The variation of animals and plants under domestication”.

Another architectural analogy occurred to me over the past couple of weeks, time Karin and I have spent back in Tenerife pursuing field work funded by a small grant from the British Ecological Society.  We are staying in a cottage in the pretty village of Chirche in the west of the island.  The older properties, our rented castita included, are roofed with traditional, hand made rough clay tiles that are slim, curved and tapering towards one end.  Tiles are carefully laid curve up and curve downwards in alternating rows so as to both shield the building from the weather and to shed the rain from the roof in the channels formed by the up-curved rows.  These same tiles are used along the ridges of the roof, in contrast to roofing back in the UK where differently shaped tiles would serve for roof and ridge.  Not only that but the same basic curved and tapering form serves as a structural element for the tops of walls, as half pipes to direct the flow of water, and as building blocks for chimney stacks, etc.

It’s a wonderful example of economy of manufacture and purpose, using the same basic element to serve multiple functions.  What has this to do with biodiversity you ask?  It’s a fitting observation for this trip, in as much as we are studying flowers and their visitors.  Flowers are another great example of the economy of evolution: all of their basic elements (male stamens, female stigma style and ovary, petals and sepals) have evolved from the same basic botanical element – leaves.  If that seems unlikely take a look (a really close look) at some of the fancy, highly bred flowers for sale at your local garden centre or plant nursery.  Some will have leaf-like structures deep within the flower where genetic mutations have resulted in the expression of organs rather more like their ancestral form than like stamens or petals.

The purpose of returning to Tenerife is to collect more data as part of an on-going project I’ve been running within our undergraduate field course.  The Canary Wallflower (Erysimum scoparium) has flowers that change colour; they are pure white when they first open and from the second day onwards they darken to violet then ultimately purple, staying on the plant for up to 10 days.  At the same time the flowers stop producing nectar.  The pollinators learn to associate white flowers with more reward and focus their attention on the newly opened blossoms.  This is clearly an evolved strategy as it benefits the plant to have its most recent flowers preferentially visited, rather than the older flowers that have already received pollen.

In an earlier paper we demonstrated, by removing purple flowers from experimental plants, that these older flowers act as a long-to-medium range advertisement to pollinators (the plants look purple from a distance).  It’s a very intriguing system.  We now have about 10 years of data showing that the main pollinator is an endemic solitary bee (Anthophora alluadi).  But there seems to be some variation between years, with a wider range of different bee species present in years following very dry winters (such as this one) when there are fewer other plants in flower.  So the idea that we are testing is that the relative specialisation of the plant (i.e. how many pollinator species it has) is context dependent: in some years/sites it is a specialist, in others a generalist.

Biodiversity is not fixed in time or space.  It varies at all scales and, for this plant and its pollinators, the biodiversity of interactions between them is stable only over modest time periods.  Over the millions of years these plants and bees have existed in the Canarian archipelago, their exact roles within the system have probably varied enormously, like actors improvising their parts dependent on the whims of external forces, in this case weather conditions.  The roof tiles of Chirche saw little rainfall during the last winter; bad for the local farmers and the other people who depend on this rain.  But good for ecologists wishing to study how variation in climate can affect biodiversity.

There’s a reason why toilet seats are curved

The recent announcement of a study showing a correlative link between the loss of biodiversity and the decline of human cultural diversity (specifically of local languages) reminds us once again that studying biodiversity is more than just about discovering how many species there are in different geographical locations and how they can be conserved.  The remit of biodiversity covers all levels of biological organisation, from genes to species to ecosystems, including the human species and those ecosystems we have created for ourselves.  Not only that, biodiversity is also about why species occur where they do and how they have adapted to their local conditions, including interactions with the other organisms that shape their ecology and evolution.

Plants and pollinators are a good case in point: if there is not a suitable size or morphological fit between flower and animal, the animal will not be able to obtain its reward and the flower will not receive pollen. Both immediate ecological context (which species are present in a community?) and longer term evolution (how have these species adapted to one another?) are important in this regard.  These thoughts were very much on my mind as I sat uncomfortably on a rectangular toilet seat in a very swish hotel in Switzerland last week.  There’s a reason why toilet seats are usually curved: it fits the usual shape of our arses.  Rectangular toilet seats are not well adapted to their role and do not work effectively: they are uncomfortable and a victory of Swiss style over human functionality.  The same applies to the convex saucers on which breakfast coffee was served.  They were the anthithesis of biological adaptation where the stylish patterns of a butterfly’s wings, say, have evolved for a purpose (display and/or camouflage) rather than to look pretty.

Karin and I were in Switzerland at the invitation of Nadir Alvarez from the University of Lausanne.  Nadir and his  group are using the latest molecular techniques to carry out fascinating research on species interactions and patterns of phylogeography, including work on one of my favourite groups of plants, the genus Arum.  At Nadir’s request I gave rather a broad talk on the theme of the ecology and conservation of plant-pollinator interactions in highly managed landscapes, focusing on the work that members of the LBRG have done in Northamptonshire and adjacent counties.  The questions afterwards suggested that it generated quite a lot of interest in the audience of about 50 faculty members, postdocs and research and MSc students.  Before and after the lunch hour talk I spent time chatting with postgrads and staff about their research projects, moving from office to office in a carefully Swiss-timed fashion, always conscious that outside each window were fantastic views across Lake Geneva to the snow crowned Alps beyond: “You forget it’s there after a few weeks” claimed one postgrad.

Lausanne is a lovely city which is enhanced by the human-contrived biodiversity of planted roofs, green walls, and public green spaces.  And by the species which naturally colonise suitable habitats, such as the moisture loving mosses and algae which have found a home in the stone and steel fountains designed by Georges Descombes  in La Place de la Louve.

Back in Northampton late Friday night, then up early Saturday morning to prepare a talk for the local branch of Friends of the Earth’s Bee Cause campaign launch.  It was the usual general over view of what pollination is, why it’s important, why pollinators are declining etc., etc.  I pointed out at the start that the public audience (once again of about 50) were getting a free taster of what, from September 2012, our students will be paying £8,500 per year to listen to.  They seemed to enjoy it and had some interesting questions afterwards, though one guy claimed my talk was too long and “a bit like being in church”.  This was the same individual who asked me whether “wasps and nettles can sting each other” which perhaps gives an insight into his world view.

Back at the coal face of university life this week, however, the dominant theme has been marking student work.  Lots of of it, as we work to get final grades into the system prior to exam boards in early June.  A pile of about 90 first year reports on woodland community structure, based on field work we carried out last autumn, has been hard work but in many ways enjoyable.  Some of these students have done very well and really engaged with the aims of the assignment.  Quite a number independently found a recent study on the importance of rot holes in trees for maintaining epiphytic lichen diversity.  Has anyone looked at this in British oaks?  It would make an interesting final year student project.  Which brings us back to the links between biodiversity and human culture, because lichens have been used for millenia as sources of pigments for painting, for example in illuminated Saxon manuscripts such as the Lindisfarne Gospels.

Darwin’s Unrequited Isle (part 2)

During our field trip to Tenerife the two vehicles covered over 900km each, which is not bad on an island only about 80 km in length along its main axis.  We experienced temperatures that ranged in one day from a few degrees above freezing to the mid 20s centigrade.  Up in the laurel forest I mentioned last week the weather was cold and foggy, whilst in the Malpais de Güímar it was hot and dry and we sunburned.  We put in long, tiring days of walking transects, identifying, measuring and recording plants, and observing bee and bird behaviour.  And there were ticks that had to be picked off skin in one of the barrancos we visited.  The Romantic Adventurer within me would therefore like to believe that the aching limbs and upset stomach I suffered when we got back to the UK were due to some exotic virus passed on by these blood sucking arachnids.  However the Cynical Traveller thinks it was more likely to be due to a hamburger of dubious age and temperature that I ate at Tenerife Sur airport on the way home.

The Tenerife Field course was hard work but great fun and I think (I hope!) the students learned a lot.  At the very least they have now experienced just how diverse habitats can be on a small oceanic island.  In that diversity rests both the beauty of Tenerife and part of its scientific interest.  This variability in habitats is a result of its altitude (Tenerife is the second highest oceanic island in the world after Hawaii), subtropical latitude, climate, proximity to Africa, and geological history.  In a single day one can travel from high alpine habitats, through sub-alpine desert scrub and pine forest, into succulent dominated low altitude desert scrub, back up to laurel forest (a form of subtropical rainforest), as well as distinct deep valley and strandline vegetation.

Add to this the occasional hurricanes and forest fires that tear across parts of the island, not to mention volcanic eruptions, plus the human impact, and it makes for a rather dynamic environment at a range of time scales.  These processes probably add to the overall biodiversity, as predicted by the intermediate disturbance hypothesis, plus formation of new land area can select for novel proto-species.  It begs the question of whether volcanic oceanic islands are more diverse than their coralline counterparts, which we might expect to be less dynamic environments.  Has anyone investigated this?  That’s one of the things that keeps my interest in biodiversity going: there are too many questions for a single lifetime.

I’m hoping that “Darwin’s Unrequited Isle” will take off as a new name to refer to Tenerife, replacing the Island of Eternal Spring cliché it currently holds (and shares with Madeira).  Especially as many of the days we were there were spring-like only in the sense that they were wholly unpredictable.   On the roof of Tenerife, in Las Canadas, our car thermometer registered 3 degrees centigrade at 1100am.  And it snowed.  I’ve never experienced that at this time of the year.  We’ve had torrential rains storms but never snow.  In late April.  In the “Island of Eternal Spring”.   I’m not complaining though, it all adds to the fascination of this most interesting of islands and is why we come back year after year.  It’s also better conditions than my colleagues Duncan McCollin and Janet Jackson endured with those students who elected to do field work in Northamptonshire rather than Tenerife.  For most of the time we were away it poured with rain back home, turning the drought-imposed hosepipe bans into flood warnings in some places.

Needless to say, the day of the snow was the day we were due to make some observations of bee behaviour.  By and large bees don’t like snow and low temperatures ground most of them.  So that planned activity was delayed until later in the day when it finally warmed up sufficiently for them to start flying.

This theme of variability in the weather, on a day-to-day basis and compared to previous years, was a recurring one all week.  Tuesday was hot, as I recounted in my previous blog.  But Wednesday was a huge contrast as we headed up into the cold, wet laurel forests of the Anagas Mountains.  It’s always a little chilly on this part of the island due to the prevailing moisture-laden trade winds, but this year was colder and foggier than I can remember.  The students collected data on the distribution of plants up a vertical cliff face that we can compare to similar data from another site collected last year.  I’m intrigued by the way succulent plant groups such as Aeonium and Monanthes are able to survive on these water limited, nutrient poor environments, vertical versions of the desert scrub lower down the mountains.  These succulents add to local plant species richness within the forest and provide nectar and pollen resources when they flower, increasing the overall levels of biodiversity of an already diverse habitat.

As well as studying plant diversity we also did some work with the animals of Tenerife.  The bees I’ve already mentioned, but for the first time we also made some observations of how bird behaviour changes in tourist areas compared to more isolated spots.  Even within a very short distance, no more than a few hundred metres, it’s clear that bird diversity, abundance and range of observed behaviours were greater in the areas where tourists congregate to barbecue and relax.  We did some similar work with lizards for a few years and found that they were bolder close to tourist car stops than further away.  Humans can impact the life of this island in very subtle ways.

We also spent a morning with volunteers from the Atlantic Whale Foundation (AWF) on one of their trips out to record individual whale and dolphin activity off the south west coast.  The AWF piggy backs on one of the commercial whale watching boats and the students are encouraged to think about the synergies and tensions between the conservation-motivated scientific observation of the AWF and the commercial motivations of the tourist boats.  It gets to the heart of what “eco-tourism” is all about and the point at which it does more harm than good.  The only strong opinion that I have about it is that the value of eco-tourism is context dependent; some activities are better than others in some circumstances but not others.  Regardless, the trip is always popular with the students (except one year when a student spent the whole time aboard with her eyes closed, suffering chronic sea sickness) and this year was exceptional, with great views of bottle nosed dolphins and pilot whales, as well as long distance spottings of common dolphins and a 20m fin whale.

The final day of the trip, prior to getting to the airport, is traditionally spent at the Pyramids of Güímar ethnographic park where the students discover some of Thor Heyerdahl’s left field views about possible pre-Columbian links between Canarian, Mediterranean and New World peoples.  Whatever the truth behind the origin and function of these enigmatic structures, the visit is a pleasant way to end the field course.  Nestled within the protective bowl of the Güímar Valley, I often wonder if it’s a coincidence that the Güímar structures look out towards the three cinder cones adjacent to the Güímar Badlands.  Approaching from the south along the TF1 road, these hills take the form of a heavily pregnant woman lying on her back.  Was it of symbolic significance to the ancient Tenerifeans in the days prior to the Spanish conquest?  I like to think so though we probably will never know.

A small grant from the British Ecological Society means that I’ll be back in Tenerife at the end of May for ten days to do some follow up field work.  Hamburgers will be avoided.

Darwin’s Unrequited Isle (part 1)

A busy week of biodiversity-related activities terminated last Friday in a frantic rush to make sure everything was organised for this week’s field course in Tenerife.  The field course has been running for 10 years and has proven to be both popular with students and productive, generating data for a couple of research papers, with more in the pipeline.

Tenerife is an extraordinary island as Charles Darwin recognised; it’s the place that Darwin really wanted to go to when he embarked on H.M.S. Beagle, though he never made it due to the Beagle having to be quarantined before anyone was allowed onto the island.  The captain decided to sail away and Darwin was devastated.  Hopefully the rest of his trip made up for it, but it’s interesting to speculate whether Darwin’s ideas about evolution may have taken a different path had he been able to visit the Canary Islands, in many ways an Atlantic analogue of the Galapagos……but I’m getting ahead of myself…..this week I hope (time willing) to post some updates about out Tenerifean activities.  But back to last week.

The comments sections below the articles on the Times Higher Education Supplement are frequently mires of vile, obnoxious trolling that would embarrass even Shrek.  However an interesting article by Alice Bell has raised a debate about what exactly it is that scientists (and other academics) should be writing.  Widening science communication should also include giving talks about one’s work to a non-specialist audience.  Which is exactly what I did on Wednesday evening when I spoke to an audience of 65 beekeepers, gardeners and farmers in South Warwickshire.  They were very attentive and asked some insightful questions for about 40 minutes after I’d finished speaking, stopping only when someone mentioned that the tea and biscuits were ready.   All told it was a 90 mile round trip through heavy rain but worth it for such an engaging audience.

Earlier that morning I had been interviewed by BBC Radio Northampton  about a report that has just been released indicating that the “native” [sic] Black Honey Bee variety is more common in the British Isles than previously thought.  Lovely.   Good news for the beekeepers I told them.  Now let’s pay a bit more attention to our 250 REALLY native bees, many of which have declined numbers, and 23 of which have gone extinct since 1800.  Not to mention the butterflies (though there’s recently been some good news as far as they are concerned too) and the hoverflies and other pollinators.

Thursday was Think Tank day for the SEED project and I took part in the biodiversity session, which was ably chaired and coordinated by Gareth.  It went as well as we could have wished and hopefully some concrete partnerships are going to come out of it.  But ultimately it was a talking shop and biodiversity should be about doing and experiencing more than talking.  Which brings us back to Tenerife.

On Monday we took the students up to the Guimar Badlands (Malpais de Guimar) a 40 minute drive north east from where we are staying in San Eugenio.  I like to take students to Guimar on their first day in the field:  the pine and laurel forests that we visit later in the week are physiognomically similar to such forests in Britain.  But the succulent dominated xerophytic scrub of Guimar is utterly unlike anything that most of them have experienced previously.  The field work we do at this site is always related to plant community structure, trying to understand how the biodiversity of the primary producers is “organised”.  There’s lots of different ways to measure community “organisation” in an ecological sense, of course, and this year we are looking at how the plant community changes along a gradient from the strand line limit of the vegetation, inland and away from the salty influence of the sea.  It’s an exercise I’ve wanted to do for a while because it’s always been clear that the plants DO change; we’re just never put numbers on it.  So we ran out four 120 metre transects and identified all of the plants that they intercepted at 5m intervals.  Lots of student frustration as they used a combination of identification keys, hints from me and guesswork to put a name to these unfamiliar species.  But by the peak of the day’s heat in the mid afternoon we had a data set and several sunburned students  [no matter how often you mention the word “sun block” there will always be some who think they don’t need it].

Back at our apartment complex there was time for a rest/shower/power nap, depending on your preference, before we reconvened to enter the data into spreadsheets and start generating some graphs.  And these preliminary data look really good, showing how the salt tolerant halophytes are replaced by the various euphorbias and other species that dominate the rest of the Badlands within about 40m of the lower limit of the vegetation, with other species even less salt tolerant and only making a show after about 90m.  This is biodiversity doing interesting things………

Tuesday was a trip up through the pine forest zone to Las Canadas at the foot of Mt Teide.  A long day through some spectacular scenery, interspersed with collecting data on bird behaviour at a picnic site and checking some populations of an endemic plant the Canary Wallflower (Erysimum scoparium).  Interestingly the populations to the south of Las Canadas have more or less failed to flower this year, probably because of the very dry winter on Tenerife.  Many other species have also not flowered and there are some implications for the pollination biology of this plant which I’m hoping we can quantify later in the week.   Will report back when I get a chance………..over and out for now.

Hello world!

bi·o·di·ver·si·ty [bahy-oh-di-vur-si-tee]

noun

1.  The variety of life at all levels from species to communities and ecosystems, and ultimately the whole planet, incorporating both genetic and ecological variation. 

2.  What Jeff studies.   

This will (hopefully) become a regular series of blogs all about the variety of life around us and why it’s so important to the continued survival of planet Earth and Homo sapiens sapiens.  Some of it will be linked to my current and past research projects at the University of Northampton, some will be relevant to teaching, and much will be off the cuff comments about stuff that interests me.

Almost 25 years of university teaching and research has convinced me that that there’s far more to still find out about biodiversity than we have so far discovered.  That’s not likely to change very soon.