Tag Archives: beetle

Arthropods vs. Cane Toads

Cane toads are toxic because their bodies are loaded with cardiac glycosides, deadly toxins that can stop a predator’s heart. Because the toads are non-native in Australia, the native Australian carnivores aren’t adapted to dealing with them. For some, this is very bad news: freshwater crocodiles, monitor lizards, and pythons have all experienced population declines since the introduction of cane toads in 1985 (Smith and Phillips 2006).

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A cane toad. Photo by Sam Fraser-Smith, licensed under CC BY 4.0.

Not all is lost, however. It turns out that cardiac glycosides are only toxic to a very narrow group of animals: vertebrates. Predatory insects, arachnids, and other invertebrates have no trouble at all with the poison. Furthermore, a study published earlier this year (Cabrera-Guzmán et al. 2015) revealed that many are more than capable of tackling amphibian prey.

Cane toads start their lives as tadpoles, small and innocent, but plenty toxic enough to kill a hungry frog or fish. In Australia, some of their top predators are giant water bugs and water scorpions. Both are insects (not scorpions) that use tube-like mouthparts to inject acid and digestive enzymes into their prey, dissolving them from the inside out. When the tadpole’s innards are sufficiently liquefied, the insects slurp them up like an amphibian milkshake.

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A water scorpion lying in wait for prey. Photo by N. Sloth, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

A young dragonfly's mouthparts. Photo by Siga, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

A young dragonfly’s mouthparts. Photo by Siga, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

Dragonfly larvae are also aquatic and predatory, but instead of using acid, they have extendable mouthparts. These are built like the robotic arm on an automatic garbage truck, but less cumbersome and more of a surgical, spring-loaded instrument of death. Most dragonfly larvae eat other insects, like mosquito larvae, but the largest species can easily overpower a small fish or tadpole.

Diving beetles join in the fun. Their mouthparts are less exciting, more like a typical beetle’s with sharp, biting mandibles. What makes them special is speed: their bodies are constructed like those of sea turtles. Like sea turtles, diving beetles are hard-shelled, streamlined, and aquadynamic. Unlike sea turtles, diving beetles use this form to swim after tadpoles that aren’t quite fast enough to escape.

A diving beetle, waiting for tadpoles to swim by. Photo by N. Sloth, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

A diving beetle, waiting for tadpoles to swim by. Photo by N. Sloth, licensed under CC BY-NC 3.0.

A diving beetle larva with tadpole prey. Photo by Gilles San Martin, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

A diving beetle larva with tadpole prey. Photo by Gilles San Martin, licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Diving beetle larvae are just as fierce, and they too have been observed feeding on cane toad tadpoles. Unlike their parents, larvae are long-bodied, with curved, needle-like jaws which they use to inject digestive enzymes into their prey (like the water bugs).

Any cane toad tadpoles that survive this massacre can metamorphose into toadlets, but until they reach their adult size (4-6 inches) they are still at the mercy of their invertebrate predators.

Experiments and observations in the field (Cabrera-Guzmán et al. 2015) have revealed that crayfish are efficient predators of eggs, tadpoles, toadlets, and even adult toads. Australia is home to 151 species of crayfish, including several of the largest species on earth. The spiny crayfish (Euastacus) in particular, some of which can grow to more than a foot in length, prey not only on toadlets but also on full-sized, adult cane toads.

A Lamington blue spiny crayfish (Euastacus sulcatus). Photo by Tatters, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

A Lamington blue spiny crayfish (Euastacus sulcatus). Photo by Tatters, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

There are, believe it or not, spiders that specialize in running out over the surface of the water to snatch aquatic insects, tadpoles, and small fish. They are the fishing spiders (large ones are sometimes called dock spiders). Experiments have shown that when fishing spiders inhabit a pond, up to 1 in every 4 tadpoles ultimately becomes spider food (Cabrera-Guzmán et al. 2015).

A fishing spider, ready for a meal. Photo by Patrick Coin, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

A fishing spider, ready for a meal. Photo by Patrick Coin, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Finally, ants. In the cane toad’s native range of tropical Latin America, meat ants are a major predator. When a toad is attacked, it often stays still, relying on poison for protection. Ants take advantage of this strategy, swarming over the toad’s body and stinging it to death with poisons of their own. Meat ants (Iridomyrmex) and their relatives also live in Australia, and they have been seen dragging the dismembered remains of cane toads back to their nests.

Meat ants taking down a cicada nymph. Photo by jjron, licensed under GFDL 1.2.

Meat ants taking down a cicada nymph. Photo by jjron, licensed under GFDL 1.2.

I’m sorry to say giant centipedes did not make the list of cane toad predators in Australia, but I should mention that the Caribbean giant centipede (Scolopendra alternans) has been observed to prey on native cane toads (Carpenter and Gillingham 1984).

Whether bird-eating spiders, bat-snatching centipedes, or tadpole-chasing water bugs, invertebrates that prey on vertebrates are always fascinating. It’s more common than you might think! I’ll conclude by mentioning Epomis, an unusual genus of ground beetles. Both the beetle larvae and adults are specialist amphibian-eaters, and tackle frogs and toads many times their own size.

Epomis beetles attacking various European amphibians. Photos from Wizen and Gasith (2011), licensed under CC BY 3.0.

Epomis beetles attacking various European amphibians. Photos from Wizen and Gasith (2011), licensed under CC BY 3.0.

I won’t say any more, since Epomis expert Gil Wizen has already written a fantastic blog post about these beetles, complete with videos of predation in action! I encourage you to check it out here.

Cited:

Cabrera-Guzman E., M.R. Crossland, and R. Shine. 2015. Invasive cane toads as prey for native arthropod predators in tropical Australia. Herpetological Monographs 29(1): 28-39.

Carpenter C.C. and J.C. Gillingham. 1984. Giant centipede (Scolopendra alternans) attacks marine toad (Bufo marinus). Caribbean Journal of Science 20: 71-72.

Smith J.G. and B.L. Phillips. 2006. Toxic tucker: the potential impact of cane toads on Australian reptiles. Pacific Conservation Biology 12(1): 40-49.

Wizen G. and A. Gasith. 2011. Predation of amphibians by carabid beetles of the genus Epomis found in the central coastal plain of Israel. ZooKeys 100: 181-191.

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Silver and Green

by Joseph DeSisto

Sunlight in the western U.S. can be intense, and all the more so when it catches the shimmering green carapace of a jewel scarab:

A Beyer's jewel scarab from Arizona. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

A Beyer’s jewel scarab from Arizona. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The regal purple legs of this beetle identify it as Beyer’s jewel scarab (Chrysina beyeri). Beyer’s jewel scarabs spend most of their lives as white grubs in rotting logs, where they slowly eat their way through the wood. When they finally emerge as adult beetles, they eat oak leaves.

Although nearly a hundred jewel scarab species are found in Mexico and Central America, only four are known from the U.S.A., all in the southeastern portion of the country. Probably the most visually stunning is the so-called glorious jewel scarab (Chrysina gloriosa), with a lime-green exoskeleton sporting thick stripes of metallic silver.

The glorious jewel scarab, also from Arizona. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The glorious jewel scarab, also from Arizona. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

There is something truly awe-inspiring about a beetle in which you can see your own reflection. We know that, of course, the glorious jewel scarab is not beautiful for our own gratification, but what adaptive purpose could metallic stripes possibly fulfill?

There are likely two. First, the glorious jewel scarab feeds on the leaves of juniper trees, which are common in the beetle’s high elevation habitats in Arizona and Texas. Juniper trees have tiny leaves along narrow branches, and thin strips of sun can create a shimmering effect at the right time of day. The beetle’s shining armor may actually serve as camouflage, by mimicking the narrow rays of sunlight that flicker through the trees.

A glorious jewel scarab on its host, juniper. Photo by Robert Potts, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

A glorious jewel scarab on its host, juniper. Photo by Robert Potts, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

Another Arizona insect uses the same trick. The royal moth’s caterpillar (Sphingicampa) is large and green, with a red stripe on each side and metallic spines jutting out of its back. Yet on their host plants, these caterpillars are well camouflaged. How? Because the plants they live on (locust, acacia, and others) all have small leaves with tiny spaces between them. The spines on royal caterpillars mimic the spaces between the leaves, and the light that flows through them.

A Sphingicampa caterpillar, showing off its metallic spines. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

A Sphingicampa caterpillar, showing off its metallic spines. Photo by Joseph DeSisto.

The other reason for metallic strips is less obvious. It turns out that jewel and a few other scarab beetles can be so shiny because their exoskeletons reflect a unique kind of light, called circularly polarized light. To understand that, we need to understand a bit of physics.

What we call light is actually the product of tiny packets of energy called photons, travelling through space at the speed of … light. Photons travel in waves, undulating up and down or side to side. Normally, each photon has a wave pointed in its own direction, but sometimes, all the waves are oriented the same way. In other words, all the waves are on the same plane:

When light is polarized, all photons have wavelengths with the same orientation. Figure in public domain.

When light is polarized, all photons have wavelengths with the same orientation. The red wave shows the path of photons in an example. Figure in public domain.

If all the waves are on the same plane, the light is said to be polarized. Polarized light is fairly common in nature — although humans cannot identify polarized light, many insects such as bees use it to orient themselves with respect to the sun. This allows them to navigate between flowers, and to and from their hives.

Circularly polarized light, on the other hand, is extremely rare. In this situation, waves are still on the same plane as each other, but the plane rotates. If you could see the photons as they traveled directly towards you, it would look like a single photon is moving in a spiral, but in fact many photons are moving together, each at slightly an angle to its neighbor:

In circularly polarized light, the plane on which the waves are travelling rotates. Figure in public domain.

In circularly polarized light, the plane on which the waves are travelling rotates. Figure in public domain.

I won’t belabor this — physics is not my strong suit and I would rather omit details than risk getting things wrong. The point is, it takes a very special and rare kind of surface to reflect light in this way — the surface of a jewel scarab.

That’s pretty cool by itself, but it also happens that the same beetles are one of the few animals that can see circularly polarized light. There are lenses that allow us to see the same light, and if we look at a glorious jewel scarab through one of those lenses, it will appear not green and silver, but black (Sharma et al. 2009).

This can help otherwise well-camouflaged jewel scarabs find mates. Experiments with glorious jewel scarabs have shown that they are attracted to and will fly towards circular polarized light (Brady and Cummings 2010). Closely related, but less flashy beetles show no such preference. So while a predator looks at a beetle-filled juniper tree and sees nothing but leaves and shimmering sunlight, beetles can easily spot each other as big, black, radiant spots in a green world.

The Beyer's jewel scarab. Photo by Robert Potts, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

The Beyer’s jewel scarab. Photo by Robert Potts, licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 3.0.

Cited:

Brady P. and M. Cummings. 2010. Differential response to circularly polarized light by the jewel scarab beetle Chrysina gloriosa. The American Naturalist 175(5): 614-620.

Vivek S., M. Crne, J.O. Park, and M. Srinivasarao. 2009. Structural origin of circularly polarized iridescence in jeweled beetles. Science 325: 449-451.