Goblin's Gold: the story of a luminous moss

Photo by Alpsdake licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Luminous moss, dragon’s gold, goblin’s gold… when a moss has this many common names, you know it must catch the eye. Indeed, Schistostega pennata might just be one of the most dazzling of mosses around, that is provided you know where and how to look for it.

Let’s begin with a brief introduction. Goblin’s gold is the only member of both its genus (Schistostega) and family (Schistostegaceae). Despite its unique taxonomic position, it is nonetheless a widespread species, growing naturally throughout many temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere.

When fully grown, the gametophyte stage of goblin’s gold sort-of resembles a tiny, green, semi-translucent feather. Small spore capsules are borne on the spindly stalk of the sporophyte and the resulting spores are said to be quite sticky. Instead of relying on wind to disperse its propagules, golbin’s gold utilizes animals. The spores are sticky enough that they get glom onto any insects or other small animals that brush up against them.

The mature gametophyte of Schistostega pennata. Photo by HermannSchachner licensed under Public Domain

None of this, however, gives a hint as to how it earned all of those colorful names. To find that out, one must be ready to brave dark, damp spaces like caves. You see, though it can grow in more open habitats, you are most likely to encounter goblin’s gold in dark crevices or under overhangs. It has been said that goblin’s gold does not compete well with other plants in most habitats, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a few tricks up its stems that give it an edge in other types of habitats.

For most plants, caves and other dark places are a no go. They simply can’t get enough light to survive. Such is not the case for goblin’s gold. Instead of trying to compete with more aggressive vegetation, goblin’s gold occupies deeply shaded habitats that few other plants can. It owes its shade-tolerant abilities to a stage of its development most of us rarely think about, let alone notice.

Photo by Jymm licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

When a moss spore germinates, it doesn’t immediately look like what we would recognize as a moss. Instead, it grows into thread-like, multicellular fillaments called a “protonema.” You can think of this as the juvenile stage of the gametophyte. The protonema spreads outward as it grows, gradually producing hormones and other growth regulators that will control the development of the mature gametophyte. Because goblin’s gold grows in such dark habitats, it can’t afford to grow its gametophyte anywhere. To grow long enough to reproduce, it has to find spots where there is enough light to complete its lifecycle.

This is where the protonema comes in. In much the same why that fungal hyphae fan out into the soil in search of food to decompose, goblin’s gold protonema fan out over the damp substrate, searching for spots where enough light filters through to fuel growth. Luckily, the protonema can make do with much less light that the mature gametophyte, which also happens to be how this tiny moss earned so many interesting nicknames.

When grown in deep shade, the protonema of goblin’s gold develops a layer of lens-shaped cells on its surface. The opposite side of each cell narrows to a cone. When light, no matter how weak, strikes these lens cells, the curvature focuses the light down into the cell so that it is concentrated into the tip at the bottom. Being able to sense the direction of the light, the chloroplasts within each cell can actually move around so that they are always in a position that maximizes their exposure. Through this process, each cell is able to concentrate what little light is available so that they can photosynthesize in light so low that nearly all other plants will starve.

[SOURCE]

The light concentrating mechanism of the goblin’s gold protonema happens to have a wonderful and stunning side effect. As light enters the lens, small amounts of it are refracted around the cell. When that refracted light mixes with the green light that isn’t absorbed by the chloroplasts, it bounces back into the environment, giving the whole protonemal mat a green florescent glow when viewed in just the right way.

By being able to make use of what little light finds its way into these dark habitats, goblin’s gold can grow largely free of competition. Also, the protonema itself is capable of asexual reproduction so colonies can grow to epic proportions in dark areas, only producing mature gametophytes in a few spots. Interestingly, there appears to be some plasticity to this light-concentrating habit as well. When observing goblin’s gold protonema that develop under high light conditions, researchers have found that they do not develop lens shaped cells and therefore are not capable of reflecting light in the same way.

Humans have known about this moss for centuries, even if they didn’t understand the mechanisms that cause it, and that is why this wonderfully unique species has earned so many common names.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Fraser Fir: A New Look at an Old Friend

Photo by James St. John licensed under CC BY 2.0

Growing up, Fraser fir (Abies fraseri) was a fairly common sight in our house. Each winter this species would usually win out over other options as the preferred tree for our living room during the holiday season. Indeed, its pleasing shape, lovely color, and soft needles have made it one of the most popular Christmas trees around the world. Amazingly, despite its popularity as a decoration, Fraser fir is so rare in the wild that it is considered an endangered species.

Fraser fir is native to only a handful of areas in the southern Appalachian Mountains. Together with red spruce (Picea rubens), this conifer makes up one of the rarest ecosystems on the continent - the southern Appalachian spruce-fir forest. Such forests only exist at elevations above 4,000 ft (1,200 m) from southwestern Virginia to western North Carolina and eastern Tennessee. The reason for this limited distribution is rooted in both modern day climate and North America’s glacial past.

USGS/Public Domain

Whereas anyone hiking through Appalachian spruce-fir forests could readily draw similarities to boreal forests found farther north, the Appalachian spruce-fir forests are nonetheless unique, hosting many species found nowhere else in the world. Indeed, these forests are holdovers from the Pleistocene when the southeast was much cooler than it is today. As glaciers retreated and the climate warmed, Appalachian spruce-fir forests “retreated” up the mountains, following their preferred climate zones until they hit the peaks of mountains and couldn’t go any further.

Indeed, Fraser fir is in large part limited in its distribution by temperature. This conifer does not perform well at high temperatures and is readily out-competed by other species under warmer conditions. Another factor that has maintained Appalachian spruce-fir forests at elevation is fog. The southern Appalachian Mountains host eastern North America’s only temperate rainforest and fog commonly blankets high elevation areas throughout the year. Research has shown that in addition to keeping these areas cool, fog also serves as an important source of water for Fraser fir and its neighbors. As fog condenses on its needles, these trees are able to absorb that water, keeping them hydrated even when rain is absent.

A view of an Appalachian spruce-fir forest from the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Due to its restricted habitat, Fraser fir has never been extremely common. However, things got even worse as Europeans colonized North America. Over the past two centuries, unsustainable logging and grazing practices have decimated southern Appalachian spruce-fir forests, fragmenting them into even smaller patches with no connectivity in between. In areas where thin, rocky soils were not completely washed away, Fraser fir seedlings did return, however, this was not always the case. In areas where soils were were lost, southern Appalachian spruce–fir forests were incapable of regenerating.

If the story ended there, Fraser fir and its habitat would still be in trouble but sadly, things only got worse with the introduction of the invasive balsam woolly adelgid (Adelges piceae) from Europe around 1900. Like the hemlock woolly adlegid, this invasive, sap-feeding insect has decimated Fraser fir populations throughout southern Appalachia. Having shared no evolutionary history with the adelgid, Fraser fir is essentially defenseless and estimates suggest that upwards of 90% of infect trees have been killed by the invasion. Although plenty of Fraser fir seedlings have sprung up in the wake of this destruction, experts fear that as soon as those trees grow large enough to start forming fissures in their bark, the balsam woolly adelgid will once again experience a massive population boom and repeat the process of destruction again.

Dead Fraser fir as seen from Clingman’s Dome. Photo by Brian Stansberry licensed under CC BY 3.0

The loss of Fraser fir from this imperiled ecosystem has had a ripple effect. Fraser fir is much sturdier than its red spruce neighbors and thus provides an important windbreak, protecting other trees from the powerful gusts that sweep over the mountain tops on a regular basis. With a decline in the Fraser fir canopy, red spruce and other trees are more susceptible to blowdowns. Also, the dense, evergreen canopy of these Appalachian spruce-fir forests produces a unique microclimate that fosters the growth of myriad mosses, liverworts, ferns, and herbs that in turn support species like the endangered endemic spruce-fir moss spider (Microhexura montivaga). As Fraser fir is lost from these areas, the species that it once supported decline as well, placing the whole ecosystem at risk of collapse.

The moss-dominated understory of an Appalachian spruce-fir forest supports species found nowhere else in the world. Photo by Miguel.v licensed under CC BY 3.0

Luckily, the plight of this tree and the habitat it supports has not gone unnoticed by conservationists. Numerous groups and agencies are working on conserving and restoring Fraser fir and southern Appalachian spruce-fir forests to at least a portion of their former glory. This is not an easy task by any means. Aside from lack of funding and human power, southern Appalachian spruce-fir forest conservation and restoration is hindered by the ever present threat of a changing climate. Fears that the life-giving fog that supports this ecosystem may be changing make it difficult to prioritize areas suitable for reforestation. Also, the continued threat from invasive species like the balsam woolly adelgid can hamper even the best restoration and conservation efforts. Still, this doesn’t mean we must give up hope. With continued collaboration and effort, we can still ensure that this unique ecosystem has a chance to persist.

Please visit the Central Appalachian Spruce Restoration Initiative (CASRI) website to learn more!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Desert Mosses That Live Under Rocks

Syntrichia caninervis growing in both soil surface and milky quartz. [SOURCE]

To be accused of living under a rock is generally not a good thing in today’s society. That is, unless you are a moss living in the Mojave Desert. By setting up residency under milky quartz, a few Mojave mosses are able to find much more favorable growing conditions than they would in the surrounding desert environment.

Microclimates are extremely important, especially in harsh environments like the Mojave. By providing conditions that are ever so slightly better than ambient conditions, microclimates can increase the amount of habitat available, which can lead to greater biodiversity overall. That is exactly what is going on beneath milky quartz in high elevation habitats of the Mojave Desert.

Tortula inermis (white arrow) and S. caninervis (black arrow) growing in a milky quartz. [SOURCE]

While dabbling in a bit of mineral appreciation, bryologists from the University and Jepson Herbaria at UC Berkeley discovered bright green moss growing under some chunks of quartz. Whereas moss growing on the surface of soil and rocks throughout the region were dark, dry, and dormant, the moss growing under quartz was green, lush, and growing. This observation launched a series of experiments to better understand how milky quartz may be providing more favorable microclimates for some desert mosses.

By measuring the conditions under chunks of milky quartz and comparing it to that of the surrounding landscape, researchers found that these minerals do indeed provide mosses with much more favorable conditions. Moreover, the benefits to living under milky quartz are numerous, offering many advantages to resident mosses.

For starters, milky quartz serves as a buffer against large swings in temperature. Deserts are known for being extremely hot but they can also be extremely cold. Sandy soils may heat up very quickly when the sun is out but, by the same logic, they also cool extremely quickly as soon as the sun sets. Rapid swings in temperature can be very harmful to plants so anything that can buffer such swings is generally a good thing. That is exactly what milky quartz does. As the sun rises in the sky, it takes milky quartz longer to heat up than the surrounding landscape, which means the environment directly underneath stays cooler for longer. Similarly, once warmed by the sun, milky quartz takes longer to cool down as the sun sets. As such, the environment directly underneath doesn’t cool down as quickly. By monitoring temperatures over the course of a year, it was found that temperature swings under the quartz were buffered by an average of 4°C (7°F) compared to that of the surrounding environment.

Tortula inermis was more likely to be found growing under quartz at high elevations. [SOURCE]

Though widespread in the Mojave, Syntrichia caninervis nonetheless grows better under quartz. Photo by John Game licensed under CC BY 2.0

Another benefit to living under quartz involves humidity. Not only are deserts hot, they can also be very dry. The Mojave is certainly no exception to this rule as it is considered the driest desert in North America. A lack of water can be troublesome for mosses. Because they lack roots and a vascular system, mosses rely on osmosis for obtaining the water they need to grow and reproduce. They also lose water and dehydrate quickly. For individuals growing exposed to the elements, this means drying up and going dormant. Mosses simply can’t grow when water isn’t around. By monitoring the relative humidity under milky quarts, researchers found that the undersides of milky quartz were twice as humid as the surrounding landscape.

Thanks to this increased humidity, mosses living under milky quartz are able to hold onto water for much longer than mosses growing on exposed soil. This has both short and long-term consequences for moss growing seasons in this harsh desert ecosystem. Increased humidity under milk quartz prolongs the moss growing season much longer than that of their exposed neighbors. In support of this, the researchers found that mosses growing under milky quartz also grew longer shoots. Longer shoots also means more water storing capabilities, which very well could lead to a positive feedback loop between humidity, growing season, and moss health.

(A) Box plot of hypolithic and soil surface S. caninervis shoot length. (B) An S. caninervis shoot fromunder quartz. (C) An S. caninervis shoot from the soil surface. [SOURCE]

Finally, milky quartz may actually protect resident mosses from the blistering rays of the sun. Growing at high elevation means much more exposure to the power of the sun. When fully exposed, desert mosses will often pump their tissues full of pigments like carotenoids, anthocyanins, and flavonoids, which act as sunscreens, protecting their sensitive tissues from UV damage. Even so, exposed mosses can suffer greatly from sun damage and, while dormant, have no means of repairing said damage.

By monitoring the light environment directly under milky quarts, researchers found that, depending on the size of the rock, light transmittance is reduced down to anywhere between 4% and 0.04% of full exposure. Moreover, the crystalline structure of milky quartz is such that it may actually filter out both UV-A and UV-B radiation, thus further reducing the harmful effects of the sun. In fact, mosses growing under milky quartz were found to produce far less sunscreen pigments than their exposed neighbors. If they don’t have to protect themselves from the blistering sun, it appears they don’t waste the energy on such pigments. While a reduction in light may sound bad for a photosynthetic organism, it would appear that the mosses in this study are well adapted to photosynthesizing at lower light levels.

In effect, milky quartz acts like parasols for desert mosses. Just as we like to sit under umbrellas at the beach, these desert mosses find much more favorable growing conditions under milky quartz. While none of the mosses in the study are restricted to growing under quartz, those that do experience multiple measurable benefits that increase their growing season in this largely unforgiving desert ecosystem.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1]

A Poop-Loving Moss Discovered Living on Poop-Eating Pitcher Plants

Poop mosses are strange to say the least. They hail from the family Splachnaceae and most live out their entire (short) lives growing on poop. Needless to say, they are fascinating plants. Recently, one species of poop moss known to science as Tayloria octoblepharum was discovered growing in Borneo for the first time. As if this range expansion wasn’t exciting enough, their growing location was very surprising. Populations of this poop-loving moss were found growing in the pitchers of two species of poop-eating pitcher plants in the genus Nepenthes!

The pitcher of Nepenthes lowii both look and function like a toilet bowl. Photo by JeremiahsCPs licensed under the GNU Free Documentation License

The wide pitcher mouth of Nepenthes macrophylla offer a nice seating area for visiting tree shrews.

The pitchers of both Nepenthes lowii and N. macrophylla get a majority of their nutrient needs not by trapping and digesting arthropods but instead from the feces of tree shrews. They have been coined toilet pitchers as they exhibit specialized adaptations that allow them to collect feces. Tree shrews sit on the mouth of the pitcher and lap up sugary secretions from the lid. As they eat, they poop down into the pitcher, providing the plant with ample food rich in nitrogen. Digestion is a relatively slow process so much of the poop that enters the pitcher sticks around for a bit.

During a 2013 bryophyte survey in Borneo, a small colony of poop moss was discovered growing in the pitcher of a N. lowii. This obviously fascinated botanists who quickly made the connection between the coprophagous habits of these two species. On a return trip, more poop moss was discovered growing in a N. macrophylla pitcher. This population was fertile, indicating that it was able to successfully complete its life cycle within the pitcher environment. It appears that these two toilet pitchers offer ample niche space for this tiny, poop-loving moss. If this doesn’t convince you of just how incredible and complex the botanical world is, I don’t know what will!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1]

The Peculiarly Tiny World of Buxbaumia Mosses

Photo by Tab Tannery licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Bug moss, bug-on-a-stick, humpbacked elves, elf-cap moss… Who knew there could be so many names for such tiny mosses. Despite their small stature, the mosses in the genus Buxbaumia have achieved something of a celebrity status to those aware of their existence. To find them, however, you need a keen eye, lots of patience, and a bit of luck.

Buxbaumia aphylla. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Buxbaumia comprises something like 12 different species of moss scattered around much of the Northern Hemisphere as well as some parts of Australia and New Zealand. They are ephemeral in nature, preferring to grow in disturbed habitats where competition is minimal. More than one source has reported that they are masters of the disappearing act. Small colonies can arise for a season or two and then disappear for years until another disturbance hits the reset button and recreates the conditions they like.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

I say you must have a keen eye and a lot of patience to find these mosses because, for much of their life, the exist on a nearly microscopic scale. Buxbaumia represents and incredible example of a reduction in body size for plants. Whereas the gametophytes of most mosses are relatively large, green, and leafy, Buxbaumia gametophytes barely exist at all. Instead, most of the “body” of these mosses consists of thread-like strands of cells called “protonema.” Though all mosses start out as protonema following spore germination, it appears that Buxbaumia prefer to remain in this juvenile stage until it comes time to reproduce.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Considering how small the protonemata are, there has been more than a little confusion as to how Buxbaumia manage to make a living. Early hypotheses suggested that these mosses were saprotrophs, living off of nutrients obtained from chemically digesting organic material in the soils. However, it is far more likely that these mosses rely heavily on partnerships with mycorrhizal fungi and cyanobacteria for their nutritional needs. It is thought that what little photosynthesis they perform is done via their protonema mats and developing sporophyte capsules.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Speaking of sporophytes, these are about the only way to find Buxbaumia in the wild. They are also the source of inspiration for all of those colorful common names. Compared to their gemetophyte stage, Buxbaumia sporophytes are giants. Fertilization occurs at some point in the fall and by late spring or early summer, the sporophytes are ready to release their spores. The size and shape of these capsules makes a lot more sense when you realize that they rely on raindrops for dispersal. When a drop impacts the flattened top of a Buxbaumia capsule, the spores are ejected into the environment and with any luck, will be carried off to another site suitable for growth.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

I encourage you to keep an eye out for these plants. It goes without saying that data on population size and distribution is often lacking for such cryptic plants. Above all else, imagine how rewarding it would be to finally cross paths with this tiny wonders of the botanical world. Happy botanizing!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

Glacier Mice

Photograph by Dr. Darrel Swift/Univeristy of Sheffield

At first glance the surface of a glacier hardly seems hospitable. Cold, barren, and windswept, glaciers appear to be the antithesis of life. However, this assumption is completely completely false. Glaciers are home to an interesting ecosystem of their own, albeit on a smaller scale than we normally give attention to.

From pockets of water on the surface to literal lakes of water sealed away inside, glaciers are home to a myriad microbial life. On some glaciers the life even gets a bit larger. Glaciers are littered with debris. As dust and gravel accumulate on the surface of the ice, they begin to warm ever so slightly more than the frozen water around them. Because of this, they are readily colonized by mosses such as those in the genus Racomitrium.

The biggest challenge to moss colonizers is the fact that glaciers are constantly moving, which anymore today means shrinking. As such, these bits of debris, along with the mosses growing on them, do not sit still as they would in say a forest setting. Instead they roll around. As the moss grows it spreads across the surface of the rock while the ice rotates it around. This causes the moss to grow on top of itself, inevitably forming a ball-like structure affectionately referred to as a "glacier mouse."

Because the moss stays ever so slightly warmer than its immediate surroundings, glacier mice soon find themselves teaming with life. Everything from worms to springtails and even a few water bears call glacier mice home. In a study recently published in Polar Biology, researcher Dr. Steve Coulson found "73 springtails, 200 tardigrades and 1,000 nematodes" thriving in just a single mouse!

The presence of such a diverse community living in these little moss balls brings up an important question - how do these animals find themselves in the glacier mice in the first place? After all, life just outside of the mouse is very brutal. As it turns out, the answer to this can be chalked up to how the mice form in the first place. As they blow and roll around the the surface of the glacier, they will often bump into one another and even collect in nooks and crannies together. It is believed that as this happens, the organisms living within migrate from mouse to mouse. The picture being painted here is that far from being a sterile environment, glaciers are proving to be yet another habitat where life prospers. Sadly, as climate change causes glaciers retreat at an ever increasing rate, glacier mice and all of the life they support will lose the very conditions they rely on for survival.

Photo Credit: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1]

Meet The Powder Gun Moss

I get very excited when I am able to identify a new moss. This is mainly due to the fact that moss ID is one of my weakest points. I was sitting down on a rock the other day taking a break from vegetation surveys when I looked to my right and saw something peculiar. The area was pretty sloped and there was some exposed soil in the vicinity. Covering some of that soil was what looked like green fuzz. Embedded in that fuzz were these strange green urns.

I busted out my hand lens and got a closer look. This was definitely a moss but one I had never seen before. The urns turned out to be capsules. Later, a bit of searching revealed this to be a species of moss in the genus Diphyscium. This genus is the largest within the family Diphysciaceae and here in North America, we have two representatives - D. foliosum and D. mucronifolium.

These peculiar mosses have earned themselves the common name 'powder gun moss.' The reason for this lies in those strange sessile capsules. Unlike other mosses that send their capsules up on long, hair-like seta in order to disperse their spores on the faintest of breezes, the Diphyscium capsules remain close to the ground. In lieu of wind, a powder gun moss uses rain. In much the same way puffball mushrooms harness the pounding of raindrops, so too do the capsules of the powder gun moss. Each raindrop that hits a capsule releases a cloud of spores that are ejected into an already humid environment full of germination potential.

Luckily for moss lovers like myself, the two species of Diphyscium here in North America tend to enjoy very different habitats. This makes a positive ID much more likely. D. foliosum prefers to grow on bare soils whereas D. mucronifolium prefers humid rock surfaces. Because of this distinction, I am quite certain the species I encountered is D. foliosum. And what a pleasant encounter it was. Like I said, it isn't often I accurately ID a moss so this genus now holds a special place in my mind.

Further Reading: [1] [2]