Another Viral Moth Video....

In service to my colleagues who have waning patience as they are bombarded with the latest social media sensation, I offer this explanation to the moth with the "tentacles" coming out of its posterior. Here is the circulating image, but there is also a video that is associated with most Facebook posts.

© "Gandik" via Facebook

Ok, first things first. This moth is Creatonotos gangis, an arctiine (tiger) moth from southeast Asia and Australia. The specimen shown is a male. He is everting his androconial glands or coremata (Greek for "feather duster"). The glands are normally concealed within his body, and are inflated at will by air pressure or blood pressure. Less dramatic versions of these organs are known as "hair pencils." Usually concealed within his abdomen, the coremata are deployed when he is seeking acceptance by a mate.

Male pyralid moth deploying his "hair pencils" © Nicky Bay

Wait, you thought female insects were the ones using pheromones (scents used mostly to attract the opposite gender, but with other functions, too, especially in social insects)? Well, me, too, so I did a little digging. Turns out that the male's sexual chemicals are not meant for long-distance attraction of females, but to communicate his "fitness" as a mate. So, the products of androconial glands have been likened to aphrodisiacs, tranquilizers, or narcotics, aimed at seducing the female. Ok, but how? It is a long story....

© David Rentz via Joanie Mars on Facebook

As caterpillars, many tiger moths (subfamily Arctiinae of the owlet moth family Erebidae) feed on toxic plants. Milkweed is a good example. The plant is packed full of cardiac glycosides, potent poisons intended to discourage herbivores, including caterpillars, from consuming it. Not only are some caterpillars able to overcome the toxicity, they incorporate it into their own bodies to make themselves toxic to their predators. This is called sequestering, and the commandeered poison stays with the insect throughout metamorphosis and into adulthood. One of the byproducts in male moths is the pheromone emanating from those androconial glands. He thus demonstrates to the female that he is genetically superior based on a greater quantity of accumulated toxins that she can then pass on to her offspring.

Our common U.S. Acrea Moth everting his glands © Rosella Flores

This is a relatively dry explanation of these remarkable structures in male tiger moths. You owe it to yourself to be better entertained and further enlightened by an article in Wired magazine by my good friend and colleague Gwen Pearson. Even the graphics are better, and a GIF has never been funnier, at least in the context of entomology.

Close-up of male Acrea Moth glands © openi.nlm.nih.gov

So, far from "terrifying" as a similar viral graphic was labeled in a headline from Huffpost, these glands are an amazing example of evolution, just like elk antlers and other male adornments. Please share the fascination, without the sensationalism. Thank you.

Dimorphic Jumping Spider, Maevia inclemens

When I lived in Ohio I had the great honor of being introduced to Dr. George Uetz at the University of Cincinnati. At the time he had a graduate student, Dave Clark, who was doing research on the courtship behavior of the Dimorphic Jumping Spider, Maevia inclemens. Ever since then I have had a special place in my heart for this unique member of the Salticidae.

"Tufted form" male, Missouri

What makes this spider so special, you ask? The name says it all. The male of this species comes in two distinct forms: a "tufted form" that is all-black with white legs; and a "gray form" with black pinstripes and orange spots and chevrons. Not only do they look like separate species, but they behave like two different spiders, too. Each male performs a complex dance that is different from that of the other form.

"Tufted form" male, Indiana

The tufted form, named for the triple-Mohawk style hairdo, literally stands on tiptoe, dips his abdomen, and waves his front pair of legs overhead at a prospective mate. The gray form takes a "low rider" position and sidles back and forth.

"Gray form" male, Kansas

Dave Clark capitalized on those differences, as well as his expertise in video, and created animations of a tufted form male doing a gray form dance, and vice versa. He then played his mixed-up dance mix in front of live female spiders. Jumping spiders have better eyesight than any other terrestrial invertebrate, so they could actually watch, and react to, the videos on a monitor. This was back in the late 1980s, so Dave dubbed his lab "MTV" for "Maevia Television."

"Gray form" male, Kansas

The Dimorphic Jumper is a species commonly encountered in the eastern half of the U.S. where it prowls understory foliage, climbs on walls and fences, and occasionally enters homes. These are not overly large spiders, males ranging from 4.8-7.0 millimeters in body length, females 6.5-10 millimeters. Females have consistent markings, being mostly pale with a pair of orange or red racing stripes running down the back of the abdomen.

The first time I saw a tufted form male of this species, it was on a sidewalk in Cincinnati and I initially mistook it for a carpenter ant. This species is not generally considered an ant mimic, but considering that carpenter ants forage in the same places as Maevia, it is not out of the question I suppose.

Juvenile female or gray form male, Massachusetts

So what was the result of those experiments? The dance of the black form male is apparently more successful at attracting the attention of a female from a greater distance, while the dance of the gray form male is better at wooing a lady spider closer to him. You can see videos here on YouTube of both kinds of males performing. There is no word on whether the females presented with the wrong combo of male appearance and dance moves suffered psychological damage.

"Is there a female down there?"

Sources: Bradley, Richard A. 2013. Common Spiders of North America. Berkeley: University of California Press. 271 pp.
Clark, David L. and George W. Uetz. 1993. "Signal efficacy and the evolution of male dimorphism in the jumping spider, Maevia inclemens," Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. USA 90: 11954-11957.
Guarisco, Hank, Bruce Cutler, and Kenneth E. Kinman. 2001. "Checklist of Kansas Jumping Spiders [illustrated]," Kansas School Naturalist 47(1).
Moffett, Mark W. 1991. "All Eyes on Jumping Spiders," Nat. Geo. Mag. 180(3): 42-63.

Spider Sunday: Spider Sex Ed

Just to clarify, this lesson is for people, not spiders. Spiders already know how to do it. Wait, that didn’t come out right, either. What I mean is, this is a primer on how to tell spider genders apart, and show why it is so difficult to properly identify your average arachnid.

Mating Neriene sp. dome spiders, Arizona

Immature spiders cannot be identified to species (sometimes not even to genus) because they lack developed external genitalia that are species-specific. It is even more complicated than that because more “primitive” types of spiders don’t have complex genitalia anyway. Tarantulas, trapdoor spiders and their allies, collectively known as the Mygalomorphae, don’t have fancy equipment.

Next up on the ladder from mygalomorphs is another large clade called Haplogynae. The term has Greek roots and roughly translates to “half woman.” Among familiar haplogyne spiders are crevice weavers (Filistatidae), recluse spiders and their kin (Sicariidae), cellar spiders (Pholcidae), and spitting spiders (Scytodidae). Mature female haplogynes have a relatively simple genital opening known as the gonopore, accessed by the male through her “epigastric furrow.” The epigastric furrow is a simple transverse slit on the underside of the female’s abdomen.

Male spiders of all species do not have a penis, so they have evolved to use their pedipalps as intromittent sex organs to transfer sperm to the female. Pedipalps are the leg-like mouthparts nearest the spider’s face. The male spider prepares himself by spinning a small sheet of silk called a “sperm web.” He then extrudes seamen onto the sheet and sucks it up into a reservoir inside each pedipalp. He is now ready to go hunting for a mate. Males always wander to find a mate, even those species normally confined to webs.

Male mygalomorph and haplogyne spiders have no need for elaborate pedipalps because the female’s genital opening is correspondingly simple. Not so with the most highly-evolved spiders, the Entelegynae. Greek for “whole woman,” the term describes the much more complex genitalia of both genders. The overwhelming majority of non-fossil spiders fall within this group.

Sperm from the male goes into the female’s oviduct during mating in haplogyne spiders; and the sperm exits the same duct when the female lays her eggs. The sperm goes in one duct (copulatory duct) and out another (fertilization duct) in entelegyne spiders. Females of all types of spiders are capable of storing sperm from one mating for use their entire reproductive lives. This storage tank is called the spermathecae.

Epigynum of female Pirata piraticus wolf spider, Massachusetts

Female entelegyne spiders usually have a sclerotized (hardened tissue) “door” to their genitalia, located on the underside of the abdomen just above the epigastric furrow. This apparatus is called an epigynum (image above). It is usually composed of two openings, such that the structure has a symmetrical appearance. It is key to identifying many spiders to genus and species that otherwise look virtually identical to other, unrelated spiders.

The epigynum is more like a “lock” to the spider itself, as only males of the same species are able to mate with her. The male’s pedipalps are correspondingly complex, the “keys” to her “lock.” Male spiders that are one molt away from adulthood are termed penultimate and their pedipalps are swollen but not completely formed. The terminal segment changes radically with that last molt.

Pedipalp of male Bathyphantes sp. sheetweb weaver, Massachusetts

The image above shows the ventral (underside) view of the pedipalp of a mature spider. The dark, circular line is the “embolus,” the appendage that enters the female’s epigynum. The area behind the embolus is the “bulb” in which the sperm is stored. The bulb rests inside the cup-like dorsal plate called the “cymbium.” The pedipalp can also have various processes and projections on the cymbium and/or the patella or tibia segments.

Pedipalp of male Wadotes sp. funnel weaver, Massachusetts

Anyone who is serious about identifying spiders will not be able to avoid journal articles and books filled with images not of whole spiders, but their genitalia. Figuring out which end is up and exactly which parts the text is describing is a lot like solving a puzzle. It can be quite rewarding. Heck, just look at all the fun I’m having.

Sources: Ubick, D., P. Paquin, P. E. Cushing, and V. Roth (eds). 2003. Spiders of North America: an identification manual. American Arachnological Society. 377 pp.

Territorial Imperative

“This town ain’t big enough for the both of us” is a movie cliché and a song title by the band Sparks. It is also what many male butterflies are likely saying to each other, out in the wild and inside Butterfly Magic. Mating success for males frequently depends on whether they can defend a territory. Other male butterflies will try and usurp their position at every turn.

Inside our greenhouse, which is arguably not big enough for any butterfly let alone the couple hundred or so that occupy the space at any given time, territorial behavior is very obvious, and takes several forms. Male Blue Morphos will chase each other down the paths in trains of two, three, or more. Paper Kites do not interact with Morphos in the wild, given that they are on separate continents. Nonetheless, they appear to treat Morphos as intruders and chase after them.

Meanwhile, the Great Eggfly, Hypolimnas bolina, defends his territory from a perch, rather than on the wing. Males of this species frequently alight on visitors, often atop their heads or hats. The taller the person the better, giving the male a superior vantage point from which to scan for females or other males. The male dashes off to investigate a potential mate or competitor, but may return to his perch just as fast. When a rival male fails to heed a warning confrontation by the resident male, the dispute can escalate into something remarkable. The males will engage in a type of ritualized combat in which they fly in a tight circle at dizzying speed. The light bouncing off their electric purple spots while they whirl at warp speed is a spectacular visual effect. Maybe one of them gets dizzy, too, as eventually one will peel off and look to establish a territory elsewhere. Consider that males want to be where females have to be. Females will need to lay eggs on host plants suitable for their offspring. Therefore, males often establish territories in the wild that include stands of the host plant. There’s more on that here in this PDF.

On March 18, in the Bird Garden outside the greenhouse, I had the opportunity to witness a Mourning Cloak Butterfly, Nymphalis antiopa, demonstrate his own territorial behavior. He darted from a perch to chase off all comers, including a Giant Swallowtail and a Pipevine Swallowtail. He then returned to his “hood,” at one point alighting on a visitor’s ballcap. The determination of these males to rout all intruders is amazing. The energy expended must be immense. Still, the Mourning Cloak glided back to his perch, conserving wingbeats.

Last year at about this time I climbed to the top of Sentinel Peak (“A” Mountain), and was treated to a battle between male Black Swallowtails, Papilio polyxenes. Each wanted the very summit of the butte to himself. When they crossed paths while patrolling their “beats,” they frequently collided with audible force, wings banging violently. A subsequent visit a couple weeks later found at least one male remaining, badly tattered, wings frayed and tails missing. He was alive—a survivor guaranteed to pass along his genes to the next generation.

The Saga Concludes

Like I haven’t written enough already about the brown-banded cockroach (see All Grown Up and The “University Roach”), along comes another chapter.

I was visiting the insect collection in the Department of Entomology at the University of Arizona in Tucson yesterday, when in the process of moving a cart to get to a cabinet, I discovered a cockroach, belly-up on the floor. I could tell it was a brown-banded roach even before I turned it over. I had seen another dead one here before (before I had a camera). The neat thing about this one was that it was a male.

Oddly, I have never seen a living adult male of this species. Then again, until I saw live ones at the University of Massachusetts, I had not seen a living example of either gender. I suspect they are less populous than other “domestic” roaches, and maybe more secretive, too.

In any event, Supella longipalpa is an outstanding example of sexual dimorphism in the order Blattodea. While the females are broad-bodied with shortened forewings (called tegmena), males are more slender, with long tegmena and fully-functional hindwings as well.

Other cockroach species have even more dramatic differences between the sexes, males being fully winged and females totally wingless. The sand roaches in the genus Arenivaga come to mind. They occur here in the Arizona outdoors, so maybe I’ll eventually be able to share their story here on my blog as well. For now, though, I can close the book on the brown-bandeds.

Let Sleeping Bees Lie

One of the many fascinating aspects of the lives of solitary bees is that males will often come together, right now, over me…No, wait, that can’t be right. That would be the Beatles. Male solitary bees, however, frequently gather in “sleeping aggregations” where they spend the night, or rest during inclement weather.

Over the last few weeks I have been fortunate enough to witness a few of these low-key bachelor parties here in Tucson, Arizona. My walk home from work in the evening would reveal longhorned bees of the tribe Eucerini (family Apidae) bedding down atop desert marigolds. There were generally at least two per flower, sometimes several, and occasionally one lone maverick. Only male longhorned bees have the long antennae that give this tribe its common name. Females have much shorter feelers.

You would think that being so exposed, the stingless males would be highly vulnerable to nocturnal predators, but this does not appear to be the case. Indeed, I often found them just beginning to stir the next morning.

A different kind of perch, and sleeping posture, is adopted by male cuckoo bees, Xeromelecta californica. Here, three individuals are clinging to twigs on a mesquite sapling. They are gripping the plant with only their jaws. That cannot be comfortable. I originally noticed only one member of this trio, in restless flight, seeking a better “bunk” to land on. They were also taking after the geriatric set, retiring early, at about four in the afternoon. One ultimately re-settled on the tip of a thorn.

These social gatherings are very modest in size. I am hoping to capture images of much more spectacular events later in the year. Stay tuned for entries on sleeping wasps as well. For more on this and other odd bee-haviors, check out the Urban Bee Gardens website.