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For yours truly, it was the tiny but mighty spiny water flea, Bythotrephes longimanus. Measuring all of a centimetre long (give or take a few millimetres), they're definitely no charismatic megafauna. Quite the opposite actually - they can be downright ugly to some.
But beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Being native to much of Europe and Asia, spiny water fleas have wreaked havoc on many a freshwater ecosystem in North America. As such, I devoted almost six years of my life finding out all I could about these predatory plankton--from what fuels them to what weakens them. Despite the negative stereotypes that invasive species are often branded with, I couldn't help but develop a special fondness for spiny water fleas over the years. I did, after all, spend many days in the lab feeding and cleaning up after them...as well as many nights waiting with bated breath for pregnant mothers to give birth. I'll admit...I'd silently thrill at the sight of a fat juicy broodsac.
And as August fades away, so will many of the invasive spiny water flea populations back home. I can't help but wonder what the yields were like this year, especially given the unusually warm weather (note: spiny water fleas are like humans in that they prefer room temperature - I found they seemed happiest in 21ºC water). Were they eating enough? Did they build up their resting egg banks enough to come back with a vengeance next spring? Did they find new lakes to invade?
Since my printed dissertation containing the following dedication (p. xi) to these powerpuff plankton will likely lie in a dusty corner unopened, I'm gonna go out on a limb and declare my admiration for these organisms (despite their bad rap!)...right here on my own desolate cyber turf.
(Note: this ode served to summarize much of what I discovered about spiny water fleas over the course of my studies. Also, I'm no poet.)
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An ode to the spiny water flea
For this is the story of your life,
One of success, but initially strife.
Confined to a ship ballast*, it’s lipids you lack,
An immigrant from Russia, only a broodsac on your back.
Straining your eye in the dark, you swim feebly forward,
Spot a glimmer of movement, flex your spine like a sword.
Looping and spiraling with renewed anticipation,
You grasp your spent sister and proceed to the decapitation.
With the elixir of life flowing dark through your gut,
Naturally selected to endure—no if’s, and’s, or but’s!
When at long last, is that sunlight you see?
Discharged into the New World...yet it seems habitable, seriously.
Your feverish palate delights at the unsuspecting buffet,
And you feast on bosminids ‘till your broodsac ruptures away.
Moonlight is glistening on the warm surface waters,
As you rise and release (in your image) two beautiful daughters.
On you persist while another broodsac blisters,
A week later, it’s a boy, and his hefty twin sisters.
You’re senescent and tired, but now it’s okay,
You sink to the sediments where just your soft parts decay.
To be found decades later by keen scientists,
Intrigued by your life story, a plot thick with twists.
It’s here I digress, and feel the need to pay tribute,
Without the sacrifice of your descendants, this story would stay mute.
You’ve left a legacy far longer than your spine,
Been the star of countless chapters, six of them mine**.
Spaseeba.
* Bythotrephes was most likely transported to North America in ballast tanks as diapausing resting eggs, not as live organisms. Dramatization for creative purposes only.
** And for that I thank the chubby shrimp, the ones hatched in brine.
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