by Reef To Rainforest | Sep 29, 2013 | Corals, Invertebrates, Travel
Instead of Peter, Peter, Pumpkin-Eater, the phrase about Mantas entered my laughingly limited lexicon in the spring of 1991 when a few folks I knew, and a larger bunch that I didn’t, took a diving trip to Micronesia. Of course, I went along to look at the invertebrates, but I suspect most of the people were there to see various fish, and for most of those folks, the bigger the fish, the better. On most of the fish-watching trips, a couple of us spent most of our diving time ignoring the fish in the water column for the bottom-dwelling creatures, much to our delight. And, I must say, also much to the delight of the fish watchers as we “bottom grubbers” weren’t in the way. Some Goniopora photographed on Yap. Goniopora and Manta alfredi both eat plankton, but the coral has better lipstick. Often these fish watching trips involved going to one of the many sites where, during the proper phase of the tidal cycle, the ebbing tide would drain water from the lagoon across or through the reef. Depending on the current flow, these ebb tide currents can carry all sorts of particulate material from the reef lagoon out through a gap in the reef. If the topography of the area was “right” the gap in the reef acted like a venturi spraying plankton and larger critters, mostly fish, into the water outside the reef. Once the reef edge was crossed, the water currents dissipated within a few hundred feet of the reef. Tidal currents are quite predictable and plankton-feeding animals living outside of the reefs knew they could get a free lunch at these ebb tides. Tourist divers would be taken to some of these areas, where they would find a comfortable spot on the bottom, typically in the lee of a large rock, to let the current containing the goodies blow out of the reef past them. There they could watch the “action” as larger fish would come in from off shore to have a snack. A small sea slug, Chelidonura inornata, about 3 mm long found crawling between a couple rocks. Late one morning, in Yap, our group of divers was ferried to a site some distance offshore over the reef. We could see the reef below us in the water that appeared crystal-clear. After a while, the tide turned and we entered the water, dropped to the bottom, and found our “rocks.” It was evident that many divers had been there before us, as the best observation sites had perching areas worn smooth by previous divers. We settled down on our sites and waited for something to show up. And we waited. I fiddled with my camera; I focused on a rock. A rock that wouldn’t be a good live rock in an aquarium. Boring… And I waited. As we each had only one scuba air cylinder, our loitering time was fairly limited. And as we waited, the other folks looked around for fish. I looked around for invertebrates. I found some coralline algae. Woo woo!!! Boring… And I waited. Everybody else did, too. Most people spent their time staring ahead into the now plankton-filled and not-so-crystal clear water. Large forms, shadows really, became visible moving in the distance in the murky water. We were so thrilled. Not! The forms stayed away from us. And we waited. Finally, for no good reason, I looked to my left and behind me a bit, instead of straight ahead like everybody else. A Manta alfredi observing me from about 1.5 m away. This was “my” female, but in this image she is swimming around on her second pass by me. Note the other divers behind her.. I found myself looking into the large right eye of a female Manta Ray (Manta alfredi) holding a position about a meter to my left and about 30 cm (1 ft) above me. Male mantas have claspers on their pelvic fins, females don’t. This one lacked the claspers, so… She… She was staying still with the current flowing over her, so she had to be actively swimming, but no motion was visible anywhere on her body. I didn’t think it would be prudent to turn and take her picture by flashing my strobes directly into her eyes; somehow the thought of 1) startling a one-ton-plus wild animal that was only a couple of feet from me didn’t seem like the brightest thing to do, and neither did the idea of 2) potentially irritating said animal. One good swat with her huge pectoral fins, and… well, my very active imagination sent me some great graphics showing me either: dead, very unhappy, or very unhappy and dying. None of these seemed like fun at that moment. “My” female manta swimming over me, on her way out to join her pals in impressing us. They did a good job of impressing!! Besides she was SO gorgeous, the grace and wonderfully beautiful shape of her body…I was simply enthralled by her beauty and shear ease of movement. So I waited and watched her. We had been told by our dive leaders not to touch the mantas and throughout the dive none of us did so. During “our time together”, probably about five minutes, “my” manta scanned me as completely as I scanned her, maybe more so; the eye watching me was very mobile, and it was obvious she looked me over from front to back and top to bottom, changing her position slightly to be able to scan me as completely as possible from one side. Mantas have one of the highest brain-to-body-weight ratios of all fishes, as well as a rete mirabile, or a countercurrent heat exchange network of blood vessels, that can keep the brain warmed to about human body temperature, at all times. Some authorities on fish brain structures, consider the mantas as very intelligent animals (R. Glenn Northcutt, pers. comm, 1977). It really looked like she was “thinking” about me; I suspect she was probably laughing at the ungainly and ridiculous creature that dared show up in her realm. “My” female Manta alfredi swimming by a group of divers in Miil Passage in the reef near Yap Island. The markings on the bottom the rays are distinctive and can be used to identify the animals. Nobody knows how long these animals live, and I think it would interesting to see images of rays taken around Yap in subsequent years to see if she shows up in them. After a bit I was able to distract my mind from this glorious animal, and got the attention of my human dive partner who was on my right side and still intensely watching the shadows ahead for signs of mantas. I managed to indicate to her that instead of a buddy pair, we were now “a threesome.” As she looked past me and managed to focus on the manta, she essentially proceeded to become quietly, momentarily, and severely “unglued.” While remaining the good diving partner she was, she held her position while her “excitement” coefficient obviously rose well into the red zone as she was assessing the situation of the moment. After all, seeing a huge fish apparently on top of one’s diving partner is certainly grounds for extreme—and often immediate—action. However, it became clear that there was no danger and she was able to assure herself of our safety. Only then did she start to enjoy the moment. Her responses as a buddy were absolutely commendable, and I was very favorably, and thankfully, impressed. About this time, the Manta moved off by slowly and carefully swimming directly over me. Her movements were so graceful and smoothly executed that I could only describe it later as being like “slow teleportation.” After that as she first moved in front of me, and then in front of everybody else, it became apparent we had four or five Mantas swimming among us. They had entered our group from behind our field of view. In later discussions, we assumed they observed and assessed our deployment and situations before slowly and cautiously entering our group. They stayed quite close to us for a while and then swam further afield. They were between 3 and 4 m (9.9 and 13.2 feet) wide. These animals moved around the group of divers with an ease and grace that was astonishing. By the time I noticed the Manta next to me most of us had less than half our air remaining, and our excitement took its toll on that small volume. In far too short a time, we had to surface. After we got on our tiny vessel, we were able to watch some of the mantas jumping clear out of the water about 100 m away from us. That was very thrilling. What also was thrilling, but not in the same way, was the realization that we were in a small metal boat on a smooth water surface in the midst of a thunderstorm, with lightening striking the water around us. As I said: “Thrilling.” My Manta alfredi passing by our group. These events happened about 22 years ago, at which time, there were only a few places in the world where it was possible to dive with these wonderful giants. Since then, it has been found that there are definitely two, and perhaps three, species of mantas. Manta alfredi are resident around reefs, while the larger M. birostris are pelagic and tend to be found in the open oceans. Numerous M. alfredi populations around the world are now visited regularly by divers. Although mantas are preyed upon by large sharks and killer whales, the only real long-term threat they face is from human exploitation, including divers. Too many visitors or visitors doing inappropriate things apparently can cause them to decamp for some new home. However, moving like this means they have to find a new place to feed, and that can result in unwarranted mortality. Manta rays eat small planktonic organisms, and may eat as much as 13% of their (considerable) body weight every week. The presence of large aggregations of mantas feeding on tiny plankton in waters around coral reefs is one more indication that the plankton populations around those coral reefs are rich and abundant. Reef aquarists often tend to forget just how limiting are our aquariums; for me the memory of the small plankton to large Manta Ray food chain has been a constant reminder of the need for proper foods in every home aquarium. More importantly, though, for this particular aquarist to come face-to-cephalic-fin with such a huge intelligent fish, it was an awe-inspiring and humbling experience, and made me realize, once again, how much we have to learn about the wonderful parts of our world that are the reefs and the animals on them. Useful (Generally Recent) References: Davis, R. E., and R. G. Northcutt, eds. 1983. Fish Neurobiology: Brain Stem and Sense Organs. University of Michigan Press. Deakos, Mark H. 2010. Ecology And Social Behavior Of A Resident Manta Ray (Manta alfredi) Population Off Maui, Hawai‘i. Ph. D. Dissertation, University of Hawai’i. 128 pages. Deakos, M. H., J. D. Baker, and L. Bejder. 2011. Characteristics of a manta ray, Manta alfredi, population off Maui, Hawaii, and implications for management. Marine Ecology Progress Series. Vol. 429: 245–260.doi: 10.3354/meps09085 Northcutt, R. Glenn 2008. Forebrain evolution in bony fishes. Brain Research Bulletin. Volume 75, Issues 2–4, 18 March Pages 191–205. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.brainresbull.2007.10.058 by Reef To Rainforest | Sep 16, 2013 | Corals, MACNA, Photography
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kU30rIt5oBI A live postcard from MACNA 2013 in South Florida, this short video by John Carlin catches the flavor of the exhibition hall, where startling corals, tiny cuttlefish and marine salesmanship vied for the attention of an estimated 2,500 attendees—a record turnout in the 25-year history of the event. CREDITS Video: John Carlin | Fincasters Channel | YouTube MACNA 2013: Florida Marine Aquarium Society by Reef To Rainforest | Sep 10, 2013 | Invertebrates, Science
By Daniel Knop Web Bonus Content from the September/October 2013 Issue of CORAL Magazine Additional Bonus Brittle Star Articles Page 30 top Brittle stars scurry to the surface. Page 30 bottom Brittle stars’ arms intertwined in a dense network. Page 31 top left The crowded animals compete for the highest spot, and some specimens even climb out of the water. Page 31 bottom Thick white clouds of sperm exit from the genital slits. Page 32 top left This is a typical posture: the oral disc is raised to squeeze the sperm out through the genital slits. Page 32 bottom left Others join in from near the water’s surface. Page 32 right In contrast lighting, the five- or six-armed stars exhibit a white comet tail—reminiscent of a “white wedding.” TEXT Spider-like, they emerged from all cracks and crevices. It looked almost like an alien invasion in a science fiction movie. Countless arms waved through the water, probed the environment, and attached themselves to rocks to pull themselves up. Each individual wanted to be first, to find the best place. The urge of a brittle star to climb—from the rock structure, up the aquarium glass, to the surface—is so powerful that some specimens came out of the water, standing on the bodies of their fellows. With almost blind zeal, half a hundred of these echinoderms assembled, as if following a secret command. However, it was not blind obedience or fear that drove them, but the irrepressible wish to reproduce: a brittle star wedding was imminent! Unlike other invertebrates that mate and exchange their genetic material directly, free spawners must synchronize their germ cell release. Therefore, they need a trigger that sets in motion the complex reproductive process. For these brittle stars, often referred to as Ophiocoma pumila in the hobby, that trigger is a sudden change in the environment—in this case a partial water change. As soon as the fresh sea water had flowed into the aquarium and mixed with the old water, the first arms stretched out from under the rocks. Within moments the aquarium, which had shown no sign of a brittle star before the water change, was teeming with them. These animals normally hide during the day and come out at to scavenge at night, but now they suddenly moved out into the open, despite all the dangers, to comply with their biological directive: reproduction. While most brittle star species are dioecious, some are hermaphroditic. Some free-spawning hermaphroditic species exclusively release sperm, while the oocytes remain in the body and are fertilized by the sperm of other individuals. The larvae of these hermaphroditic breeders remain in the respiratory cavities, or bursae, and mature there. On each side of the armpit on the oral side there are slit-shaped genital openings to the bursae—sac-like invaginations that are usually used for respiration. The animal reduces its volume by contracting the oral disc muscles to eject water and increases its volume by breathing in oxygen-rich water. The bursae also contain the gonads. Here, the sperm mature and are stored in a low-liquid form. During spawning, the gonads empty the sperm into the bursae, which serve as reservoirs. The germ cells are diluted with water, so the amount of sperm that finally emerges through the openings at the bases of the arms appears to be very great. In seemingly endless swells, this white mass exits through the genital slits, drips down, and forms elongated streaks in the open water. In contrast lighting, the five or six-armed stars look like comets with white tails. The sperm gradually mixes with the surrounding water to form a homogeneous, whitish mist that envelops everything. Within about an hour, most of the 50 brittle stars had released sperm. Some had remained near their hiding places in the typical spawning posture, with exposed oral discs. However, most of the small echinoderms had taken the more daring path, climbing up to the water’s surface in order to ensure that their own genes were spread as widely as possible. Some in top form unloaded huge masses into the 16-gallon (60-L) aquarium. The turbidity was significant, but none of the other aquarium animals developed signs of a lack of oxygen or other discomfort. The skimmer continued to work normally and showed no tendency to bubble over. A short time later, the tiny reef had returned to normal and there was no sign of the brittle stars’ “white wedding.” by Reef To Rainforest | Sep 6, 2013 | Fish, Photography
408 eggs to be exact…but who’s counting? Back in 2006, I found myself facing an interesting question – how many eggs were my Onxy Percs (Amphiprion percula ”Onyx”) laying? It’s impossible to hedge anything more than a guess just by looking…definitely more than 10…probably more than 100. Maybe 300? How can you really know? If you really want good data, you have to count. I guarantee I’m not the first to come up with this method for counting, and I’ve seen it duplicated many times since I first put it forward some years back. I’ll give you an easy, step-by-step method you can leverage to do your own precise egg counts (and I’m pretty sure this would be helpful for any other counting of something that is small and or moves). The key lies simply in starting with a clear photograph of the item you want to count. So long as the photo is of sufficient quality and resolution, you should be able to discern each individual item you’re counting. From there, you simply need to count in such a way that you don’t lose track. And here’s how you do it: Each “color group” represents 100 eggs. Can you find the last group, the group of 8? Opening your photo in any image editor that allows you to do something as basic as “paint” can work, and that’s how i was able to count every last clownfish egg in the photograph above. Shifting colors every 100 (or every 50…whatever works for you) helps you keep track. I also have another trick up my sleeve to make it go fast and stay reasonably accurate. So here’s a rundown with an Angelfish (Pterophyllum scalare) nest. Step 1 – get a good photo: Good photo of Angelfish eggs on ceramic tile – check! Step 2 – If you have an image editor that allows for layers (I use Photoshop), create a new layer. If not, you’ll have to forego this elegant extra: Add a new layer “if you can”. Step 3 – get your paintbrush / pencil tool and select a bright, high contrasting color. Step 4 – start counting. It generally helps to work with the eggs at full size so you can easily see each individual egg, rather than trying to click each individual egg looking at the whole picture. Here’s how I count. Working on my new layer, I start painting dots on the eggs. Each click with my right hand I count. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, etc… Each time I hit 10, I raise a finger on my left hand while continuing to count (1 through 10). So the first time I hit 50, my last finger goes up. I make it difficult on myself by continuing with that hand, 60 being only 1 finger up again. When I hit 100, I stop counting. My image looks like this: 100 eggs in…many more to go… Step 5 – So once I’ve completed 100 eggs, I rename the layer (eg. 100), change the color of my paintbrush / pencil to something different but equally contrasting, and create another new layer. 100 done, more to go. From here, I start over and count up the next 100 (see Step 4.) It is a “rinse and repeat” until you get to the end with all eggs counted. 594 eggs… That last layer, I name whatever number I stopped at; in this case, 94. All counted and accounted for! I always save a new copy of the file with the final count…helps me remember just by the filename. Now, the reason for using layers for each 100 is that it becomes very easy to go back and remove your “dots” (eg should you realize you made a mistake), as well as to keep track of your color groups (remember, each group is 100). Using layers also makes it really easy to show the counting process in an animated gif like this: Egg counting start to finish… I’ve used this technique for years now, and have yet to find a better way to get hard data on something that otherwise is impossible to count by the naked eye (such as the eggs of the Cherub Pygmy Angelfish, Centropyge argi). 539 Centropyge argi eggs. Who’s counting? I am! by Reef To Rainforest | May 20, 2013 | Aquaculture, Events, Fish
You’ve seen the black shirts…this is what it’s all about. Workshop Preview by Tal Sweet Since 2010 the Marine Breeder’s Workshop has been at the forefront of captive breeding events in North America. The Workshop is part of the Marine Breeding Initiative (MBI, www.mbisite.org) and was created to bring some of the biggest names in marine ornamental fish and invertebrate captive breeding together in one place to speak about various topics related to captive breeding. MBI participants attending the workshop might be recognized for personal breeding accomplishments. The concept of the Workshop is to provide attendees with the latest information and plenty of time to interact with the speakers and other breeders in an intimate setting. The first event, in 2010, was the first time that Dr. Matthew Wittenrich and Mathew Pedersen were able to speak about the topic at the same event. Other past speakers include: Eric Cassiano, Todd Gardner, Jay Hemdal, Randy Reed, Richard Ross and Dan Underwood. This year’s list of speakers continues the tradition of exceptional people talking about the latest in saltwater breeding. Matthew Carberry – Sustainable Aquatics Chad Clayton – Reed Mariculture – Culturing rotifers and copepods for use in marine ornamental larviculture Martin Moe – Structure and operation of a unique culture system for rearing the larvae of Diadema antillarum, the long-spined sea urchin of Atlantic coral reefs David Watson – Cardinalfish, beyond Banggai, with tips on constructing a larval rearing system for the small fishroom Veterinarian David Watson will talk about his experiences breeding Cardinalfish, being one of the few (if not only) aquarists to successfully breed the Pajama and Margaritophorus Cardinalfishes at home. This year’s Workshop is held at the Cranbrook Institute of Science in Bloomfield Hills, MI. on Saturday, July 13, 2013. The Cranbrook Science Institute will be home to the MBI Workshop for the 4th year in a row. There is an informal reception at the host hotel on Friday evening. The Workshop kicks off at 9AM on Saturday and includes lunch at noon. On Sunday afternoon there will be a lakeside BBQ at Fishtal Propagations in nearby Waterford, MI. For more information or to register, visit www.mbiworkshop.com – Tal Sweet is the co-founder of the Marine Breeding Initiative and proprietor of Fishtal Propagations, a home-based marine fish hatchery in Southeast Michigan. CORAL Magazine & Reef2Rainforest.com are proud sponsors of the 2013 Marine Breeder’s Workshop.
