SUBJECT: Departmental Memo

Hi all,

Just a reminder: Hank (that's "Dr. Bates" to his closest friends) will be absent for the next two weeks because he's finally taking a well-deserved vacation. Maybe the rest of us can now relax and not feel so guilty by comparison. Hey Hank, now that you have tenure, buy a house and move out of your lab! There's more to life than biology, after all. Besides, you're starting to scare the undergrads.

- Rich

Dr. Richard Alcolt
Biological Engineering, MR230-21
California Institute of Biology

PS: Catch a twenty-pounder for me.

PPS: Don't try to fool us by dressing up like a graduate student and hiding in the cold room for the next two weeks!

SUBJECT: Vacation

Rich,

I made it! I landed in Papua three hours ago. CAMSTAT-MOBILE says my email satellite link is operational, so with luck I should be able to keep you updated with my laptop on how much fun you're not having.

This place is crawling with life! I've been a biologist for so long I've forgotten that life forms really do exist outside of labs, seminars, and journals. A Catocala relicta nearly flew up my nose. I followed it to a birch tree, where it perched and blended in perfectly with the dark lines of the bark. A perfect metaphor for me - like a moth, I'm going to blend into my vacation and let my compulsion to work miss me like a blind blue jay. Write to you tomorrow.

- Hank

PS: Will you have someone make sure I set my refrigerator to 4 degrees C, so my cells won't die? I promise this is the last time I'll think about work.

PPS: In the ruckus of getting ready, I forgot to bring my fishing pole. Maybe I can rent one somewhere, or borrow one from the natives.

SUBJECT: Fantastic!

Rich,

Now I know how Alfred Wallace felt as he hacked his way through the jungles of the Malay Archipelago. I'm surrounded by biology. It's practically consuming me. My god, Rich, what have we been doing with our lives? I'm on a small island off the north shore. Right off the bat I nearly stepped on a snake-mimicking caterpillar. I've never seen one in real life before now. I lunged back from it, thinking I was about to be poisoned (the nearest hospital being 400 miles away). The caterpillar's deception was incredible. Its hindquarters looked exactly like an anvil-headed snake - eyes, scales, and everything. But that wasn't even the best part of my day. Two hours later, I spied a tephritid fly dancing about on a branch in front of a jumping spider. The fly had its wings spread and was waving them about so that their sticklike patterns resembled the legs of the spider, thus tricking the spider into believing that the fly was a spider as well. I was absolutely blown away.

How can we spend so much time locked away indoors and say with straight faces that we're biologists?

- Hank

PS: Sorry for going off the deep end a little bit.

PPS: I saw a fishing pole stuck in the beach, an old wooden stick with a string. Must belong to one of the natives. The tribe that lives nearby hasn't had much contact with the outside world, but my guide assures me they're open to trade.

SUBJECT: Fishing

Rich,

You're going to have a fight or flight response. (In other words, you're gonna shit). That fishing pole I saw doesn't belong to the natives. I'm not exactly sure what the deal is, as my guide isn't the best interpreter, but apparently the natives believe that the pole is some kind of modified appendage belonging to a sea creature hiding just offshore. Something along the lines of an anglerfish, I guess. You know, those cool beasties with organic fishing lures that they use to lead other fish into their colossal jaws.

Just thinking about rows of spiny teeth clamping down on unsuspecting prey gives me the shivers.

But if that pole were an appendage, the anglerfish would have to be over 15 feet long. Yeah, right! And what's it doing stuck in the sand? Am I supposed to believe that this alleged beastie preys on unsuspecting would-be fishermen, waiting for someone to grab its appendage and then . . . what?

I think the natives are putting me on.

It's getting late. More tomorrow.

- Hank

SUBJECT: Geckos, Salamanders, and Bees - oh my!

Rich,

I woke up with a gecko on my face. Despite the hellish mosquitoes, I slept under the stars and found myself dreaming about being kissed by ten tiny playmates. Then my eyes fluttered open just as the digits of a spongy paw suctioned to my nose. I'm ashamed to admit I panicked and tried to yank the gecko off my face. Predictably, its tail popped off in my hand, and I was left holding a squirming bit of flesh as the lizard scampered away.

Detachable tails - what will evolution think of next?

For some reason, it reminded me of the recent research showing how geckos stick to vertical surfaces without falling off - of how they can alter the setae on their feet at the molecular level to keep themselves stuck to things. I've heard that they're able to hold onto a 90-pound weight (equivalent to an 8-year-old kid, if you will) without letting go.

Just to warn you, there's a "sticky" theme to this email.

As I ate breakfast, I watched a relative of the garter snake try to suck down a spotted salamander. The salamander got the best of the snake by oozing a sticky secretion. I'll spare you the details, but by the time the salamander finished, it had glued the snake into a permanent coil. I thought about trying to pry the snake back "straight," but was afraid I'd become stuck as well.

So flash forward to about an hour ago. I was back to watching that pole on the beach. I sat three feet away from it, close enough to get a good look, but not too close. Well, my previous skepticism was unfounded. It truly is appendage-like. Its "line" is attached directly to the stalk, like an arm leading to a hand. The stalk is bony-looking and secretes a film along its length that smells of honeysuckle. As I sat, bees landed on the stalk and drank the secretion. Only a few bees at first, but then they came in droves and I feared for my safety.

There was a breeze, strong enough to kick up sand, and I noticed that grains stuck to the pole. I think the bees were laying down an adhesive chemical on the stalk. It made me think of Apis florea, the Asian honeybees. You know, those bees that coat the branches near their nest with a biological glue to keep ants from invading their home. Could it be that the anglerfish (or whatever it is) works in tandem with the bees, offering them food so that they'll coat its stalk with glue?

My musings were confirmed almost immediately.

A gull swooped in and tried to eat one of the insects. In the process, the gull's wings clipped the pole and stuck to it. The bird tried to free itself, flapping madly and pressing its claws against the pole, but that only served to further entangle the gull. If I had to guess, I'd say that there was more than just the honeybees’ glue at work here. Maybe something molecular going on, something similar to what happens with the gecko's feet.

In any case, for the first time since watching it, I saw the pole move from the shore. The line leading into the water pulled taut and ripped the pole right out of the sand. The bird went with it. In the flash of an eye, the gull jerked toward the waves offshore. At the same time, a gigantic mouth lunged out of the water. Yes, the beastie was very much like an anglerfish. Its modified appendage directed the gull into its chomping maw and it feasted.

And yes, the beastie was huge.

Shortly after, as I stood gaping, I discovered that the beastie was amphibious.

- Hank

SUBJECT: Back to work!

Rich,

Screw vacations, I have work to do. I'm sitting inside a native hut. Beside me is a cage that is about three feet long on all sides. I found it on the beach. I think it was once used for catching crabs. It's all rusted and bent, but it serves my purpose. There's a bucket inside the cage, filled with seawater that I change by the hour. And in the bucket is an "angler."

The angler is a small one - not like the one I saw feasting on the gull. It had crept out of the waves, using its fins like a walking catfish would, so I snatched it up in my hands and ran away with it.

The angler ("Snappy," I call him) is about the size of a football, and is flat on the bottom and round on the top. Its slick silvery skin lacks scales and its broad, flat head makes me think of a toadfish. The beastie has a fully developed modified appendage, just like its mother back in the ocean, and it likes to poke at me through its cage as I sit typing. Every hour or so, the angler makes a vocalization that sounds like a whistle. It must be contracting the walls of its swim bladder to produce the sounds. The whistles are becoming more frequent, and its pokes are starting to sting. I should find it something to eat. It's devilishly smart for a fish. If I had to chart its intelligence, I'd place its brainpower somewhere between that of a dog and a small child.

Yes, I know it sounds like I'm flipping out.

The beastie can observe and mimic to a greater degree than anything I've ever seen in the natural world. Earlier, it poked at the keyboard while I was typing. I slapped its appendage and it drew away. Then I had a thought. I moved the keyboard nearer to the cage and pressed a key. It took some coaxing, but soon after, the angler pressed the same key I had pressed. After some practice, it followed my typing with perfect accuracy and with great speed. It won't type the letter "k," however, as that was the key I had slapped it for poking at earlier. It types "x" instead.

Here's a message I coaxed it to type:

Hi Rich, I can purr lixe a xitten.
Sincerely, Snappy

For some reason, the local tribe picked up and left without warning. I let my guide take a hike as well, as I'm not planning on going anywhere and I no longer have need of his language abilities. He seemed eager to leave anyway, so it worked out for the best.

What an adaptation this beastie has! Not only has evolution selected its appendage to be of service as a highly complex lure, but the angler can also use the adaptation to interact with its environment in abstract ways. The angler watched me as I used a pen to jot down notes. When I put my pen away, the angler secretly pulled it out of my pocket and put its appendage in its place. Later, when I needed my pen again, I unknowingly grabbed the appendage. My fingers stuck to it, and two seconds later Snappy jerked my hand into its mouth and gave me a nasty bite before I could free myself.

How clever can it be? How much can it scheme and plot to get what it wants?

Spiders make web designs to lure insects into their webs. Pitcher plants have their syrup to lure insects. Pit vipers use caudal lures. And I don't even have to tell you about siphonophore behavior! But with this angler, we're talking about a completely higher magnitude of aggressive mimicry. Mimicking a pen for Pete's sake! A fishing pole I can almost believe, but how in the world could it have known to mimic a pen? It couldn't have ever seen one before. It must have figured out what to do on the spot.

It's really poking me now. And its whistle sounds shrill, like a child calling for its mother. I have to go.

- Hank

SUBJECT:

Oh God, oh god, oh god . . . I'm somewhere in the forest. It's dark. It's following me. It's calling out . . . my name. The mother . . . I must be hallucinating. I'm spinning . . . I cAN BARELY MOVE MY FINGERS. I CAN'T . . . OH GOD, HELP ME!

SUBJECT: Sorry about that

Rich,

Sorry about that last email. I ate a bad bit of fruit and became feverish. I'm all right now. But I'm afraid that in my delusion I let the angler escape. Just as well, I suppose. I was forgetting the whole point of my coming down here in the first place - to relax! So that's what I've resolved to do now. I'm going to put the angler out of my mind and just zone out.

Hey Rich, it's a beautiful island here, a true paradise, with no worries and nothing to stress a person. Don't be surprised if I decide to extend my vacation. Hey, I just had a thought. Airline prices down here are as cheap as seaweed these days. If anyone in the department is feeling bummed out by the long gray winter, they should do something spontaneous and fly down here. I'd love the company. You should come too, Rich. You need a vacation even more than I do. I've managed to lay my hands on some fishing poles, and I do remember how you love to fish. Come on, do something impulsive for once in your life. After all, even a biologist needs to get out every once in a while and see what nature has to offer.

- Hanx