Salamander stories

The subject today is variation in limb development in salamanders.


Today I’m going to talk about salamanders and comparative anatomy. Comparative anatomy has been the gateway to evolutionary thinking for about two centuries — once you start counting up the similarities in different groups of animals and how the underlying pattern is reused over and over within a phylum, it’s inevitable that you start wondering what the source of the template might be (big hint: in the 19th century, it was proposed that the basis of the similarities was common descent, and that just keeps getting confirmed.)

In addition, salamanders, and amphibians in general, have been a major focus of embryology as well. They have the virtue of having numerous large eggs, often with recognisable spatial markings, and are amenable to all kinds of surgical manipulations. The first time I did embryo surgeries on a frog embryo, it was a revelation — it was like slicing into a sponge cake, while cutting into a zebrafish embryo was like operating on a soap bubble. It’s no wonder that amphibian work inspired Roux’s Entwicklungsmechanik, or developmental mechanics, over a hundred years ago, or that Mangold and Spemann’s classic work on the organiser was in a salamander. Developmental biology in the middle of the last century was tightly focused on amphibian work, until new tools in genetic manipulation opened up other organisms for experimentation.

Some of my happiest days as an undergraduate were spent in comparative anatomy labs, dissecting salamanders and cats and sharks and every dead thing I could get my hands on — I wasn’t above scooping up road kill. Tracing the intricacies of the skeletal and muscular system, finding homologies to little obscure muscles between a cat and a salamander, seeing how they varied…it was heavenly. I still have my vertebrate dissection texts, which had been periodically soaked in the fluids of the beasts, fresh or fixed, that I took apart in those days. I can pull them down off the shelf, open them, and still get a faint whiff of those fluids, and be instantly transported back to a dark basement lab and stainless steel benches, armed with dental picks and scalpels and fine forceps. Oh, the good old days.

By the way, the reason I have so many books is that I can’t bear to be parted from them. I never sold back my used textbooks — well, this one was probably unsellable — but kept them until they wore out.

Then in graduate school, a yearly event every fall was going up into the Oregon Cascades and collecting rough-skinned newts with the gentleman scholar Jim Kezer. We’d use them in a histology course, because they were an easy source of fresh tissue…and again we’d see all the wonderful similarities and interesting differences between amphibians and people at a different level of organisation. It’s not just genes that are related, but also tissues and organs and overall anatomy.

So let’s dive into an evo-devo paper from 1995 that doesn’t discuss genes at all, but just looks at the bones. It’s titled “Morphological Variation in the Limbs of Taricha granulosa: Evolutionary and Phylogenetic Implications”. I really like this paper for several reasons.

One: Taricha granulosa is the rough-skinned newt, the object of my excursions into the lovely Oregon mountains.

Two: It’s by Neil Shubin, David Wake, and Andrew Crawford. This is before Shubin became a famous celebrity scientist with the discovery of Tiktaalik, and one of the things it shows is that Shubin really put the work in. This is not a glamorous paper. When you read it, though, you learn exactly how important the background work is in science — he was prepared for Tiktaalik because he had a deep knowledge of anatomy and amphibian relationships.

Three: What first made me excited about this work was that it was a step away from the idealisation of our research animals. That is, we tend to develop a canonical image of how an organism is built, whether it’s a newt or a fish or a spider. When I was studying comparative anatomy, what we were comparing was THE cat to THE salamander to THE shark. This paper is comparing the anatomy of individuals within a single population to measure the extent of variation.

Four: Another factor in science in general is serendipity. Sometimes you get lucky, and you have to be prepared to jump on an opportunity.

The backstory of this study is that there was an abrupt freeze in December in California that froze a small pond solid, killing every large animal caught in it. In particular, an entire population of newts was killed overnight by a non-selective force, and when the pond thawed — I presume that happened shortly afterwards, it was in California, after all — the investigators could wade out and scoop up all the dead urodeles and throw them into fixative.

They collected over 500 animals, threw out the ones that were too decayed, and had 452 newts where they could examine the structure of the limbs (this paper focuses just on limb anatomy). This is cool: we can do comparative anatomy within a population, and ask questions about extant variation.

We’ll start with the standard anatomy of the limbs of Taricha. This is what you’d expect to see. It was also my least favourite part of vertebrate anatomy, all these tiny little odd-shaped wrist bones, like the scaphoid, the lunate, the capitate. I’m afraid I struggled with this stuff 45 years ago, and I’m sorry, it has completely evaporated from my brain since. I wonder if one reason I gravitated towards fish is that most of this complexity is gone in a teleost fin.

Fortunately, Shubin and his colleagues had a better awareness of the details than I ever did.

One approach you can take with this knowledge is to compare Taricha with other urodele species, and common theme in evolutionary biology, there are overall similarities, but also profound differences, often a consequence of some lineages having reduced and simplified their limbs. This would be the traditional approach.

But, as I said, Shubin and company are looking at variation within a single population of a single species. And that’s where it gets interesting. About 70% of the newts showed the canonical pattern — a clear majority! However, the 30% that are different are also important, since that variation is what evolution can work on. Those tiny wrist bones wobble in an interesting way.

We can also look at the details of specific variants. For instance, the hand of the animal has a specific pattern of 1 finger bone, then 2, then 3, then 2, or a 1-2-3-2 pattern.

Just looking at that attribute, 96.5% have the 1-2-3-2 pattern. But look, 1.5% lose the 3rd bone in the 3rd digit, and 0.5% add an extra bone to the second digit. This is awesome information, to get an idea of the actual variation in morphology in a population.

Then, further, to compare that variation to other species and determine that there might be deep rules that can shape the paths of least resistance for evolutionary variation. So Shubin writes in the discussion:

Bilateral patterns of variation in Taricha both restore ancient structures and “anticipate” derived conditions that arise in parallel within highly nested taxa. These regularities suggest that the same processes that underlie the expression of atavistic characters are involved in the origin of evolutionary novelties.

This little piece of the story reflects an ongoing interest in evo-devo: we often talk of “constraints” on development that limit the direction evolution can take, but the flip side of that is that these variations can also generate unexpected innovations in combination. I think of it as a kind of kaleidoscope effect — there are only a limited number of pieces of coloured glass in a kaleidoscope, but vast numbers of combinations and relationships that can be generated.

One more thing I want to mention. Last week I talked about work that was all genetics. This week, no genetics at all — we have no idea what the source of the variation in these animals is. Is it explicitly genetic, or is it environmental? It doesn’t matter in this paper — it’s a measure of the plasticity of the amphibian limb, and it’s almost certainly both genes and environment. It’s going to take deeper work on the genetics of Taricha, which doesn’t seem to be going on much, although there is some work on genomics. Maybe you can go on to become an amphibian evo-devo person and fill in that information!

Hey, if you want to talk about this paper some more, read it — it’s not freely accessible, although maybe you can find it on sci-hub, or for a limited time, I’ll make it available. I’ll have a livestream on Saturday at noon Central time to say more about it, come on by! You’ll be recovered from your New Year celebrations by then, I hope.

Meanwhile, here are a bunch of my lovely patrons. You can join them patreon dot com slash pzmyers for as little as a dollar a month, or you can help me out by clicking on the like or subscribe buttons down below. I’ll have another evo-devo video next week!

Frustrating morning in the lab

All right, I accomplished something this morning: I got all the juvenile spiders moved out of their cramped dirty vials and into bigger, much cleaner condos.

Unfortunately, my plan to photograph all of them so I can start documenting early pigment patterns (eventually to log changing — maybe — pigment patterns as they grow) was foiled by a series of problems: a) my camera battery was dying, b) the battery in the LED panel I use for extra illumination was completely dead, c) my lab is a shambles right now, and d) I forgot anyway that when spiders get a change of venue, they turn frantic and scamper all about. “This is not my beautiful house,” they cry, “where is that large collection of dead flies?” So no, I could not get beautiful photos. I posted a few attempts on Instagram, but gave up and just focused on getting everyone moved.

But tomorrow! a) camera battery is charged, & I’ll bring my backup battery, b) LED panel battery is charging now, c) lab will still be a mess, but I can work around it, and d) the spiders will have settled down and be resting in their new cobweb, so I can take my photos and also, as a reward, fling a fly into their web.

It’s mortality assessment day!

My large collection of baby spiders is much smaller now. This morning, I went through the whole collection, scrutinizing them carefully for health, and tallied up the end result of my breeding experiments. Then I gave everyone a last meal in their baby vials, because tomorrow I rip up their natal cobwebs and transfer each to new, clean, larger containers so I can raise them to full adulthood.

It was a grim morning. There’s been a steady die-off of spiders over the last two months, often occurring at molting — they sometimes seem to get stuck, and that’s the end of that. I had three separate lines of spiderlings: 1) The R (for Runestone) line collected from a female at Runestone park, well off the beaten track; 2) The H (for Horticulure) line collected at an outdoor building at the local Horticulture garden; and 3) The M (for Myers) line collected right here in my garage at home. There was considerable variation in mortality.

R line: 95% (!) ☠

H line: 75% ☠

M line: 50% ☠

Maybe I’m just terrible at spider husbandry. I don’t have a good feel for how much normal juvenile death I ought to expect. It’s possibly interesting that the line collected from an indoor spider thrived best in the lab, while the ones found in a rather ‘wilder’ environment did worst.

Today wasn’t great, but the survivors all look fat and handsome and healthy, and tomorrow they get moved to their new roomier abodes, and I’ll also take photos of them. I’ll probably flood my Instagram account with pictures of my pretty young spider children, so watch out for that.

Dinosaurs in my yard

Mary is continuing to be obsessed with birds, and they keep coming back and hanging around. Today she was all excited by something called a Brown Thrasher, which would be a great name for a spider or a shark, but no, it’s a bird.

I like the blue jay because I can recognize it. Because it’s blue.

I may have to work on my avian taxonomy skills.

I am inclined to like this hypothesis

I’m still going to criticize it, though.

For years, anthropologists and evolutionary biologists have struggled to explain the existence of menopause, a life stage that humans do not share with our primate relatives. Why would it be beneficial for females to stop being able to have children with decades still left to live?

According to a study published today in the journal Proceedings of the Royal Society B, the answer is grandmothers. “Grandmothering was the initial step toward making us who we are,” says senior author Kristen Hawkes, an anthropologist at the University of Utah. In 1997 Hawkes proposed the “grandmother hypothesis,” a theory that explains menopause by citing the under-appreciated evolutionary value of grandmothering. Hawkes says that grandmothering helped us to develop “a whole array of social capacities that are then the foundation for the evolution of other distinctly human traits, including pair bonding, bigger brains, learning new skills and our tendency for cooperation.”

I guess I’m personally inclined to appreciate the importance of grandmothers, having had a pair of good ones myself, and seeing how much time my wife invests in our granddaughter, but I’m less impressed with the study, which is based entirely on a computer simulation. I don’t trust simulations of complex phenomenon that necessarily have to simplify all the parameters. What about aunts and sisters? What about uncles?

What about the grandfathers?

None of those individuals are of interest, because this version of the hypothesis is structured around explaining menopause as the product of selection. Nope, I don’t buy it.

But why would females evolve to only ovulate for 40 or so years into these longer lives? Hawkes and other advocates of the hypothesis note that, without menopause, older women would simply continue to mother children, instead of acting as grandmothers. All children would still be entirely dependent on their mothers for survival, so once older mothers died, many young offspring would likely die too. From an evolutionary perspective, it makes more sense for older females to increase the group’s overall offspring survival rate instead of spending more energy on producing their own.

I’m willing to accept the benefit of an extended family and social cooperation, but the effort to justify menopause seems misplaced. There are many grandmothers who are not menopausal, and there would have been even more in ancient populations, where pregnancy shortly after the onset of menstruation would have been common. It also doesn’t explain the contributions of sisters and aunts to childrearing, or that brothers and sisters, who are also “distractions” from the business of raising a single delicate child. Why couldn’t it benefit a woman to raise her own child born late and also contribute to the well-being of grandchildren born to previous offspring? I suspect the simulation has assumptions built into the code about how much grandparental investment can be offered if they also have a child.

But, yeah, what about the grandfathers?

We help, too. So why isn’t there a male menopause where our testicles shrivel up and make us more willing to contribute to child-rearing? A man has a certain number of progeny, then boom, the reproductive urge goes away and he has to sit down and focus on taking care of the kids he’s got. Or his grandchildren. Or his nieces and nephews. That would be the logical endpoint of this arch-selectionist model, after all, and what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Yet somehow people feel compelled to come up with adaptationist explanations for accidents of evolutionary history.

What are you doing the day after Christmas?

Nothing, that’s what. You’ll be loafing about on an especially lazy Saturday, the kids will all have been overstimulated the day before, sure, you’ve got a mess in the kitchen to clean up, but why not take a break from the drudgery and talk about science? Saturday at noon Central time, I’ll be answering questions about my latest entry in the Evo Devo Diary series. Stop on by!

Who doesn’t love the Heidelberg Screen?

Despite ongoing concerns about power outages from this blizzard, I raced through to get another episode of my Evo Devo Diary up. And here it is!

Of course there is a script below the fold. Also recommended, this paper:
The Heidelberg Screen for Pattern Mutants of Drosophila: A Personal Account
Eric Wieschaus and Christiane Nüsslein-Volhard

Annual Review of Cell and Developmental Biology
Vol. 32:1-46 (Volume publication date October 2016)
First published online as a Review in Advance on August 3, 2016
https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-cellbio-113015-023138
https://www.annualreviews.org/doi/10.1146/annurev-cellbio-113015-023138

Also recommended:
The Making of a Fly: The Genetics of Animal Design

[Read more…]

Chores done!

I got a lot of the menial tedious stuff done today.

✔ New fly stocks set up! This is something I have to do every week to maintain the flow of fly bodies to my hungry spiders.

✔ Backlog of old fly bottles scrubbed and in the autoclave! My least favorite chore. It’s disgusting, my sink fills up with dead flies and huge quantities of pupal shells.

✔ My dirty glassware bucket is completely empty! Huzzah!

✔ I scrubbed up 7 old spider cages, all spider poop and cobwebs fly husks removed with soap and water, and a follow-up wipe-down with alcohol. Now drying overnight.

✔ The big job: repairing and cleaning up the wooden frames the spiders live on. These are just made with 1/4″ dowels and bamboo strips, held together with hot glue (everything in my lab is held together with either or both hot glue and duct tape). Early in this semester, I think I overcompensated with maintaining humidity, and mold grew freely, and the wood warped, popping some of the hot glue joints. Now fixed! Everything was scrubbed down with water and an alcohol wipe.

✔ Washed up a bunch of spider vials.

✔ Ick, scrubbed out the lab sink, which was covered with a thick layer of soggy scraps of chitin. Bonus: while tidying up part of the lab, I found my long lost devil ducky! Maybe future sink scrubbings will be a little happier.

I didn’t transfer spiders to new cages yet–I decided to let the cages and frames dry overnight. No one wants to move into a damp house, after all.

So tomorrow:

  • Remove fly bottles from autoclave & put them away.
  • Move 7 adult spiders from their old filthy cages, move to fresh shiny cages.
  • Scrub old filthy cages, so I can give another 7 spiders a nice clean cage the next day.

Later this week, after they’ve all had a chance to build brand new cobwebs, everyone gets fed. Once everyone is in new homes, it’ll be time for a major lab cleanup — I have old fish tank stuff that just has to go bye-bye.

Time to make my getaway

I have a plan, a good plan, for today. I’m escaping to my lab for a good chunk of the day to do mindless, mundane stuff. It’ll be fun.

Let’s see…first on my list is to make more flies. Then I’m going to scrub out a backlog of fly bottles and get them into the autoclave. Then I have to start rotating spider cages — I have to wash a half dozen cages and do some repair of frames, move a half dozen spiders from old stinky poopy cages to the new shiny clean ones, so I can wash those cages tomorrow and shuffle around some more spiders. I’ll also do some general tidying up before feeding all the baby spiders and coming home.

So there you have it, the glamorous scientific life. At least it’s all stuff one can do during a pandemic.