Zooplankton are tiny creatures found throughout Earth’s oceans. During the daytime, they linger in the twilight depths, where they are harder for predators to spot. But once the sun sets, zooplankton migrate hundreds of meters upward to reach the abundant food near the surface. When sunrise comes, they migrate back downward. Given their size, this feat is astounding; equivalent to a human running two 10-kilometer races a day at Olympic marathon speeds. And, despite their tiny size, these motions leave a mark; researchers have shown that the collective action of all these tiny swimmers is large-scale turbulence with serious mixing potential. (Video and image credit: Be Smart)
Fellow allergy sufferers, beware! This false-color satellite image of the Baltic Sea shows massive slicks made up of pine pollen. I don’t know about you, but the mere thought of enough pollen that it’s visible from space makes me want to double — triple?! — my antihistamines. The swirling patterns in the pollen come from wind-driven currents and waves moving the pollen on the surface of the water.
It took some sleuthing for scientists to identify these slicks as pollen rather than bacteria or plankton. But by combining experimental results, ground-based observations, and satellite image processing, scientists discovered that the pine pollen has a particular spectral signature. Using that, the team could trawl through older satellite imagery and locate pine pollen in previous seasons. They identified pine pollen slicks in 14 of the last 20 springs. The size of the slicks is growing over time, too, consistent with other observations of longer pollinating seasons. (Image credit: L. Dauphin; via NASA Earth Observatory)
Bird’s nest fungi are tiny — only about a centimeter wide. When mature, they form a curved splash cap containing spore sacs known as peridioles. Then they await rain. When a lucky drop hits the mushroom, it flings the peridioles out of their nest. Some will use sticky cords to cling to nearby blades of grass, setting them up to eventually hitch a ride to elsewhere with a grazing herbivore. It’s an impressive journey for a teeny spore sac, and it all starts with a single drop of rain. (Image and video credit: Deep Look)
The human placenta functions as a life-support system for a growing fetus. Despite its frisbee-like appearance, the organ is packed with nearly 10 square meters of blood vessels. On the fetal side, these blood vessels form villous trees where diffusion across the placental boundary exchanges molecules with the maternal blood that fills the space between villous trees. This setup allows oxygen, glucose, carbon dioxide and other key chemicals to cross between the parent and fetus while (ideally) keeping diseases out.
Views of the placenta. Beige areas show the intervillous space where maternal blood flows while pink areas show villous trees where exchanges between the fetus and mother take place. The first three images show a) preeclamptic, b) normal, and c) diabetic placentas. The final image d) shows a 3D view of placental tissue taken with x-ray tomography.
But when diseases directly affect the structure of the placenta, flow to the fetus gets disrupted. The image above shows cross-sections of placental tissues, with villous trees marked in pink, under (a) preeclamptic, (b) normal, and (c) diabetic conditions. Preeclampsia is associated with reduced density of villous trees, which restricts the amount of nutrients a fetus receives and can lead to reduced growth or stillbirth. In contrast, with gestational diabetes villous trees can proliferate, causing a high resistance to flow that also affects exchanges.
Desert-dwelling sandgrouse resemble pigeons or doves, but they have a very different superpower: males can soak in and hold 25 milliliters of water in their feathers, which they carry tens of kilometers back to their chicks. The key to this ability is the microstructure of the bird’s breast feathers. Unlike other species, where feathers have hooks and grooves that “zip” them together, the sandgrouse’s specialized feathers have tiny barbules with varying bending stresses. When dipped in water, their curled shape unwinds, allowing water to soak in through capillary action. Barbules at the tips curl inward, holding the water in place so that the sandgrouse can fly home with it.
Studying nature’s solutions for water-carrying will help engineers design better materials for human use, whether that’s a water bottle that avoids sloshing or a medical swab that’s better at absorbing and releasing fluids. (Image and video credit: Johns Hopkins; research credit: J. Mueller and L. Gibson; via Forbes; submitted by Kam-Yung Soh)
Despite their microscopic size, many plankton undertake a daily migration that covers tens of meters in depth. As they journey, they must contend with currents, turbulence, and other flows that could knock them off-course. And, increasingly, research shows that a plankton’s shape makes a big difference in these flows.
Spherical plankton tend to cluster in areas of flow moving opposite to their direction of travel. But more elongated plankton can resist — or even reverse — this tendency, helping them stay on track. In turbulence, elongated swimmers are also better at keeping their thrust oriented in the desired direction of travel. So both nature and engineers should favor elongated microswimmers when contending with turbulence and potential crossflows. (Image credit: Picturepest/Flickr; research credit: R. Bearon and W. Durham)
When attacked, the eel-like hagfish slimes its predator, clogging the fish’s gills so that it can escape. A recent study looks at just what makes the slime so effective. There are two main (non-seawater) components to hagfish slime: mucus and threads. The team’s experiments showed that the slime’s clogging is due almost entirely to the mucus; the clogging power of full slime and mucus-only slime is almost identical.
So what are the threads for? They make it harder for the mucus to get washed away. Mucus alone isn’t able to clog as effectively after a single rinse, but, with the threads included, the slime hardly budges. That staying power makes it all the harder for a predator to clear its gills once slimed. In fact, it’s still unclear to scientists whether a slimed fish can free itself from the clogging. After all, the attacker can’t use the hagfish’s trick to free itself from slime. (Image credit: dirtsailor2003/Flickr; research credit: L. Taylor et al.)
Blooms of the algae Karenia brevis — known as a red tide — bring havoc to Gulf Coast shores. The algae can kill fish and other marine life, and it causes skin irritation and even respiratory problems for humans. But in spite of the moniker, these algae can be hard to spot; they can add a green, brown, red, or black hue to the water.
The false-color image above uses a new image processing technique that reveals the bloom. Using satellite images taken over multiple days, scientists can track and study the red tide in unprecedented detail. The new technique will be a boon to those trying to monitor and understand red tides. (Image credit: Y. Yao/USF/Planet Labs/L. Dauphin; via NASA Earth Observatory)
Seals and sea lions often hunt fish in waters too dark or turbid to rely on eyesight. Instead, they follow their whiskers, using the turbulence generated by a fish’s wake. The vortices shed by the fish cause the seal’s whiskers to vibrate, giving them sensory information. To better understand what a seal can derive from this, a recent experiment looked at what a thin whisker can pick up from an upstream cylinder.
As expected, the strength of the whisker’s vibration fell off the farther away the cylinder was. But the researchers found that, if they moved the cylinder quickly — like a fish trying to dart away — the vibration of the whisker was stronger. They also found that the whisker was sensitive to misalignment. If the cylinder was placed ahead and to the side of the whisker, the whisker would still vibrate but would do so around a different equilibrium position. That result implies that a seal can get information both about the fish’s speed and direction, simply from the twitch of its whiskers. (Image credit: seal – K. Luke, illustration – P. Gong et al.; research credit: P. Gong et al.; via APS Physics)
Illustration of a seal following a fish versus the experiment, a whisker following a cylinder’s wake.
Frogs and toads shoot out their tongues to capture and envelop their prey in a fraction of a second. They owe their success in this area to two features: the squishiness of their tongues and the stickiness of their saliva. The super squishy toad tongue deforms to touch as much of the insect as possible. That shape-changing helps deliver the saliva, which is an impressively fast-acting, shear-thinning fluid. Under normal circumstances, the saliva is sticky and about as viscous as honey. But the shear from the tongue’s impact makes the saliva flow like water, spreading across the insect’s body. Then it morphs back into its viscous, sticky self, providing enough adhesive power that the insect can’t escape the toad pulling its tongue back in. (Video credit: Deep Look/KQED; research credit: A. Noel et al.)
