natural history

Natural history and desk-based ecology

The recent Intecol meeting in London, celebrating the British Ecological Society’s centenary, was perhaps the most Twitter-active (Twinteractive?) conference I’ve been to, with Twitter-only questions at plenaries and plenty of discussion across multiple parallel sessions. One such discussion I dipped into (#ecologyNH) concerned the extent to which a 21st Century ecologist needs to know natural history, a question I’ve been pondering for a while, and one which surfaced again only yesterday in an exchange triggered by Matt Hill (@InsectEcology) and also drawing in Mark Bertness (@mbertness), Ethan White (@ethanwhite) and others. Now the answer to this of course depends on your particular specialism. If you’re a field ecologist then reliably being able to identify your (perhaps many) study species is clearly critical, and many ecological careers outside of academia require very good identification skills in order to assess habitats, prioritise conservation areas, and so on. But ecology’s a broad field, too broad for any one of us to master all of its subdisciplines, and there are skills other than natural history that are equally useful. In particular, an increasing number of us do a kind of ecology which involves sitting in front of a computer screen and playing with other people’s data. In my case, this is macroecology, trying to understand what determines the distribution and abundance of large groups of species over regional to global scales. Is it really necessary for me to be able to put a face to every species name in my dataset in order to extract the kind of general patterns that interest me?

My view is that the answer to this depends on how we define ‘natural history’. As I’ve posted before, I don’t consider myself much of a natural historian, under the rather narrow definition of being able to key out a large number of species; and I don’t believe this holds me back as an ecologist. But on the other hand, I do think that a ‘feel’ for natural history is important. By this, I mean that understanding in general terms the kinds of organisms you work on, and the sorts of ways in which they interact with each other and with their environment, is likely to enhance your understanding of any dataset, and thus will point you in the direction of interesting questions (and away from silly ones). In the same way, I don’t see why a fisheries minister, for example, should be expected to be able to identify every fish on a fishmonger’s slab in order to make sensible policy decisions; but having some general understanding of fish and fisheries above and beyond numbers on a balance sheet seems important to me.

That’s my general thesis, but if you want some specifics, I believe there are some real practical advantages to be gained from a macroecologist taking the time to learn a bit about the natural history of their system, too. First, we all know how easy it is to introduce errors into a large dataset; being able to relate a species name to a mental image of the kind of organism it represents provides an efficient way to spot obvious errors. This is really just an extension of basic quality control of your data - simple plots to identify outliers and so on. But errors need not be outliers - for instance, if you’re looking at the distribution of body size across a very wide range of species, an obvious mistake, like a 50g cetacean or a 50kg sprat, may not be immediately apparent. One such error was only picked up at the proof stage in this paper, when my coauthor Simon Jennings noticed that one of the figures labelled a 440mm scaldfish which he told me was ‘unrealistically big’, in fact over twice the likely maximum length. He was quite right, as a better knowledge of Irish Sea fish would have told me at the outset; fortunately this time we caught the error on time, and it didn’t affect our conclusions at all.we corrected the figure and did the quick check on all the other species that we should have done at the outset.

Of course, there are more formal ways to check data against known limits, but the point is that a bit of expert knowledge - a basic understanding the range of feasible values for a feature of interest - goes a long way. Having worked on many different taxa, not all of which I have personal experience of, my approach to this is to work with some kind of (preferably colourful) field guide near at hand that I can dip in to to remind myself that points of a graph = organisms in an environment.

Some outliers, of course, remain stubbornly resistant to quality control, and you eventually have to accept that they are real. Here again, a bit of natural history can help you to interpret them and to suggest additional factors that may be important. For instance, I have worked quite a bit on the relationship between the local abundance and regional distribution of species. Such  ‘abundance-occupancy’ relationships (AORs) are typically positive, such that locally common species are also regionally widespread. I put it like this: if you drove through Britain, you’d tend to see the same common birds everywhere on your journey, but the rare ones would vary much more from place to place. However, although AORs are well-established as a macroecological generality, there are often outlying species, for instance species with very high local densities but small distributions. Identifying such points (‘Oh, they’re gannets’) and knowing something about them (‘of course, they nest colonially’) can help to explain these anomalies.

Such simple observations - ‘gannets don’t fit the general AOR’ - can then lead to more general predictions - ‘AORs will be different in species that breed colonially’ - that can influence future research directions. In my experience, observations of natural history will frequently suggest new explanations for known patterns, or will lead you to seek out study systems meeting particular criteria in order to test a hunch. A fascination with natural history may lead you to learn about a new ecosystem -  deep sea hydrothermal vents, say - which you then start to think may be perfect for testing theories of island biogeography or latitudinal diversity gradients.

You might also start to question models that gloss over natural historical details. On a winter walk in the Peak District I made the very obvious observation that the north-facing side of the steep valley was deeply frosted while the other, only a hundred metres or so distant but south-facing, was really quite pleasantly warm. This got me thinking about how the availability of such microclimates would not be captured in most of the (kilometre scale) GIS climate layers people use in species distribution modelling, yet could be crucial in determining where a species occurs. This is unlikely to have been an original thought, and is not one I’ve followed up, but it emphasises how real world observation can colour your interpretation of computational results.

More generally, real world observation - ‘going one-on-one with a limpet’, as Bob Paine puts it in a nice interview on BioDiverse Perspectives - gives you a sense of the set of plausible explanations for the phenomena that emerge from datasets at scales too large for one person to experience. This in turn leads to a healthy scepticism of hypotheses that fall outside that set. To paraphrase an earlier post of mine, simply plucking patterns from data with no feel for context and contingency is unlikely to lead to the understanding that we crave.

That said, however, there are benefits to be had from putting aside one’s personal experience and being guided, from time to time, by the data. I guess I’m influenced here by working on marine systems, where the human perspective is not a good guide to how organisms perceive their environment. We simply can’t sense the fine structure of many marine habitats, or how dispersal can be limited in what looks like a barrier-less environment. Bob Paine admits as much: directly after the limpet quote, he says “How do you do that with a great white shark or blue whale? There’s this barrier to what I would call natural history.” He goes on to talk about the problems with relying on personal experience when working on systems such as terrestrial forests with very slow dynamics. These long-term, large-scale, hard-to-access systems are, I would argue, exactly where the methods of macroecology and other computational branches of our science come to the fore. It is also, dare I say it, where coordinated observational programmes like NEON can make a real contribution.

But let me finish with perhaps the most important justification for spicing up computer-based ecology with a bit of natural history. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves, and for most ecologists surely that means getting out into the field, in whatever capacity - for work or for fun - and wherever it may be, from our back gardens to the back of beyond. My personal view is that doing this whenever you can will make you a better ecologist. But even if I’m wrong, it ought to make you a happier ecologist, and that’s important too.

Midsummer Indulgence

Sorting through some papers recently, I came across a printout of a piece I wrote in (I think) the summer of 2002, fresh out of a PhD and wondering what happens next, looking after the ailing family dog at my parents’ house in West Norfolk, playing with the idea of natural history writing. Short of cash too - this was intended for some essay competition or other, probably at BBC Wildlife, though it certainly didn't bring me riches, even if I actually entered it. I re-read it, a decade on, expecting to cringe much more than I actually did. Things have moved on since then - the dog didn’t last the summer, mum and dad have migrated to the coast, I know a few more birdsongs, and I’ve somehow managed to remain employed doing what I enjoy, pretty much continuously. But Sheffield is also rich in swifts, and their screeching arrival each May signals the start of summer, regardless of what the weather tries to tell me. It’s still nice to stand in a field and remember that ecology is about real organisms interacting in a complex, wonderful world, and not simply points on a graph. So, 11 midsummers on, here’s the piece, retyped with one or two minor edits, but essentially an authentic blast from my past. What I’m saying, I suppose, is: indulge me… SWIFT

I wouldn’t mind being a swift for an hour or two. The thought cartwheels into my head as I crane to count them circling, screeching, avoiding bedtime on midsummer’s night. I’m on a hopeful excursion, looking for a barn owl that I’d seen on patrol months earlier, on the shortest morning. Noticing earlier that the meadow next to the river - its meadow - was freshly mown, I’d thought that on such a luminous evening as a barn owl I’d be hunting there. But my own hunt, always vague, tonight is in vain. In fact the full statistics of my stroll would hardly excite an expert - not even a hare, a rare absentee in these fields, in this part of Norfolk.

But I do calm my nerves before tomorrow’s job interview. Manage to reassure myself that this is who I am, this is what I like, all of it is worth it. And I take my communion, on the bridge over the Wissey, watching the lifeblood of this rich land flow beneath me, suffused still with water-crowfoot blooms and guarded by stroppy moorhens. I follow the meanders, going with the flow a way as I used to daily when the dog was younger and more sprightly.

Tonight the newly airborn midges, mozzies, mayflies could sustain a filter-feeding zeppelin, though for some reason (I won’t complain) they decline to feed on me. A malaise trap might catch a million a minute; back home, I could magnify, tease out, count veins and setae and quantify this diversity. But that sounds like a day job, and this is an evening stroll, so I leave them in as much peace as their brief and frenzied adult lives allow.

Soon I annoy a more ponderous beast, a heron sighing as it lifts off and flaps further downstream. How to tell it just to let me past, or I’ll disturb it again soon enough, round the next bend, or the next? Usually, I consider the heron’s solitary, stationary, mobbed lot a poor one, feeling I would soon tire of holding yogic postures in chilly, drizzly esturine mud. But tonight I would happily stand an hour or two with toes in this lucid summer stream.

A field of cows on the opposite bank: a score of mums and leggy calves processing dinner, long faces panning as I progress. A young coot, grey and ugly, panics, setting a partridge chucking behind. A rabbit retreating rapidly from the water’s edge gets my binoculars twitching - my heart insists on associating mammals near water with the frolicking otters that would complete the scene. But I’ll not see them on such a casual amble, I know. With the rampant June vegetation even water voles are invisible, betraying their presence with squeaks from deep within the tangled reeds.

Level with the old willow that marks my usual turning point, I finally set up the heron again. He shows his disdain by projecting a great skein of bright white shit in my general direction, but happily I’m out of range - a friend’s car acquired an uneven but surprisingly thorough re-spray in similar circumstances. I turn and head homewards with more urgency, conscious that my bare legs are unlikely to escape the insect clouds a second time. Birds are still settling in the bushes, and I pick out the odd wren or blue tit. In this prime riparian corridor there must be others, and indeed I’ve seen a few - whitethroats, reed warblers - but I’ll need more sessions with the CD before I’m confident in my ear. This new world of song feels tantalisingly close, but for now with no-one to confirm otherwise I’ll assume the lone thrush is a blackbird and not a nightingale. Still, another excuse for returning…

Pausing again on the bridge - a habit since I once saw the day-making flash of a kingfisher there - tonight I see just bubbles. Perhaps chub? With the low sun I can’t make out shapes or count fins. My angling friend would have sized them up by now I know, determined optimal bait and tactics. But I’m convinced that a lifetime on river banks has left him with polarizing retinas.

Now back past the barn owl’s vacant paddock, into the village, to the contemplation of chasing, screaming swifts. Their action calls to mind a skateboarder: seconds of vigorous pumping affording a blissful few seconds of glorious gliding before a new input of power is needed to avert the risk of stalling. Trying to focus binoculars on them, I may as well try focusing on flames. But I’m sure they are smiling, exhilarated anew each day by the sheer joy of flight. And really, that would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it?