Today would have been the 114th birthday of George Gaylord Simpson had he lived to that implausible age. Simpson is well known for his paleontological research and his role in formulating the “new synthesis” of evolution. Although much of his work focused on fossil mammals, Simpson also collected and studied fossil penguins. His initial foray into the world penguins was by his own account accidental. Simpson traveled to Argentina several times in the 1930s to collect fossils and brought back a large number of penguin specimens. No bird experts at the American Museum of Natural History wanted to undertake a study of the material, so Simpson himself took up the reigns and wrote a monograph succinctly titled “Fossil Penguins” in 1946. This sparked a long term interest in fossil penguins that brought him to investigate collections throughout the Southern Hemisphere, identifying many new species and revising the taxonomic arrangement of the group. My own work on fossil penguins was kindled by Simpson’s legacy. As a graduate student at the American Museum of Natural History, I had the chance to examine the specimens he collected in Argentina, prodding the ancient bones with new methods that had existed in the mid-century such as CT-scanning and advanced microscopy. One of the amazing experiences about working in museums is you quite literally get to walk in the footsteps of legends, reading hand-written field notes (which in the case of Simpson often mix meticulous outcrop maps with witty remarks).
Aside from his many scholarly publications, Simpson wrote the popular book “Penguins: Past and Present, Here and There” in which he chronicled discoveries of living penguins and fossil penguins, including both historical events and penguin encounters from his own adventures. There is a quote near the end of the book that is simply delightful:
“What good are penguins?” It may be crass to ask what good a wild animal is, but I do think the question may be legitimate. That depends on what you mean by good. If you mean “good to eat,” you are perhaps being stupid. If you mean “good to hunt,” you are surely being vicious. If you mean “good as it is good in itself to be a living creature enjoying life,” you are not being crass, stupid, or vicious. I agree with you and I am your brother as well as the penguin’s.”
This week, I visited the Beneski Museum of Natural History at Amherst College. The museum is home to one of the most famous fossils in the world, a slab bearing the first fossil dinosaur footprints ever discovered. Remarkably, the slab was used for years as a doorstop before its importance was recognized.
While the museum’s remarkable assemblage of fossil trackways is the most unique aspect of the collections, a different type of fossil caught my eye. Within a nifty display illustrating different pathways to fossilization, a somewhat unfortunate-looking bird sits in a pull-out drawer. The specimen was collected from Guanape Island, off the coast of mainland Peru. Although it looks almost like a mangled rubber chicken, the specimen is actually hardened and pretty much reduced to the bones. The bird is encased in a thin layer of guano: that is, it is literally preserved in poop. Guano is the term scientists use for the bird and bat droppings. Guano is rich in phosphate, which under the right conditions can enhance preservation of shell and bone. In places where animals congregate in large numbers, guano may form layers than are meters and meters deep.
A closer look reveals the specimen here is a penguin: the dead giveaway is the very short wing. This penguin is most likely a Humboldt Penguin, a species which inhabits the coasts of Peru today and happens to feel quite comfortable digging into guano layers to create burrows for nesting. Guano nesting can be hazardous, however. Humans have recognized that guano makes an excellent fertilizer for centuries, and have often excavated guano deposits with little regard for the birds using the deposits as breeding colonies, stripping them bare with rapacious greed. This approach is short-sighted, as the deposits are replenished by the birds themselves – more responsible harvesting schedules can turn guano into a renewable resource and have been adapted in recent times and many sights.
How many feathers does a penguin have? It seems like a straightforward thing to address, but it is also exactly the type of basic natural history question that often gets overlooked. It appears that no one had taken the time to thoroughly calculate the number before. Surprisingly, previous accounts ranged from 11 feathers per square centimeter to 46 feathers per square centimeter, and did not even agree on what types of feathers the penguins have.
Feathers fulfill many functions beyond flight, including thermoregulation, camouflage, display, and waterproofing. Different types of feathers contribute to these functions. Contour feathers are large and stiff-vaned feathers that generally form the outer layer of a bird’s feather coat. Flight feathers are the contour feathers than create the airfoil of the wing. These feathers are large in volant birds, but in penguins the “flight” feathers are reduced to tiny, scale-like structures. Plumules are downy feathers with looser barbs and a soft, cottony texture. These feathers typically lie under the contour feathers and provide an insulating layer. Perhaps the weirdest type of feather is the obscure filoplume. Filoplumes are essentially small, bare feather shafts. They can serve no aerodynamic or insulatory purpose and are instead hypothesized to help birds detect the orientation of their larger feathers. Penguins have long been considered to lack filoplumes, but that turns out not to be the case.
A new study tackled the question of Emperor Penguin feather density, a compelling issue given the ability of these birds to survive extremely cold and windy conditions. The team salvaged Emperor Penguin carcasses from Antarctica and took small square patches of skin from different parts of the body. Within each patch, they counted and mapped out the arrangement of different feather types. Whereas previous scientists had overlooked filoplumes in penguins, the team observed them nestled at the base of larger feathers. In fact, it seems that each contour feather on the body has its own associated filoplume. Overall, the most numerous feathers were the downy plumules, which were four times more abundant than contour feathers and filoplumes. This surfeit of downy insulation makes sense given the harsh environment Emperor Penguins inhabit. It may also play a role in locomotion, as a place to store air to release when speeding towards the surface (see more about Bubbling Penguins here).
So how many feathers does an Emperor Penguin have? It turns out density varies quite a bit around the penguin, from as low 5.8 feathers per square centimeter on the back of one penguin to 13.5 feathers per square centimeter on the front of another. The researchers extrapolated from their samples that the full body would have 144,000 to 180,000 total feathers. Any volunteers to count them individually and confirm?
Reference: Williams CL, Hagelin JC, Kooyman GL. 2015 Hidden keys to survival: the type, density, pattern and functional role of emperor penguin body feathers. Proceedings of the Royal Society B 282: 20152033.
I’ve written an article on color in penguins, highlighting some of the remarkable discoveries my colleagues in the modern penguin world have made about pigments, structural color, and more (plus of course a mention of fossil penguin feathers). The article is in the January/February 2016 issue, and you can check it out here as well:
Today is Penguin Awareness Day. Let’s discuss a feature of which we humans may not be aware, because of our limited visual perception. Our eyes can detect the visible light part of the electromagnetic spectrum, spanning the range from about 700 nanometers (red) to 400 nanometers (violet) wavelength. Many birds, including penguins, see beyond this range into the ultraviolet portion of the spectrum. Birds often have “hidden” markings that they themselves can see, but can only be detected by humans through artificial illumination.
King Penguins are one species that have ultraviolet markings, as scientists have discovered. These large penguins are already stunning birds, with orange patches of color along their necks, ear regions, and the sides of their beaks. Recently, scientists delved deeper to detect ultraviolet patches are also positioned along the lower bill. Both the visible and ultraviolet colors appear to play a role in attracting mates.
How do King Penguins produce ultraviolet colors? The answer is multilayered reflector photonic microstructure. Essentially, the outer layer of the beak contains alternating layers of high refractive index and low refractive index materials. Reflected light from the different layers interacts to bounce back wavelengths in the ultraviolet spectrum. Research by Dr. Birgitta Dresp-Langley and colleagues has revealed that King Penguin beaks have a layer filled with special folded microstructures and intervening filaments
of β-keratin. These markings help indicate maturity, and may also be attractive to other penguins. As a King Penguin grows, the ultraviolet hue of the beak markings increases. Surveys of wild penguins show they are strongest in recently formed male–female pairs. When scientists hid the ultraviolet markings by painting a layer of varnish over a penguin’s beak, those birds had a harder time finding a mate – perhaps the equivalent of the penguin hitting the local watering holes without enough lipstick or cologne!
Dresp, B., P. Jouventin, and K. Langley. 2005. Ultraviolet reflecting photonic microstructures in the King Penguin beak. Biology Letters 1: 310–313.