The annotated budak

Bug bites

Singaporeans have, of late, become somewhat acquainted with Chironomidae, a family of nematoceran flies whose aquatic larvae trigger the appetites of captive fish as well as the immune systems of individuals with an acute sensitisation to oxygen-rich pigments. Adult bloodworms may also affect individuals who muck about in freshwater marshes, but otherwise pose little threat to humanity, save when they erupt en masse from eutrophic waterbodies to sow terror in suburbia and fuel the paranoia of a population already at odds with the natural and native elements of life beyond a living.

The systematic distinctions between midges and mosquitoes probably matter little to park visitors who double as unwilling donors to blood-sucking dipterans. There is also small comfort in the fact that their minute tormentors are, in turn, bugged by pests who pick on creatures several times their size. Female mosquitoes, whose thirst for animal protein adds unwanted buzz to urban wetlands and coastal swamps, engorge themselves on tetrapod corpuscles and suffer for their efforts the stabs of ceratopogonid midges that plunge dainty mouthparts into culicid vessels.

Also known as biting midges, ceratopogonids are tiny insects that inhabit damp areas, including tropical beaches, and usually escape notice until they land on the hides of vertebrate hosts. The bites of genera such as Culicoides and Leptoconops are noted to be highly unpleasant, resulting in prolonged itchiness, and it is likely that many attribute the results of their attacks to sandflies in sensu stricto, namely psychodids in the genera Phlebotomus and Sergentomyia, which may not be actually present in the country, or garden-variety mosquitoes, which they somewhat resemble. Neither blame nor blessing, therefore, accrue to these flies, which are happy to ignore man for the most part, sipping nectar when not consumed by gravidity and serving as unwitting vectors of pleasure, being pollinators of fruit divine as well as the trees that secrete the raw materials for safe thrusts.

Entomophagy, or more correctly, ectoparasitism, is the hallmark of one ceratopogonid subfamily, Forcipomyiinae, many of whose members feed off lacewings, caterpillars, orthopterans, stick insects, blister beetles, moths, butterflies and odonates. One species has become the dipteran equivalent of ticks, while another, undescribed, Forcypomyia is said to dine only on freshly dispatched termites that are thought to be the sole prey of a tiny Ecuadorian spider. How female forcipomyiines sidestep the appetites of fast and formidable victims is unclear; palpable numbers plagued a female Orthetrum and male Libellago daviesi by a brook near Duloduo in North Sulawesi, which bristled with endemic chlorocyphids, metallic blue demoiselles, gaudy coenagrionids, and green-eyed libellulids. Do the midges, to run this aerial gauntlet, emit some signal of discouragement that renders their prey docile while their veins are pierced and haemolymph possessed? Or do they home in only after dark, when there is a lower chance of having the tables turned on them and little room, perhaps, for the nursing of fancies that remain captive to shadow and shroud?

Finger-licking food

A seawall with two tidal gaps shields the swimming lagoon next to the pier at St John's Island from the channel that separates the shore from Lazarus Island and Seringat-Kias. The latter, a paradise of artificial proportions, is now a place of loss, a monument to the whims of economic ambition and the wavestruck barrow of two patch reefs that perished under a playground for largely absent revellers. The odd pleasure craft lays weekend anchor by a pontoon that leads to a manicured park, but for the most part, the reclaimed isle simmers with discontent, welcoming to its windblown paths an army of giant African snails, bedraggled kittens and swarthy men who maintain the lot of a paved asset that has yet to yield liquid returns.

With time and favourable currents, the pristine bay between Seringat-Kias and Lazarus Island will suffer the fate of the semi-enclosed beach across the water, which probably lost what early appeal it enjoyed when the sea took its toll of sand and offered in compensation a rising bank of mud. Castles can still be erected above the high water mark and victuals consumed under the shade of casuarina groves, but the leisure cove now resists gentrification with silty mounds, soft flats and layers of debris, the plastic remains of spontaneous picnics as well as the compostable waste of nearby mangroves. Dead fish, brachyuran carcasses, unadventurous propagules and limp weed arrive with the waves to seed the shore with living bodies, which pull apart flesh and fruit to enrich the sediment and restore a measure of disorder to a strand where decay was not expected and never planned.

One of the first, and fastest, caretakers of this intertidal graveyard is Ocypode ceratophthalmus, a crab built for speed and sudden bursts of agility on sandy slopes and low rubble. The animals are usually paranoid, regarding every approaching form as a potential threat and a chance to launch into a rattling sprint. But in the dark, they lose sight of the signals that trigger flight and often allow close scrutiny of their foraging activities. Descending from burrows in higher ground, the crabs sample damp grains for traces of amino acids, following perhaps streams of flavour that emanate from the dead and dying until they reach the source of their compulsion.

Two sturdy chelipeds then confront beached victims and reduce throbbing flanks and feeble limbs to their constituent segments. The digits at the tip of these appendages are stout and lightly built, a far cry from the crudely effective bludgeons of Scylla or the shell-cracking apparatuses of predatory xanthids. But one chela is noticeably bulkier and serves to pin down morsels and possibly browbeat struggling prey into insensible fractions. The other, daintier, claw performs acts of fine dexterity, nipping off bite-sized pieces from larger chunks for delivery to the mouth, where three pairs of maxillipeds take over the manipulation of proteinous shreds. Some individuals are south paws, while others punch with their right, but a similar division of duties holds. The process is by no means refined, but it suffices the crab to get a grip on its meal and maintain a footing that is ready to pick out scraps and propel itself from the tyranny of suburbane table manners.

Unspottable

A fulsome bloom of sargassum, aided by evening monsoons of wintry discontent, threatens to wrack what little opportunity remains this year to plunge into the flats that surround Singapore's southern islands. The sunken rims of Pulau Semakau, St John's Island and Pulau Hantu throb with thalli that sprout from benthic holdfasts to smother the reefs with unruly layers and vie with the corals for the power of the sun, which runs out early in the day during this season of swift, sullen clouds. The algae, which erupt with no regard for the polyps, sponges and bivalves that share their bed and similarly survive on scattered rays, are governed by rhythms of murky provenance; nutrient spikes or heatwaves may fuel their spread, but whatever the trigger, the macrophytes surge and sink with a frequency that defies prediction, withering at the end of each cycle to stew on rubble or embark on secret trysts from apparent sterility.

While they grow, the lamellae provide the substratum for minute communities that scour the weed for edible filaments. Lurking in the dense clumps for prey and protection are coin-sized filefish, wary scorpionfish, prowling octopuses, paddling crabs and caridean shrimps with no hint of colour save in their eyes and freshly stuffed bellies. Colonies of hydroids may also set foot on the sargassum, the better to snare passing zooplankton with their stinging arms; in turn, they draw the appetites of at least one nudibranch which mows the cnidarians with toothy jaws and conceals its own presence via dorsal parapodia that mimic the tips of tattered blades. There was, alas, no sign of these dendronotids at St John's Island last Friday, despite the oppression of a thick brown belt that cloaked the reef edge and left little room for trod. The only opistobranch to emerge from the fronds was a hairy sea hare that gave itself away when its mantle flaps separated to unleash a siphonal gasp. More commonly seen on northern shores subject to estuarine inundations and cyanobacterial blooms, Bursatella leachii is a creature of low estimation with a body of branching papillae and bright blue ocelli that usually escape notice when the slug flops on muddy bottoms or forages on dull seats. Small individuals, perhaps the issue of larvae who were too eager to settle down, show up at times in the south, but these grazers never reach the lengths of animals from softer flats and fail to swamp these shores before their food runs out and the survivors march to close the gap between life and breath.

A somewhat less ephemeral aplysiid inhabits vegetation of firmer mien. Finding Phyllaplysia is nonetheless still an exercise that strains the eyes and taxes the limbs, for this slug's abode, Enhalus acoroides, seldom occurs in sprawling meadows by smaller islands. Each outpost of tapegrass must therefore be scrutinised, its legion of hermit crabs disregarded and dismissed, and aberrations on the leaf surfaces discounted only when doubly inspected. And there is always the constant threat of distraction from more charismatic beasts that beckon from the peripheries of torched vision. 

Pale longitudinal striations and a slim, compressed body help to mask these sea hares on the narrow confines of their habitat, reducing molluscan forms to indiscernible pads that meld with the veins of a vascular plant. Two dark spots near the base of the rhinophores probably do little more than offer a stereoscopic sensation of light and allow the animal to maintain its desired plane of existence on a world of few dimensions. The fibres of Enhalus are almost certainly too tough for the slug, but the straps, especially older foliage, usually attract an ample population of microalgae and other fouling organisms. For Phyllaplysia, the rights to this bounty and its disposal in good taste are fair trade for the privilege of living unseen and unchecked on a platform that's always green but never truly clean.

Odd combination

Typical ctenophores, which constitute a minor and oft misplaced branch of the animal kingdom, swim through the world's oceans using fine cilia arranged in ctenes, eight comb-like rows whose fluid strokes propel a round or barrel-shaped body and scatter light to cause an eruption of rainbows on sacs of liquid glass. They lack the stinging cells of true jellyfish, but comb jellies are effective predators in their own right. Many species drag two long tentacles armed with adhesive filaments or tentilla that snare fish larvae, planktonic eggs, minute crustaceans and pelagic cnidarians. In turn, sea gooseberries, as globular representatives of the phylum are sometimes called, provide nourishment for creatures, including fellow ctenophores, that are not above devouring a pack of sticky collagen.

Most ctenophores wander freely in waters from coastal shelves to oceanic depths, where some assume bizarre forms resembling blobs that fly on muscular wings or transparent ribbons that undulate away from disturbance. But the strangest members of the phylum, the 'odd ducks' of a curious and cryptic group, are probably the platyctenids, an order whose members resemble neither true jellyfish nor their fellow floaters. Aborally flattened and richly pigmented, these aberrant ctenophores risk confusion with polyclads or particularly depressed nudibranchs. Yet more often than not, the animals are overlooked as their colours, which range from pale leather to leopard print, match the background hues of their alcyoniid homes.

The surest signs of these non-intuitive planes of existence amid a dense bed of swaying polyps are tell-tale strands that emanate from the colony, which are quite easily seen at close range, although some might mistake the fine tentilla for strings of marine goo. Sea urchins and starfish are also known to host these benthic gatherers, which latch on to passing victims on reefs such as Pulau Hantu's, where the wonders of life under the waves lure a regular flood of divers and endure, through flame and unfriendly tidings, the sick, sweet scent of stacks that gleam in the dark and turn the light of the earth into drops of refined fury.

Beyond the wayside

Their heads ablaze and petals aglow under the glare of a sickly sun, the flowers of a wild daisy line a path that leads to the old railway line, now shorn of its tracks and all but smothered by a frenzy of tall herbs and grasshoppers, and into the mangroves of Mandai, where a short river feeds a swamp of rare trees and wintering birds. Though a transplant from a newer world, Bidens alba has found ample fans among native bees and butterflies that see no grounds for shunning a source of life and willingly sustain a trade of mutual gain. 

Left to their own devices, the wildflowers and reeds would soon form a low wall of green, easily permeable by naked limbs were it not for a barrage of prickly stems, stubborn tendrils and stinging ants, between the road and the forest. One old man, however, wages a war of attention against this botanical horde, clearing its frontlines to create a generous buffer around a grassless square, barely visible to passing drivers, on which stands a shrine to one who preserves the world, the supreme master of time and space and omnipresent lord of ten avatars. Along with a tribute to an acolyte of latter days, the altar to Vishnu rests against a hut of three yellow walls, capped by roof of red and sheltered by the boughs of an old fig tree. Three fresh limes on the tips of a trident guard the abode, which displays all the signs and plastic tools of regular care and devoted maintenance. Near-toothless and in his late 70s, the man declared that he had little else to live for but to tend to this patch of holy ground that came into being some three decades ago. His wife, a lady from Dalian, had left him to run a lucrative business that oversees the lives of mainland migrants to Australia. Labouring alone and learning little of profit from the few who trespass this domain, he stuffed the cuttings into cardboard boxes, unwilling, as it were, to let the forces of nature, even when shorn and scattered, impinge on the land he mans and the life he has chosen for himself in a time when such gestures of faith earn neither invisible honour nor earthy reward. 

Low-hanging fruit flies

A pretty fly with black and yellow thoraicic markings, lightly patterned wings and technicolour eyes often hogs the lowlight by forest trails, where the insects engage in scintillating displays on leafy platforms. Wings atwitch, forelegs raised and bottoms up, the flies issue quiet challenges to each other with unusual disregard for personal safety, a possible consequence of their vague resemblance to small vespids, though they possess the full power of their tribe to apparate when prodded.

My best, not entirely unresearched, guess as to the identity of these insects is Adrama rufiventris, a tephritid distributed from Thailand to Papua and synomymised, though not always, in the literature with Adrama selecta. Stubby, pendulous antennae; a scutellum with four backward-pointing bristles; a conical ovipositor; and femora bearing a row of ventral spines – these are the visible hallmarks of the genus, whose 13 or more species occur throughout the Orient and Australasia, and which includes Adrama determinata and austeni, two not-insignificant pests of tea seeds. The larval habits of this inland species are not known, but Adrama rufiventris has been obtained from a gutta-percha tree in Thailand, while a congener discovered in local mangroves has been reared from the fruit of Excoecaria agallocha.

Tephritidae, a large family with at least 40 local species, includes the true fruit flies (as opposed to the dipterous lab-rat Drosophila, which favours sour over fresh fruit), a lineage with largely host specific habits, although a few subfamilies have polyphagous, saphrophagic or even parasitoid members. Many tephritids boast colourful ommatidia and smoky cells, the latter of which are employed in showy courtship rituals that may also involve a dab of fragrance from eversible glands. Some species are known to exchange oral fluids in a gesture of reeking intimacy, an act that may be analogous to the presentation of juicy prey by male empidids to their mates. Broadly applicable but frustratingly vague, these observations point to a need to tarry by wayside leks, interpret the fine prints on fresh blades and learn the specific outcomes of these persistent efforts to sidestep rivals and claim the prize of fly-by seductions.