What do you do at the sight of danger? I guess it depends. If you think you can deal with it, you make a stand and prepare to fight. If the odds seem against you, you look around and take off running for safety. If the danger is coming at you from above, you duck. If at your feet, you jump. We have all kinds of responses, made in a split second, some evolutionary and quite automatic. No one really teaches you to duck if something is coming straight at your face. Some of these reactions are also learned and, depending of the degree of danger, very effective or totally ineffectual. In the movies we see so many people freeze and stare at the T-Rex coming towards them while our brains scream Run! Run! We could write a whole essay about why people react the way they do when faced with danger or a threat. But what about simpler creatures, like insects? I always walk around the forest with a camera. I know, for a fact, that I’m going to see something I have not seen before, a species, an event, a behavior, a rare combination of all of the above. So, my camera goes with me everywhere and I have been able to capture some very interesting, beautiful and even inspiring moments. But then, after the pictures, out comes the finger…
After all the photos are taken, the observations made, the notes written down in my tiny notepad, and I’m at that moment of pure, plain and simple observation, I touch. Gently, carefully, softly to see the reaction. I have to, I can’t help it. Sometimes, the creature jumps, which happens often with crickets, grasshoppers and katydids (obviously!), some beetles (like the click-beetles, which add to the jump a surprisingly loud Snap!) and frogs. Other times, the creature falls down, suddenly and very purposely. Small beetles do this a lot, as do some caterpillars, which often curl, wiggle and freeze before losing or letting go of their grip and dropping to the ground. Butterflies and moths tend to take off in flight, but some freeze and drop, as if stricken with an electric charge, staying in this “I’m quite dead” stage for quite long periods. Some creatures flash, false eye spots, patches of intense color, usually a warning color like red or yellow, brightly-colored underwings, or a feature of their anatomy intended to surprise or scare or simply distract. The interesting thing is that, given the enormous diversity of animals out there, one is never quite sure what its reaction is going to be. Which is, of course, the whole point! That second of surprise, that moment of revelation that makes the attacker pause and wonder “Should I be worried about this?” gives the defending individual perhaps the critical instants it needs to escape, hide or deflect the attack. It is, truly, a matter of life and death.
Some animals go well beyond the simple behaviors and adaptations. Some of the “Freezers” use extraordinary camouflage to support their behavior, like the leaf-mimic katydids. They have taking this to an art form, imitating colors, leaf venation, rot spots, fungus, lichens and mosses. Add to that, body position (if you’re going to be a leaf, stand like a leaf!) and movements (some sway as if moved by a soft breeze, like some walking sticks). And if all else fails, they jump or drop or twist or pretend to be dangerous. My absolutely favorite, my hero of disguise, is a species of hawk moth of the genus Hemeroplanes (Sphingidae) that has taken the mimicry strategy to unbelievable lengths. I have encountered them in the forest and, after the obligatory photos and observations did the finger thing. I knew what was going to happen, I was prepared for the spectacular change, I had the whole thing predicted and expected, and still…
The caterpillar looks like a normal, big, fat, healthy thing, going about its business of eating leaves. Upon encountering a disturbance, such as a bird or a prying human finger, first it freezes, pauses in its activity and waits. If the perturbation persists, it suddenly transforms, uncannily, unbelievably and extraordinarily, into a very credible viper. Its body twists so the underside (legs and belly) shows up; its legs gather together to form head scales; its head hunches down to form the tip of a nose; its thorax (the front part of the body) swells in the shape of a pit viper’s head, suddenly displaying two large, menacing, very natural looking pair of eyes, piercing, even with the expected “eye shine” or reflection of true eyes. Your heart skips a beat at the sudden transformation, but the caterpillar doesn’t stop there. It swings, jerkily, from side to side, “striking” like a viper would. My hand jerked backwards, well before I could even think of doing anything else, my reptilian brain taking over and watching out for my survival, saving me from my own stupidity of sticking my hand in front of a viper, pretend or not.
This is one of the most impressive, unforgettable displays you can witness in the tropical forest (and believe me, there are many!), one that will linger in your memory long after the embarrassment of having been fooled, again, every time, by a simple, wonderfully adapted, extraordinary hawk moth caterpillar.
Carlos de la Rosa
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