#dinoflagellates

Two main types of phytoplankton have been decreasing in biomass in the North Atlantic by two per cent each year for the past 60 years, a new study has found. Dalhousie University researchers analyzed data collected over more than half a century to assess how two types of phytoplankton — diatoms and dinoflagellates — are responding to climate change. The analysis found that while the makeup and distribution of phytoplankton varied in different parts of the North Atlantic, overall, there was a decrease over the period, from 1960 to 2017, except for the eastern and western continental shelves.

Noctiluca scintillans

These marine dinoflagellates are known for their bioluminescence that causes the sea sparkle phenomenon of glowing blue tides at night. However, large blooms can also cause toxic red tides.

It’s easy to pity those tiny swimming stars trapped in a plastic bubble. Each night, some titan’s hand engulfs their ocean and churns it into a maelstrom for a few moments of selfish delight. Then the monster puts away their entire universe, easy as shutting the lid on a music box. They are kept alive solely for the purpose of this bedside magic trick.

Perhaps, though, we are the more pathetic members of this relationship—the gods bewitched by a gnat. Bottling bioluminescence gives us a sense of ownership over a presumably rare and otherworldly phenomenon; the reality of the situation is quite different. Bioluminescence is so commonplace on our planet—particularly in the oceans—that scientists estimate the thousands of glowing species they have catalogued so far are just a fraction of the sum. It may well be that the vast majority of deep-sea creatures, which live beyond the Sun’s reach, generate their own light (sometimes with the assistance of microbes). They use these innate glows primarily to communicate: to warn and frighten, hide and hunt, lure and beguile. Bioluminescence is one of the oldest and most prevalent languages on Earth—and one that is largely alien to us. Despite our fantasies and mythologies, the truth is that there’s nothing supernatural about living light; it has been a part of nature for eons. It’s just that we were denied this particular gift.

So, with perhaps too little gratitude, we adapted the incomparable talents of glowing creatures for our own purposes. We borrowed their light and it revealed things about our own biology we might never have discovered otherwise. But that is all we can do—borrow. We cannot be them, so we seek them out, and draw them near us—every bit as mesmerized as when we thought the Sun had impregnated the sea. To this day, we cup them in our hands, collect them in jars, and place them on our nightstand, forever trying to satisfy our Promethean hunger.