One of the perks of living in D.C. is its many museums and
their delightful oddities—some of which I got to see on a
behind-the-scenes tour of the National Museum of Natural History’s Department of Invertebrate Zoology last week.
In a lobby made of fossil-rich Paleozoic limestone, Chris Mah, a research collaborator at the museum, set myself and my colleagues straight on the invertebrates the museum collects and studies—basically, spineless animals that aren’t insects (think a coral or starfish).
Mah himself is one of only a few starfish
experts in the world: “There are more people familiar with obscure
Godzilla monsters than there are people who study starfish,” he quipped.
Mah’s apparently not the only invertebrate zoologist with a sense of
humor—amid a display of bubblegum coral
and brittlestars near the elevators was a jar with a “preserved” hot
dog—appropriately lacking a backbone, and labeled as “Hotdogia, 1986.”
Mah walked us past row after row of high filing cabinets containing
all manner of scientific treasures, some of them from as far back as
1900. Smithsonian scientists still use these specimens for research and
species-identification requests, many of them from the general public.
In this sense these “valuable artifacts” are not just specimens “we
sequester away—we use them to better science,” Mah said. The Smithsonian
Institution as a whole recently hit its millionth catalogued specimen,
most of which are kept at a storage facility in Maryland.
Smithsonian scientists also work with other institutions to conduct
research on evolution and conservation biology, Mah noted. For instance,
the museum participates in expeditions that use deep-sea submersibles
equipped to collect and record ocean creatures.
“Seeing the deep-sea bottom on a hi-def video like that, followed by
immediate sampling? It’s like the QVC of biology,” Mah said.
We stopped outside Mah’s office, where he promptly opened a jar
containing a preserved giant isopod, releasing noxious ethanol fumes. We
all exclaimed at the monstrous creature, which is essentially a huge
version of your garden variety pillbug.
Watch Mah talk about giant isopods.
Other curios included a deep-sea slime star—or a “living pillow of
mucus,” as Mah described it—a crown-of-thorns starfish, and a shingle sea urchin, which was covered with armadillo-like plates that help the animal survive in rough ocean waters.
He also showed us a sea spider—an arthropod but not actually a
spider—which I’d seen alive and squirming in a touch tank during my 2011
fellowship to McMurdo Station, Antarctica.
(Related blog post: “Expedition Antarctica: Creepy Crawlers and Explorers.”)
But the pièce de résistance awaited. Mah took us down the hall—past
portraits of Victorian men with handlebar mustaches, old wooden card
catalogs, and the odd microscope—into a room with a giant squid eyeball.
The largest invertebrate, giant squid—along with their kin the
colossal squid—also have the largest eyes in the animal kingdom, which
measure some 10 inches (25 centimeters) wide. The massive organs allow
them to detect objects—like a hungry sperm whale—in
the ocean depths. Peering close into the jar, the eyeball didn’t look
all that different than ours, white with a round black pupil at the
center.
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