mosquitos
While on the subject of critters, I wanted to bring up the foul mosquito as a contrast to the humble earthworm. You might ask why I am suddenly exploring the world of tiny invertebrates. An excellent question! To which I would respond: I have no idea.
Actually, the thing that facinates me about mosquitos can be illustrated with this little true story:
A couple years ago I spent several days at Dave's cabin on Fallen Leaf Lake, near Tahoe. It was a great trip and a beautiful location overall. The last night I was there I was assigned to sleep in one of the upstairs rooms. However, when I finally was ready to go to sleep, I discovered that the light had been left on in that room, and one of the windows had been open. As a result, the room had become a veritable menagerie of nocturnal insects. It was like a grand party where anything with six or eight legs was invited. After doing my best to shoo as many of them out of the room as I could and closing the window, I lay down and found that it was nearly almost possible to fall asleep, assuming that I pulled the covers all the way up to my face, and ignored the occasional brushing of insect wings against my hair and face.
Except for the mosquito.
There was a single mosquito in that room. I could hear it, going "eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE" around the room. I don't know if I have a particularly trained ear after growing up in a swamp (literally) in New Jersey, but it sounded approximately as loud as an F-15 fighter jet. I could tell where in the room it was at all times, as well as which direction it was moving, and every time it came near, every nerve in my body stood on edge.
Finally, I could take it no longer. I would not sleep until that mosquito became a splotch of red goo on the rough hardwood rafters. Luckily, I am well trained in the art of mosquito hunting, having had much experience from early childhood. After stalking my prey around the room for a few minutes, I eventually slew the evil beast with a rolled-up glossy catalog. Exhausted and basking in the triumphant glow of my victory, I collapsed into bed, pulled the sheets up to my nose, and slept like a baby the rest of the night.
But the interesting thing that occurred to me about this whole episode was: of all the variety of insects in that room, the single mosquito was the only one whose incessant high pitched humming drove me to be unable to sleep. Also, it could be pointed out, that single mosquito was the only insect in that room that actively wanted to do harm to me by sucking my blood (assuming that it was female), and possibly giving me some nasty disease. I find it hard to believe that this is a coincidence.
Considering how many millions of human beings have died from mosquito-borne illnesses (arguably, mosquitos have caused more human deaths than any other animal), it seems highly likely to me that having an acute awareness of mosquito humming, and a high level of annoyance caused by same, is an evolved trait in humans. Humans that couldn't stand the sound of mosquitos were possibly more likely to find ways to avoid them, keep them away, or kill them on sight. Possibly the itchy reaction to mosquito bites is another evolved reaction, since it provides another big incentive for us not to be bitten by mosquitos. Those humans that didn't swell up and itch from mosquito bites, or weren't kept awake by their humming, and hence weren't as vigilant at fighting off the little buggers, probably all died of malaria.
Ain't evolution neat?
Actually, the thing that facinates me about mosquitos can be illustrated with this little true story:
A couple years ago I spent several days at Dave's cabin on Fallen Leaf Lake, near Tahoe. It was a great trip and a beautiful location overall. The last night I was there I was assigned to sleep in one of the upstairs rooms. However, when I finally was ready to go to sleep, I discovered that the light had been left on in that room, and one of the windows had been open. As a result, the room had become a veritable menagerie of nocturnal insects. It was like a grand party where anything with six or eight legs was invited. After doing my best to shoo as many of them out of the room as I could and closing the window, I lay down and found that it was nearly almost possible to fall asleep, assuming that I pulled the covers all the way up to my face, and ignored the occasional brushing of insect wings against my hair and face.
Except for the mosquito.
There was a single mosquito in that room. I could hear it, going "eeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE" around the room. I don't know if I have a particularly trained ear after growing up in a swamp (literally) in New Jersey, but it sounded approximately as loud as an F-15 fighter jet. I could tell where in the room it was at all times, as well as which direction it was moving, and every time it came near, every nerve in my body stood on edge.
Finally, I could take it no longer. I would not sleep until that mosquito became a splotch of red goo on the rough hardwood rafters. Luckily, I am well trained in the art of mosquito hunting, having had much experience from early childhood. After stalking my prey around the room for a few minutes, I eventually slew the evil beast with a rolled-up glossy catalog. Exhausted and basking in the triumphant glow of my victory, I collapsed into bed, pulled the sheets up to my nose, and slept like a baby the rest of the night.
But the interesting thing that occurred to me about this whole episode was: of all the variety of insects in that room, the single mosquito was the only one whose incessant high pitched humming drove me to be unable to sleep. Also, it could be pointed out, that single mosquito was the only insect in that room that actively wanted to do harm to me by sucking my blood (assuming that it was female), and possibly giving me some nasty disease. I find it hard to believe that this is a coincidence.
Considering how many millions of human beings have died from mosquito-borne illnesses (arguably, mosquitos have caused more human deaths than any other animal), it seems highly likely to me that having an acute awareness of mosquito humming, and a high level of annoyance caused by same, is an evolved trait in humans. Humans that couldn't stand the sound of mosquitos were possibly more likely to find ways to avoid them, keep them away, or kill them on sight. Possibly the itchy reaction to mosquito bites is another evolved reaction, since it provides another big incentive for us not to be bitten by mosquitos. Those humans that didn't swell up and itch from mosquito bites, or weren't kept awake by their humming, and hence weren't as vigilant at fighting off the little buggers, probably all died of malaria.
Ain't evolution neat?