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The Fruits of Our Labor

Ecological Perspectives Essay for ENGL398V: Writing about the Environment

December 6, 2021

An apple with a fungus-infected caterpillar inside
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There is a creature that spends the most critical point of its life cycle safe, warm, and nourished. Endemic to China, Tibet, Nepal, Bhutan, and India,1 found only in a narrow slice of climate and ecology, the consequences of human activity have endangered it, prompting conservationists to place it on the IUCN red list and call for change. Now, that moment of hibernation and tranquility may disappear entirely for this creature, along with the benefits it has granted both humanity and the ecosystem it is native to. 95% of hunters believe the creature to be in decline, 67% considering existing hunting practices to be unsustainable. Their population has been reduced by 30% in the last three generations, and if nothing is done, this trend may well drive them to extinction.

Unlike most caterpillars in the United States, these Alpine creatures spend their entire larval stage underground, feeding on roots and other biomatter. Each individual in the Thitarodes genus shares a goal, though to be fair it is a goal shared by caterpillars around the globe: accrue a great deal of nutrients in a short period of time to facilitate metamorphosis. Experiencing puberty and the changes our bodies undergo is already disorienting enough as a human, so it’s difficult to imagine what such a profound change would feel like for this fuzzy friend. This said, we now know that moths and butterflies are able to remember their lives as caterpillars2, forcing us to recognize that these two life stages do in fact represent the same creature, no matter how disparate they may appear in our minds. Nevertheless, bridging the gap between these stages of life requires a moment of complete surrender and vulnerability, one that has captivated philosophers and scientists alike for thousands of years. One creature enters the chrysalis, a completely different creature emerges from it, and the dissection of the chrysalis mid-transformation leaves us with nothing but amorphous goo. It’s this formless soup that prompts the caterpillar to cocoon itself before transforming, attempting to shield its vulnerable interior from the unforgiving world it finds itself in.

In these Tibetan hillsides though, the Thitarodes genus, commonly known as the Ghost Moth, is especially vulnerable to an invisible predator, a predator that attacks before refuge can be found in the chrysalis. A single spore, drifting in the wind, manages to find its way to the caterpillar. Once inside, be it through food or sheer luck, the terror truly begins. The fungus that has just entered the Ghost Moth’s system will multiply its cells, slowly extending tendrils throughout the caterpillar’s body, eating it alive from the inside out. Eventually, the invader goes so far as to hijack its nervous system, secreting molecules that grant it the ability to control the caterpillar’s movement, all without invading the brain itself.3 The perpetrator in question, Ophiocordyceps sinensis, is part of a larger genus named Ophiocordyceps which employs this same technique on hundreds of insect types. See, Fungi are fundamentally recyclers. They convert nutrients from one form to another, like all life, but do so in a way that is essential to the ecology of the forest. Most of the nutrients fungi digest are dead or decaying, yet some are not. If fungi were not present at all, the digestive tract of the forest would become clogged with plant and animal matter, all unable to “biodegrade” or be reused by other organisms. In the unfortunate case of this caterpillar and this fungus, the nutrients being consumed are alive, producing a frightening parasitism that makes one squirm at the thought.

Despite the eerie nature of the infection, one must imagine that the experience of the fungus is not too dissimilar from that of the caterpillar it is infecting. Before a “mushroom” as we call them can emerge, the fungus must spend the first phase of its life gathering nutrients, preparing for its metamorphosis. For the fungus, this means constructing an intricate web of so called mycelium, a network of cell-thick filaments that absorb nutrients wherever available. They can be seen as akin to a tree’s roots, only they tend not to have a central or focal point and commonly self-intersect. Once sufficient nutrients have been acquired, the fungus hibernates in this stage, waiting for the perfect weather conditions to make its grand reveal. This grand reveal is the mushroom, referred to by mycologists as the “fruiting body” and essentially serving as the reproductive organ of the fungus. In both the case of the fungus and its prey, their life cycle is dictated by three phases of life- the accumulation of nutrients, seclusion / metamorphosis, and finally reproduction.

If pandas have primed our expectations for what biological conservation looks like, then this certainly defies it. Indeed, the species at threat here is not our fuzzy friend the Ghost Moth, but is our villain and infector, Ophiocordyceps sinensis, commonly referred to as the Chinese Caterpillar Fungus. As Western medicine has now begun to recognize, and as Eastern medicine has known for some time, fungi are rich in unique, medically relevant molecules that can only be found in nature. As vital interfaces between various forms of life, fungi have evolved to possess molecules that can fight disease in a myriad of ways. Evidence for this can be found in the case of Lions Mane, which appears to stimulate the regrowth of nerves4, as well in the case of the Agarikon mushroom, which possesses novel antiviral properties.5 Other medicinal mushrooms are currently being examined for various treatments here in the West, but such evidence has not yet been collected on the Chinese Caterpillar Fungus. Despite this, its long history in Eastern herbal medicine makes it a coveted harvest both locally and for export. Once the scarcity, small size, and utility of the creature are acknowledged, it becomes no surprise that this is the most expensive mushroom on Earth. Weighing in at ~$50,000 per pound, it far surpasses fancy truffles and is twice as expensive as gold.6 It is this high price tag, and the overharvesting that accompanies it, that is directly responsible for the decline and threat to the caterpillar fungus population.

There are humans that directly depend on these fungi both medically and financially, and simultaneously these fungi directly depend on the suffering of endemic caterpillars. Can we become proponents of conservation without proliferating human poverty or endorsing caterpillar suffering? Can we justify the harvesting or even eradication of this species even if it means damaging the ecology of the region? These are the questions that have spun a Gordian Knot for the modern conservationist, as if nature intended to make a show of just how bizarre it can be.

Tenzin(བསྟན་འཛིན) wakes up bright and early on a Spring morning. It rained yesterday, and it’s unusually warm today, making it the perfect day to go mushroom hunting. He hasn’t found any fungi this season, but he’s hoping to get a head start on some of his competitors today. Before leaving for the fields, he says goodbye to his wife; his children are still sound asleep. They’re staying in a temporary home, built high in the mountains, designed to be disassembled in a few months’ time when the harvest is over. He isn’t alone in this migration, many families spending up to three months time in the Alpine meadows every year.7 One might wonder why a family would endure this biannual migration, but the reasoning becomes readily apparent when we acknowledge the fact that for a rural Tibetan like Tenzin, this harvest represents nearly 40% of his annual income, and a staggering 10% of the country’s GDP.8

When Tenzin reaches the meadow, there are already other foragers present. The market prices for the Caterpillar Fungus have risen 2300% over the past decade9, prompting many more hopeful families to seek them out as a means of achieving economic prosperity. Now, what was once a little known and reliable way to provide for his family has become the site of fierce competition. Attempting to corner a slice of untrodden land, Tenzin walks further and further from where he initially planned his expedition, all while being mindful of his elevation, the humidity of the air around him, and sites of past finds. Along the way, he of course stays vigilant for any strays, but it’s not until he’s more secluded that he makes his first find of the day. A single find is just that, a single caterpillar that has been eaten by a mushroom. Because they are often given as gifts and serve as indicators of status, factors as subtle as the caterpillar’s orientation of death can affect the price he will receive at market. Luckily, this caterpillar was fairly plump, preserved in an uncommon yet aesthetic orientation. Hours of work already invested, many more will be spent today for Tenzin to ensure his wife and children are well fed. Simply trying to survive, the notion of strict environmental sanctioning is a direct threat to him and his family’s survival.

A woman named Qin(勤) wakes up with errands to run in Kowloon, Hong Kong. She has a patient to treat at 4pm, and is missing a few essential herbs and supplements required to concoct the tincture she has in mind. Through her evaluation of Traditional Chinese Medicine’s eight principles of diagnosis, she’s already determined that the patient’s Qi is being blocked, as well as where exactly this blockage has occurred. One of the many ingredients Qin needs to brew the patient’s remedy is the Chinese Caterpillar Fungus, which she is happy to pay the exorbitant price for considering her success is contingent on its use. As a side effect of this price tag, Qin has to work that extra bit harder, putting in extra hours and treating extra patients. For her, strict environmental sanctioning would mean an even steeper price tag- forcing her to alter millennia old recipes and leading to fewer clients and fewer products.

After a long winter of hibernation, changes in temperature have sharply changed Mike the Mycelium’s experience. He doesn’t remember how he found his home, all he knows is that once there, he cozied up, filling every square foot of the property and utilizing every single thing the previous owner had left behind. Now, his body is telling him that he’s spent enough time waiting, that he can finally leave his home and show himself to the world. After a night of heavy rain, Mike makes his move! Despite requiring months of time to get comfortable and waiting to strike, growing into his adult form takes him merely hours. Evolutionarily, his life is considered a success- a highly fecund individual compared to his less lucky brothers and sisters. He plans to spend the next few days doing nothing but releasing spores into the wind, hoping that they will one day follow in his footsteps. The likelihood of this actually happening is so low that Mike needs to release over a billion spores per day10. So, when Mike is harvested the very same day he emerges, he loses a large majority of his potential offspring. Conservationists have concluded that across many individuals, it’s this preemptive harvest in combination with fluctuations in the host population that has led to the rapid decline of the Chinese Caterpillar Fungus population.

Thita is a Ghost Moth, only, she isn’t actually a moth yet. She’s still a caterpillar, working on gaining nutrients before her transformation. When she’s first infected, she doesn’t notice. It starts as a pain in her limb. Her reflexes are telling her that something has pinched her, yet she can’t identify any predators, and her body isn’t punctured. With no way to find recourse, she braves the pain and continues with her day as normal. As the day progresses, the infection worsens, spreading throughout her body while leaving her conscious. A day later, and she no longer has voluntary control of her muscle movements. Unlike fictional zombies, she is not spared a backseat view to her own demise. Puppeteered by the fungus, she digs her way to a spot just below the surface, where she will spend her last moments before the fungus consumes any and all nutrients that remain in her body. For her, conservation means the proliferation of suffering, both for herself and her family members.

Caroline is a Conservation Biology graduate student, doing field work in Tibet to evaluate human impact on the Chinese Caterpillar Fungus. It’s essential research, not only because the fungus in question is widely used in human society, but also because the ecology of fungi and their interspecies interactions are criminally understudied. Studying the way that we interact with this creature might not only tell us how to save it, but also how fungi interface with their ecosystems in ways we were previously unaware of. Already having completed six years in Biology academia, the principles of conservation have been heavily drilled into Caroline, and she is possessed by an unwavering conviction to protect what is quickly becoming the most rare and valuable natural resource: biodiversity itself. Caroline’s point of view is charged with emotion, yet simultaneously her field work has forced her to consider perspectives that weren’t present in the classroom, perspectives that call into question whether we have authority to dictate the way these people should live their lives. To her, stricter conservation sanctioning would mean a victory in the name of nature, a preservation of something fundamentally irreplaceable.

The work done by the Sun to generate heat and radiation is not compensated. The work done by the plant to transform the Sun and Earth is not compensated. The work done by the caterpillar to transform the plant is not compensated. The work done by the fungus to transform the caterpillar is not compensated. The work done by the forager is compensated, though the worth of their labor is not truly acknowledged. The middle men that separate them from herbal practitioners ensure that they are not being paid the full value of the product they produce. The herbal practitioner is paid for their labor, but pays far more for the fungus than the forager ever sold it for. As a result of those that lie in between them, both the herbal practitioner and the forager must work harder than they would otherwise need to.

In a different system of economic organization, would overharvesting be as heavily encouraged as it is today? It’s possible that a fundamental change of this nature would eliminate the need for further sanctioning, but this is tantamount to discussing an alteration in the mutualism of the fungus itself. As of right now, these systems appear fundamentally immutable, so what do we do? Humans are incredibly good problem solvers, but sometimes we are presented with issues that are self-collapsing by nature. Whether we prioritize the well being of the human, the host, or the biodiversity of the area, someone is always drawing the short straw. In short, we need to pick a path. As the only creature we know of to develop the facilities of language and large scale organization, we have a duty to protect not only ourselves and one another, but also the world around us. How we do that, the goals we set, and the priorities we establish are the difficult part, the part that reminds us not just how interconnected nature is, but also that we are a part of that connection.

Sources

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  2. Blackiston, D. J., Silva Casey, E., & Weiss, M. R. (2008). Retention of Memory through Metamorphosis: Can a Moth Remember What It Learned As a Caterpillar? PLoS ONE, 3(3), e1736. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0001736 ↩

  3. Yong, E. (2021, July 13). The Zombie Fungus Takes Over Ants’ Bodies to Control Their Minds. The Atlantic. https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2017/11/how-the-zombie-fungus-takes-over-ants-bodies-to-control-their-minds/545864/ ↩

  4. Wong, K. H., Naidu, M., David, R. P., Bakar, R., & Sabaratnam, V. (2012). Neuroregenerative potential of lion's mane mushroom, Hericium erinaceus (Bull.: Fr.) Pers. (higher Basidiomycetes), in the treatment of peripheral nerve injury (review). International journal of medicinal mushrooms, 14(5), 427–446. https://doi.org/10.1615/intjmedmushr.v14.i5.10 ↩

  5. Stamets, P. E. (2005). Medicinal Polypores of the Forests of North America: Screening for Novel Antiviral Activity. International Journal of Medicinal Mushrooms, 362. https://doi.org/10.1615/intjmedmushrooms.v7.i3.210 ↩

  6. Caterpillar Fungus: The Viagra of The Himalayas. (2011, October 9). NPR. https://www.npr.org/2011/10/09/141164173/caterpillar-fungus-the-viagra-of-the-himalayas ↩

  7. Negi, C. S., Koranga, P. R., & Ghinga, H. S. (2006). Yar tsa Gumba (Cordyceps sinensis): A call for its sustainable exploitation. International Journal of Sustainable Development & World Ecology, 13(3), 165–172. https://doi.org/10.1080/13504500609469669 ↩

  8. Winkler, D. (2009). Caterpillar Fungus (Ophiocordyceps sinensis) Production and Sustainability on the Tibetan Plateau and in the Himalayas. Asian Medicine, 5(2), 291–316. https://doi.org/10.1163/157342109x568829 ↩

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  10. Dressaire, E., Yamada, L., Song, B., & Roper, M. (2016). Mushrooms use convectively created airflows to disperse their spores. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 113(11), 2833–2838. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1509612113 ↩