Goblin's Gold: the story of a luminous moss

Photo by Alpsdake licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Photo by Alpsdake licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Luminous moss, dragon’s gold, goblin’s gold… when a moss has this many common names, you know it must catch the eye. Indeed, Schistostega pennata might just be one of the most dazzling of mosses around, that is provided you know where and how to look for it.

Let’s begin with a brief introduction. Goblin’s gold is the only member of both its genus (Schistostega) and family (Schistostegaceae). Despite its unique taxonomic position, it is nonetheless a widespread species, growing naturally throughout many temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere.

When fully grown, the gametophyte stage of goblin’s gold sort-of resembles a tiny, green, semi-translucent feather. Small spore capsules are borne on the spindly stalk of the sporophyte and the resulting spores are said to be quite sticky. Instead of relying on wind to disperse its propagules, golbin’s gold utilizes animals. The spores are sticky enough that they get glom onto any insects or other small animals that brush up against them.

The mature gametophyte of Schistostega pennata. Photo by HermannSchachner licensed under Public Domain

The mature gametophyte of Schistostega pennata. Photo by HermannSchachner licensed under Public Domain

None of this, however, gives a hint as to how it earned all of those colorful names. To find that out, one must be ready to brave dark, damp spaces like caves. You see, though it can grow in more open habitats, you are most likely to encounter goblin’s gold in dark crevices or under overhangs. It has been said that goblin’s gold does not compete well with other plants in most habitats, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have a few tricks up its stems that give it an edge in other types of habitats.

For most plants, caves and other dark places are a no go. They simply can’t get enough light to survive. Such is not the case for goblin’s gold. Instead of trying to compete with more aggressive vegetation, goblin’s gold occupies deeply shaded habitats that few other plants can. It owes its shade-tolerant abilities to a stage of its development most of us rarely think about, let alone notice.

Photo by Jymm licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Photo by Jymm licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

When a moss spore germinates, it doesn’t immediately look like what we would recognize as a moss. Instead, it grows into thread-like, multicellular fillaments called a “protonema.” You can think of this as the juvenile stage of the gametophyte. The protonema spreads outward as it grows, gradually producing hormones and other growth regulators that will control the development of the mature gametophyte. Because goblin’s gold grows in such dark habitats, it can’t afford to grow its gametophyte anywhere. To grow long enough to reproduce, it has to find spots where there is enough light to complete its lifecycle.

This is where the protonema comes in. In much the same why that fungal hyphae fan out into the soil in search of food to decompose, goblin’s gold protonema fan out over the damp substrate, searching for spots where enough light filters through to fuel growth. Luckily, the protonema can make do with much less light that the mature gametophyte, which also happens to be how this tiny moss earned so many interesting nicknames.

When grown in deep shade, the protonema of goblin’s gold develops a layer of lens-shaped cells on its surface. The opposite side of each cell narrows to a cone. When light, no matter how weak, strikes these lens cells, the curvature focuses the light down into the cell so that it is concentrated into the tip at the bottom. Being able to sense the direction of the light, the chloroplasts within each cell can actually move around so that they are always in a position that maximizes their exposure. Through this process, each cell is able to concentrate what little light is available so that they can photosynthesize in light so low that nearly all other plants will starve.

The light concentrating mechanism of the goblin’s gold protonema happens to have a wonderful and stunning side effect. As light enters the lens, small amounts of it are refracted around the cell. When that refracted light mixes with the green light that isn’t absorbed by the chloroplasts, it bounces back into the environment, giving the whole protonemal mat a green florescent glow when viewed in just the right way.

By being able to make use of what little light finds its way into these dark habitats, goblin’s gold can grow largely free of competition. Also, the protonema itself is capable of asexual reproduction so colonies can grow to epic proportions in dark areas, only producing mature gametophytes in a few spots. Interestingly, there appears to be some plasticity to this light-concentrating habit as well. When observing goblin’s gold protonema that develop under high light conditions, researchers have found that they do not develop lens shaped cells and therefore are not capable of reflecting light in the same way.

Humans have known about this moss for centuries, even if they didn’t understand the mechanisms that cause it, and that is why this wonderfully unique species has earned so many common names.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

The Peculiarly Tiny World of Buxbaumia Mosses

Photo by Tab Tannery licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Photo by Tab Tannery licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Bug moss, bug-on-a-stick, humpbacked elves, elf-cap moss… Who knew there could be so many names for such tiny mosses. Despite their small stature, the mosses in the genus Buxbaumia have achieved something of a celebrity status to those aware of their existence. To find them, however, you need a keen eye, lots of patience, and a bit of luck.

Buxbaumia aphylla.  Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Buxbaumia aphylla. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Buxbaumia comprises something like 12 different species of moss scattered around much of the Northern Hemisphere as well as some parts of Australia and New Zealand. They are ephemeral in nature, preferring to grow in disturbed habitats where competition is minimal. More than one source has reported that they are masters of the disappearing act. Small colonies can arise for a season or two and then disappear for years until another disturbance hits the reset button and recreates the conditions they like.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

I say you must have a keen eye and a lot of patience to find these mosses because, for much of their life, the exist on a nearly microscopic scale. Buxbaumia represents and incredible example of a reduction in body size for plants. Whereas the gametophytes of most mosses are relatively large, green, and leafy, Buxbaumia gametophytes barely exist at all. Instead, most of the “body” of these mosses consists of thread-like strands of cells called “protonema.” Though all mosses start out as protonema following spore germination, it appears that Buxbaumia prefer to remain in this juvenile stage until it comes time to reproduce.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Considering how small the protonemata are, there has been more than a little confusion as to how Buxbaumia manage to make a living. Early hypotheses suggested that these mosses were saprotrophs, living off of nutrients obtained from chemically digesting organic material in the soils. However, it is far more likely that these mosses rely heavily on partnerships with mycorrhizal fungi and cyanobacteria for their nutritional needs. It is thought that what little photosynthesis they perform is done via their protonema mats and developing sporophyte capsules.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Speaking of sporophytes, these are about the only way to find Buxbaumia in the wild. They are also the source of inspiration for all of those colorful common names. Compared to their gemetophyte stage, Buxbaumia sporophytes are giants. Fertilization occurs at some point in the fall and by late spring or early summer, the sporophytes are ready to release their spores. The size and shape of these capsules makes a lot more sense when you realize that they rely on raindrops for dispersal. When a drop impacts the flattened top of a Buxbaumia capsule, the spores are ejected into the environment and with any luck, will be carried off to another site suitable for growth.

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Buxbaumia viridis. Photo by BerndH licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

I encourage you to keep an eye out for these plants. It goes without saying that data on population size and distribution is often lacking for such cryptic plants. Above all else, imagine how rewarding it would be to finally cross paths with this tiny wonders of the botanical world. Happy botanizing!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]