Lysiana exocarpi

Sometimes parasites get their own parasites too, and if you think that "enemy of my enemy is my friend", then you'd think this would be good news for the host. But that depends on the host-parasite pairings in question. This post is about a study on mistletoes, a plant that many people associate with Christmas celebrations, but they are also parasitic plants, specifically, they are "hemiparasites" - which are plants that can do their own photosynthesis, but they draw water and other nutrients from a host plant.

Left: A harlequin mistletoe attached to a box mistletoe (red arrow indicating attachment point), Right: Close-up of the attachment point (indicated by red arrow) between a harlequin mistletoe and box mistletoe.
From Fig. 1 of the paper

Mistletoes have varying degrees of host specificity, with some of them parasitising only a selected handful of trees and shrubs species, while others can infect a wide range of different plants. They parasitise their host using a modified root called haustorium, which bores into the host plant's stem, tapping into its flow of water and nutrients. But sometimes, mistletoes find themselves on the receiving end of a haustorium from another mistletoe. After all, mistletoes are just another type of plant. Parasitic plants that engage in such a lifestyle are called "epiparasites" by botanists, though they also fall under the larger umbrella of hyperparasites - parasites of parasites.

The Australian harlequin mistletoe (Lysiana exocarpi) is a very versatile hemiparasite - it can infect over a hundred different plant species and when the opportunity arises, it parasitises a fellow mistletoe, namely the box mistletoe (Amyema miquelii). One of the challenges for an epiparasite is maintaining a lower water potential than its host. Water has a tendency to move from areas of high concentration to lower concentration, and in plants, this is how water is transported from the roots to the shoots/leaves because the atmosphere (where the shoots/leaves are) have lower water concentration than the soil (where the roots are). As water diffuses into the atmosphere from the leaves, it draws more water from the roots to the shoots.

So in order to suck up water from its host, a mistletoe would need to maintain a lower water potential than the shoots of the host tree - this is why mistletoes are very thirsty plants. And an epiparasite parasitising another mistletoe would need to maintain an even lower water potential to ensure water would flow to it through both its host mistletoe as well as the tree that its host mistletoe is parasitising. So when a mistletoe is parasitising another parasitic plant, it would need to change certain aspects of its physiology.

This study took place at the Onkaparinga River National Park in South Australia, in a woodland composed mostly of pink gum (Eucalyptus fasciculosa). The researchers conducted a variety of measurements on both host trees and mistletoes, and collected samples of their leaves. What they found was that when the harlequin mistletoe is parasitising another mistletoe, it opened up more of the stomata on its leaves, so water is released into the atmosphere at a higher rate. At the same time, it also grew leaves with larger surface area, and had higher concentration of potassium and magnesium in them. All this decreases the mistletoe's water potential, which means the harlequin mistletoe gets more thirsty when it's parasitising another mistletoe. 

But what happens to its host mistletoe? Well, surprisingly enough, it seems that the box mistletoe doesn't suffer from being parasitised. It compensates for the cost of its thirsty epiparasite by simply drawing even more resources from its eucalyptus host, essentially outsourcing the cost of hosting a harlequin mistletoe to the tree. All this means that the host tree ends up taking the full brunt of BOTH parasites. Eucalyptus trees which are host to a parasitised box mistletoe have stiffer leaves than if it is parasitised by the box mistletoe alone. Among eucalyptus, growing stiffer leaves is often a symptom of nutrient and water deprivation, which is perhaps not surprising since the tree is hosting a pair of very thirsty plants, and this can have long term impacts on its growth and reproduction.

So at least when it comes to parasitic plants, the enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend, in fact, you might end up paying the price for their antagonistic relationship.

Reference:

Scalon, M. C., & Rossatto, D. R. (2024). Challenging the 'Immunity Hypothesis': Primary or Secondary Parasitism as Different Survival Strategies for the Harlequin Mistletoe Lysiana exocarpi (Behr) Tiegh. Flora 323:152662.

Cymothoa indica (et al.)

Tongue-biters are among the most (in)famous parasites found in fish, but they aren't the only type of isopods that parasitise fish, nor is the mouth the only spot ripe for parasitism - there are many other parts of a fish's body where an isopod can make itself at home. Why, right behind the fish's mouth are its gills, and this cosy, well-aerated and blood-rich location is where some isopods reside. There are also others that cling to the fish's skin where they gnaw and suck on host tissue, and even some that just burrow into the fish's body cavity for extra coziness.

Photo collage showing a range of cymothoid isopods on various fishes: (a) Cymothoa indica male (smaller one in the photo) and female attaching to the buccal chamber of Datnoides polota; (b) Cymothoa indica attaching to the mouth of Jonhius sp.; (c) Nerocila loveni attaching to the skin in the ventrolateral region of Deveximentum Interruptum; (d) Nerocila orbignyi attaching to the tail skin of Mugil cephalus; (e) Agarna malayi attaching to the gill cavity of Nematolosus nasus; (f) Joryma sawayah male (smaller one in the photo) and female attaching to the gill cavity of Nematolosus nasus.

From Figure 1 of the paper

So there are many different ways to parasitise a fish and cymothoid isopods are particularly adept at doing so. But some isopods are pickier than others when it comes to which fish they parasitise, and it seems to have something to do with where they live on a fish. The study featured in this post looked at factors that may have driven the preference of these parasites. To do this, the researchers studied fish collected from commercial trawlers at harbours and fish landing centres along the north-eastern coast of India, from Petuaghat down to Gopalpur.

The researchers examined a total of 5798 fish, of which 923 (from 59 fish species) were parasitised by 21 different species of cymothoid isopods. With this massive dataset, they were able to compare the host preference of tongue-biters, gill-biters, and the skin-biters, noting how many different species of fish each of them parasitise, and the characteristics of the fish they infect. From their analyses, it seems that generally speaking gill-biters tend to be most specific - they stick to a single fish species and are mostly found in pelagic schooling fish. In contrast, tongue-biters tend to infect fish that hang out near the seafloor, and are less selective about their host species. And the skin-biters are happy to just go after whatever fish they come across.

This trend might have something to do with the life histories of those isopods. The gill-biters have free-swimming larvae that reach their host by getting sucked into the respiratory current of fish swimming through the water column, and if those fish are in a school, there would be plenty of hosts available nearby for the next generation of gill-biters. On another hand, tongue biters have larvae that hang out on the seafloor, waiting to ambush any foraging fish that come near, so they are more likely to encounter a wider range of fish. But even though tongue-biters can infect more fish species than the gill-biters, each species of tongue-biter definitely has a "type".

For example, take Cymothoa indica, a tongue-biter which is found in a wide range of fish species across seven different families - while that seems like it has pretty broad taste, its hosts all tend to be shallow water fish that live and feed near the seafloor. Similarly, another tongue-biter - Catoessa boscii - infect seven different fish species, but all those fishes are similarly shaped, as they are mostly deep-bodied fishes such as jacks and scads. Meanwhile, the skin-biters have larvae that roam freely around the water, and can launch its attack from the seafloor or while rapidly looping in the water column. Essentially if it runs into a fish, it just latches on and starts gnawing.

Parasitic isopods are found in/on fish all over the world, and they have significant impact on fisheries and aquaculture. But despite their ubiquity, they are relatively under-studied, with most of the published research on their taxonomy, biogeography and patterns of host associations coming from only a handful of specialist researchers across the globe. Studies like the one featured in this post can provide us with some much needed insight into the secret lives of these widely found parasites.

Reference:

Mohapatra, S. K., Swain, A., Ray, D., Behera, R. K., Tripathy, B., Seth, J. K., & Mohapatra, A. (2024). Niche partitioning and host specialisation in fish‐parasitising isopods: Trait‐dependent patterns from three ecosystems on the east coast of India. Ecology and Evolution 14: e70298.