Coneheads, egg stacks and anteater attacks: The reign of a termite queen - Barbara L. Thorne
Tens of thousands of conehead termites
are swarming in the Panamanian air.
These 4 young hopefuls are brave— oh...
I guess 3.
Oh, wow, 2 in 1. Okay!
This single determined termite
is braving countless threats
to participate in the only flight
of her lifetime.
She evades the onslaught of predators
even as she lands, flips off her wings,
secretes pheromones, and attracts a mate.
The pair dash from the danger zone
into a rotting tree stump.
It’s the perfect first home—
but they’re not alone.
Unlike most termite species,
conehead termite colonies can have
multiple queens and kings.
The pair is joined by several other
termites ready to reproduce.
Together, they excavate
a chamber in the stump,
seal the entrance and get busy.
When the resulting offspring hatch, they
bear little resemblance to their parents;
they’re smaller, wingless,
eyeless, and sterile.
Some of them, the soldiers,
have the species’ trademark
conspicuously shaped heads—
the function of which will
soon be revealed.
They set out to scout for dead wood,
laying the pheromone trails
the rest of the offspring,
the colony’s workers,
follow and reinforce
as they retrieve food.
As the termites collect and decompose
plant debris,
they return essential nutrients
to the soil,
allowing more vegetation to thrive.
Gradually, worker termites expand
the colony's central chamber
as they groom and feed the royals
and the upcoming broods.
The tiniest termites can’t yet
eat wood independently.
So, the workers process it and gift it
to the youngsters through their saliva
and by basically throwing
up into their mouths.
With the workers managing groceries,
construction, and child care,
the royals fully commit themselves
to reproduction.
The kings provide sperm
on an as-needed basis,
and the queens undergo radical
transformations.
Their abdomens develop efficient
egg-laying machinery
and extend dramatically.
Each queen may produce hundreds
of eggs a day.
Meanwhile, a worker entourage retrieves
and neatly stacks them into piles.
The colony grows quickly.
And once its population is big enough,
workers construct a system of tunnels
stretching over 100 meters across terrain,
along fallen logs,
and up into tree crowns.
These tunnels shelter the termites
as they travel to and from food sites
around the clock.
And eventually, they build
a distinctive central nest.
Using partially digested
plant material, soil, and poop,
they construct a massive
egg-shaped structure,
complete with numerous passages,
chambers, and ventilation holes.
Deep within, they establish a royal cell
that's fortified with extra thick walls.
It’s not long before this architectural
marvel attracts an admirer: an anteater.
She swipes at the nest
and pokes her long tongue in.
Those trapped in the tongue’s spines
and sticky saliva
are whisked off to their deaths.
But the termite soldiers
launch a counterattack.
They’re tiny and blind but their heads
function like squirt guns.
They secure the anteater’s position
using chemical signals,
clench their powerful muscles and shoot
a sticky spray from their heads.
After a minute,
the anteater stops feeding,
scratches the goo away,
and lopes off.
The nest sustained some damage,
but the royals remain undisturbed,
pumping out eggs into their
reinforced fortress.
As the colony matures, some of the
young develop into reproductives.
Most fly off to establish new colonies—
one lands on a fallen tree,
another scrambles into a crack
in a house,
and another climbs into a shipping crate.
But some will simply saunter
to sites nearby
and become the monarchs
of the colony’s satellite nests.
With one of the longest insect lifespans,
a termite queen’s reign can
last more than 20 years.
The original queens and kings eventually
die, but by the time they go,
several satellite nests
are already thriving.
Their reproductive offspring
inherit the throne,
meaning that their colony may
persist for decades to come.
