Welcome back to Curious Archive.
This video is the finale of my two-part series on the biology of Darwin IV — an alien planet
explored in the book ‘Expedition’ by Wayne Barlowe, which I have a link to in the description.
On this perilous world, deadly predators, strange herbivores, and uncategorizable oddities
are still waiting to be discovered.
So, follow along on this firsthand account of an expedition across a spectacular planet
— a journey that will end with an encounter with a mysterious observer…
I am now one week into my survey of Darwin IV.
To the east of the Amoebic Sea, I encounter the monolithic skull of an Emperor Sea Strider
that appears to have died long ago.
I notice a herd of short-legged herbivores called Littoralopes taking cover at the skull’s
base.
I soon realize what they’re hiding from.
A shadow swoops overhead.
The Littoralopes scatter in all directions.
In the resulting panic, a lone Littoralope is knocked to the ground with a heavy thud.
And the shadow swoops in from above.
This aerial predator is called a Skewer, and it is the uncontested ruler of the skies of
Darwin IV — with a wingspan of almost 50 feet, or 15 meters.
At a glance, the monstrous Skewers almost resemble biological stealth aircrafts.
While the idea of an animal converging on a jet-like shape might seem surprising, the
real-life anatomy of certain birds of prey and stealth aircrafts are quite similar due
to the universal constraints of aerodynamics.
The Skewers take this convergence to a new level, however, through their ability to internally
create methane gas which then is combusted within the four jet-pods located on their
wings for propulsion.
And when a Skewer chooses a target, the hunt is already over.
I watch as a Skewer rises up into the air, and pitches downward with its stinger pointed
forwards.
In an instant, it impales its prey.
I count myself lucky I’m too small to be its target.
Yet as I watch the Skewer fly off, I get the strange feeling I’m not alone.
Even as I continue on, I feel like something is watching me…
Putting these feelings aside for now, further east, I reach a sprawling flatland where the
margins of the Amoebic Sea have receded.
Within this region, which was once the sea floor, I spot the Sac-Back: a bulky, red lifeform
with peculiar anatomy.
The species get their name from a sac used to store predigested food from the Amoebic
Sea, almost like the world’s weirdest camel’s hump.
Even stranger, however, is that this Sac-Back’s stored food isn’t for itself, but for its
mate.
Under the sand, a second Sac-Back has buried itself up to its head along with its eggs,
and relies on its above-ground partner to bring it food.
Strange as this might sound, Earth Hornbills exhibit a highly-convergent behavior.
When a Hornbill needs to incubate its eggs, it completely seals itself within its nests,
while its mate dutifully brings them regurgitated food for a period lasting up to four months.
It’s a risky endeavor which requires a tremendous amount of trust between the two parents.
So, it is strangely moving that such a social behavior would arise not just on Earth, but
on a planet as perilous as Darwin IV.
To the south, I find myself face-to-face with a rather unsightly creature; this is a Bladderhorn,
an animal that is so bizarre it is at first difficult to categorize.
It lives at the base of an equatorial mountain range, and thankfully seems to feed on plants
rather than other lifeforms.
With their mid-sized grazing niche and bellowing calls, these creatures are the elk of Darwin
IV.
Another Bladderhorn approaches from behind.
The first one isn’t happy with this invader, and bellows while it inflates its glowing
horns.
When this fails, the two butt heads.
Like birds of paradise, these Bladderhorns appear to engage in bizarre displays over
territory and mating rights.
Indeed, many birds of paradise rituals are just as strange as the alien Bladderhorns
— which is saying something.
I decide to leave the Bladderhorns to it, and see what other lifeforms dwell in this
mountain range…
Scaling the foothills of the equatorial mountains, I find myself caught in heavy rainfall.
Taking shelter under an overhanging rock, I realize two leathery brown creatures are
huddled nearby, also hiding from the storm.
These are Keeled Sliders, peaceful mountainous herbivores which thankfully aren’t aggravated
by my presence.
Like mountain goats, Keeled Sliders can maneuver down steep slopes with remarkable ease using
their specialized front limbs.
Yet these Keeled Sliders are keeping remarkably still.
A scan detects 20 small life signs in the small cave behind the pair.
It seems these are parents guarding a nest of newborns.
I don’t want to disrupt them, and since the rain is letting up, I’ll be on my way.
After a grueling climb, I reach the summit of the equatorial mountains.
Looking to the horizon as I catch my breath, I spot a herd of four-legged grazers on the
peaks beside me.
These are Springwings, and while they look ordinary from a distance, Springwings are
the champions of the chilly alpine skies.
A gust of wind howls overhead.
I look up and see an adult Springwing leaping into the air above me, unfurling gliding appendages
that allow it soar out into the abyss.
Watching a cow-sized organism take flight is a majestic and bizarre sight — made possible
thanks to Darwin IV’s thick atmosphere and low gravity.
Their fixed-wing structure resembles the body plan of Draco lizards, which can glide in
a similar manner…
although they’re much smaller.
Just as I’m about to depart, I notice something moving on the rock above me.
But it quickly recedes from view.
It seems I am still being observed…
Heading northwards, I’m drawn to a commotion caused by a stampeding herd.
These behemoths are called Unths — creatures named for the sound they make when they exhale
through their dorsal vents.
Heavy-set herbivores, Unths are the lumbering bison of Darwin IV, who rely their herd to
stay safe while they browse for plants.
Yet Unth herds aren’t without conflict.
Before my eyes, two Unths engage in an earth-shaking battle for dominance.
Throwing their full weight into each other, their posturing reminds me of Musk Ox clashes
on Earth.
Yet despite the occasional clash, the Unth herd seems remarkably tight knit, as they
are united against a common enemy — the weather.
This far to the north, nothing is more dangerous than the dropping temperatures.
I’ve now reached a windswept region where the ground is covered in near-permanent ice
— and most lifeforms on Darwin IV can’t survive for long.
Yet even in this extreme biome, some creatures have found a way to adapt to the cold.
Close by, I notice an organism which at first glance appears to be in distress, as it is
half buried in the snow at an awkward angle.
Looking closer, however, I realize that this creature — called a Tundra-Plow, is actually
scouring under the surface for food.
Plenty of Earth animals forage for food under the ground, and many others tunnel under the
snow for similar reasons.
But the Tundra-Plow makes such behaviors look extremely tame by comparison: staying halfway
underground in a manner that looks like a faceplant for long periods.
It’s a somewhat absurd method of survival, but it appears to be working reasonably well.
Trekking as far north as I can safely travel, I’ve reached a glacier cap where only the
most extreme species can live.
Here, I find the shivering Icecrawlers — small, nondescript organisms that slowly make their
way across the glacier’s surface, feeding on microorganisms with a mouth on the underside
of the shell.
With their segmented bodies, the Icecrawlers have converged on a body plan similar to giant
isopods — crustaceans that can also endure frigid temperatures.
I’m about to turn back when perhaps the strangest lifeform I’ve seen yet dashes
across my field of vision.
This is a Rimerunner — a fast-moving creature that hops over the ice on its single foot.
While a single-legged animal is highly unusual, it’s not altogether unheard of in the natural
world — as most bivalve mollusks like clams also only possess a single foot, which they
use as a bizarre form of motion.
It’s likely the Rimerunner evolved from a similar organism.
Even stranger than this creature’s foot, however, is the parachute-shaped structure
on the front of its head.
At first, I thought this orange structure was a separate lifeform, but it’s actually
connected to the Rimerunner via a thin neural cable.
Looking closely at the floating organ, it seems it’s a ‘sensory packet’ that helps
the Rimerunner better navigate through echolocation — almost like an organic radar dish.
A unique lifeform indeed.
Returning to the warmth of the southern reaches, I worry I won’t find creatures as strange
as the Rimerunner.
My worries quickly fade, however, when I spot two crescent-shaped lifeforms hovering in
the distance.
These wrinkled oddities are Rugose Floaters.
Rather lazy creatures, they fly in wide, slow circles.
A scan tells me they’re able to stay aloft thanks to internal sacs of buoyant gas.
This leads me to wonder: if the bulky Rugose Floaters can fly using this method, might
a true giant be hidden in the skies?
I soon get my answer.
The largest airborne creature of Darwin IV breaches through the clouds.
This is an Ebony Blisterwing — an animal that is longer than even the Emperor Sea Striders
I glimpsed earlier in the expedition — although much lighter and more fragile.
While I’m only able to glimpse this creature for a moment, I can theorize the Ebony Blisterwing
stays aloft using the bubble-like bladders on its wings and body, which keep it afloat
like giant balloons.
And while the diet of this majestic being is unknown, I suspect it feeds on airborne
microscopic organisms — filtering them from the skies much like a baleen whale filters
zooplankton.
It is now my final day on Darwin IV.
Just as I’m returning to my launch site, from the skies descends the most important
lifeform I’ve seen.
This is an Eosapien, a highly unusual yet clearly complex floating organism that hovers
in the air, and seems to be observing me with quiet intelligence.
I realize this is my mysterious follower — and it is Darwin IV’s version of intelligent
life.
In its hands, it holds a carved, defensive weapon.
Not wanting to alarm the Eopsaien with any sudden movements, I sit for a while and map
out its anatomy.
The Eosapien’s brain appears to be housed somewhere in its central body, likely close
to its sensory organs.
Furthermore, the Eosapien also possesses flexible digits that enable tool-crafting.
While right now it seems Eosapies are still crafting rudimentary tools, perhaps long into
the future, they will build a civilization here on Darwin IV.
For a species like the Eospaien, the future is full of exciting possibilities.
Seemingly content with its own observations, the Eospaiens departs.
Watching the Eospaien leave reminds me that the time has come for me also to return home.
But if you enjoyed this expedition across Darwin IV as much as I did, I once again encourage
you to purchase the book and check out more of Wayne Barlowe’s incredible work.
As always, links are in the description.
Also, thanks for watching.
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