We humans can build some pretty spectacular things.
Skyscrapers, monuments, and majestic feats of engineering spring from the ground wherever
we settle —as if we just can’t help but shake a
triumphant fist at the sky before marking our territory with another piece of architectural
artwork.
But, did you know that the greatest architects and designers in the world don’t necessarily
work at a desk in a fancy office?
To find them and their awe inspiring projects, you might have to take a walk on the wild
side.
Here are seven amazing structures created by animals.
In the remote and untamed wilderness area of Wood Buffalo National Park in Alberta,
Canada, everyone’s favorite semi-aquatic rodents
have banded together to earn their very own world record.
Since the mid-1970s, generations of beavers have spent their lives felling trees in preparation
for their magnum opus— the World’s Biggest Beaver Dam.
Not to be confused with the quaint little hamlet of Beaverdam, Alberta.
hough certainly they have just as much to be proud of.
The impressive structure was first discovered in 2007 thanks to researchers using Google
Earth.
Yes, the dam is so big it can be seen from space.
Step aside, Great Wall of China.
It wasn’t until 2014 that an adventurous person made the journey to see it for themselves.
Measuring a whopping 850 metres long and formed from two different dams joined together, it’s
the length which earns it the title of biggest in the world.
Two beaver lodges house the industrious workers, offering a place for them to rest and celebrate
their fine work.
Although they’re not interested in resting for very long as the beavers continue developing
the dam to this day, building toward another dam under construction
nearby which will add between fifty and one hundred meters to the dam’s total length.
Like other enthusiastic record holders, they’re looking to defend their title—and perhaps
give some human-scale dams a run for their money.
“Busy as a beaver” indeed.
Equally as renowned as a beaver for his work ethic, the lowly ant is capable of lifting
objects over ten times its own weight and building elaborate communities out of
the very soil beneath you.
We’ve all seen ant hills, the little mounds of dirt piled ankle high around the entrances
and exits of ant colonies, but just how deep do they go, exactly?
In 2012, the largest known ant city was unearthed in the country of Brazil, covering an area
of five hundred square feet and plunging twenty-six feet beneath the surface.
Based on best estimates, it is presumed that the ants moved nearly forty tons of soil while
excavating the labyrinthine network of tunnels, chambers, and other distinct structures.
To put that weight into perspective, it would be the same as the ants shifting a humpback
whale bit by bit to build their home.
That’s no small feat!
When the ant city was discovered, the leafcutter ants who once called it home had long since
abandoned it for greener pastures, though they left behind telltale signs of
how they organized the caste system to which they were bound.
Within the colony were distinct rubbish heaps, where the refuse generated by the ants would
have been gathered to be removed by designated garbage handlers.
Gardens were dotted throughout for the cultivation of the edible fungus that the ants subsisted
on, beside major thoroughfares which cut through
the heart of the colony, just like our highways.
It’s eerily similar to how human society must look from a bird’s eye view, and surely
ranks as one of the most spectacular feats ants have ever accomplished.
So the next time you’ve got a magnifying glass and you’re feeling antsy,
perhaps you should consider giving the little buggers a pass and find something else to
burn.
Not all termites live in the walls of suburban homes—though that might be hard to believe
at first.
They would chew their way through a tree just as soon as they’d cause structural damage
to your house, but out in the wide open spaces of nature
some termites prefer a little extra shelter from the elements than a layer of bark.
Enter the termite mound, towering like a natural Colossus of Rhodes,
and filled to the brim with termite ingenuity and efficiency.
Reaching heights of up to nine meters, the termites like to test the limits of their
natural engineering talent; though it’s even more impressive when you
consider that for an equivalent human building, it would be around two kilometers tall!
That’s the same as taking two of Saudi Arabia’s one kilometer high Kingdom Tower and stacking
them.
Termites work together as a cohesive, coordinated unit—though they have no language or method
of communication other than pheromones and basic physical interactions.
They are able to sense something as simple as damage to the outer wall of the mound,
and within minutes begin to work together on repairs.
If their entire mound were destroyed, it could be completely rebuilt by the colony within
three months.
All without words or blueprints—being that talented, you’d think termites would be
esteemed as patron saints of construction workers everywhere!
But sadly, the stereotype of termites as vicious home destroyers lives on.
To help control the temperature and allow airflow through the colony, ventilation shafts
are built to draw in fresh air from the outside, and the entire mound is formed to naturally
circulate air.
When combined with the insulation offered by the earth around the nest, the termites
are able to maintain a pleasant temperature year round with remarkably little temperature
variation.
Just like the people of Coober Pedy, Australia, these brilliant little insects must know the
joys of living entirely underground.
Given an average fifteen kilograms of pure, unadulterated termites in your average mound,
you can assume they will move approximately one quarter of a metric ton of dirt in an
average year as they build and maintain their homes.
Just like ants, termites burrow into the soil, termites however, choose to build higher instead
of deeper, creating monuments which will last at least
until the elements or a malicious predator brings them down.
Off the coast of Japan in the mid-nineties, scuba divers discovered mysterious patterns
in the silt and sand of the ocean floor.
Scientists were completely baffled—there were no obvious explanations for the undersea
crop circles that kept appearing, at least at first.
They watched and waited for a decade, trying to catch the creator in the act, but they
saw nothing.
It wasn’t until they decided to take note of the unassuming pufferfish that they finally
had their culprit.
No more than twelve centimeters long, the tiny pufferfish shape curious circles on the
seafloor of up to two meters in diameter.
Although no one is exactly certain why, the best guess of well-educated men and women
is that the circles are used as a part of the mating ritual between male and female
pufferfish.
Instead of a metal ring, the male pufferfish carves a ring in the rapidly shifting sands
beneath the surf, and proudly presents it on bended fin to his beloved.
Actually, that’s rather romantic when you look at it that way.
Female pufferfish lay their eggs in the fine sediment at the center before turning tail
leaving the males to guard the fertilised eggs for another six days afterward.
Counting the week or so it takes the male to make the damn thing, that means that they
spend two weeks on something the females use only for a day or two at best.
That’s rough.
The circles, while beautiful, are not actively maintained by the pufferfish, and will wash
away soon after their usefulness has ended.
However, their design takes into account the constant ebb and flow of underwater currents,
with fluid dynamics tests finding that the way they are shaped actually serves to slow
the currents as they near the center of the circle.
This serves to ensure that the softest sand at the center, reserved for the eggs, lasts
as long as it needs to, undisturbed by the undertow of the ocean.
Each circle is a temporary and delicate work of art which can hold back the sea itself
in order to provide the best conditions for the next generation of pufferfish.
Pufferfish are therefore, living proof, that spectacular things can come from the smallest
packages.
In 2010, after an exceptionally intense monsoon season, northeastern Pakistan experienced
widespread flooding that covered nearly one fifth of its total land area.
Many of the frontier provinces suffered as a result, with more than twenty million people
displaced as a result of the surging floodwaters.
But humans weren’t the only ones driven from their homes.
Seemingly overnight, the trees in flooded areas were completely cocooned in spiderwebs.
Yes, that’s right—spiders fled the waters as well, seeking the highest and driest places
available to them.
In short order, the foliage of eastern Pakistan took on the appearance of elaborately wrapped
Egyptian mummies, and lots of people who didn’t know they
suffered from arachnophobia figured it out pretty darn quickly.
White frosted branches as far as the eye can see—it’s not quite the hell on earth you
might be imagining.
The creepy crawlies spinning webs in the tree tops may have actually provided a small measure
of disaster relief for the stricken Pakistani people.
Despite the vast new plots of standing and stagnant water, there was no complimentary
rise in malaria infections due to what should have been a booming mosquito population.
The best guess is that the spiders were able to effectively control the mosquitos and prevent
them from running rampant across the saturated countryside.
Not quite the evil eight-legged abominations you took them for, eh?
Flooding in Pakistan continues to this day, so for now the spiders continue to weave their
spell over the region.
There is some evidence that the webbing covering the leaves may be having a detrimental effect
on the trees, but there simply aren’t any volunteers to clear out the infestation.
As long as they’re keeping malaria-ridden mosquitos at bay, I suspect the Pakistani
people will continue to enforce the current status quo between themselves and their new
neighbors.
It’s a well-known fact that birds prefer to situate their nests up and away from prying
eyes and thieving paws.
Most are content to gather twigs together in a fork of the branches where they can settle
down and perhaps lay an egg or two in relative obscurity.
Not so for the Montezuma Oropendola birds of Central America—who prefer a flashier,
yet isolated lifestyle.
The magnificent, basket-like hanging nests of the Montezuma Oropendola are often seen
in single trees set apart from the rest of the forest.
The peculiar birds prefer solitary bases from which to hang their homes, often choosing
trees near wasps’ nests or other hazards so as to deter potential predators.
They’re the very poster child of introversion in the animal kingdom.
You can almost hear them saying: “I built a pretty awesome nest, but don’t bother
coming to see it.”
They thrive in the tropical climate around Nicaragua, northwestern Costa Rica, and parts
of Panama and southern Mexico.
Like most creatures native to the region, they have no qualms about putting on a display—as
evidenced by their conspicuous nests and bright, ruddy plumage.
Look but don’t approach is their creed.
And if you prefer not to tango with wasps, you would be wise to heed their warning.
North and East of Australia, just off the coast, lies the largest structure made by
living organisms.
It’s far larger than the World’s Biggest Beaver Dam, and of course, it’s visible
from space as well.
Yes, I’m talking about the Great Barrier Reef, one of the wonders of the natural world
and home to countless types of fish and other assorted aquatic creatures.
A gorgeous stretch of ocean which spans more than 344,000 square kilometers—it covers
an area larger than the United Kingdom, Holland, and Switzerland combined!
It was officially recognized and protected as the Great Barrier Reef Park by the Australian
government in 1975.
With the protected status came strict rules and regulations against human interference,
providing a unique shelter for migrating whales and endangered species like the dugong and
the Large Green Sea Turtle.
Thanks to the efforts of conservationists, the Great Barrier Reef is still a pristine
refuge for thousands of ocean dwelling species in a world where the oceans seem to grow more
crowded with each passing decade.
Though photographs and popular culture might have you believe that the entire reef is comprised
of coral, in fact only around 7% of it is actually made of the colorful “reef builders”.
It is, however, the largest collection of corals in the world—giving it the distinction
of also being the largest living structure, in a sense.
Besides the coral reefs, other types of marine habitats like shallow seagrass fields share
the space beside algal and sponge gardens, just to name a few.
It’s a flourishing ecosystem, and a priceless investment for scientists and researchers
who study our oceans to find better ways for us to coexist.