How
fishes try to avoid predators
StŽphan G. Reebs
UniversitŽ de Moncton,
Canada
2007
Fishes are delicious. At least herons, kingfishers,
mergansers, and all marine birds seem to think so. Marine mammals seem to think
so. Minks and bears seem to think so. The big fishes themselves concur. As a
taxonomic group, fishes face one of the most diverse arrays of predators
imaginable. Threat comes from below and from above, during the day and at
night, and at almost all stages of life. Is it any wonder that most fishes
– certainly all the small ones – are skittish creatures? When placed in a new environment, most
wild fishes cower in nooks and crannies and donÕt dare raise a fin. They donÕt
want to draw the attention of predators.
But of course, an animal cannot spend its whole life
immobile. Fish may remain in constant fear of danger, but they also have other
things to do, feeding and reproductive activities being the most obvious. The
life of fishes is dictated by a triumvirate of imperatives: the need to reproduce,
the need to eat, and the need to avoid being eaten. The problem is that these
activities are not always compatible. Compromises must be achieved between
courting a potential mate and looking out for enemies. Trade-offs must be
accommodated between the necessity to search for food and the desire to avoid
detection by a predator. This looks at the nature of these compromises, with
predation risk as the underlying causal factor.
There has been extensive research on this topic. This
reflects not only the importance of predation risk in the life of fishes, but
also the relative ease of experimental manipulation. The basic protocol has
been to compare the behaviour of a fish before and after the appearance of a
predator. The comparison can also take place between a group of fish that sees
a predator versus one that does not, or between natural populations that
experience different levels of predation pressure.
In the lab, predators can be presented in a multitude
of ways. A predatory fish species can be positioned in plain sight within the
confines of an adjacent aquarium. A tame predatory bird can be tethered nearby.
Resin models of a big bad fish can be cast and then dragged through the water. Wooden
models of heron heads can be fiercely thrust through the surface. Cardboard
silhouettes of kingfishers can be ÒflownÓ along a wire above the water. Fish
can also be exposed to an inflow of water laced with the smell of a predator or
the alarm substance of its prey.
The response of fishes to predation risk can be
divided in four broad categories: (1) the fish can switch habitat, i.e. decamp
to areas where there are fewer predators or better shelters; (2) they can stay
in the same habitat but keep a low profile, reducing the frequency of
conspicuous behaviours and the amount of time they spend exposed; (3) they can
remain exposed but increase the percentage of time spent vigilant, usually at
the expense of the time and concentration necessary to do other things; and (4)
they can shift their activity to other times of day when predators are not so
abundant or not so successful.
Switching habitat
Predator-free ponds provide great opportunities for
studying the effect of predation risk on habitat choice. All you need to do,
with the permission of your local environmental government agency, is to
introduce a predator to a site
that encompasses various habitat types – open water and weeded areas, for
example – and compare the spatial distribution of the prey before and
after predator introduction. Alternatively, the pond can be fenced up into two
halves, one with prey only and one with both prey and introduced predator. This
has been done with bluegill sunfish and largemouth bass, minnows and pike,
young crucian carp and Eurasian perch, and young Eurasian perch with their
cannibalistic elders. In all cases, prey in the predator-free condition
occupied both open waters and shallow weeded areas, whereas prey exposed to
predators stayed in the shallow weeded areas most of the time. Confinement to
the shallows usually led to slower growth rates, because food was not as
plentiful there, and because there was more competition for it from the great
concentration of refugees.[1]
In the above experiments, some prey could be seen to
venture, sometimes even to set up shop, in the open waters where the predators
operated most efficiently. Invariably these fearless individuals were large. Great
size does confer some degree of immunity against predators. These large
individuals were not constrained by the competitive bottleneck that affected
their smaller brethren in the shallows. Therefore they grew more quickly and
became even safer from danger, a case of the rich getting richer and the poor
staying poor.
(The anti-predator benefits of large size are further
illustrated by an intriguing observation. In the absence of predators, growing
crucian carps develop slim bodies that are hydrodynamically efficient. But in
the presence of predators, carps grow to become rounder and larger, a body
shape that is not so good for swimming, but more likely to deter predators
because it is not so easy to swallow.)[2]
Predation experiments can also be done in the lab. For
his PhD thesis at QueenÕs University in Ontario, Vytenis Gotceitas built
artificial weeded areas by attaching green polypropylene ropes to grids of wire
mesh. Within wading pools, he installed patches of ÒweedsÓ in densities of 50,
100, 250, 500 or 1000 stems per square meter. He also introduced a great number
of damselfly nymphs, a natural food supply for bluegill sunfish. He then released
bluegills into the wading pool and observed their behaviour before, during, and
after the introduction of a piscivorous largemouth bass. Before the predator
appeared, the bluegills stayed in open water or in low-density weed patches
because this is where they had the most success finding and catching damselfly
nymphs. When the predator was thrust upon the scene however, most bluegills
moved to the high-density weed patches. That was a good choice, because
Gotceitas could see that the largemouth bass was fairly successful at catching
those few individuals that stayed in the low-density weed patches. Therefore,
dense weeds were a good place for bluegills to seek refuge from predators. LetÕs
remember though that dense weeds were also a poor place to forage. So, in the
absence of predatory activity bluegills patrolled the sparse weeds to maximise
their foraging success, but they moved to safer patches of dense weeds when a
predator appeared, even if that meant poor foraging, a lab result that mirrored
the field observations above.[3]
If habitat switches entail a trade-off between
foraging and avoiding predation, then it should be possible to experimentally
manipulate this balance and tip it either in favour of more foraging despite
the risk of predation, or conversely more sheltering despite the risk of
starvation. The simplest way to do this is to compare the behaviour of hungry
and satiated fish. Both can be offered a choice between spending some time in a
safe habitat devoid of food, or a risky one where there is food. This has been
done in the lab for crucian carp facing pike, black gobies facing cod, pink
salmon fry facing adult chinook, and juvenile coho salmon facing adult rainbow
trout. In all cases, the hungry individuals spent more time in the risky area,
close to the predator but with good access to food, than the better-fed fish.[4]
Those experiments hint at another way to affect the
balance of foraging opportunity and predation risk. We can vary the quantity or
the quality of food in the risky habitat. A choice can be offered between two
patches, one that gives access to a little food and that is placed near an
adjacent aquarium that contains no, or maybe only one, predator, versus another
patch that offers more food but that is also next to an aquarium containing two
predators. The question is: how much more food should the more dangerous patch
contain in order to draw the wary prey there? Experiments of this kind have been done with juvenile creek
chub facing predatory adults, young black surfperch at risk from kelp bass,
European minnows exposed to a kingfisher, guppies facing cichlids, and upland
bullies viewing a salmon.[5] The switch from safe to dangerous
habitat took place when food was at least 3-4 times, and sometimes as much as
28 times, more abundant in the risky site, a substantial difference that may
not always be present in natural situations. This could explain why, in the
natural experiments described above, fish at risk from predation stayed in the
shallow areas of ponds and lakes despite the lower food supply there. If fish
have at least enough food to survive in the safe habitat, and the dangerous
habitat is not that much better in terms of food availability, then prey may
elect to stay in the safe habitat most of the time.[6]
Yet another way to tip the scale is to alter the
availability of refuges in the various habitats. Prey may accept to venture in
predator-rich areas if there is also structure there to protect them. To
demonstrate this, Douglas Fraser and Richard Cerri built compartmentalised
channels within a spring-fed stream in the Hudson-Mohawk River watershed. Within
each compartment they could manipulate the presence or absence of a predator
(adult creek chub) and the structural complexity of the habitat (pieces of
black pipe, wood, covers providing shade). The compartments were separated by
wood dividers with slots big enough to let small minnows go in and out but too
small to let the predators exit. Small minnows (young creek chubs and blacknose
dace) were let loose in those channels, free to move from compartment to
compartment. Their distribution could be determined at any time by dropping
hinged gates which effectively made all fish prisoners of the compartments in
which they happened to be at that moment. In this way, Fraser and Cerri
observed that minnows tended to avoid compartments with predators but that this
avoidance was less marked when structure was present in those compartments. Predator
avoidance is a strong incentive at all times but the presence of structure can
mitigate it somewhat.[7] Similar results have been obtained in
the lab with other species.[8]
Of course, habitat shifts may not afford complete
safety. Some predators have this nasty habit of adapting and venturing into the
areas where their prey take refuge – predators have to make a living too,
you know. For example, largemouth bass can switch from cruising in open waters
to ambushing in vegetated areas.[9] Small prey fish may flee from harmful
perch in open waters only to fall prey to a stalking pike in the weeds.[10] Minnows may think they are safe from
large predatory fishes in the shallows, but then they are nabbed by a heron. As
I said earlier, fishes are just too tasty. They are almost never completely
safe. Nevertheless, the fact remains that habitat switches can at least help to
decrease predation risk. Better a small risk of being caught by a pike in the
weeds than guaranteed death from a bass in open waters.
Reducing conspicuous behaviours
Juvenile salmon usually hold station somewhere in a
stream and occasionally dash upstream to intercept drifting prey. Larry Dill
and Alex Fraser from Simon Fraser University wondered how this behaviour could
be affected by predation risk. They compared the foraging behaviour of coho
salmon that could feed under two different conditions, either undisturbed or
after being distracted by the presentation of a photograph depicting an adult
rainbow trout (a predator of young salmon). Their results were that, all other
things being equal, the cohos that had seen the photograph were not willing to
swim as far away as usual in order to catch drifting insects. Whereas
unperturbed salmon were willing to swim 25 cm upstream in order to catch a big
fly, disturbed salmon would only go 16 cm.[11] In Glasgow, Neil Metcalfe and his co-workers
observed a similar reticence to venture out on the part of scared Atlantic
salmon, adding that it took 2 h for the feeding behaviour to fully get back to
normal after predator presentation.[12] The inference from both of these
studies is that wary fish probably want to minimise the amount of time spent
moving. Other studies in DillÕs lab have shown that moving salmon are attacked
by common mergansers (a diving fish-eating duck) more often than stationary
ones, and maybe the same would apply to predation by large trout.[13]
Here again it is possible to alter the trade-off
between safety and foraging by playing with the hunger level of the salmon, or
with the levels of predation risk. Dill and Fraser manipulated their cohos in
this way. They observed that hungry salmon reduced their attack distance on
drifting prey when scared by a predator, as expected, but not as much as
better-fed individuals did. Because the cohos were hungry, they were willing to
take a little bit more risk. Salmon which could see their own image in a mirror
were also willing to take more risk by dashing a little further than lone
individuals. Either they perceived the mirror image as a competitor for food
and consequently they were more motivated to get the food, or they felt safer
because they had a companion and reckoned there was less chance for them to be
the specific target of an attack. Dill and Fraser also manipulated the balance
in another way: they varied the frequency with which the predator image was
presented. As expected, salmon which were exposed to the image of a predator
more often (every 22 minutes) reduced their attack distance to a greater degree
than salmon who saw the predator less frequently (only at 45-min intervals). The
fish were able to estimate the higher level of risk and adjust their foraging
behaviour accordingly.[14]
The need to avoid conspicuous behaviour in the
presence of a predator can also have an impact on a fishÕs sex life, especially
the malesÕ courtship behaviour. LetÕs take the case of guppies. Males have two
ways of mating with females. They can woo them with a sigmoid display, in which
the body is arched and the fins are extended. Such a display is conspicuous,
can take up to 5 seconds to perform, and must be done often before a female
finally agrees to mate. The second strategy is sneakier. It is called
gonopodial thrusting, a forceful insemination without the femaleÕs co-operation
(a form of sexual coercion). Gonopodial thrusting is less conspicuous than
sigmoid displays, but the chance of a successful insemination is also reduced
because the female tries to resist it. The interesting point here is that when
we compare the relative frequency of both strategies in the presence and in the
absence of predators (cichlids or characids) at large in the same environment,
the sneaky behaviour predominates when predators are present while the
conspicuous display is more important in the predatorÕs absence.[15] It seems that predator-wary fish
abandon effective but conspicuous courtship displays and resort to less showy
but safer alternatives if they can. Another option under predation threat is to
shorten the duration of courtship before finally mating, as has been observed
in the broad-nosed pipefish Syngnathus typhle, in sand gobies,
and in sticklebacks.[16]
Camouflage
There is one category of fishes for which reduced
activity is an integral part of anti-predator strategy: cryptic species whose
body colour matches the surroundings. For camouflage to be effective against a
static background, the fish must itself remain motionless. There is evidence
that freezing in cryptic species is a conscious effort to blend in and not
simply an attempt to reduce conspicuous movements irrespective of the potential
for camouflage. Tidepool sculpins, whose body markings mimic the appearance of
sand, have been kept in aquaria with either a matching (sandy) or non-matching
(white) bottom. When scared by the introduction of an alarm substance, the fish
on matching sand reduced their movements to 65% of normal levels, as might be
expected. However, the fish on a white substrate did not alter their activity. For
them, immobility would have conferred no cryptic advantage, and consequently
that tactic was not adopted.[17] Active search for a refuge was a better
alternative in that case.
Another example comes from a study of three darter
species. The fantail, greenside and orangethroat darters wear dull colours
outside of the breeding season and they freeze over mucky bottoms in response
to predator signs. During the breeding season, the male fantail and greenside
darters develop a conspicuous green body colour, but because they normally
breed near matching green algae they keep on freezing when alarmed. In
contrast, male orangethroat darters develop intense orange, blue, yellow and
red breeding colours. Needless to say, they cannot find matching surroundings,
and therefore it comes as no surprise that they abandon freezing as an
anti-predator tactic and resort to fleeing instead.[18]
Increasing vigilance
If a fish is confident that it can escape from a
predator as long as it has enough advance warning, then all it needs to do in a
risky environment is to increase its time spent vigilant. For the fish
ethologist, studying this topic poses a problem: how do you measure
vigilance? How can you tell that a
fish is vigilant? A fish cannot
perk up its ears like a mammal. It cannot look up like a bird. We therefore
have no choice but to resort to a more indirect sign. In most cases, what ends
up being measured is foraging activity. This may seem completely unrelated, but
the rationale is in fact sound enough: foraging requires concentration on the
task at hand and is therefore incompatible with vigilance. Good vigilance
demands a fishÕs undivided attention and it cannot be done while the fish is feeding.[19] The intensity of foraging can therefore
be construed as an inverse index of vigilance. Ethologists therefore predict
that fish should reduce their feeding rate when they perceive a risk of
predation. Satisfyingly, this has indeed been observed in a variety of species,
most notably salmon and sticklebacks.[20]
In one experiment conducted by Manfred Milinski,
three-spined sticklebacks were placed in an aquarium in which stood a number of
upright Plexiglas cylinders. At the bottom of each cylinder was a tasty Tubifex
worm. However, the cylinder was of such a height that the fish lost sight of
their surroundings while reaching for the worm at the bottom. In one treatment
the sticklebacks were on their own, while in another treatment they could see
the predatory cichlid Oreochromis mariae through a nearby
transparent partition. The unthreatened sticklebacks fed enthusiastically in
all cylinders, but the wary fish reached for the worms less often and when they
did, it was only in those cylinders furthest away from the cichlid. We can
infer that they needed to remain vigilant.[21]
In Scotland, Neil Metcalfe and his co-workers placed
juvenile salmon in an artificial stream channel and dropped food pellets a
short distance in front of them. The current carried the pellets past the
salmon, who could first orient towards the pellets and then ÒattackÓ them. Two
pellet types were used, one which was too large to be swallowed and one which
was just the right size. The salmon had been familiarised with both types and knew
the difference between them. An experimental trial consisted of dropping a
total of 6 pellets, 3 large and 3 small ones, one at a time at 10-minute
intervals. One group of salmon was left undisturbed, but another group was
shown the Fiberglas model of a predatory brown trout for 30 seconds before the
trial began. Though brief, this presentation had an effect: during the
hour-long trial that followed, the frightened salmon attacked the drifting
pellets less often, and when they did they seemed not to discriminate very
well, attacking the inedible large pellets as often as the edible small ones. The
undisturbed controls attacked the edible pellets at a high rate and the
inedible ones less often. These results suggest that fear of predation, and the
consequent need for vigilance, rob juvenile salmon of the concentration needed
to discriminate between food items.[22]
Concentration is also required of a fish that feeds on
high-density swarms of Daphnia. This is because of the confusion
effect, which we have already encountered in chapter 11; we had seen that
predator confusion could benefit large shoals of prey fish, and it is not hard
to imagine that it can also benefit large swarms of Daphnia. One
experiment with guppies has confirmed that the concentration needed to overcome
the confusion effect hinders vigilance and predator evasion. Guppies feeding on
Daphnia at densities of 1, 5, 10, 15, or 20 per litre were
subjected to surprise attacks by a live jewel cichlid. The outcome for the
guppies depended on the density of the Daphnia on which they
fed: the greater the density of Daphnia, the greater the
probability of the foraging guppies being caught by the cichlid, from around
20% at the lowest density to 50% at the highest one. Overwhelmed by the
whirlwind movements of all those little prey items in front of them, guppies
did not see the predator coming and paid dearly for it.[23]
Consequently, we would expect wary fish to feed on low
rather than high-density swarms, since this would require less concentration
and allow better vigilance. Milinski has provided evidence that this is so. He
filled test tubes with various numbers of Daphnia (0,
2, 20, or 40) and presented all tubes simultaneously to individual sticklebacks.
Some of these sticklebacks had been previously frightened by the overhead
flight of a model kingfisher, while others had been left alone. Milinski saw
that most of the undisturbed fish at first attacked the tube that contained 40 Daphnia,
probably because it represented a rich source of food and the fish, being
unaware of any predator in the vicinity, were willing to invest the
concentration necessary to try and isolate prey one at a time (eventually
though, they switched to the less packed tubes, maybe in frustration at their
initial lack of success reaching the protected Daphnia within their tubes). In
contrast, most of the frightened fish first bit the tube that housed only two Daphnia, and
they maintained that choice. They wanted to keep an eye out for the return of
the predator they had seen before and preferred prey that could be caught
quickly, even if that meant settling for fewer of them.[24]
Although the above examples all deal with foraging as
the antithesis of vigilance, there is no reason to believe that other
behaviours besides foraging could not be measured with the same intent. Reproductive
activities such as mate choice, nest-building, fighting with territorial
neighbours, and caring for eggs also require a certain amount of concentration
and can therefore be implicated in a trade-off with vigilance. Already some
researchers have reported that female guppies stop paying attention to courting
males, or show less discrimination between them, when they perceive a predation
risk.[25] There is scope for more research
involving such vigilance-incompatible behaviours.
Altering the timing of activity
With the help of a few students, I once placed minnow
traps in a stream to see if lake chub would be caught mostly during the day or
at night. I expected it to be during the day because chub kept in aquaria are
active almost exclusively by day. To my surprise, the chub ended up being
caught at dawn and dusk only. This was with unbaited minnow traps. When we
baited the traps with dry dog food pellets, the chub were caught at dawn and
dusk, as before, and also during the day, as previously expected. I interpreted
these findings as follows: the
chub were among the largest minnows in the stream and under the full light of
day they were particularly visible to kingfishers and mergansers, two
fish-eating birds that had been spotted in the vicinity. Accordingly, the chub
restricted their activity to dawn and dusk, a time when low light levels
impaired the hunting behaviour of the birds. Only when the balance between
predation risk and foraging success was tipped in favour of foraging, by adding
nutritious bait to the traps, did the chub accept to venture out during the
day.[26]
This example suggests that fish may shift the peak of
their activities to those daily times when predators are less active or less
successful. It is no strong proof however. Maybe the chubs were crepuscular
because their preferred prey happened to be crepuscular as well. A convincing
experiment would require all avian predators to be removed from the vicinity of
the stream, in the hope that the chubÕs activity would then shift back to being
fully diurnal. To do so would be impossible, for practical as well as ethical
reasons. The situation might be more tractable in the lab, as predators could
be presented at the same time every day, day after day, in the hope of teaching
the fish to reduce activity at that time and to compensate by becoming more
active at other times.
I am aware of only one experimental study that has
linked predation regime and a preyÕs diel timing of activity. Douglas Fraser,
James Gilliam, and collaborators conducted a field study in Trinidad, in which
they looked at guppy behaviour in predator-free and predator-threatened pools.
The predator was another fish, Hoplias malabaricus. The
scientists found that guppies were strictly diurnal in the presence of the
predator, but were active day and night when free from predation. Night
foraging was as profitable as day foraging, and therefore the guppies grew much
better in the predator-free condition. So this was a case where predation
seemed to limit the activity phase of a fish which can otherwise be active all
the time.[27]
This page delved into the effect of predation risk on
fish behaviour. I insist on the word ÒriskÓ. In all cases covered here, the
fish were wary, but they were not yet under direct attack from an enemy. When
that happens, the behavioural response of prey fish is fairly straightforward:
they flee or try to hide. How long they remain hidden or ÒfrozenÓ depends on
how scared they feel, and how eager they are to resume feeding or courting. Shoals
under attack can also ÒexplodeÓ, with all fish swimming in all directions (a
reaction called flash expansion), or they can show a Òfountain effectÓ,
splitting up in two, each halves passing by the predatorÕs sides before rejoining
behind it. Other fishes rely on anatomical and physiological defences rather
than behaviour. They grow bony plates and spines on their body, or they
synthesise toxins which are stored in skin or flesh. Some develop body markings
that mimic the appearance of foul-tasting species, hoping to fool experienced
predators into leaving them alone. Others sport false eyespots on their tail,
and this may deflect predator attack away from the sensitive head area, or
confuse the predators when the prey suddenly starts swimming ÒbackwardsÓ.[28]
It is tough being a fish. Everybody wants to make a
meal out of you. It must make for a stressful existence. Yet, fishes endure. Some
of them even thrive (with the notable exception, these days, of those species
that are commercially-exploited by humans, a smart predator with whom it is
hard to cope). Fish survival in the face of so many predators bears witness to
the care fishes take in minimising predation risk.
[1]
Werner, E.E., Gilliam, J.F., Hall, D.J., and Mittelbach, G.G., 1983, An
experimental test of the effects of predation risk on habitat use in fish,
Ecology 64, 1540-1548; He, X., and Kitchell, J.F., 1990, Direct and indirect
effects of predation on a fish community: a whole-lake experiment, Transactions
of the American Fisheries Society 119, 825-835; Tonn, W.M., Paszkowski, C.A.,
and Holopainen, I.J., 1992, Piscivory and recruitment: mechanisms structuring
prey populations in small lakes, Ecology 73, 951-958; Jacobsen, L., and Berg,
S., 1998, Diel variation in habitat use by planktivores in field enclosure
experiments: the effect of submerged macrophytes and predation, Journal of Fish
Biology 53, 1207-1219.
[2]
Bršnmark, C., and Miner, J.G., 1992, Predator-induced phenotypical change in
body morphology in crucian carp, Science 258, 1348-1350; Bršnmark, C., and
Pettersson , L.B., 1994, Chemical cues from piscivores induce a change in
morphology in crucian carp, Oikos 70, 396-402. It seems that the differential
growth is induced by exposure to skin substances, possibly alarm pheromones
from other carp, exuding from the faeces of the predator; see: Stabell, O.B.,
and Lwin, M.S., 1997, Predator-induced phenotypic changes in crucian carp are
caused by chemical signals from conspecifics, Environmental Biology of Fishes
49, 145-149.
[3]
Gotceitas, V., and Colgan, P., 1987, Selection between densities of artificial
vegetation by young bluegills avoiding predation, Transactions of the American
Fisheries Society 116, 40-49; Gotceitas, V., 1990, Variation in plant stem
density and its effects on foraging success of juvenile bluegill sunfish,
Environmental Biology of Fishes 27, 63-70; Gotceitas, V., 1990, Foraging and
predator avoidance: a test of a patch choice model with juvenile bluegill
sunfish, Oecologia 83, 346-351.
[4]
Magnhagen, C., 1988, Predation risk and foraging in juvenile pink (Oncorhynchus
gorbusha) and chum salmon (O. keta),
Canadian Journal of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences 45, 592-596; Magnhagen, C.,
1988, Changes in foraging as a response to predation risk in two gobiid fish
species, Pomatoschistus minutus and Gobius niger,
Marine Ecology Progress Series 49, 21-26;
Pettersson, L.B., and Bršnmark, C., 1993, Trading off safety against
food: state dependent habitat choice and foraging in crucian carp, Oecologia
95, 353-357; Damsgard, B., and Dill, L., 1998, Risk-taking behavior in
weight-compensating coho salmon, Oncorhynchus kisutch,
Behavioral Ecology 9, 26-32.
[5]
Gilliam, J.F., and Fraser, D., 1987, Habitat selection under predation hazard:
test of a model with foraging minnows, Ecology 68, 1856-1862; Holbrook, S.J.,
and Schmitt, R.J., 1988, The combined effects of predation risk and food reward
on patch selection, Ecology 69, 125-134; Pitcher, T.J., Lang, S.H., and Turner,
J.A., 1988, A risk-balancing trade off between foraging rewards and predation
hazard in a shoaling fish, Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology 22, 225-228;
Abrahams, M.V., and Dill, L.M., 1989, A determination of the energetic equivalence
of the risk of predation, Ecology 70, 999-1007; Kennedy, M., Shave, C.R.,
Spencer, H.G., and Gray, R.D., 1994, Quantifying the effect of predation risk
on foraging bullies: no need to assume an IFD, Ecology 75, 2220-2226.
[6]
Cerri, R.D., and Fraser, D.F., 1983, Predation and risk in foraging minnows:
balancing conflicting demands, American Naturalist 121, 552-561.
[7]
Fraser, D.F., and Cerri, R.D., 1982, Experimental evaluation of predator-prey
relationships in a patchy environment: consequences for habitat use patterns in
minnows, Ecology 63, 307-313.
[8]
Schmitt, R.J., and Holbrook, S.J., 1985, Patch selection by juvenile black
surfperch (Embiotocidae) under variable risk: interactive influence of food
quality and structural complexity, Journal of Experimental Marine Biology and
Ecology 85, 269-285; Gotceitas,
V., and Colgan, P., 1990, Behavioural response of juvenile bluegill sunfish to
variation in predation risk and food level, Ethology 85, 247-255.
[9]
Savino, J.F., and Stein, R.A., 1989, Behavioural interactions between fish
predators and their prey: effects of plant density, Animal Behaviour 37,
311-321.
[10] Pike,
who live in vegetation, may benefit greatly from the preyÕs habit of seeking
vegetated areas when threatened; see: Eklšv, P. and Persson, L., 1996, The
response of prey to the risk of predation: proximate cues for refuging juvenile
fish, Animal Behaviour 51, 105-115.
[11] Dill,
L.M., and Fraser, A.H.G., 1984, Risk of predation and the feeding behavior of
juvenile coho salmon (Oncorhynchus kisutch), Behavioral
Ecology and Sociobiology 16, 65-71.
[12]
Metcalfe, N.B., Huntingford, F.A., and Thorpe, J.E., 1987, The influence of
predation risk on the feeding motivation and foraging strategy of juvenile
Atlantic salmon, Animal Behaviour 35, 901-911.
[13]
Martel, G., and Dill, L.M., 1995, Influence of movement by coho salmon (Oncorhynchus
kisutch) parr on their detection by common mergansers (Mergus
merganser), Ethology 99, 139-149.
[14] See
note # 11. For a similar effect of hunger in Atlantic salmon, see: Gotceitas,
V., and Godin, J.-G.J., 1991, Foraging under the risk of predation in juvenile
Atlantic salmon (Salmo salar L.): effects of social status and
hunger, Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology 29, 255-261. For a similar effect
in salmon that are hungry because they contain a growth hormone transgene, see:
Abrahams, M.V. and Sutterlin, A., 1999, The foraging and antipredator behaviour
of growth-enhanced transgenic Atlantic salmon, Animal Behaviour 58, 933-942.
[15]
Endler, J.A., 1987, Predation, light intensity and courtship behaviour in Poecilia
reticulata (Pisces: Poeciliidae), Animal Behaviour 35,
1376-1385; Magurran, A.E., and
Seghers, B.H., 1990, Risk sensitive courtship in the guppy (Poecilia
reticulata), Behaviour 112, 194-201. See also: Dill, L.M.,
Hedrick, A.V., and Fraser, A., 1999, male mating strategies under predation
risk: do females call the shots? Behavioral Ecology 10, 452-461.
[16]
Fuller, R., and Berglund, A., 1996, Behavioral responses of a sex-role reversed
pipefish to a gradient of perceived predation risk, Behavioral Ecology 7,
69-75; Forsgren, E., and Magnhagen, C., 1993, Conflicting demands in sand
gobies: predators influence reproductive behaviour, Behaviour 126, 125-135;
Candolin, U., 1997, Predation risk affects courtship and attractiveness of
competing threespine stickleback males, Behavioral Ecology and Sociobiology 41,
81-87. See also: Magnhagen, C., 1995, Sneaking behaviour and nest defence are
affected by predation risk in the common goby, Animal Behaviour 50, 1123-1128.
[17]
Houtman, R., and Dill, L.M., 1994, The influence of substrate color on the
alarm response of tidepool sculpins (Oligocottus maculosus;
Pisces, Cottidae), Ethology 96, 147-154.
[18]
Radabaugh, D.C., 1989, Seasonal colour changes and shifting antipredator tactics
in darters, Journal of Fish Biology 34, 679-685. When it comes to crypsis, some
species need not search for matching surroundings; they can change their own
body markings to match the substrate on which they happen to be. Flatfishes are
the masters of this art; see: Ramachandran, V.S., Tyler, C.W., Gregory, R.L.,
Rogers-Ramachandran, D., Duensing, S., Pillsbury, C., and Ramachandran, C.,
1996, Rapid adaptive camouflage in tropical flounders, Nature 379, 815-818.
[19] The
incompatibility between foraging and good vigilance has been demonstrated in a
study with guppies. The model of a predatory cichlid was made to approach a
group of guppies that were either resting, foraging nose-down on a horizontal
surface, or foraging head-up on a vertical surface. The non-foraging fish
reacted to the predator sooner than the head-up foragers, which in turn reacted
sooner than the nose-down foragers. Predators may be aware of this
relationship, because when they were given a choice between two groups of
guppies on the other side of one-way mirrors (so that the guppies could not
react), the predators preferred to attack nose-down foragers over head-up
foragers, and any group of foragers over non-foragers; see: Krause, J., and
Godin, J.-G.J., 1996, Influence of prey foraging posture on flight behavior and
predation risk: predators take advantage of unwary prey, Behavioral Ecology 7,
264-271.
[20] For a
review, see: Milinski, M., 1993, Predation risk and feeding behaviour, pp.
285-305 in: Behaviour of Teleost Fishes, 2nd ed. (T.J. Pitcher, ed.), Chapman
& Hall, London.
[21]
Milinski, M., 1985, Risk of predation of parasitized sticklebacks (Gasterosteus
aculeatus L.) under competition for food, Behaviour 93,
203-216.
[22]
Metcalfe, N.B., Huntingford, F.A., and Thorpe, J.E., 1987, Predation risk
impairs diet selection in juvenile salmon, Animal Behaviour 35, 931-933. For a
similar conclusion in sticklebacks, see: Ibrahim, A.A., and Huntingford, F.A.,
1989, Laboratory and field studies of the effect of predation risk on foraging
in three-spined sticklebacks (Gasterosteus aculeatus),
Behaviour 109: 46-57.
[23]
Godin, J.-G.J., and Smith, S.A., 1988, A fitness cost of foraging in the guppy,
Nature 333: 69-71. For a similar result in sticklebacks, see: Milinski, M.,
1984, A predator's costs of overcoming the confusion-effect of swarming prey,
Animal Behaviour 32, 1157-1162.
[24]
Milinski, M., and Heller, R., 1978, Influence of a predator on the optimal
foraging behaviour of sticklebacks (Gasterosteus aculeatus L.),
Nature 275: 642-644. In the same vein, Milinski has shown that hungry
sticklebacks seem more willing to forget about predation risk and to
concentrate on dense swarms of Daphnia, at least in the
first instance, while satiated sticklebacks prefer right away to attack the
less confusing stragglers or the single Daphnia; see: Milinski,
M., 1977, Experiments on the selection by predators against spatial oddity of
their prey, Zeitschrift fŸr Tierpsychologie 43, 311-325; Milinski, M., 1977, Do
all members of a swarm suffer the same predation? Zeitschrift fŸr
Tierpsychologie 45, 373-388.
[25]
Godin, J.-G.J., and Briggs, S.E., 1996, Female mate choice under predation risk
in the guppy, Animal Behaviour 51, 117-130; Gong, A., and Gibson, R.M., 1996,
Reversal of a female preference after visual exposure to a predator in the
guppy, Poecilia reticulata, Animal Behaviour 52: 1007-1015.
[26]
Reebs, S.G., Boudreau, L., Hardie, P., and Cunjak, R., 1995, Diel activity
patterns of lake chub and other fishes in a stream habitat, Canadian Journal of
Zoology 73, 1221-1227.
[27] Fraser,
D.F., Gilliam, J.F., Akkara, J.T., Albanese, B.W., and Snider, S.B., 2004,
Night feeding by guppies under predator release: effects on growth and daytime
courtship, Ecology 85, 312-319.
[28] For a
review of fish reactions when under direct attack, see: Godin, J.-G.J., 1997,
Evading predators, Pp. 191-236 in: Behavioural Ecology of Teleost Fishes
(J.-G.J. Godin, Ed.), Oxford University Press, Oxford. Also in the same volume,
pp. 163-190, is a chapter by R.J.F. Smith, entitled ÒAvoiding and deterring
predatorsÓ, on how predation risk affect fish behaviour.