They found that the ink was not substantially different from what today’s squid make. Chemists at the University of Virginia analyzed the 160-million-year-old ink sac of a well-preserved cephalopod.
Because they lack any bones or shells, squid are only rarely part of the fossil record.
Of course, squid go back much farther as a species, over 600 million years. The oldest sample of squid ink goes back long before humans ever walked the Earth, to the Jurassic period, 160 million years ago. Squid ink is certainly something more than a visual shield, then, because inking does happen at darker depths. This kind of signaling can be especially useful at depths of water without enough sunlight to allow the squid to actually see the predator, or even the ink. We know that ink also warns conspecifics, which is a fancy scientist way of saying it tells other squid nearby to be on the lookout for predators. Is this from those bioactive elements giving them a sense of reward? Or is it due to some kind of foul-tasting - to sharks, at least - components that push the predators off? There is already research showing that predators, tasting ink, will calm their hunt. Some - such as dopamine, taurine, and glutamate -may be active in the squid’s world in ways we do not expect. And these extra bits seem worth analyzing. There’s more in that gemisch we call ink than just the melanin and mucus. Making that ink and its associated mucus uses a lot of basic metabolic energy, so its use is saved for the most critical moments.
Inking is what biologists call an “expensive” behavior. While a squid-shaped pseudomorph hangs right there in the water where the squid was, the real thing jets away. The squid’s rope-like ink trails are not as well understood as the pseudomorphs, which clearly act as decoys. Scientists have noted puffs, strings, and what they call “pseudomorphs” - which, as the name implies, look like squid bodies in the water. The ink is commonly mixed with mucus and released to take on different shapes that appear to have purpose to ad inkd ink squid. This is the same siphon the squid uses to squirt water to propel itself on a 25-mile-per-hour escape from predators.īut squid inking is not a simple release of diffuse blackness. The ink is made by the squid and exits its body through a siphon near its head. A squid in ink: a tattoo of a squid on the late Wellfleet artist and surfer Tim Woodman. It absorbs both visible light (therefore it appears black) and ultraviolet light (thus protecting us from harmful radiation). It is what gives darkness to our hair and skin. Melanin is made on almost every branch of the tree of life, by bacteria and fungi, and by humans, too. The black component comes from a molecule, a biopolymer, called melanin. But throughout the ages, squid ink has been used for writing, printing, and other arts. Squid do it, too, with a blast of what we call “ink.” It’s not the burned-wood, bone-ash, and animal glue of old carbon inks or the soybean oil and pigments used in printing this newspaper. It’s only human.īut we humans aren’t the only ones to throw up smoke screens. Especially when someone tries to get me to drive off Cape. “I already have plans.” I hear myself allow that particular evasive phrase to slip out more as the weather warms and the squidding season arrives.
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