This redwood, in Henry Cowell Redwoods State Park near Santa Cruz, might be genetically identical to some of its neighbors. Photo: kqedquest.

QUEST has an inordinate fondness for albino redwoods. It all started with the Science on the SPOT video Albino Redwoods, Ghosts of the Forest. Then there was a radio story, and a few blog posts. And last week QUEST revisited the research in two new Science on the SPOT videos about the ghosts of the forest. The video Revisiting Albino Redwoods, Cracking the Code focuses on QUEST blogger Barry Star and Stanford professor Ghia Euskirchen’s research on how the albinos are genetically different from “normal” coast redwoods. In Revisiting Albino Redwoods, Biological Mystery, Santa Cruz Professor Jarmila Pitterman wonders how albino redwoods’ total lack of chlorophyll affects their physiology and ecology. After producing all these videos, QUEST Producer Chris Bauer still had questions.

Chris saw three albino redwoods, arranged in a straight line, a short distance from one another. He wondered if these three redwoods, yards apart, might be genetically identical. Maybe they sprung from the same individual. To understand how this is even possible, you need to know about the numerous ways that redwoods can reproduce—some of which involve cloning themselves.

New redwood trees can come about in four ways: through seeds, cuttings, stump sprouts, and root sprouts.

QUEST on KQED Public Media.

Like all plants, redwoods can grow from seeds. Redwood seeds come from those tiny, inch-long redwood cones that fall from the branches in autumn. Each cone contains one to two dozen tiny seeds. These seeds were fertilized with redwood pollen; they are mix of genetic material from the parent that made the seed and the parent that made the pollen. However, redwood seeds have a notoriously low germination rate. Hardly any of them will grow into a plant. Which brings us to the next method of redwood tree generation: cuttings.

Redwood trees that you buy from a nursery probably began as cuttings—branches that were cut from a tree. To make a good redwood cutting, horticulturists will cut a branch from a young tree, or sapling, because cuttings from young trees tend to survive better. They treat the cutting with hormones to encourage growth, and plant the cutting in a special blend of soils. After a few months, about 25-35% of the cuttings have formed roots; the others do not survive. Once the cuttings have established, they can grow quite quickly—up to 7 feet in height in a single growing season. Regeneration from existing branches doesn’t just happen in the nursery—it happens in nature too. When a branch falls off a redwood tree, say in a storm, the branch can come in contact with the soil and develop roots. These provide the branch with nutrients and water, and before long the branch has grown into a tree. Trees grown from cuttings or from branches are genetically identical of the tree that donated the branch. (For the same reason, California’s vineyards are very low in genetic diversity; see this article in the New York Times.)

Stump sprouts on a coast redwood. Photo: kqedquest.

Many a majestic redwood tree began as a stump sprout. Stump sprouts are tiny growths from the base of existing trees. They can grow out of a healthy tree, or a tree that has been logged or damaged by fire. Redwoods have extensive underground root systems, which are impervious to trifling things like lumberjacks’ axes and fire. Trees that grow from stumps grow quickly and have a good chance of success, because the trees are automatically connected to a large root system. Multiple stump sprouts from a single trunk form what is called a fairy ring: a ring of trees, with a circular clearing in the middle, because the original tree breaks down. Stump sprouts are generally genetic clones of the original tree. However, the albino redwoods are stump sprouts with a mutation (or two, or three…). The genomic research happening Stanford will hopefully shed some light on how this mutation happens.

A fairy ring. The ring of trees has sprouted from the moss-covered trunk in the middle. Photo: Swiv.

Redwoods don’t just sprout from stumps; they can also sprout new growth from their roots. Redwood roots extend horizontally under the soil. Many redwoods live in flood-prone ecosystems, on the banks of rivers. When redwood forests become flooded, sediment piles up on the surface of the soil, burying the roots a bit deeper than they were before. Redwoods will grow another set of horizontal roots, a little closer to the surface. By digging deep into the ground and counting the horizontal layers of roots, people can tell how many floods a redwood has endured. When new growth sprouts from the surface roots, the original tree soon has a neighbor that is basically an identical twin. This is what Chris thinks is going on with the three albino redwoods, all in a row.

Hopefully Chris can test his hypothesis in a year or two, when the redwood genome is sequenced and we know what mutation (or mutations) cause albinism. Are the three neighboring albino redwoods mutants that sprung from genetically identical trees? Maybe that tree’s genotype is just a little different from that of an albino—and the mutation that causes albinism is very likely to occur. Or maybe the three albinos are a series of chlorophyll-free coincidences. We’ll have to wait patiently for the genome data. But, for a coast redwood that can live for 2,000 years, the wait won’t be long at all.

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Human and chimpanzee chromosomes are very similar.
Note that human chromosome 2 is very similar to a
fusion of two chimpanzee chromosomes.

For the last few weeks I have been corresponding with someone about intelligent design (ID). More specifically, we have been chatting about why humans have 46 chromosomes and most of the great apes have 48.

To me, this is great evidence for evolution. Why? Because if you look at the chromosomes closely, you can see that human chromosome 2 is really just a fusion of two great ape chromosomes.

The idea is that a few million years ago, a common human-chimpanzee ancestor of ours had two of his or her chromosomes fused together. This sort of thing happens all the time even today. Around 1 in 1000 live births has one of these kinds of fusions.

Then, probably through chance,this ancestor with the fused chromosomes went on to found the human race. Now people have 46 chromosomes and chimpanzees have 48.

An alternative explanation is that the designers fused the two chromosomes together when they created humans. The idea would be that the designer wouldn't create every plant, animal, bacteria, and virus from scratch–why reinvent the wheel every time? Instead the designers would mix and match parts that worked.

So as part of the process of designing a human, the designer fused two ape chromosomes together. This would presumably be simpler than creating a human chromosome 2 the way the other chromosomes were made.

The difficulty with this idea is that there is no obvious advantage to having 46 chromosomes instead of 48. What matters is our DNA, not how it happens to be packaged.

It is possible that there was some advantage to fusing the chromosomes together. For example, maybe a new gene was created at the fusion point. Or maybe genes that were shut off before were now turned on in the new fused chromosomes.

There isn't any evidence of these kinds of things. And even if there were, a designer who can easily put in the 60 million or so differences between humans and chimpanzees should be able to accomplish whatever results a chromosome fusion gives more elegantly than sticking two ape chromosomes together.

Also, when you look at the fusion point, you can see that the DNA isn't exactly what you would expect if a fusion happened in the last 10,000 or even 100,000 years. The results look more like an event that happened millions of years ago.

The ends of a chromosome have a defined sequence of DNA repeats called a telomere. The DNA at the fusion point looks very similar to a string of telomeres (as we would expect from a fusion) but it isn't perfect. This is just what you would expect if the fusion happened millions of years ago. Because our DNA gets changed a little all of the time.

The environment or even our own cells can cause the wrong letter to end up in our DNA. Our cells are pretty good at fixing these mistakes but they don't catch them all. What this means is that our DNA builds up mutations over time.

When an unfixed change happens in a sperm or egg, then it is passed down to the next generation. If the changes that aren't fixed happen somewhere important, then they are selected for or against. But if they're neutral, then they just build up over time. Scientists can even use these sorts of errors to predict how long ago something happened. Or to trace human migration patterns.

These DNA changes at the fusion point do not fit with ID if they don't serve a purpose. Otherwise, why put them there? It will be interesting to see the results of experiments that might show if these sequences matter or not.

Dr. Barry Starr is a Geneticist-in-Residence at The Tech Museum of Innovation in San Jose, CA.

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