Researchers fight bat-killing disease
Texas species at risk from fungus that has already killed thousands
Nate Fuller braced for seeing dead tricolored bats as he hunched over and stepped into the concrete highway culvert. Steady traffic on Interstate 45 thrummed overhead. His headlamp and a flashlight in hand illuminated the way.
“I’m just going to go through and see what’s there,” he said.
Fuller is a Texas Parks and Wildlife biologist focused on white-nose syndrome, a disease that’s killed so many bats that at least one species is threatened. The fungus that causes it makes hibernating bats wake too often, starving and dehydrating them. Researchers first found white-nose syndrome in New York around 2006. Last year, a case was confirmed in Texas.
Across the country, scientists such as Fuller are working furiously to figure out how the fungus affects bats — and how to stop it. Bats are an important part of ecosystems, eating bugs and pollinating plants. Hits to their population can be devastating since they’re slow to reproduce. But Texas has a chance that other states didn’t have to fight it.
In the culvert that Fuller
entered, located between Houston and Dallas, researchers were piloting a new tool with federal support. They’d tested then sprayed the culvert with two compounds they thought would keep the fungus from taking hold.
Fuller wouldn’t have been here again so soon except that last month’s bitter cold had complicated the researchers’ efforts. He worried that if too many bats died as temperatures plummeted, there would be greater need to stop white-nose syndrome. The many deaths of bats from the storm also made it more difficult to tell if the disease had spread.
So here he was, in a face covering decorated with bats, checking on his friends.
He had been hired for such work by Texas Parks and Wildlife mammalogist Jonah Evans. Though the fungus prefers cold climates, Evans feared its effects in Texas, which has more bat species than any other state. It’s not known which could be harmed. Evans expected it to strike the Texas Panhandle first. Houston’s beloved Mexican free-tailed bats under Waugh bridge should be OK.
White-nose syndrome demanded so much time that Evans convinced the agency to hire Fuller. Maybe a month later, at Enchanted Rock, Evans came across a dead bat. It was the state’s first confirmed case, followed by more across Central Texas. A scattering of others were reported elsewhere. Fuller believes the hard-to-detect fungus is all over the state.
In the culvert, Fuller’s waterproof boots splashed as he stepped, his tall frame bent at the waist. The tricolored bats here, a species heavily affected by whitenose syndrome, were among Fuller’s favorites. Seeing a dead one that looked moldy, he dropped it into a plastic bag for testing.
“That’s what we don’t want to see,” he said in a whisper aimed at not disturbing the bats.
White-nose syndrome has killed millions of bats nationwide. Fuller described a “biological horror:” He visited a Vermont cave early on where thousands died. It could feel like marching forward with no clear solution. Even treatments were complicated. How long could they do them?
Fuller continued down the culvert and saw almost every bat alive. Near the end of hibernation, they hung from the ceiling and walls. Their digestion, breathing and heartbeats were slowed. The scientist’s excitement grew as he saw readings showing it hadn’t been as cold in the culvert as he feared.
The biologist brushed their ears with a gloved finger, watching for them to wriggle in response. On his way out, he took care not to bump those left with his helmet.