LAMPEYE-SPY
It’s so bright it looks like it’s carrying around its own biological torch. This is the Emerald lampeye, the killifish you never knew you wanted.
It’s so bright it looks like it’s carrying around its own biological torch. This is the Emerald lampeye, the killifish you never knew you wanted.
THE FIRST experience I had with lampeyes was during my early years in the industry. Sat at the back of a dark stock tank in a small general pet shop was a shoal of ‘Lampeye tetra’. Aside from the famously bright eye markings — the neon blues rival any fluorescent light — they did little for me. That was when I was still in the ‘gaudy or character’ phase of fishkeeping. Fish had to be colourful or the quirkiest of oddballs to catch my eye.
For those that don’t know quite where these fish sit taxonomically, Lampeyes are killifish. Those most commonly seen in the trade usually belong to the genus Poropanchax, but they still seem to be victims of routine misnaming. They’re especially prone to ‘Tetra-isation’, something that also happens regularly to the Harlequin ‘tetra’ (actually a rasbora, but hey) and the White Cloud Mountain tetra (a cyprinid, but with an alternative name of ‘poor man’s tetra’).
But look to the scientific name and you find clues. Poropanchax can be split into two parts: ‘poro’, for pores or ducts, and ‘panchax’, a generic name for Killifish.
My first meaningful encounter with the Poropanchax genus came some years later, while working in a specialist aquatic store. Specifically, we had received some rather spectacular specimens amongst a South East Asian import. A plethora of colours ran down the length of the males, starting from red at the tail, running into deep yellows on the underside finnage. The body itself was streaked with jade highlights, spanning from the head to the peduncle. Initially, in my ignorance, I chalked them up as exceptional specimens of Norman’s lampeye,
Poropanchax normani, probably the best-known representative of the group — the archetype lampeye, if you will. It wasn’t for a year or two that my thoughts turned back to them. Then I chanced upon a fish known as the Emerald lampeye and put two and two together — they never were Norman’s at all, they were something much more special.
Most literature still has the Emerald lampeye recorded as
Aplocheilichthys macrophthalmus, translating as something like ‘simple lip fish with big eyes’.
The current valid name however is Poropanchax luxophthalmus. Arguably more fitting, this species name
translates as ‘bright eye’, instead.
Household lamps
(Un)skilled carpet surfers, my first group largely ended up on the fish room floor. A painful mistake but a lesson learned, and the reason that covers and lids on aquaria are now a prerequisite for me whenever I keep any killifish.
Still, I got a good many weeks keeping those fish as dithers for my
Enigmatochromis lucanusi (fancy relatives of the Kribensis, from Guinea). Under subdued lighting, the males really shone. Almost ethereal, one could be mistaken for thinking they produce their own light (and many newcomers often do).
The females pale in comparison. This can be a problem; due to the high degree of sexual dimorphism amongst the genus, it is a task in itself to distinguish females of one species from the next.
Emerald lampeyes are largely inoffensive fish, working well with peaceful tankmates. Due to the small mouths they possess, P. luxophthalmus can be trusted even with the minute fry of cichlids, hence my choice for them as companions to my spawning
Enigmatochromis. Pairing these lampeyes with Apistogramma or similar dwarf cichlids wouldn’t be considered unreasonable, unless the thought of fish from completely different geographical regions whips you up into a fit of anger.
Don’t worry about water chemistry. The coastal plains of Togo, Nigeria and Cameroon from where this fish originates are all prone to healthy swings in chemistry and so, unsurprisingly, the lampeye’s ability to adapt to change is inbuilt and evolved. A pH between 6.0 and 8.0 will do just fine. Having said that, high nitrogen levels will not be tolerated, so regular water changes are a must. Moderate water flow will be appreciated and can be provided with a small powerhead or a moderately powered internal filter. This will help recreate the conditions from the moving streams in which they are naturally found — a stark
contrast to many other African killifish which can be found in nothing more than puddles.
Second time’s the charm
Round two of keeping this species proved somewhat more successful. Armed with a bit of experience and appreciation for the value of the fish, I set out to house them in tank with a tight-fitting lid. Two males and three females were housed in my Nanochromis splendens breeding tank. Even with young cichlids in the tank, the two species seemed to cohabit in complete harmony. Win!
The only aggression I noticed was from the lampeyes and it was entirely conspecific. The two males often sparred for the attention of the females, resulting in the occasional ripped fin but nothing more sinister. I suspect that in a completely bare tank, a large male could harass a smaller individual and stress it out quite quickly. Provided with space and cover, these two were fine.
After some time, it became apparent that the lampeyes had been spawning. Eye-wateringly large adhesive eggs stuck to the roots of emergent plants. It also became apparent that the Nanochromis knew this too, as the eggs disappeared just as soon as they had appeared. Time for a spawning tank!
Opting for a small tank of only 8 litres, Christmas moss, Vesicularia montagnei, and nylon spawning mops were provided as a substrate upon which eggs could be laid. But it was difficult to spot the clear eggs.
After a few weeks of assuming the fish were not spawning, I discovered that feeling for eggs yielded better results. As mentioned, the eggs are large, but also surprisingly hard too. By running a finger and thumb down each strand of the spawning mop, I could easily feel each egg and remove it carefully to a separate receptacle in which to hatch. Freezer containers with handles proved invaluable for this purpose, with an airline clipped inside for oxygenation. At 25-26°C, the eggs hatched in around 11 days, producing advanced fry, not dissimilar to the parents with regard to their proportions. To feed them I started by offering
Paramecium for the first 14 days before moving onto Artemia nauplii. On this, the fry grew slowly but steadily. In fact, I don’t think I lost a single fish once hatched!
Looking forward to this year’s project with the now fully adult offspring, I aim to try them in a more natural ‘continual’ approach, whereby a small group of adults are kept in a large tank with a bounty of moss and mops. The idea being that the fry should naturally come through with the adults. Fingers crossed!