We humans can build some pretty spectacular
things. Skyscrapers, monuments, and majestic feats
of engineering spring from the ground wherever we settle
—as if we just can’t help but shake a triumphant fist at the sky before marking
our territory with another piece of architectural artwork. But, did you know that the greatest architects
and designers in the world don’t necessarily work at a desk in a fancy office? To find them and their awe inspiring projects,
you might have to take a walk on the wild side. Here are seven amazing structures created
by animals. In the remote and untamed wilderness area
of Wood Buffalo National Park in Alberta, Canada,
everyone’s favorite semi-aquatic rodents have banded together to earn their very own
world record. Since the mid-1970s, generations of beavers
have spent their lives felling trees in preparation for their magnum opus—
the World’s Biggest Beaver Dam. Not to be confused with the quaint little
hamlet of Beaverdam, Alberta. hough certainly they have just as much to
be proud of. The impressive structure was first discovered
in 2007 thanks to researchers using Google Earth. Yes, the dam is so big it can be seen from
space. Step aside, Great Wall of China. It wasn’t until 2014 that an adventurous
person made the journey to see it for themselves. Measuring a whopping 850 metres long and formed
from two different dams joined together, it’s the length which earns it the title of biggest
in the world. Two beaver lodges house the industrious workers,
offering a place for them to rest and celebrate their fine work. Although they’re not interested in resting
for very long as the beavers continue developing the dam to this day,
building toward another dam under construction nearby which will add between fifty and one
hundred meters to the dam’s total length. Like other enthusiastic record holders, they’re
looking to defend their title—and perhaps give some human-scale dams a run for their
money. “Busy as a beaver” indeed. Equally as renowned as a beaver for his work
ethic, the lowly ant is capable of lifting objects over ten times its own weight
and building elaborate communities out of the very soil beneath you. We’ve all seen ant hills, the little mounds
of dirt piled ankle high around the entrances and exits of ant colonies,
but just how deep do they go, exactly? In 2012, the largest known ant city was unearthed
in the country of Brazil, covering an area of five hundred square feet and plunging twenty-six
feet beneath the surface. Based on best estimates, it is presumed that
the ants moved nearly forty tons of soil while excavating the labyrinthine network of tunnels,
chambers, and other distinct structures. To put that weight into perspective, it would
be the same as the ants shifting a humpback whale bit by bit to build their home. That’s no small feat! When the ant city was discovered, the leafcutter
ants who once called it home had long since abandoned it for greener pastures,
though they left behind telltale signs of how they organized the caste system to which
they were bound. Within the colony were distinct rubbish heaps,
where the refuse generated by the ants would have been gathered to be removed by designated
garbage handlers. Gardens were dotted throughout for the cultivation
of the edible fungus that the ants subsisted on,
beside major thoroughfares which cut through the heart of the colony, just like our highways. It’s eerily similar to how human society
must look from a bird’s eye view, and surely ranks as one of the most spectacular feats
ants have ever accomplished. So the next time you’ve got a magnifying
glass and you’re feeling antsy, perhaps you should consider giving the little
buggers a pass and find something else to burn. Not all termites live in the walls of suburban
homes—though that might be hard to believe at first. They would chew their way through a tree just
as soon as they’d cause structural damage to your house,
but out in the wide open spaces of nature some termites prefer a little extra shelter
from the elements than a layer of bark. Enter the termite mound,
towering like a natural Colossus of Rhodes, and filled to the brim with termite ingenuity
and efficiency. Reaching heights of up to nine meters, the
termites like to test the limits of their natural engineering talent;
though it’s even more impressive when you consider that for an equivalent human building,
it would be around two kilometers tall! That’s the same as taking two of Saudi Arabia’s
one kilometer high Kingdom Tower and stacking them. Termites work together as a cohesive, coordinated
unit—though they have no language or method of communication other than pheromones and
basic physical interactions. They are able to sense something as simple
as damage to the outer wall of the mound, and within minutes begin to work together
on repairs. If their entire mound were destroyed, it could
be completely rebuilt by the colony within three months. All without words or blueprints—being that
talented, you’d think termites would be esteemed as patron saints of construction
workers everywhere! But sadly, the stereotype of termites as vicious
home destroyers lives on. To help control the temperature and allow
airflow through the colony, ventilation shafts are built to draw in fresh air from the outside,
and the entire mound is formed to naturally circulate air. When combined with the insulation offered
by the earth around the nest, the termites are able to maintain a pleasant temperature
year round with remarkably little temperature variation. Just like the people of Coober Pedy, Australia,
these brilliant little insects must know the joys of living entirely underground. Given an average fifteen kilograms of pure,
unadulterated termites in your average mound, you can assume they will move approximately
one quarter of a metric ton of dirt in an average year as they build and maintain their
homes. Just like ants, termites burrow into the soil,
termites however, choose to build higher instead of deeper,
creating monuments which will last at least until the elements or a malicious predator
brings them down. Off the coast of Japan in the mid-nineties,
scuba divers discovered mysterious patterns in the silt and sand of the ocean floor. Scientists were completely baffled—there
were no obvious explanations for the undersea crop circles that kept appearing, at least
at first. They watched and waited for a decade, trying
to catch the creator in the act, but they saw nothing. It wasn’t until they decided to take note
of the unassuming pufferfish that they finally had their culprit. No more than twelve centimeters long, the
tiny pufferfish shape curious circles on the seafloor of up to two meters in diameter. Although no one is exactly certain why, the
best guess of well-educated men and women is that the circles are used as a part of
the mating ritual between male and female pufferfish. Instead of a metal ring, the male pufferfish
carves a ring in the rapidly shifting sands beneath the surf, and proudly presents it
on bended fin to his beloved. Actually, that’s rather romantic when you
look at it that way. Female pufferfish lay their eggs in the fine
sediment at the center before turning tail leaving the males to guard the fertilised
eggs for another six days afterward. Counting the week or so it takes the male
to make the damn thing, that means that they spend two weeks on something the females use
only for a day or two at best. That’s rough. The circles, while beautiful, are not actively
maintained by the pufferfish, and will wash away soon after their usefulness has ended. However, their design takes into account the
constant ebb and flow of underwater currents, with fluid dynamics tests finding that the
way they are shaped actually serves to slow the currents as they near the center of the
circle. This serves to ensure that the softest sand
at the center, reserved for the eggs, lasts as long as it needs to, undisturbed by the
undertow of the ocean. Each circle is a temporary and delicate work
of art which can hold back the sea itself in order to provide the best conditions for
the next generation of pufferfish. Pufferfish are therefore, living proof, that
spectacular things can come from the smallest packages. In 2010, after an exceptionally intense monsoon
season, northeastern Pakistan experienced widespread flooding that covered nearly one
fifth of its total land area. Many of the frontier provinces suffered as
a result, with more than twenty million people displaced as a result of the surging floodwaters. But humans weren’t the only ones driven
from their homes. Seemingly overnight, the trees in flooded
areas were completely cocooned in spiderwebs. Yes, that’s right—spiders fled the waters
as well, seeking the highest and driest places available to them. In short order, the foliage of eastern Pakistan
took on the appearance of elaborately wrapped Egyptian mummies,
and lots of people who didn’t know they suffered from arachnophobia figured it out
pretty darn quickly. White frosted branches as far as the eye can
see—it’s not quite the hell on earth you might be imagining. The creepy crawlies spinning webs in the tree
tops may have actually provided a small measure of disaster relief for the stricken Pakistani
people. Despite the vast new plots of standing and
stagnant water, there was no complimentary rise in malaria infections due to what should
have been a booming mosquito population. The best guess is that the spiders were able
to effectively control the mosquitos and prevent them from running rampant across the saturated
countryside. Not quite the evil eight-legged abominations
you took them for, eh? Flooding in Pakistan continues to this day,
so for now the spiders continue to weave their spell over the region. There is some evidence that the webbing covering
the leaves may be having a detrimental effect on the trees, but there simply aren’t any
volunteers to clear out the infestation. As long as they’re keeping malaria-ridden
mosquitos at bay, I suspect the Pakistani people will continue to enforce the current
status quo between themselves and their new neighbors. It’s a well-known fact that birds prefer
to situate their nests up and away from prying eyes and thieving paws. Most are content to gather twigs together
in a fork of the branches where they can settle down and perhaps lay an egg or two in relative
obscurity. Not so for the Montezuma Oropendola birds
of Central America—who prefer a flashier, yet isolated lifestyle. The magnificent, basket-like hanging nests
of the Montezuma Oropendola are often seen in single trees set apart from the rest of
the forest. The peculiar birds prefer solitary bases from
which to hang their homes, often choosing trees near wasps’ nests or other hazards
so as to deter potential predators. They’re the very poster child of introversion
in the animal kingdom. You can almost hear them saying: “I built
a pretty awesome nest, but don’t bother coming to see it.” They thrive in the tropical climate around
Nicaragua, northwestern Costa Rica, and parts of Panama and southern Mexico. Like most creatures native to the region,
they have no qualms about putting on a display—as evidenced by their conspicuous nests and bright,
ruddy plumage. Look but don’t approach is their creed. And if you prefer not to tango with wasps,
you would be wise to heed their warning. North and East of Australia, just off the
coast, lies the largest structure made by living organisms. It’s far larger than the World’s Biggest
Beaver Dam, and of course, it’s visible from space as well. Yes, I’m talking about the Great Barrier
Reef, one of the wonders of the natural world and home to countless types of fish and other
assorted aquatic creatures. A gorgeous stretch of ocean which spans more
than 344,000 square kilometers—it covers an area larger than the United Kingdom, Holland,
and Switzerland combined! It was officially recognized and protected
as the Great Barrier Reef Park by the Australian government in 1975. With the protected status came strict rules
and regulations against human interference, providing a unique shelter for migrating whales
and endangered species like the dugong and the Large Green Sea Turtle. Thanks to the efforts of conservationists,
the Great Barrier Reef is still a pristine refuge for thousands of ocean dwelling species
in a world where the oceans seem to grow more crowded with each passing decade. Though photographs and popular culture might
have you believe that the entire reef is comprised of coral, in fact only around 7% of it is
actually made of the colorful “reef builders”. It is, however, the largest collection of
corals in the world—giving it the distinction of also being the largest living structure,
in a sense. Besides the coral reefs, other types of marine
habitats like shallow seagrass fields share the space beside algal and sponge gardens,
just to name a few. It’s a flourishing ecosystem, and a priceless
investment for scientists and researchers who study our oceans to find better ways for
us to coexist.
