Cicada Surprise

by Carl Strang

A year from now is the anticipated main emergence of Brood XIII periodical cicadas in northeast Illinois and adjacent states.

We have two species of periodical cicadas, Linnaeus’s 17-year cicada on the left, Cassin’s 17-year cicada on the right.

Though the main body of the cicada populations appears at 17-year intervals, each time there are a few individuals that come out a year early (I call them “oops cicadas”). I heard a couple cicada songs on June 6, and would have thought little more about it, but a couple correspondents let me know they had seen surprising numbers emerging in their neighborhoods. I made a list of the places where I had observed significant numbers in 2020 (explained below), and started checking them on June 10.

As expected, some of the sites I visited that first afternoon had no singing cicadas, or at most a few scattered individuals. I was surprised, however, to find some small areas that had large enough numbers to produce wave choruses with both species singing. Levels of periodical cicada numbers singing in an area increase from scattered individuals, to greater numbers that nevertheless are countable, to small unorganized choruses, and conclude with groups that are so large the volume of their (loud!) singing rises and falls in organized synchrony. Most of the singers were Cassin’s 17-year cicadas (Magicicada cassinii), but some of the wave choruses were accompanied by a few of the slightly larger Linnaeus’s 17-year cicadas (Magicicada septendecim). Here is an excerpt from my recorded notes at one of the wave chorus sites:

If you look up in such places you can see cicadas flying in the treetops, while close to the ground you can find the emptied shells left behind when the nymphs come out of the ground and their adult forms break free.

One of many nymphal skins at one of this year’s wave chorus sites

So, what is going on here? In several blog posts in 2020 I shared results indicating that huge numbers of periodical cicadas not only emerged four years ahead of time in some of Chicago’s western suburbs, but that significant numbers of them successfully reproduced. It appears we now have two temporally separated populations of the two species (such 4-year-early emergences also were documented here in 1969, 1986, and 2003). Climate change has been suggested as a possible stimulus (based on the observation that farther south, periodical cicadas emerge at intervals of 13 rather than 17 years). I favor a different hypothesis, proposed by Lloyd and White (1976. Evolution 30:786-801). They suggested that population pressure, experienced by the nymphs as excessive aggressive encounters with one another underground, stimulates a portion of them to come out early. Other more recent results suggest that these insects count years in groups of 4, deciding a year ahead of time when they will mature, so a 4-year-early emergence makes sense. In 2020 it was clear that the big numbers appeared only in residential neighborhoods, not in the forests. Predators are relatively few in residential areas, so that population sizes could become untenably large and stimulate an early escape.

That brings us to this year. It is one year ahead of the main emergence in northeast Illinois. Could it be that populations are so intolerably dense in some spots that some of their members simply can’t wait one more year? The fact that most of the areas with wave choruses in 2020 did not produce such big numbers this year, while a few did, may reflect different stages of population growth taking place in different locations.

In this map of DuPage County, the 2007 areas with large periodical cicada numbers are marked in pink. More brightly colored spots map the 2020 emergence. White dots indicate towns or parks in which at least one or a few cicadas were documented. Yellow dots mark countable numbers, i.e. from one spot you could hear multiple cicadas singing. Orange dots mark small choruses (though sometimes occurring over large areas), in which the cicada songs were blended to the point where individuals no longer could be picked out, but the choruses were not organized. Red dots mark areas with full choruses, formed into periodic waves of song, loud and with both species audible. Many of those dots have elongate shapes because they came out of driving surveys along streets. It is likely that the unmarked areas between some of them were filled with wave choruses.

This month I returned to the areas where there had been wave choruses in 2020. Most of them had few cicadas or none (also true of the areas outside DuPage, in Cook and Will Counties). Four or five had unorganized chorusing. The black dots that I have added to the map indicate this year’s wave chorus locations. None of those seven covered large areas, most being less than a square block.

Next year will be a busy one for me from late May through June. If the Lloyd-White hypothesis is correct here, I would expect all these areas again to have enough cicadas to produce wave chorusing. But then again, they may have more surprises in store.

Kankakee Sands Bioblitz

by Carl Strang

This year’s bioblitz, in the series sponsored by the Indiana Academy of Science, was a return to the site of the first such event that I joined in 2012, the Kankakee Sands Preserve in Newton County. The 2012 bioblitz took place in late July, so with a June 3 date this year there were fewer singing insects to observe. I sought without success to find new species to add to my site list, and ended up with 5 singing insects. Some were expected this early:

Sulfur-winged grasshopper, Arphia sulphuria

Others gave me first song dates for the year:

Eastern striped crickets (Miogryllus saussurei) were singing a week earlier than I had observed in any past year. This female climbed up onto one of the evening’s lit sheets.

When bioblitzes are scheduled this early in the season, I like to set up a sheet with a UV light in the evening and photograph moths. I also visit sheets operated by the Purdue University beetles team. Moths, especially their caterpillars, are ecologically significant and deserve attention in the bioblitzes. Here are some of the more attractive ones from this year.

The birch dagger (Acronicta betulae) is regarded as uncommon. Its larvae feed on river birch leaves.
I photographed three dagger moth species. The great oak dagger (Acronicta lobeliae) was at home in the Conrad Station oak woodland.
The white-spotted leafroller (Argyrotaenia alisellana) is another oak specialist.
Tulip-tree beauty (Epimecis hortaria)
Buck’s plume moth (Geina bucksi) is tiny, but its beautiful pattern deserves a close look.
Green leuconycta (Leuconycta diphteroides)
Moths need to be looked at closely, because there can be color variation among individuals of the same species. Here is one disparaged arches (Orthodes detracta).
And here is another, which a first glance suggests must be a different species.
Faint-spotted palthis (Palthis asopialis)
Virginian tiger moth (Spilosoma virginica)

Pickings may be slim for singing insects in early-season bioblitzes, especially in more northern sites, but the opportunity to experience this nighttime diversity, and also the company of other researchers specializing in other groups of organisms, makes the trip worthwhile. There always is more to learn. For instance, while driving to Conrad Station at dusk, I stopped to escort a snake off the road.

I would have passed it off as a fox snake, but one of the more herpetological participants looked at the photo and taught me the differences between this bull snake and the fox snakes with which I am more familiar.