Midnight serenade

It was the middle of the night and I was poking into corners, looking behind and under furniture, searching for a midnight singer. A cricket; he'd been chirping hopefully since dark, announcing to the world, "I'm here, I'm here! Ladies, here I am!"

I wasn't one of the ladies he was dreaming of.

One account records a single cricket chirping 2,640 times without stopping. (DiscoverNatureNotes)

Why, is it, I wondered, that you can never tell where the cricket is by the racket he makes?

Fall Field Cricket, Gryllus pennsylvanicus, male.

Only the males sing. Or "stridulate", a word that feels more appropriate at midnight.

The stridulatory organ is located on the tegmen, or fore wing, which is leathery in texture. A large vein runs along the centre of each tegmen, with comb-like serrations on its edge forming a file-like structure, and at the rear edge of the tegmen is a scraper. The tegmina are held at an angle to the body and rhythmically raised and lowered which causes the scraper on one wing to rasp on the file on the other. The central part of the tegmen contains the "harp", an area of thick, sclerotized membrane which resonates and amplifies the volume of sound, as does the pocket of air between the tegmina and the body wall. (Wikipedia)

Their song seems loud from close up (like when he's under your bed), and is louder on warm nights. A study of this species, (PubMed), measured their chirp at an average of 61.7 decibels, about the level of a dishwasher, or a busy office, with about 2 chirps per second.

And the singers hide in cracks, which amplifies the sound. And then it bounces off every little flat surface around, so that it seems to come from every corner of a midnight bedroom.

I gave up after a long, fruitless search and went back to bed to the serenade of "cree cree cree cree cree ..."

Cricket females have smoother forewings, without the carving that converts them into musical instruments.

Female, last September. Note the long, central ovipositor at the rear.

I just found him tonight, tuning up. Caught him and sent him outside where the ladies are.

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Era medianoche y yo andaba investigando rincones, mirando debajo y atrás de los muebles, buscando un cantante nocturno. Un grillo. Había estado cantando, esperanzudo, toda la noche, anunciando al mundo entero, "¡Aquí estoy, aquí estoy! ¡Muchachas, heme aquí!

Yo no era el objeto de su serenata.

Un informe recuenta un solo grillo que emitió 2,640 chirridos sin parar. (DiscoverNatureNotes)

¿Porqué será, me preguntaba, que nunca puedes saber por el chirrido precisamente en donde se esconde el grillo?

     1. Grillo de campo de otoño, Gryllus pennsylvanicus, macho.

Los machos son los que cantan. O mejor dicho, "estridulan", una palabra más apreciada a medianoche.

El órgano estridulatorio se halla en la tegmina, o la ala delantera, la cual tiene la textura de cuero. Una vena grande corre por el centro de cada tegmina, teniendo dientes serrados, en forma de peines en el borde, haciendo una estructura parecida a una lima, y en el borde posterior de la tegmina, hay un raspador. Las tegminas se sostienen a un ángulo respeto al cuerpo y se levantan y se bajan rítmicamente, lo que causa que el raspador de una ala cepille la lima de la otra. La parte central de la tegmina contiene el "arpa", un area de membrana gruesa y esclerotizada, la cual amplifica el volumen del sonido, como también lo hace la bolsa de aire entre la tegmina y el cuerpo. (Wikipedia)

Su canto suena fuerte cuando están cerca (como por ejemplo debajo de tu cama) y es más fuerte en las noches más templadas. Un estudio sobre esta especie, en (PubMed), midió su chirrido, calculando un promedio de 61.7 decibelios, aproximadamente el nivel que produce un lavaplatos, o una oficina activa, produciendo más o menos 2 chirridos por segundo.

Y los cantantes se esconden en grietas, lo que también aumenta el sonido. Y luego rebota de cada pequeña superficie plana, de manera que parece venir de cada esquina de una recámara.

Después de una larga búsqueda, me rendí y regresé a la cama, oyendo la serenata; "cri cri cri cri cri cri ..."

Las alas delanteras de las hembras son más lisas, sin el grabado que las convertiría en instrumentos musicales.

    2. Hembra. El apéndice central al final del abdomen es su ovipositor.

Does she or doesn't she?

 Another visitor came to my light.

Field cricket, Gryllus spp., female.

Males have two cerci (my guide says "pointy things") at the back of the abdomen. Females, besides, have an ovipositor, the egg-laying organ.

Head view. Interesting "grabbers" at the mouth.

I tried to capture her to put her outside, but she was too fast for me and hid behind a cabinet. Shortly afterwards, another cricket started to chirp just outside the window and kept it up off and on all night. Males chirp, females don't. I hope she went out to join him.

Do crickets fly? Or did she have to climb up the wall to find her mate? Looking at the photos, I see her tiny wing covers; are there full-sized wings underneath, all folded up?

Some species of field crickets have fully-formed wings and do fly. Others, also among the field crickets, are flightless. Which is she?

I found a photo with those stubby wing covers, but this cricket, Gryllus campestris, was in Czechoslovakia. I couldn't find any near here. E-Fauna, here in BC, has another field cricket, G. pennsylvanicus, but this one has full-sized wings. And a much longer ovipositor.

Maybe I'll see her again. And I'll ask her; "can you fly?"

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Llegó otra visita atraída por mi lámpara de noche.

Fotos: Un grillo hembra, Gryllus spp.

Los machos tienen dos cercos (apéndices largos en la extremidad del abdomen). Las hembras, además, tienen un ovipositor, un órgano usado para depositar los huevos.

Traté de capturarla para sacarla afuera, pero se escondió rapidamente tras un gabinete. Poco después, un grillo empezó a cantar afuera de la ventana, y siguió esporádicamente toda la noche. Los machos cantan, las hembras no. Ojalá mi visitante se haya ida a acompañar al cantante.

¿Vuelan los grillos? ¿O tuvo que subir la pared en pie para buscar su pareja? Mirando las fotos, vio los cobertores de sus alas, muy pequeñas; ¿tendrá debajo de ellos alas completas todas dobladas?

Algunas de las especies de grillos de campo tienen alas perfectas y si vuelan. Otras, también llamadas grillos de campo, no pueden volar. ¿A cual grupo pertenece esta?

Buscando, buscando, encontré una foto con esos elitros cortos, pero este, Gryllus campestris, estaba en Checoslovakia. No pude encontrar ninguno cerca de aquí. En E-Fauna, hay otro grillo de campo, G. pennsylvanicus, pero este tiene alas grandes. Y un ovipositor mucho más largo.

Puede ser que la vuelva a ver. Y entonces, le preguntaré — ¿Puedes volar?

Audience of one

Beauty has its hazards. You get used to it, and you stop paying attention. And the golden moments are lost in a welter of fussing about shopping bags and battery chargers and to-do lists.

All summer long, the crickets have been presenting their nightly chorus on my lawn every evening. Such a warm, happy, summery sound! I listened, and listened, and then forgot to listen. I didn't even notice when the season ended and the chirps fell silent.

But I was reminded again this Sunday afternoon, walking by the river in the sunshine, when I heard one lone cricket celebrating the warmth. I looked around and soon found his mate, resting on the side of the path.

Field cricket, female. She doesn't sing. But she does listen.

The background of stones and sticks made it hard to see her, so I tickled her with a dried leaf until she walked onto it, meaning to transfer her to a solid background. She had other ideas; she crawled into the curled edge of the leaf and anchored herself there. No amount of shaking would dislodge her.

"You can't see me in here."

Is it a trick of the light, or is the tip of her ovipositor red?

I left her there, by the side of the trail, listening to her chirping mate.

Beautiful wings

On a crane fly:

Tipula sp.

I looked these up on BugGuide, and found several with the same patterns (this one, for example), but BugGuide only identifies them down to the family, Tipulidae, or Large Crane Flies. It doesn't really matter; other LCF know where she belongs.

She's female; the males' abdomen ends in a club, while the females have this sharp, pointed ovipositor for laying eggs.

On a moth:

What are you thinking, little one?

On BugGuide, I found several different species of cutworm moths, Apamea, all present in the Pacific Northwest, all similar to this one. Apamea cogitata seems to be the best match. And I like the name; it means "Thoughtful Apamea".

And on a cricket:

Gryllus sp., female, as shown by her long ovipositor. She was trapped in my sink and tired of trying to climb the walls, so she sat still for me.

Every evening this summer, boy crickets chirp hopefully out on the lawn, holding those short, leathery hindwings up at an angle and scraping the serrated edges together. The curve of the hindwings against the body makes an echo chamber, amplifying the sound; females may hear the male's song up to 75 metres away!

Crickets are difficult to identify; most species look more or less alike. They are most easily distinguished by their song.

In a given area, it is usually possible to learn the various species through experience, by learning which songs go with which crickets at what time of year.  ... This is a group where it is actually usually easier to identify a specimen by hearing it than by seeing it! (BugGuide)

But the females don't make music; they don't have the equipment. So to identify a female, you have to find her mate, and get him to play you a song. I found a male tonight, hiding behind my favourite chair; tracked him down by ear. But once on stage, he refused to play any more, and scuttled away under the baseboard.