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LIFE IN THE LOWER SUSQUEHANNA RIVER WATERSHED
A Natural History of Conewago Falls—The Waters of Three Mile Island
Just as we were very pleased last month to have the opportunity to hear the sounds of the rarest of the Periodical Cicadas—the Little Seventeen-year Cicada—in the Conewago Hills of York County to thus provide our only record of the species during the Brood XIV emergence in the Lower Susquehanna River Watershed, we were this week delighted to find and record a population of what may be the valley’s rarest cicada experiencing annual flights—the Robinson’s Cicada—just a few miles away at Gifford Pinchot State Park.
Like the Little Seventeen-year Cicada, Robinson’s Cicada (Neotibicen robinsonianus) is a species found more commonly in the southern United States, occurring with scattered distribution in a range that extends west into Missouri, Kansas, and Texas. They are of rare occurrence in the lands of the Chesapeake drainage basin in Virginia and Maryland.
The Lower Susquehanna River Watershed, and Gifford Pinchot State Park in particular, may currently represent the northern limit of the geographic range of the Robinson’s Cicada. If you’re in the area during the coming weeks, drop by the park and have a listen. And don’t forget to check out our “Cicadas” page for sound clips of all the species found in our area.
Its been four years to the day since we posted our account of the big Brood X Periodical Cicada flight of 2021 in the Lower Susquehanna River Watershed. With the Brood XIV clan of 17-year Periodical Cicadas getting ready fill the June air with their choruses in scattered parts of Pennsylvania’s Berks, Centre, Clinton, Franklin, Huntingdon, Juniata, Lancaster, Mifflin, Perry, Schuylkill, Snyder, Union, and York Counties right now, we thought it an appropriate time to open a new “Cicada” page here on the website. Included is a list of both the annually and periodically emerging species found in the lower Susquehanna valley, as well as a copy of the article and ID photos from the 2021 occurrence of Brood X. In coming months, we’ll be adding photos and maybe some sound clips of the different annual cicadas as well, so remember to check back from time to time for more content.
In the short term, we’re going to pay a visit to the Brood XIV territory and will bring you updates as we get them. Until then, be sure to click the new “Cicadas” tab at the top of this page to brush up on your ID of the three species of 17-year Periodical Cicadas.
Yesterday, a hike through a peaceful ridgetop woods in the Furnace Hills of southern Lebanon County resulted in an interesting discovery. It was extraordinarily quiet for a mid-April afternoon. Bird life was sparse—just a pair of nesting White-breasted Nuthatches and a drumming Hairy Woodpecker. A few deer scurried down the hillside. There was little else to see or hear. But if one were to have a look below the forest floor, they’d find out where the action is.
2021 is an emergence year for Brood X, the “Great Eastern Brood”—the largest of the 15 surviving broods of periodical cicadas. After seventeen years as subterranean larvae, the nymphs are presently positioned just below ground level, and they’re ready to see sunlight. After tunneling upward from the deciduous tree roots from which they fed on small amounts of sap since 2004, they’re awaiting a steady ground temperature of about 64 degrees Fahrenheit before surfacing to climb a tree, shrub, or other object and undergo one last molt into an imago—a flying adult.
The woodlots of the Lower Susquehanna River Watershed won’t be quiet for long. Loud choruses of male periodical cicadas will soon roar through forest and verdant suburbia. They’re looking for love, and they’re gonna die trying to find it. And dozens and dozens of animal species will take advantage of the swarms to feed themselves and their young. Yep, the woods are gonna be a lively place real soon.
There’s something frightening going on down there. In the sand, beneath the plants on the shoreline, there’s a pile of soil next to a hole it’s been digging. Now, it’s dragging something toward the tunnel it made. What does it have? Is that alive?
We know how the system works, the food chain that is. The small stuff is eaten by the progressively bigger things, and there are fewer of the latter than there are of the former, thus the whole network keeps operating long-term. Some things chew plants, others devour animals whole or in part, and then there are those, like us, that do both. In the natural ecosystem, predators keep the numerous little critters from getting out of control and decimating certain other plant or animal populations and wrecking the whole business. When man brings an invasive and potentially destructive species to a new area, occasionally we’re fortunate enough to have a native species adapt and begin to keep the invader under control by eating it. It maintains the balance. It’s easy enough to understand.
Late summer days are marked by a change in the sounds coming from the forests surrounding the falls. For birds, breeding season is ending, so the males cease their chorus of songs and insects take over the musical duties. The buzzing calls of male “annual cicadas” (Neotibicen species) are the most familiar. The female “annual cicada” lays her eggs in the twigs of trees. After hatching, the nymphs drop to the ground and burrow into the soil to live and feed along tree roots for the next two to five years. A dry exoskeleton clinging to a tree trunk is evidence that a nymph has emerged from its subterranean haunts and flown away as an adult to breed and soon thereafter die. Flights of adult “annual cicadas” occur every year, but never come anywhere close to reaching the enormous numbers of “periodical cicadas” (Magicicada species). The three species of “periodical cicadas” synchronize their life cycles throughout their combined regional populations to create broods that emerge as spectacular flights once every 13 or 17 years.
For the adult cicada, there is danger, and that danger resembles an enormous bee. It’s an Eastern Cicada Killer (Specius speciosus) wasp, and it will latch onto a cicada and begin stinging while both are in flight. The stings soon paralyze the screeching, panicked cicada. The Cicada Killer then begins the task of airlifting and/or dragging its victim to the lair it has prepared. The cicada is placed in one of more than a dozen cells in the tunnel complex where it will serve as food for the wasp’s larvae. The wasp lays an egg on the cicada, then leaves and pushes the hole closed. The egg hatches in a several days and the larval grub is on its own to feast upon the hapless cicada.
Other species in the Solitary Wasp family (Sphecidae) have similar life cycles using specific prey which they incapacitate to serve as sustenance for their larvae.
The Solitary Wasps are an important control on the populations of their respective prey. Additionally, the wasp’s bizarre life cycle ensures a greater survival rate for its own offspring by providing sufficient food for each of its progeny before the egg beginning its life is ever put in place. It’s complete family planning.
The cicadas reproduce quickly and, as a species, seem to endure the assault by Cicada Killers, birds, and other predators. The periodical cicadas (Magicicada), with adult flights occurring as a massive swarm of an entire population every thirteen or seventeen years, survive as species by providing predators with so ample a supply of food that most of the adults go unmolested to complete reproduction. Stay tuned, 2021 is due to be the next periodical cicada year in the vicinity of Conewago Falls.
SOURCES
Eaton, Eric R., and Kenn Kaufman. 2007. Kaufman Field Guide to Insects of North America. Houghton Mifflin Company. New York.