When the striking crimson red cicada known scientifically as Okanagana arctostaphylae was last seen in 1915, World War One was entering its second year, and the House of Representatives just declined a proposal allowing women to vote.
It would be over a century later in 2020 when Lucinda Collings Parker happened across one in her garden in California’s Sierra Nevada foothills. Spotting a bug she didn’t recognize, she took a picture and uploaded it to the online citizen science forum iNaturalist.
In less time than it takes to cook and eat dinner, her observation had already been seen by Will Chatfield-Taylor, an entomologist who studied at the University of Kansas, who forwarded it to a cadre of cicada experts. Jeff Cole, research associate at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, and Elliott Smeds, research associate at the California Academy of Sciences, all three agreed—Parker’s cicada was O. arctostaphylae, the holy grail of western cicada rediscoveries.
This spring, from Oklahoma to Virginia, billions of cicadas will disrupt baseball games and weddings, creating an incredible sight and overwhelming chorus. But for entomological mystery, some researchers turn their eyes to the West.
There are far more species of cicada west of the Rockies than east, and these western species are comparatively poorly known. Some species are being recorded for the first time in generations. The poster-bug of these rediscoveries is Okanagana arctostaphylae.
Searching for a lost species
In the days after Parker’s observation, Smeds drove for hours across the western slopes of California’s Sierra Nevada mountains with his windows rolled down, listening for the cicadas’ call. He had an idea of what they might sound like based on related species.
The strategy paid off, but the first time Smeds tracked them, he could only listen to the ‘zzzzzzzzZZZZzzzztttt’ of their song emanating from an inaccessible cliffside 20 feet overhead. The next day, he found them calling behind a locked gate. He was lucky and met the landowner, who, albeit slightly bemused, allowed Smeds to chase cicadas on his property.
It wasn’t long until Smeds saw them: 1.5-inch-long red insects, dramatic in coloration and appearance. They would stand out if they didn’t perch on the equally red stems of their host plants, Manzanita shrubs. Several weeks after their reappearance, the cicadas vanished again. But now scientists knew where and when to look; they were found again in 2023.
Diligent searching and several more lucky iNaturalist observations revealed the cicadas were found across a wider swathe of California’s western Sierra foothills than expected. Now the expanse between the northernmost and southernmost observations spanned 130 miles, a distance surpassing the length of Delaware. They were able to evade detection for a century because they spend years underground. When adults emerge, it is in stifling heat and amid dense vegetation.
“Cicadas are basically overgrown aphids,” laughs Cole.
Like aphids and other ‘true bugs’ the cicadas have a ‘straw’ that they stab into plants to suck a liquid diet of sap. This has been a successful strategy for them; over 3000 cicada species are found worldwide.
They’re also characterized by a two-part life cycle. Cicadas spend the longest portion of their lives underground as nymphs, sucking juices from roots. After one to 17 years, depending on the species, they burst from the ground and molt, transforming from a brown bean-shaped subterranean creature to a winged adult—the world’s noisiest insects.
Unlike their eastern counterparts, whose emergence can be predicted decades in advance, the life cycles of western cicadas remain comparatively mysterious. What is their range? When will they emerge, and for how long? Many species have “protoperiodical” life cycles, which means that a few emerge every year, but there are much larger emergences some years, although smaller in contrast to the periodical cicadas of the east.
Figuring out exactly what triggers the emergence of protoperiodical cicadas in the West is still an unanswered question, but rain is a key part of the puzzle. Of studied species, large emergences of protoperiodical cicadas occurred only after a certain threshold of rain fell over several years.
Science done by the citizens
Just in California, there are about 80 recognized cicada species, and yet there are just a handful of entomologists focusing on western cicadas. Cicadas have remained relatively poorly studied because their long lifecycles and sporadic emergences are difficult for academics to study. Rarely can scientists wait years for study subjects to pop up above ground, and they can’t be everywhere at once.
Community scientists on iNaturalist have emerged as a critical tool. iNaturalist users snap a photo of a plant or animal, and the photo is immediately visible to a community of naturalists and experts who can confirm or correct an identification.
“I’m guessing a similar situation has happened hundreds of times over the last century, that someone has found this cool red bug when they’re out there in the foothills, and thanks to iNaturalist, this is just the first time that anyone else has been able to hear about it,” suggests Smeds.
iNaturalist users generate tens of thousands of observations daily. Never before have researchers of rare creatures had so many eyes peeled—peering into crevices, scanning thickets, and uploading their finds in real-time. When it comes to cicadas, over 8,500 users made nearly 17,000 records in the western U.S. as of February 2024. Suddenly, the handful of cicada scientists have eyes everywhere.
This is a game changer for cicada research. “Before iNaturalist, there was no way to know where and when they’re coming out. You needed to have a big tank of gas and some luck” recalls Cole.
Chatfield-Taylor sometimes messages users who have logged rare cicadas, asking them to collect and send him a specimen, which allows him to analyze how closely they’re related to other, nearby species and just how many might live out West.
Despite all the new records, some species continue to evade detection.
Chatfield-Taylor wistfully talks of a cicada from Yakima Valley in Washington that hasn’t been seen since its description in the 1930s.
“Maybe it’s extinct” he says, or maybe it will turn up on iNaturalist this year.
Already, crowdsourcing information and specimens from iNaturalist, the cicada researchers have gotten their hands on more species faster than they would have believed possible.
These records aren’t only good for species rediscoveries. As a result of iNaturalist and specimens that they were able to obtain, Cole, Chatfield-Taylor, and Smeds determined that several species of western cicada weren’t species at all; they were geographic variants of other more widespread species.
Chatfield-Taylor wants to remind community scientists, “When it comes to western cicadas keep your eyes peeled; you might find something that surprises you.” And for that matter, your find might surprise the entomologists too.
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