The Beetles of 2019

Simply sharing some more of the insects I photographed this year, grouping them by order (or whatever, as the case may be). In this case, order: Coleoptera, the beetles.

I found this elm borer (Saperda tridentata) resting on our front door the morning of May 30. It had no doubt been attracted to our porch light during the previous evening. This is one of the insects that got me in the habit of inspecting the wall and door under the porch light in the mornings!



This species is one of the many longhorn beetles (that’s a family), and it’s in a subfamily called the “flat-faced longhorns.” I think it’s spiffy looking. It lays eggs in cracks of the bark of stressed elm trees, and the larvae feed under the bark, creating squiggly galleries as they go. It can transmit the fungus that causes Dutch elm disease, but it’s not the main vector. Instead, three species of elm bark beetles are the primary vectors; they’re in the weevil family of beetles. We do have some elms in our neighborhood, but since the venerable old American elm that used to stand in front of my mom’s ancestral home was cut down (for no good reason), all that’s left are Siberian elms (“piss elms”) that are past their prime, so pfft, who cares, let the beetles have them, eh?

Seeing that nifty-looking elm borer inspired me to work outside on the patio that morning, keeping my eyes open, and this plain little ol’ click beetle came and visited me. Click beetles are in family Elateridae; I think this one is some kind of Melanotus species, but good lord there are a lot that all look alike!

Click beetles are the ones that, when harassed or worried, play dead. They lay on their backs, legs tucked in, then suddenly: Click! In a split second, they bend their abdomen/thorax segments, making an audible clicking sound, and the sudden click flips them away—somewhere, anywhere away—from the perceived danger.


Click beetle playing dead, just like an opossum, huh?

Then there was the very, very cool Hercules beetle I saw in Virginia on June 10.



We were walking along a strip mall and saw a few women making OHMYGOD gestures; this scarab beetle is very large, and the antlerlike extensions of the exoskeleton make them look formidable. When I picked it up (yeah, I picked it up, thinking “Ah, poor beetle, what are you doing in this lame strip mall place? You need to be in the woods!”), I held it by its sides, and it pressed hard against my fingers with its legs. Very, very strong beetle. What an impressive insect. I set it free in by bro’s backyard, which has a little wooded area near it.

Interesting (and sad) fact about the eastern Hercules beetle: they are declining and may soon be declared threatened: they need certain types of large hardwood trees to complete their life cycle, and ash trees are very important. Now that ash trees throughout North America are threatened by the emerald ash borer, the amazing, fantastic, proud, humble eastern Hercules beetle may also disappear from our continent.

On June 5, I photographed a flea beetle and a darkling beetle in our yard near our house.

The flea beetle was pretty attractive; I think it is species Disonycha procera. This is one of the many colorful and attractive leaf beetles.



The darkling beetle (below) (a Tenebrionid--again, that’s a family of beetles) was one of a bazillion that crawled out of the landscaping mulch along the front of our house one morning when I watered it really well. They all walked up the side of our white-painted house, so they were especially noticeable. They have such dark bodies; as if they were made out of black rubber. There are lots of species of darkling beetles that look more or less the same; I think this is species Alaetrinus minimus.



Then there was a longhorned beetle on our back porch screen on June 20:



This (above) is Acanthoderes quadrigibba, whose name (I figured out) can be translated as the four-humped flat-faced longhorn. There is no common name, even though these beetles aren’t especially uncommon. The larvae feed on rotten wood, so they’re not considered pests.



The dogbane beetle (above) has to be of one of North America’s most beautiful beetles! Another member of the leaf beetle group. We saw this handsome insect resting on a window of the Amtrak station at La Plata, the way we went there to watch trains. See what happens? You embark on your day thinking you’re going to see A, B, and C, and instead (or in addition) you get M, N, and O.

The bonus beetle doesn’t look much like a beetle at all! It looks more like a lizard:



But let’s not forget that most of a beetle’s life is spent looking like a grub, or . . . a teeny tiny lizard. So this is an immature multicolored Asian lady beetle. These are the ladybugs that crawl into little cracks and get into your home in autumn, then buzz around your light fixtures for weeks afterward, and leave squiggly lines of poop on your walls and curtains. Yes, they are from Asia. Yes, they are a nuisance. Many people consider them invasive, but I think it’s still legal to import them and set them loose supposedly to fight against crop pests.

. . . Um, right.

More arthropod pictures soon!

Rainbow Scarab

I learned about another new insect today! I saw this in our backyard. At first I thought it was one of those doggoned Japanese beetles (invasive pests), but it looked stockier and somehow didn't fit my "search image" for that species. And I was right!

May I introduce you to: a rainbow scarab!



Phanaeus vindex is apparently pretty common in the eastern United States, though I'd never seen one before.

It's a type of dung beetle--one of those scarabs that takes advantage of organic materials that aren't completely digested by mammals. Unlike other dung beetles, which are generally dull black (shiny black if they're exceptionally spiffy), this one is bright shiny green and copper!



Like other dung beetles, this species sniffs out piles of poop using its elaborate antennae (orange, here--with platelike segments that can be fanned out or pressed together at will). Once it catches a whiff, the beetle, buzzing heavily like a bumblebee, flies upwind to the source of the stench (you know, to dung beetles, poop must smell like a steak on a grill, or a bunch of pretty flowers, or a cherry pie in the oven).

Finding the poop, the beetle burrows under the pile, rolls some of the dung into a ball, then buries the ball in a hole beneath the pile, laying eggs on it. After hatching, the larval beetles (C-shaped grubs) eat the dung as they develop. (Like other beetles, the larvae then pupate, much like a butterfly, and emerge as a winged adult.)

Most dung beetles (quite famously) roll their little dung balls away from the pile of poop. If you haven't seen Zefrank's video "True Facts About the Dung Beetle," you must see it. I insist. But the rainbow scarab doesn't do that "rolling" bit.

It's ironic that this species, which is so beautiful, apparently spends more time completely under the dung than the dull black types, which roll the poop along like a circus act for all to see.

Another thing: this one I saw is a male. See the horn on the top of its head? Females don't have that. Apparently the horn plays a role in male-male competition.



Sometimes the horn on males is breathtakingly large. Look at Bugguide's Phanaeus vindex page for examples.

As I type this, Mr. Rainbow Scarab is probably forming himself a nice little poo-ball and looking to hook up with a girlfriend. I leave you with this closeup on his face. I can't help but see an "expression" in it, like "Aren't you about done taking pictures? Can I just leave now, please? I have things to do."



So, after harassing this beetle and taking a bunch of pictures of it, what did I do with him? I found a pile of cat poo in the backyard and set him down beside it. He immediately began digging into the soil next to it. Fascinating!

But I didn't stick around to watch--I was curious, but flies were buzzing around, and it didn't exactly smell like a bunch of flowers, either.

Another Impressive “Opteran”!

The names of the insect orders are worth learning. They’re so much better than the lists that usually have to describe the groups when we try to avoid multiple syllables. For example:

“Lepidopteran” is much more efficient than saying “butterflies, moths, and skippers.” And “hymenopteran” similarly saves us the time and energy of saying “ants, bees, and wasps.”

After you give the root words a little thought, they make sense and therefore are memorable. As an editor, I appreciate precise, efficient, short ways of saying things. But this discussion is for another post.

Anyway, because of my use of upscale terms for insect groups, Sue has started calling every insect an “Opteran”!

So Saturday morning, I was in the backyard, and Sue was in the front. I looked up, and she was hustling past me to get her camera (again):

“A big, neat opteran just landed by the front doors!”

It had flown right past her and landed on the bricks. Based on its impressive flight, Sue guessed it might be some kind of moth.

Naturally I had to look, and then grab my own little camera. Here’s what we saw!

Do you know what it is? I hadn’t seen one before, but I knew right away what it was from the memorable pictures I’ve seen in my insect guidebooks!

It’s a type of beetle (a coleopteran!) in the family Elateridae, the “click beetles.” They’re called “click beetles” because if they somehow end up on their backs, they can flip clear into the air with an audible “click.” If all works well for them, they will land right side up. If they land on their backs again, they simply do another flip.

This individual looked like it had gotten out of a few tough scrapes already. See how its poor right-front leg is amputated in mid-tibia? And one of the antennae has also been halved.

This particular species of click beetle is the famous “eyed elater,” instantly recognizable by its large size and the big eyespots on its thorax. They aren’t really eyes; apparently they function like the eyespots on butterflies and moths (lepidopterans!) to make a potential predator hesitate long enough to allow the insect to escape.

The real eyes are positioned near the base of each beautifully serrated antenna.

Now, although it must have been breathtaking to see in flight, this insect didn’t seem particularly “elated” about anything itself. I haven’t been able to find anything to back this up, but I think the name of the bug and its family refer to the “flipping” behavior. On a fundamental, etymological level, elate is from Latin words that mean “to carry out,” “to elevate,” “to lift up.” It’s related to our verbs tolerate and bear. For an insect that literally “elevates” itself, the name makes sense etymologically and entomologically!

By the way, before you grab your can of Raid, listen up: A few species of click beetles (especially the larvae) are important pests of crops, but this one is considered “beneficial” since its larvae devour the injurious types. Think hard before you kill bugs!