ST. GEORGE — Tapping, clicking, buzzing and whirring — just what is that sound? Southern Utah’s cicadas are out and about serenading the southwest desert.
Cicadas spend most of their lives underground as nymphs, where they feed on the fluid in tree roots with their piercing-sucking mouth parts, called proboscises — similar to a mosquito but larger.
However, Utah State University Extension says residents don’t need to worry about their plants as cicadas are unlikely to cause major damage to vegetation. Nymphs rarely harm root systems or leave empty soil patches while emerging.
The insects can remain underground for months or years. But then the brood emerges simultaneously, cued by their precise internal “rain clocks,” Samual Wells, an assistant biology professor at Southern Utah University, previously St. George News. More recently, he added that they also rely on temperature-based chemical cues from the plants they feed on.
They push through the soil as they surface from their subterranean homes, leaving asymmetrical, dime-sized holes. They climb nearby plants, shedding their exoskeletons. While they may look somewhat alarming, these bugs are reportedly harmless, and according to Cicada Mania, they are unlikely to bite unless they mistake a person for a meal.
“They might try to pierce and suck you, but don’t worry, they aren’t vampires, nor are they malicious or angry — they’re just ignorant and think you’re a tree,” the website states.
Unlike the well-known periodical cicadas in the Eastern U.S., which appear every 13-17 years, Southern Utah’s annual or proto-periodical species have 1-5-year cycles based on accumulated rainfall, and those that don’t emerge on time risk not finding a mate, Wells said.
While the noise leaves many Southern Utahns scratching their heads and others plugging their ears, to some, cicadas are a welcome summer treat.
“I love them,” said Ivins resident and St. George News reporter Jessi Bang. “They’re the songbirds of the desert.”
The state boasts over two dozen cicada species, many of which are in the genus Okanagana, known for its striking black and orange color patterns, said Wells adding that they each have their own song.
Males perform their “summer love songs” to attract a mate, said Amanda Barth, native insect conservation program leader for Utah State University.
Unique calls help cicada males avoid catching the attention of females from another species. Additionally, different groups don’t always emerge together and evolve various sounds.
Depending on the species, they create their distinctive sounds by vibrating noise-making organs called tymbals or by crepitating — producing clicking or crackling sounds by bending the semirigid surfaces of their wings.
“(Cicada sound-making) body parts don’t change very quickly over evolutionary time, but the timing and amplitude of the calls are more flexible and can change quickly,” Wells said.
The insects found in Kolob Canyons, along Kolob Terrace Road and in Zion National Park can be heard snapping their wings while showing off their “tap-dance-like moves,” Zion National Park shared on Facebook.
“You could say, they are trying to give ’em the old Razzle Dazzle,” park staff wrote.
Other than attracting a mate, cicadas also “squawk” when disturbed, captured or held and will sing in a chorus “regulated by daily weather fluctuations” and each other, according to Britannica. While the insects enjoy heat and sunlight, they become quiet in temperatures that are too hot or cold.
When cicadas chorus together, predators are less likely to find an individual’s location, Barth said. Cicadas are one of many species in the ecological soundscape in which various critters create a habitat’s natural melody, including songbirds, crickets, frogs and locusts — which are often mistaken for cicadas.
As the music fades and cicadas reach the end of their life cycles, the females lay eggs, often in “woody plant tissues,” Britannica states. The eggs will fall from the tree once hatched, and the nymphs will burrow into the ground once more.
Various animals feed on cicadas throughout their lives, especially as they “emerge from the ground en masse and provide a banquet of protein for many birds, reptiles, amphibians and mammals,” Barth said. Nymphs that die underground “add to the nutrients and microbial community.”
Photo Gallery
A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada husk clings to a conifer tree, Iron County, Utah, July 21, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada husk sits on a conifer tree, Iron County, Utah, July 18, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A dead cicada clings to a tree above a husk, Iron County, Utah, July 18, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A dead cicada still clings to a tree, Iron County, Utah, July 18, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News A cicada clings to a tree in St. George, Utah, July 23, 2023 | Photo by Alysha Lundgren, St. George News
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