Firefly Antics

This is the season to watch the antics of fireflies. Late June and early July are such fun times—gazing at the flashing, flying, glowing creatures. Fireflies are another of those insects with “fly” in their name, that are not flies at all. Another common moniker they have is lightening bug, but they’re also not a bug.

Fire“flies” are beetles, and they ought to be proud of that, since beetles are the most abundant and diverse critters on Earth. One in every four animals is a beetle! One in five of all species (including plants) is a beetle. Yikes, they’re everywhere! Just in North America we sport 24,000 different species of beetles.

Have you ever watched a beetle fly? They look quite ungainly, compared to their distant cousins, the “true” flies (who have only two wings). Beetles have four wings; but the forward pair are for protection—and are unable to flap and help in the flying game. They are hard plates that are lifted up and held ungainly out to the sides, as the aft pair gets the beetle precariously airborne.

There’s quite a variation between the different species of fireflies. Most females can fly, but some are wingless. Some females deceive another species’ males and eat them. Some species don’t flash at all—the so-called day-active non-luminescent fireflies. (Huh? Isn’t that an oxymoron?)

But I digress. I wanted to write about a recent firefly antic that I was treated to. Ordinarily, I watch the lanterns of these luminescent beetles flash on and off when it’s dark. It’s very rare that I can follow an individual firefly after he blinks off. If I see another flash, I have no idea if it’s him or another nearby suitor. I even have no idea of how many flashers I’m watching. It may be just a couple of them dashing and flashing here and there, or a bunch of them hovering lazily in one location and occasionally flashing.

On this recent occasion it was early dusk, so I could see him, even when his beacon was extinguished. It was mesmerizing. He’d helicopter slowly along, a couple of feet above the ground, then quickly dip downward and flash. Bobbing back up, he’d dawdle along for a bit, then swiftly dip and flash again. He looked to be in hunting mode. After each flash he’d pause, as if waiting for a potential mate to respond, and then move on, when he got no answer.

He kept searching, drawing me into his undertaking. At one point an answering flash came from below, with the same timing. There she was! But he missed the signal! He moved dreamily on, dipping and flashing. I wanted to call out to him, telling him he’d just missed a golden opportunity. I hoped he’d U-turn and come back to find her, but he plodded fruitlessly along. Could he even have heeded my call? Does a firefly have ears for human coaches?