Before I developed a passion for the creatures of the ocean, before I discovered what exciting predators spiders could be, before I collected charismatic crayfish from a local lake, grasshoppers occupied my desire of discovery. They were the first creature I had ever studied up close. As a six year old in the Okanagan, I spent hours each day, stalking them, capturing them, and keeping them in a 4-litre ice cream bucket padded with fresh grass where I'd watch them continue their life cycle of mating, laying eggs, and ultimately dying.
Capturing them required a strategy to combine stealth to get within striking distance, and a quickness of hands. This difficulty setting contributed to a ranking system I developed to classify grasshoppers and locusts.
What I called grasshoppers were the lowest tier. They were the smallest of the bunch, and also the most common. Their clear wings could typically only carry them in a straight line that curved right or left, and not more than 5 metres. It was easy enough to flush one out, run to where it landed and pounce. While they technically were flying, it was the "hop" that determined their direction, so I called them grasshoppers.
Locusts were what I called the species that could truly fly (I didn't find out until later that locusts were defined more by their swarming behaviour, but let's just let that 6-year old's definition stick for the next few paragraphs). Their strong flight easily beckoned my 6-year-old self into running after them. The most common locust species is a large, grey species that can fly long distances. It's large size is also what makes it easiest to catch, as their momentum tends to (but not always) carry them in a predictable direction. Their open wings reveal a black wing with a yellow band.
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| Carolina locust |
While the carolina locust was abundant, it's flights were relatively quiet. In the dry Okanagan heat, it was instead another type of locust that would break the silence in the hot summers. These smaller locusts (there were several different species) would hover in a courtship flight, all the while producing a crackling sound technically called a crepitation. The crackling sounded similar to rapidly ticking sound of those large radial sprinklers. Their wings would typically have colour on the proximal (closer to body) regions, and be clear on the outer edges. The wing colour could be yellow (rank 3), red (rank 2) or even blue (I'd cheer).
These smaller species were also more agile. Maybe as an evolutionary advantage to respond to their boisterous cackles while in flight, they would leap away well before I could get in striking distance. My only strategy was to chase them in flight, and hope that they landed on a lawn where they'd be without a firm footing from which to make their next leap.
There were other species of grasshoppers that were exceptionally rare to catch. I came across just a handful of odd-looking slant-faced grasshoppers which were well camouflaged amid the tumbleweed. Even getting one to jump, it would be easy to dismiss it as a part of a plant that broke off.
So back to the name, "locust", which I'll now describe more accurately. One of more destructive behaviours of some species of grasshoppers is swarming across an area, and leaving destroyed crops in its wake. This swarming behaviour is only in about 17 species of grasshopper, which are properly called locusts. In densities of 12-24 grasshoppers per square metre in an acre, they can eat as much as a cow. Whether it be the pharaoh who wouldn't let the Israelites leave, or today's wheat farmers, these swarming grasshoppers can strike fear in the damage they can cause; they are most formidable for what they eat.
Their abundance is also what might turn them into an important food source for humans. People in many parts of the world already eat grasshoppers as a readily available source of protein, and as we inevitably run out of grazing land, the human population will be increasingly dependent on insect sources of protein. I myself have eaten a grasshopper, back when I went through a survivalist phase. "Nutty" is how I'd describe the taste.
Today, when I see grasshoppers, I still try to challenge myself to catch them. I'm bigger, and more cunning I tell myself. Yet it hasn't gotten any easier.
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