File this one under “hiding in plain sight.” A relatively new arrival on Martha’s Vineyard, as far as I can tell, the jumping bush cricket, Hapithus saltator, ranks among the most common cricket species on much of Martha’s Vineyard. It’s distinctive in appearance, and even more so in terms of its call. If you live in Oak Bluffs or Vineyard Haven, or even spend much time there at night, you’ve surely heard this species, whether you know it or not. But how many people have actually seen one, or even recognize the name of this insect?
The species was not treated in Albert Morse’s valuable “Manual of the Orthoptera of New England,” published in 1920, and I presume Hapithus saltator was confined to more southerly regions then. My experience with Hapithus dates back about 12 years, when I began hearing a distinctive but unfamiliar insect call emanating from the red cedars lining our Oak Bluffs backyard. After a couple of seasons of speculation and bewilderment, I spotted an unfamiliar type of cricket on a potted plant on our deck. Squat, brown, and featuring a hint of a black mask on its face, it was easy to identify as Hapithus saltator, and when I researched the call of that species, the mystery was solved.
The Hapithus’ call is a monotonous series of short (about a half-second long), unemphatic chirps, spaced about five seconds apart: Brrrtt … brrrt … brrrt. When multiple males are present, the songs blend into a chorus, with each male singing on a slightly different pitch. Unlike many cricket species, Hapithus spends little time on the ground; this is a species for low, dense, shrubby vegetation, from one to about six feet off the ground. While jumping bush crickets will occupy any type of vegetation that meets that description, the species seems to have a special fondness for short-needled evergreens, like cedar.
The call of this species was inescapable in my neighborhood during last week’s prodigious warm spell, and Hapithus will remain active until a hard frost shuts the books on this year’s generation. From now until that happens, increasing chill will steadily reduce Hapithus numbers, and alter the quality of its call: the final holdouts will sing a dejected parody of the true song of the species, slowed down to a creaky series of notes, like the teeth of a comb being slowly plucked.
Not to worry, though: Eggs have been laid, perhaps in crevices in the bark on shrubs inhabited by this year’s adults, and will hatch sometime next spring or early summer. The species has one of the latest seasons for adult activity of any of our Orthoptera, with the first songs (given only by fully mature males) not audible until we’re well into August. Since its presumed arrival, the species has colonized most of the northern portion of Martha’s Vineyard — Vineyard Haven, Oak Bluffs, and parts of West Tisbury. Edgartown boasts just three observations, all from settled areas: Ocean Heights, Dodger’s Hole, and the Eel Pond boat landing. The up-Island moraine has a few records, and I recently recorded the call of this species in Aquinnah. But there is no evidence yet that Hapithus has appeared on the Island’s sandplain, in its southern and central portions.
It’s a pattern that is consistent with expansion outward from a few points of introduction in the Island’s most densely settled areas. And that, in turn, is consistent with accidental introduction by humans; my guess is that the species arrived here, probably in a number of independent events, clinging to people’s cars. At some point, enough individuals were present that some males and females found each other, and Haptihus was off to the races. More broadly, the distribution of the species in Massachusetts suggests gradual expansion northward. Jumping bush crickets are common in the mild, southeastern portion of the state; in the “urban heat island” of Boston and its suburbs; and in the notoriously balmy Connecticut River Valley. But the species is still absent, or nearly so, at higher elevations in the central and western parts of the Bay State, and from any place farther north. While common on Cape Cod, Hapithus appears unrecorded so far on Nantucket.
The history of Hapithus saltator on Martha’s Vineyard, then, reflects two of the most important factors driving ecological change in the modern world. A warming climate, with a longer growing season and warm conditions persisting deeper into autumn, has made it possible for this species to slowly extend its range northward. And then the human proclivity for motorized travel has helped the species across several miles of saltwater, which would otherwise form a nearly impassable barrier for a flightless insect.
Whether the species will continue its march across Martha’s Vineyard is hard to say; factors such as vegetation type, climate, or the presence of some especially effective predator may prevent this species from successfully colonizing the Island’s sandplain. But there is no doubt that Hapithus saltator is here to stay. And I predict that its pattern of colonization and expansion will be followed, in New England generally and on the Vineyard in particular, by several related species in the not-too-distant future. The world is changing.
Check out an observation from the Camp Meeting Association in Oak Bluffs that includes a pretty good recording of a jumping bush cricket chorus: inaturalist.org/observations at inaturalist.org.
