mantis mania!

Before moving to Tucson, mantids were a rare sight for me. In the ten years I lived in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, I didn’t see any — probably because their range doesn’t extend there, on account of the colder climate. (Side note: I once found a mantis ootheca in the crop of a roadkill pheasant hit near the Michigan/Wisconsin border, but that’s the only evidence I ever saw of mantids in the Upper Peninsula.) Here, however, mantids are far more common, and there are many species to be seen. Their abundance doesn’t make them any less special; I am in awe of them every time, on account of the way they move, their amazing eyesight, and their seemingly human-like expressions.

A really good spot to observe mantids is at Molino Basin on the Mount Lemmon Highway. There are lots of shrubs right around the parking area, and this time of year, the mantids can be found hunting amongst the desert broom. As far as species go, I’m assuming that I’m mostly seeing Stagmomantis limbata, the bordered mantis. It has several different color phases, but is most commonly green.

As adults, mantids are pretty easy to discern between male and female. Male mantids are smaller, with a thin abdomen, and they can readily fly. Female mantids have a far larger abdomen once gravid; they are slower due to their size and I have yet to see one take flight.

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I mentioned the keen eyesight of mantids earlier; indeed, they will see you before you see them. In nearly all of my photos, the mantis pictured is looking straight at the camera, often cocking its head to the side. It’s hard not to anthropomorphize these insects, as they do seem intelligent and move very purposefully.

A week or so ago, I found a female mantis in a desert broom shrub, munching on some kind of bug. I accidentally spooked her as I moved in closer for a photo, and unlike other predatory insects and spiders, which drop their meal and run, this mantis very deliberately tucked her prey under one of her raptorial front legs and scooted along.

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Mantids can be very well-camouflaged, or they can be quite obvious in their surroundings. Sometimes they sway, mimicking the movement of a leaf in the wind. They are nimble insects, adept at climbing amongst dense foliage.

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One other species of mantis I’ve seen a handful of times in the area is Yersiniops solitarius, the horned ground mantis. It’s a smaller insect, and quite cryptic in appearance. It blends in remarkably well amongst the dry grass and scrub. It’s fast, opting to run, and much like a grasshopper, it’s a decent jumper. As the name suggests, this mantis does have “horns” above each eye, and unlike its arboreal cousins, it prefers to hunt on the ground.

Mantids are one of the apex predators of the insect world, but even apex predators are vulnerable to parasites. A couple of weeks ago, I spotted what appeared to be an extremely gravid S. limbata hunting on desert broom — until I realized that something was amiss. Her enlarged abdomen was a sickly brown color, and her movements were sluggish. A closer look revealed that the mantis was full of fly larvae, the exoskeleton of the abdomen thin enough to where I could see the maggots moving. Parasites fascinate me, in a train wreck kind of way: you don’t want to look, but you also can’t not look. This particular case was especially heinous, and it was a wonder that the mantis was still alive. Some research revealed that the culprit was most likely a species of either Tachinid or Sarcophagid fly.

Since that’s too gruesome an image to end this post on, I will leave you with this mantis I observed yesterday at Molino Basin, spotted in an ambush posture. I had a good laugh at it; the pose was just too funny.