No-one's actually ever publicly photographed one before
In the scrubland near Red Cliffs, a woman on a routine bushwalk paused to photograph an insect on a twig — and in doing so, gave science its first official glimpse of a living Myrmeleon houstoni in the wild. The species had existed in museum drawers for years, known but unseen in its natural state, a quiet emblem of how much of Australia's living world remains undocumented. Her image, uploaded without ceremony to a citizen science platform, reminds us that the boundary between the known and unknown is often crossed not by specialists in laboratories, but by curious people paying attention outdoors.
- A rare antlion species, Myrmeleon houstoni, had never been officially photographed alive in the wild — existing in science only as pinned museum specimens — until a Mildura woman's casual bushwalk changed that.
- The discovery exposed a striking data void: just 130 records of this species exist across an entire continent, compared to three million for the common Australian magpie.
- The mother-daughter pair who captured the images now stand as the only people to have documented this species in its natural habitat, a distinction neither sought nor anticipated.
- CSIRO researchers are processing hundreds of new citizen science records each week, many describing species not yet on Australia's official list, as the gap between known and actual biodiversity comes into sharper focus.
- With nearly half of Australia's estimated 500,000 species still unrecognized by Western science, platforms like iNaturalist are becoming the primary engine of biological discovery — driven by amateurs with cameras and curiosity.
Judy Allen was doing what she always does on bushwalks near Red Cliffs — photographing plants and insects, uploading them to iNaturalist. When she spotted an antlion perched on a twig almost directly in her path, she photographed it without much thought. It was just another insect.
Then an expert reached out. The insect was Myrmeleon houstoni, a species known to science only through museum specimens. Allen had captured the first official wild photograph of it ever documented. She was, by her own account, blown away. Her daughter Fiona later photographed the same species in a different part of the Mallee region, and together the pair now represent the only people to have recorded this creature alive in nature.
The antlion is a creature of particular design: its larvae dig conical sand traps, flicking grains of dirt at passing ants to send them tumbling inward, then feed on whatever falls in. Adults emerge resembling dragonflies. The species is distributed across Australia, yet only 130 records of it exist on the continent — a stark contrast to the three million records held for the common magpie.
Cameron Slayter of the CSIRO described Allen's photographs as filling a significant gap in understanding where the species actually lives. The discovery reflects a broader transformation in how biological knowledge is built. Citizen scientists now contribute roughly 70 percent of Australia's 180 million species records, and Slayter reviews hundreds of new observations each week that describe species not yet on the official Australian list.
The scale of what remains unknown is immense. Australia formally recognizes around 233,000 species, but estimates place the true number near 500,000. That gap — between what science has named and what actually exists — is precisely where the quiet attention of people like Judy Allen turns out to matter most.
Judy Allen was out for a bushwalk near Red Cliffs in February, camera in hand, doing what she usually does on these walks through the scrub—documenting whatever plants and insects caught her eye. She was a regular contributor to iNaturalist, the online platform where amateur naturalists upload observations to help build a collective understanding of local wildlife. When she spotted an antlion perched on a twig at eye level, almost directly in her path, she photographed it without much fanfare. It was just another insect, another image to upload.
But when the photo went online, an expert reached out with unexpected news: she had captured something that had never been officially photographed in the wild before. The insect was a Myrmeleon houstoni, a rare species known to science only through museum specimens. Allen was, by her own account, blown away. "I was taking photos of plants, but when you're out in the bush doing bushwalks, you just find other things," she said. "I didn't know what it was."
The discovery took on added weight when her daughter, Fiona, subsequently photographed the same species in a different part of the Mallee region. On iNaturalist, the mother-and-daughter pair now represent the only people to have documented Myrmeleon houstoni in its natural habitat. Cameron Slayter, project manager of biodiversity initiatives at the CSIRO, confirmed the significance: the Myrmeleon houstoni exists across Australia, but until Allen's photo, the only images on record came from insects preserved in museum collections. "No-one's actually ever publicly photographed one before," he said.
The antlion itself is a creature of particular design. It inhabits sandy areas, where the larval form constructs conical burrows that function as traps. When an ant wanders too close, the larva spits grains of sand or dirt at it, destabilizing its footing until it tumbles down into the cone. Once inside, escape is impossible. The larva then reaches up and feeds. Later in its life cycle, the creature pupates and emerges as an adult insect bearing a striking resemblance to a dragonfly.
What makes Allen's photographs valuable to science is not the rarity of the species itself, but the gap they fill in understanding where it lives. Records of Myrmeleon houstoni exist throughout Australia, yet the distribution data remains incomplete. Slayter noted the scale of the problem: there are only 130 documented records of the species across the entire continent. By contrast, the Australian magpie—a common bird—has three million records. "It is actually filling quite a big data gap that we had in the distribution of the species," Slayter said.
Allen's discovery exemplifies a broader shift in how biological knowledge accumulates in Australia. Citizen scientists now drive the country's fastest-growing biological dataset, contributing roughly 70 percent of the 180 million records housed in the Atlas of Living Australia. Slayter reviews between 200 and 400 new records each week where the species name does not yet appear on the official list of Australian species—and most come from amateurs. It is no longer unusual for untrained observers to photograph a species for the first time.
The scale of what remains unknown is staggering. Australia has approximately 233,000 species formally recognized by Western science, yet estimates suggest the actual number approaches 500,000. That gap—the space between what we know and what exists—is where discoveries like Allen's matter most. Slayter encourages anyone interested in contributing to ensure their photographs are clear and close enough to allow experts to identify species with confidence. The work of documenting the living world, it turns out, belongs to anyone willing to pay attention.
Citações Notáveis
I was taking photos of plants, but when you're out in the bush doing bushwalks, you just find other things. I didn't know what it was.— Judy Allen
It is actually filling quite a big data gap that we had in the distribution of the species.— Cameron Slayter, CSIRO
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
What made this particular photograph matter so much to scientists?
It wasn't that the species was unknown—it existed in museum collections and in the scientific literature. But no one had ever documented it alive in nature. That gap between what we know exists and what we've actually seen in the wild is enormous in biology.
So Judy Allen just happened to be in the right place at the right time?
Partly luck, yes. But she was also the kind of person who pays attention. She was already uploading observations to iNaturalist regularly. She had her camera. She was looking. That matters more than people realize.
Her daughter found one too, in a different location. Does that change what scientists understand?
It suggests the species might be more widespread than the records indicated. Two sightings in the same region, in different spots, hints at a population. That's how you start to map distribution.
The CSIRO expert mentioned 130 total records for this species versus three million for a magpie. Why such a difference?
Magpies are visible, common, and people notice them. Antlions live in sandy areas and are small. They're easy to miss unless you're specifically looking or, like Allen, you're out walking and happen to see one at eye level.
Is this discovery going to change how scientists study the species?
It gives them a starting point. Now they know where to look. They can ask: what else is in that area? Are there populations we haven't documented? The photograph is data.
What does it say about citizen science that amateurs are making these discoveries?
It says we've barely scratched the surface of what's out there. Australia has maybe 233,000 known species, but estimates suggest 500,000 exist. Most of what we'll discover will come from people like Allen—people paying attention, uploading photos, filling gaps.