Sunday 14 June 2020

Lobster pot


I have had some unusual things in the trap from time to time - a frog, a blackbird and four hornets in one go - but I wouldn't expect to find a lobster there. Crayfish maybe, which are abundant in the nearby Oxford canal and river Cherwell. But not the full sea-going crustacean.



Here is a Lobster, however. A very fine moth whose name is explained if you ever have the good fortune to come across its caterpillar - pictured below, from the Moth Bible.  I never have; that remains on my dwindling wish-list. But the adult moth is joy enough, especially when it takes a good long time to warm up, as was the case this morning.



Although my photography is not very good, the technical brilliance of the iPhone captures details such as the way that the 'TV aerial' antennae end in a single spike I am endlessly fascinated by antennae, if only because we otherwise ever-so-superior human beings do not have them, and here is yet another variation to add to my collection.



The Lobster has a distinctive resting position when completely off-guard, with its hindwings peeping out from under the forewings like an oversize petticoat. It shares this with the Poplar Hawk, while the next moth, the curious little Barred Straw, also has an odd way of sleeping. Hiding its underwings completely, it looks like a frail monoplane, especially the German Storch aircraft which used to feature in our war comics when I was small.


This one had a narrow escape because it flew up from the eggboxes just after my first photo and - to continue the wartime analogy - a robin zoomed in like a Spitfire. I just managed to shoosh the bird away, only to watch helplessly as it turned its attentions to a second, pale-coloured moth which also flew ill-advisedly out of the trap.

Without sounding too callous, I hope, that proved an interesting experience. Although the bird flew much faster, its strikes kept missing as the moth jinked about, clearly aware that it was being hunted. Then a blackbird joined in, causing enough confusion for the moth to reach safety in a hydrangea. Such aerial combat, which also iincludes bats with their stealth and radar armoury at night (countered, amazingly, by anti-sonar abilities in some moths), goes on all the time but is rarely seen by us.


Back at the trap, there were about 200 moths, the macros including three Elephant Hawks and this lovely smudgy Clouded Silver, above, which completes a trio of Laura Ashley species following the Single-dotted Wave and Treble Brown-spot which came at the end of last week.  Then we have the familiar shape of a Silver Y, a moth of great interest to entomologists at the moment because its long-held 'immigrant' status seems to be changing definitely to 'resident'. The moth world would be a good retirement hobby for Home Office officials.


And thirdly, here is a very small macro - hence the thumb photo - I apologise for the blur.  I think that it is a Rosy Minor, from the patterning, although it is small enough to be a Least one.


The micros will have to wait for their IDs until after early morning tea, but there are some nice ones this morning. I think that the first, highly distinctive one must be Pammene aurita or regiana; it isn't easy to tell because the Micro Bible shows these species from the side and they don't seem to tally exactly.  


This next one's distinctive too and I was lucky with the light for the first photo. I've included the second pic to show what a difference such things make; the beautiful patterning is much harder to make out. Update: sadly, it's back to the dunce's corner for me, after such high hopes. The kindly expert Nigel on the Upper Thames Moths blog says: Hi Martin, the first micro is probably Dichrorampha alpinana, but these are a tricky group to do from photos. The second one is Phycita roborella. Checking the Bible again, I should have got the first, but I'd definitely have failed with the second. On the cheery side, both species are new to my list.



In conclusion, I can tell you definitely that this morning's final moth is Hypsopygia costalis, more attractively known as the Gold Triangle. Even I can see that.

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