Gold star

Penny has a biology degree and sometimes asks disconcerting questions. For example: do you check whether moths are arriving at the same time as they did last year? On the whole, they are, but this beautiful visitor didn't come in 2008. It's a Gold Spot (or possibly the rarer Lempke's Gold Spot; you can only really tell the difference by examining genitalia. Lempke, I think, was Prof J B Lempke, a Dutch moth expert). It's been to the trap in previous years at least once - I will check my written records - but I was still surprised and delighted to find it snoozing on the wire just below the bulb. The other little picture is of a Large Yellow Underwing's tail peeping out of my increasingly tatty egg boxes. We must eat some more eggs.

The LYUs are very partial to sneaking right down inside the box cones. I don't know how they turn round in there (because even in cones without a hole at the end they finish facing up, peeping sleepily at you from inside the cone). On Penny's point, Poplar Hawks are still coming to the light. The first appeared on 31 May. They have been similar long distance runners in previous years.

Magnified marvels

We have jays here, noisy but beautiful. They regularly leave the odd feather from their sky-blue shoulder marks and here's one, designed to cheer up an otherwise rather dull moth. Actually that's not wholly fair, when you look closely at the patterning on the latter's wings. But I'm afraid they don't compare with the feather, not remotely. Still, the moth, a Small Angle Shades, doesn't make those raucous yells which have got the jay its bad name. It sat quietly under an eggbox all morning and actually joined us for lunch which we had outside. I don't usually have an assistant for my early morning trap inspections, so it was good to have Penny hold the magnifying glass while I took the exciting experimental shot below. The glass was a silver wedding present from our friends the Boyd family of Farnham, so many thanks to them cos we use it a lot. The SAS woke up during the photo shoot and flew away before coffee.

Humming along

Much as I love England, there are times when you think about living somewhere...well...more exciting. We have so many small brown moths and small brown birds and pretty well no alligators. (British Waterways recorded a small and presumably escaped crocodile on the Cotswold canal near Stroud during its annual wildlife survey in 2005). Anyway, here are a couple of exotic pics from my new American friend Dorry - see Comment boxes in the posts immediately below. Like all journal-keepers, I like comments. Don't be put off by the identity question; just click the Anonymous button and then say who you are in the actual message, or not, according to taste. Dorry lives in a watery wonderworld on the Mississippi coast. No alligator shortage there. You can see more if you follow his links in the comments, and its well worth it. btw the second Lord Rothschild, one of the great eccentric butterfly collectors, used 'dust shot' to kill both humming birds and large moths for his vast collections of both. They are not a very lovely sight, stuffed and pinned, but have contributed to science. In the trapping department, it was colder last night and there were many fewer moths about, but I will bring you news of some of them soon.

A tiny member of the House of Lords

Well if they reform the upper chamber one day, maybe they will admit this character. He's wearing Ermine after all. I'm in a bit of a rush this morning, so for now I'll just post him up: I'm not sure which of the Ermine micro-moths he is, but it's the same family which covered that Dutch car with sticky goo (see posts some way below). No sticky goo in the garden here, I'm glad to say, but I have other wildlife excitements to report: bird flying into windows and something big and hungry trying to dig the honey out of our bumble bees' nest. It wasn't me. More soon.

Actually, more now. It's a bit later on and I just came across a Comma with its wings folded. Bearing in mind the way we all tend to assume knowledge, I suddenly thought that anyone looking at the pic of the Comma a few posts below might wonder why it has this name. Well here, right, is the reason. Like the Peacock, which has extremely dark underwings in spite of its vivid top, the Comma is pretty dull beneath, except for the white comma. I've always liked its raggedy wings which are highly unusual and must have an explanation. When I retire, I will find out what it is (unless anyone can very kindly provide a shortcut and enlighten me now).

Summer swallow

Here's one of the few moths which may be relatively familiar to everyone: the Swallow-tailed.
It comes to lighted windows after dark, like a small ghost. There are plenty around at the moment, along with the similarly pallid Light Emeralds. Both begin life with relatively strong colouring but fade very quickly, like old colour photos in an album or newsprint when exposed to light. It rained late last night but Mr and Mrs Robinson designed their trap well and the moths inside stayed dry. Plenty were about: pugs, arches and yellow underwings. And I'm afraid we also caught a mouse, whose traps are not quite so nice.

Naming names

A few more visitors from recent days - ones I've been puzzling over in vain, so I finally turned to Jax of Yorkshire Butterfly Conservation (see link to the left, above). She's kindly identified them for me as a Marbled Beauty, above and very well-named, a Clouded Silver and a Bordered White (the nearest one on the right with the silver streak on its brown wings).
I should have got the last one, on account of its butterfly-habit of resting with its wings folded above its body, which is described in Waring, Townsend and Lewington. But in typical journalist's fashion, my eye skimmed only over the pictures of its topwings, which as you can see from the micro-pic,
look completely different (and account for the moth's name). Fear not, I am learning...

Hello pugs

"Here! What about us?" cry the moths, and they are right. I've been distracted by gaudy butterflies and spiky caterpillars for the past couple of days. Moth multitudes are still flying in. There've been a lot of pugs among them lately, the group of small moths which I assume are named after the breed of dog which is notable for its small size.


I say 'assume' because I can't find confirmation either on the net or in a very erudite book on pug moths which I was generously given in exchange for giving a talk to the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society (on journalism, not moths). Pug enthusiasts take it for granted that we all know. These two are the Foxglove Pug, which doesn't look like a foxglove, pretty though it is. Its caterpillars eat the plant, which we grow out of sentiment for the days when we made gloves out of them and organised special children's parties. Didn't know about digitalis then. And the Green Pug, which is green. Small is beautiful, as Mr Schumacher remarked, although I think that big is as well. Note the ghostly light bulb of the trap btw, left of the Foxglove Pug.

Crossing the Line

This caterpillar was saved from squashing yesterday by Penny, and I was saved from being the squasher. If its luck continues, there will be one more Peacock butterfly in the world. We were walking along the old railway track from Easby abbey to Richmond, and I'd stepped aside to let some cyclists past when P grabbed me and stopped my boot coming down, splat. It was one of five we met, all crawling rapidly across the cindertrack and all but one in the same direction at more or less the same angle. (Sadly, a sixth was squashed, I fear by one of the cyclists who would need Grade A* in the Cycling Proficiency Test to anticipate such things).
When I kept caterpillars as a boy, I noticed how restless they became near pupation - hardly surprisingly; talk about 'the change' ! - and they often went on the longest possible tour they could manage in captivity. I think that's what was happening here, although it is interesting that they almost all seemed determined to go in the same direction. Remarkable, really, that something should impel them to leave the safety of their foodplant, thick and safe clumps of nettles, to cross a sort of Gobi desert full of the hazards I've described (and clear from the picture at the top, I think), presumably to chrysalise in the nettles on the other side. We gave ours a hand into the nettles, as shown in the second pic, where I hope it stayed, although it was still very much on the go. A sort of caterpillar version of the Protestant work ethic? Or something much deeper? Anyway, if you live within reach and want to keep a catty to pupation and watch the magic of its emergence as a butterfly, the Richmond railtrack should provide you with a few. It's a lovely walk, looping back on the other side of the river Swale. Here's what they turn into, courtesy of Mrs Cooke of Michigan State University, although you can see some others too if you scroll manfully down the blog.

Butterfly ball

For ancestral reasons, I spent part of yesterday at North West Leeds Liberals' summer garden party, where impudent people were flinging sucker-ended darts at political opponents - observe the hit on poor Gordon Brown in the pic to the right. Also there were these lovely butterflies, brought out by the sun. I have a colleague in London who is concerned about Small Tortoiseshell numbers this year; well here's one to add to his collection, along with a Ringlet - lovely simple colouring and 'eyes' - and a Comma.Meadow Browns and Speckled Woods were almost as abundant as the Liberals (who, in these very different days from the small but determined party of my youth, included the local MP, the leader of Leeds city council and the chair of our transport authority, Metro). And our buddleias aren't even out yet, although there were some in flower at the garden party. Joys to come.

Pieces of Eighty

After a while, you get used to the patterns on moths' wings and, for all the variety, start to see consistencies. So often, there are four kidney-shaped marks; a pattern of jagged zig-zags along the trailing edge of the wings is another regular. There will be camouflage reasons for this. I guess the kidney marks suggest possible eyes, making the moth potentially bigger and more frightening, and zig-zags are a well-known way of breaking up a shape, for example in dazzle warships which I described last year. But then you get visitors with extremely distinct markings, and I've just had one: this Figure of Eighty Moth.I'm not sure quite how imaginative you have to be to detect the figure of 80. The moths vary, and this (rather sadly balding) one isn't completely distinct; more of a 0 and X moth to me. Here's a detail of the pattern; and then below, an example of variation. I think that this is another Beautiful Golden Y, like the one I featured a few days ago (Oh no it isn't. It's a Plain Golden Y - thanks Jax from Yorkshire Butterflies), but the Y is much more broken-up and indistinct. Ah well, it may be a nightmare for the identifier, but we wouldn't all want to look exactly the same (some are Plain, some Beautiful, but as my Mum says, what matters is what's inside, although I don't think that applies to moths).

A tragic tale

Oh dear, a sad story this morning. But then Nature isn't the cosy world which children's anthropomorphic books and pictures may lead us to believe. Don't read on if you are aged under six or of a nervous disposition. What happened was, a Garden Carpet decided to try being a House one, and flew in to our kitchen where Penny and I were having supper. It perched on the sweet peas first - our first crop of the season - and then went to look at its more familiar world through the window where I photographed it again (below). And then... alas, I was so busy admiring the moth, that I forgot that we always light a romantic candle at suppertime (memories of courting days at Il Portico in Victoria, outside P's old office at Cosmo, where she was chief sub-editor under the legendary and wonderful Deirdre McSharry). Candles, flames, moths... I will say no more, except RIP. Oh, and there is a very good discussion of the effects of bright light on moths in E B Ford's Butterflies, in Collin's famous New Naturalist. No doubt millions of words on the web too, which would be well worth trawling. But I am going to have my (non-candlelit) morning tea.

Good morning, my lady

Another debut last night, along with a great many moths. Here is an Orange Ladybird, one of a pair which were busying about when I went to inspect things this morning. The night was very warm and there were plenty of Dark Arches, Yellow Underwings et al, plus thousands of mini-flies, because I had chosen to put it in some long grass near trees. There was also an interesting reminder that you need to check the surroundings of the trap as well as the bowl and eggboxes themselves.
A lot of Emerald and Swallowtail moths are about at the moment and they showed up easily against the grass and vetch. Here are a couple, and there were ten more, plus three Brimstone Moths and a Peppered, all hiding incompetently nearby. Alas, a female blackbird took an interest in my proceedings this morning for the first time this year. Veteran readers will know what that means. Scroll back through last year to 9 August... I shall try to be careful.

Grey and Green

We used to talk about mysterious Grey Men who directed the nation's affairs. Here are a couple of grey moths, although they are too light-stunned to be directing anything. The Grey Dagger on the left is a favourite of mine. It should be called Daggers, plural, because it has as many as a mediaeval assassin. One on each shoulder and one on each hindwing. You can see them in the picture, like poignards. Its companion is (I am pretty sure, he adds nervously) a Grey Arches, one of a number of similar moths with those zigzags and miniature window arches. Joining them today is the season's second caterpillar, which I'm still trying to track down. I thought it was a Small or Green-veined White's, but I don't think they have that natty white elipse, like a car spoiler, on their rear.

China in your hand, or rather trap

Here's a pretty visitor to the trap: a Brown China Mark. It's officially a micro-moth but it's time that someone promoted it to the first division. Micro-moths are separated from macros for reasons dear to my heart, ie not some scientific distinction to do with genitalia but simply on grounds of size. Trying to distinguish between tiny pug moths didn't appeal to early entomologists who set the nomenclature any more than it does to me. The Brown China Mark, like the Mother of Pearl which features in last year's journal here, is easily big enough to be a macro. It's also interesting because its caterpillar is amphibious. We have a small pond (or as our neighbours' grandchildren call it, The Swamp) so that may explain its presence. It also seems to be taking an intelligent interest in Morrison's advice on eggs.

A propos yesterday's dragonfly, here is another picture of a Southern Hawker, showing that it has a rather grisly connection with butterflies and moths.
I've pinched it from the website of the British Dragonfly Society but I hope they won't mind if I say again how brilliant they are. btw do you remember that T'Pau song in my title? I listened to it constantly in Bart's Hospital in London after I was knocked off my motorbike outside the Guardian and had my leg broken. I still hum it.

Here be dragonflies

Another first for this journal today: we've had eels, crabs and even a snake. Now here's a dragonfly debut. I'm sorry it's a bit blurred but I couldn't get nearer; like the little warriors in Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy, they are superfast flyers. This one was in the grounds of Shandy Hall at Coxwold, famed home of Laurence Sterne of Tristram Shandy (See www.shandean.org). What a garden! The house is fascinating, too, and the director of the Sterne Trust, Patrick Wildgust, is a marvellously enthusiastic curator and guide. I emailed him the dragonfly, the season's first sighting there (does anyone know what kind it is? I will research meanwhile. Update: I think it's a female Common Hawker judging by the excellent website of the British Dragonfly Society. A common hawker is one of those people cited in window notices by people who also don't want canvassers or Jehovah's Witnesses. They would if they looked like this. Stop press: No, maybe not. See helpful Comment.


Patrick sent back this startling picture of a Death's Head hawk moth. It was part of a project by the local primary school and also starred in an exhibition on moths at the hall, where moth traps are regularly run. The next exhibition is going to feature a collection of famous artists reinterpreting the celebrated black page, shown with the moth. This idea was picked up by Lemony Snicket in his Shandyesque A Series of Unfortunate Events, which is on the hall's bookladen shelves. So is a condensed Tristram Shandy issued to US troops during the Second World War, along with 399 other classics, apparently to remind them what they were fighting for. Here's a Speckled Wood from Tristram's garden too.

Gothic arrival

I'm going to live off yesterday's moths for a few days, like some sort of entomological camel. We've got a friend staying and if I operated the trap, he might be kept awake all night by its unearthly glow. Mind you, our spare room has luminous planets on the ceiling left over from the children's days, so it's already a spooky place to sleep.



This looks to me like a Gothic moth, which is nice because they are another of the species described as 'local' rather than common in Waring & Townsend. There are various other Gothics which look a bit similar but they are even less common, so that's what I'm opting for. It's one of those moths which make you say "Ah!" when you spot them in the trap, because the marking is so distinctive.




Here's a pic of Gothic windows, too, for you to decide whether those responsible for christening the Gothic were correct to do so. I'm afraid there isn't a Perpendicular or Baroque moth, let alone a Post Modern. But there are thought to be plenty of species still undiscovered in remote parts of the world, so wait on.

Busy, busy

Help! Stop! The moths are pouring in now and I am overwhelmed. Grey Daggers, Light Emeralds, the first of the various yellow underwings... it's madness. Mind you, I turned the trap on unusually early last night, after going outside at 9.30 and noticing that moths were already on the wing, although it was still quite light.

Who can blame them? Dusk is a lovely time, with the air still warm at this time of the year, the wind usually still and scents very strong. Here's a picture of the trap in its usual setting, with rather more of the background showing than usual because of the good light.
Penny is responsible for the rockery, I should add, although I help with weed destruction. Also, below, some of last night's customers. The micro - is it a Large Fruit-tree Tortrix someone? - isn't actually molesting the Light Emerald. The trap's transparent collar forms a chastity screen. The two Light Emeralds snucked into the eggbox with a blurry Peppered moth and something I'll identify later, give a better idea of their actual colour. Lovely. If you double click on the pic, btw, it gets a lot bigger and you can see that they look like two beautiful grounded gliders.

Anyone for tennis?

Moths and butterflies have yet to feature on Wimbledon TV coverage, unlike various sorts of bird which make occasional appearances to the crowds' delight. But here's a posed tribute to the tournament, although this Spectacle moth was getting a bit narked by my gentle poking it into position with a wisteria flower stalk. It's poised for take-off, and take-off is what it subsequently did. One thing about Spectacle moths: they wear well. They've been coming to the trap regularly for over a month now but they still look in good shape, not at all tatty or torn. Maybe they have a 'rolling generation' and I keep getting new ones. Here's another handsome arrival in the trap too: a Beautiful Golden Y, understandably-named. Observe also my beautiful thumb. Warm nights, good moths, happy times.

Two by two

The moth season is really under way now, and the trap was like Noah's Ark this morning. Two Poplar Hawks, two Burnished Brass, two Buff Arches. There were Three Green Arches too, a Dark Arches and the first of the yellow underwings which will crowd in from now on. They are the aces at creeping right down inside the egg cones. The metallic scales of the Burnished Brass are lovely; if the moth is sleepy, as these were, you can twist their leaf around and watch the reflected light glint and fade. I also had this year's first Snouth moth this morning with its long upturned palps, but unlike these dozy pairs, it was wide awake and scooted away. That's an old rocket stick the Poplar Hawks are on, in case you were wondering.

Snapping the blues

A distinguished guest artist today: my Guardian colleague David Sillitoe, who came with me to do a piece about the new National Centre for the Ice Age which Sir David Attenborough opens this Friday at Cresswell Crags near Worksop. David's an eminent butterfly man as well as photographer; some of the specimens he collected as a teenager on a trip to the Middle East are in the national collection at Kensington. I was a bit dozy after getting up at 4.30am to cover the refinery protest at Lindsey, so it was David who spotted this Common Blue. I said: "Wait to see if it opens its wings" (the really blue part on the male) but he said: "The underwing is more beautiful." Now he's emailed me his picture, I'd say he's right. Cresswell Crags is an excellent place; a limestone gorge pockmarked with 25 caves on either side of an ornamental lake where the dukes of Portland went duck shooting. In 2003, the first real prehistoric cave art in Britain was discovered in Church Hole cave. Here's an enhanced view of a reindeer thanks to www.stone-circles.org, but be warned, the real thing is much less distinct and takes time to spot. Now that the £7 million centre is open, you can go and do that. See www.creswell-crags.org.uk