The Art of Emerging

Moths seem to have played an increasing part in imagery during the years I've been running a light trap. Butterflies still predominate in fashion designs and the like, by a good margin, but their humbler cousins are getting a fairer share.

Take for example the work of Sarah Smith, a student at Glasgow School of Art, where Penny and I have just joined happy celebrations of our lovely niece Rosie's graduation with a first class degree  - check out this reference to her in Creative Review as a 'visual powerhouse'. What more could anyone want to be (other than a moth).

Anyway, I was most pleased that her colleague Sarah acknowledged moths as well as butterflies in her display, which featured mini-dancers emerging from their cocoons. Just to reinforce the appropriateness of her imagery, here are some beautifully designed moths from last week's bumper haul, which I am still sorting.

But first, and also appropriate to the incongruity of some of Sarah's half-human, half-insect man- and womenekins, here is a curious combination from the eggboxes - half moth, half snail. Both appeared to have survived their night together and I carefully separated them and hid them in different refuges from our busy and inquisitive garden birds.

Now for a lovely moth; I am fairly sure that he or she is a Sallow Kitten. Distinguishing these from the equally beautiful and very similar Poplar Kitten is beyond my powers but the Sallow is more common and therefore the likelier bet.

Here, below, is a pretty Brimstone moth, probably a second brood encouraged by the current magnificent midsummer weather, and then two studies in black and white or chiaroscuro as artists call it: a lovely Marbles Coronet and a Clouded Border.

And finally for now, a subtly understated mixture of cappucinos on a moth I will ID later and a Dot Moth, which even I can get right and whose name needs no explanation.

Jaws - for lettuce

I've lent the moth trap for a couple of nights to neighbours who live the other side of the canal and closer to the river. They have a lot more trees nearby and it will be interesting to see if this slightly different landscape brings them moths which I don't get here, and vice versa.

Although our surroundings are a little loess watery than theirs, I was visited on Friday night by two sharks. Not the intimidating fish but its streamlined namesake in the moth world, shown above and - with my nice pyjamas) below. It is well-named, with its silvery-grey colouring and sleek lines, but the eating habits of its caterpillars are much cosier than those in the world of Jaws. Wild lettuce, for example; something we have in abundance, at least in the form of lettuces in the allotment which keep sprouting green towers because we and our neighbours can't eat them quickly enough.

The Shark and its relatives in the Cuculliinae family of noctuid moths (sorry to lapse into science-speak; one day I will find out why they are named after the fearsome Irish giant who carried a thunderbolt around disguised as a pancake) share the prominent 'quiff' shown in the lower picture and from a different angle below. They also share somewhat intimidating English names; others in the group include the Wormwood, Mullein and Cudweed moths.

The Shark I've shown so far was dozing obediently in the eggboxes but the second one was a more independent character. Here it is below, as I came across it, tucked into a crevice of the stone wall a yard from where the trap was standing.

The trap has been very busy in recent days and so have I, so apologies for the interval since the last post. I won't bang on now but will show some of the other arrivals over the next couple of days while the light is on holiday. Meanwhile, here in conclusion are a couple of pretty Carpet moths which came the other night: a Spruce, the first this year but a regular visitor in 2013, and the Sandy, which is common but has not called on me before.

Thermidor comes early

A distinguished gentleman caller visited the trap last night - this Lobster Moth with its fine fur coat and bristling moustache of antennae. Most interesting to me, though, is how early it has arrived compared to last year, when my first (and only) Lobster arrived on 1 July - the post is here if you'd like to read it. It includes a pic of the extraordinarily lobster-like caterpillar which gives the moth its otherwise puzzling name; and even a small poem I wrote on the subject.

This is in keeping with the general trend this year, with almost everything arriving at least a fortnight earlier than in 2013. Why should this be so? I guess we need to look at the weather over the last six months; an exceptionally warm winter and a lovely sunny start to summer.

The word 'lobster' associates in my mind with 'Thermidor', the most famous of the shellfish's recipes and also the name of the French Revolutionaries' eleventh month. This didn't begin until 19/20 July and my moth is a Lobster Prairial, the month spanning May 20/21 - June 18/19, with Messidor coming in between. Complicated lot, those French Revolutionaries.

This is a male lobster. They are the only sex with the TV aerial antennae (metaphor morning eh?) and females seldom come to light. The trap was overflowing with other moths including a Pebble Prominent in fine condition, a species which has been coming for over two months now, lots and lots of Hearts and Darts and Buff Ermines, and the delicate Ribvand Wave and Common White Wave and  below. Seen beside the Lobster, they inevitably prompt thoughts of Beauty and the Beast. But a lovable old beast, for all that.

Oh and finally, a beautifully understated visitor, below, of the kind which I can never ID. But I'm going to guess a Pale Mottled Willow. Update: wrongly. It's a Mottled Rustic. At least I got Mottled right...

Ant and bee

It's moth Heaven at the moment - here's a Scarlet Tiger
drying out after the thunderstorm which I mention below

One of our very nice neighbours (and eggbox suppliers) is laid up with a fractured leg, an extremely frustrating thing to happen as summer gets into its swing. But she has some compensation in the time she can spend watching local birds and their behaviour. Last night, she gave us a brilliant description of a large thrush 'anting'.

This is an extraordinary process whereby at least 20 species of bird have been observed either rubbing themselves with individual ants or 'dust-bathing', as the thrush was doing, on or near an ants' nest. As you can read here, the reasons for the practice are the subject of debate, all these years after it was first described in a scientific paper in 1935.

By coincidence, I have been visited by a micro-moth which has a special relationship with another insect, the bee, a dependence which has earned it its English name, the Bee moth. This is easier to use than the Latin form with which all our poor micros are saddled, but for the record, that is Aphomia sociella; and actually it's not just useful for the record but as a description of the way the caterpillars of the moth are social, part of those famously close-knit entities, bumble bees' and wasps' nests.

For reasons which again leave scientists uncertain, these potentially harmful hosts allow the caterpillars to live in the nest, nibbling up debris, old wax cells and sometimes small bee and wasp larvae as well. Appropriately for a moth with such an interesting but largely hidden history, the Bee Moth hides its distinctive colouring except at close range. What looks like a small grey smudge at first sight in the eggboxes is actually a beautifully-clad creature, whose outfit includes jaggedly angled patterns and a particularly delicate sheen of sea-green.

This afternoon I encountered a less friendly relationship between this Light Emerald moth, below, and a spider. When I took the picture, I sadly assumed that the moth was dead. But when I broke the web, it began fluttering violently, shook off the last sticky strands and soared away. Luckily the robin was patrolling elsewhere.

We've been away and I'm a bit behind with trap-reporting, but here are some highlights of the last couple of nights. On Friday there was a spectacular thunderstorm at 11.30pm so I padded out in my pyjamas and turned the light off, uncertain as to what might happen if it was struck by lightning. In the morning, however, there was a fine complement of visitors in and around the trap and here are some of them.

Another Scarlet Tiger, showing its bright red underwing after a crash landing

That common but lovely moth, the Burnished Brass

I think this is a Plain Golden Y,  a misnamed moth if ever there was one

And here's another - the Single-dotted Wave seems to have several dots to me

No quarrel with Beautiful Hook-tip as a choice for this one, though

The eccentric Barred Straw, the only UK moth apart from the Spinach...

...to rest like this

A Green Oak Tortrix nestling up to a Pug (which I will need a lot more time to ID)

Ditto with this micro although I think...

...it may be a pallid version of this familiar but beautiful
visitor, Pseudargyrotoza conwagan

This is one of the Eudonia micros

And this is...um...I will let you know soon

Computer moth

This is the time of year when moths in the UK are most visible to the world at large. Porch lights or even the softer glow from the hatch of a friend's narrowboat down the road bring them fluttering. Plenty of people have reported to me seeing the bright red flicker of a Cinnabar flying by day.

I had my own experience last night when, catching up on yesterday's moth-stacked post, I noted a small blemish on the screen. Blemish? It was actually a lovely little Twenty-plume micro whose skeletal appearance was clearly shown by the bright light behind.

Here it is again closer, creeping over the picture of the Green Silver Lines from yesterday's post. Meanwhile, the trap was much quieter last night, probably because I put it in a shady nook, but it did yield my first intact Light Emerald. You may recall that I found a bird-murdered one earlier in the week.

Amazing how much is written on eggboxes these days!  Be that as it may, this Willow Beauty preferred to rest away from all the text inside a cone. Update: Apologies, it's a Mottled Beauty. Many thanks to Paul in Comments, and Ray. And the Straw Dot below spurned the trap altogether and perched on a bramble leaf.

PS: Although I am cross with robins at the moment because of their vigilance around the trap - and the shed, where I found one yesterday, looking in vain for moths - I like birds. And we have a lot of them. Here's one of the m,any, almost tame mallards snoozing with her brood on the canal towpath, undisturbed even by my wobbly bicycle's bell.

Multitudes, part 2

The catch was so stupendous on Monday night that I have given myself a rest as well as the moths. I don't think I'll ever catch up completely - there were 53 Hearts and Darts alone - but here are some more of the arrivals on that lovely warm night.  Above is an old favourite, the Dark Arches, whose name is also used for the fascinating undercroft of Leeds City Station, a series of gloomy brick arcades over the rushing river Aire.

Then we have a least Black Arches, above, and a curious micro below which I will have to spend time tracking down in my various books or online. Update: see the infinitely wise Ben in Comments. I shall fully update the text of the post later.  Thanks ever so, yet again, Ben!

What a handsome Carpet moth this is, below, even though it is only  the Common member of this large family.

And here is a Bee Moth micro followed by a Green Pug whose perch on the trap's transparent collar allowed me to photograph it with a rather beautiful French impressionistic background.

Another micro to keep me occupied

and then this lovely beast below, a Broad-barred White

and a Coronet, with a rather similar colourway

Next, a Shears, in good condition and showing its little nippers particularly well

And then another engaging micro, which will have me deep in study later.

So to one of those tedious Noctuids, a polite name for the brownish moths of a certain size which I find very hard to distinguish.

And here's another. albeit rather more handsome

And another, this time almost verging on the pretty

And a fourth, tail to tail with a Bright-line, Brown-eye, which I do recognise.

And so to a final few, each with a caption. Here's to more warm June nights. The lamp is glowing as I write...

Bright-line, Brown-eye

The first of three micros whose turn for ID-ing will take a while

A second micro which is going to need careful attention to the books

And a third,  blue-eyed micro which I'll ID later (unless someone beats me to it)

Pale Prominent with its distinctive twin exhausts - a species now well into
 its second month of visiting

Cinnabar outside the trap - like White Ermines and Brimstone moths,
this species is wary of going inside