Tough cookie

I was pottering round the veg patch a couple of days ago, harvesting and clearing space for some new planting and sowing, when a movement at my feet caught my eye. Movement, along with smoke from a fire and worn paths, were dinned into us as children as sure ways to betray your presence should you find yourself being a partisan in enemy territory (unlikely in late 1950s England, but there we are).

It turned out to be this Small White butterfly, inveterate enemies of mine at least at the caterpillar stage, but I took sympathy on it because its right forewing was not properly formed, probably due to some mishap when emerging from its chrysalis.

I thought no more of it until the following day, when the same movement drew my attention again, in exactly the same spot. And there was the little butterfly, haplessly scrambling around because my bulk or movement had alarmed it.

It seemed a lesson in the toughness of these little creatures and, perhaps, the myopia of birds when insects are on the ground and - normally - staying still. I left the insect alone again, although it will probably mate and thus contribute to the devastation of my Purple-sprouting.

On my way back inside, my eye was caught again, this time not by movement, smoke or an over-used trail, but by a speck of warm colour on the paving flags - can you just see it, above? It proved to be a beautiful Painted Lady, one of loads around this year. They come from the continent in waves and are very attached to particular warm spots where they enjoy sun-bathing on heat-retaining surfaces.

Meanwhile, I finally found time to bike down the canal towpath to check if the aestivating Old Lady moths, which I described in this post a fortnight ago, were still there. No, like their counterparts in the charabanc, right, they have upped and gone. Much remains to be discovered about this fascinating episode including their apparent invulnerability from spiders whose webs were copious in the gloom, and - as Mark Griffiths points out on the Upper Thames Moths blog, bats.

The stonework fissures which earlier in the month were clogged with up to 200 Old Lady moths

Mixed company

The distinctive shape of Thorn moths is a feature of the trap at the moment; they perch with their wings angled up behind them in the style we were told to use when preparing to dive in swimming races at school. I was greeted immediately by these three when I lifted the lid yesterday morning - one Dusky to the bottom left and two Canary-shouldered, one of them startled by appearance into jumping on to the lightbulb which luckily had cooled down. Here they are closer up, Dusky, left, followed by its lovely, bright yellow-chested cousin below.

Also on the cowl was this little Yellow Shell, a moth which pays only occasional visits:

Equally pretty and in the same midget league, was one of the few pugs at whose identity I am prepared to hazard a guess.  I am pretty sure that it is a Double-striped, though I am standing by to be corrected.

Next we have a rather flightworn Copper Underwing whose condition has the advantage of allowing us a glimpse of the finely-coloured underwing which gives the species its name. These are extremely active moths when disturbed in the eggboxes, though they seldom fly away. They simply rush around trying to find a nook or cranny to escape from either daylight or my prying eyes.

I was talking about butterflies trespassing into the trap the other day. Yesterday morning I found a different intruder: this fine grasshopper. Update: many thanks to my Commentor - see below. This is a female Oak-bush Cricket. Like the moths, he or she was rendered dozy by the light and willingly agreed to be photographed. Normally this is a frustrating business when you try to follow one as it high-jumps around.

Finally from the trap, I can never resist including photos of Brimstone moths because their colour - appropriate in this post because of the Canary-shouldered Thorns - lifts the spirits. There was one in the trap, shown right, and one on rough grass nearby where it was instantly clear to my eyes though not, apparently, to the birds'.

Oh, and that wasn't actually finally. I'd forgotten that I also took this relatively close-up of a Burnished Brass's metallic wings, another must for inclusion whenever possible, ideally with my pyjamas for colour contrast.

Away from the trap, I am equally unable to resist butterfly walks in the current weather and I hope to get down to one of the local sites for the Adonis Blue, a ravishing-looking insect which I have never seen. Meanwhile, here are some more everyday but lovely neighbours, starting with a small, day-flying moth which I have yet to ID and then a Painted Lady - loads about this year - then three 'Smalls' - Small Heath, Small Copper and Small Tortoiseshell - and ending up with a glittery dragonfly. Update: again thanks to Conehead in Comments, this is a Common Darter.

Little dragon

We have had an unusual guest overnight; a pretty mature dragonfly nymph - the startlingly inappropriate name for these fearsome-looking youngsters. To me, a nymph is a slender young woman. But to dragonfly enthusiasts, it's the insect's larva.

They live underwater initially and are as predatory as they look, eating one another if they can find no other food. Once they are able to emerge and breathe freely, they prepare for the emergence of the beautiful, if also fierce-looking, adult from the black carapace without the intervening butterfly/moth stage of inert pupation. In the hope that this process might take place immediately, we kept the little dragon overnight. But this morning it is still a nymph, so we have let it go.

Update: thanks very much, as ever, to Conehead for correcting me on this. My evil-looking 'nymph' is indeed something much less appealing: a Devil's Coach-horse Beetle, a species which roams about at night feeding on decaying matter. I had never heard of these extremely well-named creatues and don't specially want to meet one again. As well as adopting this aggressive stance when disturbed, like a scorpion with tail raised and jaws open, they can exude a foul-smelling liquid if still angry and also apparently administer a painful bite.  Thanks very much for putting me on guard, C, and apologies for my mistake. I should have taken him or her down to the Devil's Backbone footpath in South Hinksey to restart wildlife in an apt spot.

Our other guests may be longer-term, though I am not sanguine about my chances of breeding them successfully. They are silkworm eggs, given to me by a friend whose hatchery on her narrowboat I described back in May - link here. It has taken me all this time to find some mulberry leaves; this first lot were kindly collected by my sister in Bradford and next week I am raiding the ancient tree at Merton, my former college in Oxford.

In the fridge, the leaves last very well but in the airing cupboard they wilt. It is the exact opposite with the eggs (and, I hope, caterpillars). Provided I can the one moist and the others warm, I may have further news.

In the meanwhile, with the sun out again, here is a little photographic hymn of praise to the Common, but utterly wonderful, Blue butterfly, whose numbers were recently reported in the national media to be showing a very welcome increase:

Isn't the iridescence great?

The underwing is lovely in a different way. I'm always pleased to get the contrast in a single picture

This female - usually browner, had such a strong element of blue that in flight I mistook her for a male

And finally, an example of the lovely mauve sheen which appears on the wings  as the butterflies bask and gently sip nectar, turning to catch a different angle of light

Not fair

A fifth paper dart moth for you this morning; a male Ringed China-mark. Typically, in a branch of the animal kingdom where the males tend to get the finery and bright colours, he is way more beautiful than his dull, brown consort - pic of the latter, left, from a post in July 2016.  I wonder, too, whether the very plain moth in yesterday's post might be a female RC-m too. Indeed, as per my updates to that post, I am sure that it is.

The contrast hardly seems fair; although it could be argued that this reversal of the general human pattern, where women tend to glam up more, suggests that it's the female moths which actually call the shots. The males seem to be the ones who feel the need to attract a mate, with their equivalents of fashion and cosmetics. 

However, moth psychology probably isn't a very sound topic, so over to moth art. Sorry for the slight blurring in the top picture but I wanted to get in a bit of red from my pyjamas. We were taught at school that John Constable deliberately included a spot of red in his largely green and blue landscapes to focus the admirer's eyes, usually on horses' tack,  so I am following a distinguished example.

I balanced the light trap on top of our (unlit) bonfire on Wednesday night in the hope of spreading its allure more widely at a rather drab point of the season. The strategy wasn't particularly successful, but the core of brown and slightly dull moths was bolstered by the bright Orange Swift and a second generation Pale Oak Beauty, both below.

Purely for the colour they lend to things, here also are a couple of iridescent moths, a Burnished Brsas and a Mother-of-Pearl micro, both very familiar but lovely with the sheen from their reflecting and refracting wing scales. 

Thence in conclusion for today to another macro which will be around in numbers for the next few weeks, the Square-spot Rustic. Like a lot of its ilk, its superficially 'boring' pattern repays closer inspection.

Cocky robin

Because the moths weren't specially interesting on Wednesday night, I thought that I would start today's post with a picture of something else: one of the robins which closely monitor my check on the trap every time I carry it out, along with several equally interested blackbirds. I generally succeed in scaring them off, although they boldly come very close, but occasionally a rash moth will flutter off from the eggboxes. Then - whoosh! - one of the birds streaks in and, just as speedily, streaks off, with the foolhardy insect in its beak.

On this occasion, I am glad to say, they had no success. Apart from a few Mother of Pearls like the one pictured left, in which the birds showed no interest, the moths were all too sleepy to make a premature departure. So I was able to photograph them in peace, starting with this little series of examples shaped like the paper darts we made at school (and in my case, still make with the grandchildren).

The first, above, is the Garden Pebble micro, Evergestis forficalis, whose characteristic pose makes it instantly recognisable. Then below, we have two more micros, the European Corn-borer (sounds like a hazard of the Brexit debate), Ostrinia nubilalis, a pest on maize which gives me some concern as we are growing sweetcorn in the veg patch, and the rather sadly ordinary Helcystogramma rufescens (I think - although, Update, it may be a female Ringed China-mark, a moth which will figure in tomorrow's post). In fact, Further Update, I am sure it is. You can see the rather hazy pair of rings.

And lastly, in this mini-series, a Straw Dot, not much larger than the three above but classified as a macro moth.

Elsewhere in the trap, I found this pretty Red Twin-spot Carpet, seen below with my thumbnail for scale and alongside another attractive regular, a Lime-speck Pug.

Then we have a pairing which appealed to me, of a Common Swift with one of the Plume micro moths, and finally a couple of pictures of a moth which will be a regular in the trap for the next few weeks, the Flounced Rustic.