Eye, eye. What an eyeful

The lamp shone out last night for the first time in three days, and my virtuous decision to give the local moths a break was lavishly rewarded.

This beautiful creature is classified as 'common' but is seldom seen by the average Brit, other than in newspaper articles about Natural Wonders where it understandably makes regular appearances as an example of deterrent camouflage, as below - an imaginative comparison with a fox from the Sunday Telegraph which I posted about two years ago.

The visitor is an Eyed Hawkmoth, whose eyes - as blue as any film star could wish, or indeed as my own - have been shown to give insectivorous birds second thoughts. They don't always show, mind you. When I first upturned the eggbox under which it was sleeping, I thought that the Poplar Hawk which visited me last month had come back for a second stay.

Mmm... Could be a Poplar Hawk?

Indeed, I had to encourage it to give me a wink, as shown below. It was so sound asleep that my nudges had no other effect. It was only later, when I tried to shake it off the box into the safety of a thick nettlebed, that I was treated to the the full Princess Diana look. I hastily brought back the box, to which it was still clinging, for a second photo sesh.

Winking one way...

...then the other

And now we're waking up; albeit not quite ready to move the forewings fully forward for the full pink glow

Another feature of this handsome insect is a modern, Mohican-style haircut, almost exactly the same as that sported by a man in Oxford Marks & Sparks who sold me a new pair of trousers yesterday.

I am, however, starting to stray from the subject of moths, so will leave you with a final picture of my handsome guest. This is the second hawkmoth to visit us in our new surroundings. To equal Leeds, however, Oxfordshire still has to come up with Lime and Elephant Hawks.

Making a meal of it

Penny's reputation as Top Spotter of Indoor Moths has been further burnished after she called me through to see "a pretty little moth" which was perched on the dining room door.

I imagined it would be one of the Carpets which abound in the garden and often flutter about by day but instead it was this: the micro Pyralis farinalis or the Meal Moth, which featured on the blog last August, in two successive posts. It shares with some of the Carpets a perky habit of sticking its tail in the air when at rest. It spent the whole of yesterday in this position in the same place, but this morning it has flitted.

As its name implies - farina is Latin for flour - its larvae like grain and cereal, especially if it is stored and somewhat neglected, like an unfinished box of Corn Flakes which we brought with us from Leeds. Was this moth a stowaway then, a common modern method of species distribution? I notice that it hasn't yet appeared on the excellent list of moths recorded so far this year by Upper Thames Butterfly Conservation, which has got to 291 (and reached 945 last season). It will do, now.

Incy wincy

Apologies to passing and unwitting arachnophobes

The moths had another rest last night while I continue to catch up with previous arrivals - and also because of a diversion catching spiders. I like these in a Charlotte's Web sort of way but there's a limit to how many of their webs you can allow indoors. Penny and I are not yet ready to become a couple of Miss Havershams.

Our new operations follow the rediscovery of our electric spidercatcher, one of those strange possessions you forget about and only rediscover in a house move. Here it is in action. It looks like a Star Wars light-sabre and gently sucks spiders into its tube. Then you take them outside and shake them out into their bracing new home.

After Ray's brilliant identifications yesterday of my beetle and earwig, maybe he or another passing expert will identify (a) this spider and (b) its prey, or (c) is it the skin which spiders shed as they grow up? I'd opt for (c). Meanwhile here's the latest newcomer from Friday night's haul in the trap: a prettily patterned Clouded-border Brindle, which occasionally came to see us in Leeds.

There was also this Bright-line Brown-eye and one of those maddening brown moths with square and kidney shapes which I fear I will never sort out (pictured from two angles below). But I keep trying.  I can't see anything in my Moth Bible with those two little black dots, but I'll opt for a Common Quaker. It's interesting, incidentally, to compare its patterning with both the Clouded-border Brindle and the Bright-line Brown-eye and to see how all three have the squares, kidneys and dots in common. Infuriating...

Dropping in

I gave the trap a rest last night in gratitude for yesterday's Puss Moth; and also to find space to catch up on the rest of Friday night's arrivals. They continued the high level of interest which I'm getting from the insect inhabitants of our new home. Just as the Puss Moth was a large novelty for me, so this little character is a very small one.

Character is the word. It is a Chinese Character, a species so tiny that first I took it to be a micro-moth. To be precise, at very first I thought that it was a bird dropping - not an uncommon thing on the trap's transparent shield where birds sometimes perch and look frustratedly at the moths inside. Breakfast so near, but so far away.

While we're on bird droppings, a second arrival was this Flame moth, which also has a look of one, albeit maybe deposited after eating a bigger worm.

True to informative form, my invaluable Moth Bible says of the Chinese Character: 'When at rest, with wings held steeply over the body, it closely resembles a bird dropping.'  Mine was only about a centimetre long and I'm sorry the picture's a bit blurry, but I hope you can make out the silver Chinese-y writing in the dark patch on its folded wing which accounts for the name.  It also has the shape of those little wooden counters which represented ten armies in 'Risk!", our childhood boardgame of World Domination. It's classified as 'common' like the Puss Moth, but like the Puss Moth, I have never seen one before.

A third newcomer (for Oxford; we had them in Leeds) was the Lychnis above, which curiously repeats the pattern of last week when I misidentified a Pine Beauty as a Common Swift, only for three genuine Common Swifts to fly in four days later to console me. Three days ago, I misidentified a Shears as a Lychnis and - hey presto! - what should arrive on Friday night but two genuine Lychnises.

I'll conclude with two other, non-mothy inhabitants of the eggboxes, just to show that the moths don't have the place to themselves. Now, where are my beetle and earwig guides..?

Miaow!

It was breezy and a bit chilly this morning, not at all the sort of weather in which I'd expect to find the most satisfying moth of our time in Oxfordshire so far. Nor were the circumstances of the discovery normal. In fact, I almost trod on it on my way back to take Penny the morning tea.

It was like this. The trap was fuller than I expected, with some interesting arrivals who will have to wait their turn in view of what happened next. After photographing them, then sneaking them under shrubs to avoid a thrush which was busy de-worming our veg patch, and finally packing up the egg boxes, I headed back indoors.

One way of measuring. My matchless Moth Bible notes the Puss Moth's habit of not entering light traps but settling nearby, as happened with me

And there on the lawn was this vast - as it seemed - moth-shaped object. Normally these are leaves which resemble moths but in this case, Bingo! It was a Puss Moth, a species I have wanted to see since I was a boy.

A better way, maybe. The moth was exactly 4cms long which is BIG for the UK

Others may scoff, because it is not uncommon, but I have never met one and they are the stuff of legend. This is partly because of their size, in the second rank only to the hawk moths and on a par with the big underwings, the Emperor and some of the Eggars, partly because of their beautiful dazzle camouflage and mostly because of their quite extraordinary caterpillars.

Would you risk eating this if you were a bird? Thanks for the pic to the Natural History Museum

I still have yet to see one of these and next year I will be examining local poplars and willows closely for signs of the voracious leaf-eating which marks their presence. Small but fearsome-looking, they and their smaller relatives the kitten moth larvae are equipped with a double tail-whip to flick at parasites whose aim is to eat them alive.

The Puss Moth is still slumbering in an eggbox and I plan to take it to show Penny in a moment with her tea. One final thing to point out: the camouflage is enhanced by the translucent nature of the wingtips which I've tried to illustrate with this picture of the metal end of my tape measure. Apologies for my vegetable gardener's thumbnails.

This time, it really IS a Common Swift. Or three

Here's an example of non-virtue being rewarded, although I admit to feeling sneakily pleased. A few posts ago, I misidentified a Pine Beauty as a Common Swift, which will come as no surprise to regular browsers. Well, last night a Common Swift really did come to the lamp. In fact three did.

In the process of photographing them, one was awoken and scrambled down on to the grass (top picture) which allowed me a picture of both of its wings spread out, rather than the usual resting position in which the moth clamps them tightly together (as in the second and third pictures, above). This has led to my Moth Bible's incomparable illustrator, Richard Lewington, choosing the Common Swift as one of a handful of moths shown from the side, rather than above - because the great value of the book is that it shows the insects as you tend to find them rather than 'set', with their wings spread out, as happens in academic collections of dead ones.

That was what misled me over the Pine Beauty, or so I maintain, because it is shown from above when in some ways, you could argue that its similar clamping habit merits a side picture. Whatever, the Swifts were double welcome because the one pictured immediately one is the less brightly patterned type which is a common variant from the norm.

As usual, there was a roll of Green Carpets and a Twin-spot Carpet as well as two Brimstones (one shown above), a Flame Shoulder and a Hebrew Character. Plus this newcomer, below, which I think is an Uncertain; I also hope that it is because of the very enjoyable name, which ranks with the Suspected as proof that I am not the only enthusiast who struggles with getting identification right.  (Update: 'struggle' is the word. You may have read Dave's cryptic comment which quite rightly follows the old Oxfam principle of 'Give a man a fish' being of less value than 'Teach a man to fish'. Well, I puzzled and puzzled but was still uncertain, but then another Dave, Dave Wilton of the excellent Upper Thames Butterfly Conservation - see top entry on Mothy Links above, left), came to the rescue. It's a Brown Rustic, which Waring, Townsend and Lewington humiliatingly describe as 'not usually a difficult moth to recognise'. Oh well...)

PS  I forgot to say that yesterday I heard my first cuckoo, or rather a pair of them calling to one another, as I biked home from Oxford along the canal.  This probably says more about my movements than the lateness or otherwise of the seasons this year, but the first call is famously associated more with Spring than with June (although officially Spring doesn't end nor Summer begin in most almanacs until 21 June, the longest day of the year).

Back at the trap

Home again; and the nighttime brought these new arrivals, above and below. I think the first is a Lychnis and the second a Purple Bar. Both were familiar in Leeds and it's good to see them here in Oxfordshire too. (Hang on... check out the comment by Learned Dave, my invaluable expert friend. They are in fact a Shears and a Silver-ground Carpet. But I had both of these in Leeds too). PS I should have recognised the Shears from the marking halfway down its forewing which looks like the blades of garden secateurs or indeed shears, as shown above - and more distinctly in Townsend, Waring & Lewington).

The trap was also home to three White Ermines, such a delicately beautiful moth that I couldn't resist taking another picture - this one below, which initially had Penny thinking the moth was child-size and snuggled up in one of our Habitat armchairs whose fabric resembles the eggboxes', at least on a photograph.

Completing the tally, were two Pebble Prominents, five Green Carpets, a Chocolate Tip, a Maybug and this Red Twin-spot Carpet below, another small but finely-patterned regular.

Trains, big and small

Work and family commitments took me back to Bradford yesterday, with non-stop sunshine blessing the proceedings. Train travel between the city, Leeds and Halifax at the moment is a delight, a journey in more or less continuous corridors of green with trees and wildflowers still in their fresh early stages because of the late arrival of the seasons this year.

My complex itinerary included a walk from an uncle in Nab Wood to a cousin on the road between Manningham and Shipley and this, typically of West Riding cities and towns, involved leaving suburbia, plunging instantly into deep, thickly wooded countryside, and then just as rapidly returning to houses and road.

In this case, the surroundings of Northcliffe Wood were new to me; but not to Speckled Woods such as the one above which were flitting about in the dappled sunshine, while Meadow Browns, Green-veined Whites and Orange Tips enjoyed the full sunshine at the edge of the golf course and open stretches of field.

The second picture shows the backdrop to the first photo. The bluebells are still at their best in the shadier parts of the wood. And then as the track descended, I suddenly came across the complex layout of a miniature railway - most mysterious in the quiet (apart from birdsong) with absolutely no one else around. I exulted to my cousin about finding a secret train layout in the wood and got the gentle put-down: "Everyone knows about the railway. They have steam days and we used to go on it as kids."  But I didn't, and it added to my agreement with the slogan promoted by the city's brilliant tourism officer Maria Glott is days gone by: 'Bradford - A Surprising Place'.

Little and large

Four new arrivals last night amid the positive souk of Green Carpets which flourish in this part of the world. Every time I walk past our hawthorn hedge in the daytime, three or four flutter out and there were 14 in the trap this morning, some vivid green, others faded.

Two of the newcomers were small - see below - and I'll try to sort them out later. One at least is pretty distinctive, as are the two large arrivals: a Pale Tussock (top) and a Buff Tip (above and bottom).

Micro number one

Micro number two

The Pale Tussock is one of those fine moths given to wearing hairy trews, as in the old rhyme about Anne Boleyn (much on tele and in the literary news in the UK at present) which was a favourite of my Dad's.

Anne Boleyn had no breeches to wear

So King bought a sheepskin and made her a pair

Leather side out and woolly side in

Eeeh! It were warm in summer for Anne Boleyn

The Pale Tussock wears its breeches the correct, woolly side out. This one is a male, denoted by its orangey-brown antennae and smaller size than the female, even though it's a good sturdy insect in its own right. As with pubs in days gone by, it's the men who go out at night and are attracted by light. The females are more demure. My Moth Bible adds that the species, although still common, was very widespread in our hopfields until the arrival of insecticide - so much so, that it was nick-named the 'Hop Dog'.

I can see a smiley face with a wink. Can you?

The Buff Tip is tremendously characterful, wonderfully mimicking a broken twig, although it also puts me in mind of the stubb of some exotic cheroot.



Lovely weather here at the moment. Hope also with you.

Here we go again

Cinnabar in sunshine, like someone trying on an oversize anorak in a Keswick outdoors shop. Today's job: clean the greenhouse windows

Coincidences are fascinating, inspiring such luminaries as Arthur Koestler to pay them attention and speculate on whether and if so how the brain creates a 'series' in some cases and not in others.

Cinnabar in shade - more like a minor Catholic dignitary attending yesterday's Cardinal Beetle. Note how torn right forewing reveals extra strip of red from underwing. Like the subtle changes we used to make to improve school uniform.

Here's an example: the Cinnabar Moth, which featured on the blog five days ago for the first time since I mused about one which I found dead in our greenhouse in Leeds in May two years ago.

Next thing, Penny and I find ourselves talking at a very enjoyable canal fete in Thrupp with a nice couple who own a narrowboat called 'Cinnabar' - and discover that she is named after the moth because it's abundant in nearby fields. Then yesterday's post involved the Red-headed Cardinal Beetle which at first - in flight - I took to be a Cinnabar or Burnet moth because of the blur of red and black as it zoomed along.

Now, what do we have in our greenhouse here but...the Cinnabar above, photographed in light and shade to show that the camera does indeed lie, or at least presents two version of the truth. The effect of heat in greenhouses on insects which probably did for the Leeds Cinnabar was also shown here yesterday; a final coincidence. It is the only way I can account for the sad fate of this Green-veined White which Penny discovered on the floor beside my daughter-in-law's gift of a small but sturdy tomato plant.

You can click on any pic to make it bigger

His (or possibly her) Eminence

I thought I'd give the moths - and my faltering identification skills - a rest today and my resolution was strengthened by discovering this lovely beetle. It was flying when I saw it, in the little blur of red and black which often signifies a day-flying Burnet moth or a Cinnabar such as the one featured here four posts ago.

But when it whirred to a halt on a pot of flowers, it proved to be this instead. Hence it's Martin's Beetles today, and I think that this is a Cardinal Beetle, named after its resemblance to the robes of those gents from Wolsey to the Vatican conclave which recently elected the Pope.  It looks like Pyrochroa serraticornis which has a red head, while its relative coccinea has a black one.

Here it is again showing its toothed right antenna which corresponds to the picture on the excellent website UK Safari. This does warn that 'Cardinal sightings' often turn out to be the even brighter red Lily Beetles, but I'm as confident as anyone of my dubious identifying reputation can be that this is not one of those.

The Lily Beetles have long been in the doghouse as pests of lilies, having arrived in the UK in the last century on imported flowers. UK Safari notes winningly that:

Their larvae have a delightful habit of disguising themselves as a pile of bird droppings. They do this by covering themselves in their own poo (don't try this at home kids).