Prickly personality

I was picking runner beans for supper yesterday when I found this rather alarming object in possession of a bean I wanted to pinch off. Slightly less alarming when I tell you that it was roughly half as big as a lemon pip, but it was impressively well-armoured against enemies its own size. 

It's the larva of a Harlequin ladybird, a species of great ferocity whose young cannibalise one another if they get the chance. Woe betide any aphid which encounters an adult ladybird too; they are like dragonflies in the speed and ruthlessness with which they Hoover up prey.

That is not how we see them in our sentimental cultural portrayal of animals of course; as for example in my bicycle bell. I show this because after eating our runner beans, Penny and I went for a spin round Kidlington, as did an impressive number of Silver Y moths such as the one shown, rather blurrred, sorry, nectaring from a thistle-type plant below.

I followed it round a clump of thistly flowers until it appeared to speed off. Then a tickle revealed that it has sped only as far as my right leg. Here are leg and moth below, with my trainers down in the distance. This is a genuine day-flying moth rather than one disturbed from its slumbers by the ting of my bicycle bell.

Lovely though it may be, my leg is not the image I'll leave you with. Here in rapid succession are two of my fingers hosting a Marbled or Tawny Marbled Minor.  After yesterday's rather brown spectrum of moths, I've also added a Swallowtailed moth on a well-chosen eggbox, a Buff Ermine which chose a gaudier perch, a perky green V-pug (I think) which thinks it's a butterfly and one of our long-stay visitors, an Elephant Hawkmoth; these are now entering their third month of coming to the trap. Also one of the most delicate of the 'Laura Ashley moths', a Clouded Silver, a species which has moved north dramatically in recent decades, like the BBC. Let Government departments do likewise.

And finally, a couple of interesting points relating to earlier posts. Yesterday in Comments, Phil Gates whose blogs make fascinating reading (click on his name in the Comment) described how Large, Small and Green-veined Whites were attracted to white sweet peas he grew one year, conceivably mistaking the flowers for fellow-butterflies. This reminded me of a picture I took a couple of weeks ago of a wild rose bloom doing the same thing - it had me fooled.

And thanks to the excellent Upper Thames Butterfly Conservation (first link on the left at the top of the blog), I can pass this on from their member Dave Wilton about the puzzling micro I featured on Thursday with its hindwings folded forward and upwards in butterfly style. Here's a pic of it followed by Dave's explanation. Many thanks to him.

"This is Batia unitella and it wouldn't normally be sitting in that way. The shock of entering the trap, possibly after striking the hot light bulb on the way in, may have caused the wings to get out of synch with each other. Often this situation sorts itself out the next time the moth tries to fly."

I hope so. Certainly it managed to take flight apparently normally when I took its eggbox to a shrub and gave it a gentle blow.

If you know of a better 'ole

I was lazy yesterday, describing my Brussels sprout caterpillars as either this or that, and later on in the day I was duly rebuked by finding a different one, this time on the Purple-sprouting. When I saw the photo on the computer - because with a digital camera in sunshine, I never really know what I am snapping - I thought of Bruce Bairnsfather's famous First World War cartoon. Hence the post's title.

Today's catty is a Small White's and yesterday's were Large Whites, which along with the Green-veined White are much the commonest butterflies in the UK. Don't let's be sniffy about them, though. They flutter about like snowflakes in summer and their simple colours and wing patterns are lovely from close-up.

Things have been a bit busy, so the moths are having a rest and there's time to catch up with some of the the less gaudy and more familiar arrivals in recent days. In alphabetical order for once, here's the Harry Potterish micro duo of Agonopterix alstrumeriana followed by Apotomis Betuletana, above

Next, a Beaded Chestnut if my ID skills are correct which is often not the case; and below another moth on which I have a dodgy reputation, but I think that it's a Coronet. I mustn't make rude remarks about small brown moths all looking alike because this one has a lovely patterning and palette of colours which deserves a close, patient look.

It's less easy to get excited about the Double Square-spot which comes next but the Least and Lesser Bordered Yellow Underwings which follow are handsome when in good condition. I am trying hard to erase memories of exhaustion when scores and scores of this tribe appeared together in the trap at this time of year in Leeds.  They're more enjoyable when seen by day when you often disturb one on a country walk and it jinks off madly, somehow managing not to hit anything.

There's been no 'yellow underwing' glut in our first season in Oxfordshire, but a Commentor pointed out a few days ago that there are reports from different parts of the country of the various members of the family being notably fewer in number this year. I hope my frequent moans in the past haven't had some effect.

No complaints about another moth with drab colours but delicate patterning: the Lychnis, below, although you have every right to complain about my camera wobble. Sorry. And the Nut-tree Tussock which follows it - in a state of slight disarray after its eggbox tipped over and it briefly panicked - is another lovely creature whose wing patterns over-ride their its subdued colouring.

Here comes Pyrausta Purpuralis, a micro with a rather grand name although you have to look hard to see the purplish tinge; and then below it Scoparia pyralella followed by a newcomer, albeit common: the Shaded Brown-bar.

Finally, a favourite moth in Leeds because of the textile connections of its name: the Shuttle-shape Dart. The Cotswolds were also big in textiles, mind. I was very struck on a recent visit to Stroud by the old mills and chimneys. Set in a steep valley with a thriving counter-culture, the whole place was reminiscent of that Northern Shangri-la, Hebden Bridge. 

The snake's tale

Or tail, to be precise. I nipped out into the sunshine yesterday and found myself eyeballing a plump and contented-looking grass snake just outside the door. Content, that is, until it realised that a potential predator had both seen it and made a startled noise ('Ooooh!'), at which point it froze.

As so often at the vital moment, I didn't have my camera. I debated about waiting for Penny to appear, and neither of us moved for thirty seconds, then my nerve cracked first and I sped back indoors to get the Canon Ixus. As I expected, the snake was halfway into the safety of a hole in the paving when I got back.

I managed this glimpse of its tail though, which I was sorely tempted to pull, but snakes have a deterrent effect on such antics. But I know where it lives and hope to see it again, a handsome and harmless creature about 2ft 6ins long to add to the slow-worms, toads and frogs which Penny and I uncovered while digging a flowerbed last month.



The only one of the UK's four snakes to watch out for is the adder or viper which I do not want to have in our garden because it is poisonous. Update: sorry, venomous, not poisonous. See correction from the lovely North York Moors in Comments. The chances are slim, because they generally like to bask in heathland rather than on patios or lawns.

Snakes used to be called 'worms' in Biblical and mediaeval English and the same word was used for caterpillars, of which we currently have a plague. Look at these Large/Small or Green-veined White ones on our Brussels Sprouts. Do we opt for nature conservation against yummy Christmas veg? We do not.

Meanwhile, an epic drama is being played out in the caterpillar world here as our Cinnabar larvae face the decision: do we stay on the Wainwright's solitary and now almost wholly gobbled ragwort plant and make our cocoons there, or do we strike out like English colonists and explorers in ages gone, and see if we can find another source of food?

Here, above and below, are two of the latter, pioneering type. I hope, without much optimism, that they will not end up like Kipling's lost venturers in the Song of the Dead:

We were dreamers, dreaming greatly, in the man-stifled town;
We yearned beyond the sky-line where the strange roads go down.
Came the Whisper, came the Vision, came the Power with the Need,
Till the Soul that is not man’s soul was lent us to lead.
As the deer breaks—as the steer breaks—from the herd where they graze,
In the faith of little children we went on our ways.
Then the wood failed—then the food failed—then the last water dried—
In the faith of little children we lay down and died.

On the sand-drift—on the veldt-side—in the fern-scrub we lay,
That our sons might follow after by the bones on the way.
Follow after—follow after! We have watered the root,
And the bud has come to blossom that ripens for fruit!
Follow after—we are waiting, by the trails that we lost,
For the sounds of many footsteps, for the tread of a host.
Follow after—follow after—for the harvest is sown:
By the bones about the wayside ye shall come to your own! 

W.Heath Robinson illustration for the poem

Rousing Imperial stuff but maybe bad advice for caterpillars. Back to earth with two ladybirds, one a black example of the American invader, the Harlequin, and the other a traditional red native Seven-spot whose future may be Harlequin-threatened (check out the Ladybird Survey website).  More from the moth trap tomorrow.

Ja, vi elsker dette landet

The Norwegian flag - and a moth - fly over the trap last night

Dagens møll er dedikert til Norge og nordmenn, fordi jeg har nettopp oppdaget at dere kommer på tredje plass etter USA og Storbritannia i oversikten over internasjonale lesere av Martin's Moths. Er det en klubb som har oppdaget bloggen? Eller en skole? Eller kanskje noen utflyttede briter som liker å bli minnet om møllene hjemmefra?

Uansett hva som er årsaken, takk for at dere leser bloggen. Og til deres ære flagget Møllfellen for Norge i går kveld, som vist på bildet ovenfor. Dette er litt av en hyllest - fordi som eldre lesere vil vite har det norske flagget en veldig spesiell plass i den kulturelle oppdragelse av min generasjon i Storbritannia. Stakkars gamle kaptein Scott...  

What Captain Scott least wanted to see

I was going to leave it at that, but that would be a bit unfair. What the above says - in Norwegian kindly provided by my distinguished former Guardian colleague Gwladys Fouche who is now Reuters' senior correspondent in Norway - is this: 

Today's moths are dedicated to Norway and the Norwegians because I've just discovered that they come third after the UK and US in the table of international readers of Martin's Moths. Is there a club which has discovered the blog? Or a school? Or maybe some expatriate Brits who like to be reminded of the moths of home?

 Whichever, thank you for reading and in your honour the moth trap flew the flag of Norway last night, shown in the photograph above. This is quite a tribute because older readers will know that the Norwegian flag has a very particular place in the cultural upbringing of my generation in the UK. Poor old Captain Scott...

Anyway, tusen takk Norway, because last night was one of the warmest and moth-busiest of the entire year, with over 300 in the trap plus several ladybirds, a big black beetle, six wasps and an Egyptian plague of flies. I'm going to be busy for a while sorting it all out, but here are some choice new arrivals for now:

Above is a Marbled Green, a delicately tinted relative of the Marbled Beauties which have been a welcome feature of the trap for a while now. Below, a Sallow Kitten (I think, confirmation or correction very welcome), the first of the smaller-sized relatives of the mighty Puss Moth which gave me such pleasure back in June.

Now for one which caught my eye straight away and I got in a slight twist when it looked lively and seemed about to fly away. But there turned out to be five of them slumbering away. It's a Dusky Sallow, and below it on the right is one of its relatives the Bordered Sallow, a less common moth, snuggling up with a pal which is one of those familiar but confusing ones which take me a while to sort out.

These two below are, I am pretty sure, Vestals, named for the purity of their pattern and colouring after the girls who officiated at temples in ancient Rome. The moth is a visitor to the UK, arriving every year and breeding over the summer but unable to stand the cold and damp of our winters.

And finally here's one for Gladwys who has reported memorably on Edvard Munch's The Scream  including the theft of one of the paintings in 2004. It's a Star Wars-y Pebble Hooktip, and look more closely at the back of its head. 

 

Yes, Edvard Munch had a hand in the design of this moth...

Thanks very much again to Gwladys, her husband Truls and their toddler Magnus who doubtless lent a hand with the translation and I hope grows up to be a moth fan; and if this is being read in Norway by anyone who knows two old friends I made on a Young Liberal visit to Germany in 1971 but have lost touch with since - Harald Koht and Geir Ketil Roste - please pass on all my best wishes and those of the moths. The heading to this post, btw, is the first line of the Norwegian national anthem, and if you would like to read about a Martin's Moths-type person blogging on moths in Norway, there's an excellent one here.

Canary caller, and a moth flasher

I imagine that Mr Pickwick, in Dickens' mind, may have looked like this colourful character which arrived overnight. It's a Canary-shouldered Thorn whose name must have sprung straight into the heads of the 18th century entomologists who Christened it, because it is so accurate.

Its fluff is as Easterlike as that on the ducklings of our white mallard on the canal which I mentioned two days ago; a bright and cheerful sight in the morning among the innumerable Mother of Pearls et al - see picture below. Indeed it inspired me to make boiled eggs for breakfast.

It's yellowness contrasts with the russets and browns of the Early Thorn, a common moth in the trap at the moment, and also outside it. This one, below, was sleeping on a branch of the tree above the trap, undisturbed by the ups and downs caused by morning breezes. Update: sorry, it's a Purple Thorn - many thanks to Charlie Fletcher, outstanding Yorkshire moth expert, who's put me right on this by email.

Another sight which caught my eye in the trap was this strange-looking micro on the right. I feel captioning the first picture 'In a distant galaxy far, far away...' because the pair of moths look like members of the Jedi Council.

Initially I thought that the vertical bits on this tiny insect - shorter than my fingernails are across - were huge antennae, but actually he or she is flashing their underwings. Update: I consulted Charlie Fletcher in Yorkshire - see earlier update above - and he identifies the moth as Batia unitella (Crassa unitella in the Micro Bible), but describes its stance as 'odd'. I'll be back if I learn any more. Further Update: see post for Monday 5 August for an explanation. Thanks to Dave Wilton of Upper Thames Butterfly Conservation.

Here are some more pics plus a couple of other arrivals sleeping among the eggboxes: that curious moth the Chinese Character, contrasting rather pleasantly with my distant pyjamas; and an Acleris holmiana micro, which might also be called 'The moth that even M.Wainwright can identify'.

To end with, one of our many cinnabar caterpillars which I spotted speeding along our garden hose. Did it think it had found the biggest relative of all time?