Hawkeye

The arrival of my biggest regular moth, the Privet Hawk, is always a moment to celebrate, marking the fact that high season for my hobby is getting under way. Here is this year's debut, as I found him or her below, and then with wings spread out above, to reveal the wasp-like warning colouration.

It would be a brave bird which tackled something of this size, whatever its colour, and my resident robins showed absolutely no interest. The Privet follows the Poplar Hawk, always the first to turn up here, and you can be sure that others will be along soon.

Plenty of smaller but lovely moths were there to join the party; a Cinnabar and Figure of 80 below, followed by that pleasantly original-looking species the Chocolate-tip.  The Cinnabar's bright colouring is also a warning to predators and a justified one; both the yellow and black caterpillars and the adult moth are poisonous.

There are truly vast numbers of maybugs or Common Cockchafers in the eggboxes at the moment and they are often busy ensuring a new generation, like the couple hard at work on the right. It's a tremendous sight when one of these curious, armour-plated insects takes off and starts banging around inside the trap. No wonder Nicholas Tesla as a boy tried the impossible task of getting four to power a model aeroplane. Alas, they all flew off giddily in different directions.

Here's a Common Wainscot looking like an angel moth, followed by that handsome Visitor the Coronet and then a Scorched Wing with a Treble Lines.  The Scorched Wing's pattern and colour is a masterpiece of optical art as camouflage. Even prolonged staring leaves you - or at least me - not entirely certain of where all the lines and shades are placed. What must it be like for a predatory bird?

Next we have a Rustic Shoulder-knot with another Cinnabar among the distant eggboxes behind, then a graceful and aptly-named Willow Beauty and a Marbled Minor. Then - pardon the intrusion - more maybugs busily if slightly complicatedly engaged... 

The moth tally continues with a White-point, a Cypress Carpet with its jet-fighter appearance and a rather stylish photo, though I says it who shouldn't, of a third Cinnabar.

The next picture is a second Scorched Wing, still with the eye-baffling lines and shades but showing a habit of many smaller moths - the extremely expressive waving of the genitalia to attract a mate. I'm not sure that the maybugs have any need of this gambit, but they might be interested in trying it.

Away from the moths, here's a fine Peacock butterfly which I spied on a walk into Oxford, basking in the sun on a canal bridge. And below it, another Common Wainscot glowing orange this time and a Buff Ermine, a lovely buttery-coloured cousin of the beautiful White Ermine which made its debuit for the year just the other day.

Hartslock Birthday Treat

 

Historically, the moths have come good for me during this momentous time of the year which sees our wedding anniversary (golden only three years off...) and my birthday (rather a lot of those under my belt). But this time, the cold and often dull weather has proved an exception; the trap was all but empty on the anniversary nd there was no luscious surprise, as there has been in the past, as an extra birthday present.

I'm not grumbling, however. My first, composite, photo shows some of the overnighters on The Day and they are perfectly satisfactory.  From the top left reading across and then down, they are Turnip, Spectacle, Common Swift, Brindled Beauty, Brimstone, Cnephasia communana, Phtheochroa (try saying that) rugosana, Common Wainscot and Tawny Marbled Minor.

Birthday excitement was drawn instead this year from a picnic at Hartslock nature reserve on the hills overlooking the Goring Gap, a delicious stretch of the Thames, where the very rare Monkey orchid grows in profusion - delightfully, the collective noun for this sort of abundance of orchids is a 'swarm' (and that's for all orchids, noit just the Bee and Fly ones). There are also a small number of Lady orchids and a much larger one of an otherwise unknown hybrid between the two, nicknamed the 'Lonkey'.  As regular readers might expect, Penny and I were unable to tell them apart confidently, so here are some examples plus the helpful noticeboard.  I can't recommend a visit enough, parking in Goring and walking a mile and half downstream along the Thames Path before striking uphill for some 500 yards to the reserve. 

Hybrid I think, with the darker hood. Or is it a Lady as the 'legs' might be seen as a skirt or at least culottes 

Perhaps a Monkey, with the lighter hood?

The orchids are in glorious flower at the moment and will soon be succeeded by loads of Common-spotted (leaves of one, left), Pyramidal and other species, as per the notice below. I've sent some of our pics to iRecord in the hope that they will be ID-ed there but I'm not sure that the system works like that.  Fingers crossed. I can also strongly recommend a fascinating article on the subject by Prof Richard Bateman, a renowned expert with a very enjoyable, lively writing style.

Here are some of the flowers we saw and photographed, along with my wild but very slightly scientific guesses:

I'm guessing a hybrid from the dense darker-coloured blooms

Ditto though apologies for the blurring; it was rather a way beyond the tape cordon which it's important to respect to avoid trampling seedlings

Maybe Monkeys as lighter pink?

Hybrids I think, with the darker hood and paler 'arms' and 'legs' 

I think a Monkey as generally pale

Finishing flowering but intriguing

Ditto, and could this be a lady with the shorter petals more like a dress than legs (and no willie!)

I plan to carry on with my homework, using this handy close-up of the three contenders from the very helpful noticeboard at the reserve, pictured earlier in this post:

I love the orchids and the rarity of species like these but have to agree with Penny who spotted this Horsechestnut 'candle' on the path back to Goring and felt that it was their equal in beauty.

And now another insect. I spent so long staring at one orchid that my eyes re-focussed on a tiny little bright green character on a nearby leaf. I think that it's a Green Nettle Weevil, but that's an even harder game than identifying orchids.

Finally, we were down in London later in the week and in my current state of orchid enthusiasm, I called on the Nomura bank in the City to see if it was possible to visit their roof garden which is home to the UK's only colony of the Small-flowered Tongue orchid, found there in 2021 and still unexplained. No luck but the nearby free garden at 120 Fenchurch Street is a delight even if orchids have yet to seek it out.

Summer of Love

 

It looks as though we're going to have plenty of butterflies later this Summer, and plenty of caterpillars for the birds to eat, judging by amorous goings-on in our neighbouring Big Field. I watched the pair of Green-veined Whites, above, for about five minutes as they alternated spells of perching on flowerheads - Dandelion clocks being their favourite choice - and fluttering about while still 'connected'. There must be scientific papers about how the latter exercise is possible and presumably not too uncomfortable; one day I will Google for them, delicately.

Like the Orange-tip underwing mentioned here the other day, the 'green' veins on this common but very pretty species are actually grey. The overall greenish effect is an optical illusion, perhaps enhanced when the butterfly is seen, as it very often is, against a background of grass.

Above are clips from a video of Brimstones dancing courtship. Initially two of the sulphur-yellow males were taking an interest in the paler female but not for long; soon one soared off - whether in response to battle signals from the other, I could not tell - and the remaining one carried on his dogged pursuit for a good three minutes. A friend mistook the female for one of the Whites and asked if different species could mate successfully. The answer is seldom because the genitalia are different, very like the small variations in keys, but it can sometimes happen. The resulting hybrid butterflies are usually sterile and so new species only very rarely develop in the way that they commonly do in plants.

As regular readers know, I am a great delighter in Holly Blues, especially if they do me the rare favour of opening their wings to reveal the beautiful, azure blue topwings. Thanks to the one above, although it nipped off when I tried to get closer, unlike the one below, which kept its wings closed but fortunately had wear-and-tear gaps through which the glorious blue peeps.

Finally, my sister sent me this picture of a very small garden micro, asking its identity.  This is a kind thing to do, given my general muddle on the subject, but I know this little chap well. Nibbling on mint, he or she is a Mint Moth.

First Hawk of the Year

The year's first hawk moth is always a significant arrival in my calendar and this year the coolish weather has delayed its debut. As usual, it was a Poplar Hawk which was perched on an eggbox when I inspected the trap last Saturday, 9th May.  Last year's first came on 2nd May and 2024's on April 25th. The sunny Pandemic Spring of 2020 holds the earliest record os 19th April. In each case, the Poplar was the first to arrive of my eight regular hawk moth callers.  

I have posted many pictures of Poplar Hawks over the years, attracted by their somewhat sinister appearance and very unusual habit of holding their hindwings forward of the forewings when at rest. This appears to be largely to cover the hidden orangey-red blotches on the hindwings which they flash when disturbed to scare off predators.

The year's first White Ermine has called too, an exceptionally pretty moth whose company I have kept since I was aged seven. And that's a long time! More regulars below are two differently-coloured Treble Lines, a Common Swift, a Turnip Moth (sadly a loser in both the name and colour/pattern stakes), a Rustic Shoulder-knot and an Oak Tree Pug (I think; I am useless on pug ID).  Then we have a micro Bee Moth spotted indoors by Penny, who excels in finding moths in the house, and a Bright-line Brown-eye.  The Bee moth has an interesting 'cuckoo' relationship with beehives which seems to suit both guest and host.

The Pale Tussock calls regularly at the moment, as mentioned in my last-but-one post, and I cannot resist taking photos of its ample, furry and characterful shape. Then below is a range of Shuttle-shape Darts, a smaller and very neatly-coloured regular, currently visiting in large numbers.

Finally, yet another debut, a Maybug or Cockchafer, along with a second Common Swift, an Iron Prominent which has lovely rusty toned to its colouring and a micro whose ID I have yet to establish. Help welcome!

Sleepy old Stinger

I grew very wary of the trap towards the end of last Summer when we had a busy hornets' nest in our roof eaves and its residents were often attracted by the light. They look fearsome but are usually softies, very unwilling to attack those who leave them alone - unlike wasps in my experience. Mind you, the definition of being alone may be different for wasps after centuries of persecution by us. Hornets have probably had less of that, being both scarcer and scarier.

Seeing a hornet in the eggboxes this early in the year was by contrast completely unexpected and I was fortunate that it was creeping along the rim of the trap's plastic bowl rather than tucked in an eggbox where I might have unwittingly placed a finger or thumb. It wasn't at all a happy hornet and I suspect that the warm night or the powerful light had attracted it out when it should have stayed tucked up at home.  By midday, it was groggily inspecting our garden table and some time in the afternoon, it died. Notably, none of our extremely moth-minded Robins went anywhere near it. But overnight, it disappeared.

Another non-moth visitor this week was thos Mayfly, one of thousands which conduct their soaring and falling mating flight for 24 hours or so before mating and calling things a day. A strangely brief moment in the daylight after two years spent underwater as a nymph. But then they are scientifically called Ephemera.

Start-of-Summer digging has meanwhile turned up a couple of pupae which in younger days I might have kept to catch. Life is too busy and unpredictable for that now; it's an exercise which requires you to keep a close eye on things, to avoid both missing the emergence or inadvertently trapping the chrysalis in a box.  I reburied these instead.

Now for a snail, peeking optimistically from the mouth of our watering can whose spout is too narrow to release its shell. I am not sentimental about wild animals but in honour of Sir David Attenborough's 100th birthday, Penny and I prodded it back down and then decanted it from the can as far away as possible from our Delphiniums. 

And finally, here is a juvenile Garden Spider whose tinyness I cannot overstate. I am also unable to find enough superlatives for my iPhone 13 Pro which allows me to take these photographs so easily. Thank you!