Gloriously Common

 

'Common' may be a derogatory term in some usages of English but it is also a proud one, as in the Common People of Magna Carta, the House of Commons, the Commonwealth and the concept of Common Law. In the same way, it is a badge of pride for some of our most beautiful butterflies, which are all the more to be valued because they are easy to find. 

The male Common Blue, above, is a glorious example even if he makes you wait before he opens his wings. By far the commonest way to see him or his female mate, whose top wings are much darker but also exquisite, is with their wings folded as in the photo below.

Patience is a virtue and if you stand quietly, the butterfly will often (although not always) give you a little glimpse of its hidden beauty as below.

Wait a little longer and you may get more, before the ultimate reward of fully-spread wings as in my first picture. The closely related Brown Argus butterfly is the same but on this occasion, in the Trap Grounds nature reserve by the canal in central Oxford, I did not have to wait so long for it to perform.

Dragon and damselflies were out in the delectable sunshine too, including this female Ruddy Darter whose large round eye catches the light in my second picture from at least 50 yards away.

Finally for today, Penny found this lovely little nest on the gravel in front of our house. We think that it must be a wren's because of its very small size. No wonder that the workmanship which goes into creating these lovely, cosy homes has made 'nesting' a much-favoured word in the English language.

A Gypsy's Life

The Gypsy Moth is an unmistakeable fixture in my annual calendar of reliable visitors and I worship once again its tremendous antennae which are among the best in the moths' world. Readers will maybe recall that antennae are the one gift granted to moths but denied to humans which I hopelessly envy. I would love a pair.

At rest, the Gypsy more resembles an Old Lady moth with its big brown, black and grey overcoat swept grandly around it. Not everyone likes it as much as me; when it established a toehold in London in 1995 after years of extinction as a resident UK species - just a few migrants recorded annually - it was subjected to an eradication campaign by the agriculture ministry because of its caterpillars' fondness for very large amounts of leaves from broad-leafed trees.

The men from the ministry were on a loser; the species spreads via the wind blowing its tiny larvae uncontrollably all over the place. The catties' tastes are so catholic that once they have landed, they almost always find a foodplant nearby. I have been getting the moths for nearly ten years now and don't except to say goodbye to them any time soon.

The moth is more famous in the wider world as the name of a nimble 1920s biplane which evolved into the Tiger Moth military trainer, beloved of fictional heroes such as Biggles as well as real-life flyers. The De Havilland aircraft company used the name 'moth' because the wings could be folded back like a moth's (horizontally and not vertically like a butterfly's). Gipsy with an 'i' rather than 'y' was the name of the improved engine which replaced an earlier and less powerful model called Cirrus. 

It is a good season for big moths generally,  including the Privet above, with its wings spread out and at rest, and the Poplar and Eyed below. Lots of people are also having delectable visits from hovering Hummingbird Hawk moths too, especially if they grow lavender.

The impressive Oak Eggar paid a second call and I got this nice underwing snap through the cowl, second pic below, of a Black Arches, one of my top favourites.

Many, many other moths further down the size scale are arriving too, including the Brimstone (outside the trap on our rather burned-out lawn), Willow Beauty, Least Carpet and Coronet.

Also a Straw Dot, a neat little macro, and its lookalike micro, Udea ferrugalis or the Rusty Pearl, which is very similar in size, a pill-shaped Dingy Footman (actually not dingy at all) and a delicate Latticed Heath, showing how the black and white pattern extends to the moth's body in the form of stripes. Following my mention above the moths folding their wings flat on their backs, note that this is one of a handful which behave as ifthey were butterflies.

Finally a Lychnis,  a lively Copper Underwing (they are unparalleled scurriers-about in the trap), a Yellow Shell in very good condition, a Cloaked Minor, a White-spotted pug on a nicely-coloured eggbox and a handsome Grey or Dark Dagger.

Oh, and a bewildered young blackbird which fortunately survived one of those collisions which happen rather a lot on sunny days when your house has large windows.

Long time, no see; an old school pal

This has been a vintage couple of weeks for me, with a third new moth arriving in the continuing, lovely Summer weather. A new moth, that is, since I started running the light trap more than 20 years ago, but actually an old friend from my caterpillar-breeding days as a child.

It is an Oak Eggar, a species which perversely has nothing to do with oak trees; its larval foodplants are the likes of bramble and sallow and, especially in my native Yorkshire, the heather of the moors. That's where we used to find the caterpillars and take them home in a variety of jam-jars with string carrying handles looped round the neck and a paper top Sellotaped in place after holes had been pierced to allow the catties to breathe (and sometimes to escape). There was actually ample air in a jam-jar for many caterpillars over a complete afternoon, but I suppose that our precautions did our little Methodist souls credit.

The caterpillars in due course spun a cocoon whose vague resemblance to a large acorn is often credited with causing the 'oak' part of the name just as 'eggar' is said to derive from its other resemblance, to an egg. Whatever the truth of that, there is no doubt about the richness of the moth's colouring which entranced us as children during the magical process of the adult insect's emergence which we sometimes saw.  The male is a deep and velvety dark brown; the female - as in this case - a sandier colour. She is larger too.

I'll leave her looking at us, and go on to examine the other guests overnight which included three more large moths, the hawks Elephant (another great breeding success in childhood), Poplar and the second largest moth in the UK, Privet. Here are the Privet and Elephant with the Oak Eggar below, plus a couple of tiny ermine micromoths for fortuitous comparison.

Above is the Privet Hawk about to take off - a fine sight. Below we have a Large Yellow Underwing and a Lesser Broad-bordered Yellow Underwing, both modestly hiding the reason for their name; then a Poplar Grey beside another ermine and below that, a Tree-lichen Beauty with a Common or Lesser Common Rustic.

Next another Large Yellow Underwing but one with delightful orange-brown colouring - this species is famously varied - and then another fine example of a similar colouring, an Orange Swift.

Common Wainscots continue to be, well, common, but the Cloaked Minor is a less frequent visitor, albeit a regular. Below them, we have a tiny micro which I have yet to ID and then one of the smart new generation of Shuttle-shape Darts which is just emerging.

Next, a Small Mottled Willow with its very micro shape for a moth which is actually a macro and finally a Flame Shoulder (the only moth to have flown into the ear of one of the compilers of the Moth Bible), a Common Wave, a Brimstone and a Dark Umber.  Beautiful moths all! How much I enjoy their visits!