Special mystery moth supplement

Hello again! This is a rare supplementary post to help Richard with his heroic work of identifying this morning's mystery moth - see immediately preceding post.

Here's the insect again, closer-up and in a different light (top picture) which shows the stigmata plus the anetnnae which Richard wanted.

The hindwing is another matter... In spite of much coaxing and gentle prodding, the moth refused to show it except for the occasional nano-second. From those, it looked to me paleish grey. I finally thought of the camera's film mode and took this tiny classic of the art. Does it show enough hindwing-in-action for you, Richard? I fear not, unless the film can somehow be slowed...

Oh, and a bonus for this post. On my special pink eggbox, I discovered this Dark Chestnut, a species new to me both here in Oxfordshire and in Leeds although it is coassified as 'common'.  It's ever so slightly sinister, like the Darth Vader-imitating Black Rustics which are around at the moment; don't you think that in the first picture, it looks as though it might be sneaking off after light sabre-ing that fly?

Best foot forward

The Angle Shades is such a dashing-looking moth that it is almost always photographed in its classic resting position, with its steeply-raked wings angled back like a secret weapon from Area 51. The one which overnighted in my trap last night, however, was restless this morning and all primed for take-off; so I got the picture above which is interestingly different, of the long wings stretched out ready for flight - and twitching, hence the blurring for which many apologies.

When it took off, the power and effectiveness of its wing structure was evident, as it whirred away over our vegetable patch. I have the feeling that it was signalling 'Chocks away' when I took the top picture. I saw it neatly place its right leg, with its plus-four trousering, to one side as I pressed the camera button.

Meanwhile, one of three Vestals in the trap posed in an attractive way on the blurb about the virtues of organic eggs. Here she is, above. These lovely little moths can be shy and are classified as 'local' rather than 'common'; but we seem to have a veritable temple of them here.

The trap also had this nice second- or even third-generation Shuttle-shaped Dart and an interestingly high number of the melanic form Capucina of the Green-brindled Crascent, which I discussed yesterday. On Monday, there were 10 standard forms and one Capucina; last night the ratio was 2 standard, 3 Capucina. I shall send a note to Upper Thames Butterfly Conservation. As you can see below, other coffee-related moths (ie browny/grey and hard to distinguish) were around in strength as well.

Large Yellow Underwing - plenty of these around

Large Fruit-tree Tortrix (Archips podana)

Beaded Chestnut

Brown-spot Pinion, I think, rather than another Beaded C

Now this is a quandary. A Rustic of some kind? Or a Quaker ditto? Help needed

Girl on a swing

After an absence of four days and nights, the trap seems almost like a new hobby. Anyone within earshot this morning would have heard small cries of pleasure as I lifted out each moth-laden eggbox and found them full of interest and colour.

The top moth, literally, was the Vestal slung nonchalantly under the rim of the transparent shield with her dress spread out like the ones on Victorian illustration of textile-encumbered young women on swings.  Then there was the familiar Autumn colour of assorted Sallows, like the pair above whose beauty is enhanced in my view by my famous pink eggbox and blue pyjamas.

The most numerous species, to my great delight, was that outstanding moth the Green-brindled Crescent, seen above with a nasally outstanding Snout. There were 11 G-b Cs in the trap; here's a close-up below of their livery of metallic green.

But among them was another nice surprise: a solitary example of the darker form Capucina - below - which is usually found in industrial or former industrial areas, like other melanistic versions of moths, notably the Peppered. Very unusually, Capucina is a moth unknown outside the UK. Think of it next time you have a coffee or - more unlikely - come across a Capuchin monk. The colours of the order's robes gave rise to the name.

Here's the Capucina on the left, with two standard types

And here's a nother of the standard ones, albeit a little paler. There is much minor variation

Other pleasures? This graceful Lunar Underwing immediately below and below that a Large Wainscot - I think; it is certainly a Wainscot and undoubtedly larger than the Common ones which called earlier in the year. Below that, a Beaded Chestnut glowing like an Autumn leaf, and then a Sallow inside the gloom of the trap. (It's actually the same moth as the brighter one shown above in this post's second picture; even digital cameras have problems with differing background light).

And finally, my Pending tray - IDs to sort out later today. Unless some kind and expert reader gets there first...

Twin-spot Carpet playing Lord of the flies?

Another Beaded Chestnut but drabber?

Strange sights - and sites

We're back home from our northern excursion and the moth trap is beaming out over the garden once again. Tomorrow, the usual bulletins of arrivals will restart.

Before then, here are a few pictures to round off four days spent in Bradford, Leeds and York - the first two showing the power of butterflies and moths as marketing symbols in the world of tourist souvenirs.

Then there's an old postcard we've kept at home - below - whose veracity can be disproved emphatically by a quick scroll through yesterday's s post.

And finally, a glimpse of Clifford's Tower from a curious structure in the Eye of York - a tree shrouded in muslin as if it had been invaded by the caterpillars of the ermine micro-moth like the one in the small pic on the left.

It's actually part of an interesting piece of roving theatre called Blood and Chocolate, which you can read about here. Sleep tight and prepare for news from the eggboxes in the morning.

Butterflies of the night

Leeds is a city very dear to me as the place where I was born and have spent almost exactly half my 63 years. It's been marvellous, therefore, to return on a balmy Autumn night and find the centre en fete and enjoying itself with gusto.

Last night was the annual Leeds Light Night when imaginative efforts are made to bring even more light to a centre which is bright with activity on the other 364 evenings of the year. Observe! It even included butterflies - you could even say moths since in many languages these are known as 'butterflies of the night'. But you need to be careful with that phrase.

Years ago, I was part of an entomological expedition to Sulawesi - formerly Celebes - in Indonesia and answered a pleasant local's query about what I was doing by saying that I was looking for 'kupu-kupu malaam', the Bahasa Indonesia equivalent of 'papillons du nuit'. This has another meaning which you can no doubt guess.  We sorted the confusion out, I'm glad to say.

I will now try to upload a film I made with my iPad Mini of the complete star of Light Night, the projections on to the Civic Hall (which is repeated tonight, Saturday 5 October, if you are in the vicinity). It is well worth seeing.

Yay, the film works on a laptop or desktop - not I fear on a phone or tablet.  Hope you can get there.

On the buses

Like well-regulated buses, Autumn's moths are turning up in the trap and regular intervals. Here is today's, the smartly-patterned Red-line Quaker whose modest trappings, reminiscent of the Society of Friends, are given a little pzazz by the eponymous red line.

My younger sister and brother-in-law also notice that, seen from the angle in my picture, it resembles those finger puppets of mice - the two 'eyes' and the triangular shape like a mouse's head.

This moth spends three-quarters of its life cycle in a state of extreme reserve, first as a lonely little egg on a twig overwinter, then eating in purdah as a caterpillar, first in a flower bud, then in a leaftip sealed by its own silk and finally in a larger leaf treated in the same way; as a pupae it has the double shield of a cocoon made underground.  But after all this extreme caution, it then comes regularly to light as an adult moth.

I made sure that mine was tucked away beneath a bush before coming in to broadcast its image to the world. The Lord preserve it from spiders, mice and other predators.

It's a small, small world

Say a tiny hello (softly, so as not to deafen him or her) to this morning's scraps of moth - first the strangely shaped Acleris emargana (or it could be the super-closely related Acleris effractana which has only recently been accepted as a distinct secures. You need a genital examination to tell the difference and I'm not qualified or much wanting to carry out one of those).

If you look closely, you can see that the shape is due to way the moth folds its slightly hooked forewings over its back, so tightly that the top half of the hindwing sticks out from the top of the body. Below is a more conventional micro which was sleeping nearby on the same green egg box. I think that this is the Light Brown Apple Moth, Epiphyas postvittana, which first made landfall in the UK from its native Australia in 1936, and - like many of its human compatriots - has spread here ever since.

Latecomer

Here's a very pretty moth and a rather unexpected one: the Beautiful Hook-tip normally flies between late June and early August and yet here is one now, perched on the trap's bulb-holder like a Starfighter jet in Star Wars.

It's a local rather than common moth and I'm pretty sure I haven't muddled it with the similar but unrelated Scalloped Hook-tip which rests with its wings folded and has slightly duller wing patterning.  Here it is again for another look.

Our lovely warm summer has probably altered flight patterns; certainly the continuing mildness is bringing plenty of moths to the trap. There were four kinds of Sallow there this morning, some 20 specimens in all, eight Dark Rustics, three Blair's Shoulder-knots, Beaded Chestnuts aplenty and much else.

Not just in the trap, either. I played hide-and-seek for a while with moths lurking in the surrounding grass and on a nearby wall. Here are the winners - an Angle Shades, above, a Burnished Brass below and a Sallow below that. The booby prize for not really getting the skills of hiding goes to the little white chap at the very bottom. But judging by wing and body condition, he or she is getting old and so, probably, vague.

Sorry, couldn't get the focus off the grass...

The dragon and the admirals

I was in York yesterday and called in on an elderly cousin in a very nice care home whose walls are mantled in ivy and Virginia creeper. The latter was ablaze with different reds, pinks and greens and it was a glorious day - the sort on which national newspaper editors forbid photographers to ttake pictures of the supposedly 'grim' north.

This mantle of foliage also had great appeal to all sorts of insects, including the dragonfly at the top and more than a dozen Red Admirals like the one I managed to snap with my iPad Mini (which still works in spite of its cracked glass; I dropped it, the very first time I took a photo back in April, because I trusted the natty green magnetic cover to stay fixed.)

One of our very best UK butterflies - and York has many more than Oxford at the moment

The house was built by a wealthy local brewer for his wife and sister but he made the mistake of not consulting them and they disliked it from the first - far too big and fake-baronial for those in charge of keeping it clean. Alas, the creeping plants would not have grown into their current rampant state at the time. I think the women might soften a little, were they to see the place today.

Thinking of American readers - and the sudden new army of Canadians who are warmly welcome - I just Googled Virginia creeper and found that it is indeed one of the New World's gifts to us in the old. In the States it's known as Woodbine or Five-finger, according to Wikipedia; the latter name is a straight and apt tweak of its Linnean name Parthenocissus quinquefolia. Saying 'Parthenocissus' out loud reminds me of another random fact: saucy entomologists in the 19th century named a series of insects after young women through variations on the theme Pollycisme, Katicisme, Emmicisme. You get the idea...