Biology – Page 15 – David Bradley

Little and Large

My friend Andy, who, like myself, is a keen amateur wildlife photographer, often asks me questions about the birds and butterflies he photographs. I can usually come up with an answer. But, today, we were talking about Little Owls and he casually referred to the species as the Small Owl. As far as I know, there is no species known as the Small Owl. I pointed this out and he came back with an intriguing question. Why are the birds “Little” but the butterflies “Small”?

For example, among the birds, we have Little Owl, Little Gull, Little Stint, Little Ringed Plover, Little Egret, Little Auk, Little Grebe, Little Tern. But, for the butterflies, we have Small Blue, Small Tortoiseshell, Small Skipper, Small Heath, Small Copper, Small Pearl-bordered Fritillary, Small White.

The Large Skipper has a Small Skipper counterpart

It’s puzzling…there is a subtle difference in our perception of what we mean by “little” and “small”, but it’s hard to define. Small is the opposite of big, little is the opposite of large. The Oxford English Dictionary suggests that while little is generally synonymous with small, it can have emotional implications associated with it that the word small does not, I can’t quite put my finger on what those differences are. When we discuss dwarfism, people with that condition are often referred to as “little people” but “not small people”…

Etymologically, the word small, a word of Germanic origin, means “thin, slender, narrow, fine” but also refers to a diminutive animal. Indeed, the true root in proto-Indo-European (PIE) is the prefix (s)melo- used to talk of a “smaller animal”. Little, etymologically speaking, is also Germanic in origin, the PIE root is “leud” meaning small.

So, back to Andy’s question why are the birds “little” but the butterflies “small”? I wondered whether it had something to do with the etymology of the words or perhaps whether the naming happened at different times and one descriptor was favoured for some reason at a given time.

Another possible explanation is that the use of small for the butterflies was done because there is a large counterpart. For the Small Tortoiseshell, there is a bigger but similar species the Large Tortoiseshell. Similarly, for the Small Skipper, there is a Large Skipper. However, there are no pairings among the birds, there are lots of different species of gull, but there is no Big Gull nor Large Gull to be a counterpart to the Little Gull, the same with the Little Owl, we do not have a Big Owl or a Large Owl species.

Often these kinds of differences are related to Anglo-Saxon versus Norman etymology, as in the peasants grow the pigs, cattle, and sheep, while the Norman aristocrats eat the pork (porc), beef (boeuf), and mutton (moutton). Stephen Moss just reminded me that he alludes to this in his excellent book Mrs Moreau’s Warbler: How Birds Got Their Names. “I noted that three groups of birds have Norman French names – ducks and gamebirds, which were eaten by French aristocrats, and raptors, which were used to hunt them. Same principle as farm animals and meat!”

Then there are the Great birds…

Great White Egret, Great Tit, Great Shearwater, Great Black-backed Gull, Great Crested Grebe, Great Grey Shrike, Great Northern Diver, Great Crane. The “Great” also essentially means big and there are “lesser” birds that are generally smaller than the common species: Lesser Redpoll, Lesser Whitethroat, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Lesser Spotted Woodpecker…

Moss also points out that in the US there are birds with “least” in their names ‘Least Grebe’, ‘Least Sandpiper’, and ‘Least Bittern’, for instance, we don’t have “least” birds in UK English…which maybe a throwback to US English etymology and the great divide between English and American.

UPDATE: Moss put me in touch with fellow nature writer Peter Marren, author of the excellent Emperors, Admirals, and Chimneysweepers. He had this to say:

“I have never really thought about why birds are great/little/lesser but butterflies are small/large, and I don’t really have an explanation. I suppose traditions in naming spring up early, and that namers therefore tend to follow an established formula. Some of the small/large butterfly names are 18th century or even, with Small Heath, late 17th century, so it might reflect usage at the time – Georgian vs Victorian? Simple English vs 19th Century elaboration?”

Marren points out that there are a few ‘little’ moths eg the Little Thorn – named later, perhaps. But again more usually large/small. He adds that “Great’ just seems the wrong word for a British butterfly or moth, somehow, but not sure I could explain why. ’Large’ is often (usually?) used where there is also a ‘small’, eg Large and Small White, Large and Small Blue, Large and Small Tortoiseshell. But I guess the same pairing is true of birds.”

A pub conversation with a retired friend who was an English teacher, had me saying “All creatures great and small”, which is almost a crossover usage…the hymn should perhaps be “All creatures great and lesser” or “All creatures large and small” but neither would sound quite so poetic as the original hymnal words by Cecil Frances Alexander.

Male moths and butterflies often fire blanks but nobody knows why

A few days ago I tweeted about a famous picture of a moth, the Death’s Head Hawk-moth used in the artwork surrounding the 1991 psychological thriller “The Silence of the Lambs”. At first glance, the moth looks genuine, but closer inspection reveals that what is thought of as markings resembling a skull on the moth’s thorax is, in the movie illustration, actually an imprint of a well-known 1951 creation of Salvador Dali and photographer Philippe Halsman.

In that image, In Voluptas Mors, a group of naked women were posed in such a way as to create the illusion of a skull. Of course, this morbid allusion fits perfectly with the theme of a murderer who skins his female victims in the movie. The women are lambs to the slaughter, their fleeces flayed from their bodies by the serial killer and a symbolic moth placed on their tongues to silence them forever.

Although a representation of the Death’s Head Hawk-moth (Acherontia atropos) features in the promotional materials for the film. Fellow science writer Rowan Hooper reminded me that in the movie itself, it is the pupae of a different moth, the Carolina Sphinx Moth (also known as the Tobacco Hawk-moth (Manduca sexta) that feature in the plot. In our chat, I mentioned that I wasn’t particularly interested in moths when that movie was first on release, but he said he was very much interested in Lepidoptera (moths and butterflies) at the time, Indeed, Hooper was specifically working in research trying to figure out something rather odd about Lepidoptera.

It turns out that the males of all Lepidoptera, all 180,000 species of moths and butterflies produce two types of sperm. They make sperm that carry their genetic material, their DNA, in the sperm’s nucleus, so-called eupyrene sperm, but they also make sperm that lack that DNA, apyrene sperm, or parasperm. Indeed, at least half of the sperm are blanks. In one type of swallowtail butterfly, 90 percent of the male’s sperm lack DNA. That percentage is 96 in Manduca sexta. Even more bizarrely, Lepidoptera are the only creatures that do this.

Obviously, the fusion of sperm with egg is fundamentally all about fusing the genetic material from the male with that of the female to fertilise the egg and create offspring from both parents. So, why would males make sperm that contain no genes to pass on and more to the point would be incapable of fertilising the female’s eggs. To cut to the money shot: nobody knows, for sure.

There are hypotheses, of course. It might be that the blank sperm act as some kind of useful filler, inactive biological padding. The blanks perhaps take up the female’s resources somehow while the active sperm do their job. Maybe this precluded further matings with other males ensuring that the first male’s active sperm are the ones that fertilise her eggs. Alternatively, perhaps Lepidoptera females have defences within their reproductive tract to ensure that only the fittest sperm reach their eggs and so the males produce these blanks as decoys (after all blanks would require fewer material resources and energy to produce, if many are going to be wasted). An alternative theory might be that the blank sperm are some kind of nuptial gift for the female, not so much inactive filler as nutrients.

There is evidence that a gene known as Sex-lethal (Sxl) is involved in the production of apyrene sperm in Lepidoptera. A paper in PNAS looked at the activity of this gene in the Silk Moth, Bombyx mori, and found that it was partially responsible for the generation of apyrene sperm. Moreover, the team showed that apyrene sperm have to be present in the male moth’s ejaculate to allow the active eupyrne sperm to travel from the female’s genital opening, the bursa copulatrix, to her spermatheca (where she stores sperm prior to egg fertilisation).

So, while no definitive answer is known for all Lepidoptera that produce eupyrene and apyrene sperm, for the Silk Moth at least it seems that firing blanks is the best way for the active sperm to hit the target.

Hacking the moth trap

I’ve had to hack my moth trap, or more specifically, I’ve had to hack my two moth traps.

The white, plastic vanes are broken on my original moth trap (the collapsible wooden one bought from an ex-mother and cabinet maker friend mentioned here years ago). The UV U-tube also failed in the night a week or so ago, So, having previously also acquired a spare moth trap from yet another friend in the village who is also an ex-mother, I have now hybridised the original box and funnel with the vanes and UV tube from the second trap. The U-tubes were 40 Watts, the linear bulb is just 20 Watts, so will be half the electricity cost on lighting-up sessions (although not as cheap to run as the 1 Watt LepiLED, good success with that on a couple of field trips).

As you can see, the Perspex shoulders of the box have clouded over a lot since I acquired the original trap and I ought to replace those. The point of having a transparent upper is so that plenty of light from the lamp gets into the box so that the moths don’t simply head for the exit hole once they’re in the box. As regular readers will know, the box is filled with egg trays to give the moths somewhere to roost overnight until they’re logged, photographed and safely released the next day.

There are at least seven mothers in our village, although only four of us are currently active, I believe. Three are definitely ex-mothers. I have the old traps of two of them and the third disposed of her trap for ethical reasons, although I think having people trap for scientific purposes is more ethical than not knowing anything about the local moths. We are a big village, very long, flanked by farmland and some trees. So, for the County Moth Recorder, it is useful to have records from across the patch and the area is big enough that individual trapping is very unlikely to disturb moth populations and biology in any significant way.

Anyway, it’s mid-October and last night was wet but brought in a fair number of moths, more than the previous session with the now-defunct 40W kit: Beaded Chestnut 3, Black Rustic 2, Box-tree Moth 1, Light Brown Apple Moth 4, Lesser Yellow Underwing 1, Large Yellow Underwing 3,
Red-line Quaker 2, Shuttle-shaped Dart 1, Strawberry Tortrix 2, Vine’s Rustic 1, White-point 1.

Mothing stats

UPDATE: 29th October 2022 – Finally added December Moth to the list of Lepidoptera I’ve logged and photographed. This was my 463rd moth species, and 64th new species logged in 2022.

One might ostensibly refer to mid-October as the point in the year at which the mothing season is beginning to draw to a close. There are still plenty of autumnal moths to be seen, (various Sallows, Merveille du Jour, Red-line and Yellow-line Quakers, Bricks etc, and then winter moths (Winter Moth, November Moth, December Moth etc) around and a chance of rare migrants but from now on, a cold lighting-up night might give you a blank from here on until mid to late February…it can be a gloomy time for moth-ers, although perhaps not quite as gloomy as it is for the moth-ers we know as butterfliers.

One of several Convolvulus Hawk-moths that nectared on my garden tobacco plants in the summer of 2022

Anyway, I’ve done sone totting up from my records. Just in case you’re interested in the details of this year’s mothing here in Cottenham and with a couple of off-site sessions. I have counted about 7500 moths of some 318 species in 200 lighting-up sessions so far this year. I’ve been mothing since July 2018 and have recorded 460 species in that time. 60 of those species were new to me this year alone.

Light Crimson Underwing was drawn to the LepiLED in the New Forest session in 2022

In the previous three seasons, the new-for-me numbers were in the 30s. However, a mothing session in the New Forest, one in Dorset, and success with garden tobacco plants here, bumped up the NFMs, that and my being more diligent in logging micro moths. If I remember rightly, I did far fewer sessions in 2019, but had some nights with several hundred moths and my total that year was 12500 moths of almost 300 species.

Male Oak Eggar seen in the summer while butterflying along Devil's Dyke, Cambridgeshire in 2022 — Male Oak Eggar seen in the summer while butterflying along Devil’s Dyke, Cambridgeshire in 2022

Bearded Tit becomes Bearded Reedling

TL:DR – The Bearded Reedling, Panurus biarmicus, was formerly known as the Bearded Tit. It is not a type of tit, although it has a passing resemblance to the Long-tailed Tit. It is the only species in the genus Panurus.

THE best photo I ever got of a Bearded Reedling (formerly known as the Bearded Tit) was from a hide WWT Welney. That was about a month after I’d bought the Sigma 150-600mm zoom for my old Canon 6D camera (March ’17). I’ve been chasing a better shot ever since.

Acrobatic Bearded Reedling

Now there are record numbers of Beardies at RSPB Ouse Fen (I saw more than a couple of dozen of them last week at the Earith side right next to the car park). But, there are no hides so no real chance of getting as close as I was in a hide to that first one at Welney.

Incidentally, the name change from Tit to Reedling isn’t some kind of political correctness gone mad, it’s simply that although superficially, the shape of this species resembles the Long-tailed Tit, they are wholly unrelated to any of the Tit species. Indeed, they are the only known species in their genus! Personally, I think it should be the Moustached Reedling as those black facial markings on the male are more ‘tache than beard!

Earith Beardies

TL:DR – The Bearded Reedling, Panurus biarmicus, was formerly known as the Bearded Tit. It is not a type of tit, although it has a passing resemblance to the Long-tailed Tit. It is the only species in the genus Panurus.

Lots of Beardies, Bearded Reedlings, Panurus biarmicus, at the Earith side of RSPB Ouse Fen, the site represents a nicely growing colony of the species.

I counted at least a couple of dozen today. I’d first heard a lot of pew-pewing (or ping-pinging) in the reeds close to the car park. The sound is reminiscent of a low-power sci-fi B-movie laser gun or a twee little ringing bell. But, when there are lots firing off it once it’s quite wonderful, like a live-action video game in the reed beds.

Beardie is an affectionate nickname for the Bearded Reedling, formerly known as the Bearded Tit. It was misnamed on account of its passing resemblance in shape to the Long-tailed Tit, but the two species are not related. Indeed, the Bearded Reedling is doubly misnamed as those black markings on the male’s face might be, at a stretch, perceived as sideburns or moustaches, but definitely not a beard. But, while changing from tit to reedling is happening, it’s unlikely to lose its beard.

Meanwhile, taxonomically, the species (scientifically Panurus biarmicus) is the only one worldwide in the Panurus genus. A truly unique little bird living almost on our doorsteps…well…if your doorstep is lined with reeds, that is.

Birding in Dorset

TL:DR – We finally caught up with White-tailed Eagles on a trip to Dorset in September 2022 after seeking them out in various places over the last couple of years.

We took another trip south in September. Stayed some way inland in the historic town of Corfe Castle but couldn’t keep away from the coast and visited RSPB Arne, RSPB Lodmoor, RSPB Radipole Pond, NT Studland, and took a boat trip in Poole Harbour up the Wareham Channel, and a train journey from Corfe to Swanage where we were plagued by Geography Fieldtrips measuring the groynes on the beach.

RSPB Arne is the English homeland of the Dartford Warbler and plenty of other wildlife, although we saw very little of it on our visit for some reason, apart from some “wild” pigs and distant waders. We also missed, by just a few minutes, a White-tailed Eagle fly-by and also failed to see an Osprey way over the moor towards Corfe itself. We didn’t see any Dartfords there either, that would wait until we got to the moors behind Knoll Beach at Studland.

While at Arne, missing the Osprey and WTE, we spoke to various people one of whom recommended a visit to Lodmoor and Radipole Pond (spotted a Clouded Yellow butterfly there) and those sites were generally much busier in terms of birdlife, Great White Egret, Grey Heron, Oystercatcher (dozens), Avocet (hundreds), Curlew, Black-tailed Godwit, Great Crested Grebe etc.

We were lucky enough to see dozens and dozens of House Martins and Swallows when we climbed East Hill in Corfe. Seemingly, Monday the 19th September was a good day for seeing hundreds of departing migrants. Also towards the top of the hill, a couple of Clouded Yellow butterfly.

The 2.5 hour boat-trip with the charity Birds of Poole Harbour was much more of a success than the trip to Arne. We had sightings of Shag and Sandwich Tern within minutes of setting sail and a large flock of Phalacrocorax carbo sinensis, the Chinese Cormorant sub-species, which is much more gregarious than its relative the Common Cormorant.

Phalacrocorax carbo sinensis, “Chinese” Cormorant

One of our incredibly well-informed guides (Paul) spotted an Osprey perched in a dead tree on the non-public edge of RSPB Arne, then the other equally well-informed guide (Liv) spotted a White-tailed Eagle (turned out to be the juvenile female with the radiotag ID G801). She was perched high in a pine tree a little further up the channel. It was hard to get clear photos through the heat haze and at a distance of several hundred metres, but worth a try. When the eagle took to the air, I got a reasonable shot at it before a second (a juvenile male) was sighted.

Spoonbills and Oystercatchers — Dutch Spoonbills (some of 60+) and Oystercatchers (100s)

These eagles and the ospreys are both part of reintroduction programmes on the south coast to bring back raptors to this area that were persecuted to local extinction. Unfortunately, there are rich landowners with a vested interested in breeding and killing millions of game birds (pheasants, grouse etc) for a very lucrative sport. They claim the birds of prey are a threat to their industry. The birds are no threat to this vast industry given the huge numbers of game birds involved. The raptors may eat dead game birds, but the industry dumps most of the birds that are shot for sport. Farmers often protest that eagles could take valuable lambs and counter the awarding of reintroduction licenses, they know full well that this is an incredibly rare happening and it’s just an excuse to protect their game birding, which makes them thousands of pounds per person. Eagles will find plenty of carrion and smaller wild birds to eat without needing to tackle lambs.

Interestingly, the eagles, which we used to think needed high mountain and moor, seem quite happy to live in this coastal zone. So, ultimately, translocation schemes will hopefully be successful. We’re still hoping that the Wild Ken Hill licence will be allowed in North Norfolk.

Meanwhile, back on the boat, we continued to add many more species of bird to the boat trip list (which ultimately amounted to 48 bird species) before heading back to the harbour and the lagoon on Brownsea Island where 60+ Spoonbills were feeding.

One of two Spoonbill at RSPB Lodmoor, NC4P, ringed in Netherlands in Jun 22

The Spoonbill is another growing success in England where once the bird was eaten to extinction in the 17th Century. There is a breeding colony in North Norfolk, but dozens are now seen in Dorset and Somerset. The flock we saw on Brownsea is mostly comprised of visitors from The Netherlands. Also had a flyover of Dunlin and sighting of at least one Curlew Sandpiper, Redshank, Greenshank and more. We have seen Spoonbill at various times over the years, but usually only one or two together and perhaps three; there were two at Lodmoor even.

We “twitched” the juvenile Red-backed Shrike and first-winter Citrine Wagtail mentioned in BirdGuides that and previous days. The Citrine made an appearance close to where birders told us it would be. There was some initial doubt that it might have been an Eastern Wagtail, but an expert who heard it call, pinned it down to Citrine.

The juvenile Red-backed Shrike took a lot more hunting down as it was on what local birders know as the old dump, not the Lodmoor reserve itself. BirdGuides was pretty close with its grid reference from earlier in the day. There are usually only a couple of breeding pairs of RBS in the UK each year, and it is essentially extinct here. However, a couple of hundred migrants do skirt the east and south coast of the UK on passage. They’re often known as butcher birds because they hang their prey on thorns or even barbed wire to eat later.

By the end of the holiday, we’d almost forgotten about trying to spot Dartford Warbler (we had seen them at Dunwich Heath on a Suffolk trip earlier in the year). However, after visiting Old Harry Rocks, we headed through Studland and up on to the heather and gorse encrusted dunes behind Knoll Beach and saw perhaps half a dozen, as well as numerous Wheatear and Stonechat.

For those who like lists, these are the 74 or so bird species we saw* and noted during our September 2022 week of birding and sightseeing in Dorset:

Avocet, Bearded Reedling, Black-headed Gull, Black-tailed Godwit, Blue Tit, Canada Goose, Carrion Crow, Cattle Egret, Cetti’s Warbler, Chiffchaff, Citrine Wagtail, Collared Dove, Common Buzzard, Common Sandpiper, Coot, Cormorant, Curlew, Curlew Sandpiper, Dartford Warbler (Studland), Dunlin, Egyptian Goose, Feral Pigeon, Gadwall, Goldfinch, Great Black-backed Gull, Great Crested Grebe, Great Tit, Great White Egret, Greenshank, Grey Heron, Grey Wagtail, Herring Gull, House Sparrow, Jackdaw, Kestrel, Kingfisher, Lapwing, Linnet, Little Egret, Little Grebe, Magpie, Mallard, Marsh Harrier, Meadow Pipit, Moor Hen, Mute Swan, Osprey, Oystercatcher, Pied Wagtail, Redshank, Red-backed Shrike (Lodmoor), Redwing, Ringed Plover, Robin, Rook, Ruff, Sandwich Tern, Shag, Sinensis Cormorant, Snipe, Sparrowhawk, Spoonbill, Starling, Stonechat (Studland), Tufted Duck, Turnstone, Yellow Wagtail, Water Rail (*heard), Wheatear (Studland), White-tailed Eagle, Widgeon, Willow Warbler, Wood Pigeon, Wren.

There were probably a few other species we saw but didn’t note bringing the total for the week to at least 60. Oh, we also saw quite a few Sika Deer and I did a bit of mothing in Corfe with the LepiLED and added L-album Wainscot and Ruddy Streak (Tachystola acroxantha) to my moth life list.

The stunning L-album Wainscot, seen only on the south coast

Another new moth, Clancy’s Rustic – Caradrina kadenii

TL:DR – I’ve been mothing since July 2018. In 2022, I recorded almost 50 new species in my garden. It was just 37 in 2021, and 30 in 2020.

As the year rolls by, the number of new moth species a novice moth-er with 3-4 years experience is likely to see on any given night declines with the arrival of autumn. All the moths I saw in my first season were pretty much new-for-me (NFM), about 127 species. In 2019, lighting up for a longer period, I recorded 125 NFM. 2020 wasn’t a great year not many moths at all after an unseasonably warm and sunny pre-Spring and I recorded just 30 NFM. Similarly, 37 NFM in 2021. However, despite odd weather again in 2022, I’ve recorded 49 NFM in the garden and a dozen with the LepiLED in the New Forest.

Among those NFM species was the fabulous and rather rare Convolvulus Hawk-moth. Several (perhaps 5) have turned up in our garden, perhaps drawn to the nectar of the tobacco plants we grew especially for them.

There are, of course, plenty of autumnal moths and maybe a clutch of those have not been ticked. Then, there are the recent additions to the British List, such as Clancy’s Rustic. Clancy’s Rustic Caradrina kadenii
(Freyer, [1836]) which was first reported by Sean Clancy in Kent in 2002.

One turned up in the garden last night, looking quite fresh. I thought I’d seen one before in 2020 but when I double-checked my records it turned out to have been the rather similar-looking Pale Mottled Willow, which is quite common in my garden. So, at last I can tick one of the rarest of the rare moths, Clancy’s Rustic as NFM.

Hairstreak butterflies

There are so many “hairstreak” butterflies around the world, members of the Theclinae, with lots of tribes. Indeed, nobody knows for sure how many of these delightful little creatures adorn our world. In the UK, we have just five of them as native species, and they’re quite rare and tend to live and breed only in small pockets.

In 2021, I saw my first Green, Purple, and White-letter Hairstreaks with a little bit of guidance from some butterflyers I’ve mentioned before. In 2022, I made a concerted effort to try and find at least one of the two others that are not too far to drive from home – the Black Hairstreak. I may have glimpsed it in 2021, but I definitely saw and photographed it in a place called Monks Wood one of its rare habitats.

The fifth the Brown Hairstreak has a flying season August-September and we tried to spot it on our final day on the edge of the New Forest where there was plenty of fresh blackthorn (the larval foodplant) but with no luck. A possible trip to nearer Suffolk might have been productive, but it’s probably too late in the year for it now, so Brown HS is going to be a target there for me in 2023 instead.

In the meantime, you can catch up with some of the 50 butterflies and 460 moths I’ve photographed and videoed for Reels on the Sciencebase Instagram

The Convolvulus second coming

UPDATE: A rather battered Connie turned up on the night of 8th September. That’s three nights we’ve seen the species in the garden, it’s possible there were two on the first occasion (27 August), but just one on 2nd September, and just one last night. Although there’s no way of knowing for sure, there may have been others on those nights and other nights, all may well have been attracted by the scent of the garden tobacco plants we grew specifically to attract this species. All were subsequently drawn to the UV lure.

Usually, one relies on Attenborough and his marvellous army of photographers and researchers to bring the dramatic natural world closer to home. At a push Spring Watch and its ilk can give you a slightly less educational fix with their low-level narrative and low-level cameras. But, nature impinges on even the most urbane of urban gardens at times.

Indeed, we see various butterflies in the garden on warm and sunny summer days – Comma, Painted Lady, Red Admiral, Peacock, Whites (Large and Small), Holly Blue, very occasionally Common Blue and Small Copper, even (once) Marbled White. Hummingbird Hawk-moths turn up during the day and with a little luring, Emperor Moth and various Clearwings. I’ve listed the birds elsewhere on Sciencebase.com, we’ve ticked 30 species in the garden or over it. At night, there are hedgehogs and the Common Frogs are active in and around the pond. Speaking of which various dragonflies and damselflies around the pond and their larvae in it. Also at night, Pipistrelle bats circulating, hunting for moths…oh…moths.

As regular readers will know, surely…I light up with an ultraviolet “lemp” to attract moths and record and photograph them. 459 species so far in four years of mothing. One of the most intriguing and, I feel, exciting visitors was the Convolvulus Hawk-moth. It nectared on Nicotiana (garden tobacco plants) planted specifically to give it something to eat should it turn up. As you know, it did and then again this evening. It’s a huge beast, three or four inches across, it makes a lot of noise whirring and whirling around the garden and clacking into walls and plant pots in between bouts of unfurling its enormous proboscis to feed.

A second, possibly third, one appeared to nectar and then was distracted by the lemp. I got some video of the Convolvulus Hawk-moth just before it dived into the trap. But, I couldn’t leave it there to fester overnight so I lifted the lid to let it out. It soured away into the night sky, like a whirring wraith in a pink and black stripey mohair rollneck. Who needs Sir David, when you’ve got plain David? Hah!