35.735 years in science communication
Yesterday, I had my birding lens (150-600mm zoom) on the camera when I snapped those invertebrates feeding on the ivy overgrowth in All Saints’ churchyard in Rampton. Today, I took a 90mm macro to get a different type of closeup of the butterflies, bees, flies, and hornets. No hornets in sight and no ivy bees either.
The enormous ivy (Hedera helix) overgrowth on an old tree behind All Saints Church, Rampton, was heaving with honeybees, bumblebees (various species), hoverflies (and other diptera), ivy bees, hornets, and red admiral butterflies during a sunny and warm lunchtime. I knew it would be, I’ve been keeping an eye on it for a week or two waiting for it to blossom. The acrid and yet pleasantly heady aroma hits you first as you walk into the churchyard. And, almost simultaneously you notice the buzzing. A lot of buzzing, the buzzing of thousands of pairs of tiny wings.
Ivy blossom is so important in the autumn for invertebrates once the usual flowers are beyond nectar making and their sugary food supply dries up. I have let the ivy on the fence at the rear of our garden grow quite wild again this year. After dark, I spotted lots of night feeders – several Large Yellow Underwing, some Vine’s Rustic, an Angle Shades, and various flies and other critters. The leaves had plenty of snails after the rains.
As of 9th September 2019, I have tallied more than 10000 moth specimens of approximately 300 different species via the scientific trap. I started trapping this year on 20th February and there have been a few short breaks for holidays in between lighting-up sessions. And then there was the outage when I smashed the UV light…
These numbers represent a tiny fraction of the total number of moths that will have passed through our garden in that time and the species count is barely 12 percent of the total number of species in the British Isles.
The red barchart shows the peaks and troughs of total numbers counted after each trapping session. Going from blanks some mornings to a handful in the winter months and into spring and then peaking with several hundred of a few dozen different species at various times during July and then late August (when we had a very hot spell with Cambridge breaking temperature records).
The blue of the chart shows the species count for each session. This peaked on 10th July with 60 different species, and perhaps more micro moths that I am too inexpert to have tallied on the day. There were 276 specimens in and around the trap come the morning of that day. The biggest tally was 27th August with 421 moths of some 43 different species.
For a complete listing of all species with vernacular and scientific names and, of course, record shots of each, check out my Mothematics Gallery on Imaging Storm. I’ve logged 321 moths species (most of them during the period July 2018 to September 2019 and most of those using the garden trap. A dozen or so in the gallery were photographed elsewhere.
I wrote about why scientific moth trapping is an important endeavour earlier in the year and how the modern amateur approach involves releasing the moths alive once tallied/photographed. Someone claimed that there are hundreds of thousands of people mothing. There aren’t. But, given that a single pipistrelle bat eats around 300 flying insects every night it is easy to see that in a country village where there might be three or four people trapping regularly, the bats are taking far more moths out of circulation than moth-ers.
As you can see from this small selection of my photos, moths are anything but grey and beige. Many fly during the day, many are brightly coloured, some are just sex machines (they don’t have mouthparts and don’t eat), all of them from the humblest micro to the biggest we have in the UK, the Privet Hawk-moth are astonishing examples of biological diversity in the invertebrate world.
Kittiwakes live on the tidal river Tyne as far inland as my hometown, Newcastle itself. In fact, this is the farthest inland-dwelling colony of this small gull, known internationally as the black-legged kittiwake (Rissa tridactyla) anywhere in the world.
We were in Newcastle for a university graduation ceremony in July, so it seemed somewhat churlish not to get photos of the seabirds in between family photos of us and the graduate and the great city itself. As Stephen Rutt points out in his excellent book The Seafarers, nobody has figured out why these Kittiwakes have come so far inland.
Mention going on safari to most people and the assumption is that means a trip to a reserve somewhere far-flung, usually southern Africa, snapping photos of lion, giraffe, elephant, impala, and other big game. A wit might mention in passing the once-trendy concept of a safari supper, but let’s forget foodie affectations and take a safari around our local patch. What are you likely to see on a local safari?
Well, aside from the various birds we usually refer to in this column, the buzzards, kestrels, peregrines, hobbies, red kites, marsh harriers, and all those smaller specimens, there are quite a few large animals around. There’s no point offroading it and rocking up in a “Landie” like you might do on that African safari, the watering holes are not so scarce and there is almost as much chance of spotting your something in your back garden as on the farmland that surrounds the village and the local, small woodlands.
Depending on the time of day, a walk through Les King Wood will often have you stumbling on and perhaps startling a Muntjac or barking deer. Specifically, the non-indigenous species originating in South Asia of Reeves’s muntjac were captive on the Woburn Abbey Estate in the roaring 20s and have since gone feral. Watch out for females with young, they will often make a noise and run out into a field as a decoy leaving their offspring out of sight in a hedgerow. They aren’t confined to the Wood though, you might spot one in and around the village at almost any time of year. Similarly, the various small herds of Roe Deer, which are more prominent on the farmland along Beach Road and in the fields beyond the Cottenham Lode.
An early morning run, as reader Andrew F will tell you, almost always has him stumbling over badgers on the “Birds Estate” in the village. Andrew tells me he sees them a lot and often with young. Foxes too are a common sight for walkers and runners especially in the photographers’ golden hours just as the sun comes up or when it is setting. That said, the inspiration for my Nature Watch report this issue was seeing a red fox in the wide open and newly mown hayfield alongside Rampton Spinney at midday.
The fox spent a lot of time staring at the hay, perhaps hoping for insects or small rodents to make an irresistible appearance. I watched him for ten minutes or so before he skulked off into the trees, presumably still very hungry. Some of the older residents will tell you of frequent sightings of foxes in gardens along the High Street backing on to the Lode and elsewhere in the village. They also might point out that fewer and fewer are seen even out in the more “countryside” areas beyond. Although chicken-keepers still have to be vigilant and several have lost their birds to the local vulpines nevertheless.
There are plenty of rabbits around these here parts, although thankfully they are not endemic to the allotments. That site does, however, have a European hare that makes a periodic appearance. There are plenty of that particular species around, often to be seen haring about in the fields beyond the Les King Wood and even on the back field of the recreation ground.
Moles are a little bit more an elusive target of our local safari, given their general subterranean existence. I have, however, once seen one of these velvetine mammals pop its head up from its hole. Seen slightly more often are stoats. If spotted these animals will often dart into the undergrowth but then come back out for a second look, just to check how feeble a predator you really are. There are water voles too, living in burrows in the banks of the Lode. Unfortunately, the Grey Heron sees this small swimming mammal as just another snack and I have seen one these birds standing atop the bank gulping down a water vole whole.
Meanwhile, the maintenance work the Environment Agency carries out there always takes the water voles into account and their work is done very much with protecting this species’ habitat in mind. I spoke to one of their engineers recently who told me as much and also pointed out some otter scat on stones beneath the Rampton Bridge, so there’s another mammalian target on our local safari.
Of course, if you’re unable or unwilling to venture out on our local safari, you might still be able to see some of the small game that lives alongside us in the village. Hedgehogs, once a frequent sight in their two-dimensional form on roads across the country, are seen far less often. It is important to make routes for them to traverse our gardens and to ensure ponds have escape routes to prevent drowning. Leaving gardens with some unkempt areas will give our prickly friends a place to hide and hibernate. Hedgehogs are lactose intolerant though, so don’t put milk out for them. They are omnivores, however, and will see a bit of soft cat food as a treat, although it is best to leave them to their natural diet of invertebrates.
Oh, and there are lots of American immigrants in the form of the grey squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) in our environs as well as the melanistic form, the black squirrel.
If you have seen any interesting natural happenings in and around the village do let me know, you can email me [email protected] Photos and additional nature reporting on my website https://sciencebase.com
The Large Yellow Underwing is the kind of moth we used to call a logger when I was a bairn; Northern dialect word, short for loggerhead. On a warm summer’s evening there would almost always be a logger that would be attracted to a kitchen light and come in through an open window. I must confess I don’t ever remember seeing this species, Noctua pronuba (Linnaeus, 1758), specifically, and certainly don’t recall ever noticing any big moths that revealed brightly coloured hindwings when they were startled or fly. Like most people, until they learn, it’s assumed butterflies are colourful and moths are all brown, grey and dowdy. Simply not true.
Anyway, I’ve more than made up for any childhood failings in terms of moth observation over the last year or so. This summer alone I have caught and released more than 1000 moths of just this one species in my scientific trap, the peak was 148 specimens on the night of 26th August 2019. I’ve recorded their numbers and occasionally photographed them along with more than 300 other species of Lepidoptera (the word means scaly winged and also applies to the butterflies, which are really just a type of moth, anyway, there’s only any real distinction made in British English, because of the bipolar nature of our language with its Germanic and Latinate roots).
Anyway, I wanted to know the etymology of logger/loggerhead. Obviously, there’s the whaling term referring to a large post at the prow of a whaling vessel around which the harpoon rope would be slung to hold fast the catch. There are loggerhead turtles and the word is sometimes used to refer to a foolish person, someone thick as two short planks, and apparently, tadpoles.
Bill Griffith in his Dictionary of North East Dialect (Northumbria University Press, 2nd edn 2005). Refers to a logger as being a coloured butterfly. And mentions that it might also be used to refer to moths. He quotes its usage:
A've been doon the born coppin loggerheads
A literal translation from the Geordie would be: I have been to the burn looking at coloured butterflies/moths. But, figuratively it is a way of responding to the question “Wheor hev yee been?” (Where have you been?) with a curt “Mind your own business!”.
I’ve mention Peter Marren’s book on Lepidoptera nomenclature before – Emperors, Admirals, and Chimney Sweepers. It’s a fascinating read, especially if you love words and lepidoptera. But, if you enjoy either one of those things you’ll enjoy his book. Anyway, this morning, I had need to refer to it and put my various moth pots from the scientific trap next to it…ooh, I thought as I did so: photo opportunity. There are seven actual moths posing on my copy of the book in the photo immediately below. Can you spot them?
On the upper picture there is an Angle Shades, a Canary-shouldered Thorn, an Orange Swift, a Green Carpet, a Ringed China-mark, a Coronet, and a Garden Carpet. Did you spot them all?
I’ve simplified my Imaging Storm “Mothematics” photo galleries. We now have – Butterflies, Hawk-moths, Macro Moths, and Micro Moths instead of dividing the macros between geometers, owlets, erebidae, notodontidae, lasiocampidae, drepanidae, and everything else.
Peppered Moth – one of the geometers
You can take a look at my detailed mothing records for 2019 here.
The mercury had been rising for a few days, nudging up the little iron shims on the garden’s max-min thermometer by mid-afternoon. Three days on the trot it has peaked at a little over 30 Celsius in the shade despite it having been a Bank Holiday Weekend. Nights have been sultry, as they say in a certain kind of pulp fiction. Humid, and the mercury not nudging the iron bars below about 16 Celsius.
Of course, these are not extremes, these are puny temperatures when compared to much of the rest of the world. But, this is England and our weather is tempered by the Gulf Stream and admonished of late by global warming. It’s been good for the night-flying creatures you know I love. Both the bats and the moths.
The moths far outnumber the bats of course. In the scientific trap, drawn to the 40 Watt actinic, UV light, there were at least 421 leps of more than 43 species (highest density but not diversity so far for me in my garden in 2019).
I keep a detailed record, but some of the micro-moths, the grass veneers, for instance, don’t always get segregated in my logs, so where I say Satin Grass-veneer or Chrysoteuchia culmella, it is possible that I’ve overlooked a distinct species of the 2000 or so micro moths of the British Isles.
For the macro moths, I’m 99.9% certain I’m naming them and logging all of those correctly, albeit with an occasional escapee before it is ticked. There are around 500 macro moths in this country. Worldwide there are some 170,000 species of moths. #MothsMatter. I lodge rarities, interesting migrants, and vagrants that turn up with iRecord and the Cambridgeshire County Moth Recorder. Amazingly, of this morning’s haul not one of the specimens was new to the garden nor even new for the year, I’ve seen and photographed all of the species listed below several times.
Oh, by the way, in case you didn’t know, Lepidoptera means “scaly winged” and butterflies are essentially a sub-group of moths, they all having a common moth ancestor way back in evolutionary history. All leps are descended from a common ancestor with the caddisflies (of which many often turn up in the trap too).
The main aim of the recent camping trip to the North Norfolk coast aside from camping for the sake of it was to see some of the seals that have a colony at Winterton/Horsey, a couple of miles along the beach from the Waxham campsite. You must keep the dog and yourselves at a good distance, which we did but so many people didn’t, which is frustrating to witness. Tragic consequences of such ignorance came to light in December.
Perhaps despite appearances, my photos were all taken from at least 10 metres away, which is what the signs tell you to do. The dog was never allowed anywhere near that proximity. They’re done with a 600mm zoom and then cropped to the frame.
Anyway, we counted a couple of hundred seals that we could see in the water and basking at the water’s edge. Two species here – Grey Seal (Halichoerus grypus, the “hooked-nosed sea pig”, and Harbour, or Common, Seal, Phoca vitulina, which means “veal seal”.
There is an amazing diversity of colour and patterning of their fur and variation in size. Interesting to note that although they have a common evolutionary ancestor with the cat and dog a closer relative with a more recent common ancestor are the otters.
