As I type, it is uncomfortably warm outside. So, time to get something written
here before heading out for a walk in the relative cool of evening...
With the first six months of 2024 almost done, it seems appropriate to have
some sort of half-time summary.
The less said about birding, the better. Spring migration felt like a
non-event, and the sort of weather that offers local seawatching promise never
really happened. Admittedly my effort level was poor, but it wasn't like I was
missing out on much; direness appeared to be the local norm.
The BTO published its annual
Breeding Bird Survey Results, which hinted at why so many springtime outings are unrewarding,
migrant-wise. If they ain't coming, we're not going to see them, are we? I'm
pleased for Red Kites, I really am, but the ever-shrinking populations
of what were formerly regular - even common - migrant species is depressing in
the extreme. And though continental overshoots like Hoopoe,
Woodchat, Bee-eater and Alpine Swift are always going to
provide a moment of thrill, they are just pretty dots of colour on a horribly
bleak picture.
Which brings me to moths. Unlike birding, where I have witnessed first-hand
several decades-worth of decline, mothing is all shiny and new to me. No doubt
long-time moth recorders who have single-site figures going back a while have
likewise seen numbers nosedive, and maybe get as moany about moths as I do
about birds. For me though, mothing provides a beguiling veneer of apparent wealth over
what is, I am sure, a similarly impoverished reality. The sheer number of
species, the variety of shapes and sizes... and I have barely scratched the
surface. Yes, moths have been a nice distraction.
Another way to momentarily forget that so much of the local countryside is an
ecological desert is to take a walk through the meadows at Cogden. I do not
know when they were last farmed in any sense beyond light grazing, but the
subsequent years have produced a little paradise...
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A pastel-pink Pyramidal Orchid, with a couple of regular versions
behind, plus a wealth of wildflowers that I cannot name.
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A generous helping of Pyramidal Orchids on a bed of lushness.
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Last Sunday, and a mint-fresh Marbled White. My first of the
year.
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Not a scale out of place. Perfection.
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And a few pics from other recent visits...
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A quartet of Cogden orchids. Clockwise from top left: Bee,
Southern(?) Marsh, Pyramidal and
Greater Butterfly.
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Common Spotted Orchid, I think. Not so common at Cogden or West
Bex; this one was at the latter.
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Here it is in situ.
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The rather exquisite Grass Vetchling.
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Grass Vetchling again, with resting Common Blue.
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Dark Bush Cricket nymph.
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That last photo reminds me to mention another lovely aspect of the Cogden
meadows: they are absolutely teeming with life. On Sunday I came across
Roesel's Bush Cricket nymphs, countless moths - mostly
Crambids but also the Four-spotted Straw
Aethes tesserana, which seemingly is a decent record, and assorted others - as well as a good
number of newly-emerged Marbled Whites. And when you crouch down for a
closer look, an entomological cornucopia.
So, June moths. A couple of new species for the garden...
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Lesser Wax Moth Achroia grisella. Only a couple of Bridport Area dots on the Living Record map.
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Black-streaked Tortrix Epinotia signatana. Again, not especially common locally.
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And of course there have been plenty of other moths of interest. The striking,
the quirky, and one or two relatively scarce...
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The very gorgeous Sallow Kitten, the only one so far this year.
In 2023 we caught two.
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The garden's third Large Tabby Aglossa pinguinalis. A local species that seems rather scarce in West Dorset.
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The bizarre Dark-dotted Longhorn
Nematopogon metaxella. We trapped nine last year, and three so far in 2024.
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A pristine Freyer's Pug. We've had a few this year.
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Our second Small White Wave, after one last year. Not many
records locally, so presumably a moth at low density here.
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Italian Bark Moth Metalampra italica, an attractive little micro.
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Heart & Club x2 - common but variable
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Pied Grey Eudonia delunella - one of the scarcer species
in this ubiquitous group of look-alikes.
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The pug-sized Small Seraphim. Seemingly not too common in the
Bridport area. Our second, following one almost exactly a year ago.
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The trap ticks over, but numbers are well down on last June. Still, it's
generally worth a punt.
Finally, although I have seen and photographed dolphins a few times off the
coast here, this is the first time I have managed a 'completely out of the
water' shot...
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Common Dolphin, airborne.
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