Too Little Time

Where does the time go? That's a rhetorical question of course. I know where time goes. It dribbles through the wasp-waist of our personal sandglass, and away...

But while I still have some left, there are so many things I want to cram into it. Unfortunately there is a catch. Here's a pre-retirement cliché you have either heard, are hearing or will hear many times, depending upon your present age/employment status:

'You'll wonder how you ever had time for work!'

How true. I am unexpectedly and ridiculously busy. Which is bad news for a perennial multi-hobbyist. Some of the activities which were anticipating a bit of limelight have had to remain in the wings. Sorry, birding. Apologies, fishing. Cameo roles only for you two just now. Mothing is still centre stage, right in the middle of what is proving to be a lengthy monologue.

I wish I had got into moths when I was still young enough to have plenty of room in my brain for new stuff. I definitely missed a trick, because it's not as if the younger me was unaware of their existence or potential to fascinate. In the late 1980's I bought Skinner's Moths of the British Isles in order to identify moths attracted by the porch light of our new home in Rickmansworth, Herts. The light had a sensor which switched the lamp on at dusk and off at first light, and invariably there would be a moth or three on the wall nearby. Our list slowly grew, and includes a few species I haven't seen since those days. Mind you, it also includes a few I don't trust either! Some species are dated, but I suspect these indicate subsequent occurrences rather than first records. Still, the earliest noted date is April 1989 (Angle Shades) at which point I was still in my 20's. Just.

The 1985 edition of Skinner, with the original Moth List, mostly in Sandra's fair hand.

Imagine if I'd properly got into moths at that time. My head would now be stuffed with 37 years' worth of moth knowledge. I would be a moth bore extraordinaire, instead of the wannabe tyro-bore that I am.

But I didn't. So I'm just a beginner, and feel like one too.

However, the nice thing about mothing is that absolutely anyone can catch exciting moths. Even beginners. Even this beginner...

Last week I caught a First for Devon. And not some obscure, teeny micro with an unpronounceable scientific name and much-scorned vernacular. No. An actual macro. And here it is...

A rather worn and knackered Langmaid's Yellow Underwing. The central image shows the upperside of its hindwing, basically a yellow blob in the middle of a black wing. On the right is the the same hindwing of its confusion species, a Lesser Broad-bordered Yellow Underwing, very common both in Devon and elsewhere. A lot less black on LBBYU, and the outer area is isolated as a band, rather than continuing as a border around the whole wing.

To be frank, catching the Langmaid's Yellow Underwing was nice, but most of the high-octane moth jollies come from the rare, the scarce and the beautiful. And there have been plenty of all three. This year has been a blast so far...

Convolvulus Hawk-moth

Fireworks and Subtlety

As things stand right now, I am pretty much captive to the World of Moth. And I know exactly why they have beguiled me so. Because when it comes to the artful trickery of seduction, moths have everything. They have charm and beauty, rarity and surprise; they have endless variety; moths can put on a show, be it a dazzling spectacle or brain-teasing challenge. They have it all, from fireworks to subtlety.

Last week a couple of Privet Hawk-moths paid a visit. Knowing that some friends were coming round later, I popped one of the Privet Hawks into the fridge in a large plastic box lined with folded kitchen roll. When our friends arrived I duly trotted out the party-piece. Obviously it was at rest, all folded up. Colour-wise just brown and cream, nothing special, but still it looked enormous. Our friends were certainly impressed and made appropriate noises. None had ever seen a Privet Hawk-moth before. When the moth had warmed up a bit I gave it a gentle prod. Both wings unfolded like blades, revealing the bright pink stripes on the hindwings and around the abdomen. It was as if I had set off a Roman candle. Suddenly there were 'oohs' and 'ahhs', and out came the phone cameras.

'Yes,' I thought, 'That's exactly the affect it has on me too.'

Fireworks. Some moths are just jaw-droppingly awesome.

A couple of examples...

If Elephant Hawk-moth was a rare migrant, we would be wetting ourselves upon finding one of these in the trap. What a stunningly beautiful creature!

Lilac Beauty. Just wow!

The night of June 1st was very wet, and I didn't expect to see many moths next morning. Nevertheless, while checking the wall behind the trap I noticed a dead leaf hanging on the moth sheet, right next to my leg...

Dead leaf

We only ever caught a single Lilac Beauty in Bridport. It wasn't exactly mint, but I remember being super-impressed. However, this one was immaculate. What a stunning moth! So many features to drool over: the pink squiggles on the leading edge; the astonishing crinkled forewings; the black dots on the hindwings that look exactly like perforations, but aren't. How could such a strange-looking moth be so aesthetically pleasing? A total joy! I have spent more time than is healthy studying that first photo.

And so, to subtlety...

My biggest 'fear' in mothing is that I might inadvertently chuck away a really good moth because it looks very similar to a common species. I realised this possibility early on, so have striven to at least be aware of a few of those tricky look-alikes. Recently, Wood Carpet has been on my radar. It was quite a scarce moth in Dorset, with I think just ten records in the last four years, so I never expected it in Bridport. In Devon it is less scarce, with 40 records in 2025 alone. So, maybe...

Yesterday morning I spotted a Common Carpet on the fence by the porch light. Even my puffy, early-morning eyes could see that its main white cross-band looked rather bright and clean. I potted it ve-e-ery carefully...

Wood Carpet, new for me. A good record and nice addition to the Axminster garden list.

Even more pleasing than Wood Carpet was a tricky pug moth that came my way on May 30th. Again it was the porch light what done the deed, when I potted a small pug off the adjacent wall late at night. In the light of my head-torch I could detect a hint of green, but there were little alarm bells jingling...

It was Luke Phillips, back in Bridport, who first put Sloe Pug on my radar when he trapped one on the other side of town two or three years back. Sloe Pug was pretty scarce in Dorset, but even more so in Devon, with just 30 records up to the end of last year, and in fact none at all in 2025. Identification is tricky enough anyway, but this moth was rather worn too. One feature to look for is a salmon-pink waist band on the upper abdomen. I thought I could make something out with a hand-lens, plus the post-median line didn't have the obvious zigzag kink near the costa (leading edge of the forewing) that Green Pug does. Thankfully, in better light the next morning it was all pretty clear...

Sloe Pug, with its salmon-pink cummerbund.

Definitely one of my most pleasing bits of moth identification, and a great example of why it's worth learning a few of the less common look-alikes that might come your way. That same night I caught a Green Pug of almost exactly the same size as the Sloe Pug, so here is a little composite pic...

Sloe Pug (top) and Green Pug.

I could go on all night, but that's enough for one post.

Fireworks and subtlety. Gotta love moths. 

Warm Air and Desert Dust

The night of Sunday, 10th May was cold and clear. A bit of 'trap monitoring' before bed had drawn a blank, but no doubt there would be something to see in the morning. Wrong. There was not. Zero moths is what I got. The following night I didn't even bother.

Surely things would pick up soon?

I had no idea...

The World of Moth has been a total revelation to me. The learning curve was pretty steep, but I now know a ton of things that until recently I did not. Since that first night exactly four years ago tonight, my head has been filled with new stuff. For example, I didn't know that plumes of warm air that sometimes push up this way from distant, southern climes bring with them not just Sahara dust but also insects. I guess I was aware that insects migrated, but had never thought about it to any extent. Well, I think about it now. Quite a lot!

Veteran moth folk speak of 2006 as possibly the best year ever for migrant moths. However, if the hype is true, not any more! Moth people in the most favourable locations have already been inundated with a deluge of insects from North Africa, and 2026 is evidently set to break all sorts of records, if it hasn't already. Occasionally we would get in on this kind of thing back in Bridport and were fortunate enough to catch a number of desirable migrant moths, culminating in the mega Druid last June. But how would we fare in Axminster? And not just for migrants, but moths in general?

Initial efforts last autumn were encouraging. We caught a few nice moths, and I actually dared to wonder if this miniscule garden in a modern housing estate was going to be okay after all. And then, on the morning of Saturday, 15th November, one of just two moths in the trap was the scarce migrant Banded Sable, the 18th for Devon. Get in!

So this year has seen a proper bit of effort. Not just the regular trap deployment, but also the writing stuff down, entering it on spreadsheets, the lot. All the administrative bits that I normally find a massive drudge, and give up on all too readily...well, I'm quite enjoying it actually. One handy aspect of bothering with the admin is that I have some numbers to play with. The numbers tell me that our current species tally for 2026 is exactly 240. Back in 2023 I made a similar effort with numbers in Bridport, and I know that on June 18th the garden tally was 243. So...indications are that Axminster may well be better. Better! I reckon we are going to have some high old times here...

Anyway, The main point of this post is to highlight some of the migrant moth activity we've recorded here so far in 2026. I hope it provides a wee bit of inspiration to other moth folk in relatively normal locations. That is, not Cornwall or a coastal headland or similar!

Total moths so far: 1754

Diamond-back Moth - 43, across 18 nights; peak of 8 on May 27th.

Rush Veneer - 5 so far, 4 nights; peak of 2 on May 31st.

Silver Y - 17 so far, 9 nights; peak of 4 on May 26th. 

Rusty-dot Pearl - 6, over 6 nights; peak of 1 on all of them!

Small Mottled Willow - 34, across 9 nights; peak of 8 on May 23rd.

I am well aware that some moth traps have been seeing three-figure counts of Small Mottled Willow this year, but for me these are still astonishing numbers. In Bridport we caught three, ever. It's gone from 'real treat' to almost 'blah' overnight. Ridiculous.

Bordered Straw - 3; two on May 27th, one the following night. One of those species we caught a few times in Bridport, and very nice to see here too. 

So, onto the quality items...

Ni Moth - one, May 30th.

This species was new for me. A scarce migrant, with just 61 Devon records up to the end of 2025, though probably millions more since!

Ni Moth. Like a smallish, sandy-coloured Silver Y.

Gem - 2, a female on May 21st and a male on 31st.

Female Gem, trapped May 21st.

Male Gem, trapped May 31st

The Gem is another new moth for me. There are 680+ Devon records, and like the so-far-uncaught Delicate (1,160+ Devon records) one of those moths which I knew would come one day. Great to see it at last. Incidentally, both were potted whilst 'trap monitoring', reminding me why I bother with it.

Striped Hawk-moth - one, May 28th.

Opening the trap in the morning and seeing one of these beauties on the top tray is a sight for those puffy, early-morning eyes! Just brilliant! There were 170 Devon records up to the end of 2025, but I think this number is going to get a lot bigger...

Striped Hawk-moth is definitely one of those moths it's worth breaking out a bit of studio scenery for.

So that's it - Axminster migrant moths so far in 2026. Hopefully I've not missed off any species I ought to have included. That said, I'm pretty confident that next time I'll need to make room for one or two more anyway. Ever the optimist...

Scilly Reset

A fortnight ago today, we arrived home from a short holiday on The Isles of Scilly with a couple of old friends. It was our first visit to the islands for ten years. Now why would any birder in their right mind choose to spend a valuable week of their life on Scilly in late April? I mean, apart from the eye-watering cost, there is absolutely no guarantee of rare birds, right? If you really must go to Scilly rather than Shetland, then October is the month, surely?

Well, if rarities are what you want, fine. But for me and many others, that is not what Scilly is for.

Bumping into a fellow birder on Tresco, we asked how he was getting on. His response was a glum look and slightly exasperated 'I just seem to be chasing birds...'

We thought, but didn't say, 'Mate, you're doing it wrong!'

A late-April holiday on Scilly should be nothing but balm for the soul. How could someone muck it up so badly? Unfortunately I think I know the answer.

Our previous spring holidays on Scilly were in the days before smartphones and WhatsApp groups, and you rarely met another birder. If there was any news at all, it was minimal and wa-a-a-ay after the fact...

'Any good, mate? What you seen?'

'Nice Woodchat on Bryher two days ago, and Night Heron at Porthellick last Thursday week. You?'

Back then, nobody seemed to bother much with rushing about in the spring. That was for autumn, and the young thrusters. Well, now of course the young thrusters of yore are old blokes like me, and a fair few have evidently decided that Scilly in spring is where it's at, and have brought their rushing-about type habits with them. As a result, in late April 2026 Scilly was liberally peppered with elderly birders, slowly creaking their way from dip to dip by means of the Scilly Rare and Scarce Bird News WhatsApp group (849 members and counting) with its instant dissemination of information about birds that were showing well until ten minutes ago.

Paul and I tried very hard not to be sucked into this joyless game. Rather, our doddery progress around the islands would inevitably involve a stop at every gateway, a scan of every hedge. We certainly stumbled across a few nice birds that way, and still managed to get in on some of the headliners.

What follows is a parade of photos depicting many of the week's highlights. A few that avoided the camera were a singing Nightingale, a close but too-quick Wood Warbler, a Purple Heron that only Paul saw, and a male Golden Oriole that we all saw, but all too briefly. I did get a ropey shot of a Night Heron in flight, but it's too ropey even for this blog...

Young White Wagtail on Porthellick

Lapwing, ditto.

American Wigeon, Porthellick again.

Willow Warbler on the Garrison.

There was a mass arrival of Painted Ladies quite early in our stay. They were everywhere.

St. Agnes is my favourite island, so I was chuffed to find this Ring Ouzel there on our first morning, at Browarth, a quiet spot beyond Porth Killier.

Ring Ouzel in classic Scilly scenery. Despite what someone on Bluesky thought, that huge rock in the background is not the iconic lump of granite situated at the north end of Wingletang Down! If you know, you know...

Wheatear, granite, lichen.

Short-toed Lark on the airfield. A rather dark and scruffy-looking individual.

The early-morning arrival of seven Black-winged Stilts on St. Agnes was probably the rarity highlight of the week, especially when they relocated to Porthellick on St. Mary's. In this shot an adult male, plus female in submissive posture.

Bonus Wood Sandpiper on Porthellick

A migrant Diamond-back Moth sneaks into the photo sequence...

Black-winged Stilts are outrageous birds anyway, but in flight, even more so!

All seven...

...and again, beautifully picked out by the evening sun, just prior to departure.

Probably a Dark-barred Twin-spot Carpet. Apparently far commoner on Scilly than Red Twin-spot Carpet. A new moth for me...probably.

One of four Red Kites on Tresco. If I kept a Scilly list, probably a tick.

I've seen quite a few spring Woodchats on Scilly. This one was on Tresco.

Turtle Dove on Peninnis, St. Mary's. The first I've seen since 2020.

Great Northern Diver off Peninnis.

Male Whinchat from the coast path below the Golf Course.

Spotted Flycatcher on coastal rocks at Porthloo.

Dunlin, Porthloo.

Common Sandpiper, Old Town.

In its final year of service, the venerable Scillonian III passing Peninnis.

Holly Blue

This thrillingly brown micro is a fine example of Eastern Detritus Moth Opogona omoscopa. It is something of a Scilly speciality. Paul found it on the wall of the Sally Port tunnel beneath the Garrison wall on St. Mary's. It is one of those 'accidental import' type moths. Very unlikely to turn up in my Axminster garden. Which is a bit gutting of course.

Peninnis lighthouse on the right, Porthcressa and the Garrison on the left.

Porthcressa and Peninnis.

View of the harbour from Porthloo beach.

The Longstone Cream Tea experience. No complaints here. Generous portion of cream, massive scone. Expensive? Natch.

I could go on quite a bit about Tresco, my least favourite island. Tresco's beauty is unfortunately sullied by a vast temple to Mammon.

Our last day on the islands coincided with the first day of this. We first encountered the World Pilot Gig Championships back in the 1990s. It was a lot smaller then, with the 'World' comprising little more than Scilly, Cornwall and a couple of other seaside spots.

Nice to see a couple of Lyme Regis gigs here. There were Bridport boats too. They are a regular sight off the coast local to us, propelled back and forth in all weathers by earnest rowers embracing their pain cave.

More than 150 gigs and 480 crews apparently. Getting that lot to the islands must be a logistical nightmare!

Just a few of them on Town Beach...

...and a few in the water.

The Scillonian III arriving to take us home.

In many ways the islands were exactly as they have always been: a beguilingly beautiful haven. But I am seeing them now through older eyes, and there is less of a rosy tint to my spectacles. Thankfully that didn't really matter. It was still possible to sit on a wild, rocky coastline, drugged by the scent of gorse, and feel the cares of everyday life shrivel up and fall away...