The Moth Trance

Earlier this evening I dug out my binoculars and took them to West Bay for the first time since...er...May. To be honest I haven't missed birding at all. Well, you don't, do you? Not when you're in a moth trance. Birding buddy Steve Waite made me laugh out loud last night...

That certainly is one handsome Yellow-legged Gull. Steve's message cut through the beguiling haze of mothy distraction like a laser, and reminded me that there are other ways to bore blog readers. The recent moth trance has made me a bit one-dimensional, and I hereby promise to revisit the tried and trusted formulae of yore: gulls, dire seawatching, and gulls. And gulls.

Meanwhile, a quick mothy catch-up...

Tuesday night, 11th July

112 moths of 50 species. Four were new for year, one new for garden.

Reddish Light Arches. New for the garden, and seemingly quite scarce in West Dorset (see below).

Oak Nycteoline, the second this year.

A rather nice example of this common micro.

First Chinese Character of 2023. Absolutely pristine. My favourite 'bird poo' moth.

The Reddish Light Arches featured above was yet another moth I recognised instantly through having seen it several times on Twitter. This happens to me a lot. I already knew it was a pretty good record, but how good, exactly? This is a difficult question to answer. The only yardstick available to me is the species' Living Record map.

Living Record is the Dorset Moth Group's preferred recording facility, but its data only seem to go back a few years. In addition, the moth group's website has not been updated since 2019 for macros, and contains almost no information (and blank maps) for micros. Which means I can do little better than offer 'ball park' comments on a particular moth's status. Even so, it is pretty evident that Reddish Light Arches is a decent record...

The big yellow-centred blob by Swanage represents 63 records (Durlston Country Park is clearly a hotspot) but the small blue blobs closest to Bridport represent single records. So yes, a nice species to get in the garden trap.

To give some idea of the extent of moth trapping activity in Dorset, I thought it might be helpful to check out the Silver Y map. I guessed this would be a species that most recorders would make an effort to submit numbers for, yet that is also common...

I would imagine this map gives a rough indication of where Dorset moths encounter the most bothering. The hot blob just above West Bay represents almost 600 Silver Y records from the Bridport contingent.

Zooming in a bit...

Yep, there are a lot of moth traps in Dorset.

Wednesday night, 12th July

139 moths of 56 species, of which three new for year.

The garden's second one of these.

A nice, fresh Scalloped Oak. Number three for 2023.

A good night for pugs, with seven species. This one is White-spotted Pug...

...this one is Wormwood Pug...

...and this one is Slender Pug. Easily as much fun as gulls.

Who said micros were hard to ID? Love this one!

The vast majority (>300 this year) of this kind of moth in the trap are Chrysoteuchia culmella, and it's a case of sifting through them for this one, which is quite similar. Just five so far in 2023...

Just a handful of West Dorset records on the Living Record map, making this a decent catch. There is one Bridport dot already, but that was also from our trap. Yep, our garden is the local hotspot for this...er...sought-after stunner.

I might try a little seawatch tomorrow morning.

After processing the moth trap of course.

Sleep Deprivation

I fully intended to have the moth trap out every night over the weekend, but the sleep deprivation has finally caught up with me, and Sunday night goes unrecorded. Consciously deciding not to put the trap out was harder than I thought, which only confirms how helplessly hooked I am. If any NQS readers have had their curiosity piqued by all the mothy content, and found themselves googling 'moth traps', I have some advice:

DON'T DO IT!

Thursday night, 6th July

66 moths of 29 species; 1 new for year, also new for garden.

My notebook tells me that a specimen of Endothenia marginana was among the catch, a new species for the garden. However, I have no photographic record, nor any recollection of trying to photograph one and it escaping. Which just goes to show the state you get into when you don't bother with sleep.

Friday night, 7th July

123 moths of 56 species; 11 new for year, 5 new for garden.

A hot day, followed by a warm night. Loads of moths...

First July Highflyer of the year.

I've seen photos of these, but had never caught one before. The dark form of Box-tree Moth. A pearly-winged stunner!

First Black Arches of 2023. That sliver of red visible behind its antennae is all you can see from above, but there is loads more on the abdomen. A lovely moth.

Black Arches

The year's second Cloaked Minor.

First for the garden. Only six Bridport area records on the Living Record map.

First of the year. Expecting a few more.

I think this might be a nice catch. There are three Bridport records on the Living Record map, but relatively few other Dorset sites appear to have recorded it. It is designated Nationally Scarce A.

Dusky Brocade. One last year, and now one this year too.

Small Rivulet. We caught just two last year.

A really striking little Tortrix. We caught a few last year, so hopefully this is the first of several.

Quite common, but this is a lovely fresh one.

Assuming I've got the ID correct, this appears to be another good 'un. The Living Record map indicates less than 15 other records from just six Dorset sites, and none west of Dorchester.

Another garden first.

Saturday night, 8th July

Warm again, and the trap was once again nicely full: 152 moths of 62 species, including 7 new for year and 4 new for garden.

A beautifully-marked Mocha, the tenth of the year.

Vapourer. Caught just one in 2022.

A nice garden first: Kent Black Arches. One of two.

Not that common, with just a couple of Bridport records on the Living Record map.

Blair's Mocha #8 for 2023.

First Swallow Prominent of 2023. We caught six last year.

After eight in April/early May, this is the first of the second-generation Nut-tree Tussocks.

Second Phoenix of the year.

With only ten or so records on the Dorset Living Record map, this appears to be another decent catch. Designated Nationally Scarce B.

A weird little thing, and another garden first. Supposedly common, but there are no Bridport area dots on the Living Record map.

These 'tripod' moths are always welcome.

The 2023 garden tally stands at 344, including aggregates. But, with at least two or three different unidentifiable Coleophora species in that lot, the real total is closer to 350.

Beyond Bizarre

With little more than the odd shower here since mid-May, several hours of steady rain on Tuesday was a welcome respite. It lasted until after sunset, and I waited for it to clear completely before putting out the moth trap around 22:30. By now it was cool and clear, and very quiet. The night did not feel very mothy, and so it proved, with a paltry catch of 16 moths come dawn. None of the 10 species was new for the garden, the year, or anything at all. Dire. However, sometimes it is not all about the moths...

Quite often, when loitering by the moth trap after dark, you hear - and feel - the vibrating thrum of a moth's wings as it whizzes past your head. On such occasions you can easily tell when that moth is large, even if you've not actually seen it. On Tuesday night, the trap had been out about ten minutes when a rush of wings passed my ear and I sensed that something had hit the deck by my feet. It sounded huge, more a bird than a moth! I looked down, and could hardly believe my eyes. There, crouched in the beam of my head-torch, was a Common Sandpiper! It let me pick it up without complaint. I got Sandra to take a quick phone photo, then boxed it for the night, hoping it wasn't injured. At first light I gingerly opened the box. It stood up, peered around, then took off. Watching a Common Sandpiper head away from our driveway, low over the neighbourhood rooftops, was a very weird thing!

So, yes, a Patchwork Challenge tick for my Bridport North patch, and a big, fat...er...one-pointer.

Hmmm...

Think I'll be appealing for an extra point here. Surely justified on bizzareness alone?

Common Sandpiper adds itself to the very, very small 'Waders Actually in the Garden' list.

Anyway, no waders last night, but a decent haul of moths...

Wednesday night, July 5th

124 moths of 52 species, though only one new for year.

Poplar Grey. A species we've had several times, but they don't come much fresher than this one. I love the olive tones to this gorgeous moth.

A typical mothy LBJ (Little Brown Job), but thankfully identifiable.

Another example of the largest Scoparid, and a nicely marked one too. Odd that we didn't catch any in 2022, but have already trapped three this year.

A rather battered example of this smart little micro. Looks a lot better with all its scales present. We caught it twice last year, but this is the first for 2023. Apparently not recorded in the UK prior to 2003, but established in several counties now.

Love the tufty 'shark fins'. Nice to see it again after three in the first half of April.

This striking little moth could be any one of, I think, four species. Which is a bit depressing. Not our first this year, but the first which hasn't escaped the studio too quickly.

PS. Upon posting the Common Sand pic on Twitter, I learned that moth traps have attracted such bycatch as a flock of Greylags and a Sea King helicopter! Any other quirky trapping tales out there??

Learning a New Language

Moth-wise the last three nights have been relatively quiet, yet still the new ones come. And, typically, of four new species for the garden, three are micro-moths. I do like micros. When I first started moth trapping a year ago, they were such a daunting prospect. Too small, too many, too similar was my initial impression. But that is not always true. And besides, through a lens even the little ones are frequently transformed into something rather amazing. So I made an effort.

However, learning the micros is made even more challenging than it already is, on account of their names. For someone whose natural history interests have rarely required learning scientific names, the tsunami of micro-moth nomenclature was a bit overwhelming. Clearly it was a plot by lepidopteral elitists to prevent the hoi polloi from getting above themselves. I struggled on for a couple of months, then kicked off a bit. The resultant NQS post makes me chuckle now. Although it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, it reads like someone chucking their toys out of the pram. Anyway, I'm well over it now, and have found that learning the scientific names is just another element of the challenge. And it's almost fun. Almost.

I just hope I never have to say them in public though, because my pronunciation of many will be dubious, to say the least.

Saturday night, 1st July

54 moths of 34 species. For the first time in ages, none new for year or garden.

I must admit, from wing shape alone I wondered if this was a Currant Pug, but in the end have gone for Wormwood Pug. Hopefully that's indeed what it is.

Sunday night, 2nd July

52 moths of 27 species; five of which new for year, and three new for garden.

Took me a while to suss the ID of this one. Seems to be a rather variable species, and to my eye this individual doesn't look a lot like any of the three versions in 'Manley'. Wonder if I had as much trouble with the single specimen we caught last year?

New for the garden. There are no Bridport area records of this species on Living Record, so probably a good 'un. There isn't much Heather around here either.

I was dead chuffed to catch a new Plume moth for the garden. This one is very small too, with just 17mm wingspan.

Monday night, 3rd July

73 moths of 35 species; four new for year, one new for garden.

The highlight of last night's trap was sitting on the uppermost egg tray. I recognised it instantly, which might seem odd for such an unspectacular moth. But Small Mottled Willow is a migrant which features quite regularly on Twitter, and I have seen umpteen pics of it in characteristic rolled-up resting pose. I was half-expecting one last year but it never came, despite 2022 being an excellent year for migrants. So it's been on my radar. Still, we're hardly inundated with migrants right now, so it was a very nice surprise...

Small Mottled Willow. In fully relaxed mode it is more rolled-up than this. As specimens go, this one seems quite poorly marked.

On Living Record, Small Mottled Willow appears to be on a par with Bordered Straw in the Bridport area, with nine or ten records of each. Mind you, we caught Bordered Straw four times in 2022!

Small Blood-vein is a regular visitor, but rarely as fresh as this one.

First Drinker of the year. Spectacular things, like a tiny Hedgehog.

The 2023 garden tally now stands at 324, including aggregates. I am seriously beginning to wonder if 500 in a year might be possible here...

A World That is Not Obvious

Knowing we have a moth trap, a couple of friends asked this morning how many different moth species we've caught in the garden. In reply, I suggested they have a guess.

'How many do you reckon we've caught in the first six months of this year?' I said.

The answer surprised me, and made me think. I'll come back to it shortly.

First though, the final trap of June went like this: 133 moths of 55 species; two new for year, one new for garden. Nothing too dramatic, but a couple of favourites in the catch...

Nice and easy to ID, this one was new for the garden. Evidently not super-common, there are six Living Record entries in the Bridport area.

One of two Cabbage Moths last night, and our second record this year. Featured on six nights in 2022.

Scallop Shell is a stunning moth. We recorded just one here last year, and another in our son's garden in Lyme Regis (though it was somewhat outshone by two Orache Moths that night!) so very much a prize catch. It seems to be a moth at rather low density - there are only two other Bridport area entries on the Living Record map.

Silver Y, an uncommonly attractive common migrant. Six last night was a garden record.

Another favourite, the beautifully-marked Coronet has featured on seven nights so far in 2023. Will we better last year's 18 nights?

Our seventh Wormwood Pug of the year. Its abdomen is not as weirdly stumpy as the photo might suggest, but curled upward towards the camera. We recorded this species on nine nights in 2022, and there are only 11 other Bridport area entries on Living Record. It seems we do very well for some pugs, this one included. No idea why.

So, back to our friends' query. In answer to my suggestion that they guess how many moth species we've recorded in the garden since January 1st, one replied - tentatively - 'Thirteen?'

'More,' I said, hiding my astonishment.

'Twenty?'

'More.'

I shan't tell you how many increments were needed before we got even close to the actual figure, but it was lots. Each accompanied by cries of 'More?! Really?!' and ever-widening eyes.

The actual figure is 315.

In fact, that's 315 species recorded over 85 nights, spread across five months of activity. I cannot recall if I included blank nights, but trapping efforts are noted as follows: February (7), March (15), April (21), May (just 14 - a fortnight away didn't help) and June (28). The total number of moths recorded is 3,332.

The reason I can tell you all this is because I have laboriously entered it all on a spreadsheet wot I made. I hate spreadsheets with a passion, especially the tedious filling of them in, so this can only be a labour of love. I am vaguely curious to see if my masochistic enthusiasm will survive into next year. Anyway, the spreadsheet's existence has meant I have thus far made zero entries on Living Record, the preferred recording facilty of the Dorset Moth Group. And I have serious reservations about my ability to catch up with 85 nights of record entry on the 'official' system.

Living Record entries can be extracted as a spreadsheet (and I did so last year) but not in a format that I found particularly helpful. Which is why I made my own.

So, let's assume the worst, that my 2023 moth records get no further than my laptop. What is lost?

Up until June 2022, I think I can safely say that no moth records for this particular corner of Bridport had ever made it onto an 'official' database. So the thousands of moths which fly past this tiny garden have not previously been numerically recorded and available for analysis. The fact that for six months they were is doubtless of little consequence - the proverbial drop in the ocean - and I wonder to what use those numbers will ever be put?

Our aforementioned friends absolutely love the natural world, but clearly are unaware of the phenomenal biodiversity it supports. They were stunned at the sheer number of moth species locally, and I was especially pleased that I could tell them our moth trap has attracted exactly 315 of them so far this year. Of course, I know that big data is what tells us about distribution, population trends, and all that jazz; and that it might be used to help guide and focus conservation efforts. But, if our moth trap numbers get no further than my spreadsheet this year, I'll be happy enough to use them simply to blow the minds of nature-loving friends, and help them see a world that is not obvious.