Pictures taken on August 28th, the day after the second storm abated.
This Adonis Blue still has its full set of undamaged wings, only a little frayed around the edges. His problem though was getting a good grip on the grass strand, pictured in the slideshow below. But then he’d been clinging on to strands of vegetation for days – and nights – while the storms raged around him. So if his grip was a little weak it was understandable.
“If I could just pull myself up here a bit”… “That’s better”… “Oops, slipping again”… “Maybe I should try some less challenging vegetation”
He flew off to find another perch. And this one, with its several seed-head fronds, proved more stable and easier to get a hold of. All six legs taking the strain.
But a nice flat blade of grass was better still.
Back to business and keeping an eye out for the next passing female.
The sun was out for much of the dog walk up on the plain yesterday morning but there weren’t many butterflies about. During the course of the mile or so walk to our local Special Site of Scientific Interest, the total number of butterflies seen came to: one Small White, one Meadow Brown, a couple of Small Heaths and not a single blue. It looked like most of the species that were usually on the wing at this time of year had gone. Taken out, I was assuming, by Storms “Ellen” and “Francis”. It had been a stormy week or two.
The Adonis Blues at the SSSI had faired better. There were a dozen or more that I saw flitting about on the gently-sloping top of the escarpment.
I’m guessing the Hawthorn bushes – of which there are quite a few there – would have given more shelter than on more open areas of Salisbury Plain. But wherever butterflies had ended up roosting it would’ve been pretty tough, clinging to a piece of vegetation for dear life – literally – with winds gusting to over fifty miles an hour. One can imagine they might easily have been battered by the other strands of vegetation flailing about – maybe thistles or scrub branches – or ripped from their stalk and thrown to the winds. And that would have been it. It was blowy enough in our sheltered valley at home. Up on the exposed Salisbury plain it would’ve been fierce.
On the way back to the car, I didn’t see many more butterflies – one or two – but I was pleased to see a Wall Brown that was still flying along one of the tracks.
Another intrepid survivor, it had a bit of its front left wing missing and a chunk of the right rear looked to be absent too, but it was still flying. I was hoping it would find a mate with which to produce some of the next generation. He/she would have deserved it. But the chances – bearing in mind how few other survivors I’d seen – looked a bit slim. It struck me that it’s no good being the fittest to have survived if there are no others left to survive with.
Far more butterflies were about in our relatively sheltered garden, and in the adjoining field, the day before: Meadows Browns and Small Heaths, the odd common Blue and a few Green-veined Whites.
But Large Whites were the most prevalent. They were all over the place. And they all seemed to be in beautifully fresh condition.
It looked like they’d emerged that day – or very recently – and it made me wonder what had triggered it. Do their chrysalises know somehow that conditions are favourable? Are they maybe sensitive to temperature or levels of sunlight? But then again, some of the winds have been pretty warm and the skies had been clear while the wind was blowing fiercely. Could they be sensitive to vibrations caused by high winds perhaps? Is their an instinct in the dormant chrysalis that makes it wait until things have calmed down?
Whatever had caused the new generation to appear, it was like a Large White carnival: butterflies chasing each other and dancing and feasting on the nectar of flowers in our garden, and in the field too where there was a profusion of wild mint in bloom.
And what about the Adonis Blues up on the Plain? I’d comes across one male on a walk during the last couple of weeks that was about quarter of a mile from where they were normally found. Perhaps blown there by the wind? But it wasn’t the location so much as the condition of the butterfly that I found intriguing. The worst of one storm had only subsided a day or so before, and this butterfly was in pristine condition. It had to have only recently emerged, perhaps that morning.
At the time I had wondered whether this was just a lucky individual who’d avoided the storm by chance – in emerging a day or two after it – while other butterflies had been emerging and perishing in the fierce winds. Or whether this was the tail end of the Adonis Blue emergence, and there was some innate instinct that made the chrysalises that were left wait. Instinct or chance, it looked like timing was pretty much everything, as usual. Though, having said that, there was no way the butterfly – or chrysalis – could have known that another storm, Francis, was just round the corner. But then there’s bad luck as well as good timing.
We had a tropical downpour in rural Wiltshire the night before last. We were woken by seriously big rain clattering on the roof and there was instant dual springing out of bed and panic closing of all the wide-open windows upstairs. One of our dogs, Roxie, was shaking and whimpering downstairs – she’s not a fan of thunder and lightening – and we had to feed her slithers of ham to calm her down. You give slithers of ham to one dog and you have to give slithers of ham to the other. And then you start getting a bit peckish yourself – at two in the morning. All to a background of dramatic lightning flashes and rumbling thunder. Strange night.
Was hoping the downpours might have eased the humidity a bit but not so far. This is the second day of cloudy damp and drizzle, which is not great butterfly weather. It hasn’t been great butterfly-spotting weather for a while now: either too hot for the dogs to walk out in the open where the butterflies generally are, or it’s been overcast but still hot and steamy and not great walking weather either, for man or dog.
Walking has been confined to early mornings under the trees. We’re lucky to have shady woodland at the top of a breezy escarpment five minutes drive away. It doesn’t attract many butterflies but does attract a lot of other dog-walkers. In these socially-distancing times it’s often the most human interaction we get all day.
So, not many butterfly pictures lately. We do now have a few Common Blues in the garden and field along with all the Small Whites which seem to be looking for places to lay their eggs at the moment. About a week ago I managed one or two evening shots with low sun of Common Blues. The one at the top is an example. The one below another.
The last good sunny walk we had was at Tilshead Down, a week and a bit ago, where I saw my first Small Copper of the year.
Thought it was a female Common Blue flittering about in the long grass (I’d just taken a picture of one) before I saw it through the lens. And then it was up and away and we didn’t see another. The angle wasn’t right for showing off its shiny copper wings, but good to tick off another species for the year.
UPDATE, AUGUST 28th: I misidentified the butterfly below left. I’m now pretty sure it’s a Brown Argus. Another first of the year for me!
And then we saw a tiny thing wriggling its way across the dusty path just ahead of us. A closer look showed it to be a Common Lizard, no more then a couple of inches long, including its tail.
Not the best shot in the world. But it was almost impossible to see it against the dirt with its perfect camouflage. The autofocus struggles when there is little contrast and low light. And it’s difficult to focus manually when you can’t make out the tiny thing you’re trying to focus on. I include the picture here as it was not only the first lizard I’d seen this year, it’s the first I’ve seen in two or three years. We don’t get to see many of them – or at least I don’t – in this neck of the woods. I suspect the dog element of walking doesn’t help. When you’ve got a couple of them running about ahead of you, scaring away anything sensible that might be in their path, you get to see less small wildlife than you otherwise might. But of course if I wasn’t walking dogs I wouldn’t be out there anyway.
When you’re learning about butterflies and identifying them, and you’ve made one or two howlers in the past, you tend to be a little cautious about flat out, definite identifications. Particularly when the individual butterfly in question is worn around the edges and even more so if you see it at a time when the species in question is not supposed to be about.
According to the UK Butterfly Conservation website, the second Generation of Small Blues normally appear in the third of fourth week of August. I saw this particular butterfly (above) on August 2nd – last Sunday at Tilshead Down – and its tatty condition suggested that it had been around for a good week or more before that. I decided it was extremely unlikely to have been a left-over from the first generation which would normally have petered out by the end June. So if this particular butterfly was a Small Blue and part of the second generation, it had been around getting on for a month before Small Blues were supposed to start emerging.
But looking at the pictures, I can’t see what else it could be.
The following day, I saw the first of the second generation of Common Blues that I’ve seen this year in the area where I normally walk the dogs – I’d been keeping an eye out for them for a week or two. I only saw a couple of them on the two or three mile walk – one male, one female. When they’re in full flow you’ll see dozens in that area. So it looked like the emergence was only just beginning. And the appearance of these two individuals suggested that they may well have only broken out from their respective chrysalises hours before.
So you’ve got a Small Blue appearing getting on for a month earlier than you’d expect it to. And Common Blues appearing maybe a couple of weeks after you’d expect – in a typical year. So no particular pattern. And of course these were isolated, local sightings of no statistical significance, but it did get me wondering about what it might be that affects the timing of the emergence of these different species of butterfly.
How much of it is down to the weather leading up to their emergence – perhaps affecting the prevalence of their food plants? Can the inhabitants of chrysalises time their emergence to make the most of conditions? And if so, how earth would they do that?
With the Small Blue I didn’t see any other Small Blues about, so perhaps it was just a mutational aberration. In which case this individual wouldn’t have got to pass on its genes to the next generation. Maybe, when it comes to emerging from your chrysalis, as is the case with many other areas of life, timing is everything. But then again maybe there were plenty of other Small Blues about that I just didn’t get to see, and they were all just ahead of the crowd, having their only little exclusive party.
If the whole world was made up of faded Lemon Verbena plants, then Cabbage White butterflies would be perfectly camouflaged. I’m guessing, though, that success, when you’re an adult butterfly, has more to do with attracting mates than avoiding predation. Of course when you’re a caterpillar and uninterested in members of the opposite sex, your top priority, while you’re concentrating on eating your cabbages, is to avoid being eaten by birds and wasps – or being removed by eagle-eyed gardeners for that matter – so green would be the successful colour for you at that more stationary stage of your life cycle. And so it is for the Small White caterpillar.
The above picture was taken in our garden with the shade of long grass along a fence in the background, hence the dramatic lighting. More dramatic lighting in the next shot of a Holy Blue I spotted yesterday in the dappled light from overhanging trees up on the Plain.
And below, the same butterfly in direct sunlight a foot or two away.
A hundred or two yards earlier on the dog walk I’d seen Gatekeepers and a Wall Brown (or two – difficult to differentiate between them when they’re in flight) chasing each other on the edge of the same escarpment wood. It looked like a bank of Willowherb, covered in floss, was the real estate they were fighting over. I’m guessing the Wall was winning as he tended to perch near or on the Willowherb…
… while the Gatekeepers seemed to be retreating to the branches of some kind of wild plumb or damson tree overhead, their fruits beginning to ripen.
Also seen on the walk were Chalkhill Blues – first of the year for me – at the SSSI where I often drop in on dog walks to see what’s happening.
The Harebells were out, as were the Clustered Bellflowers, enjoying the sun of the south facing chalk escarpment.
On my way there, over open grassland, I thought I saw a clouded Yellow zooming along in the distance, though it could possibly have been a Brimstone – there are one or two of them on the wing at the moment. But I knew there were Clouded Yellows about as well as I’d seen a couple chasing each other on the plain about a fifteen minute drive away on Sunday. I managed to photograph one of them after a mad, zig-zagging chase over grassland. A first for me.
Will try next time to get a shot without grass in the way, but these migrants from Southern Europe and North Africa do not like sitting still – or giving you many chances with a camera.
Am looking forward to the emergence of the Common Blues, a favourite for me – and much more laid back when it comes to having their photos taken. Should be with us in the next week or two.
On a recent dog walk I noticed the Essex Skipper above struggling to get a grip on a grass stalk in the undergrowth. Made me think of athletes doing a workout on the bar, but more slapstick comedian than dainty little gymnast. In one of the shots it even looks as if he/she has deadpan eyebrows. These are unconventional little butterflies.
More conventional were the Gatekeepers I saw a couple of days ago on some bramble bushes – the first of the year for me. They have more varied markings than most butterflies, and some quite exotic – in a brown and orange sort of way.
Otherwise not many new arrivals around. The cloudy weather is probably not helping but it should get more lively within the next week or two. Didn’t see many Common Blues earlier in the year – just one in the field next to the house and not many up on the plain. It’ll be interesting to see how many we’ll get in the second generation. Sunny days forecast for next week so should find out soon.
Was chatting to a knowledgable neighbour the other day about Ringlet butterflies, as you do, and he said that when you get your eye in you start to see them everywhere. The fact that we’re approaching peak Ringlet season helps too, but it’s also approaching peak Meadow Brown season, so the Ringlets can easily be lost in amongst the hoards of their more common brown cousins. So it definitely helps to have your eye in.
I got my eye in the weekend before last. I’d read somewhere that Ringlets are unusual in that they often fly when it’s overcast. It was cloudy that day and the dogs needed walking so I decided to put the theory to the test. If the Meadow Browns weren’t flying and the Ringlets were, it would make it much easier to see and identify them. And that was how it turned out. I saw a couple of dozen Ringlets on the walk and managed to get pictures of a few. Pretty much the only Meadow Browns that were flying that day were the ones I’d disturbed while walking through long grass – along with the Marbled Whites and skippers that were also sheltering there. It was windy, and on the rare occasions the Ringlets landed it seemed always to be low down, sheltering in amongst the grass. Which made photographing them difficult. As you can see…
Once you’ve seen a few Ringlets, you notice that they have a faintly blue, misty tinge to their dark wings in flight – particularly newly emerged ones. And they seem to me to have a preference for longer grass, often not far from trees and scrub, whereas the Meadow Browns can be seen almost anywhere, from bramble bushes, which they sometimes congregate around in large numbers, to fluttering on their own across wide open grassland. Knowing where to look for Ringlets makes it easier to find them. Having said that I’m not sure I’d feel confident enough to put money on identifying one in flight. The picture below is of a male Meadow Brown I photographed in the garden which, before it landed, I’d convinced myself was a Ringlet.
And here’s a picture of a Ringlet that landed on the Michaelmas daisies by our back door and which I thought initially was probably another Meadow Brown.
Those upper wings, which are often most of what you see when they’re flying low to the ground, are still very similar to me. Maybe I need to get my eye in a little more.
Also flying in the field by our house at the moment, along with the whites and the browns, are skippers. Here’s a Small one who decided to rest its front legs for a bit.
And here’s an Essex Skipper, the first I’ve seen this year, that was chilling out on an Umbellifer bud on the overcast day mentioned earlier. With their antennae tips dipped-in-ink look, they’re one of my favourites.
Our first Painted Lady arrived on June 14th, six days earlier than last year. No problems with travel restrictions when you’re a migrating butterfly – if the instinct for international travel grabs you, off you go.
Like last year, our early arrival was a little worn after its journey from Africa, and thirsty, and gorged itself on Valerian nectar for quite a while, proboscis probing one tiny flower after another. Which allowed me, like last year, to take too many pictures.
Once they’re revitalised with all that sugary fuel, they don’t hang around in one spot for long and they become a lot less tolerant of human beings with cameras. The newly hatched second brood in August-September time will be more brightly coloured and in pristine condition, but it’s still great to see these early arrivals again.
I also managed, on the same day, to take a couple of pictures of a Ringlet. I’d seen one a couple of days previously, but had only managed a smudged shot as the butterfly took off just as I pressed the shutter.
It flew off and disappeared over the horizon. Which was frustrating as I hadn’t managed to get a single shot of one last year.
I fancied another try and thought I might as well go to the same spot I’d seen the one a couple of days before. So that was where the dogs were walked. There were a few false alarms on the way: I saw what turned out to be (through the lens) a few male Meadow Browns that were all over some highly scented wild privet. But in the mile or so to the site, I didn’t see any Ringlets. When we got there I wasn’t too optimistic either. The one from a couple of days before had flown so far away, and so quickly, that it seemed as if it was just passing through rather than in its own territory.
But then there it was. Only a few yards from the previous sighting.
Simple colouring and markings, but a beautiful butterfly none the less, and with a lovely velvet finish to its wings – which probably isn’t apparent in the picture above.
As soon as I’d taken my shot, the butterfly was up and away again, and soon out of sight. And I didn’t see any others on the rest of the walk – as had happened previously.
On our way back though, I did manage a shot of a Dark Green Fritillary that had landed – and stayed landed for more than a few seconds – on some Knapweed which is now beginning to come out everywhere.
Butterflies love it, as can be seen with these four Marlbled Whites who lined up very neatly for the camera.
Sometimes butterflies just realise there’s a photo opportunity and produce the goods.
It’s been a bit of a quiet time in the garden for butterflies recently, but there’s been plenty of other activity: foxes, deer, stoats, and water shrews in the stream (though the site of the stoat swimming suggests water shrew life – if still present – is precarious). And we’ve seen plenty of insects other than butterflies – some visiting, some born and bred in the garden.
We were out checking for slugs on pot plants the other evening – around about 10:00 – when we noticed a swarm of Elephant Hawkmoths over the Valerian. They were illuminated in the light from the kitchen windows, and there seemed to be dozens of them. They are impressive insects, almost as good at hovering and probing the tiny flowers with their proboscises as the Hummingbird Hawkmoths that visit during the day. And bigger too, and in an unusual and striking shade of pink. Have seen them before in the garden but never in such numbers. And we see their caterpillars now and again, marching across the patio.
Apparently it gets its name from the way its caterpillar looks like an elephant trunk. Which it does, pretty much, apart from the cartoon-like false eyes on the front. And it’s big too. Not as big as the Leopard Slug I once saw outside the back door, but big – a good three inches. Here’s a picture of our enormous Leopard Slug from Aug 2018.
It was quite a shock. I had no idea slugs ever got that big in this country. The Leopard Slug gets its name, not unreasonably, from the spots on its back. The smaller slugs found on our pot plants get thrown into the field on the other side of the stream, but not this big fella. We learned they eat other slugs so he stayed where he was. He revisited the following evening but sadly we didn’t see him again after that and haven’t seen any others anything like that length since. We get quite a few badgers passing through and I’m guessing a six inch slug would have been quite a tempting snack for one of them. I think if a toad had had a go, it might have fought back.
Back to the Elephant Hawkmoths. I went out to see if I could get a picture of them the night before last, but after all the rain we’d had, and with the lower temperatures, there were far fewer about. Maybe three or four at any one time. I’d noticed, on the warm night when we’d seen so many, that they didn’t seem to like the light from the torch, but I thought that if I used the camera flash the shot would be in the can before they dispersed. I’d forgotten that the camera uses a light beam – in low light – to get the autofocus to work before the flash picture is taken, and the focusing light beam seemed to scare the moths away before that was possible. Which was frustrating. Having said that, I think I might have read somewhere that they are attracted to light so maybe it’s just that I was too close for their comfort when moving in for the shot. Anyway, there were one or two that seemed less sensitive than others and I did get some reasonably crisp shots that show off their hovering skills.
Other insects seen in the garden recently include three species of Damselflies: the Banded Demoiselle, the Large Red Damsel and the Beautiful Demeoiselle.
I was initially confused over the identification of the ‘Beautiful Demoiselles’ as I hadn’t realised that the males start off their adult lives with brown wings and finish them with bright blue ones, once they’ve matured. Now I know who’s who, it looks like the Beautiful Demoiselles have taken up the majority of territories along our length of stream. The Banded Demoiselles we see seem to be passing through and haven’t settled – at least not when I’ve had a camera to hand. And the same goes for the darters and Emperor Dragonflies that we’ve occasionally seen.
Here’s a small red damselfly which I identified from the book as a Large Red Damselfly (the small ones must be tiny).
Spent some time watching a mature male Beautiful Demoiselle who was doing some hunting of tiny insects that I could hardly see. I noticed he was using the same perch between sorties, so I thought I’d try freeze-framing him with a fast shutter speed as he came back in to land (there was no chance my reactions would be quick enough to get him taking off). His sorties were pretty quick, so I thought that if I kept taking pictures at five frames a second (or whatever it is) after I’d registered him taking off while keeping the focus on the flower head, there was a decent chance I’d get some sharp pictures of him coming back in to land.
Here’s the resulting slideshow: coming into land; undercarriage out; touch-down; fold back wings; manoeuvre into alert position for next take off.
Haven’t managed any pictures of dragonflies in the garden, but took a few at a near-by lake. Here’s one of what I think is a Four-Spotted Libellula. Have been surprised, since I first became interested in close up photography, how hairy some insects, especially butterflies, are. But the hairiness of this darter dragonfly – which they don’t show in the books – was was even more unexpected. And very different from the metallic, tubular bodies of Damselflies and some of the Hawker Dragonflies.
Wonder how it affects their aerodynamics. Maybe it gives them more traction in the air, allowing them to stop and change direction more quickly, darting this way and that – as their name describes.
We were out walking the dogs yesterday on the plain, when I started seeing a few large orange butterflies zooming about this way and that. I thought they’d be Dark Green Fritillaries, which I’d seen not far away in previous years, and I thought I’d try getting a picture to confirm it.
They were not being cooperative.
Dark Green Fritillaries are large butterflies and strong fliers, and they were going at quite a lick across the downland in search of whatever it was they were in search of. When they did land, it was always a distance away and even though there were not that many butterflies about, another fritillary always seemed to appear and fly past just before I got there, tempting the first one to take off and follow. Very frustrating. You have to move pretty quickly to keep up with them, and it was a bit windy too, which seemed to make everything speed up a little more. And then there was the issue that if you’re going to follow their erratic flight, you have to keep watching the butterfly ahead of you – at least some of the time – rather than where you’re putting your feet. With grazing cattle having been there through the wet winter, the ground was uneven underfoot, to put it mildly, on the really quite steep escarpment slope where the butterflies had been steadily leading me.
I decided that if I was going to avoid injury, it might be an idea to try to get a shot of the butterfly in flight rather than continue charging about this way and that, up and down the escarpment like a lunatic. As my wife put it.
I increased the shutter speed, opened the aperture a bit, zoomed out to give myself a better chance of catching the butterfly in frame, and went for it.
I managed to get a couple of shots fairly quickly which were sharp enough to confirm that they were indeed Dark Green Fritillaries, this one recently emerged and in beautiful condition. And good to see it in the midst of its natural habitat too.
Job done, I put my camera settings back to those suited to stationary subjects. And that was the point at which a fast moving subject in the form of a sprightly Roe Deer at the bottom of the escarpment, appeared. It looked amazingly elegant as it ran along. There was no time to change the setting again, so I took a couple of shots – with nothing to lose – and the pictures, though not pin sharp, didn’t turn out too badly.
At 1/400 and at 300mm her movement was surprisingly well frozen, I thought. The young Roe deer was in great condition too which is always lovely to see. Many of the deer we get in the field next to our garden look as if they’ve had a pretty tough time of it, sometimes with scars all over their bodies.
This one was a beauty. It’s a delight to see creatures in peak condition before the rough and tumble of life has taken too much of its toll. Whether butterflies or deer.