Guest blog by Mark Solomons, Minsmere volunteer and resident Under the darkness of night a group of men set out their traps. They range from the smart and sophisticated to bizarre looking, almost Heath Robinson-like. And that's just the men. You should see the traps! Hours later, as dawn breaks over what tourism chiefs like to call The Sunrise Coast, the men return to see what denizens of the night have been lured by bright lights and egg boxes. Fortunately, there's not a Davy Crockett hat in sight. For these are mothmen. And their sleepy catch is counted, identified and then released carefully back into the undergrowth, away from the attentions of opportunistic blackbirds and robins who hang around in the hope of a cheap meal, like flies to wanton boys to quote Shakespeare (or was it Eric Cantona?) Living in Minsmere I have got to know one particular group, the Eel's Footmen, a clever play on words combining the name of our nearest pub and a type of moth that includes the four-dotted, scarce, dingy and common among many.
In the past year they have set out their traps three times in my garden to monitor the varieties that change with the seasons. The results have opened my ingenuous eyes to a whole new world. A world that exists beyond the front and back door of our home and illustrates how little many of us know about the creatures who share our habitat. For it netted an incredible 138 different species of moth from macro monsters of the hawk-moth family to the tiny micros, and that's just the night-time ones.
As someone who, previously, simply thought of moths as mainly brown insects that ate clothes and fluttered round street lights, the colours, shapes and sizes were as illuminating to me as the UV lights are to the creatures themselves.
I have discovered the beauty of the bright green emerald moth (above) - why does something so colourful only exist at night when we can't see it - the subtly hidden pattern of the red underwing (below) and the cunningly camouflaged skills of the lobster moth and, perhaps my favourite, the twig-like buff tip.
Then there are the names - the wainscots, eggars, Chinese character and setaceous Hebrew character (if ever I write my autobiography, that's the title right there!) and the far less romantically named turnip moth. All of which have been in my garden but, until being trapped, without my knowledge. The find of the visits, I'm told, was a Dichomeris alacella (below). To be frank, it wasn't much to look compared to some of the others but it is what they described as 'notifiable.'
The find for me, however, has been the mothmen as much as the moths. To see people so passionate about an aspect of nature that goes unnoticed by so many of us is both wonderful and reassuring. Their knowledge is, at times, breathtaking to those of us still struggling to get a foothold on being a Footman. These moths are Minsmere's winged angels of the night. By bringing them out of the dark and into our lives, the mothmen are angels too (I hope that makes them blush!)
Some moths have great names, such as the spectacle (above - can you work out how it got that name?). Others are really brightly coloured, like the cream spot tiger (below)
Ed. Mark's not the only one who's discovered the wonder of moths this year, as my son and I have spent many mornings excitedly checking our recently acquired trap in the hope of discovering something new. Sometimes we've been lucky, others it's been disappointingly quiet, but that's the nature of wildlife watching: unpredictability. Our garden list is already approaching 200 species since June - not bad for a small garden in a market town, and a clear example of what can be found lurking, unseen, in your own local area. I've also started checking the windows around the visitor centre when I arrive, as moths are often attracted to the light around the building. This morning, for example, I found my first ever sprawler resting there.