Challenge on Nature Photography Part 6

One of the things that characterises the common or garden naturalist, is their obsession with what seems, on the face of it, trivial, small details that separate species or make them unique and interesting, it’s these details which give them a richer understanding of the natural world around them, and give its study its enormous depth and interest.

I am no different, and I’m particularly delighted by butterflies and moths, and their ecology and life cycles, but also, with that classic naturalist’s love of the trivial, their scientific names, having done a bit of Latin and Greek at school, ostensibly useless, dead subjects, it’s nice to find a purpose for all those ‘wasted’ hours in the classroom and tease out the meanings of the mighty binomial system that defines everything living on earth, combining this with photos is always a winner, and so this post will be the latest part of my flagging challenge on nature photography.

'The Beautiful eyebrow of the bramble.'

First up is a favourite spring species, Green Hairstreak (Callophrys rubi), flying on moorland, downland and light woodland across the UK from April to June, it is, like most hairstreaks highly territorial and males often engage in vicious dogfights from favoured perches along tree-lines. Callophrys means ‘beautiful eyebrow’ (kallos – beautiful, and phrys – eyebrow, spliced together), and rubi means ‘of the bramble’, a bit of a misnomer, since Green Hairstreaks are polyphagous and feed on foodplants from several plant families, not just bramble, but others, including Gorse, various legumes, and bilberry.

A close relative of the Green Hairstreak is the Purple (Neozephyrus quercus), which tends to be a bit more elusive, favouring the tops of oak trees during July and August  - check the crowns at about 6:00 on warm evenings, and you should see these silvery butterflies, like the Green Hairstreak, engaging in frequent territorial dogfights. A loose translation of Neozephyrus quercus is something like ‘young west wind of the oak’, where ‘Neos’ is greek for young or new, Zephyrus is the Greek god of the West wind, and quercus, of course, is oak. Interestingly, in Greek Mythology, Zephyrus was married to Iris (the god of the rainbow), who is commemorated in the Purple Emperor’s scientific name – Apatura iris, perhaps this hints at the way the two species share habitats, both having an affinity for oaks, the Hairstreak as a foodplant, and the Emperor as master trees where males congregate.


'The Young west wind of the oak' (on an oak, of course)

Another branch of the Lycaenidae is the blues, including the aptly named Small Blue, which, measuring in at just 20mm, is Britain’s smallest butterfly. Its scientific name (Cupido minimus) also picks up on its small stature (Small Blues could be forgiven for feeling downtrodden) with ‘minimus’ the Latin for very small, and cupid the tiny love god of Roman mythology.

Keeping with the small theme, Small Skippers get the label Thymelicus sylvestris, where Thymelicus was a dancer in ancient greek drama known for a strange, erratic dance, picking up on the Small Skipper’s bouncing flight style, whilst sylvestris means ‘inhabiting wild places’ – so we have the skipper of the wildlands!

The Large skipper (Ochlodes faunus) also receives a wild name tag, with ‘Faunus’ another name for the god of mysterious wild places – Pan/Bacchus, and ‘Ochlodes’ meaning turbulent, relating to the territorial behaviour of male Large Skippers, which often sit motionless, with their wings held at 45 degrees before attacking anything that dares to enter their territory, so this gives us ‘the angry wild thing’ in a rough translation.



Returning to the blues, the Large Blue’s Maculinea arion picks up on its life cycle (the story of the Greek musician arion provides a neat allegory for its adoption by ants as a larva – see this post for more: http://mothsandmusings.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/challenge-on-nature-photography-part-2.html ) and its colouring, maculinea means ‘many-spotted’, referring either to its underside, with the black spots on a silvery field, or its upperside, with the strong black forewing markings which make it so unique among British butterflies (I haven’t quite decided which). It’s smaller relative, the Silver-Studded Blue (Plebejus argus) again gets its underside examined, with argus a nod to the many-eyed giant of Greek mythology, and the spotting on this butterfly’s underwing, and ‘Plebejus’ meaning ‘plebeian’ – it sounds rather damning now, but it was the name given to ‘the common people’ in ancient Rome, and suggests that this exquisite heath-dweller is a pretty widespread species (if only!)

'The Angry wild thing' - sticking its tongue out at
passers by.

A common theme in these names, should, by now be making itself obvious, many of them refer to Greek mythology, they fete butterflies as god-like, ethereal beings, indeed, in ancient Greek, the same word is used for both soul, and butterfly (psyche), these creatures appealed to both the ancients, and more modern taxonomists on a very spiritual level. An interest in butterflies is not a strange delight in the trivial; it is more complex than that, as these 2000 year old roots will testify. They hint at the place of butterflies, and the natural world (at the risk of melodrama), at the centre of the way we live, and teach us a lesson, that now, more than ever, we should learn to live by. The modern, urban world, and the more primal, natural world are not mutually exclusive, the two are intertwined, nature governs our economies, be it through water purification, soil formation (or as we’ve seen, flood defence), and we must not by slow to embrace it and work with it, now, more than ever, an holistic approach is the future.

 

Challenge on Nature Photography Part 5

The interconnectedness of the natural world is one of the things that makes it so appealing to Naturalists down the ages, I for example, like butterflies, and since they have to feed on something, my interest in plants has grown, and since Orchids are impressive plants with weird names, and often, even weirder Biology, I’m interested in them.



Common Spotted Orchids in abundance in West Somerset



I’ve always thought that butterfly-watching can come across as a bit strange, but perhaps orchid-hunting is even more so, in this bizarre hobby, you enter a clandestine world of ‘top secret’ locations, ‘gen’, hybrids, homozygous recessives and ‘vars’, and in many cases, drive across the country to see a plant that won’t run away, and will no doubt be in exactly the same place next year. Yet its magic, the magic of the hunt for the new, rare plants, and the many strange places that they grow never fades, I’m hooked, and so, for the fifth part of my excruciatingly slow ‘Challenge on Nature Photography’, it’s time for these charismatic plants to take the stage!

Early Purple Orchids forming a dense clump through
vegetative reproduction.

First up, is the Early Purple Orchid, it’s a bit of a generalist, growing in woodlands across the UK,(often, but not always under Hazel), but also chalky grassland, and like many orchids, it exhibits a fair bit of variation in colour, from pure white, to quite a deep purple-pink. It’s fairly common on ‘the patch’ in Somerset, and, as its name suggests, flowers fairly early in the year (April-May).



A statuesque Common
Twayblade.

Another common species, is the aptly named Common Twayblade, (it’s common, and the tway-blade refers to its two opposing leaves from which the flower spike grows), a subtle beast which eluded me during my early days of Orchid-hunting, but once seen once, popped up pretty much everywhere, from my local Railway embankment, to a flower-rich local Common, to 1800m up a French mountainside.

So far, not so weird, the Bird’s Nest Orchid however, is a much more mysterious creature, lacking chlorophyll with which to carry out photosynthesis, it’s a rather insipid brown-yellow plant, and a saprophyte - totally dependent on a fungal ‘partner’ (perhaps not the best term, the fungus gets totally ripped off), from which it obtains the nutrients needed for growth. The fungus itself is then dependent on a tree (often Beech, sometimes others, such as Hazel) with which it swaps nutrients for carbohydrates. I had always suspected that this strange plant was lurking somewhere in the old beech woods near my home, and was delighted to find several hiding in plain sight in a search this spring.


3 Bird's Nest Orchids lurking on the patch.

At the other end of the specialisation spectrum, are the Dactylorhiza species, classic ‘spikes’ in a range of loud pink colours they often grow in large numbers in unimproved grassland of one sort or another, in my part of the world, Heath Spotted, Common Spotted, and Southern Marsh Orchids are the common species.



An impressive display of Heath Spotted Orchids

 

I could go on, with the stunning Bee Orchid, and the endless quirks and variations its self- pollination throws up, the Ghost Orchid, and its mysterious flowering every decade or so, or the Lady’s Slipper and the cloak and dagger intrigue that surrounds its last redoubt oop north, but there are 56 species of Orchid native to the UK (including one extinction, and another recent colonisation), as well as 8 others of dubious status, so I can’t really cover them all here without writing a book (there are several excellent ones out there, Harrap’s ‘Orchids of Britain and Ireland’, and locally, Chris Gladman’s Orchids of Somerset), I also haven’t seen very many of them, further turning such an endeavour into a dull, photo-less desert of a blog post. In short though, there’s a lot to be said for these stunning plants, they’re not just frivolous natural quirks, and their parasitic relationships, mysterious patterns, pollination, and indeed rarity, can tell us a lot about evolution, genetics, and habitat and climate change in the UK. If you fancy learning more about them, the books I’ve mentioned are a great starting point, and the Natural History Museum’s Orchid Observers project is a great way to get involved in their conservation and study….

http://www.nhm.ac.uk/take-part/citizen-science/orchid-observers.html



A Bee Orchid looming majestically
in Large Blue country at Collard
Hill

Challenge on Nature Photography Part 4

 My fourth photo for my slow (but I assure you, fully intended to be completed) ‘challenge on nature photography’, is of two roosting male Orange Tips (Anthocharis cardamines), it's a particular favourite of mine, taken this Spring, and was highly commended in this year's British Wildlife Photography Awards (http://www.bwpawards.org/static/2015/young-winner-2015.html). For birdwatchers, the first sign of spring might be a singing Chiffchaff, or the first Swallows on the wires, for Botanists, the first bulbs, maybe Snowdrops or Daffodils, but for butterfly-watchers, this tangerine – tipped icon, is the undisputed harbinger of the changing seasons.




A close up of the combination of yellow and black scales that give
the Orange Tip underside its mottled green colouring.

Generally, it’s the males that emerge first with the eponymous orange wing tips, followed by the females with black ones. Interestingly, the markings of male Orange Tips give them a double-barrelled approach to preventing predation, the bright wing tips are an example of aposematic colouring – that warns predators of the foul taste of the butterfly (thanks to toxins it absorbs from its foodplant as a caterpillar), thus persuading them to go elsewhere for a quick bite, whilst the underside of the hindwings exhibit ‘crypsis’, with their mottled green (actually a mixture of yellow and black scales) markings giving Orange Tips brilliant camouflage when at rest (particularly when on cow parsley, which is all they seem to roost on in the garden), allowing them to escape detection and predation.

Females are a more retiring butterfly than the brilliantly-coloured males, and are generally only seen when being harassed by a male, and giving the distinctive raised-abdomen butterfly equivalent of the middle finger, or when flitting from foodplant to foodplant on an egg-laying run. Eggs are laid on crucifers, most often Garlic Mustard and Cuckoo Flower but Orange Tips are fairly Catholic in their tastes, and I’ve seen them laying on that famous super food: Kale (does it work wonders for Caterpillars too?), and even Oilseed Rape. 



Neonicotinoid pesticides that are regularly applied to the latter as a seed dressing have recently been linked to hefty declines in many British butterfly species, particularly grass-feeders, and some of the Orange Tip’s close pierid relatives, which will also lay on crucifers and Oilseed Rape. So far, Orange Tips seem to have escaped unscathed, but it’s vital that more research is done into the effects of a group of chemicals increasingly seen as a silent killer in our countryside, if you fancy helping with this, you can donate here: http://butterfly-conservation.org/48-10581/neonicotinoid-pesticides-linked-to-butterfly-declines.html.


For now, anyway, Orange Tips remain relatively easy to find in our gardens, parks, and boggy meadows – long may it last!


Spot the Orange Tips! - There are 7 in this photo, and there was another just out of shot!



As you've probably realised, I'm an absolute sucker for backlit Orange Tips at roost,
they just look soooo nice.







 

Challenge on Nature Photography Part 3

 

My third photo for the ‘Challenge on Nature Photography’ (sadly the last couple of days have been rather busy, so these photos haven’t been posted when they should have been), is of 2 Common Blues. It was taken in June this year, in an out-of-the –way spot on ‘the patch’, an excellent site for this species, with the great drifts of Bird’s Foot Trefoil that turn it into a yellow sea come May sustaining the many adults with their nectar, and the larvae with their leaves.

It’s heartening to be able to find good numbers of a butterfly for which the name ‘Uncommon Blue’ seems to be growing increasingly appropriate on the patch, after it reached an all-time population low in the washout summer of 2012, and despite showing signs of recovery in 2013 and 2014, is still by no means ‘common’. I’m a big believer in the field of dreams philosophy ‘If you build it they will come’, and, with the Common Blue’s precipitous declines in mind, I’ve tried ‘do my bit’ for this delicate creature, and grow its foodplant each winter to plant out in the garden, on an area of poor sandy soil created after some building works. The idea is that this will (when grown alongside other species of nectar-rich wildflower like Knapweed) provide breeding habitat for the roaming adults which occasionally end up in the garden, and shore up their populations locally.




A female Common Blue ovipositing in the garden.

So far it’s been a great success, with females putting in an almost daily appearance during August, and well over 50 eggs laid on the succulent, green carpets of foodplant that have resulted from my efforts. The efforts themselves have been fairly minimal, soaking the Bird’s Foot Trefoil seeds in October, planting them in normal garden soil the next day, watching them germinate about a week later, and then planting out the seedlings next spring, it’s easy and effective – I’d encourage anyone with (or indeed without) an interest in Butterflies to do the same!



A Common Blue ovum on Black Medick.

A final instar Common Blue larva.

Common Blue eggs are most often laid on short, nitrogen-rich growths of foodplant (the kind produced from grazing by rabbits, or seedlings), before hatching a week or so later to produce a small cream-coloured first instar larva. Growing, and passing through several more instars, it becomes greener, before forming a pale, sickly-green pupa from which the adult emerges after 2 or 3 weeks. Larvae from eggs laid in late summer will hibernate in leaf litter or grass, before resuming feeding again in the spring, and pupating in April.



A Common Blue pupa.

The adults often fly in fairly large colonies in suitable habitat, and are well-known for forming communal roosts; with discrete bunches fluttering like silvery flags in the breeze. The main benefit of this social approach to sleeping, is the phenomenon known as ‘Prey dilution’ – safety in numbers. Basically, if a marauding Robin comes along, an individual butterfly is less likely to be eaten as part of a group than when it roosts alone. It’s also thought that the actual number of attacks on butterflies roosting in groups is less than those alone, though this has been observed in Heliconids, a tropical family of aposematically-coloured species, where the spectacle of many butterflies with bright warning colours provides a more powerful repellent signal than a single individual – so perhaps can’t be applied to less bright, (and presumably delicious) Common Blues.

Habitat loss has sadly been the main driver in the decline of Common Blues, with Britain now having lost 98% of its wildflower meadows; it’s not hard to see why. This, compounded with a string of bad summers has been enough to set this species back significantly, but perhaps, in a warming climate this will be one of the few that benefits, with increased temperatures enabling increased activity and breeding success. It’s certainly a possibility, but could it also be tempted into the climate trap recently thought to have snared the Wall Brown? When, in warmer summers it attempts a doomed third brood that reduces numbers the following year - a possibility too. The future’s a mystery for the Common Blue, but let’s hope it’s a part of it.

 

References

1.       Finkbeiner S., D., et al. (2012). ‘The Benefit of being a social butterfly: communal roosting deters predation. Proceedings of the Royal Society B. 10(1098). Available at http://visiongene.bio.uci.edu/Adriana_Briscoe/Publications_files/Finkbeiner_rspb.2012.0203.full.pdf, [accessed 28/11/15].

2.       Barkham P. (2015). ‘Butterflywatch: Can the blues be in clover once more?’. Guardian [online]. Available at http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2015/aug/06/butterflywatch-barkham-common-blue-adonis-silver-studded-meadows-loss, [accessed 28/11/15].

3.       Van Dyck, H., et al. (2014). ‘The lost generation hypothesis: could climate change drive ectotherms into a developmental trap?’. Oikos. 10(1111). Avaliable at http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/oik.02066/abstract, [accessed 28/11/15].

 

 

 

Challenge on Nature Photography - Part 2

 

Today’s photo for the Challenge on Nature Photography (see yesterday’s post for an explanation), is of another iconic butterfly species, the enigmatic Large Blue. I’ve always felt honoured that such a rare and sought-after species lives a short drive from my home, up on the Polden hills, and as such, every year I make the pilgrimage to Collard Hill (the flagship site for this species, it does fly elsewhere), to pay my respects to this mythic butterfly, and help the National Trust show visitors the ‘star of the show’.

Why’s the Large Blue so rare then? Like many Lycaenids (‘gossamer-winged butterflies’, in the UK: Hairstreaks, Coppers and Blues), for part of its life cycle, it forms an association with ants (it’s a myrmecophile!), though, sadly for the hard-working ants, this isn’t the traditional symbiosis  - where the lycaenid larva provides sugary secretions for the ants, in exchange for protection (though it’s thought to have evolved from it), in fact, it’s a bit of a one way street.

Female Large Blues, roaming the slopes on limestone grasslands in Somerset and Gloucestershire (and some other places) lay their eggs singly on developing thyme flowers. After a week or so, the egg hatches, and a rather unprepossessing hairy, pink larva emerges. For a couple of weeks, it feeds on the thyme flowers, growing in size, and passing through several skin changes, so far so normal.

The fun then begins when the larva throws itself off the thyme flowers onto the ground (normally during the late afternoon), where it hopes to be found by one particular species of red ant – Myrmica sabuleti. Upon discovery, ants will then tap the larva so that it produces a sweet substance from its ‘newcomer’s gland’ on the 8^th abdominal segment. Sadly, this is about all the ants get from the larva, which then tricks them into thinking it’s an errant ant grub, causing them to rush it back to the safety of the nest. Without so much as a thank you, the larva then proceeds to munch its way through the ant brood, dining on their soft tissues, all the while secreting chemicals similar to those of M. sabuleti so as to enhance the deceit. This continues until, having grown fat on its protein rich diet, it towers, Jabba the Hut-like over its hosts, and is ready to pupate. This it does in a cell near the surface of the ant’s nest, making clicks that mimic those of the Red Ant queen (to ensure constant attention), before emerging from the nest after 3 weeks, protected by an army of red ant attendants, and expanding its wings to take its first flight.

Interestingly, the Large Blue’s scientific name – Maculinea arion (Phengaris arion to some) commemorates this remarkable life cycle. Arion was a Greek musician who was kidnapped by sailors who wanted to steal the prizes that his instrumental talents had brought him at a competition in Sicily. Arion, requesting one final song before his promised death, and such was the sweetness of his voice that he attracted several Dolphins to the prow of the ship. He threw himself from the prow onto one of the Dolphins, which carried him to safety. The whole story provides a nice allegory for the Large Blue’s life cycle – Arion is the caterpillar, the Dolphins are the ants, his beautiful voice is the larva’s sugary secretions, the boat he throws himself from the Thyme flower, and the shore to which he is carried the ant’s nest – neat eh?

 

Anyway, the survival of Large Blues is clearly controlled by the presence of Myrmica sabuleti (the only species which it is successfully adopted by, others will kill the larva, since the chemicals it secretes do not mimic their own). Unfortunately, M. sabuleti has very specific habitat requirements – warm south-facing slopes with sward of 1-2cm, generally on some sort of species rich alkaline (chalk/limestone) grassland. This is a rare habitat, largely dependent on finely-tuned grazing practices, and so M. sabuleti and the Large Blue are only really found on land carefully managed with their needs in mind.

When these needs aren’t met, extinction soon follows, and sadly, exactly this happened in the mid 20^th Century, when, thanks to a changing farming practices and myxomatosis cutting through British rabbit populations in the 1950s, many once ideal Large Blue sites became choked with the kind of rank, grassy sward that is this species’ nemesis. Fortunately, a pioneering reintroduction project has seen this amazing butterfly return from the dead and fly on limestone grassland across the south west once more.

The reintroduction is a brilliant example of science-based conservation at its best, before its extinction, the amazing ecology of the Large Blue was finally untangled by scientists, paving the way for the most successful large scale insect reintroduction ever that it’s return has been. The research didn’t stop there though, and Jeremy Thomas (the man responsible for the earlier untangling) has demonstrated a fascinating twist in the Large Blue tale.

As well as Thyme, the Large Blue uses Marjoram as a foodplant, and when ants attack this plant’s roots, it secretes a chemical called carvacol as a defence. This chemical is pretty nasty stuff if you’re an ant, and is generally an effective repellent for the marjoram, one species, however, has learnt to detoxify it, you guessed it, Myrmica sabuleti. Thus, the presence of carvacol around the Marjoram alerts female Large Blues to the presence of Myrmica sabuleti, and potential ‘foster parents’ for their offspring. This causes them to lay their eggs on the plant, and the caterpillars to engage in their usual parasitic relationship with the nest below. It’s a neat little system that’s advantageous for the Marjoram (the exhorbitant demands of the Large Blue larvae generally kill off the ant’s nest) and the Large Blue (it has guaranteed childcare), and so provides one of the first examples of insect-plant symbiosis (a you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours relationship) – fascinating stuff!

The Large Blue’s amazing life cycle, rarity, and beauty are a winning combination for butterfly watchers, and it’s not difficult to see why so many lepidopterists make the pilgrimage to Collard Hill (in Somerset) and Daneway Banks (in Gloucester) to see it. Its reintroduction provides a compelling example of the success of a more ambitious approach to conservation, it may just be an insect, but perhaps the kind of support and following that this charismatic insect has won will give re-wilders hope, I for one would like to start small – Large Copper in the Cambridgeshire fens please!

 

The Large Blue - fluttering over Somerset's grasslands once more!

 

Challenge of Nature Photography - Part 1

This week I’ve been nominated by Sean Foote for the ‘Challenge on Nature Photography’ (basically posting a nature photo a day and explaining the story behind it) – Sean’s a brilliant naturalist from Portland, in Dorset (check out his blog here: http://theportlandnaturalist.blogspot.co.uk/ ) who I was lucky enough to spend some time with this summer. I’d like to say that we exchanged a great deal of knowledge on all matters natural history, but in reality, it was mostly my jaw growing slack in amazement as he identified Micro moth after micro moth with an ease that I didn’t imagine it was possible for mortal man to possess – I learnt a lot!

Anyway, my first photo is of a butterfly called the Apollo (Parnassius apollo), and the story behind the photo, is, for me, a long and painful one. I first caught up with this enigmatic and beautiful creature during a holiday in the south of France in 2012, and despite several hours of frantic pursuit in thirty degree heat, never got close enough for a photo.

Haunted by my failure, and frustrated by how close I came to an audience with this magnificent beast (one actually flew past my face, so close that I could hear the rustling of those enormous papery wings), I was desperate for a second chance. It was, therefore, with great delight, that I embarked on a holiday to the Alps in 2014, deep into the heart of Apollo country.

They often say that those who do not remember History are doomed to repeat it, and so it was for me, when I decided to take my only butterflying opportunity of the trip to seek my quarry once more with temperatures in the high twenties, and once again, the Apollos, emboldened by the heat, refused to land.  

Having to admit defeat once more galled me, but like a lepidopterist Captain Ahab with a white and red –winged Moby Dick, I refused to give up, and so it was that 2015 saw me returning to that same woodland glade in the Alps. Having learnt from my mistakes, I set aside a cloudy afternoon to finally put the Apollo obsession to bed, and, third time lucky, the Apollos, like good little ecotherms, were forced by the cloud to bask on warm rocks to stay active, presenting me with excellent photo opportunities, and a job well done.

When you’ve seen an Apollo in the wild, it’s easy to understand why they’re so gripping, like an alpine Purple Emperor, they seem perfectly suited to their domain, skimming, almost effortlessly on gossamer wings over verdant meadows. With a grace unmatched by any other butterfly that I’ve seen (even, dare I say it, the Scarce Swallowtail), and huge, snowy wings, they are the quintessential Alpine butterfly, and certainly deserving of their name, with all its divine connotations.

Sadly, they’re now endangered across much of their European range (spanning most of the continent’s higher areas), thanks to the habitat change that human encroachment is causing in Alpine areas. To compound this beautiful creature’s misery, like many mountain species preferring cooler climes, it’s likely to be adversely affected by climate change.

Fortunately though, the obvious charisma of the Apollo is beginning to attract efforts to conserve it, and the future, for now, seems secure – long may it remain so, so that others can be frustrated, amazed and delighted by it too!

Apollo in Apollo heartland

Convergent Evolution

Moth trapping has been fairly successful this autumn, though the dearth of migrants has put a dampener on things. For some reason, after several years of trapping, I still expect to be buried by a swarm of Death's Head Hawk Moths whenever I hear the hum of the MV bulb on warm October evenings.

As it is, on the migrant front, I've had to make do with a Vestal and a couple of Small Mottled Willows (not to be sniffed at, but equally well, not Palpita vitrealis), and so, with nothing more exciting to entertain me, my mind began to wander...

To what precisely? A really nice natural phenomenon called 'Convergent Evolution', it's fairly common in the animal kingdom (and no doubt elsewhere), and is basically when distantly related creatures, capitalising on similar ecological niches, evolve similar adaptations independently. Good examples are the way flight has popped up in insects, birds and bats - distantly related creatures, all with the same useful adaptation.

In a broad Darwinian sense, there is only one problem that each species must adapt to, that is, the problem of surviving long enough to pass on ones genes. Many Scientists argue, that since any life that evolves anywhere will always face this one problem, and natural selection will always produce optimal solutions to a problem, the evolution of intelligence (supposedly the optimal solution, as opposed to being able to reproduce every 20 minutes like Bacteria), as seen in humans, and various
other animals, is inevitable.

Merveille du Jour

Acleris literana
 

This is a bit of an over simplification of the argument, but gets the general gist of it. But what does this have to do with moths?
 The fairly distantly-related Acleris literana (a micro moth which flies from August to May), and the famous Merveille du Jour (marvel of the day in French) both of which I caught in the garden during October, exhibit a magnificent green marbled colouring that allows them to blend almost seamlessly into any lichen-covered substrate - a cracking example of convergent evolution!

Presumably, since both feed on Oak, and therefore inhabit nice Oak Woodlands with lots of Lichens, being able to hide on the abundant lichens whilst resting during the day proved an excellent way to avoid predators and survive to reproduce, and so was selected for and evolved in both species.

 

Fascinating!

On Tits

As someone whose main interest is in Butterflies and Moths, the onset of winter is a time of planning for next year, frustration at the incessant Somerset damp, and generally not getting as much fresh air as I should do.  Nevertheless, there is one thing I always look forward to. Tits!

Blue Tit

Ha. Ha. Ha. The jokes about these diminutive birds, are many and boring, it’s a rite of passage for any birdwatcher, upon confessing their strange hobby to a new acquaintance to see said acquaintance’s eyes light up, a cunning smile suddenly appearing on their face, as, in faintly nasal tones, perhaps with a knowing wink or nudge, they say:

‘So you like tits then?’ before bursting into uncontrolled fits of laughter. 

You laugh too, humouring the new acquaintance, blushing at having to suffer this classic ornithological gag for the nth time.

To me, this idle dinner table banter obscures the true majesty of these creatures, who could doubt the smoky beauty of the humble Blue Tit’s Asian counterpart – the Azure Tit (one for the WP wishlist), or the impressive adaptability of the Great Tit, recently found to sing at higher frequencies in cities to overcome the low frequency, everyday hubbub, of human life?

Sadly, we’re only blessed with 10 regularly-occurring species of Tit in the Western Palearctic, all of which feed on insects and nest in holes in trees, or well-placed nest boxes. It’s worth noting that 3 other birds rejoice in the monosyllabic moniker:  the Long-Tailed, Penduline and Bearded Tits, though they aren’t members of the true tits family – Paridae, of which I’ve seen 6 species, including the outrageously quiffed Crested Tit, and rather more understated Sombre Tit. 

At this time of year, like many passerines, Tits start to gather into discreet flocks, and suddenly, these under-appreciated creatures become greater than the sum of their parts. Anyone who has seen these roving mobs bouncing along wood edges cannot fail to be struck by the purposefulness of their movement. In scenes reminiscent of a highly trained militia clearing a building, checking every nook and cranny for insect prey (just not the Brown Hairstreak eggs – please!), their daily foraging takes on an air of strange menace.

Juvenile Blue and Great Tits.

Despite this, these menacing bands do have a sensitive side, and sometimes even take in refugees. That is to say, wandering passerines like Firecrests and Siberian Chiffchaffs occasionally pop up with them, enjoying the safety that many pairs of eyes, and those classic shrill tit alarm calls provide.

In short, Tits, despite the name (which, incidentally, is thought to be Scandinavian in origin, possibly from the Icelandic: titlingur, meaning Sparrow), deserve our respect, they’re beautiful, plucky, and many of them even have the virtue of being quite common.
 

Perhaps winter isn’t so bad!

References

1.       Jha, A., (2009). ‘City birds sing higher than country cousins, scientists find’. Guardian, [online]. Available at http://www.theguardian.com/environment/2009/jun/03/great-tit-city-bird-song , [accessed 22/11/15].



2.       Crochet P-A., Joynt G. (2011). ‘AERC list of Western Palearctic birds. December 2011 version’. Available at http://www.birdwatch.co.uk/userfiles/file/Birdwatch/Checklist%20of%20Western%20Palearctic%20birds%201.pdf, [accessed 22/11/15].

3.       Harper D. (2015). ‘Online Etymology Dictionary’. Available at: http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=tit, [accessed 22/11/15].