An hour in the snow with the children. “Daddy, there is a big white bird in the stream, come and look!”:
The cold weather has forced birds into the park and the need to feed has made them approachable.
It is always a treat when Redwings allow a good look:
Personally I have never found distinguishing Marsh and Willow Tits particularly easy. The scolding “taah, taah, taah” call of Willow Tit was always a good basis, but that wasn’t helpful in birds which did not call. In silent birds the pale wing panel and more bull-necked appearance of Willow Tits seemed the best features, though these seemed more obvious in birds that I saw in Europe than in British Willow Tit candidates. Then in 2009 British Birds published updated criteria for separating these two similar species. The size of the bib and the glossy cap of Marsh Tit were demoted as less reliable features. The most reliable criteria seemed to be song, call, an unmarked upper mandible in Willow Tit and a strong contrast between the white cheeks and the pale brown neck sides in Marsh Tit:
This morning Dave Lowe and I paid a visit to the wood just north of Grimsbury Reservoir in Banbury, pretty much the only reliable site in the county for seeing Willow Tit. It was a cold, sunny morning but we worked our way through the riverside trees finding Goldfinches, Siskins, a single Lesser Redpoll and Blue, Great, Coal and Long-tailed Tits. After about 15 minutes I picked out an all dark-headed Tit in trees on the far bank of the River Cherwell:
Fortunately, it and another similar bird, did the decent thing and flew across to our side of the river where we enjoyed good views of this pair of birds feeding in the wood. On three occasions we heard the “taah, taah, taah” call and at no time the loud “pitchoo” of Marsh Tit. Both birds had a pale wing panel, formed by pale creamy edges to the tertials and secondaries, though these were more obvious in one bird than the other. This was the bird with the brighter pale wing panel:
Meeting the other criteria for Willow Tit on the other bird required some work! In bright sun some images seemed to show that there were pale markings on the bill (but could this be reflected sunlight?): 
But it was the contrast between the white ear coverts and the pale brown neck sides, of which there is little in Willow Tit, but much contrast in Marsh Tit, that I struggled with the most. Both the pictures above and below do show a clear contrast between the white ear coverts and the buff neck sides on this bird, a better feature for Marsh Tit:
Compare the buff colour of the neck area behind the ear coverts on the two images above with the clean white colour on the bird with the brighter wing panel, below:
I posted some of the above pictures on the Oxon Birding website as Willow Tits at Grimsbury Reservoir and Richard Broughton came to the rescue:
“Hi Tom, definitely Marsh and a Willow in those pics – maybe the nightmare scenario of a mixed pair! Pics 1, 4 & 5 are Marsh, the others are Willow. Cheek pattern (white/grey) and pale bill mark are definitely there in the Marsh (see especially pic 5 where the bill is in shade, and the white mark shows nicely). Clear dark bill on the willow in pic 3, and undertail also shows the graduated tail tip (at least 3 feather tips visible in steps, sometimes shown by adult marsh, but generally a good pointer for willow). Pic 2 also shows willow tit pattern on greater coverts – dark centres and contrasting pale margin (new feature: http://nora.nerc.ac.uk/id/eprint/517411). Had another report of mixed pair up north last year – the Marsh Tit was even ringed as a Willow by mistake (out of usual range), and seemed paired with a Willow. Oddly, it seemed to be mimicking willow calls when associating with Willows, and only gave a pitchoo call in response to playback. There a record in the literature of a mixed pair attending a nest, so they might be able to hybridise (never been proven genetically). Cheers, Richard”.
If both species are present, then extra caution is required when looking out for Willow Tit at this site in Oxfordshire! All in all a thoroughly enjoyable and instructive morning.
The unprecedented numbers of Hawfinch in southern England are now well documented, but this week I came across reports of a huge Hawfinch flock near Box Hill in Surrey, totalling at least 250 birds. These birds were found by Steve Gale who also got Peter Alfrey in on the act. Peter’s account of coming across this mega-flock of hundreds of Hawfinch is well worth a read and is here. Realising that this may be a once in a lifetime experience to see a huge Hawfinch flock in the UK I visited Ashurst Rough Wood, just east of Box Hill Country Park, this morning. There are a number of wooded hills in the area, with stands of Juniper among the deciduous trees.
As I made my way up to the local high point of Juniper Top I could hear Hawfinch calling in the woods, I had brief glimpses of 2 flying birds and found another pair perched up in bare branches. Most of the birds were lower down, feeding and flying between Ashurst Rough Wood and Bramblehall Wood. This valley was bursting with Hawfinch activity! I spent 90 minutes here and there was hardly a moment when I was not watching or listening to Hawfinches. Birds would fly between the two woods, sometimes as individuals…
.. but often in small flocks:
Occasionally larger flocks of birds, one nearly 50 birds strong, would swirl around the tree tops, or fly across the valley:
One such flock passed right overhead and the birds settled in the treetops, high up on the slope behind me. The woods were then filled with the calls of vocal Hawfinches, both the hard “ptik” call and the softer “zih” call. The sound of calling Hawfinches drowned out all other birdsong, was I really in England?! Scanning through the treetops also revealed flocks of Hawfinches perched up in bare branches before they dropped down to feed:
I estimated that I saw around 150 Hawfinch in total, based on counts as the small flocks gradually made their way south down the valley. However, with so many flocks swirling around the true number could easily be significantly higher. The views of the birds were usually in the medium distance and always in flight or perched, I saw no birds on the ground. However, this was a fabulous birding experience, 90 minutes of continuous Hawfinch activity, at times I felt surrounded Hawfinches, both in sight and in sound. Just incredible!
How many birding trip reports begin with the words “this was not a birding trip“? Certainly lots of mine have. Usually because the trip was a family holiday with some birding moments snatched from family time. This three day trip to the Cairngorms in mid-winter did not come into that category. There were birding moments, but this time they were snatched during a winter skills course on the Cairngorm plateau. We would be hiking, using crampons and ice axes and improving our map reading, compass and navigation skills. Joining my brother Alex and I, would be our brother-in-law Bryce, Alex’s nearly-eighteen year old son and his friend and neighbour Steve. We began at the valley bottom in the west Cairngorms, where there were a few centimetres of standing snow:
As we climbed, the snow cover became consistent and knee deep:
As we slogged up towards the plateau we stopped at an exposed ridge. The wind had carved a gully from the snow and ice and it was here that we would practice our crampon and ice axe skills. The wind here was fierce, around 70mph, whipping snow into our faces:
As I waited to climb the ice, I glanced down and I thought I saw a movement against the frozen walls of the lower gully. It was difficult to make much out in the hurricane of wind driven spindrift, but then a moving black line caught my eye. I had seen that before. “Ptarmigan!” I called and I tried to give directions, shouting into the wind to get the others onto a white shape on a white background. Fortunately three more Ptarmigan walked up into the gully to join the first bird, before they began feeding on exposed heather tips. Having checked with our instructor that it was safe to move further down the gully, I crept closer only to disappear up to my waist in deep snow. It provided camouflage if nothing else!
The camouflage of the Ptarmigan was much better than mine. A male and three females were present, the male with a dark eye-mask, the females without. One female (the far-right bird, below) had just started growing a few darker breeding plumage feathers on the breast, but apart from that these birds were the same colour as their surroundings, beautifully camouflaged in white:
After feeding for a few minutes, the 4 Ptarmigan walked up the side of the gully and took off, suddenly revealing their all-black tails. The male bird is far left, the three females are together on the right:
In glorious late afternoon sunshine, but with hurricane strength winds, we began our descent. By the time we had reached the lower slopes the water bottle in my backpack had frozen:
Neil, our instructor, pointed out a saucer-shaped lenticular cloud forming above the large cloud at 9 o’clock, left of centre in the picture below. These clouds are carved from the wind as stable air flows over an area of turbulence, created by the mountains themselves:
I found this fantastic poster about lenticular clouds online, “Come see the lenticular clouds of the mountains“!
We over-nighted in a bothy, effectively a shed without water or electricity, but it did have a wood burner which kept the temperature just above freezing.
Overnight it snowed heavily. It took an hour to get our vehicle down the steep track from the bothy, though a calling Crossbill was a nice bonus.
Unfortunately there had been too much snow. So much in fact, that the road to the ski area, our planned start point of the day’s hike, was closed. Neil adjusted our plans and we set off up Meall a’ Bhuachaille, a much milder hike than the one we had anticipated. The snow covered landscape was a delight. This old Scot’s pine stood out, dark in a white panorama:
Steve, my brother’s neighbour, is a professional tree man. I was impressed at his ability to look around and identify pretty much everything arboreal. This is how birders must appear to non-birders when it comes to identification, I mused. Steve showed me how Scot’s Pines have needles in pairs that twist around each other:
We left the trees in the valleys and began climbing up:
We were standing at this spot, above, when I noticed a small flock of birds feeding on the snow, high above us. My optics were still in my pack, but what species of passerine would feed up around 1000m (3,000 feet) and in the snow? Snow Buntings would be my first guess. However, when the flock took to the wing a few moments later, they all proved to be Bullfinches! 8 males and 1 female had been feeding on exposed heather tips, in deep snow, quite a way above the treeline. 
We headed further up, practising navigation and taking various types of bearing:
Regular scanning of the horizon (not always easy when trying to keep a sound footing walking uphill on snow) eventually produced a large soaring raptor. I was hoping for Golden Eagle, but the broad wings and short white tail of an adult White-tailed Eagle became apparent as the bird headed towards us and passed directly overhead. The photo below was taken with my standard landscape lens:
Below, the view down to Loch Morlich… 
… where we eventually ended up. The northern corries looked fabulous from here, pristine white and bathed in late afternoon sun:
The Cairngorms in winter are fabulous, but lethal. There were 5 deaths on the plateau in the three weeks before we arrived. Navigating in white out conditions is a real skill, getting lost in white out conditions is often fatal. I would want to be at least twice as good at navigation as I am, before I attempted a winter hike on the plateau. The scenery and the birds are pretty special though and this course was a great start at learning the skills needed to see them both safely in winter.
A calm, sunny visit to Henley Road GPs near Reading (but crucially, just in Oxfordshire) produced a nice Smew this morning. The first bird in my first scan was a male Wigeon, far right in the picture below. The second, a redhead Smew, second from right. A pleasantly quick result:
After a few moments, the Smew pulled out of the water and perched for a while…
… before continuing fishing under the overhanging branches:
Aging redhead Smew appears to be a tricky affair, as adult females and juvenile birds are very similar. Collins mentions that juveniles have a greyer, less white belly and that the loral area remains brown in their first autumn and “sometimes for longer”. This bird was too distant for me to to be certain of either of those features, so remains an ageless redhead (!).
The bird was here, at 10am today:
The Hawfinch invasion of 2017 brought large numbers of these fantastic finches into the county. I enjoyed catching up with some of the vanguard back in October, see here, but I wanted some more good views of these birds, just in case they all disappeared in the spring! The churchyard at Northmoor has held a small flock of Hawfinches since the autumn, so I paid a visit this morning.
I began by scanning the trees in the churchyard, checking the higher exposed branches for perched birds and the dense yew trees for signs of feeding birds, hidden away in their depths. I regularly looked around for flying birds and listened for the flight call. I checked the trees at the front of the churchyard, then walked quietly around to watch the trees at the back, before returning to the trees at the front again. This seemed like a sensible strategy but after half an hour it had produced zero Hawfinches. I had seen a fly-over Red Kite, Buzzard, Sparowhawk, Kestrel and even a circling Peregrine:
After nearly an hour, I was getting seriously cold and was in despair about why I had not located a single Hawfinch. Perhaps the regular raptor flyovers were keeping the Hawfinches secretive? Was I to be the only birder in the county to come here and not see Hawfinch?! Then an elderly couple enter the churchyard, both wearing binoculars. “Have you seen any Hawfinches?” they call, “this is the fourth spot we have tried for them, we keep missing them”. I have to admit that my heart sank. Having more people wandering around would not increase my chances of seeing these shy finches.
Nevertheless, I went over for a chat and the couple told me that they had read reports of the birds feeding at the back of the church. I had checked those trees even more frequently than the ones in front of the church, as they were out of the wind. “Let’s have another look” I suggest and we walk around behind the church. Immediately the elderly woman calls “There’s one” and points up to a single bird in the tree behind the church. I lift my binoculars and look at the bird. There is a Hawfinch perched in the exposed branches in the top of the tree. I must have checked that tree twenty times in the last hour. The couple have been in the graveyard for less than a minute!
We admire the bird and after a few minutes it starts calling. Not the hard “tick” call, but something more like the soft flight call:
[Ruud van Beusekom, XC298155. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/298155]
The Hawfinch then flew to the tall trees at the front of the church. As it leaves the tree, at least three other birds fly in to join it.
Hawfinches are masters of perching up quietly and using the shadows:
The small flock drops down to feed in the trees in the front corner of the churchyard. I then spend a fabulous 45 minutes watching feeding birds in the yew trees:
Their plumage breaks out their outline very effectively. In flight, in good light, the huge bill and tail tip glow white. But in the shadows of the trees, the white patches on the tail, undertail coverts and wing coverts blend in with the patches of sunlight between the branches, making them hard to pick out:
The black bib forms a triangular patch that perfectly mirrors the large pale bill, when viewed from below:
I saw the huge bill, famous for it’s power, being used to delicately pick out seeds from the tree:
This bird, below, is in mid-crack. The seed casing can be seen falling down, in front of the bird’s breast:
Hawfinches are superb birds. Although it took a while for the birds to come and feed, once they were settled it was fabulous to get close, relaxed views of what it historically a tricky bird to see in Oxfordshire. A fantastic morning and a reward for the slow and cold start.
Shorelark, one of my all time favourite birds. But first a word about their name. For the British birder “Shorelark” seems perfect, as we only come across this species on the coast in winter, or more rarely in coastal-type habitats, such as the edges of inland reservoirs. But across their global range, these are mountain birds. Only the European subspecies flava spends any time on the coast, so the name Horned Lark is much more appropriate: in their breeding plumage across their whole range these birds have fabulous black horns. However, all my formative associations with this species are connected with the British name “Shorelark”. As such I shall refer to “Shorelark” when describing the European subspecies flava and use the term “Horned Lark” for all other forms. It is a personal thing!
As a boy I can remember studying pictures of Shorelark, of seeing their amazing horns and their yellow-and-black patterned head. On reading that these birds could be found on the Norfolk coast in winter, I immediately started dreaming of a visit to Holkham Bay. Being a young teenager with no income, it seemed impossible that I would ever get to such a remote place. But I worked out that if my paper round could somehow pay for my train ticket, then I could sleep in the bird hides at Cley and make my winter dreams come true. I even got as a far as persuading my parents to let me practise sleeping in the shed in our garden on a bitter winter night, as preparation for my nights in the Norfolk bird hides. I think I made it to about 10:30pm on the first night before the freezing feel of sleeping on concrete drove me back inside.
It was some years before I made it to the north Norfolk coast and fortunately I never had to endure a night in the hide to do so. My early notebooks record my most memorable UK Shorelark experience, a close encounter with a flock of 32 in front of the dunes at Holkham Bay. I crept out alone onto the freshmarsh before dawn and waited for daylight. As light arrived a large mixed flock of birds flew in and landed right in front of me. Scanning through the flock I came across the Shorelarks, which were feeding together with Twite and Goldfinches. In those days special moments were recorded on paper in the form of some rather dodgy drawings, rather than by camera:
Not only was this a memorably close encounter, but once in a while the flock would fly up and circle around me, the air filled with calling Shorelarks, before settling down to feed once again.
Sounding something like this:
[Matthias Feuersenger, XC41283. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/41283]
When I was young it seemed impossible to imagine that one day I would travel widely, often just to look for birds. I have always been drawn to the mountains and so, as life turned out, I have come across Horned Larks in many countries and in many different forms. This week Dave Lowe got in touch and asked if I would be interested in joining him to go and see what is widely regarded as an individual of the North American form of Horned Lark which has somehow found it’s way to Staines Reservoir in Surrey. I believe that this bird is suspected of being of the form hoyti, from the north central part of the North American range, breeding on arctic islands. Neither Dave nor I travel to see birds out of the county much these days, but a nearby vagrant Horned Lark would be a treat. Dave, incidentally, was also the finder of the Farmoor Reservoir Shorelark, some years ago.
Last Saturday afternoon at Staines Reservoirs in late January was dark, with gusting wind and rain showers. The Horned Lark was present, but was feeding some distance away on the west shore. We could make out that the bird we were looking at was a Horned Lark, but seeing the finer plumage details were impossible at that range. Fortunately others have had closer views, so I have borrowed a image from fellow Oxfordshire birder Ewan Urquhart:
©Ewan Urquart, his blog post is here.
Horned Lark taxonomy is changing rapidly. This paper splits Horned Lark into five palearctic species and one nearctic species. Never needing a second invitation to look at my Horned Lark pictures, I’ve dug out a few images from various locations over the years for comparison:
American Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris alpestris, Rocky Mountains, Jasper, Alberta, Canada, June 2013. Many subspecies of Horned Lark have been described from North America and their distinction and identification is not fully understood. Future DNA studies may help clarify the situation. This bird was in the far west of North America, high up in the Rockies, so would not be expected to bear a close resemblance to the bird at Staines Reservoirs. The ground colour to the face and throat is white with no yellow, although many other nearctic forms inlcuding hoyti, do have yellow in these areas. The eye mask is clearly separated from the throat patch. The mantle feathers are dark centred on this bird, creating a streaky and contrasting feel to the upperparts. There are pinkish tones to the nape and lesser covert feathers.
Shorelark, Eremophila alpestris flava, Hardangervidda National Park, Norway, May 2008. A European bird on it’s Scandinavian breeding grounds. This is a bird of the population that are thought to winter on the English east coast. There is an intense yellow to the forehead, supercilium and throat, the black eye mask does not extend below the ear coverts. The lesser coverts are not noticeably pinkish.
Atlas Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris atlas, Oukamedian, Atlas Mountains, Morocco, April 2008.
Perhaps my favourite form of Horned Lark. In spring these birds have dense black eye masks, that curve down to nearly meet the large black throat patch. There is a slight yellow wash on the throat and forehead and best of all a lovely pinkish-rufous nape that contrasts with the light grey back. The upperpart feather tracts have slightly dark centres, but this does not create a very streaky or contrasting pattern to my eye. Compare the upperparts on this bird with those of the American Horned Lark above.
Caucasian Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris penicillata, Caucasus Mountains, Kasbegi, Georgia, April 2013
In the form pencillata the black eye mask extends down to meet the black throat patch. The throat and forehead are slightly washed with yellow and the nape is pinkish in colour. The lesser coverts and mantle are greyish in colour without much streaking or contrast.
Sogut Pass, Taurus Mountains, Turkey, May 2007
This bird, below, from south-west Turkey is also of the form pencillata and shows much black on the head and throat. The eye mask extends down from the eye to join the large black throat patch, which extends up onto the lower throat and is more extensive than that in the forms above. This was a particularly horny bird!
Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris elwesi, Tibetan Plateau, near Zioge, Sichuan, China, May 2015
Much further east there is little yellow on Horned Larks. This bird was feeding in late afternoon sun at 3500m in a restaurant car park. The ground colour to the face is white, not yellow. The eye mask and throat are clearly separated by white. The lesser coverts and nape had a light brown tone (maybe a hint of pink?). As I lay flat out on my front photographing this bird, it ran straight past my right shoulder to take a breadcrumb from the road behind me.
Temminck’s Lark, Eremophila bilopha, Tagdilt track, Morocco, April 2008. A monotypic species from north Africa and the desert cousin of Horned Lark. Superficially similar to the elwesi subspecies of Horned Lark from China, see above, with no yellow on the forehead or throat. However the throat band is much thinner and the upperpart colouration is a rich desert brown, perfectly matching it’s habitat.
I still think Horned Larks are fabulous birds. They not only provide much interest with their subtle plumage variations across their enormous range, but they are beautiful birds found in very special places and that is part of their appeal.
Many years ago, a man who goes by the name of Badger, decided it would be good to bring the local community of birders together for a Christmas meal. And so it was. Over time this festive meal became an established part of the annual routine for Oxfordshire birders. Last year Badger asked me to say some words at the end of the meal and together we handed out a few prizes, in recognition of the work local birders do. Not so much after dinner speaking, but more of a gentle dessert.
This year we went all out and held a review of the year, together with a full on Oscar-esque prize giving ceremony. Some prizes were obvious, such as Best County Find and Best Local Patch Find. Others were more tongue in cheek: the Best Oxon Bird Photo included three appalling photographs of birds in Oxfordshire and there were prizes for the Best Dressed Birder and, my favourite, the You’ve Smashed It Award for the person who had broken the most equipment in the calendar year. 2017’s winner had accidentally damaged a staggering £16,500 worth of lenses, hence the award’s alternative name “The Thank God for Insurance Award”.
Above: myself and Badger at the 2017 annual awards, ©Peter Alfrey
It is always great to get everybody together and such an event allows us to thank Badger and Adam for the tireless work they do in running the Oxon Bird Log. The open, free exchange of information on birds in the county is not something that happens everywhere and we should celebrate the fact we have an open, friendly birding community.
Many thanks also to Peter Alfrey, who not only turned up, but won a prize, took some pictures (above, thank you!) and even wrote a nice little blog piece, here. We look forward to seeing more of him and fellow recent addition to the Oxon birding community, Mick Cuningham, out in the field in 2018. Both have already found good birds in the county. Standards are rising!
Like a cherry stone in a Hawfinch’s bill, I cracked on Saturday morning. The second half of October has seen record numbers of Hawfinch arrive in southern England, presumably from the continent. Further north, there is little evidence of large numbers of birds passing through. For example, only small numbers of Hawfinch have been recorded at Spurn this autumn (see Mick Cuningham’s comment below for clarification). But for landlocked, migration-deprived counties such as Oxfordshire, this is a huge event. Seeing Hawfinch in Oxfordshire has always been difficult and usually required a number of visits to the miniature railway shed at Blenhiem Palace in early spring. Every time I went it was absolutely freezing. Once in a while, often after quite a long while, very small numbers of Hawfinch could be glimpsed distantly in the tree tops, before inevitably disappearing. 2011 was a good Hawfinch year in Oxfordshire: there were 11 records. By 2012, numbers had reduced to a single record.
The autumn of 2017 has changed everything. From mid-October onwards Hawfinch began being reported from all over the county, often fly-over birds migrating with Redwing. In the last 15 days of October 2017 there were 152 records from Oxfordshire (full details in the Oxon Bird Log monthly report here). Unfortunately October 2017 also proved to be the month that my business purchased new commercial premises and moved location. I had been fully committed to work issues all month, had done absolutely no birding and had barely even been outside. Thank goodness the Siberian Accentor irruption did not occur in 2017.
Friday night drinks with a few local birders began stiring my interest, a few of the guys had already added Hawfinch to their local patch lists or had sought out birds feeding in the woods in the Chilterns. When Andy Last popped into Standlake and recorded a fly-over bird with Redwings on the Saturday morning, I knew I had to get out and find my own. A quick negotiation for a couple of hours off childcare on Saturday afternoon and I headed south to the Highmoor area, near Nettlebed. Unsure of whether I should find a vantage point and hope for a fly-over bird, or go into the woods themselves, I decided to try both. Almost immediately I picked up a distant flock of 5 finches flying in from the north. In binoculars they were unidentifiable at such range. I quickly took a few pictures, but even on the back of the camera, could make out virtually no detail. However, when I got home and processed the pictures, enlarging the birds to the point of pixelation, they did prove to be Hawfinches, not that I knew that at the time:
A few Siskins were moving around, 2 Lesser Redpolls flew south calling but there were no further Hawfinch candidates. I moved south into the woods and saw nothing but Redwings for an hour. They appeared to be feeding on the yew trees here. Then suddenly, where there had been nothing for an hour, there was a flock of 5 birds perched up in a nearby dead tree: 5 Hawfinches! A Waxwing-esque appearing trick. As I raised my camera, they flew deeper into the wood, taking a further 2 Hawfinch that I had not initially seen, with them. I stayed for another half hour or so and got further glimpses of a single Hawfinch in a treetop, but there was no further sign of the Hawfinch flock. The walk back was something of a finch-frenzy with Chaffinches, Bullfinches, Greenfinches and Goldfinches, the icing on the cake being a fine male Brambling:
Sunday morning involved an early morning run over my local Shotover Hill. Even here the woodland bird theme continued as I flush a close Woodcock from a secluded track. Now that local birders have migrating Hawfinch firmly on their radar, it will be interesting to see how many autumn records Oxfordshire will get in future years. Have we been missing something all along and it has taken an irruption of birds at a national level to increase our awareness of these fabulous flying finches?
This summer I discovered a nocturnal world of beauty and awe. For Father’s Day, on 18th June this year, I was bought a moth trap and this single item has opened the door to an entire whole new world. A few times a week I plug in the trap and leave it lit up all night. A typical catch is not particularly large or diverse, as the local habitat is not great. Despite this we have recorded over 100 species since mid-June, nearly twice the number of bird species recorded in the same period. And 100 species is not a particularly good total. If the habitat was wilder and more diverse, many more species would be possible. A friend with a larger, more mature garden in East Oxford and far better identification skills then myself, has recorded over 300 species. But I still find it incredible that so many moths visit our unremarkable garden at night. But to see them, one requires a moth trap:
My moth trap, a Skinner Trap, is effectively a wooden box, with sloping perspex panels under a fluorescent bulb. The panels funnel any moths attracted to light into the box and keep those inside from escaping. It is best filled with empty egg-boxes which provide hiding places for the trapped moths, until they can be safely released in the morning. Traps are widely available, but Richard Campey at the One Stop Nature Shop sells moth traps at a very competitive price and provides excellent, friendly advice (conflict alert: he is also a good friend!).
I photograph any new species or particularly good looking ones. This provides a useful record and as my identification skills progress, gives me the opportunity to revise identification at a later date if necessary, which is all a good part of the learning experience. Some go unidentified, but the online community is very friendly and helpful and can usually point me in the right direction. The Norfolk Moths and Hants Moths sites quickly became immediate references, even if I live somewhere between these two counties. For reference books I use Richard Lewington‘s fabulous Field Guide to the Moths of Britain. The Amazon link is here, but you may wish to support your local book shop too.
Species turnover is very rapid, which is one reason why so many species can be recorded even in a small garden such as ours. Most moth species seem only to have a few weeks on the wing. Moths also have a fabulous selection of names. When we began it was all Hearts and Darts and Scarlet Tigers; then staggering numbers of various Yellow Underwings before the nights drew in and Lunar Underwings became all the rage.
So having set up my trap and caught a few moths, I was then faced with the challenge of identification. Initially I found this very difficult. Then things sort of clicked and I became able to pick out distinguishing features and develop some idea of what was likely. I am a complete beginner, but the pleasure has been enormous. It has been fascinating to begin an identification process in a new field and to contrast this with a field in which I am competent, but not expert. Bird identification is something I have done for years. I am certainly not perfect, but I have a good understanding of what is likely and am familiar with most European bird species. With moth identification I had no such context. In the beginning there were just so many moths and all appeared very, very similar. But humans are very good at pattern recognition and with time and persistence, patterns and identifications emerged.
It has also been fascinating to compare my developing skills with those of my seven year old daughter. Frighteningly, in no time at all, she was much better at identification than I was. She could glance down at a moth and dismiss my postulated identification in a second. Children’s brains are truly remarkable things when it comes to learning. Both my five year old and my seven year old daughters love coming down to examine and help release the moths on a moth trap morning. Indeed, one of the unexpected benefits of moth trapping which will stay with me forever, was the day in late June when I discovered both children dressed and in the garden at 5:50am on a school day. I was greeted with the words “7 Scarlet Tigers Daddy!”
Once I had a basic grasp of some of the features to look for, the species came thick and fast. One of my early dream species was Elephant Hawk Moth. Adorned in pink and brown, like a character from 1960s Carnaby Street, these are large and striking beasts. On June 22nd, in our first week of trapping, I peered into the trap to be greeted with the sight of magnificent Elephant Hawk Moth. It was unclear who was more excited: my children or myself. Either way, we had caught the bug.
Admiring one of the more spectacular visitors to our garden:
Other favourites from the first few months include Dark Arches:
The Miller:
Plain Golden Y:
Burnished Brass:
A lovely Herald:
The magnificent Iron Prominent…
… which also has fabulous antennae:
Orange Swift:
The remarkably shaped Spectacle:
A personal favourite, Angle Shades. We all find it very difficult not to call this moth “Angel Shades”, a much better name in our opinion!
Black Rustic:
The late summer inundation of Large, Lesser, Broad-bordered and Lesser Broad-bordered Yellow Underwings was great fun. The moth trap would be buzzing with moths, every cavity in every egg box bursting with one of the Yellow Underwing types:
Once word got out that we were interested in moths, other people begun to support our interest. A work colleague who was clearing their allotment found an Elephant Hawk Moth caterpillar. This beast (below) is currently going through the process of pupating in a tank filled with soil in our garden. We await the emergence of the adult in spring.
A small minority of moths are also active in the day. It is always a treat to come across a day-flying Hummingbird Hawk Moth:
Studying moths has also increased our awareness of the importance of biodiversity and habitat. All those moths come from pupae that come from caterpillars that feed on specific host plants. Without those host plants there are no moths. And therefore, less food for bats too. Those patches of Yellow Ragwort are no longer “weeds”. They are Cinnabar Moth caterpillar food stations. Moth trapping has not simply engaged myself and my children with a deeper appreciation for moths and their habitat requirements. It has enhanced the key component in watching and recording wildlife – the pure joy of discovery. You simply never know what will be found in the trap in the morning, every catch is completely different. We really have caught the bug.
