Category: Lepidoptera

Butterflying was slow to start this year. Usually expect to see some of the emerging hibernators and over-winterers in later February. However, my first UK butterfly of the year wasn’t until 5th March, a Brimstone. My first Orange Tip last year was 17th March, and apparently it was the first UK record for 2024. I will update this article as the year progresses and the butterflies appear. 27 species as of 11th June.

Small Skipper – 12th June – Rampton Wood???
White-letter Hairstreak – 10th June – Rampton Wood
Purple Hairstreak – 10th June – Rampton Wood
Marbled White – 10th June – Les King Wood
Large Skipper – 4th June -RSPB Earith
Meadow Brown – 4th June – RSPB Earith
Black Hairstreak – 2nd June – Brampton Wood
Ringlet – 1st June – Les King Wood
Painted Lady (possibly) – 14th May – RSPB Minsmere
Small Blue – 13th May – Magog Down
Small Copper  – 12th May – Devil’s Dyke
Dingy Skipper  – 12th May – Devil’s Dyke
Brown Argus  – 12th May – Devil’s Dyke
Adonis Blue  – 12th May – Devil’s Dyke
Small Heath – 29th April – Layby near Over Windmill
Common Blue – 29th April – Guided Busway near Over Windmill
Green Hairstreak – 26th April – Church Lane, Cottenham
Holly Blue – 8th April – RSPB Lakenheath
Speckled Wood – 6th April – Les King Wood, Cottenham
Orange Tip (male) – 3rd April – Cherry Hinton Chalk Pits
Green-veined White – 1st April – Les King Wood, Cottenham
Small White – 31st March – Allotment, Cottenham
Large White – 31st March – Allotment, Cottenham
Small Tortoiseshell – 9th March – RSPB Ouse Washes, Manea
Peacock – 9th March – RSPB Ouse Washes, Manea
Comma – 8th March – Lamb’s Land, Cottenham
Brimstone – 5th March – Lamb’s Lane, Cottenham

Brimstone

Comma

European Peacock

Footnote

We were in Tenerife in early February, we saw several butterfly species: Monarch, Canarian Cleopatra (F), Small Tortoiseshell, Large White, Red Admiral.

Post started 10th Mar, dateshifted to bring closer to top of blog on 25th May

A few recent arrivals to the lemp.

The lovely little creature above turned up in the garden on 1st June. It goes by the name of Schoenobius gigantella. That’s quite a mouthful for a small moth. It loosely translates as Giant Reed Dweller, but its “proper” common name is the Giant Water-veneer.

It is a lot bigger than its Crambid cousin, the Water Veneer (Acentria ephemerella) with a wingspan of 25-46mm compared to the latter’s 11-13mm S. gigantella is usually found in coastal reedbeds, but I’ve got a garden wildlife pond, so this one was presumably on holiday. This one seemed quite big while it was flying around the garden, but I didn’t measure it, so not sure if it’s as big as a female (up to 46mm) or the smaller male (about 25mm wingspan).

The above moth is the Barred Fruit-tree Tortrix.

Wings marked with a bar – tick.

Larvae eat fruit trees – tick.

Tortrix – huh?

Well, these moths are also known as leaf-rollers for the larval habit of wrapping themselves in a leaf for protection. Tortrix comes from the Latin verb meaning to twist; as does torque, the twisting force. The “ix” ending feminises the word, so it could be loosely translated as “she who twists”.

I see several Toadflax Brocade moths each summer, presumably because I encouraged Purple Toadflax to grow wild in the garden. First of the year was 29 May. Quite beautifully marked for a little owlet. First time I saw the species was a caterpillar crawling up our green waste wheelie bin, must have been the year before I first saw the adult moth.

This is a Sandy Carpet. First time I’ve recorded one in seven years of mothing. There are lots of carpet moths, named because back in the day, carpets were beautifully pattered luxury items and the early entomologists wanted to honour these types of moth. They don’t eat carpets. Indeed, of the 2500+ moth species in the UK, just 2 or 3 have larvae that can digest natural fibres like wool or cotton.

I mentioned the Italian Bark Moth in an item about scientific nomenclature, but it’s such a lovely micro moth that it deserved an encore.

Above, a Broad-barred White almost disappears if you squint really hard looking at it resting on a lichen-covered log. Its scientific name is Hecatera bicolorata, the species part of which is almost as obvious in origin as its common name, simply meaning two-coloured. The genus name Hecatera, presumably comes from a Greek god associarted with night, the moon, and magic, Hecate.

Middle-barred Minor, Oligia fasciuncula, is one of the smallest of the noctuid (owlet) moths. It’s a macro moth but at about 10mm long is smaller than many micro moths, just reinforcing the notion that size isn’t everything when it comes to macro vs micro lepidoptera. It’s all about evolutionary history rather than size, the micro moths being further down the family tree and so more ancient.

Lots of moths, and indeed other animals, will play dead if disturbed, hoping that a predator will ignore them as detritus rather than dinner. This White Ermine rolled on to its back, revealing its plushy-like spotted belly. Does anyone make moth soft toys? They should! White Ermine on its back, playing dead. It flipped over and flew away seconds after the photoshoot, Spilosoma lubricipeda. The genus name Spilosoma translates as spotted body and the species name lubricipeda means slippy foot. Nice.

When discussing wildlife (flora and fauna) the common, or vernacular, name will usually suffice, but not always. Sometimes they can bring ambiguity or confusion. If someone mentions the lychnis are they talking about the flowering plants also known as rose campion or any number of other related plant species or the moth that feeds on those plants? Knowing would likely depend on context.

Despite some people’s fear of the scientific, or “Latin”, names for the flora and fauna, they are generally unambiguous without the need for context. The Lychnis moth is Hadena bicruris, the garden plant known generically as lychnis, but perhaps more formally as Rose Campion, is Lychnis coronaria.

Confusion about lots of other species can be avoided by using the scientific binomials. If we’re talking about longhorns, are we talking beetles, moths or indeed cattle? The scientific names would remove any confusion. Scientific names do occasionally change as happened with the scientific name of the Emperor moth as long-time readers will recall. But, generally they’re not at the whim of usage and abusage. The Gypsy Moth now known as the Spongy Moth in the USA remains Lymantria dispar among lepidopterists. For more discussion on whether we need vernacular names at all, when it comes to the micro moths, have a look at my article from 28th May 2025.

This system of scientific names, which should always be italicised in print or on the web, was made formal by Swedish biologist and physician Carl Linnaeus in the 18th Century. Many people will be familiar with the format from childhood dinosaur books discussing the likes of Tyrannosaurus rex. Tyrannosaurus is the genus, and rex is the species. It can be abbreviated after first mention as T. rex. So, with the Gypsy/Spongy moth, the genus is Lymantria and the species is dispar. Nobody is scared of the name of the Terrible Lizard King, but not remember that that’s what T. rex means.

Occasionally, we see double names like Buteo buteo, which I have also mentioned before. These are tautonyms and represent the species type of the genus. The archetypal species, if you will. In this case Buteo buteo is the Common Buzzard and it is the archetypal buzzard. Hence its tautonym. A wonderful example of a trinomial is the scientific name of the Western Lowland Gorilla, it’s Gorilla gorilla gorilla. The genus is Gorilla is, the second gorilla is the species, and the third gorilla is the sub-species.

Now, there is another aspect of scientific binomials, which I’ve so far ignored and generally don’t use except in my official records of moths and birds and that is the name associated with a species classification and the year that was done. In a scientific context, we generally see the Gypsy Moth cited as: Gypsy Moth, Lymantria dispar (Linnaeus, 1758).

In this instance, Linnaeus himself was the first to make its name official, and so his name is forever associated with this species. There are dozens of other naturalists who in the 18th and 19th centuries worked as contemporaries of Linnaeus or followed in his footsteps and so we see: Fuessly (1775), Knoch (1782), Esper (1777), Poda (1761), and many others. They become familiar names to anyone recording or writing about flora and fauna.

Of course, natural science did not end with this prolific period of species naming and classification and we have lots of species with modern naturalist names and dates. Indeed, as many species go extinct, so new species are still being discovered each year whether among moths and beetles, birds and mammals, the plants, the fungi and so on.

A moth appeared in the garden last night, drawn to the UV lamp (explained here), which I’d not seen before. Its common name is the Italian Bark Moth, but it is known formally as Metalampra italica (Baldizzone, 1977). A twentieth century discovery by Baldizzone, as you can see. The species was not recorded in Britain until 2003, in Devon, when it is presumed to have been accidentally introduced. Now, it is present across England and Wales and is an established breeding resident.

If you’re using ObsIdentify, Google Lens or some other app to help you with your nature IDs, it’s worth enabling the scientific names if that’s an option not only to avoid ambiguity, but also to give you an historical insight into the species you’re watching.

The vernacular naming of micro-moths in the UK has gone through a relatively recent but fascinating evolution, especially when compared to the longer-established common names of macro-moths and butterflies. It’s quite controversial.

I’ve talked about the names of moths a lot here, as regular readers will know. It was the weird and wonderful moth names that first got me interested when a friend ran a trap and showed me Burnished Brass, Privet Hawk-moth, Ruby Tiger, Angle Shades, Dark Dagger, Small Magpie, Diamondback Moth, The Shark, Buff-tip, The Vapourer, Small Elephant Hawk-moth, Light Brown Apple Moth etc. The moths themselves were weird and wonderful, but the names were on another plain.

Lots of lepidopterists amateur and professional prefer to use only the scientific binomials, as there is less chance of ambiguity given they rarely change. They work well internationally too. Vernacular names are often considered too fanciful, whimsical, or changeable. However, scientific binomials are often multisyllabic and hard to remember whereas a descriptive vernacular name might be much easier to recall and spell. This has implications for public interest, Garden Grass Veneer, is less of a memory mouthful than Chrysoteuchia culmella for some people. That said, the public has no trouble with Tyrannosaurus rex! There’s really no vernacular name for the Terrible Lizard King, after all.

Until the end of the 20th century, micro-moths in the UK were primarily known by their scientific binomials, often known as the Latin name. Ian Heslop’s 1945 checklist was not widely adopted and was even ridiculed at the time, lepidopterists were very reluctant to accept any vernacular names. Only a few micro species have established common names. These were usually species that were visually distinctive or commonly encountered, such as: Small Magpie (Anania hortulata), the Codling Moth (Cydia pomonella), or those considered to be crop pests like the Light Brown Apple Moth (Epiphyas postvittana).

Most microlepidoptera were referred to solely by scientific names due to their vast diversity (over 1,500 species in the UK) and the broader difficulty in finding them and identifying them. This is especiall the case when compared with the generally larger macros, which may even have historical folk names.

In the 1970s, others took up Heslop’s mantle and made an attempt to assign vernacular (common) names to all British micro-moths. J. D. Bradley [no relation] and D.S. Fletcher in 1979 did this in their checklist of Lepidoptera Recorded from the British Isles (updated by Bradley in 2000).

The pair gave vernacular names to all micro-moths, whether previously named or not. As with Heslop’s work, these names were often invented, sometimes based on appearance or taxonomic hints, but many were somewhat arbitrary. Many of the invented names were not widely adopted or were considered inappropriate, unhelpful, or even confusing.

David Agassiz, Steve Beavan, and John Heckford tried to remedy the situation with their publication: A Checklist of the Lepidoptera of the British Isles (2013), often referred to as ABH 2013, published by the Royal Entomological Society. It was the product of many years work with discussions in the mothing community and with the likes of John Langmaid, its lists were continually updated.

ABH retained, revised, or discarded many of the vernacular names introduced by Bradley. It was said to have greater clarity, consistency, and usefulness because the names were re-evaluated for accuracy, descriptiveness, and potential for common usage. A 2024 edition was published and updates are already being made in 2025. ABH is used by the likes of iRecord and Butterfly Conservation schemes, National Moth Recording Scheme (NMRS), and the UKMoths website, I believe. It seems that the authors are not inclined to make the updated lists available online for recorders and others though.

However, it is the Field Guide to the Micro Moths of Great Britain and Ireland by Sterling, Parsons & Lewington, 2012, which was considered the standard field guide, while it closely aligns with ABH 2013, it was a more accessible publication. The second edition, massively revised and updated, was published at the end of 2023 and is probably the book most moth-ers turn to check their moths and their names. There’s a link to an up-to-date copy of the Sterling checklist as a spreadsheet file here. (Thanks to Harry R for the link.)

All these efforts remain controversial. There are different factions among amateur and academic lepidopterists who prefer one source over another. Yet others that will be debate the value of micro moth vernacular names until the codlings come home. And, yet others who love the scientific binomials and all the weird and wonderful names of all our weird and wonderful moths.

Footnote

This article arose because I posted a link on my BlueSky to what I assumed was the current definitive list of micro moth names (common and vernacular) from Jim Wheeler and it led to quite a lengthy and fascinating discussion among #teamMoth there.

There are plenty of other lists and publications and people involved in all of this. I may update this article, if anyone contacts me furious that I failed to mention their favourite, hahaha.

A rather rare animal turned up in the garden a few nights ago. A Goat Moth, Cossus cossus.

Now, you might look at this chonky insect, which looks like a chunk of broken-off twig, and think why on earth did the early entomologists call it a Goat Moth?

Well, as is often the case, moths are named for characteristics of their larvae (caterpillars) rather than the winged sex-machine adults. For example, the Elephant Hawk-moth is so-called because its larva is grey and wrinkly looking, with a couple of dark markings at one end that look like nostrils at the end of an elephant’s trunk. Looking like a miniature elephant’s trunk would seem to be no protection against predators, but when this caterpillar moves it bears more than a passing resemblance to a snake.

Meanwhile, the Goat Moth larva, which is shades of brown and orange looks more like a tiny scorched baguette rather than a goat. So, what’s the origin of the name? Well, it’s all about molecules. The larvae feed on the wood of deciduous trees and produce a delightful chemical cocktail containing various volatile acids, butyric, valeric, caproic, and caprylic acid.

You would probably recognise the vile smell of butyric acid immediately, it smells of vomit, valeric acid, on the other hand, has an unpleasant sweaty smell but is also an olfactory note in the stench of porcine ordure. Caproic acid and caprylic acid, as their names might suggest, alluding to caprine, meaning goaty, both have a rancid, goaty smell and are present in the urine of male goats.

If you’re a bird checking out the local larval buffet and there are some sweet-smelling caterpillars around alongside ones that smell of BO, puke, pig poo, and goat wee, which one are you choosing to take back to your chicks for their breakfast.

Given all that, sadly the Goat Moth is on the decline with only a few pockets around the UK where they might still be seen, including Cambridgeshire. For now. Loss of woodland habitat to developers and farming will inevitably see the decline of a moth that eats wood and takes 4 or 5 years to reach the pupation stage before metamorphosing into an adult.

Instead of camouflaging themselves to hide from predators, lots of animals exploit a phenomenon known as paraedolia*. Pareidolia is the perception of seeing familiar shapes or patterns, such as faces or objects, in something without or a face or where the pattern or object does not really exist. Humans experience it a lot, it’s why we see animal shapes in the clouds or a gnarly face in the branches and bark of a tree. And why some people think there are Martians, because a mountainous feature on the Red Planet looks like head with eyes staring up at the planet’s rarified atmosphere.

One of the common features of pareidolia in animal defence is to display fake eyes in some way. I’ve mentioned the four false eyes, oculi**, on the wings of the Emperor moth a feature it shares with the European Peacock butterfly. But, other moths keep their eyes hidden from view until they need to make an impression.

The rather obviously named hawk-moth known as the Eyed Hawk-moth, is well camouflaged when it keeps its hindwings covered by its forewings. If startled or pecked at by a bird despite its leafy camouflage, it will flash its hindwings each of which has a rather realistic circular pattern of scales. This, along with the colouration adjacent to the oculi and their sudden display gives the impression of a face looking back at the predator. It’s presumably enough to scare off a hesitant bird.

Intriguingly, the moth puts on a good show of looking like a face staring back from the angle shown in the photo above, but I’ve flipped the shot below and in many ways this gives even more of an impression of an actual animal, I’d say.

There are countless examples of paraedolia in action among the moths and their larvae. Interestingly, this species as with several others, such as the famous Death’s Head Hawk-moth has another feature that uses the effects of paraedolia. While, the wings look like leaves, the back of the moth’s head also has markings that give the impression of a face perhaps belonging to a smaller animal that might nevertheless bite back if a bold bird tries to make a meal of the moth.

Meanwhile, is there such a thing as olfactory pareidolia? The larvae of the Goat Moth have a very strong, unpleasant smell as they exude various volatile compounds – butyric (vomit smell), valeric (pig poo smell), caproic and caprylic acids, the latter two are in male goat urine and smell very unpleasantly caprine. So, these smells presumably are recognised as offensive by predators, which are deterred from eating something so malodorous.

*Paraedolia – from the Greek para meaning alongside, beyond or else irregular, abnormal and the Greek eidolon meaning appearance or reflection.

**Oculus, plural oculi – from the Latin for eye.

You know what really gets my Goat Moth? A UV lamp in the garden on a balmy, but wet, late spring night.

This chunky creature, the UK’s heaviest moth, is a Goat Moth, Cossus cossus. It’s called the Goat because its enormous larvae smell characteristically caprine.

It’s a proper bucket-list moth for a lot of mothers because it is increasingly scarce and not commonly seen in England even in areas that might be referred to as its strongholds. Cambridgeshire is one of those. I potted it photographed it, and then shared it far and wide to envious acclaim. It has now been rewilded some way away from the garden and is unlikely to return.

Its larvae are very big and burrow into deciduous trees to feed on wood. This species and its relatives are known collectively as carpenter moths because of their wood work. Digesting wood takes a long time, so the larvae (caterpillars) might live for five years before pupating. The decline of the species is sadly most likely due to property developers and farmers grubbing out woodland to make way for housing and crops.

So, that thing about the larvae smelling like goats? Basically, they produce various chemicals that have strong odours as a deterrent, several of these chemicals are also exuded by male goats and present in their urine, for instance. – butyric acid (which is generally thought to smell rather unpleasantly of human vomit or body odour), valeric acid (also an unpleasant sweaty-smelling compound found in porcine ordure), caproic acid (given the name, a goaty, caprine, smell), and caprylic acid (also has a rancid, goaty smell).

Artificial light at night, a ubiquitous byproduct of urban life, is have a negative effect on the natural world. A study in the journal Biology Letters has looked at the impact on moths, and specifically the Spindle Ermine moth, Yponomeuta cagnagella. The research shows that light pollution is not only disrupting insect behaviour, but could be driving evolutionary change that is changing the wing shape and morphology of this moth, and perhaps others.

Spindle Ermine is a night-flying moth and like many others is drawn to sources of light, a phenomenon known as positive phototaxis. In modern urban environments, moths drawn to streetlights or lit buildings often fail to find mates, suffer from disorientation, or fall prey to predators. These factors reduce their ability to reproduce and survive.

Earlier research has shown that urban moths display weaker phototaxis than their rural counterparts. This divergence raised questions about whether the shift was environmental, perhaps due to repeated exposure, or whether it indicated a deeper, evolutionary adaptation to urban conditions.

The new research found wing morphology is different between moths of this species with strong phototaxis compared to a weak response. Moths from urban areas tend to have smaller wings compared to those from rural populations (laboratory-reared populations). This change is genetic and inheritable, not just a generational response to the local conditions. Given that wing size correlates with flight capacity, smaller wings typically suggests reduced mobility.

The study showed that moths with smaller wings were less likely to be attracted to artificial light sources, supporting a hypothesis known as the “reduced mobility hypothesis.” This theory suggests that urban environments, with their almost constant illumination, may exert selective pressure favouring individuals that are less prone to wander or fly extensively.

As regular readers know all too well, I am an amateur lepidopterist, and have been since the summer of 2018. I trap in our small back garden and have used various traps – Robinson, Heath, Skinner, and various light sources, although mostly UV fluorescent tubes and a LepiLED. It’s early in the 2025 season and I am thinking about ways to optimise my trapping to see if I can get my life list up to 600 species this year; currently stands at 574 and for the last two to three yeasr, I usually record at least 30 species new to the garden each year.

I have often wondered whether placement in the garden matters. It doesn’t seem to. So, at the moment, I am trapping with the Skinner on a table beneath a lean-to, looking out to the garden. In the trap, I place various narrow egg trays, sloping against the sides, but wondering whether a layer of crumpled cardboard in the base might be useful to provide even more roosting spots. Behind the trap a white sheet hangs and at this time of year seems to be getting more moths than enter the trap.

Another question I have is whether I should narrow the Skinner slot. Making the entrance smaller might reduce the number that can enter, but it will reduce the size of their escape route too. I’ve tried in-trap baffles hanging beneath the slot previously but not sure that really had any effect. I was advised by a more-expert amateur not to narrow the slot and not to use Robinson-type vanes, but to add those baffles. I think I might go against the grain this season and try a baffle and a narrower slot, see what happens, at least for a few lighting-up sessions.

I have written about moth pheromones several times over the years, mostly since I started mothing. Specifically, the chemistry of the sex pheromone produced by the female Emperor moth. Pheromones can be used to attract and trap what some people might refer to as pest species, but they can also be used scientifically just as one uses a UV light to attract moths for local monitoring.

I have a range of pheromones in little vials and soaked into various rubber bungs (they come from the supplier like that), which can be hung outside at various times of year to attract specific species, such as the clearwing moths and the Emperor.

The pheromones can be bought from various suppliers, but Anglia Lepidopteral Supplies (ALS) are the company I’ve used. I’ve had great success every year with the EMP lure, and most of the clearwings as well as a couple of other lures for some less well-known micro moths.

The really interesting thing about pheromone lures is that they’re usually mixtures of various chemicals that the moths produce to attract a mate. As such, some of them also attract non-target species, which home in on one of the other chemicals present, or even the target pheromone if they use the same one themselves. ALS gives its customers a list of dozens of moths that might be by-catch when using a moth pheromone for a particular target species. This week, I hung the CUL lure, which targets the clearwing known as Synanthedon culiciformis, the Large Red-belted Clearwing. I am yet to see this moth in the garden, or indeed anywhere. It’s slightly early for it to be flying, but lots of flora and fauna have been appearing earlier than usual this year, so I thought I’d give it a go.

Within seconds of putting out the lure, I saw a couple of micros approaching. Tiny Nemopogon species as it happens. The only one ALS lists as a putative by-catch for the CUL lure is N. clematella, although the lure can draw in quite a few other species:

Synanthedon myopaeformis (Red-belted Clearwing), Phlogophora meticulosa (Angle Shades), Agnathosia mendicella, Alcis repandata (Mottled Beauty), Pammene aurana, Pammene suspectana, Camptogramma bilineata (Yellow Shell), Coleophora amethystinella, Diaphora mendica (Muslin Moth), Endotricha flammealis, Eudonia mercurella, Glyphipterix simpliciella, Nemapogon clematella, Triaxomera fulvimitrella

I’ve had several of those species to the UV lamp over the years and Red-belted to this lure and its own specific lure.

The Nemapogon species I caught this week, looks most like the Grain Moth (N. granella), but as expert moth ID man, Sean Foote, pointed out it’s most likely to be that species, but impossible to know without doing gen det. It could, for instance, be N. variatella or a dull N. cloacella. Neither of those are mentioned by ALS as putative by-catch. Gen det is beyond me, so technically I should report this moth as Nemopogon agg, i.e. as an aggregrated species only identifiable to genus level without additional information. I have mentioned the catch to the team at ALS to see what they think.