Susie White,
Forget their reputation as butterflies’ drab cousins – moths are beautiful, too. Susie White shares her fascination for these creatures, and helps you attract more to your garden
“I check the moth trap I set last night... it’s a moment of pure magic, of treasure hunting, of childlike excitement at what I might find.”
Day dawns and a robin sings in thin high notes. Blackbirds join in, warm and melodic, as the valley wakes up. I’m out here early to check the light trap that I set last night, eager to discover which moths have been attracted by its brilliant bulb. It’s a moment of pure magic, of treasure hunting, of childlike excitement at what I might find.
I’ve been trapping moths for a few years now and the thrill hasn’t lessened. There’s a feeling of wonder that such beautiful insects fly unseen in the night while we are asleep. Some are as large and colourful as butterflies and there are far more species; compare the 59 species of butterflies breeding in Britain with some 900 species of large moths (known as macro-moths) and a further 1,550 or so species of micro-moths.
Trapping moths does not hurt them and I let them go the following night. It’s similar to bird surveying with a mist net: catch without harming, identify and release. There are several types of trap but the one I prefer to use is a Robinson. Moths are drawn by the light of a bright bulb and funnelled down into the large black tub below. I line this with egg cartons so there are plenty of places to hide, setting the trap just before dusk and turning the light off at dawn. It’s a race to get there before the robin who might take advantage of an easy meal.
Moths settle on the surrounding walls so I check those first. I record the species and numbers in a notebook, taking back-up photos in case they fly off. The most dramatic are the hawkmoths. Large and fabulously patterned, their heavy bodies make them slow to take off and they will sit on my hand looking wonderfully glamorous. The elephant hawk-moth is a vibrant combination of lime green and sugar pink. Poplar hawk-moths have sculpted blush-grey wings; displaying red flashes from marks on their underwings if they feel threatened. With their size and colour, these are good species to show children the wonder of moths.
Butterflies and moths are closely related. To tell them apart, butterflies have clubbed antennae, whereas moths, with the exception of the burnets, do not. Some moths fly by day, some by night, and my garden is filled with plants to attract them. Single flowers are chosen for their easily accessed nectar, giving adult moths energy for flying and aiming to provide a year-round food supply. Some moths even fly in winter, with ivy flowers providing a lateseason feast. My garden is at the meeting of several different habitats – woodland, fields and river – so it’s especially rich in insect life.
Moth caterpillars feed on the leaves and roots of native plants and grasses, so I leave meadow fringes around the garden walls. I grow foxglove, primrose, mullein and thyme in the borders, or cultivated varieties that are related to native species: verbascum, purple plantain, honeysuckle and flag iris. Native trees are especially important and the caterpillars that eat their leaves provide food for birds. Birds feed their chicks with winter moth caterpillars collected from the tree canopy; a single brood of blue tits can eat up to 10,000, their breeding timed to coincide with the emerging larvae.
As well as being pollinators, this makes moths vital in the food chain. They’re relied on by birds, spiders, bats, amphibians and hedgehogs. Their declining numbers – down by 40% in the south of the UK – is alarming and is having an impact on other species. Important data is
being collected by the National Moth Recording Scheme, as well as the Garden Moth Scheme, started in 2003 by wildlife consultant Dave Grundy. It was a two-day training course with Dave that first fired my enthusiasm for recording moths. People submit data to these two national projects from all over the country, from John O’Groats to the Channel Islands and Ireland.
In summer, there are so many moths in the trap that checking them can take a couple of hours. Their variety is breathtaking, from the jade green of the large emerald to the iridescent burnished brass, and from the clear white of the ghost moth to the dramatic patterning of the magpie. Moths often use mimicry to protect themselves. Red sword-grass looks like a sliver of wood and has a head like a shaven pencil, only recognisable as an insect when it splays its legs to walk on my hand. Chinese character is a white moth with brown blotches that looks just like a bird dropping. The beautiful buff-tip mimics a broken-off birch twig.
Their imaginative names are a joy. Thought up by Victorian naturalists, these were often drawn from life in the ‘big house’; there are ermines, satins, brocades, footmen and wainscots. Some names come from their markings: Hebrew character, garden tiger, feathered gothic, speckled yellow, blood-vein and leopard moth. Angle shades is a perfection of symmetry and herald wears the rich velvet of a medieval costume.
As the light drops, I put out the moth trap for the weekly session. Tawny owls begin calling from the woods, bats dip and dive over the garden and a woodcock flies, squeaking, over my head. I watch for a while as the first moths flicker towards the bulb, then head indoors, wondering what delights the morning will bring.