NFY: Gatekeeper

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Though the precise timing does depend on the weather, over the last 10 years the dates on which I see my first Gatekeepers (Pyronia tithonus) rarely vary by more than a few days, around the end of June and the start of July. This year my first sighting was on 28 June, and it was at the same location as in several of the past years, fluttering around vegetation by a gate in to one of the fields at Cosmeston Lakes Country Park. If only all creatures were so predictable – though that would be much less of a challenge!

Cymus glandicolor nymphs

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Back in May 2024 I wrote about my difficulties in identifying a New bug: Cymus glandicolor.

In the intervening two years, I’ve rechecked the seed heads of other Pendulous sedge plants, and the same plant on which I first found this bug, many times but have never seen other populations or, indeed, any single specimens of this ground bug, until a week or so ago.

On the same plant where I first spotted them, I located lots of these Cymus glandicolor nymphs. As they are about the same size as the sedge seeds and a very similar colour, they are almost inconspicuous but, after I’d noticed the first one, I soon realised they were quite numerous, just difficult to pick out.

While handling the seed heads, one of the little nymphs climbed on to my hand, giving me the opportunity for an even closer look at it. At about 3mm in length, they really are quite tiny, and easily overlooked, which is presumably why there are not a lot of records of this species on iRecord, though the British Bugs website states they are widespread in England and Wales.

Red-eyed and Small red-eyed damsels

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First, come the Red-eyed damselflies (Erythromma najas), a dragonfly species I first saw in May 2024 so, each year since, I have looked forward to finding them again. Though they can be seen as early as April and linger in to September, the core months for sightings are May through August, and I usually see them locally from mid May. The British Dragonfly Society website says this species is ‘[m]ost common in central and southern England, and the Welsh Borders’, but ‘[a]bsent in Scotland. It has increased in occupancy in England since 1982 and in Wales since 2006.’ Perhaps, as the planet warms, folks living further north will also get to see those startling red eyes staring at them from a waterside bush.

Then come the Small red-eyed damselflies (Erythromma viridulum), six to eight weeks after the Red-eyeds – their core months for sightings are July to August. And, as both species are often seen in the same locations and both could be active at that same time, that’s when things become a little more tricky as they are very similar and their size difference is not an easy distinguishing feature to use. I’ve placed photographs of males of the two species below, the top image shows Red-eyed, the lower Small red-eyed, to try to show the differences.

There are a couple of features I look for to help me work out which is which. The upper black line on the side of the thorax often ends in a dot in Small red-eyeds but this is rarely the case in Red-eyeds. Also, the blue segments on their tails are different – in the Small red-eyeds, the sides of segments 2 and 3, and segment 8, are blue; I find this the easiest feature to spot in the field (or, perhaps, I should say by the water). I should warn that these differences only apply to the males of both species; the females are not so straight forward, and it’s probably best to check the British dragonfly Society website, where they show excellent side-by-side comparison photos that are very useful.

Small red-eyed damselflies only appeared in Britain in 1999 but have since spread at a quite remarkable rate (the pair shown above are doing their bit to help with that spread). The latest map on iRecord shows records, though still sparse, down to the tip of Cornwall, across the southern part of Wales, up to the Lake District in the west of England and, in the east, a scattering of records in southern Scotland.

NFY: Essex skipper

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It’s that time of year when every Small skipper I see has the potential to be an Essex skipper (Thymelicus lineola), so I spend a lot of time watching these little butterflies skipping up and down amongst the grasses and wildflowers, waiting for them to settle so I can try to get a better look at them.

If they’re males, a good view of the dark stripes on their upper wings can clinch an ID; if they’re females, a front-on view of the undersides of the tips of their antennae is required (see my blog Small or Essex?, July 2022). Both views can be tricky given the small size of these butterflies, their meandering flight, their remarkable ability to vanish in plain sight, and their tendency to land facing the ‘wrong’ way.

Fortunately, my persistence (some might say my stubbornness) has paid off, and I’ve now seen Essex skippers in several different locations. The butterfly shown here was the first.

Male crab spider

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I’m currently away on another of my mini-breaks, once again staying in Weymouth in Dorset. I usually try to get the blog posts for my time away all written and scheduled in advance of these breaks but I ran out of time before this trip, so I hope you’ll forgive me for recycling a recent post I made to my Bluesky account on 30 June:

I love that every day’s a school day. I didn’t know until today, when identifying this spider I spotted on my walk, that male crab spiders (Misumena vatia) aren’t like the pale colour-changing females. This little dude, missing a leg, was still intent on waving his remaining limbs around.

n.b. You can see examples of those pale colour-changing females in a couple of my previous posts: Y is for Yellow, from December last year, and Flower crab spiders, posted in April 2023.

Bug: Liorhyssus hyalinus

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This is one bug I didn’t find by fossicking amongst or staring at leaves; it came to me, appearing one recent afternoon on the inside of my living room window. I only managed a couple of photos before it was off again, expertly flying through the gap of the tilted window, something most creatures don’t manage to do. This is Liorhyssus hyalinus, a new bug for me and one that is not often recorded. The British Bugs website explains:

Historically regarded as a rare vagrant to Britain, but has appeared much more frequently since the 1990s and become established in some areas, with a recent history of records from the coast of south Wales [my location], where the bug seems to be resident.

Though my photo isn’t great (and, yes, the outside of the window is dirty – the windows get cleaned every couple of months but living next to the sea and a woodland means they don’t stay clean for long), the markings on this bug were distinctive enough for me to identify it fairly quickly (and my record has now been verified). If you want to learn more about Liorhyssus hyalinus, you can read the entry – and see better images – on the British Bugs website.

Small skipper eggs

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It’s that time of year when I check every Small skipper in case it’s an Essex. None I saw on this particular morning at Cosmeston were Essex skippers but I did spot a couple of egg-laying females and so, very carefully, I took the opportunity to see my first Small skipper eggs within a sheath of grass.

In his book Life Cycles of British & Irish Butterflies, Peter Eeles perfectly describes the female’s egg-laying process:

After buzzing around tall grasses, she will alight on a stem and then slowly revolve backwards down it, probing the sheath with her abdomen as she goes. When a suitable opening has been found, she closes her wings over her back, points her antennae forward, and spend a couple of minutes laying between three and eight eggs in a row inside the sheath.

The miniscule larvae hatch from their eggs after about three weeks, and, remaining inside the grass sheath, they spin a cocoon around themselves. This is how they spend the winter, in hibernation until April, when they emerge and continue through five larval stages before they pupate.

Sadly, this aspect of their life cycle leaves the tiny Small skipper caterpillars vulnerable. At my local country park, there used to be a thriving colony of Small skippers but, since the introduction of ‘conservation’ grazing, that colony has been lost because the cattle used for the grazing eat all the grass right down to the roots.

Galls: Cecidophyes nudus

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As a wise person once said (I’m looking at you, Theresa Green), ‘there’s never nothing to see’. So, during the latest record-breaking heatwave, on a day when I had limited my walk to an hour in the very early morning, I still somehow managed to find a new-to-me species as I walked through my nearest park.

The plant is Geum urbanum, also known as Wood avens and Herb Bennet, and those are galls on its leaves. Now, I’m not sure I’d said this before but I love galls. And the reason I love them is that, for the most part, they are plant specific, which makes them easy to identify, which means I don’t have to spend ages searching through books or pages on the internet to try to put a name to what I’ve found. A quick google of ‘galls on Geum urbanum UK’ and Bob’s your uncle: these galls are caused by the miniscule mite Cecidophyes nudus.

Gall-causing mites are so tiny that most people, including me, have never seen them so I was particularly pleased to find the Dorset Nature website, which has a photo of one of these. A quick check of iRecord showed that these galls are not very common but, as I suspect even the most diligent observers rarely stare at leaves as much as I do, the galls are very probably under-recorded.

NFY: Two hairstreaks

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The past couple of weeks have been peak ‘staring at trees’ time for crazy people like me (I’m sure that’s what people who see me think – ‘There she is again, that crazy woman who stands and stares at the tree tops’). Little do they know that my time spent staring at the tops of the Wych elms and Oaks at various local sites has paid off handsomely.

I saw my first White-letter hairstreaks (Satyrium w-album) of the year on 19 June, at a location where they hadn’t been recorded before but where I’d previously noted the numerous Wych elms and wondered. As you can see above, these were the typical initial views of hairstreaks, fluttering around in the tops; sadly, many years these are the only views, despite a lot of staring but, this year – in fact, the very next day, I was treated to much better views. This was at another new location, discovered by a local birder.

Purple hairstreaks (Favonius quercus) usually appear a week or so after the White-letters and so it was this year. On 25 June, I was walking home through a small local park which is, amazingly, home to both species, and noticed a few small grey fluttering creatures above one of the huge old Oak trees. That was the hottest day of the year to date, far too hot for even crazy women to stand staring for long, so I didn’t linger to try to grab photos.

Instead, a few days later, on 29 June, when the temperatures had cooled down, I walked through Lavernock Nature Reserve to check the Oaks along the road opposite the main entrance. Et voilà! Several Purple hairstreaks were flitting about the branches about half way up the tree, which gave for much closer, though still not super close views. Every year I look forward to the time when the hairstreaks appear and this year certainly hasn’t disappointed.

Two bedstraws

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The bedstraw family of plants (the Rubiaceae) includes wildflowers like Field madder (Sherardia arvensis) (featured in a post of that name in May 2023), and Woodruff (Galium odoratum) and Cleavers (Galium aparine) (both of which appeared in New and noticed, May 2021), but today I want to focus on the two bedstraws I’m seeing everywhere in the local fields at the moment, the yellow-flowered Lady’s bedstraw (Galium verum) and white-flowered Hedge bedstraw (Galium mollugo).

In Flora Britannica, Richard Mabey writes that the flowers of Lady’s bedstraw smell strongly of honey, something I’ve never got down low enough to notice, and when dry, smells of new-mown hay, which is why it used to be stuffed into straw mattresses. Mabey also notes that this plant is ‘a coagulant and was once employed not just as a styptic, but as a vegetable substitute of rennet … in the making of cheese’.

Though I mostly see Hedge bedstraw growing alongside its yellow-flowered cousin in the local wildflower meadows, as its name implies, it is more often seen climbing amongst other plants in and around hedgerows, and in areas of low scrub. Both plants are a lovely addition to the profusion of summer flowers now in bloom.