Leafmines: Stigmella viscerella

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I’m often surprised when I find a new leafmine: how is it that I’ve not noticed this one before, and how many different leafmines can there be? The answer to the first question has to be that I haven’t been paying enough attention, and to the second that there are probably hundreds that I haven’t yet found.

Today’s new leafmines were made by larvae of the moth Stigmella viscerella, and the mines can be found on the leaves of Elm trees, in this case Wych elm (Ulmus glabra), during August and September. Now that I’m aware of them, I’ve managed to find the mines in two different locations on two separate days, which is why the elm leaves in the two sets of images look different in colour (one day was brighter than the other).

The epithet viscerella may seem odd – it comes from the Latin viscera, plural of viscus, and refers to the human body’s internal organs – but when I look at these mines, the twisting shapes of the frass-filled galleries do, indeed, remind me of human intestines. I presume that the adult moth is not often seen as the UK Moths website doesn’t have its photo but, if you’re curious to see what emerged from these ‘intestines’, I managed to find an image on the German Lepiforum website.

White melilot

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When I first saw this plant, I thought it was some weird variation on a vetch. I was wrong – I frequently am! – but I did have the correct family. This is White melilot (Melilotus albus), a member of the pea family, the Fabaceae (or Leguminosae).

I’ve only ever seen it growing in this one location, an area of waste ground on the western side of Cardiff Bay, which leads me to wonder how it arrived there. In Flora Britannica, Richard Mabey writes that it was ‘originally introduced to this country from Europe as fodder plants’ and is ‘now well naturalised at the edges of arable fields, on roadsides and in waste places’. That’s certainly one explanation but I wonder if this particular colony has a different origin.

I know from my time volunteering on the Mary Gilham Archive Project that, in the days of sail and the once very active docks that flourished around the Bay, ships often used sand as ballast. When they arrived at Cardiff, the ships offloaded their sand before loading up with a cargo of coal, and the sand was often dumped or used to reclaim land. That sand contained a huge variety of dormant seeds, which is why the land around Cardiff Bay – and the ports of other cities – often contain alien plant species. Whatever the truth of its arrival, White melilot is an attractive, if straggly little plant, which, I think, deserves to grow more widely.

Coleophora argentula

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These may not look like much – in fact, when looking at these images, you might struggle to see anything but fading flower heads of Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) – but I’ve been checking almost every Yarrow flower I see, looking for these, since I first saw them mentioned on social media a few years ago.

These tiny brown tubes, camouflaged with a plant material covering, are the larval cases of the moth Coleophora argentula. From within their home-made protective covering, the little larvae poke their heads out to munch on the Yarrow flowers and on the seeds when they begin to develop.

According to the British Leafminers website entry on this species, the larvae are usually active from September through to May, so these are a little early; I’m finding many things are early this year, presumably due to the continuing warm weather. You can see the adult moth, a very pretty little thing, with pale brown and white stripes, over on the UK Moths website.

And now, have another look at the first photo. How many of the little brown cases can you find? Answers on a postcard. 🙂

Moorhen chickadees

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I thought we’d end the week with a massive dose of cuteness, with this gorgeous family of Moorhens I spotted yesterday in Cardiff’s Bute Park. At first, there were four tiny chicks, dwarfed by the huge Gunnera leaf on which they were standing.

Then a fifth chick appeared from behind the leaf and strode purposefully up the side of the Gunnera, standing with its massive feet apart, peering along the canal as if it was the nominated lookout searching for their Moorhen parents.

Seconds later, one of the parents appeared with a nibble of food. Although only one chick benefitted from that, they all seemed to realise that they needed to follow that parent if they had any hope of getting fed themselves so hopped one at a time into the water, paddling frantically to keep up. They were so very cute to watch.

Red-veined darter

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Last week I celebrated my tenth anniversary of life in Wales with a lovely long walk around the local areas I’ve come to know so well. And, almost as if Nature was gifting me an anniversary present, this gorgeous creature flitted up from the grass next to the path in front of me, before settling again very near to me. I knew immediately, from the half blue eyes, that this was something special.

This is a Red-veined darter (Sympetrum fonscolombii). As you can see, it’s neither red, nor does it have red veins in its wings. The dragonfly is named for the colouring of a mature male but this golden beauty is an immature dragonfly, which you can tell from the black collar across the front of its thorax. I think it’s a male but my photos don’t show enough detail to be sure.

Red-veined darters are migrants from southern Europe. They are reasonably common in southern Britain but the numbers vary from year to year, presumably depending on conditions in Europe and on the weather conditions – warm southerlies or sou’easterlies would help them fly our way. I saw three in 2019, and, when I was comparing notes with one of my birding friends who also likes dragonflies, he agreed that, for some reason, that had been a bumper year for them. Neither of us has seen one locally in the six years since them, until now. I am, of course, hoping for more, especially as I’ve yet to see a strikingly vibrant male Red-veined darter.

Three shieldbug nymphs

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I’ve found some nice nymphs of our various shieldbug species during recent walks so thought I’d share a few of them. The nymphs almost always look quite different to the adults of the same species; if you’re unsure which shieldbug or which stage (instar) of nymph you’ve found, the British Bugs website has a page full of excellent drawings showing the various instars of all the British shieldbug species.

As this was only my fourth ever sighting of this species, I was particularly pleased to spot this Bronze shieldbug nymph (Troilus luridus), though it would have been difficult to miss as its metallic colours sparkled in the sunshine.

To illustrate how much these bugs change as they grow, I’ve included two photos of Hawthorn shieldbug (Acanthosoma haemorrhoidale), the top image shows early instar nymphs and below that is a mid instar nymph.

It was just a couple of months ago that I saw my first Juniper shieldbug (Cyphostethus tristriatus) and I wrote then (Juniper shieldbug, 3 June) that I was intending to return to the site to look for more, adults and nymphs. I did, and I have; this is one of two nymphs I found recently, a bug that’s just a stunning as the adult, in my humble opinion.

White grasshopper

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Except, perhaps, for a post about local flora, this will be the last of my blogs about what delights of Nature I discovered during my recent visit to Weymouth, and this is definitely my most unexpected find, an all-white grasshopper. It didn’t have pink eyes so I don’t think it qualifies as albino but it was certainly unusual.

I wasn’t sure what type of grasshopper it was, as it’s a nymph not an adult, and they can be tricky to identify, but I received some valuable assistance from the National iRecord verifier for Orthopteroid insects when I posted a photo on social media. David wasn’t sure either at first but I used Photoshop to fiddle with the light and contrast in my image so as to show the features a little more clearly and, from that, David could tell: ‘There is a fair amount of kink in the side keel, shown pretty clearly … Given that it actually looks most like Field GH, that they are the ones likeliest to be nymphs now & that they are also one of the most variable spp, the chances of it being anything else are slim.’ So, Field grasshopper it is!

Just to illustrate how very unusual this creature was, here’s a photo of a normal Field grasshopper that I took just a few days ago.

Adonis blues

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In classical antiquity, Adonis was celebrated as the epitome of male beauty. I presume, when writing in his publication British Butterflies in 1860, W. S. Coleman named this striking butterfly the Adonis blue, he considered it was the epitome of male beauty in the world of British butterflies. Though lacking the elaborate patterning of many British butterflies, the sheer brilliance of the colour of the male Adonis blue (Polyommatus bellargus) is breathtaking.

Fortunately for me, this butterfly has two broods each year so, though I missed the first in May-June, I timed my visit to Weymouth perfectly for the very start of the emergence of the second brood in August-September. I only managed to see two males, no females (which have chocolate brown upper wings, tinged with varying amounts of blue) but, as these sightings were only the third time I’d seen any Adonis blues, I was very happy indeed!

A confusion of Comfreys

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In Flora Britannica, author Richard Mabey explains that Common comfrey (Symphytum officinale) hybridises freely with Russian comfrey (S. x uplandicum) and Rough comfrey (S. asperum), so I make no apology for not being able to be precise about today’s wildflower species. To further confuse the picture, White comfrey (S. orientale), an introduction from west Russia and Turkey, has become naturalised, and is commonly found in hedgerows and on waste ground in southern England. The combination of species certainly provides a wonderful mix of white, blues, lilacs and purples in the Comfrey flowers, which I noticed the bumblebees were particularly enjoying (the flower nectar, not the colours).

The Comfrey plants shown here was at RSPB Radipole in Weymouth, thriving in the reserve’s damp environment, growing beside the footpaths and along the edges of the reed beds.

You probably know that Comfrey is very commonly used in herbal medicine, especially in connection with healing open wounds, broken bones and severe bruising, hence its common names of Knitbone and Nip-bone. It contains Allantoin, a substance that encourages the healing of connective tissue, and Flora Britannica lists many reports from contributors of poultices being used to heal severe cuts, ease the severely bruised knees of miners, and assist with the knitting of broken bones. One of my grandmothers always grew Comfrey in her garden and would drink an infusion of the leaves to ease her sore back and aching limbs, though Mabey warns that Comfrey contains alkaloids that can cause liver damage, so infusions and tablets are now discouraged.

Radipole Reed warbler

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Though the vegetation had been cut back along the pathways so I didn’t get to do my ‘Jane of the Jungle’ impression, my visits to the RSPB Radipole reserve were a little disappointing during last week’s visit to Weymouth. Unlike my June visit, when I saw two dragonflies I’d never ever seen before (Lifer: Norfolk hawker and Lifer: Scarce chaser), this time I saw just one dragonfly and it didn’t stop for a photo. On the birding front, activity had also diminished, though I did enjoy watching a Sedge warbler searching for food and feeding its young, and the sounds of young birds either keeping in contact with their parents or following them through the trees and reed beds were a constant accompaniment to my walks. My best image came from one of those moments, when this juvenile Reed warbler paused momentarily right in front of me.