Restricted Moth-ing

The UK, along with countries around the world, is on “lockdown”. We must avoid contact with other humans. We can only leave our homes for essential activity. Whilst necessary to reduce the spread of the Covid-19 virus, these orders come with many far-reaching and frightening ramifications. Social isolation, broken businesses, loss of jobs, events we were looking forward to cancelled – a disaster for the economy and not good for mental well-being.

Remoteness and solitude – an attraction of moth trapping

Moth recording, along with all wildlife recording undertaken for business, research or pleasure, is not “essential” and so it must cease in all places but our own gardens or on our permitted short daily exercise excursions. Never mind that normally moth trapping is a solitary activity, undertaken in the antisocial hours between dusk and dawn and usually at sites selected for the very reason that they are away from habitation and people. Rules are rules, and Covid-19 is serious.

So I find myself forced to ‘make do’ with my garden and the desert of vast arable fields around my house for my wildlife therapy. With the recent mild weather, I would have taken my light traps to the woodlands of East Lothian for an annual re-acquaintance with moths that only appear at this time of year and a secret hope of the unexpected: the joy of seeing a new species, the fascination of witnessing a different behaviour, the intrigue of finding an unusual variety. There is also the wonderful and unrivalled pleasure of simply being out. Dawn in a Scottish woodland at this time of year smells fresh, the birdsong is loud and glorious, plants are sprouting new green life as the rising sun dapples through the branches. It makes me happy. The moths are a bonus.

For my project at Whittingehame, following in Alice Balfour’s footsteps, there were a few species that eluded me last year that I was hoping to find this year. Now I am more familiar with Alice’s list and the ways she searched, I was looking forward to some targetted recording. I can only hope the current restrictions will be lifted by the summer and I can get back to looking for moths on the Estate and examining her specimens in the museum.

Curtailment of moth-hunting outings is not without precedence here. Alice also endured State-imposed restrictions to her activities with the outbreak of World War 1. She complains of no night trapping being possible due to no lights being allowed after dark. Rationing of sugar meant that none was available for her to make into the syrupy mixture so effective for attracting some species. And she was not impressed with the Territorials training and trampling around her favourite coastal spots. In a way that I can identify with, not only does the war limit where she can go searching for moths but it is the best side of the house at Whittingehame and the best coastal locations that become off-limits.

Nevertheless, she still managed to find moths, and the statement “no lights allowed” later becomes “hardly any light trapping possible”. The number of moth records in her diary during 1915 and 1916 are similar to the number of records noted in other years of the decade (around 300 entries), and she recorded more during 1917 than any other year (480 entries) despite both weather and war apparently against her this year. It may have felt limiting at the time, and it lasted for several years, but looking at her records now World War 1 doesn’t appear to have limited Alice’s moth-ing achievements significantly. Things aren’t always as bad as they seem. Covid-19 is a crisis for humans, but for moths it is business as usual.

1914-1918: Some comments in Alice’s notebook each year of the war:

September 1914: “… but owing to the war and other circumstances I was unable to go much either to the hills or the seashore. The Territorials are on guard with trenches etc all round the coast and no night mothing was possible and the hollow N. of Ravensheugh which is about the best place near the sea, was continually trampled over by them.”
1915: “A bad year for moths in some ways. The weather was usually unsuitable when there was no moon, & vice versa. Owing to the war it was impossible to moth at Tyninghame or elsewhere at night as no lights were allowed. No lights were allowed at Whittingehame which are visible from the sea, consequently the trap could only be used on the S.W. & S. E. sides (the N.E. side is the best one as a rule). It was a late spring & summer…”
1916:Left for London May 6. Returned to Whittingehame June 26. Except for a few days in May the weather was extraordinarily cold & wet & changeable. Consequently all vegetation was extremely backwards. NO Lights not allowed so trap not used.
1917: “Owing to the war and being unable to use lights much, & not able to use sugar at all, comparatively few noctuae got. August was excessively wet & cold which also interfered with their capture. I saw but few Leucania pallens, only one L. conigera…”
1918: “Very fine dry year up to Aug. Then wet & cold in Aug & Sep when very few obtained. Owing to war light could only be very sparingly used & sugar could not be got.”

Although her frustrations are clear, Alice also uses plenty of ink despairing of the imperfect weather conditions hindering her efforts. Sometimes it is helpful to be able to apportion blame and with this mild moaning I expect she was more providing an explanation for lower than hoped for catches rather than disagreeing with war-related restrictions to her activities. Perhaps a pattern being repeated amongst keen wildlife recorders at the moment? We might complain about being forced to stay away from the countryside, but the need to help limit the damage caused by Covid-19 is silently understood.

Early Thorn in a springtime woodland

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