Common Blue [L’icaro o argo azzurro] (Polyommatus icarus) on Lavender beside the swimming pool of the lovely agriturismo farm, Rocca di Cispiano, where we stayed in Chianti. Species names are shown in English [Italian] and (Latin). Pool area: not an obvious place for butterflies, but the clever planting of a Lavender border made all the difference
Scarce Swallowtail [Il podalirio] (Iphiclides podalirius), a large butterfly with a distinctive sailing flight, taking nectar beside the poolSilver-Washed Fritillary [La pafia o Tabacco di Spagna o Fritillaria] (Argynnis paphia), a handsome and distinctive species
Tuscan landscape (Chianti): hilltop farms, Vines (bright green rows), Olive trees (blue-gray trees in rows), low mixed maquis (macchia mediterranea) forest, Cypress trees on left skyline
Nine-Spotted Moth [La fegea] (Amata phegea) frequently visited the lavender border and other flowers. It was once also found in England; Chris Manley suggests that global warming might allow it to return (a possible silver lining to that cloud).Brimstone [La cedronella] (Gonepteryx rhamni)Hummingbird Hawkmoth [La sfinge del galio o sfinge colibrì] (Macroglossum stellatarum), darting from flower to flower each time just before I managed to focus the little camera …
Bee-fly (neither a bee nor a butterfly) half-hovering to take nectar, making a particularly loud buzz
Meadow Brown [La Giurtina o Maniola comune] (Maniola jurtina)Red Admiral [L’atalanta] (Vanessa atalanta). It has a chunk out of its right hindwing, showing it survived an attack.The enormous, fearsome, but non-aggressive Mammoth Wasp, [La vespa mammuth] (Megascolia maculata), on Wild Artichoke. Presumably its sting would be serious but I can’t find any record of people being stung by this peaceful insect.
A Mammoth Wasp visiting a potted Hottentot Fig, with a wide view of the Tuscan landscapeOak Yellow Underwing Moth (Catocala nymphagoga) on shower beside pool
The bushes by the pool attracted this Southern White Admiral [Il Silvano azzurro o Piccolo silvano] (Limenitis reducta)Swallows [La rondine] (Hirundo rustica) swooping over the pool at sunset. Many pairs nest in the farm buildings; there were two active nests inside our porch.
Perfect butterfly habitat a short walk from the agriturismo: meadow grass by Olive groves with Scabious (blue) and St John’s Wort (yellow). There’s a tiny Queen of Spain Fritillary in the picture!
Sloe Hairstreak [Satiro dell’acacia] (Satyrium acaciae)Swallowtail [Il macaone] (Papilio machaon); this one at Brolio castle, but there were many near the agriturismo tooQueen of Spain Fritillary [La latonia] (Issoria lathonia) on ScabiousClouded Yellow [La crocea, La limoncella, Il postiglione] (Colias croceus) pair in nuptial flightMarbled White [La galatea] (Melanargia galathea)Probably Eastern Burnet Moth [La carniolica] (Zygaena cf carniolica) on Scabious.
Zygaena cf carniolica taking flight. The brilliant red underwings give a strong and honest warning signal of the insect’s inedibility.Eastern Dappled White [L’ausonia] (Euchloe ausonia)Olive Grove and Spanish Broom. Butterflies skittered about the flowery meadow below the trees.
Wall Brown [La megera] (Lasiommata megera)A lizard, probably the Common Wall Lizard [Lucertola muraiola] (Podarcis muralis) given its dark chin, scurried along the wooden rail at the edge of the pool area.
A very battered Oak Yellow Underwing that has survived an attack by a bird
Great Banded Grayling [Circe, Satiro circe, Sileno] (Brintesia circe)Dingy Skipper [Tagete] (Erynnis tages). There were Large Skippers about too, but their habit of perching on slender waving grasses made photography hopeless.Painted Lady [La vanessa del cardo] (Vanessa cardui)Spotted Fritillary [La didima] (Melitaea didyma)
Some rather fine wasps apparently attempting to mate
Although it was a bit late in the season for them, we saw half-a-dozen fireflies in the woods by the strada bianca (unmetalled road) and among the olive trees, half an hour or so after sunset.
I made no attempt to photograph birds, but a Hoopoe flew over the pool, and Turtle Doves cooed nearby. A Cuckoo called from far across the valley; a Song Thrush sang; a Green Woodpecker gave its laughing cry. White Wagtails flew up to the roof, and Italian Sparrows hopped about. Goldfinches twittered in the trees. A Sardinian Warbler raced for the cover of the trees, its black crown conspicuous; a Melodious Warbler sang from the woods. In the night, an owl called, it could have been a Scops Owl. And of course, Cicadas buzzed and Bush Crickets chirped all day long.
Northward Hill, looking over oakwood, scrub, grazing marshes, and river
Well there are some things one just has to do, even if it means braving the traffic. Nightingales, once common all over the south of England, can now only be heard in a few special places, and Northward Hill is one of them. There are some others in the southeast, like Lodge Hill, and guess what, they want to build houses all over it. Better go and enjoy the birdsong while it lasts.
A very shy Wall Brown, now a mainly coastal butterfly, the first I’ve seen for years
I was greeted by the song of blackbird, chaffinch, robin, song thrush, and wren as I walked in. A few ‘whites’ – large white, orange tip, green-veined white – skittered about as I reached the attractively rough scrub of hawthorn in full May blossom, blackthorn, wild pear, wild plum, and wild cherry, topped by the occasional whitethroat singing away scratchily.
Into the woods, with a handsome old cherry orchard on the right. Some of the oaks were straight out of Lord of the Rings, splendidly gnarled, knobbly, with massive trunks and holes to hide a good few goblins in.
Nightingale country: a fine old Oak. It looks to have been pollarded at about 12 feet up some centuries ago, so it was probably cut to that height while smaller wood was coppiced all around it.
And yes, sure enough, a nightingale obliged by singing its hesitant but amazingly rich and varied song from the thick cover. A little further, another; and a cuckoo kindly sang its unmistakable song from an oak almost in front of me, then with a ‘gok’ call flew, sparrowhawk-like, from the tree, a special sight.
Down to the hide overlooking the pool in the top photo; I wasn’t expecting more than a coot and maybe a mallard, but there were breeding lapwings chasing off the crows; breeding oystercatchers, and an avocet sitting with them; and a couple of solitary little egrets, stalking and stabbing at small fish or frogs. A redshank gave its wild teuk-teuk-teuk call and flashed its wingbar briefly.
Little Egret Stalking
Overhead a few swallows flitted about, and three swifts raced over the marsh.
The Hoo Peninsula is still a wild, spacious, lonely place, even with the swelling villages. You can see the Shard and Canary Wharf in the distance (some 30 miles); the river with its cranes and giant ships is ever-present; but the North Kent Marshes are special, as is Northward Hill with its fine old woods, still unspoilt for birds. Go and see it while you can.
I had the good fortune to get down to West Wiltshire in hot if sometimes humid summer weather.
Pyramidal Orchid in Flowery Meadow
It was a pleasure to find the Pyramidal Orchid in a flowery meadow near a town: despite the dog-walkers, the increasingly uncommon flowers were clearly spreading from a small patch across the meadow, which is mown annually.
Less pleasantly, there were next to no insects pollinating the flowers: we saw one Small Tortoiseshell, a fly or two, and one (white/buff-tailed) bumblebee. It was a stark contrast to the masses of bees and beetles I’ve seen on the reserve in London. Of course, in London there is now very little use of pesticides, and basically none on an industrial scale.
This year (2014) does seem to be particularly poor for butterflies. It was an extremely warm winter and a very wet and windy spring, so I wonder if the result has not been a bad spring for insect pests … and perhaps, whether England’s farmers have not sprayed insecticide especially heavily? It’s a question that could clearly be answered by someone. If the answer is yes, then our ‘useful insects’ have suffered very heavily as a consequence.
The next day we went to Cley Hill, a western outlier of the Salisbury Plain chalk downs, sticking up above the plain below the chalk escarpment.
Bee Orchid
In the short grass, full of lovely flowers – Sainfoin, Milkwort, Horseshoe Vetch – were Bee Orchids, and happily both bumblebees in this special place protected by the National Trust and Burnet Moths – mostly Five-Spot Burnet, with some Transparent Burnet too, quite a treat.
Five-Spot Burnet MothTransparent Burnet Moth
On the top of the hill, above the Iron Age earthworks, we came across a group of about five Wall Brown butterflies, all very tatty and worn: perhaps they had been blown across the Channel from France on the warm southerly wind that is accompanying this anticyclone (centred to the east). Nearby were a few Brown Argus, small butterflies in the Blue family: not uncommon in France, far from common in England. Their coloration may seem odd for the Blue family, but females of quite a few species are brown, contrasting with their bright blue males, so the genes for ‘brown’ are clearly available: perhaps it takes just one or a few genetic switches to turn on brownness in both sexes rather than in just one.
In several places on the hill, often on bare chalk paths or short grass, we saw the glowing blue and purplish blue of Adonis Blue butterflies, with their chequered wing borders. So we saw some rather special butterflies, though with the definite feeling that they are only just hanging on in the area.
Milkwort, once a common plant in (cow) meadows
The hill is also host to Chalk Fragrant Orchid, Pyramidal Orchid, Spotted Orchid and more: it was lovely to see them all, though we were moved on swiftly by an anxious pair of Skylarks circling rather low overhead, trying to get back down to their nest, clearly not far from where we were sitting. All around in the thorn bushes were Tree Pipits, singing away, with some twittering Goldfinches and one Yellowhammer, my first of the year: yet another species that was once commonplace in every hedge.
The English seem unemotional … except for their passion for nature
