The last couple of weeks have certainly felt like winter, which is not a bad thing - seasonality is to be welcomed. One frosty evening I was washing up after dinner when I spotted a moth on the kitchen window. Although I had never seen this species before I knew instantly what it was, which made the ensuing scramble to get a pot and catch it before it flew off even more frantic. Lonely Walter, as I called him, was a Winter Moth,
Operophtera brumata. And he's definitely he/him as the females are flightless and hang around being smelly (in an alluring pheromone sort of way) and waiting for the males to find them.
He's not the smartest looking Winter Moth you ever did see, but he is the first Winter Moth I've ever seen in our suburban garden. While Operophtera brumata is by no means a rare species, it's rare around here - there hasn't been a record within five miles in the last five years. It's also one of the moths that makes old mothers go dewy-eyed and start reminiscing about the moth snowstorm in car headlights in country lanes on winter nights. It's been a bad year for nature, with climate extremes, the Government's war on wildlife and more neighbouring gardens being stripped of vegetation, paved over and a couple of non-native plants stuck in. It would be nice to think that Lonely Walter represents a beacon of hope, and in a sense he does - Nature will find a way, etc, etc. In reality, I fear that Walter is a remnant of what we have lost. As I let him go after having his mugshot taken I wished him well, willing him to use his battered wings to find all the smelly females he dreams of. I hope he did.
