Moth Report #15
The Poplar Kitten, the Kent Black Arches, the Common Rustic and a native cockroach
Welcome to my new subscribers (indeed, to all my subscribers!). This introductory blurb (in italics) will remain much the same from post to post; please skip it if you’ve read previous posts.
This newsletter will remain free, I’ve no intention of converting it to a paid subscription. It’s aimed at readers who have a general interest in nature and natural history, but maybe don’t know very much about moths. It’s not really aimed at people who regularly run their own moth traps, but of course they’re welcome to read it (even to criticise it if they wish!).
I run a light trap in my garden in Eastbourne (Sussex, UK) and the main objective of this newsletter is to post photos of some of the moths (and occasionally, other insects) that are attracted to the light, and to say a little about them. On average I run the trap about one night in three, and the plan is to write a post after each trapping night. In the morning I photograph any catches of special interest, then all moths and other insects caught in the trap are released (if they haven’t escaped already!).
This is my ninth year of running a garden moth trap, firstly three years in Eastbourne (2017-2019), then three in Hurstpierpoint (2020-2022), and then back in Eastbourne (2023 onwards). Hopefully, yet more house moves are off the cards for the foreseeable future!
Report for 29th July
The weather conditions looked set fair for a good night’s catch; mild, humid, overcast and very little wind, and indeed the final numbers for last night, 137 moths of 54 species, were respectable if not spectacular. A handful of moths put in their first appearance for the year, and there were eight Jersey Tigers. The season for hawk moths is nearly over1 - usually I get one or two stragglers into August, but there were none last night. There was something a bit strange about the catch last night though. At this time of the year I usually find a few wasps in the trap, and usually they are active but just running around over the egg boxes. Last night, however, they were nearly all flying around inside the trap. I’ve no idea what caused this change in behaviour.
This was my last trap for July; I’ve put a summary for the month at the end of this newsletter. First, a few selected species from recent traps.
The Poplar Kitten, Furcula bifida
Year total to date: 1 (29th July)
Last night’s Poplar Kitten (the one on the left) is the star of the show. The only one I’ve seen previously is from 2023. The end of July is right at the end of its flight season (the 2023 one was seen on 14th June) and I’d assumed I wouldn’t be seeing any this year. Usually moths seen at the end of the flight season are quite tatty, but this one looked quite fresh.
To understand the origin of the ‘kitten’ part of name, we first have to mention this moth’s larger (and commoner) relative, the Puss Moth. There is some debate about whether the Puss Moth gets its name from the appearance of the adult, or the caterpillar; either is a plausible explanation. I’ll talk about the Puss Moth next time I get one, but that probably won’t be until next year as its flight season is over by the end of June.
There are three moth species species closely related to the Puss Moth, but smaller. So it seems quite natural to call them kittens. All three species have quite frisky caterpillars, so it’s possible the name kitten might relate to those rather than to the adults. The three species are named after their foodplants; in addition to the Poplar Kitten we have the Sallow Kitten and the Alder Kitten.
As for the Latin name, Furcula bifida, that definitely relates to the caterpillar, which has two prominent tail-like projections at the rear (there’s a picture here) (as do the other two Kittens as well). Many moth caterpillars have three pairs of ‘true’ legs on the first three segments at the front, then four pairs of ‘prolegs’ on Segments 6 to 9 inclusive, and then a single pair of prolegs on the last (12th) segment. But in the Kitten moths this last pair of prolegs is modified to form these tail-like projections, which the caterpillars can wave about when disturbed, hopefully to frighten off predators. Apparently they can also squirt formic acid! So the Latin name is mildly tautological, since Furcula means ‘little fork’ and bifida means ‘forked’ or ‘split’. But not nearly as tautological as for the Sallow Kitten (Furcula furcula)!
The Kent Black Arches, Meganola albula
Year total to date: 1 (22nd July)
This is one of those moths that was extremely rare 100 years ago or so, but is gradually being seen a bit more frequently. However, its range is still largely restricted to the home counties, the south coast of England, and coastal areas of East Anglia. And it’s not common in Eastbourne … the one I recorded on 22nd July is only the fourth I’ve ever seen.
I’m assuming the inclusion of ‘Kent’ in the moth’s common name denotes the fact that it was originally recorded mainly from that county. And to give it its due, at least it is still found there … which is more than can be said for the other moth with that county in its name, the Kentish Glory, which hasn’t been recorded from Kent since the 1860s and is now restricted, so far as the UK is concerned, to parts of the Scottish Highlands. And as for the ‘black arches’ bit of the name, well that’s a bit of a mystery, given that the moth has no black colouration and not much in the way of arches! There’s another moth, simply the ‘Black Arches’, where the rationale for the name is much more obvious. This is a larger moth from a completely different family, which I get in the trap from time to time and will talk more about in some future edition.
The Kent Black Arches is the second moth I’ve featured in this newsletter that belongs to a small family of moths called the Nolidae (the other was the Cream-bordered Green Pea, see issue 9). Families of moths are conventionally listed in an order which is based on their perceived sate of evolutionary development. So right near the beginning of the list we have the ‘swift’ moths, the Hepialidae, which lack any means of feeding (as adults), and rather than searching out their foodplants to lay their eggs, they just scatter them willy-nilly while in flight (well, they do this over grassland, and since their foodplant is grass, that might not be as haphazard as it sounds). And then right at the bottom of the list comes the Nolidae family, thereby awarded the accolade of being considered the most highly evolved family of them all. Of course, it’s doubtful whether we (as humans) are qualified to make judgments of this kind - that the Hepialidae have survived so far is an achievement in itself!
I said the Nolidae was a small family, and that is indeed true so far as the UK is concerned … we have only a handful of species. Worldwide it could be a different matter - take a look at this collage of Nolidae moths from Yunnan, China! What sets this family apart from other moth families is the way its members construct their cocoons. Many moths pupate inside a silken cocoon spun by the caterpillar, but when they emerge as adults they then have to fight their way out of the cocoon. Think of the silk moth for example; the adult moths secrete an enzyme called cocoonase which softens the silk in a small area of the cocoon; the newly emerged moth then makes a small hole in the cocoon and squeezes itself through before expanding its wings. (This of course damages the silk, which is why in most commercial silk production the cocoons are boiled or steamed to kill the pupae before they emerge). But the Nolidae have found another way round this problem - when the caterpillars spin the cocoon they leave a lengthwise slit in it, loosely fastened to prevent predators getting in, through which they can easily escape when they eclose (emerge as adults).
The Common Rustic, Mesapamea secalis
Year total to date: 19 (including 2 on 29th July)
This is a common moth, well distributed throughout the British Isles, which flies mainly in the latter half of July and August. This year I had my earliest ever record on the 1st July (which was a record-breaking night for other reasons too), but numbers didn’t really get going until the 25th July, with 10.
As the pictures show, it is rather variable. The two on the left have a quite noticeable dark fringe at the end of the forewings. To some of the early British lepidopterists this reminded them of the plaited (or furred) fringe of a skirt or petticoat, so they gave this moth the common name the ‘Flame Furbelow’. Sadly the name didn’t survive and was replaced with ‘Common Rustic’, possibly because the ‘flame’ part of it didn’t appear to relate to anything other than the moth’s proclivity to be attracted to a lighted candle, which could be applied to almost any moth.
In the 1980s detailed studies of this moth revealed that was not a single species, and it was divided into three, two of which were found to be common in the UK. The second of these two common species was given the somewhat unimaginative name, the Lesser Common Rustic. So what you see in the pictures above could be either of these moths, which cannot be separated from photographs. The newly separated species was given the Latin name M. didyma, which reflects its similarity to the Common Rustic because didyma is derived from the Greek didymos, meaning twin, or double. The species name secalis means rye and refers to one of the food plants of these moths, which feed inside the stems of grasses and cereals.
And then we come to the genus name, Mesapamea. The first part of the name would appear to come from the Greek prefix mesa-, meaning ‘in between’ or ‘middle’ (as in mezzanine, for example). But in between what? Well the rest of the word would appear to relate to another genus of moths in this family (Noctuidae), the Apamea. This is a large genus with some 200 species worldwide, with at least 14 in the UK. One of these, the Light Arches, I’ve already discussed in a previous edition of this newsletter. However, I was still finding my feet with this newsletter when I wrote that edition (well, I still am a bit!), and I didn’t discuss the meaning of Apamea. Comparing the Common Rustic with members of the genus Apamea suggests that it is similar to many of the moths in this genus, so the name Mesapamea would seem to fit, although I’m not sure why it wasn’t allocated to Apamea instead!
The name Apamea was given to this large genus (well it probably wasn’t so large at the time) in 1816 by the German playright, actor and entomologist Ferdinand Ochsenheimer (1767-1822). On the stage he excelled in character roles, famed for his expressive facial gestures and precise diction (what we’d probably call over-acting today!). It is said that his entomological interests influenced his performances; if he had had a good day collecting in the field his acting sparkled. If not, he was more subdued!
But the polymathic scope of Ochsenheimer’s abilities and interests didn’t end there, because Apamea is a name taken from classical antiquity. From this far removed in time we might tend to view the use of references from classical antiquity as something akin to showing off, but I think in those times any well-educated person would be expected to have a wide knowledge of the subject, so perhaps it just came naturally to him.
Anyway, Apamea derives from the name of Queen Apama, the wife of Selecius I Nicator, one of Alexander the Great’s generals and founder of the Seleucid Empire. Her dates are not precisely known, but the wedding was in 324 BC. At least eight cities in the region (Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Iran) were named Apamea in her honour, although only one of these (Apameia in Syria) retains the name in a recognizable form today. It’s something of a mystery why Ochsenheimer chose the name for this genus, but it seems that he used Greco-Roman names for insect taxa quite a lot … perhaps he just liked the sound of it!
Finally for this week, not a moth at all …
The Tawny Cockroach, Ectobius pallidus
There are three species of cockroach which are native to the UK, all restricted to southern England. They are all smaller than the intruduced invasive species such as the German Cockroach and the American Cockroach. I get maybe one of two in the trap each year; this one is the first this year.
This trap is the last one I’ll do during July, making a total of 9 trapping sessions for the month. The results for the month are definitely above average, and break my records on some fronts. The total number of species seen during the month was 202, certainly much better than the past couple of years but my record for July is 213 (from 2018, in a previous Eastbourne garden less than half a mile away). The average number of moths per night, 179, is also beaten (only) by 2018, when the average was 184. The year to date total of 323 species, however, is well clear of the 2018 figure of 312 species and beats my previous record of 321 species from 2022, in Hustpierpoint.
Autumn is certainly approaching early this year, with blackberries already ripening on the brambles. So that could be the explanation for the high species count to date; some species are included which I wouldn’t normally see until later in the year. However, so far I’ve only seen a couple of species which I definitely consider to be autumnal, so maybe that’s not the full explanation.
Well, that’s it for this edition. The next one will be in a few days’ time, depending on the weather! I’m planning to include the Peppered moth in the next edition; plenty to say about that!
Oh finally, with a bit of AI help and in honour of Tom Lehrer, may he rest in peace:
In the pantry sat a Poplar Kitten,
Not the furry kind, nor softly smitten—
Its forked little tail, a defensive delight,
Waved acids with flair in the dead of night.
Its cousin, the Sallow, not yellow but grey,
Hides in the willows by bustling byways.
It mimics a twig (though it clearly can twitch),
With style and some venom and far too much kitsch.
For they flutter by night and they lurk by the day,
Causing lepidopterous mild disarray—
If Tom had known moths with tails like a trident,
He'd have sung them with satire both sly and defiant.Also, if you’re a regular reader of this newsletter and know of other people who might enjoy reading it, please share it with them using the button below. The more regular readers I have, the more it will encourage me to continue writing it.
This remark doesn’t apply to the Convolvulus Hawk moth, which is mainly an autumnal species in the UK. However, I’ve only ever had one once, in 2017.
The poem was a surprise bonus for reading you post!
linda clark sent me. i’m an ecologist in the U.S. i’m not as familiar with moths as i would like to be and pages like yours and linda’s inspire me to learn more about my local moth population.