The day is still cold, even after the midday sun upon the ground. The light is beginning to fade now as I wait with my bicycle at the meeting place for a surreptitious activity, one that requires patience and a large amount of warm clothing. Slowly people start to appear; those who have finished up in the office early, eagerly making their way down the road to where I wait until finally it’s time- we head off into the dusk.
The purpose of this evening is to conduct a survey of moths active at this time of year in the new CAT woodland, Coed y Gwern. It is situated across the road from the main visitor site and spans a respectable 15 acres. We will be meeting Peter, the regional expert and records officer for this county; our woodland falling just outside of his boundary- but we are honoured by his company tonight.
My companions and I negotiate the road below the apple orchard and above the energetic Dulas River, speaking softly of our day. We take a muddy path abruptly off from the road which cuts between two fields. Squelching through the clay-heavy loam while observing stubborn pink Campions in the hedge bank, the last bastions of a long summer in bloom; I’m happy for the winter to be here. Over the river and the main road, the forestry track leading up to the site reveals itself- Coed y Gwern on our left as we begin to trace the woodland perimeter to where the others wait.
At the top of the track and under a moody clouded sky, the bright mercury lamp of the moth trap illuminates a van and shapes of people gathering- long shadows reaching out towards the ever darkening wood. The light floods towards us as we approach and make ourselves known. Peter is sitting smiling behind a folding table covered in identification books, jars and magnifying glasses. He has an excited glint in his eye as we gather to introduce ourselves; here is a man who is truly passionate about his specialism. A generator hums in the background providing power and another table offers a fine spread of tea, coffee and cake. We are ready.
Nobody quite knows what to expect, I certainly don’t- this being my first ‘moth watch’- so I decide to view the occasion as a social event. We gather around the light of the trap as if it is a log fire, and suddenly it seems less odd that our insect friends should be drawn to such a device. Now it is dark beyond our island of light and I struggle to see individual trees of the woodland that surrounds us. Peter begins to explain the preferred conditions for moth activity: apparently wetter nights are best, not necessarily rain, but a clouded more humid atmosphere helps. Clear skies are bad. Tonight is looking hopeful, a patchy sky with few stars but no rain yet.
It’s not long until our first visitor arrives, flickering around the bulb; it finally comes to rest upon the wooden sides of the box-like structure of the trap. We move in. Delicately Peter scoops the moth into an observation canister and holds it up- the moth is motionless and calm on the Perspex. Back at the table, many faces peer down at a colourful book detailing the markings of our native species of night-flying moth. Thumbing through the pages we find our catch- the species is Thera britannica, a Spruce Carpet. Their habitat is in abundance here in Mid-Wales so it is of no surprise to find this particular individual; nevertheless, we are thrilled by the delicate markings on its wings.
The evening continues in much the same way, Spruce Carpet after Spruce Carpet is spotted, caught and identified with slightly less excitement for each specimen. Soon the table is crowded with these dusty creatures in their individual observation jars, unmoving and patient. Amongst the prevalent species of this wood are some more exclusive finds. The night yields the hairy ‘December moth’ Poecilocampa populi and the ‘Chestnut moth’ Conistra vaccinii. These relatively unusual species appearing on this cold night to satisfy our observations are plenty to keep the attention of all involved. Peter provides the commentary making exclamations about the behaviour of certain species; such as groups of moths which have the ability to detect nearby bats and drop to the ground to avoid being eaten. We have a bat detector with us which serves as a distraction from the main activity. Pointing it skywards at an invisible target somewhere in the trees, the electronic amplifier returns a series of squeaks and clicks at two digitally displayed frequencies; Pipistrelles and Lesser Horseshoes are silently hunting above. It would seem we are not the only ones making the most of night-bound wildlife here. Back at the table I have less pity for these temporarily imprisoned insects, better in there than the mouth of a bat, perhaps.
By the end of the evening, two hours and many cups of coffee after we arrived, we count our catch: 28 Spruce Carpets, 2 December moths and one of each Chestnut, Dark Chestnut, Autumnal and November moth. The air is busy with activity now as moths land at increasing frequency. I speculate that if we were to remain here all night the type and quantity of what was caught would fluctuate greatly. Grace confirmed my suspicions- having conducted moth evenings in the past, in warmer months she has seen definite windows in the night when certain species appear. It would be interesting to come back regularly to this spot and see how the populations change throughout the year. A continuous record of this night time activity in one location helps to give reference and reinforce the importance of this habitat to our less obvious companions. An overall grasp of the ecology of Coed y Gwern is a significant component in the future understanding and use of it. As I cycle down the rocky track towards town I feel content and happy to have been introduced briefly to such a concealed world; I’m lost in thought as bats apparently more determined than us, continue to hunt above.
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