The Striped Summer Chafer (Rhizotrogus aestivus) - first UK record?

Rhizotrogus aestivus - recorded first in Newhaven?

Things at home have become very interesting. It seems that I recorded a beetle that is new to the UK – or perhaps not. It is Rhizotrogus aestivus or the June Chafer. I've found it in my moth trap on three occasions recently: the 20^th, 25^th and 27^th. I'm ashamed to admit that I've been wrongly assuming it was summer chafer (Amphimallon solstitiale) for at least two years, possibly longer, and not taking that much notice of it. A friend from the Friends of Castle Hill LNR photographed one at Fort Road on 30^th April last year and, when asked if I knew what it was, I wrongly said it was summer chafer again. I didn't photograph any of those found in my moth trap. It was only after the first of this year's turned up that I began to question myself. The summer chafer flies from July, which made it far too early. This was the individual I described in a recent blog post that escaped. It was only when the second individual turned up on 25^th that I was able to take a closer look and realise that it was Rhizotrogus aestivus.

A quick search of the NBN Atlas suggested there were no UK records and I began to feel some excitement. I wrote to Bob Foreman at the Sussex Biodiversity Record Centre, who confirmed there are no Sussex records. Bob wrote to Peter Hodge, who was sceptical (quite right too). I wrote to Graeme Lyons, who forwarded the details to Darren Mann, the national specialist. This was getting quite serious. Darren advised that he would need to see a male to confirm the ID, but he seemed confident from the photo that it was the right ID and a beetle that is new to the UK fauna. The trouble is that I had released the chafer after making the ID [yes, I know, I'm a rubbish entomologist], so I had to wait and see if another turned up, which it did on 27^th. I'm now waiting for further instruction. 

Another exciting aspect of this discovery is that, assuming it is accepted as correct, when the record makes its way into the national coleopterists' consciousness, further records could be turned up and people can get out to search for it. I find it fascinating though that new records often turn up at ports such as Newhaven. The Mediterranean Oil Beetle is another local example, along with amongst other speceis the elegant topshell Trochoidea elegans and the wasp spider Argiope bruennichi.

As a postscript, because I didn't do a proper job of recording the chafer in the past, the first sighting that we can make a proper record from is the one that my friend Sue photographed on 30^th April last year. Hopefully I can include my name in the record as the determiner, but it is a cautionary tale and a lesson learned.

I'll add further details as things develop.

White-legged Damselfly

The pond at Piltdown

We ventured north of the district yesterday in search of the White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes). These elegant, feather-legged little damsels like to bask on abundant floating vegetation and the pond at Piltdown, which has caught my attention while driving past, looked a promising site.

My reason for hunting ‘featherlegs’ is to contribute to a survey that’s been organised by the British Dragonfly Society: the White-legged Damselfly Investigation. The point is to learn more about this species and add to our limited understanding of it. There are increasing concerns that this dainty little insect is in decline in Britain. More information about the survey can be found here.

The very first damsel I focused my binoculars on was a White-legged Damelfly, a male on an iris leaf manoeuvring its abdomen in the fashion of an ovipositing female. On closer inspection it was stuck to some spider silk. Once freed it stood on my finger for a few moments before gently alighting half a metre to another iris, where we both lingered for a little while.

The pond didn’t disappoint; it was alive with seven damselfly species, basking on what seemed every blade and leaf of vegetation. Black-tailed Skimmers patrolled the banksides while teeming Swifts screeched above them. Two hours later I had seen eight damselfly and dragonfly species, along with a few other species of interest.

Rutpela maculata long-horn beetle

Species seen:

Odonata (eight species) 

 Banded Demoiselle (Calopteryx splendens)  2

White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes)  2

Large Red Damselfly (Pyrrhosoma nymphula)  2

Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ischnura elegans)  29

Common Blue Damselfly (Enallagma cyathigerum)  5

Azure Damselfly (Coenagrion puella)  120

Red-eyed Damselfly (Erythromma najas)  5

Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum)  12 Lepidoptera (eight species)

Nut Leaf Blister Moth (Phyllonorycter coryli)  - mines on hazel leaves

Large Skipper (Ochlodes sylvanus)  3

Large White (Pieris brassicae)  1

Small White (Pieris rapae)  4

Green-veined White (Pieris napi)  2

Ringlet (Aphantopus hyperantus)  1

Meadow Brown (Maniola jurtina)  1

Comma (Polygonia c-album)  1

Coleoptera (one species) Yellow and black Longhorn Beetle (Rutpela maculata) 2 White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes) Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ischnura elegans)

Chafers beneath a full moon

 Everything lost on Earth is to be found on the Moon*, not least the light of day.

The moon is waxing gibbous tonight and, on Thursday at 8.15pm, it will rise full as it does every twenty nine or so days. This event won't be a so-called 'Supermoon' (we will have to wait until November for the next one of those) but the wave of awe in witnessing one of nature's spectacles will sweep across the Earth, like the tidal bulge, and be no less felt in the event of the ordinary full moon moonrise than it is during those occasional superevents. Some feel the draw of the moon more than others, but it is a rare person who is not at all struck by the event whenever the full moon breaks over the horizon and arcs across the night sky.

The night of a full moon is something that we like to celebrate in special places, where a tangible connection between the earth and the heavens might be more strongly felt. Last September, when the full moon achieved supermoon status, hours before it slid into the totality  of a lunar eclipse, we trekked up to The Bridestones which rise high up above the Dalby Forest in the North Yorkshire National Park. We watched the drama unfold as we caught our breath, only to lose it all over again at supermoonrise. Hours later our alarm woke us so that we could take in the eclipse from the cottage garden in Cropton.

Last month's full moon moonrise was one of those occasions when our planets aligned and we had the chance to mark the occasion together. We were at home - this time in the South Downs National Park - and we chose one of the more pagan patches of Down close to home: Combe Hill, which overlooks Willingdon. We chose a favourite circular route from Jevington which follows the gentle progress of the southern downland slope up to the crest of the Eastbourne Downland. This rewards the walker with magnificent coastal views to the south and east before the northbound path carries you onto Combe Hill - itself a constellation of enclosure and satellite barrows or tumuli, which once would have shone their chalk-white light across the land like novae of spent lives remembered, their fading light slowly melting into the downland turf along with the old religion as the parish church replaced the older ways and became the new centre of the human universe.

The moon rose as we passed Butt's Brow. We watched it breach the horizon and climb above the Channel and brighten in magnitude as the dusk stretched its fingers out of the west. There is a near-tactile energy in moonlight which reveals the character of the land - something which is blinded by daylight. History seems to congeal and reanimate, rise up out of the soil and array itself before us in the gloaming. Daytime winds fall away with the light; the synergy of sticky silence, the moonlight and the long line of history crystallise in the imagination in this crucible. The moon is the key ingredient: the light of its fullness casts a reverent spell; reverence of nature, of the land, of the history of the place. The people who have farmed this land, our ancestors, we have all borne witness to this same moon, rising cycle after cycle, lunation after lunation. The moon is part of the glue which binds us. That moment beneath the full moon bears witness to all of history so that it exists as if all of time is captured in the moment. We are the end link in a chain of 200 or more human generations which stretches back unbroken into the depths of time. The connection is strongly felt. How appropriate it is that moonlight inspires within us such a moment of reflection.

The moon is lighting our way in growing influence now as we walk from Combe Hill back towards Jevington. The land is ancient and anything greater than a single ploughshare drawn by a pair of oxen seems out of place. The daylight splendour of the flower meadow is dimmed as the last of the light falls away into the west. As the trees reach up and embrace Neolithic lynchets, swarms of summer chafers envelope us and we marvel at their lunatic dance around the tops of bushes. Thousands emerge from the ground around us as if summoned by the full moon, like terrestrial coral polyps. These are creatures of mid-summer, but often mistaken as Cockchafers ("the Maybugs are late this year", I am told most midsummers). The summer chafer's scientific name is Amphimallon solstitale, the latter meaning 'of midsummer', of the solstice. Known also as the June Bug, it is a beetle which swarms at dusk, sometimes in impressive numbers. Much smaller than the cockchafer, it has a habit of flying aimlessly and harmlessly around you, and bouncing into you, with a fierce-sounding buzz, before attaching itself to clothing and bare skin. The worst it can do is cling on and make a nuisance of itself with its remarkably strong grip, but even then it is painless to remove. As we walk along, more than a dozen alight on my arms, legs and head, some in copulating pairs, like a scene by Bosch, sent mad by the moon above.

The chalk path leading back out of the dreamy landscape was painted silver. We approached Jevington through the pasture at Cloth Farm feeling vaguely aware of our insignificance. The life-giving moon, sister of the Earth, without which there would be no tides, no seasons, has waxed full and waned again month after month, gazed upon by countless species on the land and, for longer still, within the seas, and back further still into deep time. Our link and the two hundred stretched out behind us are an insignificant eye-blink, and yet we do live in significant times. We humans are at our most destructive when money is not plentiful. In these uncertain times important decisions are made which sometimes carry catastrophic changes. The stunning Eastbourne Downland is up for sale. The local Council can raise a few million pounds from the sale. This might usher in a greater change to the landscape than has been seen since the land was first farmed. The new owner of the land here might recognise their importance as stewards of this ancinet landscape. They might recognise in the real light of day the importance of a commitment to manage the land in its time-honoured way: sensitive grazing after the summer carpet sets seed. If Eastbourne Borough Council cannot make this commitment on behalf of the people, the land is better off in safer hands, but the moonlight can be deceptive and instil fears which may prove unfounded. 

Ushered back to the village by the hooting of tawny owls and buzzed by tutting pipistrelles, we agree that for all its beauty, the dark light of the moon can cast many spells, some of which leave us feeling less certain. 

*"Everything lost on Earth is to be found on the Moon" is taken from Ludovico Ariosto's epic poem of 1532, The Frenzy of Orlando (Orlando Furioso).

The butterflies of Castle Hill Local Nature Reserve, Newhaven

Transect walk 2016 season, week six

Thrift in bloom

After a slow start to the year, this week's transect walk saw a positive increase in activity around the nature reserve with 18 species and 102 individuals seen. A growing number of day-flying moths are active now and take off as you walk along the clifftop and undercliff paths. This includes the migratory moth the Silver Y, which has begun to arrive from continental Europe, aided by the south-easterly winds in recent days. Burnet Companion is always a welcome sight in the herb-rich areas of grassland. Plenty of White butterflies and a Brimstone were also seen above and below the cliffs, especially around the dense patches of Hoary Cress which hug the base of the cliffs, to which the Small White is attracted.

Male Speckled Wood butterflies have now established their territories along the shady paths to the north of the reserve; they swoop up and challenge many who invade their patch of dappled sunlight. A Brown Argus seen near the Lookout is the first reported sighting in Sussex this year and is the earliest it has been recorded at the reserve.

Patches of gorse are alive with the small Grey Gorse Piercer moth, which flies up in tiny swarms when a branch is knocked. Green Hairstreak butterflies, which to the untrained eye are difficult to see in flight, are also active around the gorse and are apparently increasing in number each year. This year has been the best since we started the transect walk six years ago.

During my walk I set out a pheromone lure and attempted to attract male Emperor Moths - a species which has not previously been recorded at Castle Hill LNR. The lure emulates the pheromone which is broadcast by freshly emergent females. I had not used one prior to this year and some were bought by the Friends of Castle Hill to confirm whether this common, yet elusive, stunningly beautiful moth is present. It is! I recorded two males in the area near the pond. This brings the moth and butterfly species list up to 332.

Emperor Moth male

Other insects seen during the walk included a mating pair of the tortoise beetle Cassida nobilis, probably the first time this species has been seen at the reserve. A pair of Stonechats was seen feeding a fledgling juvenile and more were heard deep in the bramble, no doubt preparing to fly the nest. It reminds me that the season is moving on apace.

Grey Gorse Piercer

Here's the full list (18 species, 102 individuals):

Green Long-horn (Adela reaumurella)  10
Common Nettle-tap (Anthophila fabriciana)  1
Brown-spot Flat-body (Agonopterix alstromeriana)  3
Silver Carrot Conch (Aethes williana)  2
Grey Gorse Piercer (Cydia ulicetana)  30
Straw Pearl (Pyrausta despicata)  2
Emperor Moth (Saturnia pavonia) 2 males - new species
Brown-tail (Euproctis chrysorrhoea)  1 larval web
Silver Y (Autographa gamma)  2
Burnet Companion (Euclidia glyphica)  1
Brimstone (Gonepteryx rhamni)  1
Large White (Pieris brassicae)  4
Small White (Pieris rapae)  23
Speckled Wood (Pararge aegeria)  6
Peacock (Aglais io)  5
Small Tortoiseshell (Aglais urticae)  3
Green Hairstreak (Callophrys rubi)  6
Brown Argus (Aricia agestis)  1 - first known Sussex sighting in 2016

The striking hoverfly Helophilus pendulus

April’s Emeralds: the Cassida "Tortoise" leaf-beetles

The Tortoise beetles come out of their shells in April. They are well camouflaged and tortoise-like in appearance, with modified thorax and wing cases which are flattened at the margins to conceal their head and legs. An inexperienced eye could be forgiven for confusing them as a type of ladybird, if it does not miss them altogether. Once you have your eye tuned into them, they can be found in good numbers, blending in well with the green leaves that they bask and feed upon. There are twelve species present in the UK, most of which are green, but with a few exceptions - a couple of which are a stunning red and black (one of which - Pilemostoma fatuosa - is not one of the Cassida species, but it is closely related and still one of the "cassidine" tortoise beetles in the Cassidinae subfamily of Chrysomelidae leaf beetles).

Of the twelve UK species, personal experience suggests that the two most commonly seen species in the Newhaven area are Cassida rubiginosa and Cassida vibex, both of which can be found now basking on the leaves of knapweeds and thistles. C. rubiginosa, a species which has been used as a bio-control against thistles in Canada and New Zealand, is named after the small rust-coloured marks on its elytra (wing cases) behind the thorax, but C. vibex has a much more prominent red-brown longitudinal band tapering along its wing cases (vibex meaning a lash or streak).

Cassida rubiginosa mating pair

Cassida vibex basking on knapweed

There are several other species which are present in southern England and should be fairly easy to find on the Downs and along the Ouse Valley north of the Seahaven area. The Green Tortoise Beetle (Cassida viridis) is larger than the two species above and wholly green. It is found near water on dead-nettles (Lamiaceae) such as mints and gipsywort. The smaller, duller Cassida flaveola is found on pinks (Caryophyllaceae) including Stitchwort (Stellaria). The beautiful Cassida vittata with its distinctive longitudinal metallic green wing stripes feeds on many different plants in coastal areas, but is also an agricultural pest of beets and spinach. The similar Cassida nobilis, with its golden longitudinal bands, which feeds on goosefoots (Chenopodiaceae) is found inland from coastal areas.

The tortoise beetles feed on a number of plants, but mostly upon members of the daisy (Asteraceae) family including thistles, knapweeds and fleabane. They like a nice warm, sheltered spot out of the wind to bask on a leaf. If you choose a good location and if the weather is good, you could be rewarded with an emerald-encrusted experience - but careful searching is required because they really do blend in and they have an additional means of camouflage, which conjures a parallel image of the Cosmic Tortoise.

The cosmic tortoise is a mytheme (or creation myth) which commonly occurs in tribal mythology around the world. The tortoise goes by different names, such as the 'World Turtle', 'Divine Turtle' and, by the Native American tribes including the Iroquois and Lenape, as the 'Great Turtle'. Turtle and tortoise are interchangeable. The Chinese, typically, have to cut off the turtle's legs and use them to support the heavens after the mountain which had been doing the job - Mount Bizhou - was damaged. Art imitating life there, perhaps? In Hindu myth the turtle is known as Akupāra, which supports upon its back four elephants, which in turn support the world. Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable (15th Edition) gives the tortoise's name as Chukwa, which supports the elephant Maha-pudma, which in turn supports the world. An excellent account of this and other mythemes involving reptiles and amphibians is also given in the excellent and visually stunning book Eye of Newt and Toe of Frog, Adder's Fork and Lizard's Leg by Marty Crump (2015).

Akupāra supports the four elephants, which support the world

How does tortoise mythology warrant a digression from tortoise beetles? Tortoise beetles certainly do not support the world, via one or four elephants, upon their backs, but they do place something on their backs which further improves their camouflage: excrement! This is a fact which should not be concealed from the reader, but it is revealed to you in the hope that it will not turn you away from the potential for admiring these stunning little invertebrates. It is agreed that their 'faecal shield' poop-smearing behaviour is unpleasant, but the fact that so many are sporting the stuff demonstrates that it is a successful evolutionary adaptation, which of course is to be applauded. But it does also make them harder to find.

Cassida rubiginosa wearing a 'faecal shield'

How best to begin looking? One suggestion is to target specific plants in sheltered locations out of the wind on a warm day. I was rewarded with a dozen and a half Cassida rubiginosa and a few Cassida vibex sightings along a short stretch of path at Mount Pleasant the other day by looking for only a few minutes at knapweed plants, which are not yet in flower but still stand out distinctively from other plants amongst the downland grass. The beetles sit quite overtly on the knapweed leaves and are quite approachable. They play dead when disturbed and just drop to the ground. A single beetle on a leaf is often one of several on the same plant. The best way to get started, like many things in entomology, is to just get out there and enjoy the thrill of the hunt and to just enjoy being outside with the sun on your back away from the chill of the spring breeze and away from the mundane tasks of everyday life. Someone else is taking care of things while you're away. There's a tortoise supporting us all.

References:

Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, 15th ed. 1995. Room, Adrian (Ed.). HarperCollins: London.

Eye of Newt and Toe of Frog, Adder's Fork and Lizard's Leg: The Lore and Mythology of Amphibians and Reptiles. 2015. Crum, Marty. University of Chicago Press: Chicago.

Cassida rubiginosa basking on knapweed