Gents Mag 1900 part 2 p.361
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Gentleman's Magazine 1900 part 2 p.361
lane a whitish moth dashed past, and a gallant though unsuccessful attempt was made to capture it. Our leader was sure it was a tiger-moth, a rare vistant to our valley in July. The insect havingh escaped, the next best thing was to "sugar" freely the adjacent railings and tress in the hope that it might return. In the next coppice two copper beeches were selected, as their exceptionally smooth bark does not dry up the mixture quickly, after which we took a narrower road into a district reputed to be thickly populated by nocturnal moths. The evil-smelling lure was splashed on one or two of the sycamores lining the beck-edge before we turned into an ideal country lane, where dense tall hedges towered above trailing, clutching blackberry brambles, and nettles, raspberries, and tall grasses bank to bank. A night-jar churred from an overhanging oak; a gibbous moon, covered by thin clouds, sent a wan, wicked light over wood and hayfield. Now we passed, ever sprinkling our compound on suitable trees, the offshoots of an oak copse - a collection of giants which had starved out their undergrowth - and in another half minute reached a widening where more blackberries and stinging nettles cluddered from hedgeside to roadway. "Sugar" was spread on a number of trees, after which we retraced our steps, intending to pick up the insects adhering to the traps laid at the other end of our beat half a mile away. It was pitch dark, and a light would be required for the assortment of the moths captured. Our lamp, however, failed to keep alight for more than a minute, and investigation proved that the oil in the tank had become solid; subsequent inquiry showed that it had not been looked at for six months. After this discovery hopes fell, it was hard that such a splendid evening should pass unproductive. We made one round of the blazed trees, but, when a match was struck, all the moths not powerlessly intoxicated were very quick at flying away. Old ladies stick moths, hay-timers, and such like remained in plenty, and we managed to catch with them a few of the smaller night-fliers. The time passed without further incident. All the time we were out the dogs from every farmhouse within a mile of our beat were barking; their owners would bemoan a sleepless night. We were, however, free from the one mishap common to entomological pioneers. Others on similar expeditions have been shadowed and interfered with by gamekeepers, who mistake the motives of midnight rambles, and even the odour of the poison-bottle often fails to prevent confiscation, as an original and terrible poaching instrument, of the frail white net. |
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