green hairstreaks

27/04/19

We were going to do the Hunter's Bog Trot (revised edition) but Mary felt tired at the end of a long week and I, well I had a notion to see some green hairstreaks and was scratching my head as to how I was going to manage, what with work rearing it's ugly head and filling my weeks with hours of busy-not-butterfly humdrum. So the HBT was morphed into a Hunter-Buchanan-Treasurehunt (if that is all one word) and we set off in the Berlingo to Flotterstone where we braced ourselves for the overcast disappointments of the day with a coffee and cake from the Pentlands Cafe. They have been improving their outside seated area. The cakes were outstanding although we wondered if we would be running far enough to offset the damage done.

just gets better and better

counting test for the soldiers

I knew from last year that the best site for Green Hairstreaks was just beyond the firing range. On a hill above and West of. We went there directly from Flotterstone though I was entirely pessimistic that we'd find nada because the weather was pretty dull and overcast. I had talked myself out of it. So was rather surprised and totally delighted to climb the hill and find loads of the wee greeners in the blaeberries in their specially fenced off (ungrazed by sheep) field. I had forgotten just how charming and green they are. The only bright green UK butterfly.

map drawn for other GH hunters

Due to the cold weather they were all in zombie mode and would happily climb aboard a hand, enjoying the warmth. One Mary picked up was very reluctant to return to the cold blaeberries. These photos give a good sense of scale. They are only slightly larger than a Small Blue (Uk's smallest) around the size of a Small Copper. Love the black and white eyes and antennae.

Common Heath moth

Just as I was having a chat with this delightful butterfly (above) Mary told me to come quick as she had found something impressive. She had been admiring the Emperor Moth on Iain's calendar at home, and wondered vaguely if we could have one / see one, and weren't they just altogether more impressive than any butterflies. She had never expressed this aloud, it was just a thought that was travelling around her head until today, the idea became manifest and behold, a lady Emperor.

furry coat

Or is that Empress? (Like a male Painted Lady it is difficult to attach a gender to certain species names.) The male is smaller and more colourful. The female more nocturnal, more rare. The males can be bought with the deployment of a pheromone lure that will bring them scampering across the heaths and moors. The lady is not for turning. The restrained colour palette and fur-like coat a thing of exquisite beauty. And huge. Not huge on the end of your fingers. But huge in spectacle. Like the Green Tiger Beetle you forget is smaller than 20mm long because it has so much character, is so dazzling, this, you are surprised to find, fits on the finger tips like a lapel badge, hat decoration or a medal of distinction. When first seen it was laid out on the heather like a persian rug and looked like it'd take 2 hands to lift it to the fence post.

We took a hundred photos each from a respectable distance before daring to lose all by lifting it up onto a fence post for further admiration and photo-documentation. Like the GHs it was sluggish in the cold and hardly noticed the short journey. We took some more photos then replaced it back in the heather, feeling blessed by such exalted company. Highlight of the day without doubt.

As we returned to the hairstreaks the sun began to emerge. And a funny thing happened. The hairstreaks emigrated from the blaeberries to the nearby gorse to find perches and places of prominence. And then it all kicked off. The male GHs will stake a claim on their airspace and if others (or flies or other butterflies many time larger,) have the cheek to invade or pass through, they will be flown at with great haste, and spiralling aerobatics will begin, especially if the invader is another equally agile hairstreak. After the bounder is seen off the victorious hairstreak will return to it's perch or nearby and resume the security checks. So you can be lining up the perfect photo and another one will flutter casually by and your model is off like a tiny green bat-out-of-hell after the cheeky space invader. It was great to see such varied behaviour in the space of 30 mins.

Actually I just checked the suunto data and we were there over an hour! Mary was as captivated as I was (especially by the Empress) and was not, as is sometimes the case, urging us to continue on our run. After a while we both got to the point where you can't take any more pics of the same subject and decided to move along. It had been exactly a mile to the GH field and we had covered a further half mile during the hour running after little green jobs. But they were fantastic. OK more running.

showing a GH in it's natural habitat, blaeberry (bilberry)

Karl Z in his natural habitat!

Just after we set off we met Karl. He was doing similar to us but heading off to Allermuir. We chatted for a while (I may have been blethering about butterflies and moths, I know, hard to believe,) Then he went one way and we went another.

Meanwhile a large brown object fluttered by and I followed its flightpath. So did the hillwalking couple behind who also noticed it wasn't landing and that it was probably a peacock. Fellow enthusiasts! Or at least one fellow enthusiast: Ken Forbes from Aberdeen and his wife, who, while interested in lepidoptera was not as keen as Ken. We spoke for a bit about butterflies and what was likely to be found in the Pentlands.

Mary and I continued, up and over Capelaw and Harbour Hill then back down Maiden's Cleugh and back to Flotterstone. Just one GVW on the way back.

Threipmuir filled back up to normal levels

Sorry to end on a downer but...

For a while we had been smelling diesel when getting in and out of the Berlingo. It happened too often to be another car so we took a look underneath. There was a constant dripping of fuel from the diesel cooler. H*ly F*ck that's gonna hurt. And will there be sufficient fuel left in it to get the vehicle to the garage on the next occasion it is open? The sort of heart wearying stuff that can really spoil a lovely day out. Find out what happens in the next thrilling installment. Will the Berlingo survive the discarded cigarettes of Leith's finest? Will the small lake of diesel in Iona Street attract BP to start fracking there? All this and more, next time.

the depressing sight in Tesco's car park of a dripping undercarriage and oily puddle

7.5 miles going anti-clockwise

GH venue just beyond the first mile marker