The summer months are the most active for moths, so now is the time to join the ‘mothing’ craze, says Ian Bond. The fluttering creatures could have a lot to tell us about climate change.

LIFE began to the dance of moths’ wings. Or rather my earliest memories of it did. As I dug little holes in the soil of my dad’s allotments, squeezing between the rows of Love in a Mist and marigolds, clouds of pale pixie-like moths waltzed round my head.

I didn’t know anything about the moths then; I didn’t know their names; I didn’t know that their caterpillars might be feasting on my dad’s vegetables. I just knew that they were part of the bright-eyed world that I found myself in.

The only moth I knew as a child, in fact the only moth I knew into adulthood, was the garden tiger, big and bold. I can’t remember a path that didn’t have one of its hairy caterpillars lurching across it. Tiger moths favoured the cold, dry winters that also frame my childhood memories.

It’s been 25 years since I’ve seen the tiger’s mottled splendour; some things really were different back then.

Moths are another cast member from Nature’s dark side; the yang to butterflies’ yin, forever condemned to circle lights and terrify old ladies.

But, as with most things in nature, it’s not that simple. Sure, there are big, fat, brown, kamikaze ones, but for every one of those there is a gorgeously patterned, day-flying moth that really should be made an honorary butterfly.

There are more than 2,000 different species of moths in Britain. Most of these are the tiny, non-descripts, classed as micro moths. These can be so similar that the only way that many of them can be told apart is by dissecting their genitals, though that does beg the question as to who first had the idea that this might be a good way to tell moths apart.

The remaining 800 or so, the larger, macro moths, come in a wide variety of shapes, colours and patterns, which have inspired an unparalleled range of thought patterns in christening them. Everything from the wallpaper sample brimstone, pale sulphur yellow with just a hint of brown; to the technically minded setaceous hebrew character (I bet you had to look up “setaceous” as well); to the strangely attractive mother Shipton.

It used to be that moth enthusiasts, wishing to track down as many species as possible, would pursue their quarry with sweep nets or lure them with ropes soaked in wine and treacle.

These days the development of the battery-operated moth trap has sparked something of a mini craze in mothing. I’ve recently joined in the craze myself and can report that in only about a dozen nights’ effort (by effort I mean leaving the trap out overnight and checking it the next morning after I’ve had my breakfast), I am already approaching the grand total of 50 species in my modest Darlington garden.

The moth trap works by giving out a bright light in the ultra-violet part of the spectrum that most moths find irresistible. They circle closer and closer until they are funnelled into the trap where they hide until they can be identified and safely released.

A more sociable method is to spread a large, white sheet under the light for the moths to land on and gather in groups to see what lands.

There is something very bonding about sprawling over the sheet in readiness to pounce on the latest specimen that’s just crash-landed in the hope that it’s another different species; a bit like Twister without the spots.

One of the foremost exponents of the art of mothing in these parts is Robert Woods. Robert works for the Industry Nature Conservation Association and has been studying moths since he was ten.

He’s taken this interest a step further by using the appearance of moth species that are new to our area to chart the subtleties of climate change.

Moths are very useful as climate change indicators because like other insects they are so sensitive to changes in their environment.

Added to that, there are so many moth species, many of which are readily identifiable, and they cover a range of habitats; while the northward spread of the odd species could be down to unknown factors, the changing distribution of a range of species is likely to be induced by climate change.

What Robert and fellow “mothers” are finding is that a number of species are shifting their distribution northwards. These are species such as the lime hawk-moth that have spread from Yorkshire. This moth was first recorded in our area in 2002 and is now established in many parts of north-east England.

Others, such as the garden tiger, are becoming scarce as our wetter, warmer weather makes it less suitable for them, particularly for their caterpillars.

Last year, Robert was moth recording on sites in the Teesmouth area. Among the catch in his moth trap was the southern wainscot, a species that has started to gain a real foothold in the Teesside area since the first record by local mothers in 2004. This year he’s predicting the discovery in the North-East of the pine hawk-moth and grey shoulderknot, both of which are becoming well established in parts of Yorkshire after first appearing there in the past few years. Things really are hotting up.

Why British moths are moving up North

MOTH species are spreading northwards as a result of the changing climate, conservationists who have gathered millions of records of the insects heave revealed.

Moths previously found only in more southerly parts of the UK have moved their range miles north, including to Scotland and Northern Ireland, while new species have been arriving in Britain.

Some of the biggest movers include the orange footman moth, which has spread almost 150 miles north in three decades to reach North Yorkshire, and the Blair’s shoulder-knot which has moved from the Midlands and Suffolk to Scotland, Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man.

The lime hawk-moth was once only seen as far north as the Humber and now is found in County Durham, while the pine hawk-moth has made it more than 100 miles from Norfolk and southern England to York.

Since the turn of the century, 28 new species have been seen in the UK for the first time, including the beautiful marbled moth, Patton’s tiger, and the Minsmere crimson underwing.

The changing face of Britain’s moth populations is being revealed through the National Moth Recording Scheme which began in 2007 and has collected millions of records of moth sightings stretching from 1769 to the present day.

The Butterfly Conservation records go back as far as the sighting of a death’s-head hawkmoth in October 1769 at Felton, Northumberland.

Manager Richard Fox said it was still early days for the scheme, which aims to get further geographical coverage and keep updating its records with new sightings, but there were already some dramatic trends.

“The results so far are fascinating and show us how important moths are as indicators of our changing environment,” he says. ”Moths have a lot to tell us. Their declines alert us to deterioration in the environment. Where they are found can also tell us something significant about climate change. A lot of moths have become considerably rarer over the last 50 years.” Emily Beament