Butterflies and all kinds of everything

THIS week’s column must necessarily be discursive if I’m to mention even half the events I’ve noticed or heard of from readers.

Firstly, this is an exceptional ‘butterfly summer’ – I have not seen so many butterflies since I was a child and that was some time ago. Outstanding amongst the species are small tortoiseshells and fritillaries. On a stand of four flowering verbenas in our garden, I’ve counted eight of the first and four of the second, with numerous red admirals and peacocks, all feeding at the same time. These species are amongst the brightest and most resplendent of our native lepidoptera; they clamber over the flowers like scraps of Turkish carpet, newly woven from freshly dyed wool.

In the meadow across the stream, meadow browns rise from under one’s feet, along with silver-Y moths, a day-flying species.

While butterflies add interest and colour to walks in wild places this summer, the most exotic species can often be found in towns.

Today, a gentleman rang me to say he’d found a small hedgehog stuck in netting on a GAA pitch. It had, quite likely, been snuffling over the grass in the night, hoping to catch worms seeking baths in the dew. It was, fortunately, unharmed and he decided to release it far from GAA pitches. He’d found a hedgehog of the same small size dead in a net a few years ago. No doubt these juveniles are so intent on feeding they fail to see the hazard. Once they have pushed through the mesh, their spines are snared and will not allow them to reverse.

A man, who lives on a boat on the west Cork coast, woke in the night to hear such strange screeching that he thought banshees had come aboard. His boat is remote from all others, and all habitation, and the sounds were eerie indeed. He went on deck and, as the moon appeared between the scudding clouds, he saw two shapes like cats perched side by side high in the rigging. A flashlight revealed them to be two juvenile long-eared owls uttering hunger cries to parents. They must have been a second brood. Long-eared owls normally lay in March and April and the young are independent after 50 days.

The pipistrelle bats that nightly flit about our yard seem to have learned a trick to makes foraging easier. As long as the emergency light is on, there will be moths galore. The trick is to activate the sensor – and this is easily done by flying through the beam. A lot of electricity is consumed by these clever bats. We should get a dog and defuse the sensor, I suppose.

The old meadow opposite our garden is carpeted in wildflowers. Until recently, dozens of rabbits grazed or stretched out in the sun in full view of the house. Then, a JCB arrived and tore up the five-metre-wide briar brakes that edged it on all sides, and more than an acre of the noxious knotweed which had invaded the lower and upper ends. However, this left the rabbits without refuge and soon we saw as many as four cats skulking in the stands of ragwort and thistles. Now, there are no longer any rabbits. But possibly four well-fed cats.

The skeleton of the 66ft long fin whale which stranded and died in Courtmacsherry Bay in January 2009 is now displayed in Kilbrittain village for the annual festival.

Some Courtmacsherry residents maintain the natural home for the remains is the village named for the bay in which the whale died, rather than Kilbrittain which has no boats, fishermen or even a view of the sea. They say the skeleton, high and dry on a trailer in an inland village removes the magnificent creature from its context. However, in fairness, the Kilbrittain community deserves credit for having assembled the display and for those interested in whale anatomy, a viewing will be well worthwhile.