“Among the flowers, dragonflies and damselflies hunt down their smaller insect cousins, snatching them from the air with that terrible, hairy-legged embrace”
Country Sights and Sounds
John Shelly
I stopped again at the little bridge and swung my legs over the parapet. Last weekend I had attempted to follow the stream below to its source but had found my efforts frustrated by a combination of dense undergrowth and, more effectively, by the handiwork of the dredger. For just 200 yards away, the summer rill that chuckled beneath the arch had been artificially deepened, the clean gravel scooped out without mercy and thrown carelessly on the bank.
That same gravel had been the heart of the stream, harbouring mayfly, caddis, and freshwater shrimp, and playing host to autumn-spawning trout. Though these are sadly diminished, the deeper water is by no means barren; it is, in fact, full of interesting life.
New plants have moved in to colonise the area, and a variety of insects have come with them. Now yellow flag iris and the powder-blue flowers of wild mint dress the banks, while oxeye daisies and ladies’ bedstraw do their best to reclaim the heaps of excavated stone. Among the flowers, dragonflies and damselflies hunt down their smaller insect cousins, snatching them from the air with that terrible, hairy-legged embrace.
The damselflies are outstanding, gleaming like living gemstones as they dance above and between the flowers. Sometimes a shimmering cloud of males converges upon a passing female, each one vying for her attention, but mostly they fly alone. Though they appear weak as they flutter from place to place, they are in reality both energetic and resilient.
Within moments of my stopping at the bridge they began to appear; metallic-green banded demoiselles, large red damselflies and an almost surreal variety of blue ones. Their beauty merits closer attention, but to catch even one is no mean achievement. Moving with the utmost care, it is possible to get within grabbing distance. Still, it would be a mistake to underestimate the remarkable agility of our target.
Those eyes will have been watching us from afar, and especially so if our first attempt at capture was unsuccessful. Even as we make the decision to reach out the damselfly is airborne and dancing tantalisingly out of reach.
There are other ways of achieving our objective. A long handled, fine meshed net is of great advantage. They are available, though purpose-made entomologists’ nets are expensive. Any other form of net is likely to damage wings or worse and ought not to be used out of respect for our quarry.
And so we must resort to one final method of capture, one that will test our dedication to the task in hand. We must get up early, at dawn, before the sun’s rays have warmed the air. All insects need to be reasonably warm if they are to function properly.
When cold they are lethargic, often to the point of immobility, and they may easily be taken from reed stems and the underside of leaves where they have spent the night.
Once we have our prize in the hand, we ought to examine it closely, and for this a hand lens or magnifying glass is recommended. Take a look at those large, widely set eyes that give our mini-beast such good vision. Note those ferocious, shear-like jaws. Although harmless to us, these are admirably suited to the task of dismembering smaller insects. And those thick hairy legs, although they aren’t much use for walking, form a capable snare.
Nor should we stop there, for the closer we look, the more intrigued we become. From where do those enamel-bright colours come? The juvenile form is a well-camouflaged underwater hunter, so why the contrast between that and the adult?
Such early-morning excursions are certainly worthwhile. Should we choose the right day, we will see a far different world than the one in which we spend our working hours. Birds, more than we thought possible, sing as if in welcome. Colours appear as if by magic. Nocturnal animals are still afoot and often off-guard. Perhaps best of all we will have the world to ourselves, and the chance to put aside the cares of the day and to lose or find ourselves in puerility.
Before we know it, the day has its tendrils about us. We must leave and tend to those mundane matters that make us sigh.
