Holm, Sunday 26th July 2015

On Sunday, we ventured to an area that we had not previously explored, Heathery Howes. With the landowwner's permission, the plan was to park up at the side of the nearest available road and walk along tracks to a largish pool shown on the local OS map. It was reasonably warm and sunny, with little in the way of breeze, so prospects were good and hopes were high.

Not far from the road, whilst looking at a Meadow Brown butterfly by the edge of the path, a long, thin insect flew over our heads. Panic ensued, as Our Lass hadn't seen it and I immediately lost sight of the creature. It had been headed for an ephemeral pool in the adjacent field, a pool that was probably only there because of the wet Spring and Summer we've been experiencing.

Scanning the water's edge with our bins, we were rewarded with glimpses of half a dozen Large Red Damselflies, several of whom were in tandem.

Having solved one mystery, another presented itself. If the pool was ephemeral as I suspected, where had the damselflies come from, as they would've spent the past twelve months underwater as larvae?

On the opposite side of the track, was a deep ditch, and this too had several Large Reds present, taking full advantage of a warm, sheltered and sunny spot. The ditch could possibly hold water all year round, and so be a contender for an emergence site.

Further along the track, we discovered more pools and damp mossy places that were supporting small groups of damselflies. All were mature adults, many exhibiting breeding behaviour of one sort or another: males battling to hold a territory, a male and female in tandem, or a pair ovipositing.  

Competition was obviously intense, as rival males were trying all the tricks in the book to break up mating pairs. Three in a (reed) bed, anyone?

As far as our pool search was concerned, we initially drew a blank, until I realised that there were more fences and tracks on the ground than on the map, which is is probably the result of moorland having been drained and converted to pasture. When we finally followed the correct track along the correct fence line, we didn't find the pool, so it may have been lost as the land dried out.

However, it was heartening to record 5 new sites for Odonata, and there's still the future prospect of discovering the definite emergence site for all those Large Reds.

Hoxa, Sunday 5th July 2015

After an early morning walk down to the shore in warm sunshine and the lightest of breezes, I was given special dispensation to partake of a spot of dragon hunting, before the main event of the day, a trip to Herston to nose about other folks' gardens.

So, just before lunch, we drove over to South Ronaldsay and onto Hoxa, to check the various pools for any odonatalogical interest.

The small reservoir in the old quarry is particularly sheltered, so that the 'shallow end' (with its emergent vegetation and silage bale windbreak) is an excellent piece of habitat. Sure enough, we soon struck gold with plenty of Blue-tailed Damselflies in various states of maturity.

I was able to find many recently-emerged individuals, some still located at their emergence site along with their exuviae, and other teneral damsels, having taken their maiden flight. I was especially delighted to spot a few exuviae which were upside down, as Blue-tails are known for sometimes emerging... er... arse about face.

There were also some mature damsels, in variously-hued in either blue, green, orange or purple. One unfortunate individual was caught in a spider's web, which normally presents me with an ethical dilemma - whether to intervene or not. In this instance, the action was taking place out of arm's reach and came to a dramatic conclusion before I could find a suitable (or unsuitable, if you're of an arachnid persuasion) stick.

Here's the sequence I photographed (see, I was going to follow it through to the grisly denouement, you doubting readers!)...

Upon reviewing these images, I am now wondering whether the spider's intention was to free the damselfly, before its frantic attempts to escape wrecked the carefully-constructed web. I know, it isn't like me to give a spider the benefit of the doubt, eh?

However, just as it looked like curtains for the Blue-tail, it plummeted into the water, so out of the frying pan and into the fire - not the best analogy, I admit.

I managed to find it again, once it had struggled onto a piece of vegetation and was busy cleaning the remnants of the web silk from its body.

Phew!

Other damsels were being more circumspect, trying to avoid arachnids and humans.

A little further along the road, the other pools were not so sheltered, and consequently we only found two adult damselflies. Though we were on a public road, we had to run the gauntlet of a nearby tern colony, which proved to be... er... interesting. It was dread o'clock!

In the bleak midwinter

Well, ok, the frosty wind isn’t moaning, as such, and neither is the earth as hard as iron, but I guess Christina Rossetti didn’t have dragonflies or Orkney in mind when composing her hauntingly beautiful words.

However, the feelings of coldness and despair that the hymn lyrics evoke do sum up quite chillingly the ‘empty’ months between dragonfly flight seasons. I felt this keenly back in southern England, where the skies were bereft of odonate wings for about four months of the year. And now? The translocation of our lives northwards, puts that timescale into sharp perspective. Due to a combination of factors, my first Orcadian fallow period is more likely to be nine months. Ouch!

So, personally, what did 2014 serve up in the way of Orkney odonata?

As mentioned above, many factors combined to limit the amount of time and energy spent on searching for dragons. For Our Lass and I, our only free day of the week together was a Sunday, which reduced the opportunity for weekend trips to other islands. We were particularly disappointed not to make it to Hoy, the isle that is the Orcadian Holy Grail of Odonata, with eight breeding species. Trying to predict whether a Sunday would coincide with suitable odo flying weather was next to impossible, again limiting possibilities.

In the end, I realised that I would somehow have to fit in dragon-hunting whenever the situation allowed, which resulted in solo mid-week excursions when the sun was shining and I was free. This brought more success, but I have always preferred to share these experiences with Our Lass, so it felt like a pyrrhic victory.

By the end of the Autumn, it didn’t take long to compile my records and forward them to the British Dragonfly Society and also to the local recorder on Orkney.

Miserly, eh? And I hadn’t appreciated at the time that they were all within July. Certainly, the flight season is longer than this, even at 59⁰N, so there is obviously room for improvement of my efforts. In August, dragons are still on the wing and, as breeding birds should have finished raising their young, areas that are more sensitive to disturbance between March and July can be considered. I have noted a few of these within easy reach of OTT.

But what’s a pining odonatologist to do in that harsh, barren time of the year?

A pleasant surprise was an Anisopterally-themed present from a niece. If you’re going to be spending time hanging around waiting for dragons, these will be handy!

Then, during a visit to Hebden Bridge, tucked away within the Pennine Hills, I was browsing the shops with Our Lass and Second Born, when we happened upon an emporium vending china and tableware. Amongst all the gaudily-coloured plates and cups decorated with images of fruit or birds or bees, I spotted a familiar shape.

Not native to Europe, I would guess, as our gomphids and golden-rings don’t quite look like this, but there’s a time for pedantry and this isn’t it!

Here’s to 2015 and more recording effort.