Tag Archives: Sandhouse Lane

After yesterday’s excitement of seeing my first ever Downy Emerald (Cordulia aenea) at Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve, I just couldn’t resist returning today with Carol (she had been out volunteering for the Greensand Trust) in the hope that she’d be able to see these very special critters, too. We hit the reserve at about 2:00PM and were confronted by two other cars – another relatively rare feature. My fears about dog walkers – dogs tend to crap on the ground, bark and scare away real animals – were groundless and we were confronted by an enthusiasm of wildlife watchers. [Note: enthusiasm is my new collective noun for those keen on wildlife. ]

One of the guys was similarly armed with an example of TheBeast. He and I chatted for a while and he told me there was a trick to getting TheBeast to autofocus with a 1.4X extender attached; normally you are forced to focus manually. Canon causes any lens with a max aperture < f5.6 to refuse to autofocus in the company of the 1.4X which is a drag for those of us with older eyes, especially when modern autofocus cameras don’t provide any manual focussing assistance such as a split-image or a Fresnel screen. The trick is to tape up three of the pins on the 1.4X such that the lens doesn’t know the extender’s there. Autofocussing is restored. It works best in bright light but I’ve tried it and it does seem to work, albeit somewhat more slowly than normal.

Another of the enthusiasm, who turned out to be Rory Morrisey of LBNature, was just scooting off to grab yet another enthusiast. Now we were five. Together we tromped off to a lake which these guys thought was the breeding ground of the Downy Emeralds. Sure enough we found on scrabbling about on a low plant – another female. The reason for her scrabbling about soon became apparent. Whilst yesterday I had seen a female Downy with a minor defect to her right hind-wing, this poor creature had a very badly deformed left hind-wing. What’s going wrong with the Bedfordshire Down Emerald population, I wonder? I was beginning top think that I wasn’t going to get a shot of a pristine specimen.

We continued around the reserve where I was delighted to see a fabulously bright Small Copper (Lycaena phlaeas) butterfly, which have only recently begun to emerge. Somehow, everything ended up in focus, too. How thrilled was I? Well, not quite as thrilled as when, a couple of minutes later, a male Downy Emerald very obligingly appeared and posed in the perfect position for pictures, Not only was it in a perfect position but it also seemed to be in perfect condition. Brilliant! I was a very delighted enthusiast.

I’ve now seen four Downy Emeralds at Sandhouse Lane and two, both females, have had imperfections. I’m sure damage frequently occurs given the life cycle of Odonata but it would be interesting to know if that’s all that’s happening here.

This is turning into something of a Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve blog at the moment. Being a relatively new member of the Odonata fan club, this is the first year when I’ve been eagerly awaiting the start of the new season. It’s also, therefore, my first chance at logging the season – noting which species emerge when for a particular site. At least it gives me something interesting to do while we’re waiting for the boat to France, though the French trip will inevitably cause a hiatus in my local observations.

Yesterday brightened up very nicely in the afternoon so I popped in for another couple of hours. I’ve been noticing what I think of as a slightly odd feature regarding Large Red Damselflies (Pyrrhosoma nymphula). We’ve been fortunate enough to observe decent populations (~10) at each of three sites recently. The first was at Duck End NR, where we saw about a dozen relatively recently emerged individuals – our first of the season. I returned two days later and saw next to nothing. Similarly, a couple of days ago we spotted ~10 Large Red, including two pairs “in cop” (mating), at Sandhouse Lane NR. Yesterday, once again, there was next to no activity at the main dragonfly pond. I did spot a few individuals lurking about in trees at some distance from the water, though. I’m wondering if this species in particular pulls something of a disappearing act shortly after emergence.

I continued wandering, getting just a little bit down, wondering where all my mates had disappeared to. Then I saw a telltale glint of sunlit wings that promptly settled in a Hawthorn bush. I approached as carefully and was stunned to see a brilliant green metallic body shining in the sun. I didn’t really know what I was looking at but, having been trawling various books on the subject, the phrase “Downy Emerald” sprang to mind. It was certainly unlike anything I’d personally seen before. Suddenly the day changed and became excellent. I needn’t have worried about stealth – this character  seemed content to sit for about an hour while I snapped away adjusting various settings, desperate to get at least one decent shot. I did.

I was so captivated I had difficulty dragging myself away from her perch. ‘T was a good job I did, though, because a Small Tortoiseshell (Aglais urticae) decided to sunbathe very cooperatively in front of me on some waste ground. The only dragonfly I spotted in this area, on old tarmac plant, was a teneral damselfly which I’m still trying to identify [but suspect it is a female Azure Damselfly (Coenagrion puella)]‘.

Once back at home, I confirmed that my new best friend was, indeed, a female Downy Emerald (Cordulia aenea). She’s not a perfect specimen, unfortunately – she has a blemish on the lower right abdomen and her right hind-wing also is blemished and seems a little malformed. That wasn’t going to dampen my delight at another first, though.

Downy Emeralds are relatively scarce in our neck of the woods so I felt very privileged.

[Egg-citing Easter was a bit too obvious, even for me, but I thought I should note the possibility.]

First of all, my dear ol’ mum bought me a lovely Thornton’s dark chocolate Easter Egg. How much of a big kid can you get? To reciprocate, we thought we’d drag her off to a magnificent bluebell wood so she could mutter things like “ooh” and “ahh”. Spring has been such that everything is happening earlier than normal this year. Bluebells burst out about two weeks ahead of their usual schedule and the wood up near Ashridge is one of the more spectacular displays available and attracts hoards from miles around. You have to be patient and/or work hard to get shots sans bright red shirts and tripods spoiling the view but it can be done – just. The scent was fabulous, too, but I can’t embed that with this technology.

The critters that we love are also generally ahead of schedule and are wasting no time doing what comes naturally, making babies while the sun shines. We began on Easter Sunday by visiting the Chiltern Hills on another flower hunt, this time in search of early orchids. It was really Carol in search of orchids ‘cos I’m really only fascinated by things with a heartbeat – well, a pulsating abdomen, more accurately – but it was a great excuse for a trip out with the roof down in this utterly unbelievable run of spring weather. We thought that the orchids might also have been substantially advanced but not advanced enough, it seems. Carol spotted a few telltale spotted leaves of early purple orchids but no actual flower spikes.

I’d lagged behind photographing a Holly Blue (Celastrina argiolus) in the act, I think, of ovipositing several future Holy Blues and, as I caught up with her (Carol, that is, not the female Holly Blue), she asked, “do you know a butterfly which is bright green and navy blue?”. Thinks: the only green I can think of is the Green Hairstreak but I don’t think it has any blue on it. “No, not really. Green Hairstreaks are green but …”.

Carol had scared up an elusive green beast which had fluttered off into the undergrowth. Naturally, it’s very difficult to spot a green beast in green undergrowth but, well, I’m getting used to hawk-eyes Carol seeing such things. Sure enough, she found it again. The beast in question was, indeed, a Green Hairstreak (Callophrys rubi). I think you’ll see the magnitude of the challenge from this picture. I have been fascinated with butterflies for 50 years, since Brooke Bond issued a collection of butterfly cards in their PG Tips tea packets. I’d drink tea just to make mother buy another packet so I could collect more cards. In 50 years of interest, however, I’d never before seen a Hairstreak of any description, green or otherwise. With camouflage this good, is it any wonder I hadn’t spotted one? This was a very special day for me. It certainly made up for the lack of orchids.

On our way back to the car, carol snagged this shot of the rather unkindly named Dingy Skipper (Erynnis targes). Two had been spiralling about in a territorial tussle and Carol picked the one that was in better condition. I, on the other hand … well, enough said.

On Easter Monday we turned our attention to our local patch, Sandhouse Lane NR, mainly to see how the Odonata activity was getting on. I’ve recently joined the Bedfordshire Natural History Society and have started submitting records of Dragonflies and Damselflies using their online recording system. They are particularly interested this year in Large Red Damselflies, the first ones to emerge in the spring, so I was keen to contribute what I could to their survey. Damned if we didn’t see three more Green Hairstreaks there en route to the likely dragonfly hangout. The light on this shot casts some very nice textural shadows so I’m forcing this second shot upon you. 50 years of famine and suddenly my world is full of Green Hairstreaks. Weird.

Finally we did make it to the dragonfly hangouts where the world was also suddenly full of copulating Large Red Damselflies (Pyrrhosoma nymphula). We saw them at a couple of locations in Sandhouse Lane but this tandem pair is, I think, the best and most interesting shot of the bunch – and I do mean bunch – because it helps distinguish the markings of the male (in front) versus female (at the back). We spotted a lone example of a second species, too, a Blue-tailed Damselfly (Ishnura elegans), though it wasn’t co-operative enough to pose well. Maybe next time.

The season is hotting up.

Now that I seem to be well on the road to recovery from my prostatectomy (fingers still firmly crossed), I appear to have developed a new and little known condition. In fact, this may be completely new to medical science. I’m now suffering from OWS – Odonata Withdrawal Symptoms. I only became hooked on Dragonflies (I use that term to include damselflies) two years ago and I miss them when they are not around. Unfortunately, they are not around for the majority of the year. Depending on species, their season is essentially April to October though their population is not large at those extremes. Some flight seasons technically cover March to November but I’ve yet to see that.

Anyway, after a lengthy and cold winter, I decided to pop into my local patch, Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve, to see if I could spot any activity. At first, as usual, the answer was “absolutely none”. That’s the initial reaction until one gets ones eye in, though. There was certainly no Odonata presence that I could discern but, by standing still and observing, eventually one starts to notice things. I think the eye has to remember how to spot small signs of life.

As with our trip to the New Forest recently, the small lake was home to many Pond Skaters  (Gerridae) frantically skating about doing their “I can walk on water” trick looking for a smaller creature for lunch. They are predatory, after all. I didn’t catch one doing anything terribly exciting but here’s one for the record. There were also several Whirligig Beetles that were “whirligigging” far too fast for my reactions, or my camera’s autofocus reaction-time, to catch.

With just a small interruption for me to slip on the muddy bank in my hopelessly smooth trainers, sit unceremoniously in the mud and immerse one foot in the water, I stood there for about half an hour watching. There seemed to be slow but deliberate movement on the bottom of the lake where small collections of leaf matter appeared to be ambulatory. The water was very clear and I eventually snapped one of the culprits, a Caddis Fly (Trichoptera) larva , with its head and a pair of legs protruding from the front of its cleverly built shelter. You can just see it in the photo (near right) beneath the unidentified aquatic plant. While I stood [Ed: makes a pleasant change.] watching them a bigger critter swam by submerged. At first I thought frog but it turns out to be a Common Toad (Bufo bufo).

Not content with Pond Skaters imitating well-known founders of religious movements, a spider wanted to get in on the act as well. This character, as yet unknown, was even faster moving about the surface of the water than the Pond Skaters. While I was struggling to get the spider in focus, I spotted movement at the very edge of the pond where a very furry critter with a very long proboscis was hovering about. I subsequently discovered that this character was a Bee-fly (Bombylius major), not unusual but new to me. When I got home I found we had the same critters in our back garden.

Since I have the luxury of close-focus rings at home, I’ve augmented my Sandhouse Lane Bee-fly with a couple of clearer pictures of a Bee-fly from chez nous. It’s perhaps a little self-indulgent showing two; the shot on a bush is more natural but I just cannot resist the eerie shadow cast by it sitting on our paving slabs. Very obliging of it.

Amazing what you spot once you get your eye in. Clearly my local patch was waking up to the new season but I’ve got to keep checking for those elusive first Dragonflies.

For me, the summer school holidays are something to be endured. We endure it by being at home leaving the rest of the normally civilized world to be invaded by ear-shattering screamers. However, last summer I added dragonfly and damselfly (collectively, Odonata) spotting to my long-standing love of butterfly spotting and had a great time pursuing my new-found hobby at local nature reserves. Last year was a terrific year for butterflies with a diverse population being boosted by a quite well publicized “invasion” from the continent of Painted Ladies. Being a complete novice, I had no previous experience of Odonata levels but I did find a lot of activity.

This year, I was looking forward to some repeat nature spotting rather than thinking that half my summer had been hijacked. It seems to have been a tough year for our poor ol’ butterfly population. I’ve lost count of the number of sizeable Buddleia bushes I’ve seen without a single butterfly feeding on them. In fact, I’m hard pressed to recall any Buddleia with a butterfly on it. I suspect that our last, particularly harsh winter was at least partly responsible. On top of a bad winter, late July and August have been pants too, weather-wise.

Having said that, I did get out to our local Sandhouse Lane Nature reserve once or twice on days that were half-way reasonable. The level of Odonata activity definitely seemed lower than last year but a few of the more usual suspects were busily trying to make up for the apparent shortfall in population. The way most dragonflies go about adding to the population is that the male of the species spots a willing female of the species and grabs her by the neck using his appendages – projections from his abdomen designed for grabbing ladies around the neck. They are now in the so-called tandem formation. Eventually, still held firmly by the neck, the female curves her abdomen around and under the male to marry her vulvar scale to his secondary sex organ. The resulting circular formation is often called the copulation wheel or, perhaps more romantically, the copulation heart. Damselflies, in particular, form a very definite heart shape.

The most populous dragonfly species at Sandhouse Lane seems to be the Ruddy Darter. On my earlier (and sunnier) trip I had snapped a pair of Ruddy Darters “in tandem” preparing to mate. As usual in the animal world, it is the male dragonfly that is the more colourful and, as a result, often more readily identified. The female tends to be somewhat more drab, often brown/beige/dull yellow, and rather more similar looking. I have, in the past, frequently relied upon the fact that a female is firmly attached to a male to confirm an identification. Here, also confirmed by good old iSpot, is my sunlit tandem pair of Ruddy Darters.

As well as Ruddy Darters, Sandhouse Lane plays home to a population of Common Darters. On a subsequent and less sunny visit, once again I spotted a Ruddy Darter male firmly grasping a female by the neck. I again snapped the tandem pair, just because I could. Upon later study, I thought the female exhibited a different colouration from that in my first pair. In fact, this female looked more the colour of a male Common Darter. “Arghh! Wait – don’t panic!” I spotted that, colour aside, this specimen’s abdomen shape confirmed it to be female. All was well. I added it to iSpot to see if this apparent colour variation of the female might be age-related; they do, sometimes, darken and change with age.

Good decision! it transpires that this poor old male Ruddy Darter had, in fact, grabbed a female Common Darter by the neck. Well, at least he’d got the sex right, if not the species. What a turn up for the books. One of the resident specialists on iSpot had observed this sort of mismatch before but hadn’t got a decent photograph of such a pairing. Having put me straight, he requested a copy of the picture which I was happy to provide.

So, no more identifying females just because they are attached to a male.

Since the sun had decided to grace us with its presence for just about the first time in a few weeks, yesterday I took a break from trying to organize French wildlife in favour of trying to catch, photographically of course, some English wildlife. I took myself off to my favourite local location, Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve. It’s so great because, more often than not, I’m the only one there. That is, I’m the only mammalian biped there. Such was the case yesterday, although I think my six-legged friends were equally pleased to see the sun because there was some pretty frenetic insect activity.

Over the pond, Brown Hawkers (Aeshna grandis) were the first positive sign I saw as two or three tirelessly patrolled above the water. They didn’t seem too fussy about what they’d chase in the hope of a meal, even drifting seeds which, of course, they rejected. Quite frequently times they seemed to chase each other, much of which I’m sure is territorial aggression, but I did begin to wonder if they would actually be cannibalistic. I tried fruitlessly to catch one in flight but, alas, they didn’t seem to go into a hover. So intent was I on watching them hunt, that I almost missed one ovipositing in the pond almost at my feet. Hmm, maybe they weren’t chasing each other to be cannibalistic after all?

More action soon followed as a tandem pair of Ruddy Darters (Sympetrum sanguineum) positioned themselves perfectly on a leaf quite close to me. How generous of them. Sometimes standing still and waiting for the dragonflies to come to me seems to be more productive than going to them. In practice, of course, both techniques are required. Clearly the sun really was working magic as the tandem pair adopted the copulation wheel formation.

In good conditions, it is usual to see dragonflies and damselflies mating. I suspect that this is a feature of their precarious life as an adult; as soon as conditions turn favourable, there is a general rush to reproduce.

Right, where’s that sun?

Last year, I began pursuing my long-standing love of butterflies, camera in hand, at our local Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve. However, I soon became distracted by Sandhouse Lane’s array of odonata (dragonflies and damselflies) which provided a fresh photographic interest. I had little idea what species I was photographing half the time but I was hooked. I possessed only a rudimentary field guide to “Insects of Britain and Western Europe” showing some odonata but, distressingly, I had some pictures that I was uncertain about. Looking for more experienced help, I discovered the British Dragonfly Society and emailed a picture (right) to someone. I waited … and waited … and waited. I’m still waiting. No response. Unimpressed!

Eventually I purchased the much more comprehensive “Field Guide to the Dragonflies of Britain and Europe” and have now identified that first mysterious damselfly. (It was an Emerald Damselfly.)

A few weeks ago my friend and fellow wildlife enthusiast, Rosemary, sent me a link to a Web site called iSpot (“your place to share nature”). Initially, I had a quick look but did little more than sign up for an account (it’s free). iSpot seems to be associated with the Open University and is part of some initiative called the OPAL Partnership which apparently attempts to promote nature study. Sounds good.

During our September trip to France last year, whilst in France camping at our favourite dairy sheep farm at Fanjeaux, I happily snapped away at a whole bunch of odonata that were new to me. Let’s face it, being a complete beginner most of them are new to me. At the time I managed to identify most of them with my old rudimentary field guide. In my collection, however, I had snagged a couple of pictures of one small and very pale damselfly. I harboured suspicions that it might be an immature insect with its colouration not yet formed but was essentially completely floored.

Fast forward to now and … enter iSpot! Users of iSpot submit field observations of nature, usually accompanied by photographs. I was sorting through my odonata pictures and remembered my unidentified pale damselfly. I figured I had nothing to lose and I’d already got my id so I entered my unknown damselfly into iSpot as an observation asking for help with identification. I also entered a very large unknown-to-me moth from the same location in France. On both occasions, within 24 hours, I had helpful responses.

The response I got (from RoyW) to the damselfly was particularly educational:

This is, as you suspected, an immature damselfly which has not yet developed it’s full colours. Recently emerged damselflies can be very tricky to identify, although they do usually show the pattern they have once mature (it’s just very faint and lacks the bright colours).

It is usually best to try and identify whether you are looking at a male or female before you try to identify the species (yours is a male because there is a swelling under the second abdominal segment, counting back from the thorax – first segment is very short).

The main visible feature that identifies this one as to species is the pale dorsal surface to only the eighth abdomen segment (near the end) – this will become the blue ‘tail’ when it matures and contrast with the rest of the abdomen which becomes black on top.

Compare the markings with an illustration, or photo, of a mature male and you will see that the patterns match even though the colours don’t.

Well, why not, indeed – I can do that. Here’s my own photograph of a mature male Blue-tailed Damselfly for comparison and I can see exactly what RoyW means. I can’t thank RoyW enough, though I have tried. Just to complete the picture, here also is a pair of Blue-tailed Damselflies clearly trying to make some more immature Blue-tailed Damselflies.

I am most certainly a big fan of iSpot so thanks to all there and to Rosemary, too.

Now I’ll have to update both my lepidoptera and odonata Web albums with my new knowledge.

In a very unusual spell of fine weather lasting precisely one day and in between a few chores like buying expensive Euros and fetching our caravan to make ready for our coming trip to France, I enjoyed a couple of hours back at good ol’ Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve. I wanted to try a slightly larger close focus ring, 31mm, to get a tad closer if possible. I’m clearly making the most of this while the wildlife season lasts. I enjoy this site so much not only because of the wildlife there but because I’m often the only visitor. This time, though, I actually did see another person walking three dogs.

Most of our invasion of Painted Lady butterflies seemed largely to have disappeared. I did see two hangers on but most of the now reduced Lepidoptera activity was down to Gatekeepers and very skittish Common Blues that just didn’t want to cooperate with the camera. I soon got frustrated by their lack of cooperation and went off to investigate the dragonfly and damselfly pools. They, too, seemed a little quieter at first but then I spotted a mating pair of Common [Ed: correction, 2010-02-08] Ruddy Darters in their Copulation Wheel formation.  They wouldn’t let me approach too close, perhaps not unnaturally, but I did manage to grab a worthwhile shot which I’ve cropped just a little (right).

I moved on to where I’d previously seen a male Common [Ed: correction, 2010-02-08] Ruddy Darter hunting. Darters are so called because they tend to sit motionless on a perch watching for flies, then dart out to catch them, subsequently returning to their perch. Spotted Flycatchers (the birds) exhibit very similar behaviour which is called sallying. Knowing the perch gives you a fighting chance of snapping them ‘cos you can line up on the perch and wait for your subject. Sure enough, my cooperative little subject was, indeed, hunting on his usual patch. This time I did get close enough to benefit from my larger close focus ring. This shot (left) is full frame, not cropped.

I moved on to the main pool and spent quite a time just watching but seeing little that was new or appealing photographically. I did waste a lot of time trying without success to track a Hawker of some kind in flight but that really was wishful thinking and was never likely to happen. I was about to move on when a mating pair of damselflies landed on a branch right beside me and formed their Copulation Wheel. Yikes! The position and light were great, the background was great, I just had to bang off about 60 frames trying repeatedly to get my focus accurate. Even an aperture of f16 with the close focus ring gives a depth of field that’s very thin and swaying slightly loses focus, hence my multiple attempts. I’d taken a monopod but left it in the car boot thinking I’d never be able to use it swiftly enough. Wrong, you foolish person! In this situation it would have been perfect. Anyway, I’ve discarded the fuzzy shots (about 50 of them) and here, again uncropped, is a good one (right). I’m not completely certain about this species but I suspect that it is Nehalennia speciosa, the Pygmy or Dwarf Damselfly [Ed: correction, 2010-02-08] a pair of Emerald Damselflies.

I’ve only very recently begun to try to identify dragonflies and damselflies. This new found interest was entirely due to the relative plethora of the things at our local Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve. On the left is one of the first I spotted. I had no idea what it was but I snapped it and hurried home, metaphorically speaking, to identify it. In my book, Insects of Britain and Western Europe by Michael Chinery, I spotted a diagram that looked similar. It was a diagram of a female Keeled Skimmer. Excellent! In my mind, my new found friend became a female Keeled Skimmer.

On a subsequent visit I was excited to discover further different species such as those on the right. Although there are several superficially similar red-bodied species, I was pretty sure that this was a male Common Darter. When in doubt, settle on the common. On that visit I was also fortunate enough to witness a pair of Common Darters mating, joined in what is apparently termed the Copulation Wheel, I was happy with my new found interest.

After my third or fourth visit a concern formed in my mind. The concern turned to serious doubt. A male Keeled Skimmer has a relatively broad light blue abdomen according to my field guide. Whilst I hadn’t seen anything resembling such a thing here, I was happy to believe I had female Keeled Skimmers. Furthermore, though I had witnessed mating pairs of Common Darters, other than those that were inverted in a Copulation Wheel and thus difficult to see, I hadn’t actually identified anything as being a female Common Darter, either. Very suspicious! Not only very suspicious but such a state of affairs would do nothing at all for the great Mr. Darwin’s cause. We can’t go having dragonfly immaculate conception now, can we? No, that would never do.

A swift trawl of the Internet found a few photos of female Common Darters. Ah ha! Just as I had begun to suspect, my female “Keeled Skimmer” was, in fact, most likely to be a female Common Darter. Normality restored, mating may continue and species may go forth and multiply.

The trouble is my field guide is particularly weak on females. It is very happy to show the males in all their normally colourful glory but it tends to steer clear of the females. Only a few females are shown. The females, it appears, can be quite similar to the untrained eye and mine is certainly untrained.

I did snap a couple of dainty damselflies that still completely elude me. I have no idea what these two are, though I have suspicions concerning one. I’ve even emailed them off to the British Dragonfly Society to see if the experts will help me out. I’m wondering if they might be immature specimens with colours not yet fully formed. I’ve heard nothing back yet.

Clearly, I need a better field guide.

Two days ago at Sandhouse Lane Nature Reserve I watched a fellow snapper using a close focussing ring on a long telephoto lens (500mm in his case). I had discounted our old close focussing rings ‘cos I had tried them on my 17-85mm digital lens and they had not fitted. Digital lenses foul older non-digital mounts and will not fit. I thought no more of it. However, my brain jumped out of neutral with the sudden realization that my trusty old 75-300mm IS lens is not a digital-specific lens. I could try the same close focussing trick. Yeah! Back to Sandhouse Lane.

For this attempt I decided to try the middle-sized ring of our set of three: 21mm. This seemed to get my focus distance down from the “naked” 1.5m to about 1.2m. With a close focussing ring I can’t focus on infinity but I wouldn’t want to. Just for a little focussing practice, since this is all a manual exercise rather than automatic, I tried zooming in on some blissfully stationary flora, ragwort in this case. Of course, the fly was moving but not much. With a little judicious cropping I found myself rather liking the result (right). Carol thought the picture would be better if the fly were looking into the frame but it’s looking the way it felt like looking. One has to go with what one can.

Enough of practicing on static subjects and on with the main, more mobile subjects. Since it was perching very prettily, I couldn’t resist yet another shot of what I think is a female Common Darter (left). The purpose, after all, was to get more detailed shots using the lens ring rather than to find new subjects. I was using f11 (which gave me 1/500th) but even so, with this set up the depth of field is very narrow and focussing is a bear; sway a little on your feet and you’ve lost it. Eventually I began trying f16 and here’s what the business end of a Common [Ed: correction, 2010-02-08] Ruddy Darter looks like (right) when it stayed still for long enough, which, of course, mostly it didn’t. I may need some more practice before trying a larger focussing ring to get closer still, assuming the subjects would actually let me, that is.

Maybe because the sun was out, there was more courtship and mating activity going on over and around the pool so I removed the close focussing ring – there was no way I could focus on anything fast moving with that – and chanced my arm again. With the naked 300mm lens shots at these distances have to be heavily cropped (this shot is about 25% of the frame) and so get a little more fuzzy but here’s the best of the bunch showing a pair flying in the so-called tandem formation for a spot of ovipositing. Let’s face it, with the speed these pairs fly, my focussing is at best a swift grab, something of a guess. Worth a try, though, when you’re not wasting expensive celluloid. “They’re just reusable pixels, guv’ner.”