I had taken a day off with the intention of heading out into the Fens in search of Wall butterflies. The day didn't start too well as my daughter woke up with a migraine and, after taking some medication, she had to go back to bed to wait for it to subside. This is, unfortunately, an all-too-common affliction for her and due to the number of lessons she misses and the fact that there is no bus to the school between 8am and 3pm, I have got used to driving home at lunchtime and taking her to school so that she doesn't miss the whole day. So, after a morning spent pottering around the garden and an early lunch, I dropped her off and headed out in the vain hope of finding the chosen species. When I arrived, it seemed to be getting duller and windier by the minute and I was in two minds whether to actually get out of the car. I swung my camera bag across my back, shouldered my tripod and trudged off along a raised bank of grasses muttering expletives under my breath. After about a mile, having seen nothing but a possible Brown Argus as it was blown unceremoniously over my head at a rate of knots in the stiff breeze, I turned back.
For some reason, as I approached the car, I decided to carry on for a few hundred yards in the other direction. This idea was soon abandoned as folly and I resigned myself to a hopeless "blank". Just as I went to turn round, I noticed the unmistakeable outline of a butterfly sitting on what looked like a piece of loft insulation caught in the grass under my feet. It was a female Wall in very good condition and I was amazed not to have spooked it as I had crunched along the bank. I have always found Wall butterflies to be infuriatingly skittish and they invariably fly off before I can get anywhere near them. She sat there, seemingly without a care in the world, wings open, trying to soak up any vestige of sunlight there might be. My frustrated mood from seconds before was replaced by a manic fumbling with the tripod and camera as I struggled to get everything together, all the time trying to keep my eye on the butterfly in case it took off. Things seemed to be going extremely well and the butterfly had only rotated slightly in its sheltered little nook. It seemed an obvious place to sit and I smiled as I admired the little insect's skill at finding such a perfect perch, where not only could it escape the wind, but also benefit from any reflected heat - after all, it was sitting on insulation designed by man for just that purpose.
I carefully manoeuvred the tripod into place, holding my breath and fired off a couple of shots in case it flew off before I was ready. After the second shot, the butterfly suddenly disappeared from the viewfinder and that, I assumed, was that...
I stood up to scan the immediate area and saw that the insect was now upside down, a few inches from its original position. I had seen butterflies feigning death before, or dropping down into grass to escape from danger, but never with the wings open like that. There turned out to be a very good reason for it appearing to play dead... It was, indeed, as dead as a doornail! I can’t understand quite how it died in such a perfect position, wings completely open and with antennae placed exactly as in life. All very surreal and I couldn’t believe it. Even now, a few hours later I am still laughing at the fact that I spent quite some time creeping into position to take a photo of a dead insect. I wondered if a spider had nailed it or if it had got too cold in the overnight frost, but I really don’t know.
How very strange!
Trev
That could easily explain what you observed. You should see a well-know Sussex butterflyer in action. One exhalation of nicotine smoke and Purple Emperors come tumbling out of the trees and land at his feet. I only have to cast my substantial shadow over a butterfly to produce instant torpidity.