Just a girl and her moths

Diary of a conservationist - an hour that changed everything

Hello, I’m Molly, a fulltime creator based in the Scottish Highlands. Subscribers can enjoy weekly posts around the themes of slow living, thriving in a creative career, books & nature. Members get access to ALL my content, including video tea times, slow scrolls of all my favourites and seasonal book reviews.

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Inspired by an entry in my nature diary, this weeks post is a trip down memory lane to when I worked as a wildlife conservationist on a tiny Scottish Island…

It was a damp morning in late June when a ragged grey moth rippled across our path.

I couldn’t tell you what species of moth it was. Although my butterfly ID skills have improved over the years, moths still leave me flummoxed. There is little wonder really, with over 2,500 species of moth in the UK alone, many of which look all but identical.

Moth trapping is a favourite pastime of many conservationists. Although this activity has scientific merit, as moths are often used as indicators of a healthy habitat, I was surprised how this work was almost viewed as trendy.

Back in the day, I scrolled past numerous photos and videos on social media of ecologists unpacking their moth traps, peering at the winged creatures huddled in the eggboxes. Every surface strewn with dog-eared ID books.

I was warned early on that it can become an obsession.

I’ve only moth-trapped once and not under my own volition. I was given this duty during my month-long voluntary placement with the Scottish Wildlife Trust (SWT), based on the Isle of Eigg.

At the age of 20, I was using my summer between university terms to fit in as much experience building as possible.

Eigg is one of the smallest isles within the Hebrides at only 12 square miles with 100 permeant residents.

It was my role, along with two other wannabe conservationists, to assist John, who was the only SWT staff member on the island and was solely responsible for monitoring the wildlife.

To say this placement was relaxed is an understatement. We moved with the gentle rhythm of the island, never starting work before 9am and spending the majority of our time mooching through wildflower meadows or along the shingled coast, making scrappy notes of what we found, before walking the four miles to the local shop/bar/café to enjoy a cool cider and slice of cake with the locals.

I loved every moment of it.

That is, until the day of the moth trapping.

You see, I had a secret fear of moths. Irrational as it sounds, especially coming from someone who’s never feared any animal before. Who cups spiders in her bare hands and runs to greet enormous barking dogs. These winged insects made my blood run cold.

They were unpredictable and erratic. Leaving smears of grey wherever they touched. Their silent flight oozed menace. I could never predict what they would do next.

So it was with an intense sense of dread that I encountered my first moth trap. Shut in a resident’s bathroom (there were no official offices on Eigg) with a 7 year old helper, Eve, which only added to my sense of unease (I’ve never been a natural around children), I gently prised off the lid, praying that the moths had decided to go elsewhere the previous night.

Unfortunately, it was a bumper night of moths. The trap was brimming with them in all shapes and sizes, nestled amongst the torn eggboxes and cardboard, ready to spring to life.

Before long, the bathroom was filled with them. Rather than the lazy state I was promised, these moths were unusually perky and intent on exploring every corner of this poky bathroom. I felt them bump against my bare legs and arms. Flitting across my face and, worst of all, within my hair.

This was my nightmare. I could feel my heart racing as I flinched at every movement. I was moments from giving up. I no longer cared about saving face and my eyes were fixed on my escape route. Legs tensed, primed for action.

It was Eve that saved me.

I didn’t feel that I could cower from these insects when she evidently found such delight in them. Laughing gleefully as they tickled her skin. Exclaiming at their colourful markings. Brow furrowed in intense concentration as she scribbled notes in her pink notebook using a raspberry gel pen. An ecologist in the making.

Eventually, I started to relax. My breathing slowed. My shoulders dropped away from my ears and, ever so gently, I inched closer to the trap.

I let out a small huff of surprise. These were not the moths I recognised in their standard grey uniform. They were beautiful. The range of hues were astounding. Moss green, vibrant yellow, burnt orange. A portfolio of nature’s colours.

By the time I left that bathroom, I was a completely different person. A person who loved moths.

As is typical, the more I learnt about moths, the more they charmed me. I discovered that these insects are important pollinators. Some species don’t eat or even have a mouth. I learnt that the elephant hawk moth is capable of swelling to resemble the shape of a snake’s head in order to dissuade predators. And male moths can smell a female’s pheromones from over 7 miles away.

I have numerous fond memories from my time on Eigg. From finding rare hen harrier chicks, nestled amongst vibrant heather, to racing across the ocean in a speedboat, surrounded by a pod of dolphins.

But, as unlikely as it sounds, the hour I spent with these moths is one that stands out the most. Nature had taught me to let go of my preconceptions and look again. To embrace the undiluted enthusiasm and curiosity of a child.

A lesson I am profoundly grateful for and will never forget.

Until next week,

Molly xx

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