HORROR ON THE HEATH
IT WAS A PERFECT LATE-SUMMER day on one of Dorset’s heathlands. The sun was out, the heather shimmered purple to the horizon, grasshoppers chirped flirtatiously and, while the bees performed their humming chorus, turbo-charged butterflies raced along the sandy paths.
It wasn’t only the bees that were buzzing. Gail Ashton, insect enthusiast extraordinaire and my guide for the morning, was revved up too at the prospect of seeing and photographing some of Britain’s rarest invertebrates. It seems that a Purbeck mason wasp stirs strong emotions.
The morning was gorgeous as we wandered serendipitously along the tracks. The traffic on the insect highway – the comings and goings of bee commuters, flies fussing at blooms, and even a redstart shivering its tail in the sapping warmth; all this abundance conspired to give the whole enterprise a sweet dollop of wholesomeness.
And then Gail pointed out a bee-wolf passing. “This is one of my favourite insects,” she declared, pointing at what appeared at first to be a ‘normal’ wasp. “It’s got a remarkable lifestyle.” This, I soon understood, was entomological jargon for ‘it does something unpleasant’.
And from then on, for the next hour and a half, any wholesomeness was truly banished
