My hero of the photography of the small, Paul Harcourt Davies, in
Raindrops on roses … and whiskers on kittens, the best essay about nature photography that I've ever read, opened my eyes to some of the reasons for the spectacular difference in wildlife photos. His horror stories of artifice to create breathtaking beauty remind me of Octave Mirbeau's Le Jardin des Supplices (The Torture Garden), and of some discussions I've had with other haiku poets whose poems spring from newspaper articles that they pick from and exaggerate, rather than finding the profound in actual life.
Davies, and the equally superb photographer and teacher,
Niall Benvie, spoke about an
ethics declaration that I've now signed, too, as I not only agree with it, but until they mentioned it, wondered if anyone else felt like I do — that all this fiddling with nature and the image to create the best shot isn't respecting nature at all, but setting up people to find nature as deficient as a pooping dog when you can get your kid something that only needs to be recharged, or your grandmother something that can not only clean up after her, in a
perfectly imagined future, but pretend interest at appropriate intervals.
Which brings me finally, to yesterday's extremely hot day, and the galloping c.
This case moth case was in the middle of a road, so I picked it up before it could be flattened.
Oeceticus elongata
I thought to keep it with my other case moth cases, which I find fascinating, but little did I expect it to wriggle. Not only that, but its caterpillar inhabitant was extremely active. I put it down in a place more friendly than the middle of a road, and watched it for a while, as it emerged from its case and began to move, surprisingly fast, dragging its case behind it. But the time was noon, and the heat, intense.
"In walking, the caterpillar has only the head and three pairs of horny legs without the case, and this part of the body is consequently hardened, and is much darker in colour than the rest of the body which is protected by the case. It drags the case along as it walks … Everyone has noticed these case moths and the wonderful arrangement of the 'sticks' or leaves. The inside of the case is smooth and silky. If the caterpillar be placed in a box with a glass lid, one will soon see regular transverse lines of short silken threads, not unlike railway sleepers, all over the surface of the glass. These are the 'foot-holds' of the caterpillar to enable it to move over the smooth surface of the glass. It does it so quickly that one can hardly see the placing of the threads."
– from Life Stories of Australian Insects by Mabel N. Brewster, Agnes A. Brewster, and Naomi Crouch, Dymock's Book Arcade, Sydney, 1946
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I left my pen by it and went out again two hours later to take further (and I hoped, better) pictures, but if there was any sign of it when I returned, I am illiterate. The case moth caterpillar had scarpered, taking its home with it.