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Butterflies

LONG-TAILED BLUE

August 17, 2026

Driving south on a Friday evening, we hardly needed the UK Government’s emergency warning alarm to remind us not to start wildfires. The landscape was parched, with every blade of grass turned golden brown. At least we weren’t about to be nuked by the Russians, we thought!

This was nothing new to me. I spent my childhood listening to the occasional test of the four-minute warning siren at the bottom of our street. They didn’t even tell us when it was going to be tested! The huge Vickers tank factory on the Tyne, down in the valley below us, was a major target at the time.

When we reached my mum’s home in Hertfordshire, all the windows were wide open, as were the doors, in an attempt to cool the house after yet another day in the mid-thirties. These well-insulated 1970s homes retain heat like ovens.

Meanwhile, Alexander was enjoying reviewing the security camera footage, which revealed the garden’s nocturnal visitors: two foxes and a badger!

SUFFOLK AND FAMILIAR FACES

My first stop the following day was Walberswick in Suffolk, where I had another go at seeing Zitting Cisticola. This time I was successful. At least three of the eleven birds recently present along the Dingle River were bouncing around in the long grass of the saltmarsh.

Perhaps it was a little like watching the first Collared Doves in Cley in 1952? This common and widespread cisticola looks set to colonise the UK from its current foothold on the Suffolk coast, having bred there for the first time in 2025.

My views of the cisticolas were distant and, on this occasion, it was just another number on a list. I was much happier to bump into an old birding pal from the 1980s, Paul Oldfield, and his partner Tina.

Almost 40 years ago, Paul, Tina and I did a crazy road trip to Fontainebleau, near Paris. In fact Tina did all the driving as she rightly reminded us, 1700 miles of it. It involved, among other things, Tina’s car being broken into and my passport being stolen. Needless to say, I never left my passport in a car again! Turning up back in the UK with no personal details and a broken car window was difficult to explain, and no wonder the customs officials proceeded to take her car apart.

It was nice to be reminded that these days, friendship means more than ticking off yet another bird species.

*Zitting Cisticola, Walberswick - just another number on a list (Mike Watson)*

*Suffolk coast south of Walberswick, with Dunwich Coastguards and Sizewell B in the distance (Mike Watson)*

There was plenty of shorebird movement, too, with a couple of Whimbrel, a Greenshank, three Turnstones, four Golden Plovers and several Black-tailed Godwits of note. A pair of Sandwich Terns was on the main lagoon and a couple of Marsh Harriers drifted over the reedbed, while families of Bearded Reedlings pinged out of the Phragmites on a muggy, overcast summer’s day.

The area’s famous windmill has long since fallen into disrepair, while in the distance we could see the tragic, charred landscape of Dunwich Heath. I first saw this windmill in Ian Wallace’s 1979 classic ‘Discover Birds’, it hasn’t changed much. Coincidentally, he also talks about visiting on a muggy day in August and not seeing much.

BUTTERFLIES MOVING NORTH

Back inland in Hertfordshire, I stopped at one of my old regular butterfly haunts, Royston Heath. I was delighted to find plenty of Adonis Blues flying. Their vivid turquoise wings lit up the tinder-dry grassland. The heath is better known as one of THE classic sites for Chalkhill Blue | Polyommatus coridon, particularly for its proliferation of aberrations so prized by the early butterfly collectors.

Adonis Blue was reintroduced to Therfield in 2019, having died out exactly 60 years previously. They have flourished. It is a very welcome unofficial introduction, and this was the first time I had seen the species north of London.

Like the cisticolas, a host of southern insect species are now appearing naturally in the UK with much greater regularity.

*Adonis Blue | Polyommatus belargus (male) Therfield Heath (Mike Watson)*

*Therfield Heath, Royston (Mike Watson)*

One of these is the Long-tailed Blue butterfly | Lampides boeticus). On another parched hillside, this time overlooking the naval town of Portsmouth, Portsdown Hill has hosted several of these dainty migrant butterflies over the last couple of weeks.

They behave more like hairstreaks than the downland blues I am used to seeing. The males hold territories and actively defend them from intruders, including Small Whites, Meadow Browns and, of course, other Long-tailed Blues. For such a cluster to be at one site they must surely have bred here this spring?

I enjoyed some fabulous close views, mostly among gone-to-seed marjoram, but also in tiny hawthorn saplings. Having been butterflying since the 1980s, this was a particularly special and long-overdue moment.

Long-tailed Blue has traditionally struggled with northern European winters, much as Clouded Yellow has remained largely a migrant rather than establishing itself. But as the climate changes, both species are becoming increasingly commoner and more regular visitors.

Just a few more signs that our wildlife is changing — with southern species steadily moving north.

*Long-tailed Blue watchers, Portsdown Hill - the loveliest people! (Mike Watson)*

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BALKAN CLOUDED YELLOW

July 4, 2026

The weather had other ideas for us this morning. Back in Serbia, rain swept across Kopaonik National Park, washing out any hope of productive butterflying, so we decided we might as well put the time to good use. Rather than waiting for the weather to improve, we drove towards another, much more remote mountain, hoping the skies would clear by the time we arrived.

Our target was one of Europe's most localised butterflies: the Balkan Clouded Yellow Colias caucasica balcanica, confined to isolated mountain populations stretching from Bosnia and Herzegovina through Serbia and North Macedonia to Greece.

As we approached our destination the rain began to ease and, encouragingly, patches of blue appeared between the clouds. Unfortunately, a far more serious obstacle awaited us.

The forest track that Janó had identified as our route to the high-altitude meadows was exactly as he had feared—unsuitable for an ordinary four-wheel-drive SUV. Looking uphill through binoculars, we could see sections where rain had washed part of the road away. This was unfamiliar territory and we didn’t want to become stranded several kilometres from the nearest village, unable to turn around on a muddy mountainside—or worse, slide into the forest below.

Our waypoint lay around five kilometres further up the mountain. Hiking that distance in uncertain weather, with no guarantee the rain would hold off, simply wasn't worth the effort. Reluctantly, we admitted defeat and turned back towards the nearest village.

Then fortune intervened.

As we rolled away we heard the roar of a large engine approaching. Around the bend came an enormous Jeep with oversized tyres, raised suspension and, reassuringly, an "Off-Road Club" sticker on the side.

The driver introduced himself as Almas, a young migrant worker (as a crane operator in Berlin). He was heading up the mountain to visit his aunt, who lived on a remote farm high above the forest, exactly where we wanted to go.

"I can take you, and bring you back down, I’ll be there for a couple of hours."

We could hardly believe our luck. Sometimes our adventures produce moments that seem almost too perfectly timed to be coincidence.

The journey uphill was memorable. Almas clearly regarded the climb as an extension of his off-roading fun afternoon and drove the deeply rutted forest tracks with remarkable speed. His Jeep, however, was every bit as impressive as its appearance suggested. Obstacles that would have bounced our own vehicle into the trees were overcome effortlessly by its enormous suspension. I didn’t enjoy hurtling through the forest at full speed, expecting a disk to bulge at any moment, but I certainly appreciated the time saving.

It was a considerable relief to climb out beside his aunt's delightful little farmstead, surrounded by colourful flower meadows, accompanied by the smell of a burning clutch.

With just two hours, we had to walk around a kilometre to our waypoint. Fortunately, the remaining track was almost level and along the way we passed an angry pair of nutcrackers, before the forest gave way to one of the most beautiful alpine meadows I have seen.

The meadow stretched away towards the distant ridges in a riot of wildflowers beneath a clearing sky. Sunshine now flooded the mountains, transforming what had begun as a gloomy morning into a glorious summer afternoon. Now, where was balcanica?

Janó followed the woodland edge towards the waypoint while I walked parallel across the centre of the meadow. Between us we hoped to intercept any Colias butterflies flying across the open grassland.

As we approached a dry valley—more of a broad depression than a valley—I caught sight of movement.

One.

Then two.

Then three unmistakably orange male Clouded Yellow-type butterflies patrolling the meadow.

"Janó!" I shouted… lots of times, so he could follow my voice as I chased after the butterflies.

Janó had disappeared briefly while following another interesting butterfly, before reappearing moments later. "They're very orange!" he said.

The butterflies patrolled tirelessly up and down the slopes in search of females, rarely pausing for more than a second. Photographing them proved demanding as usual with this genus. They flew with purpose, forcing us into sustained power-walking pace across the hillside. The intensity of the richly coloured alpine flowers gave the camera's autofocus no end of trouble, making flight photography challenging.

Eventually persistence paid off. I managed a few flight images before the butterflies finally began settling briefly to nectar.

Every visit was to the vivid crimson blooms of Dianthus sanguineus, Blood Pink, a species I knew from last year’s trip to Stara Planina in southeastern Serbia.

We were delighted—or at least we were until I studied the images on the back of my camera.

"Oh dear..."

Had we made a terrible mistake?

The butterflies showed yellow veins crossing the black apical border of the forewing—a feature usually associated with the common Clouded Yellow Colias croceus. Worse still, they didn't appear quite as intensely orange as many of the illustrations in the field guides.

Fortunately, the scientific literature tells a more complicated story.

A 2015 paper by Ana Nahirnić, Predrag Jakšić and Arne Lykke Viborg, Colias caucasica balcanica (Pieridae) rediscovered in Montenegro, with additional new records for Serbia, reported that this feature is far more variable than identification guides suggest. Although most references state that male C. caucasica balcanica lacks prominent yellow veins in the black forewing border, the authors found that this is far from absolute.

One specimen collected at Borje in southwestern Serbia had initially been identified as Colias croceus because of its conspicuous yellow veins. Closer examination revealed that around 30% of the Serbian males examined displayed yellow veining to some degree. A similar proportion—23%—was found among Greek specimens. In other words, the feature widely presented as a reliable field character is quite variable.

That finding contradicts the impression given by both the 2008 Collins Butterfly Guide and the 2026 Princeton Field Guide, both of which continue to present the absence of yellow veins as a key identification feature.

Janó wasn't remotely concerned.

"Don't worry," he said. "They are balcanica, I've seen thousands of Clouded Yellows, and none of them has ever looked as orange as this. It's exactly the same with myrmidae."

He was right.

The field guides need a small revision on this point. The butterflies illustrated in many books also resemble the deeper orange individuals found further south in Greece, where the Balkan Clouded Yellow reaches its richest coloration. That striking southern form has become something of the 'standard' illustration, making more northerly Serbian butterflies appear unexpectedly pale by comparison. The specimen plate published in the 2015 study shows just how much variation exists.

Even so, our butterflies still looked distinctly different from the common Clouded Yellow.

The habitat itself also provided an important clue. We were standing at 1,630 metres above sea level in flower-rich alpine meadow—exactly the sort of environment expected for Colias caucasica balcanica. Although Colias croceus occasionally wanders to over 2,200 metres in the Alps, it generally breeds below about 1,600 metres and is primarily a butterfly of lower elevations. Everything about the location pointed towards balcanica.

What appears a subtle distinction to us represents a much deeper evolutionary history. DNA studies suggest that Balkan Clouded Yellow diverged from the Danube Clouded Yellow, Colias myrmidae (from which it was originally described as a mountain subspecies) around 1.2 million years ago.

In keeping with the Balkan name theme, a pristine male Balkan Copper Lycaena candens appeared by the track on our return to the farmstead. Its brilliant, purple-edged orange upperwings glowed in the afternoon sunshine, providing the perfect finale to an unforgettable afternoon. Almas’s aunt gave us some delicious homemade cheese served with Turkish coffee. Fabulous stuff! Looking at her friendly, Turkish Kangal guard dog, which was the size of a small horse, we asked “Do you get wolves here?”. “Yes, and bears too”. Gulp.

*Balkan Copper | Lycaena candens (Mike Watson)*

Now, I find myself looking at the 1996 North Macedonian first day cover depicting both Balkan Clouded Yellow and the Macedonian Grayling Pseudochazara cingovskii. This time it means far more than just an attractive stamp issue, bringing back vivid memories of alpine meadows, a remote mountain farm, the generosity of strangers, and an extraordinary afternoon when everything somehow came together. One of the best!

Mike and Janó at Almas’s aunt’s farm, 22 June 2026 (János Oláh)

1996 North Macedonian first day covers even show the variation!… and the yellow veins across the apical border! Pure coincidence owing to print run timing - see how the graylings also vary but how apt nevertheless? (Mike Watson)

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MACEDONIAN GRAYLING

July 4, 2026

LESS THAN 10 SQ KM. This is the astonishingly tiny extent of the known global range of the Macedonian Grayling Pseudochazara cingovskii. It is regarded as Europe’s most critically endangered butterfly. (Nogel’s Hairstreak Tomares nogelii has an even smaller range within Europe, but it occurs more widely beyond). The ultra-rare grayling was only described as a new species in 1978 and named in honour of Dr Jonče Cingovski, a Macedonian entomologist. It was previously treated as a subspecies of Pseudochazara sintenisi.

Although capture and export for commercial purposes have been prohibited in North Macedonia since 2011, illegally collected specimens still apparently appear for sale online in Europe. With North Macedonia outside the EU, enforcement of its protected status is likely more challenging. If one must collect things, why not buy stamps depicting it online, as I did.

*Macedonian Grayling | Pseudochazara cingovskii (and Balkan Clouded Yellow | Colias caucasicus balcanica) (Mike Watson)*

A more immediate and severe threat to this remarkable butterfly is habitat destruction from marble quarrying. Vast sections of limestone scree have already been removed. I have never seen anything quite like it: the stark white quarry scars are visible from outer space. Fortunately, the species still persists in patches of flower-rich, relic limestone pavement in the Prilep district of North Macedonia.

Janó had become concerned that the butterfly might have been collected out of its principal sites, having failed to find it on his last three attempts. Given that he is one of the best finders of rare creatures I know — whether birds, mammals, or insects — this was worrying. Perhaps time was ticking away for Macedonian Grayling more quickly than I had realised. So we did some research. Janó had seen it during the second week of July, and his subsequent visits were at similar dates. References list the flight period as late July to early August (Collins Guide, 2008) and July to August (Princeton Guide, 2026). However, interestingly, Naturetrek reported not missing the species in five visits between 2018 and 2025 on their “Butterflies & Birds of North Macedonia” tour, with sightings ranging from 20–29 June. There are also recent late June records on Inat.

Was Janó simply searching too late in the season? Was his earlier success a result of an unusually late emergence year? Or is the flight period shifting earlier altogether? These were the questions we wanted to explore on our whistle-stop tour of some of the Balkans’ most elusive butterflies. We selected 21 June — We assumed this would be the start of the flight period. We also knew that, in Greece at least, many butterflies had emerged slightly earlier than usual this year.

We began at the classic, well-documented site. All known localities from a 2012 survey are available online. We arrived on a bright, sunny morning with almost no cloud and a pleasantly cool 17°C. After a short walk through a flower-rich upland meadow, we reached the limestone scree. Within minutes: BAM! Janó called out, “Maccy G!” while I was distracted photographing a Great Sooty Satyr Satyrus ferula.

*János Oláh photographing Macedonian Grayling (Mike Watson)*

The Macedonian Grayling behaves like a classic grayling: it usually retracts its forewings on landing and angles its body perpendicular to the sun. This leaves little time to photograph the striking paired white forewing spots, and even less chance of open-wing shots. I focused instead on in-habitat images with natural backgrounds, though even this was tricky — they do not always settle in convenient positions.

In the cool early morning they were still sluggish, just warming up. As the morning progressed they became increasingly active and difficult to follow. Once the sun climbed higher, the glare from the limestone made photography even harder. Early morning was clearly essential.

We spent a couple of hours at Site A and counted at least 15 individuals in a relatively small area; the earlier survey findings suggested the species is highly sedentary, even in continuous habitat. Also present was the fast-flying Eastern Greenish Black-tip Euchloe penia, which rarely settles long enough for a proper look. The graylings were pristine — freshly emerged, clearly at the very start of their flight period. Another butterfly dream realised. It was time for our pastry club to find a local пекара (pekara = bakery).

*Eastern Greenish Black-tip | Euchloe penia (Mike Watson)*

*Macedonian Grayling habitat near Prilep (Mike Watson)*

Fuelled up, we moved on to a backup site. Driving through a heavily altered landscape — past stacks of 2–3 metre marble blocks — we eventually reached a more remote location. A grassy meadow here produced the striking Sinuated Spoonwing Nemoptera sinuata, a surreal, long-tailed Balkan insect. From there we reached another limestone pavement, part of a much larger site that had recorded the highest numbers of Macedonian Graylings in the 2012 survey. Yet despite this, we found only two individuals across a wide area. Temperatures had now exceeded 30°C, and butterfly activity had dropped sharply.

The only abundant species was the Great Banded Grayling Hipparchia semele, present in what were uncountable numbers. Eventually, we moved on — mission accomplished. On the way back, we disturbed a robber fly carrying a freshly killed Delattin’s Grayling Hipparchia volgensis. We managed to retrieve it briefly for a closer look, particularly the upper wing surfaces. We had also seen another individual at Site A, though not the upper wings clearly.

*Macedonian Grayling | Pseudochazara cingovskii at Site B (Mike Watson)*

*Macedonian Grayling habitat at Site B (Mike Watson)*

The Hermit, Chazara briseis, also appeared. An oddly named butterfly, the origin of its name is uncertain. British literature from the 19th century refers to it in that form, during a period when species were often called The something or other. It spends its life in recluse in remote rocky places or its behaviour, retreating into crevices or juniper edges, perhaps explains the association. We watched it repeatedly slipping into cover, possibly influenced by the extreme heat. It will be interesting to see how it behaves under cooler conditions in future.

We had learned enough about the Macedonian Grayling for now. With the afternoon ahead of us, it was time to move on to another species whose fragmented range just reaches into the Balkans…

*The Hermit | Chazara briseis (Mike Watson)*

*Delattin’s Grayling | Hipparchia volgensis (Mike Watson)*

*Delattin’s Grayling | Hipparchia volgensis - dead (Mike Watson)*

*Great Sooty Satyr | Satyrus ferula (Mike Watson)*

*Sinuated Spoonwing | Nemoptera sinuata (Mike Watson)*

*Marble Quarry near Prilep, habitat eliminated (Mike Watson)*

*Marble Quarry near Prilep, a scene of devastation (Mike Watson)*

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NABOKOV'S SATYR

May 20, 2026

While researching range-restricted, spring-flying butterflies that I might see on my recent California & Arizona Specialities Birdquest tour I was struck by the fact that most of the special butterflies fly in the Arizona ‘second spring’ monsoon season from July to September. However, there are a few that could be seen in the actual springtime of my visit, in early May. One of these caught my eye, Nabokov’s Satyr. Not only as it carries a famous name, but I noted that it belonged to a new butterfly genus for me Cyllopsis, the ‘gemmed satyrs’. Essentially subtle browns, with jewel-like studs embedded on their hindwing borders, like blues. What a wonderful combination! There are more than 30 members of this Neotropical genus, three of which occur in the southern United States: Gemmed Satyr Cyllopsis gemma; Canyonland Satyr C. pertepida and Nabokov’s Satyr C. pyracmon. My pal Craig Robson, who spends part of the year in Southeast Arizona, said the latter was ‘easy anywhere in the mountains on trails/in shade’ and looking at the number of INaturalist.org sightings I thought I should have no trouble in catching up with it in early May. With many pairs of eyes in my group I mentioned that we should be on the lookout for any small brown butterflies and sure enough on our first morning in the Sky Island canyons, at the lovely Madera Canyon near Green Valley, while returning from a successful hike in search of Coppery-tailed Trogon, sharp-eyed Richard spotted one. It was a Nabokov’s, albeit a worn individual with a torn hindwing. Very exciting nevertheless! Thanks Richard! After alighting on a stone, it flitted off quickly uphill and into dense scrub and out of reach. Moving with surprising speed at ground level, it skipped through the bases of thorn bushes, a most annoying habit of this species I was to discover in the coming days.

*Nabokov’s Satyr, Madera Canyon, AZ (Mike Watson)*

Interest in butterflies on our birding tours is very limited, so my opportunities are therefore compressed into a few minutes here and there. The next canyon bottom we visited, the lovely Miller Canyon also produced Nabokov’s Satyr at each stop, but in the heat of the midday they were completely restless and rarely paused for more than a few seconds on their ramblings through the shady understorey of the evergreen oak and Alligator Juniper woodland, when they would angle their wings perpendicular to the shafts of sunlight reaching the leaf litter, in the manner of a grayling back home. This did not allow me enough time to get in position for a photo before they were off again. Goodness me, it was hard work following these pesky creatures round and round a small patch of woodland, before ultimately losing contact, as they made off through the bushes. All too soon, my group returned from a hummingbird feeder sojourn with my co-leaders and that was that.

They were indeed in each canyon and, finally, it was in Ramsey Canyon, the most famous of all the birding spots in the Huachuca Mountains, that I could finally spend some quality macro time with the satyrs, significantly late in the afternoon when they settled down to visit wet patches of ground in the watercourses, sometimes directly under hummingbird feeders! Most were quite worn by this stage in their flight season and it was more difficult to read their undersides to separate them from the very similar Canyonland Satyr (which is usually found further uphill rather than in the valley bottom) but they were very approachable now. A very satisfying experience to go alongside the other avian treasures of these precious habitats. How many takers for ‘I’ve got a settled Nabokov’s Satyr here’? None at all. We are so few.

*Madera Canyon, Arizona - Nabokov’s Satyr habitat, oak and Alligator Juniper woodland (Mike Watson)*

The butterfly is named after the Russian/American author Vladimir Nabokov (1899 – 1977), a fascinating character whose most famous work is the 1955 novel Lolita. It is hailed one of the greatest literary works of the 20th century but the subject is such a hot potato now! He was born of Russian nobility but moved gradually westwards, fleeing the Russian Revolution and then Hitler’s Germany, before settling in the United States and gaining citizenship in 1945. Nabokov was a true polymath and as well as an acclaimed author, he was also an accomplished entomologist and has several butterfly and moth species named after both him and his literary works! He wrote in three languages; Russian, English and French, gave boxing lessons and composed chess problems. He lectured at Cornell, (where one of his students was US Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg). He was mostly concerned with studying blue butterflies and genetic research later supported his hypothesis that the Polyommatus blues came to the Americas over the Bering Strait in five waves, eventually reaching Chile. I was fascinated to read that Nabokov did not learn to drive, he got his wife Véra to drive him around in search of butterflies and in 1967, he commented ‘The pleasures and rewards of literary inspiration are nothing beside the rapture of discovering a new organ under the microscope or an undescribed species on a mountainside in Iran or Peru. It is not improbable that had there been no revolution in Russia, I would have devoted myself entirely to lepidopterology and never written any novels at all.’ Interestingly ‘his’ satyr was first described in 1867 and the use of his name stems from the description of its subspecies named nabokovi in his honour by Lee D. Miller in 1974, from none other than Ramsey Canyon, Arizona (!). The epithet Nabokov’s was later adopted as the common name for the larger species. I hope it does not get cancelled, as is the current Cornell habit with birds. We would surely end up with some hopeless anodyne alternative.

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BLOG

LONG-TAILED BLUE

SUFFOLK AND FAMILIAR FACES

BUTTERFLIES MOVING NORTH

BALKAN CLOUDED YELLOW

MACEDONIAN GRAYLING

NABOKOV'S SATYR