Surprise

I was absent-mindedly stalking some tiny 22-spot ladybirds around the honeysuckle this morning, as they trundled about looking for the mildew on which they feed, when a comparatively huge something (12mm in length, as opposed to around 4mm for the ladybirds) swooped in and plonked itself on a leaf right next to me. I was amazed when I saw what it was, because honeysuckle sawflies are generally extremely nervous, and tend to dematerialise if you so much as breathe in their vicinity. This one though was very bold, sat completely still for me while I snapped away at it with the macro, and only edged underneath its leaf when the sky darkened and began to threaten rain.

I've tried for years to get an image I really liked of one of these extraordinary beasts, so today was my lucky day. This gifted photo opportunity was all the more unexpected because experience has led me to believe - despite the received wisdom that the honeysuckle sawfly season runs from March till June - that if I don't find one by the middle of April, I've lost my chance for the year. I'm more than happy that I'll now have to revise my mental invertebrate calendar.

Having bagged my bling fly I skipped off down the garden to see what else I could find, and two minutes later I was further blessed with the appearance of the first Large Red Damselfly of the season. At this point it had gone so dark that photography was all but impossible, but I didn't want to risk losing the damsel by leaving it to its own devices while I went off for a cup of tea, so I took a few record shots (with stratospherically high ISO), and then stood and waited for the light to improve. And waited. And waited. For three quarters of an hour.

The good news was that the damsel, though clearly worried about the attention he was getting, was too cold to fly away. The bad news was that I was shivering in my shirt sleeves, and my fleece and gilet were in the kitchen, forty metres away, with the tea bags and the kettle. "I think it's getting brighter," I said to the damselfly, squinting up at the monstrous crow hanging over the garden, and wiping a few stray raindrops off the camera. "I do. I truly think it's brightening up. Oh look - the ISO's down to 3200 now. Told you! Just a few more minutes and I think we'll be fine. Definitely brighter now. Look - blue sky! Not enough to make a sailor some trousers maybe, but surely enough for a cat? Yup - cats' trousers. Oh! 2500 now - we're getting closer!"

My second photo was taken in the five-minute window between the light becoming workable and the damselfly warming up enough to fly up to the top of the aucuba, where he didn't have to listen to the barmpot with the camera wittering on about ISO and cats' trousers. It's not a bad shot, if I does say so as shouldn't, and given the aggravation both the subject and I had to go through en route to me achieving it, and the fact that it marks the beginning of this year's Odonata season, I'm slightly surprised to find myself relegating it to the extras. But there will surely be plenty of other damselfly days, whereas I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to take a better photo of a honeysuckle sawfly than this one.