Where tin-rich mud was once dredged, gems now flutter and jet-black beetles burrow, but something is not right and these jewels are in peril.
Goss Moor is part of the largest mire complex in south-west England, with lakes, peaty bogs, fen areas, lots of sallow scrub and the meanderings of the headwaters of the River Fal. There is an abundance of natural beauty – tall, white, common valerian in the fens, magnificent royal ferns around the bogs and lakes, and gnarled sallow bushes, dripping pastel green lichens.
The Fal here is just a big fast-flowing stream. In sheltered spots beautiful demoiselles rest on the vegetation, until, at some unknown signal, the males all launch into an entrancing dance, wings and bodies sparking metallic green and blue in the sunlight. Then through the weaving and chasing sylphs scythes a big gold-ringed dragonfly with a clatter of cellophane wings.
Silver-washed fritillaries with huge orange wings swoop and glide around the brambles; bees buzz, wasps hunt, and swimming dung beetles (Sphaeridium) plunge through the cow pats. Next to a pitted pat is a unicolorous clown beetle – a flattened, shiny-black beetle the size of your fingernail, with short, rectangular wing cases like a tight waistcoat. The clown epithet is perplexing; the Latin base of the scientific name (Hister unicolor) means acting, as in histrionics – perhaps there is a link to the beetles’ tendency to play dead? Or do their flared legs resemble pantaloons? Although these were worn by 19th-century clowns, not the harlequins of the 18th century when these beetles were named.
There is nothing funny about the state of Goss Moor. When last surveyed, its ecology was “unfavourable” and declining, and despite the investment of £1.2m (half via the EU), it still does not look right – too much scrub and not enough water. Efforts continue, including intensive management to try to retain or return the rare marsh fritillary butterflies. At one time 1% of the remaining European population lived on the moor, but the electric fences now ringing and shielding their devil’s-bit scabious food plants epitomise the butterfly’s perilous status on the edge of extinction.
