It started with caterpillars. There’s an Honesty plant in our garden, and it was crawling with Large White butterfly larvae. I took a few photos. Then I noticed something odd. That led to some research, a few more photos — and suddenly I was in the middle of a project.

An idyllic view of Nature. This was how it started.

As I looked around the plant, I noticed that some of the caterpillars were resting on this yellow, porridge like substance. That led to some research and I discovered that Large White caterpillars are often parasitised by braconid wasp larvae that emerge and spin these yellow cocoons. This caterpillar was even exhibiting protective behaviour: when I touched it with my finger it reared up like the shark in Jaws. More research — and I discovered this is known as the “bodyguard hypothesis”. The parasitised caterpillar is still alive: it’s defending the parasites that ate it. The wasp larvae somehow manipulate it into acting like a bodyguard for their cocoons. It’s horrifying, but also… weirdly clever. Like Nature’s equivalent of Stockholm syndrome.

That got me looking at more caterpillars to see if I could observe one where the wasp parasites were emerging. In the previous image, the parasitisation looks too peaceful. I wanted to show Nature with its gloves off. It took a while, but I found this one where the wasp larvae are emerging from the caterpillar's body.

Just to end this section on a happier note, some of the caterpillars do indeed manage to survive. This particular chrysalis was adhered to a window. A macro lens reveals that the chrysalis is full of texture, translucency and subtle markings.

I was getting drawn in so I decided to invest in a moth trap and see what else I could discover. On the first night, I was overwhelmed: I must have caught upwards of 150 moths and there were around 20 or so different species. I could only photograph a subset before letting them go.

One aspect of moths that interested me was mimicry (or more accurately, how they often masquerade as something other than a moth). I was gobsmacked when I discovered this Buff-tip moth. This isn’t camouflage in the usual sense. It’s masquerade: not hiding by blending in, but by pretending to be something else. A broken twig, in this case.

This is one of the most beautiful insects I've ever photographed. At rest, it looks just like a broken birch twig. The camouflage is astonishing. I just couldn’t stop admiring it.

This Coxcomb Prominent is another example of a moth masquerading as something else. Again, it looks like part of a snapped branch.

The Peppered Moth is quite literally a textbook example of natural selection. I placed this Peppered Moth on a nearby tree to photograph it. It may not look like it in this close-up photograph but the moth was very difficult to see against the bark, almost invisible.

This is another common moth — common but beautiful.

This moth with its paper-thin wings would be heralded if it flew in the daytime.

British moth names come from an era when gentlemen scientists named moths from behind a sherry glass, with a servant hovering nearby. You can almost imagine Lord Mothy McMothface in a drawing room with heavy curtains, thick with pattern, embroidered everything.

Identifying moths is an art unto itself. I now have two books and various web sites I use to try to identify them. At first I confused this Dark Arches with a Peppered Moth but once you look closely it’s much easier to see how they differ.

I carefully placed these moths onto this piece of bark. I’ve no idea if they would roost next to each other in the real world.

This cockchafer flew into the moth trap, so I decided to include him in my haul of interesting insects.

This beastie appeared when I was sweeping out my garage. As I had my camera set up prepared for macro photography, I decided to include him too.

One of the many characteristics I enjoy about photography is that it makes me notice: it makes me open my eyes to the world and discover new activities. For example, I was never much of a walker until I took up landscape photography — and now I enjoy hiking for its own sake. I suspect that a similar thing may happen with moths: what started as “that might make a good picture” is quickly becoming “these are fascinating in their own right.”

I can see a new project emerging from its chrysalis!