After a few days of sunny sweetness, the temperature has taken a dip. It is early July, and above me is a classic East Anglian sky – blustery, and covered by grey cumuli. This is not ideal weather for dragonfly spotting, which is what brings me to Wicken Fen, a wetlands nature reserve in Cambridgeshire and one of Britain’s few remaining areas of unspoilt fenland.
“The wind is less of a problem than the cold,” says Henry Curry, secretary of the British Dragonfly Society. “With their small volume-to-surface ratio, most dragonfly species are very sensitive to external temperature changes.”
Curry is one of the many volunteers involved in the Dragonfly Project, which since 2002 has been educating the public about dragonflies’ peculiarities. It recently opened a Dragonfly Centre at Wicken Fen, from which it runs regular dragonfly safaris on weekends.
With more than 8,000 plant and animal species recorded, Wicken is one of Britain’s most biologically diverse nature reserves. Some 1,500 types of beetles have made it their habitat; it is also home to 2,000 species of flying insects (excluding butterflies and moths).
These unique sedge fens are perfect for dragonflies, Curry explains, as we bend over a ditch teeming with whirligigs and water skaters. Dragonflies are aquatic in their larval state. Although a dragonfly’s adult life typically lasts no longer than two months, their larvae usually live underwater anywhere from two to seven years.
Of the 40 species known to live in the UK, 22 can be found at Wicken. I remember past visits to Wicken Fen when the warmer weather had coaxed more dragonflies than I could count off their perches. Today, however, there is scant evidence of dragonfly activity. No nymphs in the ponds, no moulted larval exoskeletons on the reeds, and no adults skimming or darting or chasing. Curry tells me about a display board visitors might occasionally find outside the reserve. Its heading reads: “Why can’t I see any dragonflies?”
Curry, an IT project manager, has been a dragonfly enthusiast for 25 years. His interest began when he first ventured into wildlife photography. “While trying to photograph dragonflies, I was knocked over by their flight abilities. They are marvels of natural engineering. I began observing them more closely. They’re beautiful. Each wing is like a stained-glass window.” He has seen almost all the British species, but has yet to spot the elusive Azure Hawker, which only lives in Scotland. “It’s always too rainy.”
We are beginning to lose hope. The display board might have to go up again today. “Last weekend we saw 12 different species,” Curry tells me, apologetic. I, too, am disappointed, although the ramble and the conversation have been quite pleasant. Just then, as we walk over a narrow dyke, Curry shouts out: “Damselflies!”
One floats delicately over a lily pad. Its head and lower abdomen are electric blue. It is like a jewel in flight. “That’s a blue-tailed damselfly,” Curry tells me. Damselflies are smaller members of the dragonfly family. When perched, their wings fold back over their abdomen – unlike dragonflies, whose wings jut out perpendicularly, even at rest. Damselflies’ compound eyes stick out on the sides of their heads, while dragonflies’ eyes bulge out at the front. Soon other species hover daintily into view. Curry points them out as Azure and Variable damselflies. Things are looking up.
Curry suggests we amble over to the pools used by children for pond-dipping. Dragonflies thrive on the mix of clear water, oxygenating aquatic plants and emerging vegetation. But here, too, they seem to have taken a day off. Hiding our frustration, we entertain ourselves with the strange spectacle of a water-snail swimming.
Our dragonfly safari is coming to an unsatisfactory end when a flying critter buzzes out of the reeds and into sight, before flying away and back again. It’s the biggest dragonfly I’ve ever seen – perhaps the length of my hand-span. It hovers tantalisingly close, suspended in mid-air, then shoots vertically up into the trees, flies around them and returns. It darts at me, stops a few inches from my face, and then reverses. It seems to be examining me, taunting me. If this were a larger animal, I’d feel very threatened.
“A Southern Hawker,” Curry says, a note of excitement in his voice, “and it’s showing classic behaviour.” The British Dragonfly Society’s webpage describes the Southern Hawker as an “inquisitive” species, most often seen individually, which “may fly quite close to investigate observers”. This extraordinary display goes on for a few minutes, until – contrary to our expectations – it lands on some nearby reeds. “It’s posing for us,” says Curry.
We are now able to appreciate its characteristic paired yellow spots. It is a male, as is apparent from its slightly constricted abdomen and the claspers on the tip of its tail, which it uses to attach itself to females. We approach cautiously. Its wings shudder, shimmering in the weak sunlight. “That’s called wing-whirring,” says Curry. “It’s warming up its wing muscles in case it needs to take off suddenly.”
I am fascinated by the dragonflies’ flight control mechanisms. They have eight abdominal muscles, Curry explains, which they use to move each of their four wings independently. They can fly in ways that are inconceivable for any other animal. Southern Hawkers can fly for as long as an hour without resting. Ours gives a final whirr, and shoots off.
But other dragonflies are finally coming out of the woodwork. A trio of damselflies is skimming over one of the dipping pools, their light bodies not even breaking the surface tension. To close the proceedings, Curry spots a Common Darter high up among the willow branches, doing what its name suggests it should do.
On a day when it seemed none would be appearing, we’ve seen five dragonfly species in action. Not the most spectacular of shows, admittedly, but the close encounter with the Southern Hawker alone was well worth the trip. I thank Curry and leave, determined to return on a sunnier day, and feeling that I may have just developed a new lifelong enthusiasm.
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The details
Dragonfly safaris will be held at Wicken Fen on weekends until August 31, www.wicken.org.uk; www.dragonflyproject.org.uk; www.dragonflysoc.org.uk