Watching Washington Butterflies with Bob Pyle: Number Forty-three, Part 1

Wop
Wop, wop, wop wop, adada dada) (Wop Wop, wop, wop wop, adada dada) (Wop Wop, wop-, wop wop, adada dada) (Wop Wop, wop-, wop wop, adada dada) (Shout
Shout, knock, yourself out) (Come On yell, yell, loud, and swell) (You
Gotta scream, scream, you, know what I mean) (Put Another dime in the record machine) Hey
We're, havin' a party now it's just begun We're All over here and havin' fun Joe's
All alone and he wants to be kissed While Mary's in the corner and she's doin' the twist So
Let's (Shout, Shout, knock, yourself out) (Come On yell, yell, loud, and swell) (You
Gotta scream, scream, you, know what I mean) (Put Another dime in the record machine) Hey

Whether you remember this snappy doo-wop song or not, or even record machines that took dimes, you probably re- call actual records, as opposed to tapes, CDs, and iTunes. In fact, real records-vinyl LPs and EPs, if not singles-are making a big comeback (see butterflylaunch.com for an example, shameless self-advert dept.). This is because many people appreciate the real thing, and many aficionados believe that direct-cut records give a purer, cleaner, warmer sound than digital.

So what has this to do with butterflies? Just this: as much as we treasure our personal encounters with individual butterflies, moths, and other organisms, and the photographs we may obtain and share, these make up only a part of the value of the experience. From a scientific, intellectual, conservation, and overall satisfaction standpoint, any biological observation may be vastly enhanced if a proper record is kept of it. And even more so, when those records are reported to the right place to do some good.

I know I’ve said much the same before, but it is worth repeating and enlarging upon, as I fear not everyone in our community fully appreciates the power they have-and, I would add, responsibility-to help expand our collective picture of our butterflies’ whereabouts in both time and space. Everything we can add to our overall wisdom will likewise expand our ability to maintain a rich natural heritage of butterflies, and to enjoy them. And the basis of this wisdom is the lowly record.

So, what do we mean when we say “record?” Well, think about the phonograph record: and what it does. By cutting a distinctive pattern of grooves into a receptive vinyl base, as the music and words are delivered up live, the recordist manages to preserve modulations, nuances, and the overall auditory experience of the performance. This can now be reproduced ad infinitum, shared, listened to, danced to, and broadcast, every doo-wop-doo and sha-na-na-na. In other words, the experience is not lost, no matter how ephemeral. In our case, we are talking about the experience of encountering a particular butterfly in a particular place-not a different one somewhere else, not approximately, but that one, exactly there. And what could be more evanescent than a butterfly’s visit? Like a song caught on vinyl, that momentary lilt of a butterfly on a breeze or a flower need not be lost to the ages, if a proper record is kept.

The great lepidopterist-poet Vladimir Nabokov was always concerned throughout his life with reconciling art and science, and walking the “high ridge” where they meet. In a very real sense, we do this every time we bring back from the field a butterfly record. We combine the poetry of the sighting with the science of the record to make something new: a fresh quantum of human knowledge, never before recorded just like this. In other words, we have captured a DATUM (plural,

DATA). We have no way of knowing how our data may influence future studies, understanding, management, or any other extension of field research. But we can say this for sure: absent those data, no such understanding, etc., would be possible. For example: Dr. Paul Hammond and I recently reviewed the systematics and biogeography of the Mariposa Copper (Lycaena mariposa) through its large western range. This study, based on more than six thousand records and their traits, enabled us to conservatively describe nine new subspecies of these coppers, to propose hypotheses for their origins, and to make informed recommendations for their conservation.

Supposing we agree on their utility and intrinsic value, then, what constitutes an acceptable record, and how may we go about keeping and lodging them in the appropriate places? Good questions! It used to be that butterfly records came primarily from the pin labels on specimens, without which they would be mere curios. Responsible, scientific collecting has always meant affixing a label to the pin beneath the specimen giving the basic details of its provenance. It is these data labels, as much as the insects themselves, that enable and ennoble private collections to become the backbone of the great museum collections upon which our field guides, atlases, checklists, and conservation plans are all dependent. Nowadays, as catching grows rare in favor of watching and photography, there are fewer and fewer pin labels to consult for new records of occurrence under modern environmental conditions. This places a great onus on the nonconsumptive butterflier to become a sound record-keeper as well.

Here, then, are the basic elements of an acceptable field record;

1. State and county, followed by the precise locality at which the butterfly was encountered.
2. The exact date of the encounter, given as day/month/year.
3. The name of the person responsible for the record.
4. The voucher: traditionally a specimen, but these days more commonly a good, recognizable photograph; or in the absence of a photo, clear notes of observed, diagnostic field marks.
5. Any additional field notes.

In Part Two of this essay, next issue, we will consider how records might best be kept, stored, and shared, and how their proper care and feeding will enrich our butterfly knowledge and numbers in the challenging years ahead.

G’num2021Vol22No1