The Last Flight

So, I don't know much about moths, other than they have fuzzy antennae and tend to hold their wings flat when they're not in flight. I also know that I wish I knew more about them.

On my first backpacking trip in the Santa Rosa-Paradise Peak Wilderness Area this summer I saw a lot of moths. Actually, I saw a lot dead moths. Where I camped both nights there were a bunch of white dead moths scattered all over the ground and, as I was setting up camp, I noticed white moths fluttering madly around the area. They were old, their wings were battered and torn and they were putting all of their energy into what I termed "the last flight." I don't know, do moths turn white before they die, because these moths were white, almost unnaturally so--like they were living exoskeletons that had been bleached. They appeared to be fighting for every little bit of life they had left. I remember feeling a bit bad for watching them during this difficult part of their life. Now, I know that I'm projecting my human emotions onto them, but I felt like telling them "you are old now, just rest," but they all seemed determined to take their last flight, no matter how they struggled.

As I was pulling my stuff out of my backpack, I looked down and noticed a little, white moth at the base of an aspen tree. He was alive, calm, just resting.* It appeared that he knew it was his time and he was going to go peacefully without the struggle I had been witnessing from the rest. I ate dinner, read and went to bed pretty early. When I awoke the next morning my old moth friend was still there, still alive, but had moved to a piece of grass right next to where he was the previous evening. I went about my business making breakfast, getting my supplies together. I glanced over and saw that he too had started to madly flutter--though not flying, just beating his wings--which made me a bit sad. I said "stay calm old one, it'll be okay" and went back about my business. Right before I headed out I looked over at him and he was calm--*smile*.

My old friend

I had an amazing hike and saw a ton of wildflowers. When I returned to camp, I looked for my old friend, but he was gone, his body was there--on the ground below the aspen--but he had passed. His body, however, was already in the process of being disassembled. Ants were taking him apart and carrying his remains off to continue the circle life elsewhere. I was actually happy to see the ants taking him away. There were so many white moth corpses all over the ground, I'm glad his remains will be put to good use and not left to be kicked about by roaming cattle.

Goodbye dear friend.

Moving on

*I don't know if the moth was male or female, but to me, he came across as an old man.