Common Lime

Papilionidae; Papilioninae; Papilionini; Papilio demoleus demoleus Linnaeus 1758. On several occasions, I have attempted (without success) to take pictures of a Common Lime eclosing from its cocoon. Of course, it would be unrealistic to try and emulate the wonderful work presented by professionals on National Geographic. However, that doesn't mean that we amateurs cannot try to achieve something along those lines, in a more modest way. So, I decided to have another try. I searched around our garden and back yard until I found a likely candidate, a late instar P. d. demoleus larva on a Citrus sp. sapling in a plant pot. I needed one on a pot plant so that I could bring it indoors. In the rainy season here in Philippines, it would be impossible outdoors. The preparations were easy enough. I placed the plant pot (complete with larva) on a coffee table in our sitting room and put my camera on its tripod, a few feet from the little table. I adjusted the camera settings to suit what I was trying to achieve and finally placed a chair for me beside the the tripod. Now it was going to be easy enough. All I had to do was wait for the butterfly to pop its head out and start taking pictures as it slowly dragged its body out of the cocoon. What could be difficult about that? The answer to my rhetorical question is "Everything is difficult about that!" How can you keep any eye on something, in this case a cocoon, which just sits their doing nothing (i.e. nothing that can be seen) for 11 days. The first problem was that I only have one camera and it is always busy getting pictures for Project Noah. So, having set it all up, I had to remove the camera and make it available for everyday use. But I still had to check back from time to time on the cocoon. I knew that there would be little or nothing to see for around 11 days, but I just felt that, having embarked on this crazy scheme, I should at least keep an eye on it. To cut to the chase, nothing happened until this morning (the start of the10th. day). I was making a pot of coffee at around 5.00 am, as usual, and I decided to take a quick glance at the cocoon, knowing that there would be nothing to see until at least tomorrow. That is when everything changed from a calm, well organised plan to an urgent state of chaos. The skin of the cocoon had become quite transparent and the butterfly would be emerging at any moment. After a mad scramble setting up the camera on the tripod again, making sure it had a fully charged battery and checking the focus and settings, I took my seat at the tripod and waited for the big moment. I did not want to take my eyes off the cocoon for a second. I missed the eclosion on previous attempts and I was determined not to miss it this time. My wife kept me well supplied with coffee over the next one and a half hours during which absolutely nothing happened. Then, there it was, I noticed a slight movement and put my finger on the camera button, but the butterfly did not "pop his head out and then drag his body out" (I had counted on getting three or four pictures of that). What happened was astonishing. The top section of the cocoon flipped open and the butterfly shot out like a "jack-in -the-box" and then took its time to inflate its wings and have a rest for a couple of hours before flying away through the wide open door. When I squeeze the button on my camera, there is a short delay (about one half of a second) for the flash to charge, before a picture can be taken. In that half second, I missed the eclosion, but my second and third photos show the "lid" of the cocoon still resting on the butterfly's abdomen. So. not perfect, but I can live with it.