Last time I got my head above water enough to post something up here, I mentioned stalking butterflies as a current, unsatisfying obsession. At the time, this was included to build a feeble case about the inexorable cycles of nature, blah blah. But we all know this was just a thin and ineffective balm for the irritation of not being able to get the little buggers to sit and pose for me.

Well, I’m here to tell you that things haven’t changed. Oh sure, we’re inundated with the world’s least interesting butterfly, the cabbage white – especially hanging around our broccoli plants like they don’t even know their own name. I’ve captured them in flight, perching against various backgrounds, and so on. I’ve even immortalised one of their rather disgusting caterpillars. All in all, they present no challenge and hold little to no mystery. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, but with wings.

I’m after more exotic fare. And they’re around – every now and then I’ll see a tantalisingly dark shape fluttering across the garden and spring into action, ludicrous telephoto lens at the ready. But whether it’s a Painted Lady or a Monarch or even (be still my heart) a Plain Tiger, the big issue here is that they just keep flying. They won’t stop; they won’t settle in a nice picturesque fashion for my seeking lens. It’s like shooting fish in a very big murky lake.

I thought it may have been because I slaughtered the Paterson’s curse and various other weeds in that recent orgy of electrically powered mowing and strimming (or whippersnipping, which is still hard to write without cringing). But the weeds, being what they are, are making a determined comeback, and still the lepidoptera keep winging over the garden like it’s been signposted as a radioactive waste-dumping site.

So being proactive and resourceful, and possessed of very competitive internet connection speeds, it was to the Google to find out what might induce the rarer and more lovely examples to hang about long enough to be artistically frozen and displayed on this site. Or to put it another way, there was too much randomness in the situation, so a way of asserting some control was needed.

The first tip (and the least labour-intensive) was to put out some mashed-up bits of fruit which, after a few days, would exude the sweet, syrupy perfume that tickles the butterflies’ taste buds, drawing them in flocks with their curly tongues hanging out. The ideal location was available: a weathered block of stone, presumably left over from the construction of Corner Cottage, standing on end near the bottom of the garden. Soon it was anointed with a quarter of a banana, gently squished, and a couple of split grapes for variety and colour.

The big flaw in this scheme was that it takes a few days’ ripening in the hot sun before the fruit is in a state to interest the prey. And the possum that lives in the nearby tree makes nightly forays about the grounds for sustenance really likes fruit. So long story short, no joy.

Then, on one of those websites for children – the equivalent of Ladybird books of my generation’s youth – outlined a simple butterfly feeder. It’s laughably simple. A small bottle filled with 1:10 sugar syrup, suspended upside down with a foam rubber ‘wick’ to channel that glucosy goodness to the proboscises (probosces?) of the fluttering masses, and bedecked with bright colours to attract them. (The website suggested coloured craft paper flowers, but who without toddlers has craft paper lying around?) The foam rubber came from Archie’s doggie bed ‘mattress’, which he helpfully ripped to shreds yesterday – more proof, if it were needed, of his genius, as he clearly anticipated my needs.

It was the work of minutes to create the feeder and its filling (largely because I didn’t  have to ask my mommy or daddy to make the hole in the lid). A likely location (nice light, neutral backgrounds, bushes for the lurking photographer) was selected, and a bent fence post I’d found driven with gusto into the ground. Having no craft paper, I harnessed the hues of nature in the form of dandelion flowers and the blooms of the capeweed, artistically arranged in a kind of yellow floral tiara about the sticky brow of the bottle.

How could any gourmet butterfly or moth resist such a compelling repast? Well I think you know what’s coming. Seems they can resist pretty damn easily. The cabbage whites are still hanging about in depressing numbers, but nothing – not even that white trash – was remotely attracted to the feeder. And just as I went out to verify this, a very large and beautiful Monarch went winging past me and over the house without so much as a g’day. It’s beyond a joke.

It could be the location; or the yellow flowers; or perhaps using foam rubber instead of sponge imparts the wrong aroma to sugar water. And hell, maybe it’s just not the season for butterflies to be feasting, but whatever, the bottle hangs forlorn with its crown of flowers wilting rapidly, unhassled by the quarry it was cunningly conceived to lure. Or maybe they’re smarter than I give them credit for and they know the signs of an ambush when they see them.

Those readers seeing a possible parallels with the bird-feeder saga are of course spot-on. And I’m too grumpy with the whole shooting match to try to draw comforting conclusions from this debacle. No – it’s not about having brightly-coloured craft paper to hand for every occasion; nor is it about love being like a butterfly, no matter what Dolly Parton may allege. Right now it’s just about frustration at those pea-brained insects outsmarting me – which you’ll have to agree, isn’t very flattering.