The stag beetle ricocheted off the branches of a horse chestnut tree and bounced on the pavement in front of me like an unseasonably early conker. It came to rest upside down on the grass verge, flailing its barbed legs as it desperately tried to right itself.
Crouching down, I proffered my forefinger and the beetle immediately clung to my skin with the anchor-shaped hooks at the end of its legs. Gently flipping it over, I was able to admire the burnished mahogany wing cases and glossy chestnut-brown mandibles. It was an impressive male at least 7cm in length, a third of which consisted of his enormous antler-like mouthparts. I had read that the male's mandibles cannot be closed with any force and that it is only the smaller-jawed female that is capable of nipping, but this proved to be unfounded. As soon as I righted the beetle he crept up my palm and pincered the soft flesh between my forefinger and thumb, drawing blood.
Although the stag beetle is Britain's largest and best-known beetle, they have a limited distribution – being found primarily in south and southeastern England – and are increasingly rare. I consider myself lucky to encounter a single individual each year, so, having relocated the rescued beetle to a nearby woodpile, it was bittersweet to come across four more heavily armoured individuals, all of which lay dead or dying on the pavement like fallen soldiers.
Although both sexes usually expire soon after mating, I suspected these beetles had not died from natural causes. Much is written about the impact of habitat loss on the species but road traffic is also a threat. It had been a still and humid night, perfect weather for the beetles to take wing in search of a mate, but the draw of car headlights had led them in lumbering flight directly into the path of oncoming vehicles.