A gibbous moon hangs over a lonely mountain trail in the Italian Alps, above the village of Malles Venosta, whose lights dot the valley below. Benjamin Wiesmair stands next to a moth trap as tall as he is, his face, bushy beard, and hair bun lit by its purple glow. He’s wearing a headlamp, a dusty and battered smartwatch, cargo shorts, and a blue zip sweater with the sleeves pulled up. Countless moths beat frenetically around the trap’s white, diaphanous panels, which are swaying with gho...
