This post’s lead picture feels something like the humane equivalent of a hunting trophy. Nowhere near the standard of dragonfly images I usually seek to attain, it represents the outcome of a lot of effort, frustration and perseverance over three years. I first visited this fascinating location in 2023 (see here), my main interest then as now being to track down Yellow-Spotted and Lilypad Whiteface dragonflies.

La photo principale de ce post ressemble en quelque sorte à l’équivalent humain d’un trophée de chasse. Elle n’atteint pas du tout le niveau des images de libellules que je cherche habituellement à obtenir, mais elle représente le résultat de beaucoup d’efforts, de frustrations et de persévérance sur trois ans. J’ai visité cet endroit fascinant pour la première fois en 2023, mon principal intérêt alors et maintenant étant de retrouver les libellules Leucorrhine à gros thorax et Leucorrhine à large queue.

Attributing my failure then to lack of dry viewing points around the bog pool habitat, I resolved to come back with angling waders and so acquired a cheap and cheerful pair. But dragonfly hunting requires jumping on a plane at short notice if the weather is right, and last year the very low Ryanair walk-on fare from Stansted to Poitiers increased five-fold in the days leading up to the departure. This year I decided I was willing to lose that £45 if needs be and booked early, then when decision time came a suitable weather window indeed beckoned. The waders fitted neatly into an under seat bag and I travelled light with just a second cabin bag.

Attribuant mon échec à un manque de points de vue secs autour de l’habitat de la mare tourbeuse, j’ai décidé de revenir avec des cuissardes de pêche et j’en ai donc acquis une paire bon marché et joyeuse. Mais la chasse aux libellules nécessite de prendre un avion à la dernière minute si le temps est clément, et l’année dernière, le tarif très bas de Ryanair pour un passage à Stansted vers Poitiers a augmenté cinq fois dans les jours précédant le départ. Cette année, j’ai décidé que j’étais prêt à perdre ces 45 £ si besoin et j’ai réservé tôt, puis, lorsque le moment de la décision est venu, une fenêtre météo adéquate se profilait effectivement. Les cuissardes rentraient parfaitement dans un bagage sous le siège et j’ai voyagé léger avec juste un deuxième bagage à main.

The 142 ha (350 acre) peat bog of Réserve Naturelle Nationale du Pinail (see here and here) contains more than 3000 water-filled hollows formed by past quarrying (pictured below). It is a known annual location for the twin lifers I wished to observe, those being outlier populations of species that mostly occur further north and east in mainland Europe and as far as Siberia. On Wednesday (25th) I made two circuits of the visitor trail, taking two and a half hours over the first of those in the morning. The angling waders proved not to be necessary, since I was able to look closely over numerous pools. I must assume a lot of habitat management work has been done here to open things up during the interval since my first visit.

La tourbière de 142 ha de la Réserve Naturelle Nationale du Pinail (voir ici et ici) contient plus de 3000 dépressions remplies d’eau formées par l’exploitation passée (illustré ci-dessous). C’est un lieu annuel connu pour les espèces jumelles que je souhaitais observer, à savoir des populations atypiques d’espèces qui se trouvent principalement plus au nord et à l’est en Europe continentale et jusqu’en Sibérie. Mercredi (25), j’ai effectué deux circuits du sentier des visiteurs, prenant deux heures et demie pour le premier d’entre eux le matin. Les cuissardes de pêche se sont avérées inutiles, puisque j’ai pu examiner de près de nombreux étangs. Je dois supposer qu’un grand nombre de travaux de gestion des habitats ont été réalisés ici pour ouvrir l’espace depuis ma première visite.

Pinail NNR / Les landes et des mares du Pinail © Roland Raimond 2020

Most pools had one or more Blue Emperor, a few held (presumably Downy) Emeralds that as ever didn’t perch, Four-spotted Chaser announced themselves at intervals, and Broad Scarlet (or Scarlet Darter) flew out regularly from the marginal vegetation. Common and Ruddy Darter, Large Red and various blue damsels were all present, and a single male Migrant Spreadwing (or Southern Emerald Damselfly) was a more unusual find. But of my twin quest there was no sign. With 3000 pools to select from, just where should the visitor start to look? The answer probably is as many as possible.

La plupart des bassins avaient un ou plusieurs Anax empereurs, quelques-uns abritaient des Émeraudes (presque certainement velue) qui, comme d’habitude, ne se posaient pas, des Libellules à quatre taches se manifestaient par intervalles, et la Libellule écarlate sortait régulièrement de la végétation marginale. Un seul mâle Leste sauvage était une découverte plus inhabituelle. Mais il n’y avait aucun signe de ma quête jumelle. Avec 3000 bassins à sélectionner, par où le visiteur devrait-il commencer à chercher? La réponse est probablement le plus possible.

Four-spotted Chaser / Libellule à quatre taches, Broad Scarlet / Crocothémis écarlate, and Migrant Spreadwing / Leste sauvage

In the afternoon my energy and enthusiasm waned in the 35 degree heat, and I was less thorough on the second circuit. The Emeralds were all keeping in cover now, leaving the numerous Emperors to reign supreme, while the vivid red sentinels of the pool margins still stood out. So if those Scarlets were active, why not the Whitefaces? The feeling grew in me that the best chance of success might come earlier as the day warms up.

Dans l’après-midi, mon énergie et mon enthousiasme ont diminué sous la chaleur de 35 degrés, et j’étais moins minutieux lors du deuxième circuit. Les Émeraudes se mettaient toutes à l’abri maintenant, laissant les nombreux Empereurs régner en maître, tandis que les vifs sentinelles rouges des marges de la mare se démarquaient encore. Alors, si ces Écarlates étaient actifs, pourquoi pas les Leucorrhines? Le sentiment grandissait en moi que la meilleure chance de succès pourrait venir plus tôt, à mesure que la journée se réchauffe.

Hence I returned at 8am on Friday (27th), after an intervening day butterflying at a woodland location in La Brenne Parc Regional. Now luck was with me as a film crew were meeting with two rangers in the car park. It always helps considerably to engage with suitably informed and willing rangers, and one of these explained that the Whiteface flight season is now nearly over. That is earlier at Pinail than other more northerly sites, but she gave me the exact location where a YSW had been seen a day earlier.

Ainsi, je suis revenu à 8h le vendredi (27), après une journée d’observation des papillons dans un bois à La Brenne Parc Régional. Par chance, une équipe de tournage se rencontrait avec deux rangers dans le parking. Il est toujours très utile de discuter avec des rangers informés et disposés, et l’un d’eux a expliqué que la saison de vol des Leucorrhines est presque terminée. Cela arrive plus tôt à Pinail que dans d’autres sites plus au nord, mais elle m’a donné l’emplacement exact où un YSW avait été aperçu un jour plus tôt.

Now I went to l’Aire d’animation (pictured above), a short distance anti-clockwise along the circular trail from it’s start point, and waited for the sun. At 9:15 two male dragonflies suddenly flew out and jousted territorially around the pool in front of me. One of them looked unusual, and indeed it was the white face of my quest that was attracting my notice. The second antagonist was a Four-spotted Chaser, and unusually where the bullying latter are concerned my Yellow-spotted Whiteface won, the opponent keeping a lower profile thereafter.

Maintenant, je suis allé à l’Aire d’animation, à une courte distance dans le sens inverse des aiguilles d’une montre le long du sentier circulaire depuis son point de départ, et j’ai attendu le soleil. À 9h15, deux libellules mâles ont soudainement volé et se sont affrontées territorialement autour de la piscine devant moi. L’une d’elles avait l’air inhabituelle, et en effet, c’était le visage blanc de ma quête qui attirait mon attention. Le deuxième antagoniste était un Mésange à quatre taches, et de manière inhabituelle, en ce qui concerne le harcèlement, mon Leucorrhine à gros thorax a gagné, l’adversaire gardant ensuite un profil plus bas.

Once the contest was settled the victor perched for a while quite near to where I was standing with the sun behind me, though not close enough for a clearer lead picture. After that it kept to the far end of the pool, largely concealed for much of the time. The film crew and rangers walked past again and one of them picked out the YSW looking straight at us (below). By 10am cloud set in once more and I decided to move on.

Une fois le concours terminé, le vainqueur s’est perché pendant un moment assez près de l’endroit où je me tenais avec le soleil derrière moi, bien qu’il ne soit pas assez près pour une image de tête plus claire. Après cela, il est resté à l’autre bout de la piscine, largement dissimulé pendant la majeure partie du temps. L’équipe de tournage et les rangers sont passés à nouveau et l’un d’eux a repéré le YSW nous regardant droit dans les yeux (ci-dessous). Vers 10 heures, les nuages se sont à nouveau installés et j’ai décidé de passer à autre chose.

This is the largest of five Whiteface species occurring in Europe, at 32 – 39mm long with a wingspan of 60 – 70 mm. The prominent yellow spot that gives the species its name is on the seventh abdominal segment. It is found in boundary moorland areas, transition bogs and forested moors. Populations are usually small, localised and difficult to observe in the field. Reproduction requires moderately acidic and low to moderately nutrient-rich waters with pondweed and water lilies, as at this particular Pinail pond. There have only ever been three records from the British Isles.

C’est la plus grande des cinq espèces de Leucorrhine présentes en Europe, mesurant de 32 à 39 mm de long avec une envergure de 60 à 70 mm. La tache jaune qui donne son nom à l’espèce se trouve sur le septième segment abdominal. Elle se rencontre dans les zones de landes frontalières, les tourbières de transition et les landes boisées. Les populations sont généralement petites, localisées et difficiles à observer sur le terrain. La reproduction nécessite des eaux modérément acides et pauvres à modérément riches en nutriments, avec des plantes aquatiques et des nénuphars, comme dans ce particular étang de Pinail. Il n’y a eu que trois observations provenant des îles britanniques.

Large Chequered Skipper / le Miroir (fem)

Where butterflies were concerned, the highlight of the two days was a trail-side encounter with a female Large Chequered Skipper (pictured above), the species being something of a Pinail specialty that was a lifer for me here two years ago. This time the heat seemed to be slowing the flight pattern of several individuals I crossed paths with. Those observed in 2023 had all been bouncing around as if pogo-sticking on invisible threads of elastic. To a non-butterfly enthusiast this LBJ may not seem especially exciting, at least when viewed from above, but as she warmed up in the early morning my individual yielded personal first open-winged, top side studies. Other species that caught my attention at random while searching for the Whitefaces are presented in the next sequence.

En ce qui concerne les papillons, le point culminant des deux jours a été une rencontre en bordure de sentier avec une femelle Miroir (voir ci-dessus), l’espèce étant quelque peu une spécialité des Pinails et c’était un premier pour moi ici il y a deux ans. Cette fois, la chaleur semblait ralentir le rythme de vol de plusieurs individus que j’ai croisés. Ceux observés en 2023 avaient tous rebondi comme s’ils faisaient du pogo sur des fils élastiques invisibles. Pour un non-enthousiaste des papillons, ce peut ne pas sembler particulièrement excitant, du moins vu d’en haut, mais alors qu’elle se réchauffait tôt le matin, mon individu a fourni des études personnelles en première instance sur ses ailes ouvertes, côté supérieur. D’autres espèces qui ont attiré mon attention au hasard en cherchant les Leucorrhines sont présentées dans la séquence suivante.

De la gauche: le Céphale / le Blanc-verdâtre / Tircis (aegeira)

Now I may have to do this all over again, earlier in another year if I can take more punishment, for Lilypad and hopefully more Yellow-spotted Whitefaces of both genders. This has been a very difficult task through three visits, and I have yet to read of anyone or any tour group that things were easier for. I also appreciate I would not have made an initial conversion without the ranger’s assistance. She told me of one regular visitor to the reserve who has yet to connect after multiple attempts. The programme being filmed here will air on French regional TV, and may even contain footage of yours truly scanning the pool with my binoculars.

Maintenant, je devrais peut-être tout recommencer, plus tôt dans une autre année si je peux supporter plus de punition, pour Lilypad et j’espère d’autres Blanches à taches jaunes des deux sexes. Cela a été une tâche très difficile à travers trois visites, et je n’ai pas encore lu sur quelqu’un ou un groupe de tourisme pour qui cela aurait été plus facile. J’apprécie également que je n’aurais pas fait de conversion initiale sans l’assistance du ranger. Elle m’a parlé d’un visiteur régulier de la réserve qui n’a pas encore fait de connexion après plusieurs tentatives. L’émission qui est filmée ici sera diffusée à la télévision régionale française et pourrait même contenir des images de moi scrutant la piscine avec mes jumelles.

NB: As usual when describing Odonata, I have referred to species herein by standard international names, with British Dragonfly Society equivalents in parentheses / Comme d’habitude lors de la description des Odonates, je me suis référé aux espèces ici par leurs noms internationaux standards, avec les équivalents de la British Dragonfly Society entre parenthèses.

At this time of year evolved Orchid experiences just keep on coming. When I learned of an opportunity to visit the first of this post’s subjects, led as a personal initiative by one Hardy Orchid Society member, I enrolled then interested Adam in coming with me. The proposed agenda would also allow us to record one of the rarest of all British Orchid forms at a nearby location, the prospect of which appealed to me greatly. Our would be guide fell ill but there was no reason not to fulfill the mission under our own steam, since the first site is open to the public at select times and the second is generally accessible.

The provenance of Tongue Orchid (genus Serapias) nationally is subject to conjecture, since there is no certainty that any of three known colonies are genuinely wild. Those are at today’s location in Suffolk, a second near Colchester in Essex and reportedly a City of London rooftop garden. This group of plants (see here) is native to Mediterranean Europe from the Iberian peninsula, through France, Italy and the Aegean region to Turkey. There are several species and more sub-species, so hybridisation is commonplace.

In 2021 a specimen was found within the site featured herein that was at first assumed to have been planted. But after ongoing assessment by eminent botanists and Kew Gardens, by 2023 it became accepted that was unlikely since it grows on private land with limited public access, though it remains unknown where the now three stems could have originated from. A conspiracy theory that someone must have sneaked in out of hours and planted the original item has been dismissed.

One Tongue Orchid stem had gone over, but the second was in pristine condition (pictured below) with a very small third stem alongside it. My understanding is these particular plants are cited as Serapias bergonii (see here), for which there appears to be more than one common name if indeed consensus has been reached. I will not go into the detail. Each stem can grow to 50cm, along which are up to 12 streaked, deep red bracts containing the lax flowers of varying tone. Those are hairy in the centre with lips up to 30mm. At the time of our visit it was only possible to take pictures looking into the sun, but that is how the plant was experienced.

We were now conveniently placed to observe the critically endangered var ochroleuca form of Early Marsh Orchid (Dactylorhiza incarnata). In this area of northern Suffolk a network of remnant valley fens survives, preserving a habitat that has long been lost more widely to modern agriculture. Amongst these, that I cannot disclose herein, is one of just two remaining sites for our day’s second quest. As soon as I researched this great rarity, it was something I just had to see. Equipped with a GPS from our original source, we located nine plants here that were all in immaculate condition, in a spiritually uplifting, spring-fed landscape from a long-past age that as so often when Orchid hunting no longer exists in the normal run of things.

Suffolk Wildlife Trust describes these fens as being “strung like a beautiful necklace around the throat of north Suffolk”. This one offered my third var ochroleuca, the others being Marsh Helleborine (see here) and Fly Orchid (previous post). These forms lack the coloured pigments typically found in the three species, resulting in a lighter, often cream-green or yellowish-green appearance. Care must be exercised in identification, since two white forms of EMO also exist. But a botanist we met at the earlier site matched them to the Cole and Waller field guide he brought with him, so we were all satisfied these plants today were genuine.

Early Marsh Orchids var ochroleuca and Southern Marsh ssp schoenophila (far right)

Amongst the many Marsh Orchids here were some Southern Marsh Orchid (Dactylorhiza praetermissa ssp schoenophila). This is the sub-species formerly classified as Narrow-leaved or Pugsley’s in southern England, for which this Suffolk site is a known location. Their stems are thinner and weaker than SMO, the leaves narrower, and the flower spike has a delicate, rather ragged character. I myself have observed schoenophila once before in Hants (here), and that post from last July contains more of the taxonomic background.

One Orchid I have yet to include in this journal’s coverage of the last three seasons is the familiar but often inconspicuous Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera – pictured below), simply because I find them in the field so infrequently. The flowers resemble plump, furry bumblebees, and there may be between two and seven per stem. Whenever I do cross paths with them I am always charmed by their attractive fine detail. Plants may appear in a wide variety of habitats where wildflowers flourish, including garden and park lawns and grass verges. Earlier this week I was very pleased to find four stems growing in the car park of my part-time workplace, so the omission can now be remedied.

Bee Orchid var belgarum (left) and regular Bee Orchids at Nuneham Courtenay, Oxon

I am reliably informed that the specimen in the left hand picture, and possibly the right are an uncommon form var belgarum, (see here for detail). This variant was first discovered on a roadside verge near Winchester in 1998. Though initially thought to be restricted to that area of Hants chalk downland, it is now known from several other locations in England and Wales; but is extremely rare in continental Europe. When Ian followed up on Friday (13th) the left hand plant had been partly eaten.

I have until now felt a little underwhelmed when encountering the undeniably delicate beauty of Fly Orchids, the plants being so skinny and the flowers so tiny, but what I will now describe has rather altered that. Twice in the course of four days a week ago I was fortunate enough to gain two quite exceptional records (pictured below).

As the Mariposa tour group I joined was leaving Bonsai Bank on 1st an excited shout went up from one guide Richard Bate to the other, Jon Dunn. Richard had found a Wasp attempting to mate with a Fly Orchid flower, something that is rarely actually witnessed in the field. Indeed both guides had observed this just a couple of times each before. Richard called participants forward to take pictures under supervision, then when he judged the insect was not bothered by our attentions I moved a little closer. By now I was lying on the ground while others stood around me getting their own pictures using the back of camera technique. I always look through the viewfinder. I had no idea whether I was getting anything decent, given glare on the camera screen and since I wear varifocals, but was eventually pleased with the outcome.

The process of pollination through sexual mimicry by Ophrys (Bee, Fly and Spider) Orchids is known as pseudocopulation. As well as the visual deception the plants also replicate the sexual pheromones (scent) of the pollinator species, which can be more attractive to male insects than that of females of their kind. In falling for the deception male wasps or bees contact the plants’ pollen sacs which attach to their bodies and are then transferred to the next flower they visit. To ensure reproductive isolation each Ophrys species, of which there are many abroad targets separate pollinators upon which they are completely dependent for their survival, though hybridisation of course does occur (see here). Pollination of around 10 per cent of an Ophrys population is sufficient to preserve it, since each plant can produce up to 12,000 minute seeds.

On the morning after that tour I was tipped off about a location in Hampshire for the rare green colour form of Fly Orchid, designated var ochroleuca. This seemed well worth going to see, Tuesday was a wet day, but I made an early start on 4th arriving on site at 9am. The two stems took some finding, as I paced up and down at the foot of a steep and densely vegetated former chalk pit side, trying to bring the cursor on my phone screen into my quest’s w3w square. Then all of a sudden there they were, a classic case of getting my eye in. The term ochroleuca refers to pale yellow or creamy-white forms of Orchids, that occur in some genera and are usually highly localised. I had previously encountered this in Marsh Helleborine (see here), while a form of Early Marsh Orchid occurs at just two sites in Suffolk and Cambs.

Though I often state that self-found things are the best, I am of course indebted to others for locating the twin subjects of this post. My thanks are due to Ian Lewington who spent hours searching for the second item, then very kindly gave me the precise location. As is customary when reporting on rare and vulnerable variant Orchids I cannot disclose that detail herein.

The first of these rarities, being a lifer was my top target for the featured Mariposa Kent Orchid tour (see here). And having already recorded Early Spider Orchid in Dorset earlier this year (here), its later flowering relative was top of my remaining wish-list. I had only previously observed just a few Monkey Orchids at BBOWT Hartslock and in les Cévennes, France; so as in the previous post the opportunity to experience them in greater numbers was a third reason for my participation.

In the afternoon we were taken quite briefly to a location that at the request of the tour guides I will not name. Here there were just two Late Spider Orchid in bloom, during what is cited as a poor year for them due to drought. My understanding is this very vulnerable item occurs at the far northern edge of it’s European range in just a few locations in Kent, all of which are highly protected. I assume there was some valid reason for not visiting the most well known option, possibly lack of parking space for a tour minibus and following car, or group footfall.

Late Spider Orchids (#1 left and centre, #2 right)

The specimens pictured above were nonetheless in pristine condition, which could possibly be a third reason. This orchid grows to between 10 and 50cm in height and each stem carries up to 10 large flowers, the quite distinctive lips of which are large and square with complex patterns that stand out against dark brown velvety backgrounds. The plant grows only in calcareous soils, and at these managed Kent sites the sward must be mown or grazed appropriately to meet their very particular needs. Further afield LSO is found throughout western and central Europe, but is in steep decline across much of its range due to ongoing habitat destruction.

After two more stops to build the trip list we ended the day at the rather remote Park Gate Down (CT4 6NE – TR168459 – see here), a 7ha (17 acre) ancient chalk grassland reserve on the east side of a dry valley. This is the best site nationally to observe my third trip target, Monkey Orchid, and good numbers soon announced themselves as we walked along the slope, albeit in a rather stunted and scorched state in the current drought year.

Monkey Orchids

This is a national rarity that occurs naturally in just three places in southern England, two of which are in Kent. The name comes from the pinkish-purple flowers’ resemblance to little monkeys hanging by their hands and feet. These flowers have an unusual hairy or furry appearance caused by papillae, long hair-like projections on the sepals and petals. And the particular arrangement of those mimics a monkey’s face, complete with eyes, nose and muzzle. The plant is also unique amongst British orchids in the flowers opening from the top downwards, creating a rather ragged appearance. But since the mildly vanilla-scented flowers open in quick succession, the spike is at its best for only a short time.

As with Lady Orchid, the county of Kent’s specific blend of mild climate and low-nutrient calcareous soils especially suits Monkey Orchid. But to thrive the second species also requires open but sparsely vegetated chalk and limestone grassland habitat that has become increasingly fragmented in southern England over time. At this site the Kent Wildlife Trust has long maintained those conditions through a careful grazing regime and removal of more aggressive plants, so these orchids are not crowded out as they otherwise would be. That conservation effort was founded by former KWT chair Hector Wilks, after whom this reserve is now named. The openness of the habitat was very noticeable as we walked around. Late Spider Orchid also occurs here in some seasons (see here).

Around 25 of the 52 orchid species found in Great Britain can be located in the Kent Downs National Landscape. We observed eight other Orchids at Park Gate Down today: Common Spotted Orchid, Chalk Fragrant Orchid, Pyramidal Orchid, plentiful Common Twayblade, good numbers of Greater Butterfly Orchid, a few Fly Orchids, and single Lady and Musk Orchids. The Monkey Orchids being some way below their best this year, I will have to re-visit in a more typical season.

I place this post’s lead item amongst the most attractive of Orchids. But nationally I had only recorded the now lone parent plant of BBOWT Hartslock’s Lady X Monkey colony in Oxon (see here), and some in les Cévennes, France. Hence I wanted to enjoy them in greater quantity within their Kent strongholds, and so booked onto one of Mariposa’s twin Orchid tours over this weekend. What transpired in the morning here greatly exceeded my expectations.

Bonsai Bank (CT4 7EZ – TR102507) is a large former chalk quarry within Denge Wood, an extensive ancient and semi-natural woodland to the south-west of Canterbury, owned by Forestry England and managed by the Woodland Trust. It is so-named because conifers planted in the past have not grown as normal and so are all rather stunted. Double-figured species of Orchid abound here, amongst which and most prominent are thousands of my sought Lady Orchid. Our guides, Jon Dunn and Richard Bate, said those have never looked better than in this dry and often difficult season in so many other places. The almost two hours spent on site were without doubt the best part of this day.

This spectacular site’s most eye-catching resident, the stately Lady Orchid is so named because the up to 50 flowers per stem suggest figures wearing a bonnet and gown. The most frequent colour form is deep red (pictured above), but I was captivated here by the different variations (below). The top prize today was a white and yellow form, var alba (bottom right).

Lady Orchid is nationally scarce, no longer surviving in around 60 per cent of its historic range due to changes in woodland management, particularly lack of coppicing. This is because the plant prefers well-lit but sheltered areas along paths and rides, in open woodland on calcareous soils. Kent’s geological and climatic blend, in conjunction with sympathetic habitat management, suits them perfectly. Bonsai Bank offers a prime example of these conditions.

• Well-drained, chalky soils low in nutrients, which prevents root rot and reduces competition from more aggressive plants,
• Relatively warm and dry climate, that creates favourable conditions for blooming and germination,
• Traditional woodland coppicing that creates dappled light and open areas, without exposing the plants to scorching sun,
• Undisturbed, stable ground that maintains the orchids symbiotic relationship with specific ectomycorrhizal fungi. This refers to mutually beneficial associations between fungi and the root systems of particular plants from which they draw nutrients. In return the mushrooms contribute to their hosts’ growth and survival in various ways.

Greater Butterfly Orchids

In all we recorded seven other Orchid species flowering here today. In the above sequences these are in the top row (from left) Fly Orchid, Common Twayblade that were particularly profuse, White Helleborine and Common Spotted Orchid. Chalk Fragrant and fading Early Purple Orchids were also present. There were good numbers of Greater Butterfly Orchids (second row) along the rides mixed in with the Ladies, amongst which was an attractive aberration (right hand picture). Jon Dunn described Bonsai Bank as one of his favourite of all Orchid locations, and after this magical experience I can sincerely endorse his sentiment.

The striking Barrow’s Goldeneye is resident in Iceland, Greenland, parts of eastern Canada and Pacific north America. It must be difficult to miss them at Lake Mývatn, since this was pretty much the default duck of my four-day visit. The locations of the previous three posts were probably the best in which to get reasonably close to them.

This Icelandic specialty is slightly larger than Common Goldeneye with a clearly different head profile, that being longer and triangular with a higher forehead and flatter crown. Breeding males (pictured below) exhibit a deep purple gloss on the head, with a white, crescent-shaped face patch between eye and bill. A line of white “windows” on the wings is another stand-out diagnostic. Females are predominantly grey-toned with rich brown heads and a mostly orange-yellow bill. Drakes are notably territorial.

These ducks thrive here on Mývatn’s abundant food supplies of insects, molluscs, crustaceans and aquatic vegetation. Since there are no large trees in the tundra landscape, such as Common Goldeneye prefer for nesting in hollows, Barrow’s typically favour laval fissures and other suitable cavities in the ground, or even buildings. After breeding these birds may relocate to separate moulting grounds, then in winter they move to other, non-frozen inland and coastal waters.

Further more notable regional ducks the above noted food resources support are Scaup, Common Scoter, Red-breasted Merganser and Long-tailed Duck; while the Swans here are all Whoopers. I recorded the first three of those in one place on 15th, when to complete the day (after Laxárdalur and the visitor centre) I visited Sigurgeirs Bird Museum on a large peninsula in the lake’s north-eastern section. Along one side of the access road there were pools in the tundra that offered good viewing, while the other side looked over the lake to the south.

• Scaup – a fairly common, migratory breeding species in Iceland that mostly winters in the British Isles and north-west Europe.
• Common Scoter – Lake Mývatn hosts around 80 per cent of Iceland’s breeding population of this wide-ranging sea duck. Drakes return to the coast in mid-summer to moult, while females remain for longer to rear young.
• Red-breasted Merganser – a widespread breeder that particularly thrives around Mývatn. The Icelandic population is part of a larger migratory group that includes birds from eastern Greenland and the British Isles. Small numbers may winter on non-frozen waters but the majority migrate southward.
• Whooper Swan – a well-established Icelandic breeding species with a growing population of 43,000 individuals and 3 – 4000 breeding pairs. Some may winter in the southern parts of Mývatn that do not freeze due to thermally heated water sources, but most depart for the British Isles and north-west Europe.

In addition to the breeding plumage aspect of this trip, the cause for evolution was further served by being able to witness the seasonal antics of birds I am more used to seeing at other times of year. Everywhere I trod the bird-scape seemed infused with amorous and procreative intent. The air was full of the various noisy calls of territorial Redshank, and the haunting sound of drumming Snipe. And at intervals breeding groups of Black-tailed Godwit, of which there is an Icelandic sub-species, would announce themselves in their rich summer colouration (pictured below). But those waders are all resident year round in Great Britain of course, so perhaps the most apt example was hearing the song post calls of male Redwing.

I based myself at the excellent Vogar Travel Service, a hostel and camp site close to Mývatn’s north-eastern shore. The shared, self-catering facilities here met my needs very well and there is an adequate supermarket in the nearby village of Reykjahlíð. Iceland is of course notoriously expensive due to it’s high economic level, but not as costly as visiting Norway. Having brought some of my own food and stocked up with perishables in Akureyri, I used the local store mainly for lunch-time sandwiches, that worked out at £7-ish a time. There is also a Pizzeria and fish and chip shop here at around £15 a meal.

The locality is dominated by the brooding presence of Hverfjall (slide show below), one of the world’s largest high tephra explosion craters at 396 metres (1300 ft) in height and around a kilometre in diameter. In volcanology tephra means fragmented material of any size ejected during an eruption that settles on the ground. The imposing black ash cone of this natural wonder was created in a single, massive event dated to 2500 BC. Much of the surrounding area is also still covered in the same deposits. A hiking trail runs around the complete rim of this feature, but in the time available and being asthmatic I thought better of the steep climb.

The species list for this trip, including birds seen only during my stop-over in Akureyri (in italics) on 12th, and impacted by having binoculars for just half the time, is: Red-throated Diver, Slavonian Grebe, Whooper Swan, Greylag Goose, Mallard, Wigeon, Shelduck, Scaup, Tufted Duck, Barrow’s Goldeneye*, Harlequin Duck*, Long-tailed Duck, Common Scoter, Common Eider, Red-breasted Merganser, Rock Ptarmigan*, Oystercatcher, Lapwing, Ringed Plover, Turnstone, Golden Plover, Snipe, Curlew, Whimbrel, Black-tailed Godwit, Redshank, Red-necked Phalarope, Arctic Skua, Great Black-backed Gull, Lesser Black-backed Gull, Black-headed Gull, Little Gull, Arctic Tern, Skylark, Meadow Pipit, White Wagtail, Magpie, Raven, Northern Wheatear, Redwing, Mistle Thrush, Fieldfare, Yellowhammer = 43 (lifers in bold)

NB If visiting Lake Mývatn be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

As well as it’s triple-lifer potential this trip also offered scope for observing some iconic birds – Diver, Grebe and Phalarope – in their full and colourful breeding plumages, that only pass through southern England on spring migration. After the previously recounted Harlequin adventure, I moved on to the Mývatn visitor centre at Skútustaðir (see here) on the lake’s western edge. There, with the aid of substitute binoculars loaned to me by the rangers, I realised more of those desired experiences.

This Red-necked Phalarope (above) was the trip’s third stand-out close encounter, together with the subjects of the previous two posts. I had never observed a female in full breeding plumage until now. Like my three past Oxfordshire encounters – at Farmoor Reservoir (Nov 2013 and Sep 2017) and a male at Bicester Wetland Reserve (May 2015) – this individual fed with quick picking actions before me, moving busily forward as it did so and needing to be chased. The feeding technique is often by spinning in the water as I recall from an older record at Farlington Marshes, Hants (Oct 1987).

RNP is a fairly frequent May and June Icelandic breeder in wet marshes or pools such as here, where they nest in the tundra. Unusually, the less colourful males incubate the eggs. This population departs from early July to lead a pelagic life off the coasts of west Africa. Grey Phalarope (known as Red Phalarope in north America) is far less common in Iceland and does not usually occur at Lake Mývatn.

The visitor centre is situated amongst a cluster of craters (below), adjacent to an enclosed lagoon, Stakhόlstjörn that is cut off completely from the vast water body of the lake itself. A 2.3 km trail, from which the birds now presented were all observed, runs around the area.

Slavonian Grebe is the sole species of its group to breed in Iceland, and is common only at Lake Mývatn. The now modest population is in significant long-term decline for reasons that are not fully understood. These birds winter on north-western European coasts, though a few may linger along the southern coastline of Iceland itself. I came across them in a number of locations during this trip, and several at this site. As at Farmoor Reservoir earlier in the spring (see here) their dark, bright colouring in prevailing glare didn’t aid the cause of picture taking. The following records are the only two I kept from many attempted.

Slavonian Grebe

Long-tailed Duck, Scaup and Common Scoter all breed here, and I crossed paths with the threesome around Stakhόlstjörn. The first of those has an estimated breeding population of between 2 and 3000 individuals at Mývatn and across northern Iceland. Wintering numbers, swelled by migration from other regions, are in excess of 110,000. The other two ducks will be dealt with in the next post.

Long-tailed Duck (record shots)

Arctic Tern arrive here at this time of year and remain until August. Since I am used to recording that trans-global migrant only when passing through southern England on their progress northward, it was now quite exhilarating to watch large numbers of the elegant and graceful item hawking for the super-abundant midges over the lagoon’s surface. Such sights only occur at my local Farmoor Reservoir when birds passing high overhead are driven down by foul weather, and usually involve a drenching. All the Terns in Iceland are Arctic.

Arctic Terns

Earlier in the day I had located another summer plumaged trip target Red-throated Diver at Laxárdalur, upstream from the rapids. The Icelandic breeding population is estimated at between 1500 and 2000 pairs. These birds mostly bond for life and re-visit the same nesting locations year upon year. The bulk of them winter in western Europe, though a small, sedentary population remains on the south-west coast. This (below) was my first ever record in the breeding plumage. Iceland’s other summer Diver, Great Northern or Common Loon, was one of two wish-list items that I failed to convert; the other being Gyrfalcon.

The Skútustaðagígar pseudo-craters are not magma-producing volcanic vents but were formed around 2300 years ago when molten lava from two nearby eruptions flowed over cool, wet surfaces here and pressurised the earth downwards. That trapped steam under the weight of the lava, and when the pressure became too great explosions were triggered creating depressions in the ground. The largest of these features is Ytri Kleifarhóll, on the lagoon’s eastern side (slide show picture 2); and for me the most imposing is Rófugerðishóll (picture 3). A smaller cluster closest to the visitor centre itself rather resembles a golf course as viewed from the road (picture 4). To my mind this landscape has a peculiar scenic allure that has formed a lasting impression, hence its inclusion herein.

This was a very rewarding and enjoyable few hours at what was the week’s best Mývatn location in which to connect with this post’s various described birds. And by the time of publication my binoculars had been repaired under warranty by the manufacturer, Opticron.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

I think it is reasonable to state that recording the subject of this post in the British Isles must involve ascending above the snowline on Scottish Highland mountains at certain times of year. Indeed I recall when that appeared to be a popular pursuit amongst some fellow Oxon birders early in the previous decade. So when upon reading the gallinaceous item also occurs in the Lake Mývatn area I added a third potential lifer to my Iceland trip wish list.

One thing I overlooked in preparing for the featured May adventure is that it does not get properly dark so far north at this time of year. So there is potential to bird at silly o’clock from around 3am in the morning, and discover what is going on. On my final day at Mývatn I compromised ahead of the journey home with a 6am start at Kálfaströnd in the lake’s south-eastern corner. The intent was to re-connect with Ptarmigan, that I had first encountered there unsatisfactorily two days previously. Not so on this occasion.

At Kálfaströnd a circular trail leads around an irregular shaped peninsula that extends into the lake, enabling viewing over secluded and in places enclosed waters. Then it crosses the area’s higher interior expanse. The tranquil location is noted for it’s volcanic rock formations (below).

On 16th, as soon as I got out of my hire-car a cock Ptarmigan announced itself from the start point of the trail, but it flew off some distance upon noticing me. This time I made a complete circuit of the Klasar trail and the open, hilly land of it’s homeward stretch proved to be a prime location for encountering my quest. Being bright white these birds stood out readily in the landscape. The white dot in the centre of the next picture, for instance is one. I watched this almost pure white cock for some time, while it sunned itself in the early morning air. There was a nesting hen to its left in cover, then when I walked further along the track a second female flew up then across to join the other two birds. At that point the cock went out of view.

Then I noticed another cock further on along the trail (above right), and setting down my scope walked forward to see how close I could get to it, taking pictures all the while as I went. To my astonishment this bird let me walk right up to it. The lead image and the next two (below) were captured at just a few metres from the subject that even then kept stock still. I have never been able to approach Partridges in the same way, that invariably go up before I see them, but am told by a more experienced colleague that such confiding behaviour is not unusual in Ptarmigan. This was perhaps the ultimate close encounter of a week filled with such. The bird did not fly until I began to walk away.

Rock Ptarmigan is the only upland game bird of Iceland, with a sedentary population currently estimated at around 300,000 birds. Numbers have fluctuated greatly historically in relation to climatic factors, breeding success and hunting pressure. Due to long-term decline, the species is red-listed nationally as near threatened, but numbers can be significantly larger by the end of each breeding season. A hunting moratorium introduced in 2002 sought to address that decline, and since 2005 hunting has been permitted only within a set period through November for personal consumption. In Iceland Ptarmigan is a traditional Christmas dish. The population is monitored annually to ensure a sustainable harvest.

Cocks establish territories in spring on grassland and heathland, and research shows the gender distribution within breeding populations is roughly equal. Ptarmigan feed on berries, buds, germinating seeds and insects when available; and their chief predators have historically been Gyrfalcon and wintering Snowy Owl. In winter the plumage is all white, turning to that in this post’s close-up pictures from late spring.

My initial sighting came two days previously while I was tracking Barrow’s Goldeneye. Suddenly a crackling sound I had researched issued from the middle distance where a cock Ptarmigan was standing on top of a rock stack (pictured above). I communed with this bird for some time from a distance, but during this the focus ring fell off my binoculars, which really shouldn’t happen on a birding trip. After it flew I crossed paths with the same bird while walking back to the car, then it went up again for some distance to high ground.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

Rock Ptarmigan is now one less game bird I need to think about going to Scotland to observe; having recorded both Red and Black Grouse there in May 2023, and Capercaillie in Estonia in April 2017. Willow Grouse and Hazel Hen in Scandinavia remain on the wish-list that prompted this post’s trip. Having gained a third lifer for the week my career western Palearctic bird list now stands at 526.

Earlier this year I learned from another OB listed blog that two residual items on my Westpal birding wish-list – Barrow’s Goldeneye and Harlequin – may be observed quite readily at Lake Mývatn in northern Iceland. So since recording either in British waters would almost certainly involve the sort of twitching I just don’t do, I at once planned a solo visit of my own (in the great Rn’S tradition) to their home ground.

In the event both these special ducks were converted on day one (13th), before I even reached Mývatn (pronounced Miir-vaagh with a Klingon emphasis on the second syllable) itself. That was at the point where highway 1 from Akureyri runs close by then crosses the river Laxá that drains the spring-fed lake from its south-western corner. First I noticed then crept up with the camera on two pairs of Barrow’s, then from the road bridge Harlequin were active in the river below. Reading things up that evening, I realised this spot is seasonally the prime option for observing the latter. And so I returned the next afternoon to attempt to do them justice.

Immediately upstream from the bridge is a series of rapids marked on Google maps as Laxárdalur where my quest play out their days in May dabbling and diving in the fast-flowing, foamy waters, and resting in the lush marginal vegetation (pictured above). The River Laxá is exceptionally fertile since untold quantities of minute organisms drift out from the nutrient-rich lake to be filtered from the water by myriads of Blackfly (Simulium) larvae. Those in turn are feasted upon at this time of year by both the ducks of my intent, that move on when the adult insects emerge from June onwards. The biting, blood-sucking Blackfly migrate long distances upstream each year to lay their eggs in the lake outlet here. All is explained on the parking area information board.

I had not been aware of all that prior to self-finding this place, which made the wildlife spectacle I now witnessed over two visits all the more pleasing. The hot-spot may be accessed from a small parking area just across the bridge and to the right. Walking out I found three pairs of Harlequin sheltering at the water’s edge, so not knowing how skittish they might be or wanting to put them up, I sat down at a safe distance and waited to see what might transpire. More of these ducks were in view upon the river, on islands in it or perched on rocks in a low waterfall a little upstream.

Suddenly three more birds moved out from right below where I was sitting, and when those showed no fear of me I stood up and approached the initial group that were similarly unconcerned as I took this post’s lead and more pictures. Eventually they slipped into the water themselves but did not fly off downstream which is what I had wanted to avoid. The images I gained mostly suffered from being at least partially into the sun. In the morning the light would be behind me more and so I resolved to come back for another turn.

The elaborately patterned Harlequin is classed as a small sea duck, and has a sedentary population of up to 3000 pairs in Iceland. Otherwise it is distributed across sub-Arctic regions of north America and far-eastern Asia, and is always associated with fast-moving water. Inland it breeds in such tundra habitats, while when wintering it favours rocky coastlines in the Atlantic north-east and Pacific north-west Americas, Alaska and the far-east of Russia. It is an extremely rare vagrant to western Europe.

During my two spells of communion with this iconic species I noted various behaviour traits. Harlequins always swim busily and energetically, often into strong currents while diving, and such a dangerous lifestyle is said to result in frequent injury. Repeatedly they would ride the surf in small groups, or run across the water’s surface like the Red-knobbed Coots at El Fondo (see here). When interacting they squeak in a quite un-duck like fashion, and it was very noticeable how bonded pairs stick closely together while dabbling. This item has elected to lead lives of constant buffeting and being tossed around.

There but for fortune go any of us, perhaps? When I came back at 7am on 15th I was at first discouraged to find bright sunshine reflected on the water. The ducks were in just the same places as before, and I was able to gently coax one pair into a more favourably lit area (pictured below, top).

Then I walked upstream, encountering many more Harlequin, some in presumably bachelor groups, and their above-described antics were wonderful to behold. I had come all the way from England to see these ducks, and now here I was moving amongst them at close quarters. I remained completely alone here, just me and the birds in just the same way that I prefer to commune with insects in remote wild places. That scenario repeated itself throughout the five days of the trip and made its outstanding experiences even more fulfilling.

Some of the pictures selected herein suffer from bright sunlight on their subjects and glare on the water, but that is how these birds were experienced. I was visiting Iceland during an exceptional weather window for the country, with all day, wall to wall sun and temperatures in the high teens. I was told that normally: “We might get this in July if we’re lucky.” It was great for the locals, who would strip off and strut out in shorts while I yet donned an extra layer against the still cool wind, but quite difficult for picture taking. The sun was invariably in my eyes and there being no tall trees in the tundra landscape, there was no shade anywhere.

This trip was right up there with my best ever wildlife experiences, and what has just been described may take some ousting as the top one for 2025. I was birding once more and here was the way to do it. Time and again, alone in wild places, I self-found and recorded my various, new, different and exciting targets, often at very close quarters. This will all take some time to write up and picture edit. More of the highlights will be presented as separate posts.

NB If visiting this site be sure to use insect repellent on all exposed skin

When researching this journal’s post before last I decided I would also like to record the second Toothwort species that occurs in the British Isles. So I consulted a trusted, top quality source and soon learned of a location in a northern suburb of Southampton, conveniently close to the first eastbound M27 junction from the M3 interchange, and just 70 miles and a similar number of minutes from home. Hitting the road southward on the A34 from Oxford is always restorative, given the numerous past and meaningful wildlife experiences that have awaited me beyond its end. In mid-morning I arrived in a built-up area then walked out into unspoiled habitat alongside the River Itchen.

Purple Toothwort (Lathraea clandestina) was blooming in profusion beside a hard path alongside the tributary Monks Brook (SO18 2RS – SU441155), starting at /// leads.will.cove. There was so much of it here that I see no danger in revealing those site details that I believe are reasonably well-known in botanic circles, though less likely to attract the attention of passing general public. One regular walker here did tell me there have been other people taking pictures in recent days.

Like Common Toothwort (see here), this parasitic plant grows on host tree roots, in this case mainly Poplar and Willow, and only shows itself above ground in spring. But it has an entirely different character since the 40-50mm stemless, cowl-like, violet-purple flowers rise straight off the rootstock. Some clumps today were sprouting in fungal fashion from fallen, rotting wood (below left) and one even from the base of a low stone abutment (right). Clearing vegetation from protruding purple patches several times revealed large expanses beneath.

Native Purple Toothwort occurs across the west and south of Europe, from the Belgian Ardennes as far as northern Spain and central Italy, and is especially abundant in western and central France. In Great Britain it was originally introduced as a garden curiosity and planted at Kew Gardens in the late-19th century, then was first reported in the wild in 1908. Since then it has become locally naturalized in older parks and gardens, including both the Cambridge and Oxford University districts and RHS Wisley. The preferred habitat is damp woodland in valley bottoms, usually near streams such as in Swaythling. Several other Lathraea species occur around continental Europe.

The week’s earlier trip to Dorset hadn’t done it in re-humanising me after an exhausting prior working weekend, so this was a suitable opportunity to get out again by myself and draw the tranquility and renewal I seek from non-birding related wildlife activity. I couldn’t have had a better result, achieved with the aid of a precise pin drop in the best possible ambience, and returned home at least partially recovered.