Tuesday 19th June 2018

It was said by my dead old Dad many years ago, that flies only feed on rotten meat. This was as Mum and myself were always bitten to buggery by various insects during our holidays in Wales and Scotland. Mosquitoes, gnats, flies, bees, wasps and other such flying, buzzing wee beasties would come and feast, mainly on our sweet East Anglian blood.

Last year in Scotland, the infamous Scottish midges covered me in bits as I stood on a hill in Glenfinnan, and earlier this year, Danish midges, mozzies and flies ate lots of me whilst I stood on a wooded hillside.

All this went through my mind as I packed on Monday, and I searched the house for Jungle Formula. I found none, but thought to myself, maybe it wouldn't be as bad as that.

I was wrong. It was Denmark all over again.

But before we get to that point, I had to get to the site. Oh yes, the site. I can't mention it by name, but a simple online search of the locations were the little orchids grow will quickly turn it, and other up. But anyway, I promised not to mention it, so, I won't. But so as you know.

The site was north of Great yarmouth, and getting from Mum's to there meant going through Great Yarmouth and dealing with its dreadful traffic jams. Like Lowestoft it has just two bridges over the river, and traffic quickly builds up as rush hour proceeds, so after getting up at half six, I say I'm going to leave straight away, with no breakfast in order to get through the town with no delays.

In fact I was relieved to go, I repeated how I felt, and Mum was still shocked. But, there is no time now for messing around, life is what it is, and I am what I am. And need no excuses.

No traffic in Yarmouth, and most of the traffic on the Acle straight was heading into town, but even driving away there was a solid line of cars, even if we were driving at 50 mph. Once at Acle I only had 15 minutes to go, so I stop at a garage, get breakfast, a snack and a litre of iced coffee, then go on until I find a place to park on the side of the road.

It was seven, and I had two and a half hours to kill.

I eat, drink, and listen to the radio and watch the traffic go by.

I sit there watching the rain clouds roll in, then drop ever-increasing amounts of rain on the car. Not what was forecast at all.

At quarter to nine I drive the last few miles to the meeting point, which was down a long dead end lane and then park in a farmyard. Rain continued to fall, and the light was awful. Oh dear, and was I in the right place?

When a second car arrived, I knew I was. The driver asked, are you here for the orchids? Yes I was.

As a third car arrived, a bloke came out from one of the barns and shook our hands, welcome, he said. Would you like a brew? We would.

So we go into the warehouse, all full of dangerous looking knives and machetes, and all the other stuff needed to keep the reserve open and accessible for the people who work there. We have a brew, chat and once the final guy turned up on his bike, we put wellies on and set off out into the rain and the countryside.

We walked over farmland, past casually interested highland cattle, through a gate and onto the fen.

I know now, that fen is alkali and a bog, acidic. Who knew?

The fen is a mat of plants and centuries of compressed dead vegetation floating on fresh water, the mat is several feet thick, and so when you walk over it, it bounces. No firm ground here, just bouncing, and when you stood still, water seeped up. Water was still falling from the clouds too. But there was brightness, and hope.

And there was insects. We stopped to put on repellant, but little did I know that the buggers were already biting through my t short on my back, and only later would I discover the dozens of bites when they started to itch.

As we walked, our guide pointed out so many different rare wild plants and flowers, but soon we came to the object of us being there; the Fen Orchid. It is a small, green plant that you can very easily miss, as it grows among taller vegetation, and is green. The background vegetation is also green. Get the picture?

We search for more, and indeed find many more spikes, some bigger than others, and easier to find and photograph.

The rain had stopped, so we began to enjoy the yomp across the fen; fus us orchidists, there were Early Marsh and Southern Marsh orchids everywhere, and hybrids of the two, of course, as well as ever more exotic and rare plants, flowers and grasses. I took many pictures and our guide sent us a list of what we saw, but I have to marry the two!

With three metres to go before we left the fen, I discovered one of the "holes", gaps between the tussocks and sank knee deep in mud. I was stuck, but the guide came, told me to pull my foot out and he yanked on the boot to free it, allowing me to put it back on and get to dry land!

We see two Marsh Harriers, flying low over the fen looking for food. A cuckoo flies past, calling all the while, even perching in a nearby tree, but conditions not good enough to get a shot. One of te other snappers is a twitcher, so keeps us all updated with the calls of birds we hear, one of which he assured us was a Grasshopper Warbler.

All interesting stuff.

We walked over the short stretch of farmland, disturbing a barn owl from its nest in an outbuilding, we stood and watched as it lazily flew away over the fields to the woods in the distance. It had not made a sound.

We go over a floating walkway to see some really rare stuff, tiny plants that eek out a living in the clear, clean water below the fen. Fur us as we walked off the walkway was the danger that the tussocks were the only safe places, so we have to walk from one to the other.

Finally, we walk back onto dry land again, walking gown a lane between two ditches, and in the hedgerow, we could see the unmistakable shape of a swallowtail butterfly. As we walk towards it and angle to get shots, it flies away. We saw just one others, flying high over the trees well out of reach of the camera.

It was quarter to one, and we were back at the barn, so we change out of the boots, bid the guide goodbye, and go back to our cars, so I plan the drive to the next location; Strumpshaw Fen, a public nature reserve, which should mean I see a Swallowtail.

It was half an hour's drive through Brundall to the reserve, and find a place to park on the side of the road, go to the reception, pay my entrance fee, and ask; been any Swallowtails? Not for a couple of hours, I was told. No surprise really as the weather was still dull and grey, a keen breeze was blowing again, and children were being herded to cross back over the railway to a waiting bus. Twitchers and butterfly chases said silent thanks as peace descended onto the reserve again.

I got talking to a bloke, and he took me to the meadow, and said stay here to see the Swallowtails. So I did, and saw none in two hours.

I did see hundreds more march orchids, along with Norfolk Hawkers and Four Spotted Chasers, which I tried to snap as they flew.

I did manage a half decent shot of the Hawker in flight, then one landed near me, allowing me to use the big boy lens to snap it.

I had been up on my feet for nearly eight hours, there was no sign of the Swallowtail, and the light wasn't improving. I decide to leave.

I hear the sound of an approaching train, line up the camera and was rewarded with the DRS short set hammering past towards Great yarmouth or Lowestoft. A bonus.

I had arranged to visit a friend nearby, so I program the sat nav, then follow the instructions along narrow lanes to the A47.

Peter lives in an old cottage beside a mill, beside a mill race. Its a lovely spot.

I am early so sit on the bank and watch a dozen or so Banded Demoiselleflies perching in branches, or fluttering just above the water surface. Are you OK? What are you looking at, I was asked by a dogwalker. I explained and she seemed to be happy with my answer.

I go to Peter's house and they ply me with good strong tea and shortbread, and we talk about things We have many shared interests to be honest, and it was a shame I had to leave 90 minutes later, as I had to drive home.

I know the way home now. I put the radio on and drive back to the bypass, then down to the top of the Ipswich road, taking that south, but even after the end of the rush hour, it was slow going, it seemed to take an age to get to Diss, where there is a small section of dual carriageway, but then a short blast down to the A14 to Ipswich, and then south down our old friend, the A12.

It was a golden evening, of course. As soon as I left Norfolk the clouds cleared and would be perfect for butterflies, but no time now. I just wanted to get home.

At least leaving later was that the traffic at Dartford was light, which is why I did it, to be honest, over the bridge and into Kent. From there just down to the top of the M20 and south home. Seven and eight o'clcok passed, and at nearly half eight, I get home. Time enough for a brew, a chat with Jools and a review of my shots and it was time for bed.

Again, I was shattered, but had done so much, upset MUm for sure, but ten life isn't perfect.