Wednesday 5th August 2026

We woke after ten hours sleep. Life felt much better, the rain had cleared overnight, so the morning light was clear and bright.

We had laid in until half seven, and it was an hour later when we went down for breakfast, where the hotel’s old dog kept us company, demanding head pats and back rubs.

Like all French hotels, the bread was excellent, as so was the local yogurt.

I show many people around the Kent orchid sites, and most say that if I down their way, let them know and they will share locations. One such was Kevin, who told me of an orchid site at 6,000 feet, that usually has several Ghosts.

He gave me a map pin location, it was on our way south, some 55 minutes away, so it seemed daft not to at least try.

It was a sad depart from the hotel, as it was by far the best on the whole trip. Great food, three choices of draught La Chouffe, good beds, and very quiet. The staff were friendly, and didn’t laugh or roll eyes at my fractured Franglais.

It was going to be a hot day in the foothills, but hotter further south, though we had no idea as to how hot, hot actually feels.

We drive back to the main road, and headed south west, along the busy roads, stopping at a service station for fuel, before driving on.

The road began to climb, huge curves took the road upwards, with meadows filling the part in the middle, then hairpins, and all the while cyclists huffing and puffing, or not, up the Col.

We turned sharp left off the main road, onto a narrow mountain road that clung to the side of a gorge, the drop on the left hand side soon dropping hundreds of metres, and only a frail meatl fence stopping anyone who made a mistake.

We arrived at the pinned location, and saw along the road, prime Ghost habitat. But a feel of the moss revealed it to be bone dry, despite being green. We searched along the roadside bank, found several species gone to seed, and even some Creeping Lady’s Tresses newly emerged and one even still in bud.

We each went up a track leading up the side of the mountain, into the woods, but the orchids died out, though the moss continued. We searched for an hour, found lots of gone-to-seed spikes, but only one Dark red helleborine still in flower.

We had ran out of time.

Back to the car, and back along the mountain track, where we encountered many cars and buses coming the other way, the narrow track only had a few passing places, and on our side of the road was the massive drop to the gorge below.

We made it back to the main road safe, turned back down the hill, and rejoined the main road leading out of the Alps.

The road meandered down valleys, some narrow and steep, but latterly les so, until we came to the motorway, then I could put the hammer down.

The car’s display had shown it to be twenty two degrees when we set out from the hotel, but as we dropped in altitude and it got towards afternoon, thirty degrees was reached, then thirty five, and finally thirty eight.

We stopped at the first services, as the mountains were now just shadows in the rear view mirror. We stepped out of the air conditioned car and into the afternoon heat, and it hit us like a slice of lemon wrapped round a gold brick.

We got drinks and a baguette, ate, and went back to the car to head further south.

The countryside was now flat, filled with crops, and low hills on which were farms and villages. Traffic got heavier, and the temperature didn’t drop.

We reached Arles, where we had several things planned, but getting out of the car showed that just walking in the heat and humidity would have been just about impossible for us.

Into the hotel, and their air conditioning wasn’t coping, we joined a queue of people waiting to check in, all had faces and bodies the colour of freshly boiled lobster.

We checked in and went to our room. It faced south, and had received at least six hours of sunshine, the air conditioning made little difference. I washed my face so to be free of sweat, and within thirty seconds as hot all over again.

We went down to the bar, and found ice cold beers just about took the edge off, but not by much. I made two pints disappear as more guests arrived, and found their rooms not ready, and their anger quickly boiled over.

At seven we had dinner, and over glasses of rose wine, we were honest about the heat and the fact we had at least eight more days of it. Should we stick with it, or not?

We both said it was too much. We couldn’t sleep, and during the day it would have been too hot for us to do anything outside, but we had days of nature watching planned, all of which was impossible.

We cancelled the next two hotels, meaning we would not see the total eclipse, but would see it 97% total from home. We booked a hotel in Chartres, and sighed with relief.

We went upstairs to pack an overnight bag, contact the cattery, and try to get some sleep.

Tuesday 4th August 2026

Time to begin the next stage of the holiday.

Pack and then try to find the car in the underground lair I left it in on Saturday.

Wheels was due at eight, and breakfast an hour before, so up at six, and I was out the hotel at half six, walking the empty streets to the car park, then down the stairs as far as I could, and there was out reliable Audi.

I drove to the hotel, where Jools had the first of the bags ready for loading, and in the minutes before breakfast, it was pretty much done.

Richard had already confirmed to me that we would be leaving up the Col, so the question remained, in feet how high it was.

And could I drive up it, and down the other side?

Driving it is different from being a passenger, though easier at eight in the morning when the early cyclists were trying to climb it.

Up and up, round and round we went, until the car said it was 9,200 feet above sea level, and then the ay down began.

Both up and down the Col, we passed the sites we had botanised, and then onto virgin territory. We stopped for five minutes to see what was left of the Globe-flowered orchid, then back in the buses and car to the bottom of the Col, then along for twenty miles before taking a minor road up, and attacked another Col.

This was taking us towards Italy, but little did I know that after crowning that Col and descending it, we entered Italy, and into a busy town the other side, by which time our brake pads were stinking after much use.

After a week in the high Alps, it was a shock to enter a busy town, and the jams it provided where two major roads met.

This is where I lost contract with Jon and Richard, only having a “pin” of the last site we were to visit, and hoping that it was correct.

Google maps took us over another minor Col, back into France, and through majestic landscapes, with views of castles and monasteries built on hills or outcrops of rocks.

By luck, our next hotel was within ten miles of the last site visit: one for Ghosts.

We arrived first. Parked and had our lunch while we waited for the two buses to arrive.

Richard briefed us, and so we went hunting, over the bridge and to the left, up the wooded slopes of the river valley.

The ground was dry. The moss was dry. And although we saw plenty of orchids gone to seed, no Ghosts were seen.

I went up exploring the wooded slope, up a track. Up and up I went, before realising that I would miss the buses departure unless I hurried.

I arrived at the bottom of the hill five minutes after they left. Jools was waiting for me, patient as ever.

Just us now.

We programmed in the hotel, some thirty minutes away. Realising that I had no idea what we would find, so approached Puy-Saint-Vincent with some worries.

I needn’t have worried It was a large chalet style place, with a well-stocked bar and a restaurant. After a few minutes waiting, the owner came to check us in, poured us a drink each, and so with full glasses we sat on the veranda and drank in the calmness of the isolated valley.

Up to our room, upgraded to one with a balcony, we settled in, and I grabbed a well-needed 90 minutes of zedding.

Down for dinner at nine, we had three courses:

Gazpacho of fresh pea.

Cassoulet of scallops.

Liqueur ice cream.

And beer.

It was fabulous.

Behind us the fay faded, clouds built behind the mountains, as always.

After going back to the room, the storm broke. Thunder roared and rattled the windows, then rain hammered down, so loud I thought it an air conditioning fan.

|It was still raining when we went to bed, and fell asleep as the rain steadily fell.

Monday 3rd August 2026

Believe it or not, the final day in the tour mini bus.

Another humid evening, turned into a cool and refreshing morning. We rose at half six, had showers and were ready for the day.

Jools would try one of the local free bus services, and we would head over the Col to further expore the site just over the crest of the pass.

But first, breakfast. As usual there is the scramble for the coffee machine, but with our caffine hit, we were ready for the day.

Val d'Isère is at about 1700m, and the top of the Col is 2,770m. It is some climb to get up there.

So into the buses, and off we go, going up and up, round hairpin bends, and between views down to the town, sometimes hundreds of metres below.

Being a weekday, it wasn’t so busy. Certainly not so many cyclists making the climb. We crested the summit, and went down about 500m, parked at the side of the road, and once out, began botanising the lower slopes of the mountain.

We were looking for the alpine orchids, but also saxifrages and other rare plants. And butterflies.

Thing is, altitude was taking its toll on us, we were easily out of breath, and ached all over. We did OK in the morning, but after lunch, we were not motivated to do much more.

I snapped two species of mountain Ringlets, and saw Small tortoiseshells and Painted Lady at the very top of the pass.

Some climbed the upper slopes, and looked like miniatures from our lower vantage points.

We had lunch at the summit, I took pictures of cyclists posing beside the summit sign, then wandered off exploring on my own. Jon had mentioned how the Brassy ringlet’s upper wing surfaces appeared burnished when light hit at a certain angle, and I was lucky enough to capture that.

The Silky ringlet is a very rare species, but common in the higer Alpine passes. I snapped one of those too.

On our way back down to the hotel, we stopped off at two more sites, but with the threat of active weather inbound.

My knee told me I had done enough, so sat in the van and listened to a pod, then just before we got back to the hotel, we stopped beside the road to look at to Gentian species, both rare, one I had not seen before.

As we crossed the road, the rain began. Big fat drops, soaking us in seconds. And then the bog soaked through our shoes. I stayed long enough to get a shot of the Willow gentian, nearly two feet high, but the bog and rain forced me back to the van and shelter.

And that was that. The tour over. Time to pack, and at seven go for the last debrief and then dinner.

We had squeezed a lot into six days, and on Tuesday they begin the journey back to Lyon, while we continue south for next week’s eclipse.

Sunday 2nd August 2026

We are in the high Alps, right in the heart of the country normally occupied by the apris ski set. But there is no snow, only above 2.500m, anyway.

We are here for three days to see the high Alpine plants and fauna, and we would be going back to the top of the pass once again.

We meet for breakfast at eight, talk about the day. And are ready for wheels at nine, where we will go back up The Col de l’Iseran.

If anything, Sunday was busier than Saturday, with cyclists, bikers and cars of all sorts climbing or descending one side or the other. So, cars have to find the short straight stretches to get past the cyclists or slow-moving vehicles, and all the while a sheer drop on one side for hundreds of metres with little or no barriers to stop you if a mistake were made.

Eek indeed.

We made it to the top, or 500 metres short of the summit, and from the small parking area we spent three hours botanising and chasing butterflies.

Thanks to Jon’s information the previous evening on the Peak White butterfly, and how rarely they settle and in 35 years he had never photographed one, when I saw a female ovipositioning, I gave chase. And did get a few shots off before she flew away, thankfully one was in focus.

Otherwise it was up and down, snapping flowers, orchids or other butterflies, ot just stopping to take in the grand landscapes that hung all around us.

We made our way back down, stopping off at one of the lower hairpins, where we walked along the road to see more orchids, and were rewarded with Dark red helleborines and the hybrid between the Chalk and Marsh fragrants.

Our final call was at a lower meadow where we went searching for more orchids, Dark reds and Musk, but the high temperatures this summer had frazzled them both at this lower altitude. But there were butterflies to chase, and get shots off. Though I did turn my ankle over whilst climbing a rick fall. As you do.

And that was that, eight hours, 800 pictures taken, and more to edit and post over the next few months.

Dinner again at half seven, which featured sausages. Sausages!

Saturday 1st August 2026

Time to move on.

Again.

As the crow, or chough flies, it was 19km to our next hotel, though that would be over Alpine peaks, our route was 80km, down the valley, then along some, then up to Val d'Isère.

On the way we would do some light orchiding. Visit another Ghost site, look for some Summer Lady’s Tresses before heading down the valley.

We had to pack of course, then load the car. And although I have only bought four bottles, our stuff now fills the boot and the back seats.

We have breakfast. Again with limited bread served to each of us in a small basket, though there is also fruit and coffee.

The first site, down a dusty track was bone dry, so there were no orchids, Ghost or otherwise.

Shame.

Then up a long and winding narrow lane to an Alpine meadow, where after parking we cross the footbridge and see the Creeping Lady’s Tresses and Broad Leaved Helleborines.

On the meadow the other side of the stream, in the hot sunshine, there were many, many butterflies, so I chased them with my camera with little success.

All back in the wagons, and down the track, steep and with hairpin bends, until we reach the main road, then it was all systems go.

And then we reached the town of Bourg-Saint-Maurice, very busy on a Saturday morning. |But it was from there that the climb, some 30km up to Val-d'Isère, from 200m to 1500m or so, or 500 feet to 6060.

Steep climbs, hairpin bends, villages perched on hillsides, and mad motorcycles overtaking us wherever they felt it right to, even when there was no space to pull in.

We stopped for lunch beside a dam, a concrete overlook, where a road crossed the dam to the town of Tignes.

Then up to Val-d'Isère where, of course, there was a festival, and the road through to our hotel was closed. There were diversions, across fields and down narrow streets, until we arrived.

Then we had to unload the car, and I find a place to park. The central car park is free in summer, and they claimed to have 113 free spaces.

I followed the diversions, past the bbq and beer stalls, bands playing oompah music, until I reached the entrance. The first two levels were full, or spaces that were there we too small because of piss-poor parking by SUV owners.

I found a space on the lowest level, then walked up, and had to walk back to the hotel, quickly, as the next tour of the day was to start at two.

I made it, and Jools had got our bags and stuff into our modern room, but it was time to leave again.

So back down to the street, into thebuses, and upwards to the orchid meadows.

The Col de l’Iseran climbs out of the town, continuing on from the one we had already travelled, until it reaches the top of the pass at 2,500m.

It is fairly narrow, lots of hairpins, and views down into the valley that get ever more alarming as you go higher and higher. And there’s no barriers, and one mistake could see you falling hundreds of metres.

At the top, it felt like we were on the roof of the world, and the car park at the top was full of bikers, mostly Belgians.

We carried on, and about two hundred metres down the other side, we pulled off and parked before the Bridge of Snow.

We had three hours to explore the meadow, and hiding in it were possibly dozens of orchids of several species, as well as other Alpine plants.

It was boggy too, and steep, but the hot weather had dried it out, and soon we got into the swing of it.

Orchids were found. So-called Vanilla ones, and Frog orchids too, but lots of other plants, some Alpine variations of stuff we know from home, or other more exotic ones.

I found a pure white variant of a Field gentian, a rare find indeed, and later would have to show jOn and the others where it was.

Also seen where Moonwort, and oh so many wonderful things, and butterflies too.

At half five we packed up and got back on the van, then began the 19km steep descent into the town.

We arrived safe and sound, then having 45 minutes before dinner on the 4th floor.

Friday 31st July 2026

Our hotel was a little idiosyncratic, the toilet had a device for mixing material up, and had just two plug sockets, so recharging batteries was difficult.

But the staff, for the most part were friendly, even if the owner was a bully to her staff, we appreciated the laughs we had.

The plan for the day was to take the chairlift to the top of the gorger, then walk up the trail to the glacial lake, then wander down looking at and snapping the flora in the verdant valley.

Only, no one told Mother nature of our plans.

We had breakfast, and were ready to go at nine. A drive to the base of the chairlift, then a ten minute ride up through the trees and fields to the base of the trail.

It was warm and the sun shone. We snapped butterflies and flowers, and it was cool enough not to need frequent water stops.

Then we began the walk up, through a trail marked by dry stone walls, and getting steeper.

After twenty minutes the first rain fell. I stopped, packed the camera away and put my rain jacket on.

I got hot, but stayed dry.

The trail got steeper, and I was left behind by the rest of the group.

The rain stopped. I took off my jacket and got out my camera.

I carried on climbing.

Then it rained again, so I stopped once more to put my jacket on, and carried on climbing, though the trail had stones, which the rain made slippery. I could others from the group at the top of the trail, it seemed I would never catch up.

I did some 4,000 steps, the rain was coming down harder, and I thought with each step up, meant there would be another back down.

I sighed, and began to walk down.

Hard at first, but the trail levelled out, and in half an hour I was back at the top of the chairlift where there was a cafe. I went in and ordered a coffee and a Coke.

A familiar figure was approaching. Jools.

I went out and greeted her, “Mon cherie!”

She joined me in a drink and a slice of walnut and syrup flan.

Others came in out of the rain to have a drink and shelter some.

The rain stopped and the sun came out. Jools went down to the village, and I went butterfly hunting, though over the mountains I could see storm clouds gathering, and we were told if there was a storm, the lift would be closed, so I went down too.

And met Jools at the bottom where we waited for the free bus back into the centre of town.

Jools went off exploring, while I found a place to sit and eat my snap.

Then back to the hotel where I wrote, listened to a pod, then had a shower.

So the afternoon passed.

We met for evening debrief and drinks, then went to dinner where wine and laughs flowed.

Thursday 30th July 2026

For all UK and most European orchidists, there is one species that stands head and shoulders above all others, and that is the Ghost.

Since 2008, just two plants have are known to have been seen in the UK, one in 2008, just after the plant was declared extinct, and the second and most recent in 2024 by a friend, Richard. Who just happens to be a tour co-leader on this tour.

In mainland Europe, populations of Ghosts are more stable, and so with some knowledge and luck you can see some. But this is 2026, the year of the drought, record temperatures through Spring and into summer. Wildfires are sweeping the continent from the highlands of Scotland, through Suffolk, Kent and onto mainland Europe through France, Spain and Italy.

Europe is burning.

And for Ghosts which like damp, moist ground to grow from, this is a problem, meaning that the still hyper-rare plant will be more elusive for us.

We began the day in a hotel at Lyon Airport. We had slept well thanks to the best air conditioning I have known, so were well rested.

We met with the rest at breakfast, then loaded the car, and they loaded the two vans.

Their first call was to see the epipacticis fibri, and as I had my shots, it was suggested we met at a town in The Alps, we could take our time, have lunch and/or a coffee. So, we programmed the village in, and set off, some two hours drive away.

All on motorways, and in glorious hot sunshine. It was already twenty five at nine in the morning, and even as the roads began to climb, it got warmer and warmer.

As we headed further east, the ground rose, and hills melted into the distance, each layer getting higher and higher.

We turned off the motorway, but continued along a valley, until we reach a large industrial town of Les Chavonnes, from there the road climbed in a proper Le Tour Col de something, into the foothills and crashing through the three thousand feet mark.

We stopped in Bozel, to stretch our legs and to get a drink. It was thirty degrees, the sun beat down in a way that made just standing still sweaty.

We had a cold drink in a cafe, watched the world go by.

A struggle up the hill to the parish church revealed a heavily painted interior, all saints and cherubs. It was most surprising in what seemed like a modest church. We rested in the cool interior until midday when the lights came on and mass was to begin.

We got news of our meeting point, we headed back down the valley, the way we came for ten miles, then turned south up a narrow twisty lane which took us over four thousand feet. It was wooded, heavily shaded.

At a lay by on a long straight road, some thirty miles from Bozel, we found the two buses, and we walked with our friends up into the woods.

In a shaded spot, hundreds of yards from the road was a banks, trees grew at the top, and the bank was covered in moss. Saplings covered much in shade, and in the deepest shade was a single Ghost.

We took turns to snap the small plant, and its three flowers. It was in good condition.

And so the quest ended in a wood, miles away from the modern world.

Afterwards we hugged and shook hands with each other, for most this was the first, and probably only time we would see one.

We walked back to the vehicles, then drove an hour to our hotel for the next two nights, me finding the last parking space in the small car park.

It was a chalet style building. Old and full of character, but the demands of the modern world and en-suite rooms meant that each room was small, but ours had a balcony overlooking the town, with the backdrop of the High Alps in the background.

For a leg-stretcher, we went up a high pass to an Alpine meadow which was full of butterflies and plants, so we wandered for a couple of hours, up the waterfall that tumbled down from the high cliffs hundred of metres above.

A small building did drinks, so we stopped for liquid refreshments. I had a 50cl beer, and in the hot late afternoon sunshine, it was delicious.

Back to the hotel for a debrief at seven, and then dinner at half past, which took the best part of three hours to complete, but was washed down with more cold beer and a half bottle of Beaujolais.