Saturday 19th May 2018

Day eight, or nine, of the great Kentish Orchid Hunt.

After all, this was the reason for taking tie off these two weeks, to see and scour sites old and new for spikes of orchidy goodness.

But, and I can't lie, my legs are all achey breaky, but in a good way. Come the end of the day, and first thing in the morning, I groan and shuffle around like an old 'un, but soon life returns and I am up for another hike up a down or through woods, all with my pair of sharp orchid-eyes peeled and ready.

And again on Saturday, meeting with like minded orchid nuts to show them the site at Barham and share passion for all things ophrys and orchis.

But with the shopping already done on Friday, we could laze around and not be out of the house until half nine or so. As it was, we were up and about at six, although Jools reminded me I did fall back asleep for half an hour.

But up and attem, the day stats of cool, but soon with the sun abroad it will warm up, perfect for the meeting later. We have the first coffee, then another with warmed through croissants. The cats are fed. The birds have seeds scattered for them, peppers and chili plants watered.

All set.

A quiet drove along the A2, turning off before Canterbury, and quickly going from driving among the traffic leaving the port at 70mph, we are driving down a lane just wider than the car into Barham. We meet Tad and Helen at the pub, and after shaking hands we set off in convoy the two miles to the parking place.

Although they had come to see the white Lady, the fact that the Lesser Butterfly were out, and just a two minute walk up the bridleway meant we went up there first. And we were all soon huffing and puffing as we climbed the down.

As before, of the three viable spikes, just one was in flower, gently waving in the breeze as if to say, here I am.

They both take close ups, I have mine from yesterday. Or was it the day before? I don't know.

We walk back down the hill, over the road and into the wood. Now, Tad thought when I told him about the site, that there were a few Lady. Not the hundreds of spikes that we could see as soon as we walked into the wood.

I could see the white Lady, and its twin behind, so I say to Tad, look over there, and their breath was taken away.

Since the thinning out operation on the trees, there has been quite a bounce back in terms of number and size of spikes, although some were dformed by having to grow through the branches of the removed trees that had been left behind.

I also took time to look further up the hill, and was surprised to see Lady in particular, spreading higher up the down. Walking back down I find another pure white Lady; the third.

In addition, a smattering of Fly were also seen, and the Twaybldes, if not in the huge numbers before the clearance, were of an impressive enough size to take a few shots of the tallest ones.

Tad and Helen bid us farewell, and Jools and I drive to Ashford, a town we don't often go to, as it is a traffic nightmare, and as a mostly "new town", has little of interest, but we will have a day there one day, as I have to snap the church some day. But Jools wanted to go to a garden centre, and as it was on the main road it, was easy to get to, and easy to get back out again. And out westwards towards the newly-found Greater Butterfly peppered down, and fine country pub nearby too.

As being just after midday, we were hungry, and I thought what I needed was fish and chips, and Jools agreed. So before the walk through the woods to the meadow, we park outside the pub, order drinks and the food, then retire to the beer garden to watch the birds and animals go by by as we waiting for the food to come.

And when it did, the fish was so fresh, the fish was white and fell apart, the batter crispy to perfection. And accompanied by triple cooked chips. That was a fine lunch, and one I think a certain friend from NZ would have approved of.

And although we could have easily bailed on the walk after the meal, the thought of seeing dozens of Greater Butterfly all in flower meant that we did walk to the wood and then to the meadow.

The wood is now so different from when I first visited a month or so ago, the bluebells are now but a memory, and even the Garlic Mustard and Yellow Archangel is being crowded up by more common and nasty stinging nettles. The canopy is now thick, and the light coming through, muted.

The meadow was, in contrast, in full sunlight, and the only shade coming from a low soaring buzzard who circled the meadow time and time again.

And scattered all about were the nearly flowering spikes of countless Greater Butterfly, but none actually flowering like their diminutive cousin, the Lesser, in the woods to the north.

I see a butterfly, a Common Blue, then a smaller one rises to do battle, a Brown Argus. The Common Blue doesn't settle, but the Brown Argus does, so I watch it, then get down and crawl nearer and nearer. And once within a foot, switch to f22 to get the crispest shot, and carry on shooting.

Perfect.

All up the down the Early Purples are fading fast, but here and there are Fly, some already fading too, but there will be more, though I saw no mutants or hybrids.

We lay in the long grass near the stile, just enjoying the air full of insects and full of the sweet smells of the plants and flowers surrounding us.

"Are you OK" a voice asks.

Turns out it was the farmer/landowner of the meadow seeing if we had stayed to where he had been using a digger. We hadn't, but said we were just enjoying to orchids. He was thrilled, as he explained that he had been working with the KWT to make the meadow even better for orchids and wildlife.

Please, stay and enjoy it, he said.

So we did, at least for a while.

We start the walk back to the car, and come across a older lady who had stopped to adjust her shoes. She wanted to talk, and turned out who used to run the parish council, and knew the history of the wood and meadow. And was the driving force to make sure the meadow was saved and passed on into public responsibility, if not ownership.

She walked me to another meadow, where a dew pool had been dug, and was now full of wriggling tadpoles, a new magnet for yet more wildlife.

Jools came to collect me in the car, and so from there we drove home, down narrow lanes, getting lost before we stumbled on a narrow lane tumbling down the side of the down to the main road.

And from there it was a simple task to drive back into Ashford and back onto the quiet motorway and back home.

We arrive back at four fifteen, time enough for a coffee, review my shots before the kick off at five fifteen of the Cup Final. The days when the country used to stop of the game is long gone, but it still has the weight of history, even if the clubs and players don't really get that.

Chelsea were playing Man Utd, and in theory, should have been a good game, but with both teams wanting to win a trophy, so to try to come out of Citeh's shadow. Chelsea win a penalty, and score from it. They dominated the rest of the first half, but in the 2nd, Utd come to the fore, but despite having spent £300 million, created so little in the final third, and really did not deserve to draw level.

As soon as the game ends, I turn the game off, not waiting to see the trophy lifted and the interviews. Instead I go to cook dinner.

Outside the glorious day ends with low dark clouds, too cool to sit outside. So I write, listen to the radio until at nine, we call it a day again.

Phew.