Sunday 2nd August 2020

Sunday.

A day of rest.

Not when there's orchids and butterflies to chase.

Oh no.

I am Admin for a Kentish Orchid group on Faceache, and from time to time, when there isn't a global pandemic on, I arrange meet ups to see orchids. And afterwards we talk about orchids some more.

And more.

And, as hard it is to believe, Jools decided not to come on the trip on Sunday. A walk in te woods, along sun-dappled paths was less tempting than working in the garden.

We get up, and already outside it is a fine morning, sun shining and all that.

We have a coffee, breakfast of fruit and another coffee.

I make a list of people who said they would be attending, it has two names. Plus me.

Three.

So at eight fifteen, I leave the house to drive up the A2 to Barham, then down Black Robin Lane, past the Black Robin and turn right to the railway bridge. I am half an hour early, which means there is time to hunt along the bridleway to see how the Yellow Birds Nest are doing, as hunt for the mythical Ghost Orchid, though there is little to no chance of finding it, but looking doesn't hurt.

There is deep leaf little everywhere, and all along the waxy white stalk of a ghost might be poking through. Only it isn't. There is no sign of a Ghost, not surprising as it has never been found in Kent, but it is possible they could be, by a keen-eyed international man of mystery and quality expert. If you know such a person, let me know.

Back to the car and the first of the others has arrived. We swap news, and he had been asked by others in the group regarding my Faceache name, Bishop Brian Jones: was I a real Bishop? I was dressed in an Alien t shirt from Last Exit, grubby cargo pants and dirty walking shoes. I had not had a shave for a week.

I am not a Bishop I admit.

And my name is not Brian Jones either.

Alison also turns up, we swap more news and then drive in convoy to the wood. When we arrive there are two motorhomes set up and the people inside are just up making a brew. And we turn up, fill up the rest of the hard standing with our cars, make all sorts of noise getting our gear out, and setting off into the wood.

Good luck one of them calls out.

We need no luck in finding them, just that at least one spike will be open.

Up the narrow path. Narrow now as the undergrowth both sides nearly meets in the middle. Good that they trust me.

Up the slop to the main part of the wood, the huge beech tower above us, and the woodland floor between them have scattered ferns and bracken, and helleborines we hope.

As we round a slight bend, I see the first spike sticking up in the middle of the path. Despite the passing of several motorcycles, judging by the tracks, one of the pikes was undamaged, so far, but not open.

I check the usual suspects, and they are all still closed spikes.

I leave the others and go to hunt down the group beside the meeting of paths, and even they were still closed.

I walk back through the trees, and don't see the other two at first. I do see them standing over something, Richard had found an open spike, and they were getting shots.

Yes!

I set up the tripod, but on the camera, and must have flicked a switch with my finger and turned the camera onto video mode. I struggle with sweat dripping into my eyes, and not having my glasses to find the switch to turn it back.

Minutes pass.

I find the switch, put the camera back on the tripod.

And I snap away, flash firing on every shot.

We search all spikes we could find, and no others were open.

Sigh.

Oh well, we got one.

Back at the car, the campers were cooking bacon. Bastards. Richard and Alison were going to go to Queensdown Warren to hunt butterflies and ALTs. I was going to go back to Temple Ewell to hunt for Silver Spotted Skippers. We say our goodbyes and I drive back to the A2, then back to Lydden and Temple Ewell.

I swing my camera over my shoulder and set off up the path, first looking at the lower meadow for Adonis Blues, but find none, but there were a few other blues about, mostly Chalkhills.

Up the wooded path, and a Holly Blue settled on a leaf beside the path, I could get a shot, so do.

Up and out onto the down, and the search begins.

I meet another snapper who tells me that the meadow the other side of the gate has loads, he had been with a pair for half an hour. I go to investigate.

I meet a couple form north Kent, the guy is called Ewan, he had never seen a Silver Spotted Skipper. He also likes an orchid, had I seen any ALTs here? A week too early I think I say. He says he had seen a spike snapped at Queensdown Warren on the Kent Orchid group on Facebook the previous day.

Oh, I run a Kentish Orchid group on Facebook I say.

There is two.

Oh, what is your name he asks.

Bishop Brian Jones.

Oh, you're him!

He later goes to describe me as orchid royalty. I doubt that very much.

We sit at the top of the meadow looking down, there is a carpet of flowers, with dozens, if not hundreds, of blue butterflies on the wing, looking for food and love. The sun is shining, there is little wind. It is perfect.

But we are here to hunt skippers. And I see none.

I could have talked to them all day, but back home Jools would be thinking of dinner, and I had invited Jen. Apparently.

So, I bid them farewell, walk back up the down, into the lower paddock, but taking my time walking on the slopes above the path.

I see something different; a small brownish butterfly, flapping its wings twich as hard as the blues. So I follow it.

It settled on the edge of a bank, I creep up and take three shots. It was a Silver Spotted. Not a great shot, but I got one.

Back down the hill to the car, then along to Whitfield Hill and to home.

Jen was working in the garden. Jen would come for dinner if that was possible. So I cook bacon for lunch. Not just bacon. But Tesco's finest maple syrup roasted bacon.

Cooking the bacon, the air was filled with the smell of smoked bacon and the syrup. Heady stuff.

And the butties were great. Along with a fine, strong brew.

There are photos to review. Blog posts to write. Coffee to drink. And chocolate to eat.

The afternoon slips by.

Jen arrives and fills us in with news of Betty: she is feeling better and will be discharged once a care package is n place. Jen had been waiting since Friday night, and no news.

I make chorizo hash fro dinner. Jen had not had it before. I make 50% more than usual, but we don't eat it all, meaning there'll be some for lunch in the morning. I also crack open a big bottle of tripel.

That's better.

And somehow once Jen had gone, it was eight, and time for #wildflowerhour. I had a stack of shots to post, so get busy, and another hour passes.

As had the weekend.