Wednesday 8th June 2022

Last full day of the holiday.

All good things come to an end, and sadly, it would soon be back to reality.

But first, butterflies and orchids!

As the guy we met the day before, Richard, had given us details of where to see Marsh Fritillaries as well as other plants like Bogbean and some orchids too. The butterflies would only be seen of there was some sunshine, the forecast was iffy to say the least, but it seemed a good risk to go anyway, the plants would be there anyway.

The day started, as usual with a hearty, in unhealthy, cooked breakfast and some strong coffee, before getting ready for the day ahead. I programmed the sat nav and we drove back into Wales, through Welshpool and out into the edge of the Snowdonia National Park. It was coudy and cool, it seemed like a fool's errand, but worth a shot, I kept telling myself.

The other choice for the day would have been a ride on the Cambrian coast line back to Porthmadoc and beyond, but the chance to see this butterfly trumped the dramatic train journey!

The journey to the site was spectacular as always, but also dogged by drivers apparently scared at going above 40mph, this was especially true of a campervan that would only go that fast on the straights, and then slow down for any bends and whenever something came the other way.

Sigh.

But we had the radio on, and this time there was no clock to race against, so we settled down and enjoyed the drive, as best we could.

Richard's directions was very detailed, with grid references and what three words codes, but the directions themselves were good enough to guide us off the main road and up the narrowest lanes we have ever been down, just as well there wasn't anything coming the other way as there wasn't any passing places either.

A simple cottage, still occupied apparenty, nestled under the reserve, away from the moden world, though they did have aTV, as their aerial was perched at a jaunty angle on the drystone wall.

We parked at the edge of the reseve, by a cattle grid, and armed with the what3words codes and the app guiding us, we walked half a mile up the lane until the trees and scrub gave way to a small peat bog, and from the road I could see the spikes of Heath Spotted Orchids.

I had by sturdy boots on, so stepped onto the bog, and although I could see lots of water, it took my weight, so I plunged forward, looking for the other plant I wanted to see here, Bogbean.

Bogbean has lovely, frilly with flowers, and is so called because it's leaves are similar to broad bean, so is not actually a bean, per se.

I found some Bogbeans, I take their shots, of course, and some of the Heath Spotteds too, but above there was just dark and gloomy clouds, and coupled with a cool wind, it seemed hopless that I would see butterflies. In fact, my Dad would have said the wather had set in for the day, so there was no choice but to give up.

For now.

I had shots of Bogbean and the orchids, so I was happy, though I had soaked feet and socks, made so by the jet black bog water that had soaked through. But prepared, I had dry socks and dry shoes to change into.

Back on the main road, we were going to go to Betws-y-Coed, as it had a good selection of outdoor gear shops, and I really needed a good breathable waterproof jacket, rather than the stinky fleece I have had for over two decades. But that was a forty mile drive, just to buy a jacket, seemed a long way to go. So, near another town, Dolgellau, we could try there.

Dolgellau was a fine small town, though with little parking. We drove round its narrow streets via its mad one way system, we see shops of most kinds, but no outdoor wear ones.

We leave the town, and I was surprised to see on a road sign that Barmouth was only ten miles away, and there seemed to be blue sky in that direction.

So, we changed plans and direction, and drove along the flat and wide estuary of the Afon Mawddach​. What drew me here was the unusual and splendid wooden trestle railway bridge that spans the estuary, while the road takes a long detour inland. My plan was to walk on the bridge and take shots of a train crossing it.

Barmouth is situated in the narrow strip of land as the side of the estuary, and is, in places, climbing the steep sides of it. The main road winds through the village, and the railway, once having crossed the estuary, turns north along Cardigan Bay.

We parked up, and I notice an Italian ice cream place. Now, we were looking for coffee, but both had a two scoop waffle cone. A better choice, I think. We retired to a bench overlooking the bay, and I notice in the distance a train getting ready to cross the bridge.

I took lots of shots.

Lots.

We ten explored the town, and finding an outdoor clothing place, I buy a jacket, which wasn't cheap, but should last years, and will keep me dry and cool in the warm summer rain showers.

I hope.

We move the car to a car park, and Jools said she wasn't feeling too good, so would stay in the car and read/snooze, so I go off, walking up the main road, then finding the steps to the bridge, walk down and take even more shots.

I checked train times on my phone, and a service heading for Birmingham was due in 15 minutes.

I would wait.

I got talking to a fisherman who said, that in 13 years of fishing from the bridge had never caught a fish. Needless to say, five minutes later he pulled a plaice from the bay, and I and his friend took shots to record the occasion.

The train left Barmouth station, and I saw it emerge from the short tunnel and approach the bridge. I had chosen my location well, set the camera up, so when it neared, the front of the train filled the frame in a most pleasing way.

Job done.

In the two hours we had been in Barmouth, the sun came out. And the big question was, would the good weather last the ten miles inland, and five hundred feet up?

Only one way to find out.

We drove back to the resreve, and in what the BBC would call sunny intervals, I got out and looked.

And looked.

And then I saw a small brown butterfly.

My target!

One settled, so I got a nice open wing shot, but from a distance, it then rose up and took part in a duel with another, which I snapped in a stem of grass in the breeze.

I saw that some plants had been damaged in me chasing the butterflies. I didn't have the "perfect" shot, but I had seen two. That would do.

I left the bog and walked back to the car.

That'll do, pig.

We drive down the hill and stop at the fine looking modern pub, the Cross Foxes, and end up not having a pack of crisps, but have beef fajitas along with pints of beer/cider and an orange juice and lemonade so not to be too parched. We eat on the raised decking, and was most agreeable.

A gentle drive back to the hotel, which took an hour, getting back without using the sat nav for once, and then chilled for three hours, me catching up on my blogs and editing shots.

We went down to dinner, I had lasagne and chips.

I know, I know.

Then the highlight of the week, the grand Uckers challenge: Bob and his fellow armour friend, Mick against Jools and I in an evening of games, drinking ad abuse. Jools and I won the first one in a 5-piecer, Bon and Mick to the second by a single piece, so all down to a winner takes all third.

The evening is now hazy to me, as I had switched from beer to whisky, but much lucky rolls and snotting, Jools and I claimed vistory at quarter past eleven with much shouting and back-slapping.

Time for bed, but those two sets of stairs were tough.

Oh yes.