The Quest (part 7)

And then came COVID.

And so life, and orchiding was put on hold. However, in early 2021, hotels began to reopen, and I got the urge to complete the quest. And next on my list was the most beautiful of UK and Irish Orchids, and one with the mosr remarkable survival story: the Lady's Slipper.

And again, though I wasnt to know it, this was the last season this species was going to be available to see at Gait Barrow, as DNA sequencing revealled and not wholly native plants, so the decision later in the year was made to remove the plants I saw and, in time, replace them with ones sourced from UK plants, and on the limestone pavements, not oon the damp meadow I saw it, thus needing the copper ring to prevent predation from slugs.

Tuesday 25th May 2021

The birthday of the second Mrs Jelltex.

Sadly, she passed away a couple of years after our divorce. Her story has come up a couple of times in the past few days, a heartbreakingly sad story, and one of her being unable to break the cycle of pain.

All I can do, we can do, is hope she found peace.

But she was the most selfish person I have met, and that is up against my own Mother and the first Mrs Jelltex.

Anyway.

Travel.

Yes, travel, and a night away. In a hotel. Overlooking a railway station, three railway lines and the last remeaining steam locomotive shed in the UK. But that wasn't even the reason for going.

That was for an orchid.

Yes, I know you're shocked at that news. But to drive six hours each way to see a single plant, or two in this case, next to each other, they would have to be either rare or spectacular. In fact, they were both.

The original plan was to set off just after nine in the morning, but I saw a wasted day, so in the end I rose at ten past four, had a coffee and breakfast, then loaded up the car with bags and cameras I had packed the day before, as well as a piece of paper with postcodes, grid references and so on for the two days I was away.

I put the radio on, but didn't set the sat nav, as I knew where I was going, at least until within half an hour of the site.

I went via the A2/M2/A2 to Dartfird, the radio played in the background, the sun rose away in the east and traffic was very light indeed. In under an hour from leaving home, I was driving under the Thames at Dartford, into Essex, then round to the start of the M11, then up past Standstead to Cambridge, getting there by half six, and before the expected rush hour into that city.

I turned west on the A14, now upgraded into a virtual motorway, cutting a swaithe through the Cambridgeshire countryside like a seeping wound.

At the A1 junction, in a change, I turned north, mainly to avoid the roadworks on the M6 and rush hour in around the towns and cities along its route. Up to Doncaster, the A1 is a four lane road, so I got caught being lorries struggling to overtake, but I had all day, and once I got to Newark, I knew I was well on the way, a road north to Pontefract I have driven up for many years.

Once at Pontefract I turned up the M62, which runs from Hull to Liverpool, but crosses the Pennines, which could be an interesting experience over Saddleworth Moor into Lancashire. It usually rains. Or snows. Or both.

Traffic was heavy, but I pressed on past Huddersfield, and up across the moor. In fact the weather improved, it had been raining up through Essex, but was cloudy but dry. I followed the signs to Preston and places further north.

There be dragons.

Onto the M6, and once past the turning for Blackpool, traffic was very light, the motorway ran beside the West Coast Mainline, but I saw no trains, I was half-concentrating on driving.

At Lancaster Services, I stopepd to program the sat nav: half an hour to go. It was ten fifteen, I would have nearly a full day here.

Eeeek.

I turn off at Carnforth, then follow ever narrower lanes, up into the foothills, through villages with roads barely wider then the car, fields and woodlands lines with moss-covered dry stone walls. There was rain in the air.

I came to the postcode I had programmed; there was a hostel and further on a bridge over the Furness railway.

I turned round and parked on the side of the road, across from me I could see the start of a bridleway into the reserve. It was less than half a mile from my goal.

I got out, stretched, then fitted the ringflash to the camera, put on my coat and walked to the gate and down towards the lake. The path lead me round an aread separated by another dry stone wall. I looked over and could see no orchid, nor no way in.

On the other side I found a gate, which didn't say we couldn't go in. So I went in.

There was a path, so I followed it. There were cowslips, and a few fare Alpine Bird's Eye Primroses, which looked fabulous. I snapped those. But still no orchids.

And then, there it was.

Or, there they were. Two plants, robust, each plant with a single flower. THe flower was spectacular: yellow lip that had curved upwards to make a "slipper", and three burgundy sepals, twisted reaching out at 120 degree angles.

It was an emotional moment.

I took lots of photos.

Most were repeats, but best to be sure.

Behind there was a larger clump, that had been in flower the week before, but were already going over. Their time is very short, I suspect these two plants will be the same be the weekend.

As I leave, a guide with a group of 29 ramblers were being prepared to go and see the orchid, they being another tick in the box on their day's walk. It is good people know, but this is a sensitive site, and 29 people plus a guide, after by mighty plates, creates damage. I hope they srvive here, as these are pretty much the last publicly accessable site for these left.

But, there's more!

THe next day I had a date in Gloucestershire to see a hybrid and another new species.

I woke up at six fifteen, not enough sleep, but deep and restful.

The original plan was to look round more local sites before heading south, but I was impatient, and the grid references to find the orchids I wanted hadn't arrived by seven, when it was time for breakfast, so instead I decided to head south to visit my friends who visited Kent last week, but live in Gloucestershire. Duncan had promised big.

I packed, checked the room twice, and went downstairs where the landlord showed my the fruit, cereal and coffee, took an order for sausage and bacon butties, while I took some fruit and a coffee.

I eat and drink up, say goodbye to the owner, and remind him again the name of the orchid I had come up to see.

I load the car, program the sat nav, which told me I had 183 miles to go.

I drove out of the car park, up the High Street, then along to the motorway junction, I turned south and engaged most of the horses, the car leapt off, overtaking a truck, and joining the motorway, filled, as it was, with light traffic.

It started out dull and grey, but brightened up, meaning I was even more enthused about some orchiding in a new county.

Down through Preston, round Manchester, bypassing Liverpool and further south until hit the roadworks between Crewe and Stafford, so we crept forward at fifty, the fifteen miles dragging.

Out through the roadworks and onto the clear three carriageways of the M6 Toll Road, driving for the sheer joy of it. I stop at the services for a coffee and a slice of cake, then back onto the road, taking the M42 to the south west, joining an old friend, the M5 towards Gloucester and Cheltenham.

I used to drive this road every week when I was still with wife number 2 and at Cosford on my fitters course, I think we must have travelled on it too when we had a holiday on the Long Mynd maybe 14 or 15 years ago now, but time matters little. Much has changed, and yet, much is the same.

I turn off and head east through Regency Cheltenham, I should have stopped for photos of the Georgian houses, the stonewear four sided bench and the fine pub named The Tivoli. But I had orchids in mind. I arrived at their house, and reveresed into their parking area, Duncan came out, and said he had already put the kettle on.

We have a cuppa, and a Danish pastry, catch up and then it is time. He will drive as I had already done nearly four hours, which was fine, as he also knew where to go. We take endless winding roads, through stunning verdant rolling countryside, climbing all the time, until we made the final climb to Selsley.

Selsly is a Common, but seems to be another name for a chalk down, it seems to have free grazing, and there were a few horses in the distance, as the Common is huge.

We set off across the buttercup covered grassland, until it began to drop away, bringing into view the village at the foot of the down, the land dropping to the River Severn many miles away, then the hills of south Wales rising darkly in the distance. It was breathtaking

We had to climb halfway down to the village, and in a location looking the same as any other,there was a spike of an orchid, but with flowers of a different shape: this was the spike of a hybrid, a hybrid between the Bee and Fly Orchid, and amazing it looked.

And then the sun came out.

Wow.

There was no one else about.

We both took lots of pictures, then began the climb back to the top, then over to the car.

The next call promised a climb of even steeper slopes.

Eeeek.

Duncan took us down narrow twisty lanes, along the valley and up the other side, past a huge pub to another Common, where we find a parking space, and ebfore we set off, we call in at a place selling what Duncan claimed were the best ice creams in England. A bold claim.

I had stawberry and cream in a snazzy waffle cone, and it passed the QC test, though I might need another to be sure.

The Common was covered again in buttercups and cowslips, we walk on, and the ground began to drop. We walked on.

Below us the sides of the down dropped away to the narrow lane we had come up, it was down there we had to go, there weemed no way of getting down. And remember, we'd have to get back up afterwards!

Duncan said if we took a certain path, and dropped down a gulley, we might get lucky and see some Dukes (of Burgundy).

It was a scramble alright, but once we reached the lower path, there were butterflies all around, including at least three Dukes. I managed to get a distant shot, and then one landed near me, so I managed to sccot closer and get a very acceptable shot.

Happy.

We climb further down, almost to the road, then along some, and ahead, Duncan lets out a cry: here they are!

Sword Leaved Helleborine is extinct in Kent, probably extinct, though I think one was found a few years back, and in Gloucestershore they're pretty rare. There were four plants, two full sized, and two much saller examples.

We were joined by two ladies who had also been looking, we all took shots before it was time to turn round and climb.