Orchid Season on the Wares

[puddleshark]

A drive down to coast early, the roads still empty. The sky grey, and the distances misty.





In Acton village, the stone cottages quiet, save for the chirping of sparrows under the eaves. A woman exercising two Red Setters in a field.

Onto the ancient chalk track, the Priest's Way, dodging puddles. To either side of the way, lambs in the fields. Blossom on the blackthorn. Whitethroats singing rapid scratchy songs.


Whitethroat (Sylvia communis).


Through the fields, towards the coast.

Down an old quarry track towards the cliffs, picking a way over the uneven footing - tumbled stones & mud. The way lined with flowering gorse, and the scent of coconut in the air.


I am serenaded by a Robin.


I am also serenaded by a Great-tit (Parus major), but I am not grateful. (It is a very squeaky song. Squeaky and repetitive.)


Linnet (Linaria cannabina).

Took a narrow path that winds up and downslope across the Wares, an area of rough meadow and scrub above the sea. A very peaceful day, not much wind. Just the sea washing softly against the cliffs, skylarks singing. On the short-grazed turf beside the path, one hundred thousand Early Spider Orchids




Early Spider Orchid (Ophrys sphegodes). One of those creepy orchids that evolved to pollinate by sexual deception, giving out a scent that mimics that of a female Andrena bee. They're very rare elsewhere in the UK, but here, at this time of year, the Wares are full of them. Numbers beyond counting.


A little further along, a small colony of Green-winged Orchids (Anacamptis morio).

On the cliffs, the Thrift and the Wild Cabbage coming into flower.



And here the rain arrived. Steady rain, but not cold.


Old quarry ledges, Seacombe.

From Seacombe, back up the long coombe towards Worth Matravers, with the rain falling, the valley green with new April leaves, the hillside scrub full of the flutter of songbirds. A thrush singing.



A pile of stones in the shelter of a brake of hawthorn & elder provided a handy seat, somewhere to rest and eat chocolate, before starting the last and steepest bit of the climb, a short section of stone steps.



From Worth Matravers, back towards Acton taking footpaths across cattle fields. It's all improved pasture, fertilized, the grass a very vivid green; but the soil is too rich for wild flowers. Only a few dandelions & daisies, who don't mind the extra nitrates.



Lots of beef cattle in the fields. But I wasn't too worried about being chased. The cattle here are all raised in family groups, with their mothers, brought up to be accustomed to hikers walking through their fields.

Back onto the Priest's Way, one last level stretch. The quarry spoilheaps of Acton on the skyline.


Rush hour on the Priest's Way.


The sun almost came out... but changed its mind.




Not just rain falling now, but also a gentle snow of blackthorn blossom, forming drifts in tractor ruts.




The jackdaws were perched on the backs of the hairy cattle, helping themselves to nesting materials (but didn't want to have their picture taken).


Acton in the rain.


Journey notes:

Passing through Corfe Castle, it seems the village has broken out in a rash of Union Jacks; Union Jack bunting on the pubs and the school, Union Jack flags on bamboo poles tied to every lamp-post. Outside the Castle Inn, a blackboard advertising

A MEAL FIT FOR A KING!
BANQUETTE

by which I suppose they mean "Small Banquet" rather than a "Bench".


But hey, each to their own.

C. and her cousin are going to make a weekend of it, celebrating the Coronation in a perfect orgy of cake and little Union Jack flags.

I shall be going on a long walk in the loneliest place I can think of, in the hope I shall avoid hearing the hushed reverent tones of a BBC Royal sycophant correspondent carrying faintly on the breeze.

Chatting with my sister on the way to dance practice last week, she said she was indifferent to the Coronation, but the Eurovision Song Contest, now that she would be celebrating big style, with copious supplies of prosecco.