Le Forêt Nouveau Encore

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Francine and I enjoyed our (re)discovery of the so-called New Forest en Angleterre so much last September that, after what feels like a desperately long and dull winter, we decided to return for another visit. Our timing appears to have been good; our journey was made largely in sunshine, albeit still slightly feeble sunshine it being only halfway through March and technically not quite yet spring, and not only was the sun shining but even the normally nightmarish English roads were relatively quiet, though not as quiet as the delightful roads of la belle France, of course. Nonetheless, we arrived at Setthorns campsite after a blissfully easy trip.

We’ve pushed out le bateau and upgraded to a select pitch. Select pitches provide a little more space and a wooden bench table pour faire le pique-nique. Another difference with the select pitch area is that it is planted with mostly deciduous, broad-leaved trees rather than evergreen conifers, so the area allows more sunlight through to the individual pitches now that the trees are devoid of leaves. Having selected a select pitch and set up Guillaume to the accompaniment of our traditional installation beer, we settled down on our select wooden table to a pique-nique of pâté and toast washed down with another beer. Contentment set in.

The only slight blot on our otherwise perfect day was caused by our badly behaved caravan, Guillaume. Last year, in France, he had begun misbehaving in that his on-board water pump “decided” to run every 15 minutes or so to re-pressurize the on-board water system. Judder, judder, judder, went the pump, irritatingly. The pump is pressure activated – dropping pressure (normally when you turn on a tap) kicks the pump into operation. Since we were not turning on a tap every 15 minutes, I feared a leak in the system. The cause was eventually tracked down to be water trickling back out of the van’s water system inlet and into the water container whence it had originally come. This shouldn’t happen. At Guillaume’s recent service, I asked for a non-return valve to be fitted to fix the problem. Regrettably it seems to have scored a big fat zero on the old fixometer – water is still trickling back into the water container. Clearly the non-return valve is not non-returning. Merde alors!

Back to our French solution of turning the water pump on and off manually. This is how vans were 30 years ago. The more complex a “solution”, the more ways there are of its breaking down. Isn’t technology great?

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Posted in 2011 New Forest

Golden Ringless

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IMG_7497_Common_Darter_female IMG_7520_Common_Darter_male Our last full day in The New Forest and, as forecast, it was dry. It was even quite sunny and I was determined to try and fulfill an outstanding quest: a picture of a Golden-ringed Dragonfly (Cordulegaster boltonii). Ever hopeful, we set of on the short walk from Guillaume down to the one site we’d previously seen them flying around. Nothing, rien, pas une saucisse. I wandered up and down the stream between the two locations where we’d seen them but today, Golden Rings were there none. A few die-hard Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum) were flying around – one pair was even ovipositing – but my main quarry remained elusive. Though nominally common, Common Darters are still attractive creatures so here’s a pair to brighten the posting (female on the left, male on the right).

The final day may not have delivered but you can’t have everything and we had seen Golden-ringed Dragonflies for the first time. Our visit here had also produced shots of a Keeled Skimmer, a species completely new to me, together with both male and female Southern Hawkers (Aeshna cyanea), neither easy to find at rest. I think we’ve got an additional subspecies of the Beautiful Demoiselle (Calopteryx virgo) to add to our collection, too. An excellent haul and a very satisfying trip.

We may have to return next year for that Golden-ringed beastie. It may even be worth suffering rugrat season. Arghh!

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Relatively Poor Forecast

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What is it with weather forecasting in this country? Is it that difficult? Clearly it must be because the standard down here in The New Forest has been relatively poor. The inaccuracy, it must be said, has sometimes been to the betterment of what was expected to happen. Not so today, which was supposed to remain dry until a weather front to the north drifted down here.

We set off on another combination cycle ride/walk to seek out a few more ponds supposedly frequented by Odonata. Yes, I know this is beginning to seem like an obsession, and it may well be, but September is pretty much the last chance for dragonfly watching so I’m trying to cram in as much as possible before the onset of winter. Besides, it gives us a handy purpose for cycle rides and walks.

The star performance today came once again from a female Southern Hawker (Aeshna cyanea) not, this time, ovipositing but hanging perfectly still in some long grass beside one of the ponds. The wind was fairly brisk, not a great day for flying insects, and just as I was thinking that not a lot was happening, I initially saw her fly into a clump of grass stems and come to rest.

In the same way that two hands are never enough, neither are two eyes, especially as most peoples’ eyes follow each other and act as one rather than operating independently like those of a chameleon. I realize that our binocular vision comes in very handy for judging distance but there are times when we need to look at two things at once. What we humans really need is another pair of eyes. Only then will we be able to keep tracking our photographic target whilst also preparing the appropriate settings on our camera. For the briefest moment, I used my inadequate single, interlocked pair of eyes to set my camera and, in doing so, naturally lost sight of my quarry. I didn’t think my target had had time to flee the scene but I’d lost her completely. Helpfully, Francine, after tossing a couple of stones at inappropriate clumps of tall grass, tossed a stone at the relevant clump of tall grass in an attempt to prove whether or not our lady of the lake was still there. Nothing stirred. “I think she must have gone while I was adjusting the camera”, I said, just before my single pair of eyes once again located her, still clinging doggedly to a grass stem. What little morning sun we had seen had disappeared behind ten tenths cloud cover and temperatures were dropping in the wind so, I suspect, the dragonflies were becoming reluctant to fly.

IMG_7530_Southern_Hawker_female Having set my camera as desired, I could now fix my single pair of interlocked eyes on my re-acquired target and approach to a distance more suitable for a decent close-up shot. Once again a second pair of eyes would have come in handy. Had I had said extra pair of eyes, I could have kept watching my target with pair A whilst also watching my footing with pair B and, perhaps, not have sunk up to the top of my walking shoes in the water-sodden, spongy grass that surrounded my lady of the lake’s lakeside perch. The things we’ll do for a hobby! Once having wet feet, I was free to position myself to get what turned out to be a decent picture. The only additional danger to be avoided was falling headlong into the water. No, I didn’t – almost but I didn’t. If you look at the colour of this particular dragonfly and the colour of the grass she was hanging in, you’ll see how easy it might be to lose sight of her. Without seeing them land, you’d have very little chance of spotting them.

Complete with wet feet, we repaired to Burley for a late lunchtime beer. The rain that we weren’t supposed to have yet started, slowly at first but then slightly more persistently. We returned to Guillaume dampened physically but not spiritually, pleased with our morning’s excursion.

Francine finally told me that the “stones” she had thrown were actually poney poo! 😯

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Relatively Pleasant Day

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Francine has a relative living nearby. She had arranged that we visit her at about 2:30 this afternoon. Before then, though, we were free to use a sunny morning for some fun and games.

The nice thing about a wildlife hobby such as Odonata spotting is that it provides a ready excuse for cycling and/or walking somewhere. We decided to combine both modes of transport to visit another likely haunt from the New Forest Dragonflies website. I’d programmed the location into my Garmin eTrex GPS device so we were able to home in on it quite successfully, first à bicyclette and finishing through a wooded part of the forest à pied.

IMG_8684_Cep We found a small stream that had quite a bit of activity though all of it was down to Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum). I snapped a few for the record and failed to catch a tandem pair ovipositing. One day I’ll get them. We bumped in to another enthusiast armed with camera and bag of mushrooms that he’d gathered. Not only was his bag full of ceps (Boletus edulis), yummy and highly prized gourmet mushrooms, but his camera was a Canon EOS 7D (drool, drool). He was clearly a man of considerable taste and began giving us a brief lesson on the local fungi.

IMG_8701_Porcelain_Mushroom IMG_8692_Death_Cap Having grabbed a shot of a precious cep (which we left to spore) and enthused, no doubt, from the brief introduction of our new found acquaintance, Francine began snapping several other fungi. The one on the left demonstrates how careful it is necessary to be; it looks very pleasant and completely appetizing but it’s called the Death Cap. In this case, there’s a clue in the name – causes liver and kidney failure, apparently. The name is not always a clue, though; there’s another fungus called Plums and Custard (Tricholomopsis rutilans) ‘cos of its colour which is inedible. On the right is the so-called Porcelain Mushroom (Oudemansiella mucida) which was growing, as they do, on a Beech trunk fallen across a gap offering Francine this great shot from underneath.

IMG_7515_Southern_Hawker_maleMeanwhile, I had begun wandering back slowly and spotted a hawker hawking about. These guys are frustratingly restless so I muttered a silent prayer to the God of nature photography and pleaded with it personally to settle and give me a chance of a shot. To my complete surprise, it did exactly that. It came to rest hanging quite low in a bush. I was so stunned that I nearly didn’t react. Fortunately I came to my senses in time to rattle off a couple of shots. (Don’t tell Francine I was lying on the ground in clean clothes.) ‘T was a magnificent male Southern Hawker (Aeshna cyanea) to partner my ovipositing female Southern Hawker from yesterday. Happy camper!

Francine’s relative may have been close but she was on the other side of Beaulieu. Unfortunately this is the weekend of the annual Beaulieu autojumble event. Going was no problem but returning after a very pleasant visit through Beaulieu made us run smack bang into the masses of autojumble sellers and buyers, all of whom were spilling out filling the few, narrow, surrounding New Forest roads.

No matter, nothing a bottle or two of wine with a barbecued rib-eye steak won’t fix. 🙂

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Southern Surprise

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Quite why bad weather forecasts are generally more accurate than good weather forecasts, I don’t know. They are, though. As predicted, today dawned rainy and solidly overcast. We tromped off to Christchurch in search of a McDonalds McWiFi. Could we make the McWiFi work? No! We continued on to Christchurch town centre, which is a challenge to find in itself if you follow the signs or, indeed, if you use an OS map wich insists on marking “Christchurch” some way away from the town centre. Curious! We did eventually find it along with a Costa Coffee advertising free wi-fi. Could we make the Costa wi-fi work? No! Even trying two laptops we couldn’t get it to fly.

Francine has bought some knitting with her. Our neighbours are about to become grandparents and Francine is knitting a little je ne sais quoi for the imminent infant. Apparently she needs some things called “stitch holders”. Every time we have visited a town/village in The New Forest, Francine has wandered off in search of a knitting shop for stitch holders, thus far with a complete lack of success. Hopes rose briefly in Lymington where we spotted a haberdashery shop front; the sign in the darkened window said “For Let”. Clearly the well-shod sea-faring folk of Lymington do not mess about making their own clothing, they buy designer gear instead. I can just imagine a Gucci sou’wester – now there’s a thought. Anyway, my apparent sudden change of tack (get the boating reference?) in the storyline is because there, in glorious Christchurch amongst all the broken (i.e. we couldn’t get it to work) wi-fi, was a knitting shop stacked from floor to ceiling with wool. It was also stacked from floor to ceiling with delightful old ladies buying the wool. At last Francine found herself some infant-sized stitch holders. Now, perhaps, we could get on with a bit of traditional tourism.

IMG_7456_New_Forest_ponies IMG_7486_New_Forest_ponies Eventually, as forecast, in the later afternoon the rain eased off and some sun appeared. Since no trip to The New Forest would be complete without the famous New Forest ponies, we walked out in search of some. They are not hard to find. Rather, they are difficult to avoid. They know that they own the place and tend to wander along and across roads holding up traffic with complete impunity, even in the middle of towns. A few days ago we watched one unconcerned pony, followed by a line of cars, amble up to the T-junction in the centre of Brockenhurst, turn left (without indicating) and continue leading its patient cortège as it maintained its course up the centre of the road. Excellent! Hence, some of the ponies have reflective collars for safer wandering in the dark. The ponies are wonderful. We soon found some doing what ponies do best, munching grass and looking attractive. One even made a more-interesting-than-usual pony photo by wading into water to eat.

IMG_7461_Southern_Hawker The pony’s late afternoon snack was growing in a likely looking marshy habitat that dragonflies should like near Hincheslea Wood. Since it was about 4:00 PM after a particularly drab day, I had little expectation of luck. How wrong I was. There, zooming about and occasionally pausing to oviposit, was a female Southern Hawker (Aeshna cyanea). Yes, I know, if it was ovipositing, of course it was a female. Duh! I had my camera for snapping ponies but I didn’t have my big lens for snapping dragonflies. Though she wasn’t positioning herself to any great advantage, I did get close enough with a regular lens for some shots of a new critter for my catalogue.

A surprisingly fine end to an otherwise dull day.

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Lymington Navigation

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I have an entry-level Garmin eTrex GPS device (no mapping involved) for walking. By default, it notes positions, waypoints, etc. in degrees of latitude and longitude. As long as one is connected to the ever more indispensible Internet, this is quite good fun. Routes and waypoints can be transferred between the GPS device and a clever piece of software such as Google Earth whereupon you can superimpose a visual representation of where you went, just in case you were unsure. Fun but not desperately useful. For walkers and cyclists meandering about the countryside without both laptop and expensive mobile phone Internet connection, current position noted in latitude and longitude coordinates is about as much use as a wheel clamp on a gondola.

A few days ago I discovered a setting enabling my eTrex to read out positions in British National Grid coordinates, as on an Ordnance Survey map. To be honest, I’d tried the setting some time ago but it didn’t seem to work. [Ed: user error!] This trip, I tried again with much more success. Lo and behold, current position and waypoints appeared in OS coordinates. Suddenly, rather than providing an historic log of a route for academic interest after the event, good ol’ eTrex became useful in real time. With this amendment, in answer to the age-old question, “where the flippin’ ‘eck are we?” (or words to that effect), I was now able to respond, “AB123986”. Actually, I could respond, “AB1234598765”, since Monsieur Garmin thinks he’s accurate to 10 digits (five on each axis). Try being that accurate on an OS Landranger 1¼inch/mile (2cms/1km) map! The point is, suddenly what had hitherto been a toy had become genuinely useful to walkers and cyclists alike.

Flushed with success and a series of new possibilities, I experimented further by manually entering a route of linked waypoints, such as where footpaths began, junctions to turn at, etc., into the eTrex using OS coordinates. Accuracy is the difficulty given the level of detail of maps. Boy Scouts, armed with a default OS 1¼inch/mile map, were taught to give 6-digit map references which are basically accurate to about 100m/300ft. Much better is an OS 2½in/mile map enabling a realistic estimate at 8-digit references; with this I was getting accurate to within about 30m/100ft. It is, of course, a complete pain in the digits entering “AB12349876” manually, one character at a time, from a scrolling list of characters for each and every position on your route. Planning a route beforehand is possible but arduous. However, If one is scratching one’s head wondering which junction on a map one has just arrived at, it answers the question admirably and is very useful.

Even our 2½in/mile map isn’t accurate enough on our campsite; there are far more tracks than the map actually shows so it’s still difficult to navigate a route with precision out of the site. Nonetheless, today we tried and popped off à bicyclette to have a look at Lymington. After a little while cycling down roads that seemed pretty obvious,we came to an unexpected junction. Up went the cry, “where the flippin’ ‘eck are we?” (or words to that effect), enquiringly. “Ah, hang on … we’re at AB123987” I was able to reply, helpfully. “How’d we get here? Turn left.”

Lymington is a well-shod, boaty-person sort of place. Anywhere requiring a “chandlery” (SZ327956) and refusing permission for a Weatherspoon’s is well-shod. In addition to granting permission for a chandlery, however, it had also granted permission for a very small local seafood establishment selling some excellent fresh crab sandwiches (SZ328955) which we sat on the harbour munching. A little way out of town at the start of our return trip, despite there being no Weatherspoon’s, we did come across the Chequers pub(SZ322936) selling some very good Ringwood brewery’s “Fortyniner” ale (4.9% ABV) which washed the crab sandwiches down admirably.

Thus much refreshed, we navigated our way back home to Guillaume (SU267001) on the road that we had originally intended to go on. OK, we did pause en route at a second hostelry in Sway (SZ283986) for a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord (4.2% ABV). Well, we had cycled up a few inclines. 😉

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Snaketails in the Forest

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There are dragonflies called Snaketails or, rather, there are dragonflies named Snaketails by our American cousins. In the British English world, the Green Snaketail (Amerispeak) is the Green Clubtail (Britspeak). Naturally, the French-speaking world and the German-speaking world have other own names for the same things. Clarification across language boundaries is why standardized Latin (scientific) nomenclature is particularly useful. Just in case a foreign speaking person stumbles across any of my nature posts, I am trying to include the scientific name for things I see. This particular example will not cause confusion north of La Manche (the English Channel) because the Green Whatevertail does not occur here. We are not going to see one in The New Forest at any time of year.

By being in The New Forest, however, we are in an area populated by some Odonata species that do not occur chez nous. At last, this morning the sun shone and the temperature rose to something approaching comfortable. If it’s comfortable for Franco and Francine, it is probably comfortable for the dragon- and damselflies. Given an excuse for a pleasant nature ramble in this delightful countryside, we set off à pied to visit Sway while the morning warmed up properly, followed by a search for some six-legged friends.

We planed our return route via the first of the recommended (by New Forest Dragonflies) sites near Tiptoe. Bingo! Where on other days we had seen nothing, today we had some action. As well as several ubiquitous Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum), I was excited and, as it turned out, frustrated to see several Golden-ringed Dragonflies (Cordulegaster boltonii) dragonflying around. Being of the hawker variety, they dragonflew around so much that they never settled. Neither did they even dragonhover and present a half-chance of a snatched photograph. Nevertheless it was my first sighting of a species that we can’t see at home.

IMG_7418_Keeled_Skimmer IMG_7401_Holly_Blue I was busily snapping away at a blue butterfly I didn’t recognize when hawkeyed Francine spotted another item of interest, a blue-bodied dragonfly. It seemed to be happy settling and resembled a Black-tailed Skimmer without its black tail. The necessary technique in such situations, to avoid missing what may be a fleeting opportunity, is to grab shots first, then, if possible, to take more considered shots. Finally, feel free to think about what you’ve seen. This we did. This specimen was a male Keeled Skimmer (Orthetrum coerulescens), another species that doesn’t occur at home and the first I’d ever seen. The blue butterfly turned out to be a Holly Blue (Celastrina argiolus). With photographs of two new species to add to the collection, the trip had definitely become very worthwhile.

IMG_7442_Beautiful_Demoiselle Our lunchtime and early afternoon were interrupted by irritating English showers but, since the morning sun and warmth had invigorated the Tiptoe insects, we thought it was worth investigating Crockford Stream, another of the recommendations. Again, there was a hawker buzzing about but refusing to play fair – fun to watch but no photo. As compensation, we were treated by a flitting display of a Beautiful Demoiselle (Calopteryx virgo). We’d seen these in France for the first time this year but never before in England. This was yet another species that it is not possible to see at home. Furthermore, I think this was a different subspecies from that which we had seen in France.

IMG_7452_Red_Boa We made our way back to the car, happy with our new catalogue additions. A bigger surprise awaited us. Back at the car park, two chaps were hovering about while an older couple cowered in their car. One of the chaps out in the open cuddled a small, five-month old Sheltie, presumable to stop it becoming dinner for the cause of their concern. In a grassy ditch beside the car park, its head concealed in a bush, was a huge snake measuring about 5 feet. (I estimate this based upon the visible 4 feet which did not include its head.) The body of the snake was a good 2ins/5cms across so its girth must have been 6ins/15cms. We have, I think, three snakes in the UK: adder (a.k.a. viper), grass snake, smooth snake. The grass snake can approach 5 feet in rare instances but it is not a buff colour with dark red-brown patches on its back. This was an exotic import. The non-Sheltie-cuddling man called the rangers who, in turn, had called the RSPCA. The snake was thought to be a Red Boa constrictor that had been dumped by its scurrilous owner. Presumably it had grown to the point where caring for it had become a problem and it had been dumped. Such despicable people should be flayed alive and have salt rubbed in their wounds before being slowly roasted over an open fire. Any form of humane death would be too lenient. We really need enforceable laws to stamp down on the deplorable trade in all exotic creatures for the pet market – or any other market, come to that.

Anyway, who said there aren’t Snaketails in the New Forest?

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Gifts for Guillaume

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Francine and I are Francophiles of long-standing. About 30 years ago we used to enjoy travelling around France in a cheapo 4-person ridge tent. [Ed: A nominally 4-person ridge tent has just about enough space for two civilized people to be comfortable. Always divide a tent’s capacity by two.] That is to say, we mostly enjoyed travelling with a tent. Every now and then we would try to pitch our trusty tent on a campsite which seemed to consist of about 3cms turf laid on what could only be described as concrete. “Smack, smack, smack” went my mallet, “bend, bend, bend” went normal tent pegs. We persevered.

We had very close friends who were also Francophiles. Indeed, it was they who introduced me to the delights of camping in France. Our friends camped in relative luxury; they had a caravan. I couldn’t help but notice that, when they arrived on site, a few turns of the windlass to lower the corner steadies was pretty much all it took to get them settled. Not for them the sweaty brow induced by fighting to smack malleable tent pegs through impervious layers of concrete. Not only that but, when camping in the cooler dewy, autumnal days of September, they didn’t  have to leather off a soaking wet tent before packing it up to move off.

I was sold; Francine and I invested in our first caravan and joined in the travelling luxury. Our first caravan was very basic but served us well. I particularly enjoyed not struggling with tent pegs. Eventually we upgraded to a van including a hot-water system and a shower. We began travelling further south to sunnier climes, occasionally in high summer when the Mediterranean sun was at its most powerful. A combination of my fair skin and thinning hair meant that a sunburned head was a serious danger. Reluctantly, I bit the bullet and invested in a sun-canopy. It ran the full length of our van and enabled us to sit in shade. I had returned to occasional fights with a few tent pegs but only a few – a mere four, to be precise. Besides, other than in the height of summer, we didn’t need to use it.

IMG_7393_Guillaumes_presents Here we are in The New Forest. It is September. The sun, when/if it actually shines, is not strong. A sun canopy for shade is regrettably unnecessary. When it rains [Ed: we are in England so there is no “if” involved in the rain], being in a forest, shoes get grubby and dirt can get tracked into Guillaume (our third caravan). For some time, Francine has been worrying away like a dog with a bone for a “porch awning”. I, as the person tasked with trying to drive bendy tent pegs through unyielding concrete, have been resisting. Dirt has been tracked in, male resistance is useless – “we” have visited Southampton and bought a porch awning. Being the eternal homemaker, Francine could not resist also buying this rather trite but, nontheless, cute(ish) doormat. Lucky Guillaume – two presents! 😯

In stark contrast to bendy tent pegs, modern bendy tent pole technology is brilliant. Three external, narrow, springy poles threaded through their correct sewn-in channels and our porch awning was basically erected. Now for the pegs to stop it blowing away. How many pegs come with a modestly sized, 2.5m/8ft x 2m/6ft porch awning? 45! 45 for Chrissakes!! Ever hopeful, I set about attacking the first peg: “smack, smack, smack”, “bend, bend, bend”. The peg had run into something harder than I’d ever encountered during my tenting years in France. Move the peg slightly – same result. Try somewhere else completely different – same result. The whole forest seems to be built on concrete. Do these bendy pegs have any thing resembling a sharp point to help them pierce the ground? No, they are perfectly blunt; totally flat; not even rounded. If only peg technology had kept pace with pole technology. Why do we do this to ourselves? I’d fixed this problem 25 years ago moving to a plain, unadorned caravan.

IMG_7394_Guillaumes_presents Gamely Francine leapt in the car and shot off to our most local camping supply shop. Then she went on to our second nearest camping store. Fortunately it was not a windy afternoon so I didn’t have to constantly hold down the yet-to-be-tethered canopy during her absence. Eventually she returned with pegs resembling 10ins/23cms hardened steel nails, complete with a sharp point. There are successfully pitched full canopies on site using exactly these devices so hopes rose. My trusty rubber mallet was clearly going to bounce straight off rock pegs attacking concrete so Francine also purchased a metal thumping device, to whit, a camping axe. (The only mallets available were either rubber or wood.) I managed to use the back of the axe as a hammer. Luckily I also managed to avoid burying the sharp end of the axe in my forehead whilst using the back as a hammer, and finally smacked in sufficient high-tech rock pegs to hold our super new porch awning. Phew!

Cost of porch awning complete with 45 bendy pegs: £89. (Quite astounding given the work and detail in it.)

Cost of 25 rock pegs and camping axe to pitch it on concrete: £22.

We’re (I’m) not tracking dirt into Guillaume any more. We (Francine) has somewhere to hang damp towels, washing, and to stand wet umbrellas and dirty walking shoes. The porch canopy is very good. It’ll be even better on reasonable soil.

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Scouting Ride

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For those of us who might be seasonal Odonata freaks and who just happened to be planning a trip to The New Forest, Francine stumbled across a useful little Web site descriptively entitled New Forest Dragonflies. This Web site is very elegantly designed and, unlike “The New Forest”, it does exactly what it says on the can: it presents a whole host of useful information about dragonflies and damselflies in The New Forest. There is even a Google Map showing locations where named species have been spotted.What a great idea!

The down side was that there are so many dragonfly locations shown on the map that it’s difficult knowing where to start. So, prior to travelling, I contacted Mr. New Forest Dragonflies asking for a few location suggestions for new visitors. Helpful chap that he is, he obliged with three suggested locations. Wanting a little technological help, and to give it something useful to do, I downloaded the locations as waypoints into my Garmin eTrex GPS thingy.

After serious amounts of evening and overnight rain, today’s forecast was for sunshine and showers. Nonetheless we set out à bicyclette, our excuse being to scout out a couple of the dragonfly hot-spots just in case the sun graced us with an appearance. Let’s face it, the season it well advanced; September is pretty much the last chance for Odonata enthusiasts and seeing them needs better weather than we are currently getting but … you never know.

IMG_7392_Flower_hunt The land looks quite flat in The New Forest. As usual, once on a bike you realize that it isn’t actually as flat as it might look when driving a car. Nonetheless we pedalled our way around a 20 mile circuit, found the two of our new friend’s suggested locations that were on our route and, rather remarkably, stayed dry. Our remaining dry was entirely a stroke of luck. At one point, we were clearly cycling along a road freshly saturated by one of the advertised heavy showers. I could see said heavy shower, still heavily showering, receding into the distance. Although we didn’t see any friendly Odonata at either suggested location, I did spot a few late season hangers-on flitting about en route. The  flower hunters amongst us had more luck; my dragonflies may not have been venturing out but Francine’s plants remained firmly rooted in place, to her delight.

In common with Francine and I, dragonflies prefer dry, sunny, warm weather. There are supposedly Golden-ringed Dragonflies in the area and I’ve never seen one. My fingers are firmly crossed.

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To the Woods, to the Woods

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Satan’s little disciples are supposedly now safely locked up in school again so, in theory at least, it should be safe for civilized folk to enjoy a little peace and tranquillity in the big wide world. For one reason and another, Francine and I decided to try something a little different and visit a campsite north of La Manche (a.k.a. the English Channel). We chose a Forestry Commission campsite called Setthorns in the New Forest.

IMG_8660_One_tree_forest “The New Forest” is a slightly odd tag in some ways; it is neither new, having been declared new almost 1000 years ago by Guillaume le Conquerant, nor does most of it match the majority of peoples’ idea of a forest, large tracts being largely devoid of trees. (See Francine’s nice moody shot to help illustrate.) Many years ago, we drove a visiting Swiss friend to see our New Forest; he looked around slightly quizzically and said, “Ver are ze trees?”. I hadn’t previously thought it odd but I had to admit, he had a point. Much of it is more like heath land. I now know that the term “forest” actually referred to a hunting ground. The New Forest is where Guillaume le Conquerant would have galloped after the occasional sanglier (wild boar) for a damn fine hog roast.

August was a waste of time, weather-wise but mercifully September has started in a different vein with a week of very pleasant weather. Our very own Guillaume, Guillaume le Caravan, was quite excited about the prospect of a trip to The New Forest. We made a leisurely departure and things were progressing admirably until we hit stationary traffic on the A34 still some way north of the M4 junction – and when I say stationary I mean completely. Radio on – reports of 1½ hour delays and A34 being completely closed. We did crawl very slowly to a nearby exit but only because other traffic was clambering off the A34. Beyond the exit, traffic was at a standstill and the queue disappeared over the hills and far away. We exited when we could and Navigation Officer Francine talked me down a few pleasant (i.e. not blocked) country roads, through Newbury and back onto the A34 south of whatever disaster had befallen it. (We still don’t know.)

Having left a lot of very unhappy motorists behind, we arrived at Setthorns campsite and checked in. What a delightful site it is – pleasantly constructed pitches, well spaced out, amongst a mixture of pine and oak trees in Setthorns Inclosure. You see, there are some trees in the forest. We just about got Guillaume set up before the Anglo-Saxon rain began. Since it began sporadically and slowly, armed with an umbrella, we went for a short orientation walk. Soon, however, the real rain came down and the umbrella went up. As forecast, it is now raining quite heavily and persistently.

This camping north of La Manche lark may not catch on. 🙂

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