After being presented with a newspaper cutting suggesting that Giant Orchids (Himantoglossum robertianum) were now in bloom in the Valencia region, we thought we should try to find one, since hitherto we’ve seen only rosettes of leaves on our walks. Francine remembered seeing some in a previous year on a walk around the back of Lliber, a small village in the valley close to Jalón. We were decidedly unsure about the route but set off gamely nonetheless.

Lliber is a sod to drive through, the whole village sitting between a set of traffic lights which frequently get ignored by swarms of regulation-ignoring cyclists (i.e. most of them), but great to park in, especially when you know how to avoid the main street. We abandoned ship beside the vineyards and set off on foot.

Vague memories worked and we were soon on the correct walking route out of town. We made a couple more correct guesses following the route before a wrong one that had us back-tracking a short way to correct our minor mistake. I’ve never been a horticulturist but I’ve been put right off large gaudy cultivated blooms by the delightfully delicate, small wild flowers that I’ve seen following Francine’s botanical guidance. We came across several patches of tiny wild daffodils which can only be described as painfully cute. These little chaps are little more than 1cm across.

Things looked up on the orchid front as we stumbled across another handful of Dull Ophrys (Ophrys fusca). I still find that common name less than appropriate for such an attractive plant.

It was after we’d corrected our wrong turn that the path began looking more like our distant memories of the location for any potential Giant Orchid. As usual, Francine was scanning low down and eventually spotted a rosette of leaves with a flower spike showing, though still more of a bud with no flowers yet formed. As is often the case on the side of a Spanish mountain/hill, there were dry stone bancales forming steps/terracing. Just above where we were initially looking was a more advanced specimen. Lots of clicking ensued.

We included a phone snap to send to our friends that had given us the newspaper cutting that initiated our search.

We popped in to Calpe old town for Francine to have a play with her camera. Calpe old town is very hilly and there are several flights of steps. One of these and the most easily arrived at, has risers coloured like the Spanish national flag, orange and yellow. These steps are tricky to photograph, though, firstly because there is nearly always someone on them but also because the sun is frequently high and strong, causing contrast with strong shadows across the steps. As we arrived this time, there was an additional difficulty: The street crossing the base of the steps was being used as the court for what we believe was a game of Valencian Pilota.

Many of the walls in the old town sport colourful decoration in paint. We wandered as Francine paused at several of them to see what she could create. Arriving at the square beside the church, a stained glass window held her attention for some time. Being a Sunday, handfuls of worshippers were spilling out of the church but once they had cleared, the window came in for the multiple exposure treatment.

I sat down and started investigating what my new Olympus camera had in the way of multiple exposure capability. Well, it can do it but my, what a pain. You can’t just tell the camera that you want multiple shots in one frame and start clicking. Oh no, you have to go through the menu, select a base image that you’ve already taken and then tell it to overlay the next one you take. If you want more than two, repeat the process again. Agony! Neither are there any interesting blend modes. Canon – set a number of images then click, click, click – definitely has this facility sorted. I won’t be bothering.

Our meandering led us to another set of colourful steps. Here is a straight shot from my camera to try and convey the raw material. As a touristy snap, it really doesn’t look very promising. The background above the steps is positively ugly and the higher section has a blasted chromed handrail running down the centre.

I spotted the now familiar sideways movement of Francine’s camera as she stood at the bottom of the steps. She’d mounted the variable ND filter to slow the exposure down. Ya can’t just take one shot, of course, you have to blend a couple of shots to get some more interesting colours as Canon’s blending modes step in and mess with them. This is perhaps just about recognisable as steps once you’ve seen the start point.

There were more moving clicks but now with an additional wrinkle: a 90° rotation into portrait mode. Hmmm. Now what would result? One has to be prepared to try things and be disappointed, frequently muttering, “well, that didn’t work”, followed by hitting the delete button, even if you wait until you get back to home base. On this occasion, though, Francine seemed delighted with her experimental results.

I’m not surprised, it certainly looks more interesting than the documentary snap of the steps. It may not be suitable material for a travelogue, of course. 😉

A sunny Saturday seemed like a perfect day to escape Jalon’s rastro [flea market] by visiting the Parque Natural El Hondo just a spit south of Alicante. I was mainly thinking of seeing what birds might be around though, given our recent record-breaking Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) at L’Albarda, I would keep an eye open for any that might have held on at Hondo. Also in the back of my mind were Vagrant Emperors (Anax ephippiger), several of which have recently been reported on the western side of the UK in places such as Cornwall and Anglesey. As the name might imply, given the correct winds, it is a species that can turn up at almost any time of year from Africa.

Following some leisurely coffee, we began the 90-minute drive at 10:00 arriving at Hondo at 11:30 in time to see a bus load of older folks [Ed: older than you?] leaving. Setting off along the boardwalk, there was a unfamiliar looking duck on the far side of the lake. Fortunately, expecting more distant birds, I’d packed the older camera with the longer lens. Later, we found an information board that identified our friend in several languages, one being English. How considerate; one so often has to work only with the scientific name. This is a Northern Shoveler (Anas clypeata).

An altogether more elegant bird provided entertainment next. It took me a while to realize that we’d seen these long legged waders at the lagoon in Calpe in previous years though they seem absent this year. It’s a Black-winged Stilt/Common Stilt (Himantopus himantopus). I shy away from names including “common” so personally I stick to Black-winged Stilt. I spent some time trying to get a shot clear of most reeds and with a reasonable reflection.

By now most of the way along the boardwalk, Francine indicated a flight of Glossy Ibis (Plegadis falcinellus) approaching from behind me. With an older, more familiar camera in my hands, I managed to switch setting fast enough to catch them. We’d met these before at the Marjal de Pego-Oliva. Being black against a bright sky, they are not the easiest of subjects and then I’d failed abysmally. These are much better and show some detail but I have to say they don’t look particularly glossy.

Our final interest in the avian line was very nearly overlooked. I did overlook it, it was Francine who spotted something unusual. There were lots of Coots swimming about. Francine studied a relatively close individual and asked if I’d ever noticed any red above the white shield on a Coot’s head. Well, no, I hadn’t, so I snagged a couple of shots. Our new friend rejoices in the name of Red-knobbed Coot or Crested Coot (Fulica cristata) – naturally I prefer Red-knobbed Coot – and is resident across much of Africa, particularly southern Africa, and southern Spain. We were lucky as regards season because the red knobs are apparently present only in breeding season. At other times it is difficult to distinguish from our more familiar Eurasian Coot (Fulica atra) so we really would have overlooked it. You do have to wonder about some of the folks who coin common names.

We were at the end of the boardwalk watching a few Glossy Ibis foraging in the reeds. They never did move out to give a clear shot. As I turned back to begin wandering back a large dragonfly flew past about half a metre above the water. It had to be a Vagrant Emperor but I didn’t see one again. I did then see a smaller, red-coloured dragonfly flutter into the reeds at some distance and settle. I couldn’t get focus on it, though. Eventually it flew off to a grassy mound where I did mange to get an identification shot. It was a Common Darter, as expected. My latest latest, if you see what I mean.

Hawk-eyes Francine was looking down at some nearby reeds and I was surprised when she yelled “damselfly!”. What? Wrong time of year, surely, even in Spain. “What does a Winter Damselfly look like?”, she asked, peering through her lens. I’ve fallen into this trap before, not being present in the UK I forget about the only odonata species in Europe that hibernates over winter as an adult. Actually there are two closely related species but only one in Western Europe, the Common Winter Damselfly (Sympecma fusca). We saw, I think, four individuals including a pair ovipositing, all keeping low down in the more open reeds. Being brown they can be quite difficult to spot in such habitat. I have previously been told there is a colony at a site quite close to Alicante but they were new to me here. One local source has suggested that this may have been the first ever sighting of them at Hondo. If so, that would be quite exciting. What a pity Spanish recording is so poor.

Well spotted Francine.

We were looking for another somewhat gentle leg stretcher and chose the hilltop above Senija again. Hopefully this time I wouldn’t get another puncture. Having seen Swallowtails (Papilio machaon) there on our previous walk, I was wondering if my beloved Southern Scarce Swallowtail (Iphiclides podalirius) might be ready to put in an appearance. We were also keen to check on progress of an orchid patch where some large-booted Spanish workmen had been brushwood cutting.

Keeping the pace gentle to lessen the risk of any strains, we were soon up by our orchid patch. My eyes are like those of T. rex (according to Jurassic Park): attuned to movement. Francine’s eyes, on the other hand, seem to home in on colour variation. She spotted a tiny Woodcock Orchid (Ophrys scolopax) Sawfly Orchid (Ophrys tenthredinifera) that must have been only about 3cms tall. We both did our best to crouch and record it on pixels. Happy camper #1. I’d forgotten how small they can be. I’m the same after every winter with damselflies, forgetting just how small they are. This specimen, though seemed particularly short. Recognizing that the ground had been trampled recently, this was perhaps more likely due to a lack of water – it has been an unusually dry winter in Spain.

Continuing, Francine spotted a couple of further examples at a turn in the track. Further up again was a rosette of leaves of a Giant Orchid (Himantoglossum robertianum). This latter is listed in the threatened flora catalogue of the Valencian community but is reportedly doing well at the Sierra Bernia and Javéa areas. A cutting we’ve been given says it is now flowering – we should try to find some.

A little further and we had made it to the newly thinned scrub surrounding the cross atop the mountain. I immediately saw a couple of Swallowtails duelling in the sunshine. They are a delight to watch. In the UK, a Red Admiral (Vanessa atalanta) looks like a large butterfly but up here, in the company of Swallowtails, which it insisted on disturbing whenever they settled, it seemed dwarfed. Eventually a Swallowtail posed advantageously and I managed to snag it.

I was considering calling it a day when a Southern Scarce Swallowtail appeared and settled. Regrettably it had already lost one of its tails and didn’t look particularly fresh. I’m not sure whether this species may over-winter as an adult in this part of the world. I suppose it could have been the result of a near miss by a bird, though. I was very pleased to have seen one but a little upset about its condition. Turning to begin our descent I saw what I thought was the same individual zoom by when I realized it appeared to have a matched pair of tails. Better! That delayed my descent yet again as I patiently waited for a good opportunity. These characters are truly striking. Happy camper #2.

Francine had found a lone orchid at the summit on our earlier visit and it now looked as if it were going to seed. Good, that means it has successfully done its job. Finally, we made a contented descent.

Francine had knowledge of a couple of gardens in the near vicinity that she fancied visiting. She flipped a mental coin and it came up [or is that down?] L’Albarda Jardin Mediterráneo.

L’Albarda’s little leaflet says:

L’Albarda is a benchmark in the world of Mediterranean gardening. It has an area of 50,000 m² in which there are 700 species of indigenous plants and a large collection of roses. The L’Albarda garden belongs to Fundem, a foundation for the conservation of fauna and flora of the Mediterranean.

OK, so the middle of winter is not the most obvious time to go and visit a garden, there being little in flower. However, our 5€ a head entrance fee got us a warm welcome and a map in English.

The large house in the grounds is still private … and pink. Whilst you can’t go into the house, there is a café and, most importantly, toilets. You can walk around the veranda, though, and overlook the swimming pool. A Serin (Serinus serinus) was chattering away nineteen to the dozen in a nearby tree.

In common with many such gardens, the planting is subdivided and landscaped into a few different themes including, in this case, a Valencian garden, a formal garden and a “Maple Forest” containing a pond. We were initially a little confused not seeing any maples until the penny dropped, as had all the maple leaves, this being winter. Of course we couldn’t see any obvious maples. Duh!

The pond on the map had me a little excited but, alas, it looked deep, maybe to accommodate the waterfall, concrete and essentially sterile. There was a so-called Heron Pond which looked more promising, i.e. less sterile, but it was quite shaded and again I drew a blank. Many formal gardens have water features but sadly they are for the most part manicured and ornamental/sterile rather than habitats for wildlife. We did find steps leading off the map and surprisingly to an additional pond which looked like work-in-progress. It was also slightly less sterile with some marginal water plants. We stared. A dragonfly buzzed by and settled on the ground. Wow, my latest ever, beating my previous record by about three weeks. ‘T was a Common Darter (Sympetrum striolatum) as would be expected.

We followed a course around the map and managed to orientate a lost English lady who seemed to have no idea quite where she was, despite having a map. Our last port of call was the Valencian garden complete with a moderately interesting pergola affair that was covered in climbing roses, some of which still supported rather tired blooms. Tired or not, Francine set about a multiple exposure experiment. Well, it’s something to play with. 🙂

Nearby, on one edge of the Valencian garden, was a so-called English pond. Again, it was quite shaded and I didn’t expect another success. Being English, there was some backlit Pussy Willow which gave me a chance to play, this time with focus-stacking. I think I’m settling on some different customer settings for this Olympus camera. Going through about four levels of menu each time you decide to focus-stack is too time consuming.

L’Albarda was a refreshing diversion for a couple of hours and I’m sure it deserves a repeat visit in a season when more of the plants are actually in flower. Pleasant enough, though, especially with a record-breaking dragonfly.

On Monday we’d joined our walking group to ascend a mountain called El Cau, which overlooks the Jalón valley. It’s a long, more or less continuous climb going up about 525m. There are several false summits – you think you’ve got to the top only to see another peak that was hiding behind the one you just walked up – so it can be a bit frustrating for some. Incidentally, once you get to the true peak, you’re smack on the Greenwich meridian.

The descent begins quite steeply but is mostly down a narrow track lined with very scratchy bushes. Unfortunately one of Francine’s tendons around one knee seemed to take exception to the descent and began grumbling. So today we took it easy to aid recovery – a little stress-free light exercise to keep things moving but not do any further damage.

We chose to go to Altea for a wander on the flat. It was a good decision because it turned out to be 3°C warmer than Jalón and sunnier. It’s a bit too touristy in that most voices overheard are either English or Dutch but I did hear one or two Spanish. The promenade is flat with lots of bar/restaurants that were doing a brisk trade. The most interesting area for us, though is the mouth of the Algar river which runs through some reed beds as it spills out into the Mediterranean.

There were plenty of flowers on the rough ground beside the reed beds and I was taken with a flower with bi-coloured petals. Francine, of course, spotted a family resemblance and correctly placed it in the chrysanthemum family. I really should learn more about plants. It’s a so-called Crown Daisy (Chrysanthemum coronarium) and this bicolored job (with a slightly badly behaved petal) is known as discolor. At least I’ll remember that one, now.

That’s the flora interest, now onto the fauna. Francine spotted a large Moorhen-like bird disappearing around some reeds. We waited, discussing sizes relative to a Coot, and eventually it reappeared, not minding that we approached a little closer. It was purple-ish, with red legs and huge red feet and sported a red plate structure above its bill. I remembered seeing something very similar in Australia previously and names featuring “swamp” and “hen” sprang to the fore. Sure enough, this was a Purple Swamp-hen (Porphyrio porphyrio). It is a relative of our familiar Coot and Moorhen.

That’s it. Lazy day over.

A quickie, somewhat late to press.

We embarked on a trip down towards Torrevieja, about 150km south. Torrevieja has an “interesting” reputation, or so we believe, but the draw was two lakes, one of which is pink and the other of which is blue/green. Large quantities of salt are harvested at the pink lake, which is what causes the pink coloration. What we were hoping for was something like this picture, which was taken at what we thought was a similar salt lake at Gruissan in France last year. What we got was a tour around the lake in the car with no sign of any decent access point. Someone knows how to get to it ‘cos there are photographs but how to get to it eluded us.

There is easy access to the blue/green lake but we couldn’t see any wildlife, which would have given a reason to access it. We stuck our nose into a part of Torrevieja and pretty swiftly stuck it straight back out again. Our coastal trip was saved by a pleasant pause at a bar in Guardamar for an interesting tapa of scrambled eggs with morcilla [black pudding], pine nuts and a yoghurt dressing. Francine opted for an avocado and prawn salad.

The wildlife interest was saved by a sighting above a fuel station that we used for a comfort break as we approached Torrevieja. Three raptors were circling around above and behind the fuel station. They were a bit far away for anything a good shot but I managed one (with the old Canon 7D mk I and 100-400 lens) that was good enough to identify them as Booted Eagles (Hieraaetus pennatus). My old Collins Guide shows central Spain as a breeding ground but the coastal margin, as here, as a migration route back from over-wintering in Africa. So, maybe these were on their way back.

The winter doldrums, that is. So far this season, the weather in Spain has been terrific, better than last year, so it has been great to escape the British winter. There have always been some butterflies around – more than the flight seasons in the books would have had me believe – and, until very recently I’ve seen Common Darters (Sympetrum striolatum). The latter will soon die out, though, and it will be late March until the new dragonfly season begins in Spain – a similar date to the UK. Nonetheless, even with the handful of critters for entertainment I do have difficulties keeping my spirits up during winter, though the walks in the mountains certainly help.

Today marked something of an upturn, though. We decided to revisit the mountain/hill behind Senija, largely in search of orchids; there’s a patch we know of about half way up. The path up the  lower slopes was strewn with scrub which had been cut from the bushes at the side. There’s been a lot of that on walking routes, recently. Someone suggested that this might be as a fire break but I think not. To create a fire break the cuttings would need to be tidied up. As it had been left, it would now form very effective tinder that any fire would jump across in no time flat. I think it is simply to keep the walking routes open. Still useful, though.

Unfortunately, as we approached our known orchid patch the sound of a petrol-driven brushwood cutter became louder. Sure enough a workman was slashing the bushes right where the orchids are and litter was falling over the side of the track that would be home to the patch. More worryingly, his boots were necessarily treading the same ground in order for him to get close enough to the bushes he was targeting. “Bother!”, said Pooh, very crossly, and continued.

The top of the mountain was equally a shock. Here, many bushes had been scythed to the ground. Our jaws dropped. Fortunately not everything had been cut and there were still some bushes for the butterflies. Butterflies, of course, can fly away and escape whereas orchids are rather rooted to the spot and their fate.

My spirits lifted when I spotted a Swallowtail (Papilio machaon) zoom by. I spotted a second. They were tending to settle on the rock-strewn ground but eventually I did catch one on a bush and on the right side of the light. ground shots are a last resort but now I was happy with what I’d got. The spring species had started.

I heard a little yelp and turned to see Francine with her camera pointed downwards. She’d found a consolation prize Dull Ophrys (Ophrys fusca). It looked a rather lonely specimen, slightly nibbled, but was better than nothing given our disappointment on the way up. We probably wouldn’t have seen it had some of the scrub not been cut.

There was quite a bit of butterfly activity in the sunshine on the hilltop. The usual winter specimen of Wall Brown (Lasiommata megera) was still there but it had been joined by Some fresh looking Red Admirals (Vanessa atalanta)  and I also spotted a Marbled White (Melanargia galathea) flutter by.

Throughout winter on our mountain walks I’ve been seeing many specimens of the charming little Lang’s Short-tailed Blue (). They were here agian but the m=numbers seemed greater and the activity levels certainly seemed higher. For once, it took me a while to snag a (bad) picture of the underside to confirm the species but oddly I did get a good shot of a topside, which is usually the more tricky subject.

The scrub cutter had gone when we made our way back down and Francine was able to get a better look at the orchid ground. There was certainly a lot a tinder around from the scrub cutting but she did find some rosettes, at least one showing a central spike shooting, so hopefully the orchids will have survived the onslaught.

The French are good at mowing down verges that are home to orchids. Sympathetic habitat management is a tricky subject.

On an earlier trip up the mountain road to the Bernia basecamp, we’d spotted a rough track through some almond trees that created an avenue of sorts. Being a mountain road it’s narrow, i.e. almost wide enough for two vehicles, with frequent blind hairpin bends so parking safely is tricky. Now that the almond blossom was peaking on some trees, though, Francine was keen to have a go. That is, she was keen to have a go at the almond blossom and keen for me to have a go at parking safely.

On our way up we past a threesome taking pictures of each other in an almond orchard. I’d noticed some folks on our almond blossom walk posing family members in the trees for a photo. Find some attractive blossom, then spoil it by draping an arm casually from a bough. Curious.

We were surprised to note that some almond trees were now coming into leaf and showing a green flush. This constitutes “gone over” in almond blossom photographers’ speak.

We did find our avenue again. I managed to find a relatively straight stretch of road to drop Francine off safely with her camera. Furthermore, a little further up I found a track in which I could park the car safely while I wandered back to observe. As I observed, a chap on a mountain bike paused for a rest, a leg-stretch and a natter. His wife was apparently behind on an e-bike. He had a conventional bike using leg power. His wife was behind because she was stopping at every almond tree en route. Eventually he remounted and continued. I suggested he try to find some e-legs.

His wife turned up on her e-bike and, of course, stopped at our avenue for yet more almond blossom pictures. We had another natter. This was about midday. She mentioned going up to do the walk around the Bernia. It would take them at least another 30 minutes to get up to basecamp. A bit late to start the walk, we thought, but it wasn’t our day to watch them. Eventually she spun her electrically assisted pedals and continued.

The trip back down was much more exciting from my point of view. There are a couple of single track bridges, edged with concrete blocks, on bends with restricted visibility. Traffic priority is noted by suitable road signs. Generally, traffic descending has to give way to traffic coming up the mountain. In our case it was certainly necessary to give way to a flock of about 100+ sheep led by a determined sheepdog and shepherd. I pulled over as far to the side of the road as I could without scraping the car against the rocks and we sat waiting to be flocked. A handful of the sheep still managed to squeeze themselves between our car and the rocks. Happily they all kept their horns to themselves, too.

Today would have been my mother’s 101st birthday. I’m not given to noting birthdays of the deceased but I couldn’t help but think about mother’s today. She absolutely hated having her birthday in February because it’s usually the worst month for weather in the UK. She wanted to follow the example set by the Queen and have an official birthday at a more pleasant time of year.

Today in Jalón was the kind of day that you almost never get in the UK at any time of year. If we do get one, it would most likely be in winter, when the atmospheric conditions seem to be more conducive to very clear conditions. Today in Jalón the sky was a carpet of brilliant, unbroken cerulean blue with never a cloud in sight. Our recent battering high winds had gone, in the early afternoon the temperature was forecast to be nudging 17°C and it looked like being a perfect day for the Costa Blanca Mountain Talkers Walkers so-called Almond Blossom Festival.

February is almond blossom time in Spain. Had she got to see it, the blossom would have cheered mother’s heart in her least favourite time of year. CBMW arrange four walks of varying degrees of severity, on the same day, culminating in a tapas lunch at what is probably our favourite local Spanish venue, Casa Aleluja. The two more severe walks, being longer and with a greater degree of climbing, kick off at 09:30. Ours, the moderate walk, together with the gentler option for those that want/need it, set off at 10:30.

Timing the so-called festival is a challenge. Whilst February might be the month, given the variability of weather conditions and season, knowing just when in February is something of a lottery. Last year, just before the blossom would have reached its peak, Jalón suffered some heavy rain followed by high winds which stripped a lot of the blossom off the trees. This year we seemed to be a little early; the valley was not yet the carpet that almond blossom tourists might expect. Another factor is, we’re told, the way the trees are managed, pruned trees coming into flower later than those which have not been pruned. We’ve even seen folks pruning off branches in blossom, which is said to concentrate more growing energy on the remaining branches giving larger almonds.

Recently nature has produced another unwelcome problem. There is a disease affecting some of the almond plantations. The official “fix” requires that, if you have a diseased tree, all the trees within a 100m radius be felled. Essentially, the poor old almond farmer stands to lose an entire orchard. Consequently, the valley is now less densely planted with almond trees than it used to be.

There are three different species of almond, the blossom being almost white on one, with the two others being pale pink and a deeper pink. There were trees/orchards in blossom but we suspect a week later could have been beneficial. Certainly, looking down on the valley from above didn’t show much in the way of pink. Given the absolutely perfect weather conditions, it was a pleasant walk, even if there were 60 souls on it enforcing a very gentle pace. Lugging proper camera gear at such times isn’t the best of ideas so Francine made do with her phone camera to grab a snap or two from the more photogenic of the orchards that we passed on our descent back into the valley.

Hallucinations of beer were now drifting before my eyes. Eventually my thirst was quenched and the tapas lunch was most enjoyable. I have to admire the way three ladies managed serving six courses to 80 diners – very well done, indeed.