Basically, this year the European weather system is screwed up. The normal weather patterns are a tad inverted. England, traditionally unsettled and changeable, has enjoyed what I believe is the warmest May on record. We certainly had three weeks of stunning weather and my mind began comparing it to the blissful summer of standpipes in 1976. We have heard from Francine’s pen friend in Bergen, Norway, that they are suffering a ban on barbecues in their gardens, so dry is it. Bergen is normally wet so frequently that they put brave faces on it with phrases like, “there’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing”. Our area of Spain, the Costa Blanca, is known as the second driest part of Spain and was good when we were there but not as good as one would normally expect it to be. So what of France?

Yesterday evening we finished our visit to La Brenne with a doozy of a thunderstorm. Fortunately, it was late enough in the day for us to have done everything we wanted and to shelter in good ol’ Guillaume enjoying the light and percussion show outside. Today we moved on to Fanjeaux and our favourite dairy sheep farm. We weren’t actually booked in but we had informed the site owners, now friends, that we would be arriving today for two weeks. An Englishman’s word is his bond, etc. etc., so, we hitched up and set off on our 485km drag south.

Half way down the route and three quarters of the way down our tank of diesel, we called in to an autoroute services to top up. It must just be one of those trips; on our way down from Neufchatel-en-Bray to La Brenne we first chose a services disrupted by external building works, this time we chose one with internal building works in progress. We ”enjoyed” a coffee and baguette to the almost constant staccato accompaniment of a drill.

As we enjoyed our noisy coffee, a French TV news station showed scenes of devastation caused by flooding in the Alsace region. They moved on to more, widespread similar situations. We were informed that there were oranges warnings of orages [storms] in 28 departements. How poetic the French language can be – Oranges Orages. OK, we’d say amber warnings between yellow and red but the message was clear, the meteorological situation over France was serious. A weather map graphic appeared on the TV. Warm air from Africa was moving up from the south and turning west above France. Simultaneously, cold air was sweeping down from the northern Atlantic and turning east over France. In the middle of France, the two air masses, one war and one cold, were colliding. France was caught in a meteorological pincer movement. Net result: deluges. The 28 departements affected cut a swathe down the centre of France from north to south finishing at the Mediterranean, yes, just where we were heading, in the Languedoc.

Our journey was actually quite pleasant; not sunny, exactly, but dry. We did pass through a few brighter areas and also put up with a spit of rain or two but nothing untoward. Finally we arrived at Toulouse and made our turn east towards the Med. Toulouse was actually quite bright. We began the final 70kms to our destination. After 35kms or so bright gave way to gloom and a black, threatening mass darkened the horizon ahead and just a little to our right. Ahead and just a little to our right was exactly where Fanjeaux lay. Brilliant.

We took our autoroute exit with just 10kms to go and turned south directly towards the black mass. Fanjeaux is a hilltop village that was just ahead of us. Mordor would have looked positively Elysian by comparison. A few gouts of rain hit the windscreen. That was a few seconds before the heavens opened and we were towing Guillaume through a cloudburst. Still, Guillaume could do with a good rinse. We knew the hill top church at Fanjeaux was ahead of us, we’d been able to se it originally, but it had become obscured by darkness. The twisting road up the hillside towards Fanjeaux was more like a river. Trucks descending the road threw modest bow waves into our path. At the hill top we turned towards our destination farm and campsite.  Thunder cracked whilst lightning tried but failed to brighten the sky. The 1km single track road approaching the farm was crossed by unmapped streams washing soil off the surrounding fields. There’s a deep dip in the road before the final ascent to the farm which somehow remained clear. The mapped stream draining the gulley, normally a trickle, was now a torrent, though. We’ve seen some wet in France but never anything on this scale.

I haven’t looked at the Jet Stream flow recently but I did when we were in Spain. It certainly sweeping much further south than usual. We did, after all, spend 41 hours aboard our return ferry in the wake of Storm Felix because of it. Doubtless, it is still the culprit. Had we not been “booked in”, we’d probably have done something else; possibly even, stay put for a while and see if the situation improved before heading south.

In continuing rain accompanied by occasional peels of thunder, we pitched Guillaume. These conditions were a new experience for us. Somehow I got him levelled using our ramp and fought my way through  bushes and overhanging dripping trees to the electricity supply to get him hooked up. It didn’t matter, I was already soaked through. Once I stepped out of the car I was wet so a waterproof became pointless. An old boy scout trick surfaced in my mind and I stripped off my shirt. Bodies dry better than do clothes. Francine, smart enough to put on her waterproof immediately she stepped out of the car,  gamely did her bit fetching water.

One journey of our tow car around our pitch left water-filled ruts in the soft, saturated soil. The weather forecast shows a largely disturbed two weeks, the duration of our stay, thoug hthe coming weekend holds the promise of something brighter. Fingers crossed.

We could be in for an interesting time.

We have embarked upon a few orchid hunts following various publications and they have been, what shall I say … a little disappointing? The Indre departement seems to have an enviable reputation for orchids and Francine even has a book on them. Perhaps it’s a poor year for orchids. Alternatively, our timing hasn’t been great.

First, there was our orchid field south of Rosnay which was admittedly very pleasant but which yielded only two species, Tongue Orchids (Serapias lingua) and Lesser Butterfly Orchids (Platanthera bifolia), though both were in large numbers.

Second, we drove to a village where there was reportedly an orchid walk but we could find nowhere to abandon ship with any degree of safety or confidence, so ended up just going shopping instead.

Today, we tried again and followed instructions to a stretch of road near Saulnay, published as an orchid hotspot, where we did manage to park and began scouring the verges. At first, orchids were not jumping out at us but we did begin finding individual plants along both sides of the road. They almost all appeared to be examples of the same single species but Francine also found a pair of Common Twayblades (Listera ovata). [Here’s a macro shot showing the tiny little flowers.] I don’t think either of us would’ve considered this a hotspot. Nonetheless, conditions were pleasant and we sauntered while Francine snapped away happily.

On our way there, we’d passed a spot with a track leading off, a spot that I recognised as having been described to me as an orchid area by a contact back at home. It looked just like it did on Google Earth. Having scoured our verges, we returned to it, parked and began exploring the track. We started well with a Lizard Orchid (Himantoglossum hircinum) beside our parking spot, although there was an irritating barbed wire fence behind it marring the background.

Then we set off down the track. We saw nothing apart from a couple of Southern Emerald Damselflies (Lestes barbarus) which I was happy to snap.

Our track joined another at a T-junction. Francine took one arm and I, the other. We continued to find nothing. Francine joined me and eventually we came across an opening into a field which Francine entered and I heard her tell-tale “ah ha”. She’d found some more Lesser Butterfly Orchids.

There were other pink-purple orchids which, along with those on our first roadside stop, Francine thinks/wonders/hopes might be the endemic Brenne Orchid (Dactylorhiza brennensis), though for identification purposes she is trying to work from a French description that she’s having to translate. They are known to hybridize so a definitive species name may prove to be elusive and we may end up having to settle for just Dactylorhiza sp. Back at home base, an English description will hopefully prove more helpful. If it is the Brenne Orchid, Francine will be very happy. 😉

After lunch we made a short bike ride, 5kms or so, to La Maison du Parc, which has a decent dragonfly pond at its rear. Just for the record, to be added to my map later, this is what we found there.

• Southern Emerald (Lestes barbarus)
• Dainty Damselfly (Coenagrion scitulum)
• Blue Emperor (Anax imperator)
• Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa)
• White-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum albistylum)
• Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea)

We made our return cycle ride in the dry but as we were having a reviving shower, the heavens opened and the sky lit up with the occasional lightning flash. It’s OK in the late afternoon/evening, though, especially if the BBQ is out of commission anyway.

We are already on holiday but Francine had set this morning’s alarm for 05:45. To find out why, we must rewind 24 hours.

Yesterday morning, Francine had awoken at about 06:00 to peer out of Guillaume’s window and find a misty morning over the campsite lake. This was like a red rag to a bull. Forsaking her beloved first cup of tea, she donned clothes and prepared to grab her camera.

With mist on offer, I wondered if I might get the chance of a picture I have long wanted to try, a dew-covered dragonfly or damselfly still roosting. I joined the early morning madness and threw on some clothes, too. We were in business at 06:15.

Francine set about her misty sunrise lake picture while I went looking for roosting damselflies. I like it and the ducks seem to like it, too.

With her lake-scape in the bag, Francine came to join me on the roosting odonata hunt. We’d seen a particular corner of the lake where there was a lot of activity the previous evening so this is where we concentrated our search. They were tricky little devils to find but shortly we began to get our eyes in and started finding some. Sure enough, the little beauties, all White-legged Damselflies (Platycnemis pennipes) were covered in dew as I’d hoped they would be.

Getting the right line-up on the right suspect was tricky. I tried against the light thinking that might make the dew drops glisten more, then with the light to get some surface detail. On balance, I think with the light seemed better. The most important aspect, as is normally the case, was background – the clearer the better. Classic portrait stuff, really. That wasn’t easy with subjects generally keeping low down for shelter in a mass of tall grass stems. Here’s a couple of what I think are worthy shots, though they show how important the background is when compared to this one, with which I am particularly happy.

We returned to Guillaume for a cup of well earned coffee, both happy with our efforts.

So, today Francine had set her painfully early alarm hoping to get us out a little earlier for a repeat misty performance. Off went the alarm. Francine scrambled to the window and peered out. No mist. I went to have a look at my damselflies anyway but they were all perfectly dry, not a glistening drop in sight. We made tea instead.

It’s all about time and place. You need the right atmospheric conditions to occur in a suitable location that you’re on top of and you need to know the intricacies of the location. All our ducks haven’t been lined up before but here, we struck lucky.

France has not enjoyed a particularly settled May. The disturbed weather pattern had continued for our journey thus far. Having invested in an Aujour d’hui newspaper for the weather forecasts, we had been pleased to see that today held the promise of something brighter.

Fellow campers, a Dutch couple, had told us of a field that was supposedly good for orchids. It was “only 3kms away” on the south side of Rosnay so we took to our bicycles for the first time in an embarrassingly long period. We cycled down through Rosnay in search of the field. We failed to find anything resembling it but we did find the hedgerows infested by large, white butterflies that didn’t look quite right for Large White butterflies, if you get my drift. Eventually one settled and I realised they were the delicately marked Black-veined White (Aporia crataegi). I’ve seen them before [they do not occur in the UK] but never in such numbers.

We returned to Rosnay to visit the boulanger for a consolation late breakfast of almond tarts, which we washed down with coffee.

Back at Guillaume, Francine checked a different publication and discovered that the orchid field was not actually beside the road but was about 100m off it. Rats! We took to the car and returned to try again. This time we found a couple of other cars that were clearly visiting the same place. We parked and joined in.

There were, indeed, masses of Tongue Orchids (Serapias lingua), the same species as those on our Rosnay campsite, though these were not especially photogenically arranged – no clear backgrounds. Looking further along the visitor path, we also found a lot of Lesser Butterfly Orchids (Platanthera bifolia). Francine was enchanted by the swathes of assorted wild flowers which accompanied the orchids.

There’s usually one thing, with varying degrees of seriousness, that I forget to pack. This time, I have brought along our cheapo gas BBQ, charcoal being prohibited in much of southern France, but not the lava rocks that go inside said cheapo gas BBQ. “Bother”, said Pooh, crossly, again. We needed supplies and fuel so zoomed off to the nearby town of Le Blanc where we found both at a Leclerc supermarket. Unfortunately we failed to find any replacement lava rocks so we’re still carrying around a useless gas BBQ. Duh!

After a lunch of smoked poitrine, which I had assumed was cooked but which turned out to be raw – this is essentially French bacon – I was keen to repeat an earlier visit to an odonata hotspot called les Terres de Picadon. We’d been introduced to it some years ago by fellow odo-nutter who lives relatively locally. It’s all very well keeping ones notes/information on the Internet but you need a connection to access it. Fortunately the phones were working on xG. A swift memory jog from Google Maps got us straight to the right location. The small parking area was nearly full but we got the last spot.

I was mainly interested in the Terres de Picadon because it is reputedly home to a rare colony of dragonfly, the Lilypad Whiteface (Leucorrhinia caudalis) which we had missed on our introductory visit. We were just beyond the start of its flight season so could strike lucky. Fingers crossed, we set off along the track. Clearly I should be keeping an eye on any passing lily pads; they are not called Lilypad Whitefaces for no reason.

After a short distance, having been bitten [quelle surprise] Francine returned to the car for a dose of anti-mosi potion. We began our walk again.

We were entertained by a few dragonflies and damselflies as we wandered then, on the approach to a corner I spied a pond with lily pads on our right. Scanning through the telephoto lens revealed nothing so I continued. Around the corner was a rickety, shady bridge where we watched a couple of Downy Emeralds (Cordulia aenea) engaged in the occasional territorial spat. The pond crossed by this bridge was much larger with a lot more lily pads in its centre. I thought I saw something land on one of the farther pads. At this distance, surely it was a dragonfly rather than a damselfly. It is not unusual for damselflies to alight on lily pads but it IS unusual for a dragonfly. I snapped a picture through the 400mm lens. It was certainly a dragonfly but the range obscured much in the way of detail.

Francine had advanced round the next bend and called. She’d found one suspect on a lily pad considerably closer to the edge. Actually, it wasn’t a lily pad but the leaf of a species of pond weed. Still, let’s not be picky when a new dragonfly is possible. My image was still not huge but this was clearly my hoped for quarry, my first Lilypad Whiteface, or Pondweed Whiteface, maybe. I clicked away in excitement but really needed my 1.4X extender which was back in the car. Francine gamely volunteered to retrieve it while I kept watch, so returned to the car for a second time.

Armed with more magnification I began getting images of a decent size. The critter originally kept facing away from us but, being a new species for me and a rare one to boot, I was pretty happy with anything recognisable. This angle showed its delightful white pterostigmas and white appendages to good effect. It was keeping its compound eyes open for prey items and zooming off when it spotted something, always returning to the same perch. At last it hopped around (if a dragonfly can hop?) on the leaf, doing a few pirouettes as it eyed other prey and  I managed to get both a profile and a front view, showing the eponymous white face. Ecstasy! I was a very happy camper indeed.

This was something it’s worth towing a caravan 400 miles for. Naturally, nothing was going to top the new addition to my catalogue but we continued around the reserve and notched up 12 species in all:

• Common Emerald Damselfly (Lestes sponsa)
• Azure Damselfly (Coenagrion puella)
• Small Red Damselfly (Ceriagrion tenellum)
• Large Redeye (Erythromma najas)
• White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes)
• Blue Emperor (Anax imperator)
• Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa)
• Four-spotted Chaser (Libellula quadrimaculata)
• Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea)
• Downy Emerald (Cordulia aenea)
• Lilypad Whiteface (Leucorrhinia caudalis)
• Ruddy Darter (Sympetrum sanguineum)

On the track to the morning’s orchid field, we’d actually found what made 13 for the day:

• Southern Emerald (Lestes barbarus)

En Route to our favourite dairy sheep farm campsite at Fanjeaux, we planned to spend a few days in one of France’s wonderful wildlife habitats, La Brenne. We hitched up and hit the road soon after 09:00, deciding to follow Sally Satnav, wose route would take us dangerously close to gay Paris. Though her route looked like autoroute and dual carriageway all the way, the dual carriageway section was littered with traffic lights, so a tad slow. It did, however, avoid a notorious bottleneck near St. Remy de xxxxxx on our usual route, which is the main reason we thought we’d try it.

Back on the autoroute and putting our new “Bip & Go” telepeage tag to the test, we started getting towards the end of our diesel, cruising sparingly, and I began planning a fuel stop. The fuel station I’d chosen was absolutely smothered by building works and the pumps looked inaccessible for a Guillaume – tight right angled turns into the pumps. Fortunately, we were not running on fumes – never plan to run on empty – so getting to the next, more civilized station was easy. This time access was perfect and we were topped up with about 100kms to go to La Brenne.

We have stayed in La Brenne on numerous previous occasions, always at a private site at Bellebouche. The campsite there has always been a little tired, especially les sanitaires, but it was convenient. The Bellebouche site used to be great for odonata but last time we were there, two fishing ponds had been filled in and development, I think for equestrian events, was under way. In search of an alternative, we had spotted what looked like a pleasant camping municipal at Rosnay, a site which also has a lake, so that’s where we headed. 6½ hours after leaving Neufchatel-en-Bray, we arrived, found an appealing pitch and got Guillaume settled. Guillaume has a very good view of the lake and was soon being investigated by White-legged Damselflies (Platycnemis pennipes).

Not only did we have odonata on Guillaume’s doorstep but there were orchids, specifically Tongue Orchid (Serapias lingua), in the grass around the lake. We were most impressed to see that each group of orchids had been marked with plastic flags to stop the ground staff mowing them down. How great is that? And they say the French don’t care about nature. Many were past their prime but we found a couple that photographed well.

It was very relaxing, after a lengthy drive towing Guillaume, to be able to stop, draw breath and entertain ourselves without needing to leave the campsite.

Here’s the list of odonata that we found on site:

• Banded Demoiselle (Calopteryx splendens)
• Common Bluetail (Ischnura elegans)
• Blue-eye (Erythromma lindenii)
• White-legged Damselfly (Platycnemis pennipes)
• Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa)
• Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum)
• White-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum albistylum)

It is very gratifying to be able to use some of the often excellent camping municipal sites in French villages. First of all, they attract French campers more than foreign tourers so the atmosphere is more authentic. Secondly, we have all this atmospheric, wildlife friendly location, electricity and excellent sanitaires for a mere €11.40 per night.

Mercifully, hitching up Guillaume this morning went much more smoothly than had unhitching him yesterday afternoon. We were off and heading for the Newhaven ferry port by 06:30. It was a 30-mimute run and we arrived to join a few other early birds shortly before the port’s gates had been opened. Still, better early than late.

Not only was this a new route for us but it was also a new ferry operator: DFDS. Check-in went well and, after a few security questions featuring sharp objects and things that could go bang, Guillaume’s cupboards were given a brief inspection, during which a harmless bag of crisps fell on the inspector’s head followed shortly thereafter by Francine’s Tilley hat [it didn’t fit him]. We went to queue in the pre-loading lanes. The cutest baby vintage car, which turned out to be a Peugeot, joined the lines soon after and received some routine maintenance – radiator water, I suspect.

Eventually we were loaded and very nearly in pole position for disembarkation. Leaving Guillaume in the company of other caravans and lorries, we climbed to the stairs to the passenger decks where a sign indicated that we should exchange our boarding cards at reception for a cabin key. What appeared to be missing was the all important sign telling us where to find reception. Eventually we stumbled into it where a delightful young French lady gave Francine our cabin key.

After a lengthy queue, a second delightful young French lady served us with two full English breakfasts. DFDS clearly has an excellent recruiting policy.

The crossing was flat calm and we spent the majority of the remaining time hiding in our cabin. Once docked in Dieppe, our near pole position got us through immigration third and we were on the road by 14:15 heading for Neufchâtel-en-Bray just 40kms away. Guillaume was finally in France again.

Since the advent of the satanic ACSI organization, I’d made a reservation at our campsite, which is run by a very diligent man who ploughs money back into his site in the form of improvements. We admired three years worth of very neatly trimmed hedges now marking many of the pitches. No sooner had we pitched up, safely this time and but on slightly soggy grass, than a German opposite produced a guitar and began tuning it. Arghh! Never mind, he was very quiet.

Sun appeared and we had time for a visit to the local plan d’eau. One smaller water body was now heavily overgrown but the fast flowing river and larger lake produced six species of odonata:

• Beautiful Demoieselle (Calopteryx virgo)
• Common Bluetail (Ischnura elegans)
• Blue-eye (Erythromma lindenii)
• Blue Featherleg (Platycnemis pennipes)
• Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa)
• Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum)

Having topped up in Brighton and done just 40kms since disembarking, I didn’t need the Leclerc fuel station but we did buy our first load of supplies.

After a three year absence, we are finally bound for France once again . We had planned to go in September 2017 but that didn’t work out.  Now we are finally using that ferry booking, rescheduled, of course.

We are trying something new, forsaking our usual Dover-Calais crossing with frequent sailings from which to choose and instead going on the Newhaven-Dieppe route now run by DFDS. There are three sailings a day only one of which was attractive to us; the 09:00 departure from Newhaven would take four hours and get us into Dieppe at 14:00 local time, so we’d be on the road by 14:30 with luck. With a mere 40 kms to drive to get to our favourite inbound campsite at Neufchâtel-en-Bray, we’d have plenty of time to top up with both fuel and supplies at the nearby Leclerc.

An 09:00 departure means checking in at 07:30. We could have left home at 04:30 I suppose but that really wasn’t an appealing prospect so we booked into the Brighton Caravan Club campsite [sorry, it’s now called the Caravan and Motorhome Club campsite] which is just 30 minutes away from Newhaven. We could leave there at 07:00. Better.

That was our plan. Everything went swimmingly, barring the usual clag-ups on the jaM25 to get to the M23/A23 past Gatwick to Brighton. I still cannot believe the traffic on our roads at 11:00 on a Wednesday; four lanes of traffic solid in both directions and occasionally stationary. Where in the name of Satan is everyone going at 11:00 midweek? Anyway, we got to Brighton at ~13:00 and checked in. The site is at the east end of Brighton. Salubrious, the area is not but the campsite was fine; busy but fine.

Swimmingly went out of the window as I began pitching up. Guillaume needed levelling so I towed him up our ramp. Francine wedged him and I began unhitching. Sadly I didn’t complete unhitching. I’d disconnected the power cables but, for some unaccountable reason I’d forgotten to detach the breakaway cable. A graunching noise alerted me to my error as I tried to drive the car away forwards. Panic struck and like an idiot I reversed a little, stuffing Guillaume’s drawbar, which had followed me part way before the breakaway cable broke, through the rear bumper of the car. “Bother!”, said Pooh, crossly. Egg all over face together with a broken breakaway cable. Oops! I’d better exchange my 30-year membership window sticker for a “Complete Bloody Novice” sticker.

Long story short: I found a supplier with a new breakaway cable for a stonking £2.99 but could not, for the life of me, see how one managed to fit it without special equipment. I’ve Jerry-rigged the old one. Fortunately the damage to the car was less than it might have been: I had pushed in a black plastic panel which was push-fit. After a struggle I finally managed to push-fit it back into place. What a dampener that put on proceedings, and after such a good start, too.

Maybe a photographic excursion would lift our mood. Some years ago one of Brighton’s two piers, the West Pier, was sadly destroyed by fire. The framework wreckage still sits in the sea and is, perhaps, more iconic now as a photographic subject than it ever was before. Naturally the tide tables were against us with low tide being at 19:00 but Francine fancied a go anyway so we headed out sooner rather than later. We arrived at 16:45. I bought a parking ticket as Francine set off with camera , filters and tripod.

Conditions were not great, either: fog banks were drifting around. As he arrived, the pier was clear but fairly soon it all but disappeared into one of the moving fog banks. It was all very ethereal.

A Carte d’Or ice cream each didn’t go amiss, either. £2.50 each. Damn, almost as much as my replacement breakaway cable which needed engineering.