The last day of our trip, before the lengthy drag back to Ljubljana airport for our flight home tomorrow, was to be spent on Pag Island, a long, narrow spit of land off the Croatian coast. We piled into the minibus and off over a bridge.

Our first stop revealed little of interest other than hordes of hoppity things [oh, all right, I admit it, I can’t remember the technical name for ground hoppers] that were disturbed with every footstep, their briefly fluttering wings making me wonder if I weren’t missing something more interesting – to me, that is. Everyone kept looking but it seems I wasn’t missing something. Stones seem to be a feature of the Croatian coast; there certainly wasn’t much in the way of trees, mostly baking hot stones. It’s definitely a holiday destination for sun bathers.

Our second stop was more promising with grass, meadows and water. Mr. Butterfly went gleefully stalking the grassy meadows while Francine and I worked at grabbing a few record shots of some damselflies over the water. Back to the butterflies, I was glad to add a Spotted Fritillary (Melitaea didyma) to my personal collection, along with a distant record shot of a Southern Comma (Polygonia egea) for the first time; still it was at least a shot. The most fun I had here, though, was stalking a magnificent and very large Ant-lion (Palpares libelluloides), my third and another new species, while the others waited patiently aboard the minibus. I eventually got a good picture of it, together with a relieved round of applause from the waiting gang.

On we went for a longer stop at a marsh area armed with a bird hide. There were more grassy meadows at the margins and we could see critters cruising, though access here was through inventively fastened gates (barring lengths of wood tied to string – certainly not enough to deter a naturalist). A few stalking attempts revealed more of those large Ant-lions.

Francine and I headed down for the wetland area around the bird hide. Wandering down the track, an unfamiliar-looking large dragonfly headed up the track but I managed to lose track of it in the confusion of grass stems and dry stone wall joints. Things looked up, however, as we entered the reserve area and spotted a board claiming the presence of the Black Pennant (Selysiothemis nigra). These supposedly exist at Gandia, near Casa Libélule in Spain, but I’d thus far failed to find them. So, potentially adding those to my catalogue was an enticing prospect.

We began wandering to see what we could scare up. My excitement heightened when I spotted a dark-looking dragon settling in a cooperative manner. I sneaked up and snagged it, concentrating more on the photography than on the way the dragon actually looked. In my mind I might’ve been photographing a Black Pennant. As I reviewed my shots, though, realization of my mistake set in. This was the shape of a Scarlet Darter/Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea), a female, but it was not the usual colouration; this was a dark olive coloured, elderly female, which the books say exist but which I’d never witnessed. It was something new for me so, though not a Black Pennant, I was still happy.

Pulses climbed again – well, mine did – as Francine spotted a movement which settled on rocks just a short distance ahead. I didn’t recognize it but it was clearly one of the  Gomphidae – eyes separated at the top of its head. It was a rather dull colouration, too. This, I suspected, was what I’d lost track of as we approached the reserve down the track. Minding my shadow, I moved gently into position with palpitations making life difficult – just the colour meant it was new to me. As I gained focus through the viewfinder, the distinctive shape of the abdomen told me that this just had to be a rather scarce Bladetail (Lindenia tetraphylla). It was a magnificent male. This one catch alone made my trip entirely worthwhile.

We weren’t quite finished yet, though. As Francine was crouching down, another dragon landed on the ground beside her. She remained crouching, still, as I snagged it before it disappeared. I was pretty sure this was a female Black Pennant, and so it proved to be. I liked this location a lot. 🙂

As we were leaving the marsh area and making our way to the minibus, someone spotted a mantis which, having recently seen one the same in Spain, I recognized as a Conehead Mantis (Empusa pennata). Rather than just hanging in a plant upside down, this one obligingly caught a butterfly while we were watching. It did then drop it but I suspect the damage had been done; O think a wing was missing. Whereas dragonflies can cope with a wing missing, butterflies are less able.

We moved on to a further area where I found more Black Pennants atop stems, their gossamer-like wings fluttering in the stiff breeze. It’s this fluttering of wings which gives them the name pennant. I was slightly disappointed that all my individuals proved to be females and I never did find a male but a couple of “lifers” in one day is no crying matter. 😉

Our lunch was at a modestly sized lake that also threw up a few interesting characters, in addition to being a pleasant spot for a picnic. Once again, there were quite a few Scarlet Darters/Broad Scarlets and I watched as what appeared to be two males – they were both bright red – flew in tandem, ovipositing. Sharper readerrs will  notice a bilogical contradiction. 😀 No, I was looking for the first time at an andromorph female Crocothemis erythraea which, again, I’d heard about but not observed until now. On Malta, this is apparently the most common female colour form. This unassuming little lake also gave us only our second encounter with the scarce Dark Spreadwing (Lestes macrostigma), which we had made a pilgrimage to the Île d’Oléron to find a couple of years ago. Dark Spreadwings like a very particular habitat. I was a little bemused that we managed to find only one individual here, though. Fortunately it was cooperative.

The day proved to be a great end to an interesting trip, from my point of view, with two new countries, two new Odonata species and a couple of new colour forms of a familiar old favourite.

Regarding the countries, we certainly were impressed with Slovenia  and could envisage visiting it again as tourists. As a touristic holiday destination, though, we had been less impressed with Croatia, which seemed to be visually less appealing – mostly a rock pile for sun worshippers, – but it had been Croatia which delivered much more interesting finds for an Odo-nutter.

Sod the scenery, give me the wildlife. 😀

There’s that warning phrase again, National Park.

Paklenica National Park covers the area of torrent flows of Velika Paklenica and Mala Paklenica, and their distinctive canyons carved vertically into the south slopes of Velebit Mountains and the broader surrounding area.

As we were gathering by our minibus prior to heading for the warning phrase, Milan had been up to his usual tricks capturing creatures. He arrived with a species of Glass Lizard which he’d found basking to warm up in the morning sun over the road. Looking more like a snake, this is actually a legless lizard, like a large cousin of our native Slow Worm. Legless it may be but penis-less it ain’t; it’s got two. This is called a hemipenis  and is normal in snakes and lizards, a.k.a. squamata. There, now don’t say I don’t try to educate you. 😉 Here’s Francine admiring both which have become erectile with excitement – well, OK, with nervous reaction to being handled.

The distinctive canyons for which we headed today were a magnet for a very particular type of public, the rock climbing public, which I suppose might be referred to as the Joe Brown Public. The lower part of the canyon was strewn with them, along with their ropes and carabiners. Whilst I’ve never really seen the enjoyment of crawling around in potholes underground, I can entirely understand the desire to climb. There is, after all, a decent vista on offer after the adrenaline rush. Apart from anything else, seeing someone clinging to an apparently impossible surface is decidedly impressive. We even saw 2/3-year-old children, roped and helmeted, fearlessly getting in on the act with (presumably) their parents. Great!

National Park; another entrance fee; Milan paid; we parked to begin our walk up the canyon. I wasn’t expecting to see any Odonata going up a canyon but the bird life began well with Alpine Swifts (Apus melba) peeping way above our heads. The Alpine swift is noticeably larger than our summer visitor and has some white on it. Francine and I had first seen mixed groups of swifts wheeling around together in Corfu.

Butterfly action was good. too, with well-posed specimens of both Small Skipper () and Essex Skipper () – well-posed, that is, to demonstrate the difference between the two, the Essex Skipper having a dark underside to its antennae, as though they’ve been pressed onto an ink pad. With butterflies on what was a very pleasant walk, I was quite content. Cicadas were chirping constantly, too, and I never tire of hearing those.

There were several reptiles and amphibians which slowed our upward progress, too – after all, that’ was why we were there – for those with a herpetological interest. The most impressive of these, which also delayed several passers by, most of whom displayed the expected scared reaction to a snake, especially a poisonous one, was a Horn-nosed Viper (Vipera ammodytes). I think this picture will demonstrate where it gets its name from. 😉

On the way up we paused at a cafe and Francine did spot a dragonfly cruising above the inevitable stream in the floor of the canyon, but it wasn’t hanging around and we could only guess at some species of Goldenring (there would be two possibilities, here).

Once at our top – you can go further given more time – there was another cafe where we paused for lunch. Lunch entertainment included spotting a Glis glis [Edible Doormouse] in the cafe’s barn but it soon hid. Waiting in futile hope of its reappearance, I was swiftly and briefly flown around by a large, distinctively marked butterfly – I’d seen the topside markings quite clearly – which turned out to be a Two-tailed Pasha (Charaxes jasius) but sadly that, too, pulled off a very swift disappearing act. As a very decent consolation prize, a Woodland Grayling (Hipparchia fagi), only my second encounter with one, did pose on a bright white piece of climbing rope, making exposure something of a challenge. Bless post-processing!

The way down was naturally swifter but we did spot one of those many Cicadas that was nicely posed for photography on a low, accessible stem.

Being a canny chap, Milan wanted to pause by the lower reaches of the river flowing from the canyon so his Odo-nutter could check for dragonflies, not that I was unhappy with my butterfly haul. Find a stream we did and there was at least one species of Odo in residence; we spotted a couple of Southern Skimmers (Orthetrum brunneum). The only down side was that I had to remove my walking boots and socks and hobble across the stony-bottomed river to get a decent shot. Worth it, though. Our river stop was especially worthwhile ‘cos we found another couple of excellent butterflies including Southern Comma (Polygonia egea), which eluded my camera, Meleager’s Blue (Meleageria daphnis), with its distinctively scalloped hind-wing, and the diminutive and utterly enchanting Little Tiger Blue (Tarucus balkanicus), which, given its very limited distribution, must’ve been our star find, here.

Some of these national parks aren’t so bad, after all.

Today we headed out of Slovenia and into Croatia for the first time.Our first stop was to be Plitvice Lakes, “declared a National Park in 1949” [the blurb said].

A new Country is always quite exciting. This really did feel like a new country because we actually drove through a border control with barriers and armed guards to whom Milan, our guide, had to show our passports. We didn’t get a stamp, though. We were also swapping our familiar Euros (used in Slovenia) for the Kuna of Croatia. The exchange rate on my beer money is pretty easy to deal with being about 10:1 [Kuna:Pounds]. Also, I don’t have to learn a new word for beer, which remains pivo, even though Croatian differs somewhat from Slovene, according to our guide, Milan, who, of course, speaks both.

I’m forming the opinion that it’s not only the language that differs somewhat. The other thing that differs somewhat is my mental expectations of destinations on a “Wildlife Tour” compared to the reality of some of those planned by Ecotours, in this instance. The reality of Plitvice Lakes began to dawn in our minibus when, nattering to Milan in the front passenger seat, he expressed the opinion that this destination would not have featured on his hit list. Hmmm? Milan, I should explain, is an independent ecologist contracted by Ecotours as our guide. Reality rose higher in the sky as our minibus turned into a large barrier controlled car park for the second day. Again, we went through ticket controlled entry with further hordes of humanity. I’m used to Yosemite being crowded in the States, though, so perhaps it’s my expectations of a National Park that need adjusting. Here’s the alarm bell small print about these lakes.

… is situated between high forested mountains in which lies, one below another, a string of sixteen beautiful lakes and tarns of crystal blue-green colour. They are fed by many small streams and brooks and spill into each other in foaming cascades and thundering waterfalls.

There’s your Joe Public magnet. The development for Joe Public was extensive and a verging on the Disney-esque, featuring miles of well-constructed boardwalks to get us out along our route, complete with queues to get onto electric boat rides followed by Mercedes-powered road trains to bring us most of the way back. The remainder of the return journey was left to Shanks’s Pony. Every metre of the boardwalk seemed to be taken up by the constantly streaming hordes of Joe Public whose idea of wildlife stopped at Mallard. Nonetheless, it was quite pretty in the fine weather. 🙂 We set out along the boardwalk.

With all this “crystal blue-green” water, there were dragonflies, so all was not lost. However, with the tens of thousands of tramping feet marching past on the boardwalk while one tried to snag a picture with a long lens atop a monopod, photographing them was rarely easy. Borrowing a popular term from the wider wildlife-spotting community, though, I was utterly thrilled to get my first “lifer” for some time. There, perched on a reed in a relatively accessible, albeit slightly more distant than I’d have liked (~3m away) position, was what I initially took to be a Brilliant Emerald (Somatochlora metallica). I excitedly snagged a couple of shots with the naked 400mm lens, then tried to add the 1.4X extender to bring it closer. Alas, it took flight before I was again ready but at least I had something. Brilliant Emerald was what I suspected we’d seen on day #1, constantly flying at Lake Bohinj. Subsequent later inspection of this individual, though, convinced me that this was an even greater prize (greater because Brilliant Emeralds occur at home), a Balkan Emerald (Somatochlora meridionalis).

Despite Joe Public, I got up to about 10 species of Odonata, including the always impressive Green-eyed Hooktail/Small Pincertail (Onychogomphus forcipatus), one of which posed fortuitously, so, a reasonable haul really.

I was not the only one less than overjoyed with our overly touristic venue; our butterfly enthusiast was also feeling like a fish out of “crystal blue-green” water. He did find some quarry at our lunch break with tables, bench seats, loos, cafeterias, gift shops, grass and trees, though. Our birder was also getting excited about a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos minor) flitting between the trees. So, not all bad, then. 😉

Escaping Joe Public and the national park, we continued our journey to our new Croatian accommodation. Somewhat frustratingly, since entering Croatia we’d been driving straight past numerous very inviting, extensively flower-strewn meadows that were clearly an absolute haven for wildlife. We’d also been driving through numerous war-torn Croatian villages, their buildings scarred by bullet marks and roofs missing sections from bombs or artillery shells. Frequently, the villages had field cemeteries nearby. It served as a stark reminder of recent European history, a reminder that reinforced our group’s collective disappointment at the UK’s (United?) EU referendum result that had been announced on the morning of our departure. If only we could escape from that Joe Public. Dream on!

Anyway, on a brighter note, Milan and Janos did find us another flower-strewn meadow to go hunting real wildlife. I joined forces with Mr. Butterfly and was extremely happy to find an artistically posed mating pair of Black-veined Whites (Aporia crataegi). A shot of a collection of hands, all holding different 6-legged critters, might serve do demonstrate the fun we were now all now having.

Our accommodation and pivo supplies for the remainder of our Croatian visit would be at Starigrad Paklenica.

I was seriously disappointed with our morning. We were heading for the Postojna cave, which is one of very few homes to Olms (Proteus anguinus), fully aquatic, blind, pink, cave salamanders existing only on the Dalmatian coast. Their colour leads to these bizarre little animals also being referred to as the ‘human fish’. On the surface on it, that sounded quite exciting and I had been looking forward. Slowly, however, the horrible truth began to sink in. What I had not realized or been prepared for was:

The Postojna cave is a UNESCO World Heritage site and is the best known cave in the World. A fantastic web of tunnels, passages, galleries and halls, the astonishing diversity of Karst features as well as easy access are certainly the main reasons for such popularity of the cave and a large number of visitors, which has already reached 35 million in 200 years.

Perhaps naïvely, I’d been expecting a small, insignificant cave in the countryside with just our group in it.The distressing truth became abundantly apparent as we drove into a huge car park equipped with special spaces for large coaches, one of which was borrowed by our small minibus. It was seething with people of all races, who, after purchasing their 25€ tickets for their timed entrance slot – shades of the Alhambra Palace, here – assembled under flags representing their nation to be guided in their tongue. Milan bought our tickets – grateful for small mercies – and we eventually joined our time slot. Naturally, English was by far the largest group.

OK, the clattering electric train ride was moderately enjoyable but, honestly, once you’ve seen one stalactite/stalagmite, you’ve seen ‘em all. The guide did a reasonable job as we were led around seemingly endless parades of chambers featuring yet more stalac/g-thingies but the plain truth is that I find matters geological stultifyingly boring. All I really wanted to see was the Olms. Finally we got to the end of our underground tour and, just to add insult to injury, a few Olms were on display in a modestly sized, very dark aquarium, for Darwin’s sake. Each side of the square aquarium could accommodate about 6 people at a time and there were about 100 of us. This is not what I call wildlife.

We clattered back out before lunch time, much to my relief.

The morning thus wasted, our main event of the day would begin at about 4:00 PM. That gave us time to revisit yesterday’s karst lake in today’s sunshine. Better, there are reportedly 30 species of Odo there, after all. I began to recover.

We arrived in what was, indeed, much better weather conditions. This is what it really should look like. The dragonflies and butterflies thought so, too, and activity was brisk. At last I saw a few species that I couldn’t see back at home, the most cooperative of which was a White-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum albistylum). Less cooperative were Lesser Emperors (Anax parthenope), which did not pose for the paparazzi, and a Green-eyed Hawker, a.k.a. Norfolk Hawker (Aeshna isoceles) which did but only for an id shot.

And so to the potentially main event of the day, possibly the trip: Brown Bears (Ursos arctos). Our group had booked an optional extra evening visit to a forest where these magnificent creatures live in the wild. These are not in a reserve, they live in the woods. The guy who ran our guest house has several hides erected in various parts of the forest and puts food out to attract the bears. All fine and dandy except that, I was told that I would have to sit still and silently in a hide for five hours. Yikes, that’s 300 minutes! I can’t sit still for five minutes, far less 300. I was concerned. I was so concerned that I very nearly dipped out, not just for my own comfort but I didn’t want to be responsible for spoiling it for any companions. I was, in this respect, not looking forward to it. Sense prevailed, though; I couldn’t pass up this opportunity of a lifetime; I girded my loins and clambered into the car. The car was a Nissan pickup with its back filled with boxes of tripe and corn. Tripe is, I was told, cheap and irresistible to bears.

Francine and I had volunteered to go to a hide that required climbing into up a 5m ladder. Our companions were taken to various other areas. After climbing up the ladder to our hide with gusto and pole-axing myself on the top of the door frame at the top, we took our seats and settled down. Camera ports, complete with bean bags were provided. Blankets were also provided, as was a pillow. Our host scattered corn for the bears. After about 30 minutes of watching a family of Jays (Garrulus glandarius), five strong, scavenging the bear food. A young Greater-spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) joined in. After about 30 minutes of no further activity, Mr. Fidgety assumed the foetal position and put the pillow to good use.

A hand shook my drowsy shoulder while an accompanying voice whispered the unbelievable phrase, “there’s two cubs”.Don’t panic Mr Mainwaring! I arose as gently as I could and we stared out of the window of the hide. Sure enough, a mother bear had arrived at our feeding station with her two cubs in tow and they were an absolute delight. We scrambled as quietly as we could to focal length, now we could gauge the size of the target, and adjust bean bags so we could bring cameras to bear on them [pun intended – chortle]. As a swift précis, the mother and cubs moved around three scatterings of food and entertained us for 90 minutes. We couldn’t believe our luck. Eventually she led her cubs away but seemed to stare at our hide as she passed; we’re sure she knew we were there.

Well, surely that was that. No, it wasn’t. I was about to assume the position once again for the remaining couple of hours or so, when a larger, presumably male bear arrived  He began chomping and we resumed clicking. A fifth approached from another direction but seemed to be further down the pecking order and beat a relatively swift retreat. Finally a sixth bear turned up and began to confront the fourth, which was still in front of our hide. Growls ensued and we thought we were in for some fireworks but they seemed to work it out and settle down sharing the space together. This last bear looked effectively bald on his lower half – curious.

Bears #4 and #6 were still there when, at 9:00 PM, we heard a knock on our hide door. Yikes, another bear has climbed the ladder! Nah, we were just being rescued. Francine, who had been taking notes, opened the door to greet our host and explain all that had happened as his face lit up. The two remaining, very large bears scarpered.

What an evening! That was about the shortest five hours I’ve ever spent, I think. Our host was almost as excited as we were when we reported our luck; the previous time this hide had been used, nothing turned up. One set of our companions had seen two bears but the others regrettably had seen nothing; we put this down to the constant buzzing of a chainsaw nearby. Duh! We, however, had very unusually it the jackpot. At our late dinner – we were starving – our host was anxious to see our pictures, occasionally muttering, “wow”.