This was our 10th trip with Explore!, many of which have been walking trips, though a few were more cultural (e.g Thailand, Peru). This trip was centre based, in the white Andalucian village of Canillas de Albaida, whereas some trips change accommodation as you move along a route. The 5 walks themselves were in [if you can just stick with this title] the Parque Natural de las Sierras de Tejeda, Almijara y Alhama. How’s that for a mouthful?

The walking here was graded as moderate which, depending upon ones fitness, of course, could be regarded as reasonably serious. As you can see from this picture (that’s Canillas de Albaida in the centre), Andalucia really doesn’t do flat, you’re either going up or down and, as most walkers know, down can be as energetic as up. Since, in addition to all the water we needed, we were lugging proper camera kit up and down the lumps, we thought we really should use it. To give an idea, at least to UK readers, our longest (and best) walk was a bit like walking up Snowdon (not the more gentle tourist track though). except that Snowdon rarely reaches the 25-30°C of Andalucia.

Now to the nitty-gritty. In my view, though, this was the weakest of the 10 trips that we’ve been on with Explore. That’s not as bad as it may sound because the standard of all the other trips has been very good. So, what was it that makes me call it weaker? Well, once on an actual footpath, the walking was fine but, in my opinion, there were far too many sections of road, either tarmac or wide, stony 4×4 tracks needed to link the enjoyable sections together. Here’s a couple of shots showing what I mean. There was an up side to these tracks, though, because Francine was able to see, pause, study and photograph the wild flowers en route (but more of this in another post).

Once we got onto the the bona fide footpaths, they were fine and enjoyable, although care and walking poles were needed to maintain ones footing on loose, dry material, largely stones, which can be likened to walking on marbles. We even had some fun criss-crossing a river – sticks really are handy dealing with slippery rocks underfoot – on the way up to the summit of Cerro Verde which, BTW, we considered to be the most enjoyable walk. This is much more what I was looking/hoping for.

On a couple of the walks we called in to a local bar or bodega for a tapas lunch. These were universally excellent, particularly our bodega visit where we were introduced to a series of local sweet wine specialities. the bodega had an intriguing grape press which operated upwards with a ram driven by hydraulic power – very counter-intuitive.

So all in all, generally enjoyable but falling short of brilliant. Pretty, though.

Andalucia: tick.

We left the Spanish desert and its fake Paella Western sets in Olé-wood behind us and headed for Almería on the south coast of Spain. We like deserts and driving through that was quite interesting. Then we hit the south coast autovia and soon discovered that Almería looked far less inviting. It has to be said that it wasn’t best presented. Most of the hillsides overlooking the road are smothered in light grey plastic netting. I think this is a sort of shading material for the acres of tomatoes being grown underneath.

This must have been a very expensive autovia to build. We drove through about a dozen tunnels and when we weren’t driving through a tunnel we seemed to be crossing yet another lengthy viaduct. What I was having trouble with was working out why some of the tunnels displayed an 80KPH speed limit whilst others allowed 100KPH. Curious. I’m sure there was some Spanish logic there somewhere. Nah, you’re right. 😉 Sally Satnav didn’t know the speed limits either because, despite having updated our maps prior to our trip, Sally Satnav knew nothing of one major section of this autovia; we were decidedly off-piste.

Eventually we re-joined Garmin’s mapped world in time to leave the autovia and head north for 30 minutes up one of the twistiest roads I’ve ever driven. The views of villas on the hillside were pleasant for the passenger, the only one who could take her eyes off the road to look, though.

We came to what appeared to be the col and lo, there was one parking space for us to take a breather. Sod the breather, there was also a bar with beer and tapas and locals sitting outside in the Andalucian sun. Well, it would be rude not to join them and there was a table still free. We sat with drinks and tapas and prepared to watch the world go by. When the world did go by, the world consisted of a herd of goats which swarmed past our table just a few centimetres away liberally scattering goat droppings as they went. What a colourful introduction to Andalucia.

Refreshment over, colourful soon became the order of the day, in that the air turned blue. The Garmin antichrist struck again. We were heading for Canillas de Albaida, a typically white Andalucian village dripping down the side of a mountain. Sally Satnav now took it upon herself to send us deep into the heart of the village just over the col, down twisting, steep roads just about wide enough for a car IF you folded in the wing mirrors. Wedged in such a gap, we ended up faced with a 135° left turn. Enter: blue air. After cursing profusely, I used a couple of other steep narrow roads opposite at the same “crossroad” to do an about face. Half way through my manoeuvre, I had to wait for a local to use the same roads to shuffle his way around the 135° turn – apparently this was normal behaviour. Eventually I was facing back the way I’d been directed and retraced my way back up the same narrow street, wing mirrors still folded in, praying that I didn’t meet another local heading for the same 135° turn.

I didn’t. I folded the wing mirrors back out again and made for the sensible 2-lane road around the outside of the village. We’d initially assumed that we were plunging into the heart of Canillas de Albaida, our destination, but no, this, we discovered, was Cómpeta, the larger town before our destination. Sally just thought she’d ignore the good road and take a short cut through the middle of it.

Satnavs really are barkingly stupid at times and, I’ve decided, are particularly useless in Spain. They’re fine on main roads but you don’t need them on main roads where a Francine, a map and a brain are more than sufficient. Some roads, it seems to me, should be flagged “avoid unless this is your ultimate destination”. How difficult would that be? There are many such roads in Spanish villages which should be studiously avoided unless you’re actually going there.

After a further few kilometres on the Garmin-disliked decent road, we did enter Canillas de Albaida. The hotel address proved useless – we were being plunged into another “maize of twisting turning passages, all the same” [remember the Adventure computer game?] but were wary now and decided to bail out. Mercifully we stumbled across a square with parking spaces, one of which was free. We took to our feet with Sally Satnav muttering “in 50 metres turn left”, much to the amusement of the locals. More by luck than technology, we finally found our hotel and downed yet more beers while we awaited the arrival from Malaga airport of our travelling companions.

And relax …

Our main event for this visit to Spain is our Andalucian Moorish Trails walking week with Explore!. Our ultimate destination, Canillas de Albaida, is about 350 miles away, roughly southwest, so we could do it in a day if we wanted but we thought we’d supplement our adventure by stopping en route somewhere.

Once in new territory for us and with lunch time approaching, we veered off the autovia thinking we might look for lunch in a town called Lorca. Lorca proved to be a bit bigger than we anticipated and, other than traffic lights, we found little to delay us so we veered back onto the autovia again. Not the best of starts for amateur Spanish travellers.

Francine looked for a smaller blob on her map and found one rejoicing in the name of Huercal Overa. We veered off to try our luck again. Not only did we find street parking but the street parking was conveniently close to the main square, for those with legs and not afraid to stretch them. Even amateurs know that the most likely place to find bars with refreshments and umbrellas is the main square. We picked one of three or so available and had two tapas washed down by a beer each for a whole 5€. Not only that but one of the tapas on offer was caracoles [snails].Better! If I’m perfectly honest, the snails were rather too salty, even for a fully signed up member of the salt party such as myself. Still, it had to be done and it did tick the “local colour” box.

Salty snails over and back on the autovia, we began heading inland for the dessert. BTW, it appears that the toll motorways are called autopistas, whereas the free ones are called autovias. South of Alicante, they’re all autovias. With our mix of languages around Jalon, I’d been incorrectly assuming we’d been dealing with a language difference between Castilian and Valenciana.

So, why was this European dessert attracting our attention in particular? Well, this is where those delightful Clint Eastwood Spaghetti Westerns were filmed, along with a fistful of others [sorry, couldn’t resist it]. Nestling up against the various fake Hollywood film sets is a town called Tabernas where Francine had booked us a room for the night at a Casa Rural called Jardin del Desierto. Miraculously, Sally Satnav found it for us via a relatively sensible route – just one farm track to be avoided. We checked in and paid 10€ to park our car in a private garage instead of on the narrow streets.

It’s difficult to avoid the western motifs as you wander around the town, which is essentially one long street. There were no horses hitched to rails outside bars, though, regrettably. In need of refreshment, we picked one shady, horse-free bar to wash the dust out of our throats, listening to a blaring TV inside which was impressing on us the western heritage of our location.

Whilst there were several bars that would be offering tapas in the evening – come on, Clint, let’s grab a shot of red-eye and some sepia or albondigas – restaurants, as such, seemed scarce. Our delightful hosts at the casa rural had indicated just two restaurants which were more or less side by side at the north end of town, up by the fuel station. In the early evening, we wandered up to find them. One of the two was closed so it looked like Hobson’s choice. Unpromising as it looked, with the outside tables overlooking the petrol station forecourt, we filled our bellies with excellent food while we watched people filling their cars for a little entertainment. Do I know how to show a girl a good time, or what?

On our way back, we noticed another option, though it may have offered only tapas for all I know. These would’ve been consumed sitting beside a builder’s skip. In the unlikely event of the food being rubbish, that could come in quite handy.

I can’t help but feel that the films might’ve celebrated the location rather than the money and been called Paella Westerns, instead. I certainly think Tabernas should be renamed Olé-wood.

Several years ago, while we were looking after el perrito in Jalón, Francine and I found what looked like a modest walking route starting from Senija, one of the Spanish villages close by. The walk climbed a hill behind Senija  a hill which, in common with quite a few hills in Spain, is topped by a cross. The Spanish definitely enjoy putting crosses on hilltops. The walk then continued down to the cova garganta, the giant’s cave, overlooking the A7 autopista.

Things went well to begin with; despite someone having chosen to mark the path with circles of yellow paint on rocks. The difficulty with this is that there are yellow lichens which tend to grow in a circular pattern. Nonetheless, we avoided a few confusing splodges and found our way to the cross.

After this things went horribly and inexplicably wrong. We certainly set out on the path towards the cave but ended up descending a rough scree slope with no sign of any cave, giant’s or otherwise. We’d ended up quite low down near the autopista and somehow managed to work our way back to our start point in Senija. Failed!

So, when the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers promoted a Saturday walk taking in the route we should have followed, I was keen to join in, hoping that I’d find out where Francine and i had gone astray.Unfortunately, Francine had pulled a muscle in her back so dipped out. I joined in on my own.

My walking companions were mightily amused by my tale of failing to find the cave and ending up almost beside the autopista instead. Still, they took pity on a poor learner and, once we were atop the summit at the cross, carefully showed me the correct route to get to the cave. It was a bit of a scramble at one point. Exactly where Francine and I had gone astray, I couldn’t precisely remember, many bottles of rosado having dulled the memory, but I think I  could now find it again. It was quite an impressive cave, too. I really expected to see piles of bat droppings in it but I didn’t, and there seemed to be no strong smell such as might accompany deposits. Here’s a couple of phone camera shots, just to prove I eventually got there

Once back for a refreshing beer, the leader suggested that I could, perhaps, lead the walk next time. “Not unless you want to end up down near the autopista”, I replied.

We were continuing our familiarization with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers terminology today, as well as continuing our exercise in preparation for our impending Andalucian walking trip with Explore!. Overhearing a few conversations between longer standing members of the CBMW, they are having a little trouble with “easier” walks, where easier seems to be defined as that which is possible by a human, without the need to be a mountain goat. Today, they were advertising a Benigembla Stroll, Benigembla [pronounce it Benichembla and you’ll be close enough for an Anglo-Saxon] being a village a little further up the Vall de Pop from us. We popped off to join in for a relaxed 10:30 start.

Once assembled, we sauntered out of the village on the flat. Very soon, though, we turned right and headed up. We continued up for about the next hour. The walk had been described along the lines of a walk around the Benigembla bowl, which did sound gentle. Far too gentle, I suspect – quite clearly we were heading for the rim of the bowl, or close to it. It was pleasant enough though, and nothing anywhere near as strenuous as the Col de Rates assault which left legs screaming. Our second hour continued the circuit and descended back into Benigembla.

‘T was a good wander but still caused the lungs to puff on the inclines. The CBMW brigade continued their emphasis on the “M”. Most walkers repaired to a local restaurant, as usual, for a menu del dia lunch. Francine and I dipped out. Menus del dia are excellent value but simply too much food for our tastes in the middle of the day.

Instead, the sun was out and we tried our luck Odo-hunting at a couple of new pools in a different location along the local river at Alcalalí. Our meagre haul amounted to a couple of uncooperative Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii) – uncooperative in that they were posing only on the ground – and an Emperor (Anax imperator),  which did at least offer a chance of a flight shot. A female also put on an ovipositing display, which I snagged. Only back at home base did I notice that my ovipositing shot included a resting Bluetail (Ischnura sp). It’s amazing how the mind focuses.

The dragonfly situation is depressing; I’m seeing hardly anything and there appears to be more action back in the UK. I can’t work out what’s going on.

We’ve done quite a few walking trips (8-ish) in small groups organized by Explore! – up to 16 folks and a leader in each group. Now we’ve been out a couple of times in similar sized groups with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers. For those interested in taking their time to photograph either scenery, in a considered fashion, or wildlife in a patient fashion, depending on the lack of cooperation of the critter, is that you simply don’t have time. Given a “proper” camera, by the time you’ve extracted it, thought about your shot, lined it up and pressed the shutter in an unhurried way, the rest of the group will be about 100m ahead. Wait for a butterfly to settle, or think longer about a landscape shot and you’re even further behind. Oh, and you have to put the cmaera away again, as well.

Francine had read about a walk involving “Els Arcs”, a couple of natural rock arches, which was supposedly a decent place to find orchids. The thought of doing a walk by ourselves in our own time was quite appealing. The walk sounded relatively straightforward, certainly by Spanish standards, with a start point just beyond Castel de Castels, about 30 minutes further up our valley We set off looking forward to time by ourselves.

We parked at the start of the track. Before I was ready, still preparing my rucksack, Francine had found a Bee Orchid in the rough ground by the “Usted esta aqui” [You are here] map. We set off up the track.

Very soon an fabulous critter crawled quickly across the track in front of us. It was black with striking red bands across its abdomen and had trouble hauling its bulk up some of the stones. Beetle sprang to mind but it looked more the shape of a larva than a fully grown beetle. It was big, though, at about 3cms long. Francine’s swift search on the Internet back at home base quickly revealed our critter to be a red-striped Oil Beetle (Berberomeloe majalis). This is a full-grown one – they’re wingless.

Continuing our path we played leapfrog with a Dutch family, alternately in a car and then walking. Where the track eventually became a footpath, they had to abandon their car and let their two blasted King Charles Spaniels run along the path disturbing any wildlife. fortunately they were slower than us – the people, not the spaniels – and we managed to give ‘em the slip. The “easy” path became a little more Spanish, rough and a tad slippery, as we approached Els Arcs themselves Unless you’re looking at, it takes a while to realize that you’ve arrived. Eventually, though, you see sky and the ground beyond through the two arches. It’s quite a spectacular natural formation.

The slightly trickier path to the arches is a “there and back” side-excursion from the circular route. we retraced our steps to regain the main track.

Approaching the end Francine found her highlight. Nestling beside the rough road in a patch of grass she spotted what looked like an orchid, yellow in colour. I know just what she felt like. This was a new orchid ofr her collection and I’ve been similarly excited when I first see a dragonfly that’s new to me. She knelt and snapped away, incurring a blood-letting injury for her pains. The bleeding soon stopped and we returned for her to consult the books. It’s pretty self-descriptive, really: it looked like an Ophrys and it was yellow – a Yellow Ophrys (Ophrys lutea).

It had been very pleasant being able to take our time over what we wanted to do, and we’d got a new orchid, to boot.

I’ve been getting to grips with Spanish painting gear. I tried not to, it has to be said. The internal paint, pure minimalist white, is in pretty good condition and really doesn’t need re-doing. Apart from which, we’ve owned Casa Libélule for a little over a year now and I thought it was high time we were able just to play and enjoy it rather than work on it. Francine disagreed and, naturally, I was outvoted 1:1 – again. The rationale behind painting over the existing white is to use a fungicidal paint to try and discourage the formation of mould when Casa is shut up over the colder months. We’d had a touch of mould last winter. So, I did understand the reasoning.In the interests of harmony, I bowed to female pressure.

I had originally intended to bring my own painting supplies from the UK. That was before I attempted unsuccessfully to rebel. Now I was tasked with finding local Spanish equivalents. We went to one of our favourite stores for such things, Aitana in Calpe. Brushes and rollers were plentiful. I selected a brush then, given the size of some of our walls, selected one of th eslightly larger rollers. On to a roller tray.

None of the roller trays on offer fitted my slightly larger roller. I looked questioningly at a passing Spanish assistant whilst waving the roller near the too-small roller tray. “Cubo”, he muttered. Fortunately I knew “cubo de basura” is a waste bin; I was being told to use a paint bin. There was one on the shelf complete with a washing-board affair, clearly intended to squeeze excess paint from the roller. It looked bloody ungainly but, hey, I had a job to do (courtesy of my slave-driver). I would also need a long pole to reach the higher, less accessible places but I left that thinking I’d try to walk before I ran.

My dear father left me about half a dozen 12’x12’ dust sheets, excellent for covering furniture, floors and the like when chucking paint hither and thither. How the heck do I ask for those in Spanish? I used my trusty smart phone translation app and was eventually understood by another assistant. He led me to a bunch of plastic sheets. The Spanish, it appears, have not invented dust sheets but use 4mx5m plastic sheeting. Hmm? I didn’t like it but I needed something so I bought a couple.

Finally, the paint. There is a reputedly decent paint supplier in Jalón itself so I returned there. Now we get really interesting. I had investigated fungicidal paint in the UK, keen to attempt to reduce our mould issue. Dulux, bless them, do actually make a fungicidal emulsion. For a 5ltr tin of this plain white emulsion paint, you are requested to part with the princely sum of £75. It’s an un-f***ing-believable price – £75 for 5 measly litres!!. I was gobsmacked. Back to Jalón, The white fungicidal emulsion here was in a huge 15ltr tin (well, plastic) and costs … 53€. That’s about half the price for 3-times as much paint. Deal! Of course, I cannot yet attest to the efficacy of either one of these products. Maybe this time next year I’ll have an idea.

Incidentally, have you ever tried to carry 15ltrs of emulsion in a single tub? It’s bloody heavy. I just about made it back to the car.

The weather was a bit grey – a bit British, really – so my fun was set for a couple of days as I set methodically about the house walls. Paint roller: fine. Cubo: OK but not the greatest. Plastic equivalent of a dust sheet [called a bloody drop-cloth, another blasted Americanism]: very far from OK. The advantage of cloth is that paint dropping on it soaks in a sticks. Replace that with plastic sheeting and paint sits on top, remaining liquid for longer, waiting for you to walk in and tread all over the house. Once it does dry, it cracks off said plastic sheeting to then sit on the floor making it appear as though you have chucked paint all over the tiles. Added to that, if you try to work in bare feet, the soles of your feet stick to the plastic and lift it, entangling your toes and tripping you over. Plastic SUCKS! Learn to use dust sheets, Spain. Or, it you absolutely insist on being American, use material drop-cloths.

I’ll get used to it, it’s just a learning curve. I’ve got a few days of grey.

After having given our legs a few days to recover from their first and rather strenuous work out with the Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers, we thought we’d try another jaunt that promised to be a little easier. To their credit, the CBMW group does an excellent job describing the severity of their routes – they are coded rather in the same manner as ski runs – but, with the best will in the world, it’s still darned difficult as an outsider trying to figure out just what you’re letting yourself in for. Basically, you need to try a few grades to pitch your own level. Today we joined them for the Font de Mata walk, described as Moderate. [Reminder: the Col de Rates had been “Moderately Strenuous”.]

This walk started out, rather ominously, at the Benissa cementeri [cemetery]. At least if we didn’t make it, we’d be in the right place. We began by driving to a suitable parking place beneath the A7 autopista, then struck out on foot along a dirt track. Apart from dodging an off-road motorcycle coming in the opposite direction, this was blissfully uneventful. Then we turned right and headed uphill, quite sharply. Clearly the operative word in the CBMW title is “mountain”. They are the Spanish walking equivalent of French cyclists who are not happy unless they are going uphill. A walk clearly must involve ascent.

Half way up our steep slope, we came upon a stretch of concrete. First of all, how did anyone contrive to stop the concrete flowing back downhill and ending up at the bottom? Secondly, who the f**k carried the concrete half way up a mountain in order to lay it at something approaching a 45° angle? I was a little bemused but grateful for the concrete, which had more secure grip than the looser stones we’d been walking on hitherto.

Deviating a little to see the ancient font of the title [Ed: just another pile of old stones], by skirting around the far side of the mountain we eventually arrived at the summit with panoramic views of the A7 autopista. Across the far side of the motorway, we could also see the so-called Giant’s Cave, a landmark that Francine and I had failed to find on a self-(mis)guided walk from Senija some years ago – we’d ended up on an uncomfortable scree slope near the motorway. Whoops!

We’d taken longer than had been anticipated to reach our summit on this day and someone with a clever GPS, including maps of footpaths, decided there was a useful short cut for our return to our cars. This route was un-scouted; decidedly off-piste. However, with just one rather tricky short section of descent involving hands and bums, it was otehrwise a decent route and we got back unscathed.

We’d survived outing #2 with no need for the Benissa cementeri.

Our main event during this visit to Spain is to be a 1-week walking tour based in Andalucia. We thought a trial outing up a Spanish mountain might be a good idea, partly to test our legs and partly to test some new equipment, like photo rucksacks. The Costa Blanca Mountain Walkers were advertising what looked like a suitable candidate walk today up the Col de Rates. It was billed as “Moderately Strenuous” and “B”, meaning:

Up to 600 metres ascent and/or no more than 15 km with some rough going taken at a reasonable
pace.

and

Less than half the route on rough ground

Specifically, we were in for 12kms and 5+ hours. Let the fun commence.

We’re familiar with the Col de Rates; we stare at it from our balcony. The col is the saddle between the two high points in this picture. There’s a German-run restaurant up there that apparently has excellent apple strudel. Maybe another day. The walk was to begin in Jalón, which is where we met our leader, affectionately (or not) known as Galloping Gordon. That sounds a bit ominous.

So, if this works, here’s a stitched panorama showing, very roughly, our route. It might’ve shown our route precisely had my stupid new GPS app worked sensibly, but no. [Now deleted.] Starting from the extreme left in Jalón, the red line indicates us in front of the ground and the pink is intended to show us behind the foreground, going round the back of the mountain itself.

Galloping Gordon’s pace was, shall we say, brisk. The man is a mountain goat and keeps various different groups of leg muscles in trim by cycling up some of the mountains, too. A few seemed to be more or less at their speed limit to begin with. Happily, my plantar fasciitis continued to improve and my foot kept me going. One lesson we quickly learnt is that Spanish bushes do not take prisoners where the track narrows and we both picked up a collection of scratches. A second lesson is that Spanish “paths” are quite rocky, too. It’s necessary to watch every footfall; do not stare at the view whilst walking but stop first, otherwise disaster can result. I decided that we are somewhat coddled in the UK with relatively groomed tracks.

We did stick with it and reached the col just before which we found very neat piece of cultivated ground. It’s in a sheltered trough between the two peaks on the pano where our line is pink. What a place to farm. Lunch break overlooked this ground as the incurably energetic went on up the the peak beside the col.

We were now about two thirds of the way around our route and we now headed downhill back towards Jalón, Downhill might seem like a rest but it isn’t, the muscles have to hold you back.  Our knees and thigh muscles continued to be tested and certainly knew they’d been used when we got back for our post walk beers, which went down very well and rather swiftly.

Indications are good for Andalucia.

At the first sensible opportunity, Francine was go up to base camp on the Bernia to comb the edges of the roadside for orchids. Today was that first sensible opportunity so off we set.

We parked near the entirely wood-fired restaurant and began searching. It wasn’t easy, a start was slow in coming, but we did eventually find some examples of Ophrys. I’ve chosen my phraseology carefully because Francine has been tearing her ever so curly hair out with the identification conundrum. There are lots of Ophryses to choose from, many looking pretty similar. Just to make it more interesting, the markings vary considerably so it can be a tad difficile to know just what you’re looking at. To keep you on toes, they probably hybridize, too. Great!

After due consideration and looking decidedly thin on top, Francine seems comfortable that this particular example is a Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera). I love it to death; it looks like a little chap lying on his back chuckling because his tummy is being tickled. Hardly a scientific description but it seems to sum it up to me. Glorious.

Now, compare and contrast. There were others that were not, perhaps, Bee Orchids. I must apologize for this photographic effort, hardly in the same class ‘cos it’s taken on my new travel lens – nothing like as sharp as Francine’s macro job. Anyway, we (i.e. Francine) think this is a Woodcock Orchid (Ophrys scolopax). It does look quite different but remember the variation and the hybridization tendency. Awkward little beggars.

Fortunately there were some easier-to-identify old favourites up there too in the shape of Pyramidal Orchids. However, since they were only just bursting forth, I’m not convinced that I’d have recognized some of them. I did recognize this one, though, with just a few flowers open.

I was thinking that I might take up flowers, which have the advantage that they don’t fly away when you try to photograph them, unlike dragonflies. However, if they are this tricksy, maybe I should stick to what I know. Still, everyone gotta start somewhere.