And so to part one of our main reason for being in Spain on this trip. To be fair, we were probably just looking for an excuse to come back and sample some Spanish late summer weather. When we learned that two Dutch friends, former colleagues of Francine, that we hadn’t seen in years had rented a villa inland from Benidorm, about an hour’s drive from us, our excuse was found and we booked our trip.Today, armed with directions from Niek, we set off to find their villa and have lunch with them.

The final instruction was to turn left at kilometre 28 on our target road – Spanish roads are handily marked with yellow kilometre boards, like our old but now seldom seen mileposts. We’d see a sign to “Los Almendros”, Niek had said. We found kilometre 28 on a bend in the road but saw no other immediately there, so we assumed in must be a few yards further on. Wrong! Now I was in to finding somewhere to turn round. The somewhere to turn round turned out to be kilometre 29 on some rough ground.

We retraced our wheel rotations to km 28. There was a rough, unmade track heading off from it and, sure enough, there was a sign to Los Almendros but a much smaller sign than we had been looking for. It’s 800m, said Niek. We bumped and rattled our Fiat rental car along the longest 800m I’ve driven but sure enough, we eventually found a short stretch of concrete (designed to stop the steep part of the rough track washing away in rain) leading to Niek’s black car. [BTW, never buy a black car in a hot, dusty country – it shows dust horrendously and soaks up the heat something horrible. Our rental is dark grey so almost as bad.]

Reunion hugs ensued. t was good to see each other again. We had visited them at their home in the Netherlands to watch their Queens’s Day celebrations. The Dutch love their royal family and the whole country turns orange. Still being August, we’d told them of our alcohol avoidance programme. Bless them, they’d found some alcohol free Cava and had supplies of rather more readily available alcohol-free beer. They were within easy reach (apart from their 800m of rough dirt track) of the huge Carrefour in Benidorm, which is where they’d found the Cava.

With limited rental cooking facilities, our friends put on a splendidly Spanish-style feast. By Spanish-style, I mean that we wandered our way through several modestly sized plates of very varied food: jamon, cheese, prawns, lamb chops, cake, strawberries – sort of tapas like. We spent a very convivial afternoon stone-cold sober.

A couple of wildlife moments interrupted proceedings. Firstly, we heard the distinctive “twang” of Bee-eaters calling over our friends’ off-road valley. It’s amazing how many people are surprised when one recognizes a bird just from its sound. These delightfully colourful but almost impossible to photograph birds are beginning to gather to return to Africa for the winter.

Secondly, a couple of butterflies made Francine rush for my camera (still in the boot of our car) because they looked unusual. They were, indeed, unusual but their behaviour was even more unusual. Two sat on the stone slabs facing each other. If you look at the photograph, one seems to be slightly beneath the front legs of the other. These are Striped Graylings (Hipparchia fidia) and the one on the left kept dipping forwards and down, such that its wings tapped into the those of the other.

I confirmed my identification with a butterfly fan at home and asked about this curious dipping behaviour. His ideas included a territorial dispute, though these are normally aerial fights between butterflies, or a female warding off the advances of an amorous male. Interesting idea, that second one.

For the third time in as many days, the water bombing helicopter pilots have been at it again in our valley. The first warning we had was seeing a helicopter trailing an empty water bucket past our balcony towards the deposito at Alcalalí. Shortly, we saw it hastening back from whence it had come, this time with water spray streaming out behind the bucket. I strained my neck and looked up the valley towards Lliber and spotted the tell-tale  plume of smoke rising from a hillside close to a road further down our valley. Flames could be seen within the smoke. A second helicopter joined the first. Fortunately the fire was modest and the aerial assault soon had it under control.

The first and worst of the fires, the one in Jávea/Xàbia which made the BBC news, was deliberately started by mental degenerates. Whilst I fail completely to understand their motives, I do understand the mechanism. I haven’t heard how the subsequent two began, though. It’s a bit of a puzzle. I don’t think spontaneous combustion is the answer,despite the heat nearing 40°C, and, in the case of this smaller, moist recent fire, I can’t see that its source was near enough to the road for a cigarette discarded by a careless passing motorist to be the cause. Walkers, maybe? A spot of nice fresh air polluted by tobacco smoke, perhaps? “I’ll just chuck the butt down here”. [Crackle, crackle! “Oh bugger!”] Who knows?

After our morning excitement, with the roads looking for the moment as if they would not be swept by flames, we headed off to investigate pastures new on the old Odonata front. We’d seen a couple of likely looking spots a couple of valleys away on a previous ride round. This was the start of a new tactic for us.Finding fresh water in Spain at any time can be a challenge but it’s particularly hard in the middle of  summer. We decided, given a clue from a fellow dragonfly enthusiast, to try to find rivers that flow down from barraged reservoirs. These, perhaps, would actually contain water whereas most of the rivers mapped close to us are bone dry – more like natural storm drains, really.

A handy-dandy study of Google Earth with its Street View had shown than parking a car followed by access on foot should be possible. Distances on Spanish maps can be a bit deceiving since, what looks a relatively modest distance as the crow flies, is usually not as the car drives. Cars cannot follow crows over mountain peaks and wander up and down valleys looking for suitable points to cross to the next valley.

The crow’s 30kms to our first point, a zona recreativa beside the Riu Serpis at Beniarrés, took our car a little over an hour. This was a very successful find. Not only were we the only people using the official car park, but there were shade trees for our picnic lunch, too. [Temperatures were up around 35°C.] We wandered the 100m or so to the banks of the river an, lo, there was water in it; plenty of water. There was also a lot of dragonfly activity. I say dragonfly but 5 of the 8 species we saw were damselflies, which normally seem less than abundant in Spain.

Francine managed to snag a male Violet Dropwing (Trithemis annulata) doing a particularly impressive obelisk, with its abdomen pointing vertically into the sky. There were also many Lesser Emperors (Anax parthenope) flying about. I did see a pair ovipositing and I did grab a shot but they were largely obscured by foliage. I did finally manage to get a half way clear shot of a perched male but even that has one wing tip obscured. Still, beggars can’t be …

About 5kms further down the valley was our second new target area, another stretch of the Riu Serpis, this time at L’Orcha. This proved to be much more open habitat with rocks and pebbles, so I wasn’t surprised to see Orange-winged Dropwings (Trithemis kirbyi) in residence – they love to perch on rocks beside water courses.

Other notable appearances were put in by a couple of Southern Skimmers (Orthetrum brunneum) and the ever-delightful Copper Demoiselle (Calopteryx haemorrhoidalis), though the strikingly coloured males of the latter were proving frustratingly camera shy. Francine did manage to capture a female ovipositing, though.

Both these habitats will be worth further visits, preferably at different stages of the season, just to see what else they might produce.

All in all, a successful final day to our trip.

Yesterday, the forces of good were being stretched to the limit by a large wildfire deliberately started by some mental degenerates near Javea. When we returned to our own valley, that, too, began filling with smoke though we could see no immediate cause. W were told in the evening that the smoke was spreading from the next valley south of us, towards Tarbena. We saw a few helicopter sorties but the light would soon be fading and flying would have to be halted.

Yesterday evening, because of ten smoke filled air, we had to sit inside with all the windows shut. With temperatures in the very high 30sC, there was nothing for it, we just had to give our air-conditioning installation a try out. I hope our bank manager doesn’t mind too much. 🙂

This morning we saw smoke rising again from beyond the hills. Soon, there was the distinctive “whop, whop” of helicopter rotors, soon joined by a couple of smaller fixed-wing aircraft.  Eventually, these were joined by four considerably larger aircraft, seaplanes, I think, that clearly carried a larger payload and it would be hoped, a more effective punch.

The helicopters, their buckets slung beneath them, were picking up water from a large deposito in Alcalali. We could watch them fly in from the direction of the Bernia, then return with spray trailing from the buckets.

The fire was being fought on at least two fronts. Initially, we saw attention being centred on an area close to the col du Rates. Later, though, we could see orange flames climbing the western side of the Bernia itself and attention then switched to that area. The four seaplanes soon extinguished that swathe of orange.

Mid afternoon and the aerial fire fighting continues. We’ve heard nothing as to the cause of this particular conflagration. Let’s hope that it wasn’t another deliberate arson attack. Such reckless idiocy is simply beyond belief. Since there have been no lightning strikes, another cause of wildfires, even if not deliberate then it was probably an act of stupidity.

We’re off out to dinner in Alcalali, this evening. It’ll be interesting to get some local opinion.

Partly just because we hadn’t visited yet and partly to check out the little wildlife oasis, today we headed off to Moraira. We headed off early before it got too hot. The forecasters were suggesting very warm temperatures hitting 40°C. Mind you, by the time we’d got our act together and arrived, life was already simmering gently in the high 30s. Mornings seem to evaporate in Spain. I think this temporal evaporation is something to do with the silly time zone that Spain puts itself on. Given its latitude, my opinion is that it should really be in the same time zone as the UK but no, it’s on central European time, one hour ahead.

Anyway, arrive we did and as we did so, we could see a pall of dark smoke over the hills to the north of Moraira, off in the direction of Javea. “Nasty”, we mused, continuing our wander towards the little wildlife habitat of marjal del Senillar. More of this, later.

We spotted a few of the usual Red-veined Darter (Sympetrum fonscolombii) suspects fairly quickly; exciting for a Brit who doesn’t travel but common as muck sur le continent. Then we strained over the fence and spotted something new, a Bluetail, which was new to this spot for me. Bluetails are a bugger, here, since two almost identical species co-exist, Common Bluetails (Ischnura elegans) and Iberian Bluetails (Ischnura graellsii). Separating these two is a bastard – so much of a bastard that I’ve thus far been unable to do so and resorted to calling them “CoBerian” Bluetails. They are known to hybridize, making life even more difficult.

The marjal is a bit of a bugger, too, since it’s fenced off with no public access. Frustratingly, I could see at least two larger dragonflies patrolling a patch of watery habitat in the inaccessible centre. Then, almost completing our circuit of the perimeter, a stranger asked if we were after birds. “No, dragonflies”, replied Francine. “We can see them in the middle but it’s too far for reliable identification. Our new acquaintance was wearing a volunteers shirt, which Francine recognized, those that look after this habitat. Spotting the cameras, “You can come in with me, if you like”, he offered. Wow, what luck and how kind. We bit his arm off, naturally.

Once inside, my paltry species count of three for this habitat, increased to seven. There were both Blue Emperors (Anax imperator) and Lesser Emperors (Anax parthenope) cruising about. Not only were they cruising but they hung up quite frequently, too, for pictures. With the temperature now up at 38°C/100°F, I wondered if things were getting a bit hot even for dragonflies to fly and if they were resting more frequently. Research required.

Whilst trying to photograph another new species for this site, a Broad Scarlet (Crocothemis erythraea), I managed to lose the foot of my monopod in mud. The monopod slipped off the edge and buried itself by 10cms or so. When I puled it out, behold, no rubber foot. “Bugger”, or words to that effect. This has happened before but previously I hadn’t noticed in a timely fashion. At least now I did and new where to dig to retrieve said foot. I do hope this shot is worth it.

We thanked our new friend profusely and he asked for some photos to be sent to the volunteers. Happy to oblige.

Back to the smoke. This was due, we now learned, to a fire deliberately started at three points by arsonists. There was some thought that it might have been done by developers (burned land can be built on here, for some unaccountable reason) but it now seems that some teenagers have been arrested for the crime. IMHO, a very slow and very painful death should ensue. Mankind is incredible, isn’t he? In the space of an hour, we’d met a very pleasant and helpful environmental volunteer, and heard about degenerates heinous enough to start a life-threatening wild fire destroying property and habitat.

I despair. The planet would do better without us.

I learned of this spot just a spit south of Alicante from an e-contact who was just getting into dragonflies and needed some help with identifications. He has a place in Alicante and his photos were taken at the Parque Natural del Hondo. It has been on my hit list ever since. Anywhere that boasts decent looking habitat complete with fresh water in a Spanish summer is of interest, after all.

Somewhat confusingly, in doing my research, I began coming cross commentaries talking about the Parque Natural del Fondo. I was initially confused but a fellow Spanish enthusiast on a Spanish dragonfly page explained that Fondo is the Valenciana term for the same place; Hondo is the Castilian term. In an area of Spain complicated by there being two different languages in use, the names vary both on the Internet and on maps but Hondo/Fondo is the same place in different tongues. The Parque is a drive of about 90 minutes from our Spanish home. Since high temperatures were forecast, we set off relatively early, i.e. about 10:00 AM.

I have also seen comments about access to Hondo/Fondo potentially being difficult, where timing is concerned – gates locked, etc. Certainly we found a northern entrance, which was, indeed, barred but there was good parking at what I believe is the main entrance about a kilometre further south. Here, there is a map and a boardwalk to get you, or bird-watchers, at least, over some of the marshy areas.

We ignored the boardwalk and headed for the nearest fresh water to the car park and I’m very glad that we did. Our route to the water’s edge took us over baked dry mud flats. after a couple of the usual suspects Francine, who was ahead of me, called out excitedly. She’d seen something that was very clearly different. I hot-footed [literally] it over to her. Zooming about low over the mud a frequently settling on it were two – well, three, I suppose, though two were very similar – different looking dragonflies. I recognised one immediately as the mature male form of the Northern Banded Groundling (Brachythemis impartita). The dark bands on its wings were quite unmistakeable.

Though the book (Dijkstra/Lewington) talks about some females having banded wings, too, I didn’t find any here. All our females seemed to be unbanded. The lighter banded jobs were immature males. To be fair, though, the book is perhaps a little out of date since it talks of Brachythemis leucosticta which is the African species and which has now been separated out. So, maybe there is some difference there? [Here endeth the anorak bit.] Suffice to say that I was ecstatic at having my first encounter with a new species.

The Northern Banded Groundlings were a delight to watch. They were said to “follow large mammals about” in search of disturbed insects to prey on. We were their large mammals in this habitat and on several occasions as we walked our legs were being circled by up to half a dozen of the fluttering little darlings. Though for once I didn’t have to chase them, landing at my feet made photography a tad difficult with a lens whose minimum focus distance is 1.8m. We managed some shots, though.

It’s difficult to follow a brand new species. However, I did get excited again a little later when I realised that I was looking at a somewhat similar Black Pennant (Selysiothemis nigra). These we’d encountered for the very first time in Croatia earlier this year. I got even more excited when I thought I’d found a male – all I’d seen thus far were females. However, subsequent study proved tat this, too, was a female so I’m still missing that elusive male. [It’s usually the females that prove hard to get.]

Francine had a little more fun before we called our visit to a close. She followed and snagged, albeit at a distance, a colourful and different looking butterfly. This was another new species for us, a Plain Tiger (Danaus chrysippus), related to the delightful Monarch/Milkweed (Danaus plexippus). Having snagged her valuable pictures, though, Francine declared that this specimen’s wing was considerably damaged. She was quite right, half its right hind wing was missing. Now, I wouldn’t normally do this but it was the only one we’d ever seen and I just couldn’t resist fixing it up a little in Photoshop. It may not stand very close scrutiny but it ain’t bad and it’s better than not having a picture of one. Here’s the before and after.

What a great visit to the Parque Natural del Hondo/Fondo.

During our May trip to Spain, we’d discovered that a lot of dredging had been performed at our usual port of call in the Pego-Oliva marsh. That can be bad news because the odonata larvae living under water get dredged up along with the silt. Activity then was, indeed, very poor but we found another area on the northern edge of the marsh that was noticeably better. We wanted to see how it was doing in late August so we headed straight there.

Our first customer was one of my favourites, a delightful pink Violet Darter (Trithemis annulata). Within their range, this species is very common but the striking colour, in conjunction with the fact that I don’t live in their range and so don’t see them that much, means that I am always captivated by them and could watch them for hours. They are originally an African species that made he jump across the Straits of Gibraltar into Spain, worked its way gradually up Spain and is now continuing its northward journey through France, where it has currently made it about half way. Indeed, Southern France was where we encountered, fleetingly, our very first. To be accurate, it was Francine who encountered it but I was otherwise occupied and missed it. I cursed roundly. This one had staked out a territory beside the parking area at the beginning of our visit. I’ve seen it in our valley at Jalón before but it was new tome here.

I managed to tear myself away and we began our wander along the stream. A Blue Emperor (Anax imperator) hung up but on the opposite side of the water course so there was only a distant shot on offer. At one point, a boardwalk veered off into the reeds and, as we were getting back close to the main track, a Long Skimmer (Orthetrum trinacria) posed beside me perfectly. It was a brief pause but it was enough for a decent shot. A second new species for this location.

Our return wander produced lots of the usual suspects, Broad Scarlets (Crocothemis erythraea) and Red-veined Darters (Sympetrum fonscolombii), both as common as much in this vicinity but still interesting to a Brit normally starved of exotic species. I was very pleased, though, to see yet more pink delights, the enchanting Violet Dropwings, and I just have to publish this very well posed individual showing himself off to great effect on a coordinating flower.

I was first introduced to this site by a birder with the U3A in Jalón .so it was perhaps fitting that we were entertained by a passing pair of Booted Eagles (Aquila pennata) on our return wander to the car; craning my neck up instead of down made quite a change.

We did call in to our original parking spot before leaving for some light refreshment. There were some Odos in evidence here but accessibility was not good. The most interesting we saw were Crayfish which seemed to be leaving their holes in the wet mud and engaging in some sort of tussle. I’m sure it was more than display/mating activity because at one point, one of the protagonists got flipped onto its back. Given the scarcity of our own native Crayfish in the UK now, thanks to the aggressive Signal Crayfish (Pacifastacus leniusculus) import, I tried manfully to ignore visions of crayfish tails on toast. There are three imported species in Spain compared to just one native and I don’t know which these were. I assume they have a similar problem.

A relaxing day. Today we went to visit our Dutch friends at their rental villa inland from Benidorm, already spoken about, albeit retrospectively, in my previous post.

We had instructions, the critical part of which told us to turn left at KM28 on the main approach road; their villa was 800m down the turn off. We found KM28 but there seemed to be no road so we assumed it was a little further on. As we past KM29 we realized we’d gone too far and swung around in a convenient dirt road exit. Ah, maybe we should’ve been looking for a rough track rather than a bona fide road. Sure enough, second time around, there was indeed a rough track at KM28. Our rental Fiat bumped and bounced its way along the track with Francine muttering, “are we insured for these tracks?”. “No”, I replied, jauntily.

We arrived safely, as did the Fiat, and passed a very convivial afternoon munching a variety of modestly sized platters – sort of tapas style, really, so very Spanish. Our hosts had been made aware that we were avoiding alcohol for August and had magically found a bottle of zero alcohol Cava in the Carrefour at Benidorm. They had 0.0% beer, or near beer, as we call it, too. They’d very graciously put a lot of effort into this.

As well as enjoying good food in good company, we had a brief moment of wildlife excitement when we spotted some butterflies that looked unfamiliar. Francine dashed for my camera, in the boot of the Fiat, while I kept a watchful eye. Eventually two settled head to head in what looked like some form of face off. The one on the left then repeatedly dipped towards the one on the right such that the leading edge of its wings contacted the other’s. I’d never seen behaviour like this before. A territorial spat between males sprang to mind but those are usually carried out in the air where butterflies are concerned. It was all very curious but it did give me the chance to get a few pictures.

I needed to confirm my identification with a contact in the UK, so I took the opportunity to mention the butterfly’s curious dipping behaviour to him. As well as confirming that these were, indeed, Striped Graylings (Hipparchia fidia), in addition to the territorial explanation, he came with another possibility for the behaviour which may have been a female trying to ward off the attentions of an over-amorous male.

Inconclusive but interesting.