An Intro to the Marais

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P1010151_MaraisDSCN0009_MaraisDSCN0011_Marais The network of channels and canals that drain the marais encloses a series of fields which are put to various uses by the locals. The water channels are described with some precision by specific words according to their size. Having misplaced my handy reference, I won’t pretend to know the relative sizes but some of the words used are rigole, conche, bief and fosse (which I think is the smallest – a ditch). Here’s a few examples.

DSCN0021_MaraisThe multiplicity of waterways has attracted a multiplicity of ragondins [coypus]. Cute and furry, even when damp, though these critters may be, they undermine the banks of the canals in search of tasty vegetable matter to eat. Two many ragondins = pest. Wandering the length of some of the canals you may be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a ragondin but, more likely, you will catch a glimpse of one of these floating ragondin traps which are baited with apple in the hope of catching the hapless rodents. Not wishing to be wasteful in a world where recycling is encouraged, once having caught a ragondin you should mince it up with some pork and a few spices and make a tasty pâté.

DSCN0019_MaraisDSCN0017_Marais Many of the fields are used for farming of some kind, such as raising cattle, keeping donkeys or growing vegetables. (The donkey picture also demonstrates very well the French habit of planting trees in very straight lines.) Years ago farmers used to ferry their cattle between fields in small boats but, much as I’d like such a picture, I haven’t found an active example. Other fields are left purely for leisure purposes.

DSCN0014_MaraisThe tracts of land are further divided these days by very minor roads and tracks, many of which form excellent cycle routes. Motorised vehicles also use them, normally when I’m trying to employ maximum stealth to stalk a butterfly or dragonfly. Whoosh! Off goes my quarry chased by a Citroen Deux Chevaux. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a 2CV chug past with a cow sticking out through its sunroof.

The canals spill into the Sèvre Niortaise which is the main river of the region. There are a number of ways to cross the river including, as one might expect, modern bridges. Between Arçais and Damvix is an écluse [lock] providing another type of crossing. Much more interesting, and much harder work, is a chain ferry which works thus:

  1. P1010162_MaraisApproach the river and curse because the boat is on the opposite bank;
  2. haul on chain A to pull the boat over to your side of the river;
  3. load your cow/donkey/bicycle(*) into the boat;
  4. clamber into the boat yourself forcing your way past your cow/donkey/bicycle(*) to get to chain B at the far end;
  5. haul on chain B to pull both you and your cow/donkey/bicycle(*) across to the other side;
  6. carefully maintaining your balance, careful unload both yourself and your cow/donkey/bicycle(*).

(* = delete as applicable.)

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The Emperor’s Clothes

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Francine had devised a cunning plan to barter for the use of Mike & Linda’s washing machine: maniac that she is, she volunteered to help Linda working on her allotment (a.k.a. the farm) for half a day. The allotments in these parts are v. large and appear to constitute a full-time job for one person. Since Linda is currently working on an assignment en Angleterre with only occasional weekend returns to France, she was more than happy to accept the bartering arrangement.

Mike and I share both an interest in wildlife and a dislike of gardening so we left the ladies to it while we went in search of my unidentified butterfly. The brief glimpses I’d had on a couple of days made me suspect its identity but I needed a better look and, if possible, a photographic record to be certain. We set of à bicyclette into the marsh.

IMG_9907_Purple_EmperorMy suspects seem to like basking on the woodland tracks but they can be difficult to see. The first sign that one is present is usually its being scared up as one’s bike approaches. Off it flutters. At our first encounter, I got a few very poor distance shots but nothing capable of helping. We found a second sunny spot deeper in the marsh where I began trying again. I’m sure they sense vibrations from footfalls on the track and sneaking up close enough was proving très difficile. My stalking attempts were not helped as first one, then another, and finally a third car drove along our otherwise deserted woodland track scaring off my quarry even when I was getting it right. What is this, Piccadilly Circus? After much effort and not a little frustration, I finally got a shot of a very attractively marked but relatively dull brown-coloured butterfly basking on the ground. One footfall too many and, of course, off it fluttered.

IMG_9912_Purple_Emperor IMG_9914_Purple_EmperorIt fluttered into a sunlit bush beside the track. Lepidoptera, the scientific term for butterflies and moths, means “scaly winged” and some scales can be capable of performing neat tricks in the correct lighting conditions. In this case, when seen from the side or front, a rather dull brown colouration was transformed by a very imperial purple sheen. The Purple Emperor (Apatura iris) had donned it’s finest clothes and confirmed its identity. What a transformation. The side shot on the track shows how critical the angle of view can be with one wing showing purple and the other not.

I’d only ever seen one specimen before and that was dead as a result, I suspect, of a “road traffic accident”. They are so much more impressive alive and vibrant.

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Long-Term Interest

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There are a few areas of France that are capable of holding our attention, not only repeatedly and for extended periods of time. The Marais Poitevin is certainly one of those areas. Our interest began many years ago when we simply enjoyed exploring on our bicycles the many cycle routes which have been planned and marked. Being a drained marsh, the area is almost ironing-board flat and you can pedal more or less all day without undue effort taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the countryside. Our car gets a rest from dragging Guillaume around and we take to our bikes.

For those keen on nature, the area is especially interesting. The canals flow through very unspoilt, wooded  countryside forming a haven for wild birds. With a bit of luck, Purple Herons can be seen trying to find food along the canals and the woodlands are alive with the combined lyrical sounds of Nightingales and Golden Orioles, though you’ll be lucky to catch of glimpse of either of these shy, retiring characters, especially as a casual observer. Both their songs are almost reward enough, though.

Naturally, the flower meadows between some of the canals (the land isn’t all farmed all the time) make a great habitat for butterflies, of which I’ve long been a fan, and last year – yes, we were here last year as well – the canals and river provided me with a wonderful source of interest as a newcomer to dragonfly spotting.

P1010089_Bee_Orchid P1010094_Pyramid_Orchid Last year also, Francine noticed that several of the pistes cyclables [bicycle tracks] had orchids nestling amongst their grass verges. Now armed with her super new(ish) macro lens and a tripod, she’s hoping to get some good orchid shots for her flower catalogue. We are a week earlier than last year but the season is more advanced as a result of exceptional early spring weather, so she may be lucky. To check out the state of play, we went out on a scouting mission armed only with a pocket camera and old Hawk-eyes did spot several Pyramid Orchids and a Bee Orchid which it seemed foolish not to snap. The Pyramid turned out OK but the Bee will need some work and much better lighting.

P1010095_Monfaucon We popped into the embarcadère at Monfaucon wondering if any dragonflies would be active but saw nothing. The embarcadère was quite pleasant, though. I thought I’d have more luck on our return journey when I spotted a butterfly that I didn’t recognise and there I was with no camera. Foolish person! Just occasionally, though, it’s really pleasant to cycle with no rucksack on your back. A good reason for a return trip to see if I can snap and identify them. 😉

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Scarcely Recognisable

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I frequently concentrate so much on the process of photography that I don’t actually notice what it is I’m photographing. Maybe one day, it will become second nature enough for that to change but for now it certainly remains true.

IMG_9856_Tatty_Dragonfly There we were, pedalling slowly through the marsh heading for La Village sur la Sèvre, when a dragonfly flew aggressively after another, defending its territory. It returned and perched obligingly on its favourite sunny fence post. There are a few exceptions to my general “don’t really notice what I’m looking at” syndrome and one of those is when I’m looking at a particularly tatty specimen with only three wings instead of the usual four. Given the blue pruinosity, it looked a bit like a Black-tailed Skimmer (Orthetrum cancellatum) without a) a black tail, and b) a right forewing. How on earth it got this beaten up this early in the season, I don’t know. We continued.

IMG_9858_Scarce_Chaser Approaching la Sèvre, we crossed a bridge over a small canal where another Black-tailed-Skimmer looking critter was using a bare stick as a hunting perch. This critter actually had a black tail though rather less than I’d expect. I couldn’t approach close through the banks of stinging nettles but I snapped it anyway for the record. At least it was in good condition with a full compliment of wings.

I may have notice things like a glaringly obvious missing wing but what I had failed to see was the tell-tale dark brown triangles at the base of the hind-wings in both these specimens. The brown triangle is diagnostic of Chasers (Libellulidae). Both three-winged and four-winged specimens were chasers. Mr. Three Wings has a broader body and no black segments on the abdomen. He’s a very much worse for wear Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa). [Ed: I’d be very depressed if I were in that state, too.] The pristine second specimen with the last two segments of its abdomen black is a Scarce Chaser (Libellula fulva) and and constitutes my third new species of the trip. I’d like to find a female which apparently has a rather fetching orange coloured abdomen.

Must keep looking.

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À la Marais

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We tend to buy a French newspaper to have access to a relatively reliable weather forecast showing the whole country. This way, we can avoid intentionally driving into storms. We bought one in Luché-Pringé and everything looks set fair at the moment. Fair, that is, from a tourist’s point of view. In addition to looking at the paper’s weather maps, we stumble our way through some of the articles in our school grade French and it seems that it is not only Angleterre that has “enjoyed” a much sunnier and drier than usual early spring this year. Much of France is suffering from a water shortage already and the season is only just starting. The summer proper is yet to come.

I have always regarded the French as masters of water management. Many of France’s rivers are damned in many places creating artificial lakes and reservoirs. 15% of France’s electricity is generated using hydroelectric power driven by much of this water. 80% of France’s water electricity comes from nuclear power, the generators for which are cooled by much of this water. The French tactics may not be the best for certain downstream ecological issues, rather like America’s Hoover dam upsetting the ecology of the Colorado downstream, but they rarely run short of water. When they do, you know something unusual is happening. Not good! Failed crops and uncooled nuclear reactors are a very undesirable things.

We reprogrammed Sally Satnav to “avoid tolls” and told her to leave a very wet Loir behind us and take us to Arçais in the Marais Poitevin where our friends mike and Linda live. “Oh look”, said Navigation Officer Francine, “she’s picked the same route I would have chosen”. Phew! One really doesn’t want two navigators arguing the toss. After a pleasant and cordial journey of about three hours, we arrived in the marais to be greeted by a very welcoming Mike.

A marais is a marsh. The Marais Poitevin is just inland from La Rochelle on the west coast and is an area drained by a network of canals spilling into the [river] Sèvre Niortaise. French gets unusually complex and precise at this point. Not content with just one word for canal, here the French have five words for canal depending upon the size of the waterway in question.

P1010111_Arcais_port Shortly after our arrival, Francine and I went wandering to refresh our memory of our surrounding marsh countryside. We are relatively frequent visitors to this neck of the French woods and this is the first time we’ve ever seen any of the smallest drainage channels completely dry. Quite clearly the water shortage is real. The country certainly needs some serious rain even if we tourists don’t. The main canals are still very wet as can be seen from this shot of the embarcadère in Arçais but the worrying, early signs of drought are there.

P1010137_Marsh_Tourists Fortunately the locally valuable but seasonal work of punting bus loads of tourists around the marsh in barques can go on unhindered for the moment.

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Luché-Pringé

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There are two rivers called the “Loire/Loir” in France: there’s the main “La Loire” (female) and the more minor “Le Loir” (male). Le Loir  is a tributary of La Loire. La Loire is the one everyone has heard of; this is La Loire of wine fame and the longest river in France. We are staying a couple of nights on  Le Loir at Luché-Pringé. The interesting thing, it seems to me, about Le Loir is that it is a sizeable river but it is non-navigable. Its non-navigability appears to me to mean that the wildlife relying on it is left pretty much undisturbed. Five years ago when our car was en panne (broken down) at this site, I wasn’t into Odonata which is a shame because, as evidenced by the Banded Demoiselle that greeted our arrival, the banks of the river were alive with them.

There are many things I could not have done with real film or, at least, real film like Fuji Velvia (over)rated at a paltry 50 ASA. (A lot of photographers reckoned it was more like 40ASA.) Don’t get me wrong, Velvia was (is?) fabulous colour film in terms of its quality but flexible, it most definitely was not. I now have my camera set to 400 ASA in strong light and 800 ASA in poorer light. This gives a much better chance of snagging the Odonata in which I’ve become so interested. The other thing I’d never have done with real film is what I did the day we arrived, wandering slowly along the banks of Le Loir; our river bank was seething with damselflies of several kinds and I rattled off a ridiculous 130 shots, equivalent to four rolls of relatively expensive film. Thank Darwin for reusable pixels!

The following (full) day was pretty much the same story. Two days into our holiday and I’d shot the equivalent of eight rolls of film. The stock requirement for an eight-week trip just doesn’t bear thinking about.

IMG_9678_Banded_Demoiselle Most prevalent were Banded Demoiselles (Calopteryx splendens) which were flitting everywhere sunny. These, I recognise almost instantly with no more than a brief pause to exclude the very similar Beautiful Demoiselle (Calopteryx virgo). Every now and then the action would increase as a female zoomed past ardently pursued by a male or two.

IMG_9688_Common_Clubtail My usual approach is to grab pictures as I can and to identify what I’ve shot back at base with the aid of a laptop screen and a book. Just occasionally, however, you know you’re shooting something new. This was the case on our first afternoon when we snagged something unusual. The something unusual was clearly a Clubtail Dragonfly, a Gomphid. Light and position were not great but I could see it was eating something. The something turned out to be a damselfly whose head had already been been devoured but whose abdomen and wings still protruded from the Clubtail’s jaws. “Nature, red in tooth and claw.” This was my first sighting of a Common Clubtail (Gomphus vulgatissimus).

IMG_9766_Western_Clubtail Day Two, a full day, produced more photo opportunities of Clubtails and I fell into my usual self-made trap of assuming that they were all the same species. Not so. Subsequent closer inspection of the pictures showed that we’d been seeing and snapping both Common Clubtails and Western Clubtails (Gomphus pulchellus). This wasn’t new but it was still less than familiar. I was a happy camper.

IMG_9663_Goblet-marked_Damselflies It’s also very easy to be a little dismissive of blue-coloured damsels. Another mistake because there are many similar species. Again, I tend to snap away for later perusal expecting little exciting. Once again I was mistaken. Amongst a myriad White-legged Damselfies (Platycnemis pennipes) and a lone Common Blue Damselfly (Enallagma cyathigerum), I saw something less than usual (to me, anyway). Don’t blame me for the less-than-appealing English name of these creatures but I am almost certain I have snagged a tandem pair of Goblet-marked Damselflies (Erythromma lindenii).

Yikes! Two new species is as many days. It can’t go on, there aren’t that many species available. 😉

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Jeux avec Sally

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Our first main target is the Marais Poitevin, ~30m/50km inland from La Rochelle halfway down the French west coast, where we have friends living. It would be a trip of ~330m/550km trip from Neufchâtel-en-Bray which, though perfectly possible dragging Guillaume, is not exactly desirable, especially as we are in no hurry. 🙂 We decided to split the journey around Le Mans and have a couple of nights on Le Loir in a quaint little village called Luché-Pringé. About five years ago, this had been the site of our only travelling breakdown so our fingers were firmly crossed for better fortune this time.

Enter Sally satnav who, just to add to the atmosphere, was switched into giving instructions in French and distances in kilometres. What we had not done was tell her to avoid tolls, so, being set to find the fastest route, it came as no surprise when she wanted us to hit the autoroute just after Rouen. We’d been expecting this, ignored her instructions and followed Navigation Officer Francine’s route. “Calcule encore”, said Sally, as she searched for the next junction that would get us back to her autoroute and increased her ETA. This pattern was repeated as Evreux and Dreux fell behind us: “calcule encore”, repeated Sally as she increased her ETA yet further and tried to convince us to hit the autoroute. Even as we were nearing Le Mans with our destination lying to the south east of the town, she kept trying to get us on the autoroute to the north and west of Le Mans. By now, her ETA had increased by about 30 minutes.

“Well, you did ask for the quickest route”, I hear you say, and you’d be quite right. However, here’s my surprise. As we got even closer to Le Mans, Sally finally got the point and abandoned her autoroute fixation; she picked a sensible cross-country route whereupon her ETA now fell by 20 minutes. I’m quite sure that, at several of her previous “calcule encores”, a cross-country route would have been quicker than her beloved autoroute.

We arrived at our campsite beside Le Loir and were greeted by a Beautiful Demoiselle flitting across our chosen pitch. “That’s promising”, I thought.

You really can’t beat a Navigation Officer.

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Disorganised Departure

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You’d be forgiven for thinking that I’m a novice at this travelling game. Preparations seemed to be going well. Two days before our departure I went a fetched Guillaume and gave him his traditional pre-departure bath. I was obviously keen because he got a very rare waxing as well – even his roofline got waxed. I changed over to the lightweight gas cylinder and re[aced the large waste water container with the smaller one, largely to make space for a sunshade base. Guillame was ready.

We’d been down to Halfords and secured some necessary supplies, including headlamp deflectors which were on special: three for two – pairs, that is, clearly we don’t have three headlights to correct. We’d also decided to get a set of euro registration plates to obviate the need for a GB sticker. Good old Halfords; not only were they running short of letters and numbers but they had run out of euro-plates anyway. Darn! Back to the trusty old method, then. I washed the car and began loading it.

Sunday morning arrived. I finished loading the car with those inevitable last minute things whilst Francine packed Guillaume’s fridge with a few days supply of food to get us started. We finished putting the house into long term storage, hitched up and set off.

Having covered about half a mile, I suddenly realized that I’d forgotten the headlamp beam converters. [Mutter, mutter.] Flipping a U-turn with Guillaume on the back is at best très difficile and occasionally impossible. I made an irritatingly slow circuit of a 3-ile block and returned to retrieve them.

I practiced reversing with Guillaume on the back and we were off again. We had left quite early so there was no time pressure, at least. Phew!

About half way to the ferry, whilst staring at the back of a fellow holiday maker, I realized with self-flagellating annoyance that I had also forgotten to a-fix our magnetic GB-plate. I think I’d psyched myself up for a smart new set of euro-plates which had not been available, and swept it out of my mind. What a tidy little thinker I am. Unfortunately my thinking was of course. Drat! Double drat!!

Despite the M20 being closed in addition to our false start, we arrived at Douvre in time to be loaded onto an earlier ferry. [Ed: Excellent!] Another two hours of driving on the blissfully clear French roads got us to our favoured in and out campsite at Neufchatel-en-Bray for our first night’s stop.

Not quite the mark of a seasoned professional with about thirty years experience. ❗

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Last Day of Bliss

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Our last day in the New Forest and it was a wonderful start: yet more clear blue skies and little in the way of wind. Our legs had recuperated and our bike wheels were hopefully now protected against any further deflating experiences, so Francine searched our maps for a suitable ride. It’s the weekend again so everywhere would be busy but harbours are usually interesting so we headed for Christchurch Harbour.

IMG_9597_Airfield_Memorial On another mixed outbound route of forest tracks and quiet country roads, we came across what I thought was a particularly tasteful memorial to all the second world war airfields in the New Forest. Naturally, being on the south coast, this area was in the thick of it.

IMG_9602_Crabbing Our eventual target turned out to be something of a trip down Memory Lane for Franco ‘cos we ended up at Mudeford Quay. In fact, the “memory” part of Memory Lane was sadly lacking ‘cos it was far too far back in mists of time that, as a child, I had been brought here by my parents. I can remember their telling me but, when I arrived I had no recollections of the place at all. I did remember from the stories that it was a hotbed of recreational crabbing for children. Nothing had changed, clearly; the quayside was lined with people hopefully dangling hand lines to yank out the poor, unsuspecting crabs.

Much more interesting was a display of the unhurried launching of the local life boat. I was looking forward to it sliding down the slipway and crashing into the water with an accompanying dramatic splash. In fact it was a very gentle, measured affair controlled by an odd-looking tractor device with the life boat still in some form of launching/recovery cage. Steering the whole outfit down the not-much-leeway-for-error launching ramp looked like a challenge requiring keen concentration.

IMG_9607_Life_Boat_launch IMG_9612_Life_Boat_launch IMG_9615_Life_Boat_launch

Apart from Franco missing a turn and noticing only because Francine never caught up, the return trip was blissfully uneventful – no nasty flint punctures (but it’s early days). The promised cloud later in the day arrived and the temperature dropped acccordingly for our packing in preparation for tomorrow’s departure. What a very welcome stunning week and a half this trip has been; we could not have asked for anything better.

Now, what next?

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In With Flint

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Or was it “In Like Flint”? How time dulls the memory. [Ed: And alcohol!] Anyway, yesterday something like a flint went into my bicycle tyre. So, today it was in with flint protection.

Cycling may be great fun in our view but the ever-present risk of punctures due to pneumatic tyres occasionally rears its ugly head and bites us. My puncture repair using tired rubber solution at the pub in Bank yesterday seemed fine in that it got me the eight miles back to Guillaume successfully. However, this morning my rear tyre was once again as flat as a crèpe.

There are various technological deployments marketed for protection against punctures. There are inner tubes pre-filled with supposedly hole-sealing slimy goop. (What kind of spell-checker doesn’t understand “goop”?) When you get a puncture, the leaking slimy goop, which, if the pictures are to be believed, is a tasteful radioactive green colour, is said to congeal in the hole thus sealing it. I didn’t fancy this approach because of the mess it might make of the inside of the tyre and because, if it didn’t seal, the slimy goop residue might make any subsequent old-fashioned repair très difficile. More appealing were bands of plastic armour which are to be inserted into the tyre to protect the inner tube. Though “guaranteed to work” (yeah, right), these armoured bands ought to enable a return to traditional puncture fixing should the need arise. Worth a try – we bought some. Incidentally, the bands are also radioactive green. What is it with vivid green and puncture protection?

I’m always leery of items that say things like, “easy to fit”; if they have to make such a claim then it’s rarely true. Here we have the wheel off the bike with the tyre half-off (one bead off) the rim. Given a 26 inch wheel, one now has to juggle a loose-fitting 84 inch/7 feet/2+ metre (the ends overlap) band of plastic armour into the correct position within the tyre (inside the tread). One how has to support the wheel and keep the band in place while you finagle the inner tube’s valve back through the hole in the rim and tuck the inner tube back in place all around the wheel. The wheel, of course, is on its side, pivoting on the hub, and gravity is attempting to reposition the band every time you let go of it in order to free a hand to insert the inner tube. There are several jobs on this planet for which two hands do not come close to being adequate. Darwin please take note. Eventually, I juggled the protection in at the rate of one beer per bicycle.

IMG_8578_Grey_Wagtail_750 We had a very brief ride around the site just to make sure that all was back together correctly but the ol’ legs were feeling yesterday’s Bank excursion. Added to this, Francine has managed to damage one little piggy – the left one that went, “wee, wee, wee, all the way home” – by delivering poor Guillaume a swift drop-kick so her foot is bruised and sore. I left her soaking up the last rays of the afternoon while I took our favourite local wander down to Tiptoe to see what critters I could find. What do you know, the elusive Grey Wagtail (Motacilla cinerea) was dipping around on one of the stream’s shingle banks. Not the greatest of shots (Wellington boots in the stream, still relatively distant and cropped) but it shows the main distinguishing features: grey back, yellow rump).

Another one for the collection. 🙂

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