Burnt Orchids - 25th May 2026

Ever since I went to view some Burnt Orchids at Wiltshire Wildlife Trust's Clattinger Farm  see here three years ago, they have been my favourite native wild orchid even outstripping the much vaunted and spectacular Lady's Slipper Orchids that I managed to see at Gait Barrows National Nature Reserve (NNR) in Lancashire in 2018 before they sadly became extinct there see here

Recently I liased with fellow Oxfordshire orchid enthusiast and member of the Hardy Orchid Society (HOS) and suggested a trip to Knocking Hoe NNR in Bedfordshire to view a colony of 'burnt tips' that had been mentioned on the HOS web site.

Kocking Hoe is a 7.7 hectare unimproved chalkland site, managed by The National Trust and is both a National Nature Reserve (NNR) and Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI) in the Chilterns Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and features a flat bottomed valley with steep sides which is home to a variety of rare and endangered native plants including the aforesaid Burnt Orchids.

On a third day of extreme summer heat I collected Peter from his home and we set forth on the two hour drive to Knocking Hoe. A Bank Holiday Monday is maybe not the best time to venture onto our roads especially as we had to negotiate parts of no less than three motorways, the M40, M25 and M1 but we managed to avoid any undue delay and once through the outskirts of the horror that is Luton found ourselves in pleasant countryside on almost deserted roads.

Peter, having been to Knocking Hoe two years ago knew exactly where to go which was a layby beside a busy road that then required you to cross the road and walk around two sides of a beech wood to access the reserve.

On parking and getting out of an air conditioned car an hour before noon I was unprepared for just how hot the day had become and knew we were in for a very trying and perspiring expedition to see the orchids. Adding to our concern, it looked like to get to the reserve, we at first would be required to walk along the busy road with its blind corners and fast moving cars to access the wood but thankfully I discovered that a far from obvious track we could follow lay just inside the wood thus obviating us risking our lives on the road and its oncoming traffic.

It was pleasant in the shade of the beech trees as we followed the track slightly uphill to emerge into the open and there before us was a small wooden gate that gave access to the reserve..

Naturally the orchids were at the far end of the reserve which required a fairly long walk along a gently descending, undulating track that gave superb views across the open landscape of the reserve. Now out in the open, with no shelter  the strength of the sun became all too apparent and but for the very occasional welcome caress of a light  breeze it would have been very taxing walking out to the orchids.

The chalky ground we walked over was baked hard and unyielding, the grass parched and sparse as we pressed on conscious of not over exerting ourselves in the debilitating heat

The orchids were to be found on an obvious mound like hillock but located on the far side of it so it was only as we rounded the broad shoulder of the hillock that we saw the metal posts and a low wire mesh fence that enclosed and protected the orchids, making it obvious to one and all that this was where the orchids were to be found. Each orchid was marked by a little stick stuck in the ground on which was attached a small white flag.

Anecdotal posts from other orchid enthusiasts on the HOS web site suggested that it is bad year for this declining and nationally scarce orchid, due it is thought to the Spring drought of last year, with well known traditional sites  being virtually devoid of their presence. Usually dependable sites such as Clattinger Farm (none) and Mount Caburn (one) in East Sussex spring to mind.

Knocking Hoe appears to have bucked the trend with over fifty counted in their enclosure  but what took us by surprise was how small they were this year, even for what is a diminutive orchid in normal times.They were almost stunted and overwhelmed by the grasses and flora they grew amongst but still appeared perfect in form and colour, their intrinsic charm and exquisite beauty remaining unaffected.

I duly took my photos, kneeling on the hard ground or even lying on it to get that particular shot, so small were the plants.

To describe the Burnt Orchids I can do no better than transcribe part of David Lang's description of this orchid in his book Britain's Orchids

The burnt tip flower spike is cylindrical and has between 15-50 small close packed flowers.The sepals and upper petals form a tight hood which is dark  reddish brown when the flowers first open giving the appearance of being 'burned' , but fading rapidly as the flowers mature.The lip is white  with two rounded side lobes and a bluntly forked central lobe, marked with discrete crimson spots 

As per our normal practice we searched for variations.Most orchid species can show variety in the colour of their flowers and hybridisation is also not uncommon so part of the fun in looking for and at orchids is trying to find those that differ from the normal.

Our first success was finding one that was a more attractive overall purple maroon than white but stood only three inches tall 

We found another plant growing demurely and well away from the compound but still with its attendant marker flag that had a bubble gum pink bonnet of flower buds yet to open rather than the traditional darker maroon while the open flowers were white and unmarked.

We devoted forty five minutes to admiring this most desirable orchid but the heat was making life uncomfortable and we commenced  a wearisome trudge back along the mainly uphill track to the wood.

There were a couple of surprises for us on the way back in the form of a lone Pasque Flower, another endangered member of our native flora, growing right beside the track and in a shaded area of long grass near to the reserve entrance we found five pink spikes of the Chalk Fragrant Orchid, poking skywards like miniature church steeples.

Pasque Flower

I was never so glad to return to the car as now and avail myself of its air conditioning.

Sanderlings - 22nd May 2026

Every May at my local Farmoor Reservoir I eagerly anticipate the arrival of my favourite wading bird, the Sanderling.  They do not stop for long, touching down on the concrete shores to run along feeding, restoring their energy levels before resuming heading northwards to far off romantic destinations that I am unlikely ever to visit.

Watching their tiny forms, forever active, mving at incredible speed along the water's edge it is not lost on me the transformation of imagination and reality their transient, all too brief presence here brings to the moment.

For the short time they are here the sheer slog and mundane monotony of birding a reservoir that is so often devoid of birds is elevated above the everyday, as the wonder of migration and what these birds represent  imparts something infinitely more special.

It is of course impossible to know where exactly they have come from and where they are bound. A clue came some years ago when a Sanderling touched down on the reservoir  bearing various coloured flags and rings on its legs which, after referral told me that it had been ringed in Greenland as a chick the year before.

So Greenland is a definite destination, Greenland! Just think of it. This bird will fly all the way there and back each year for as long as it lives.Others will head to the high arctic in Siberia, again an almost unbelievable feat of endurance and yet here they are for a day, maybe two, bringing a sense of magic to disguise the prosaic, sense numbing reality of a utilitarian concrete bowl in the heart of England.

Why do they turn up here in the first place? They are a bird of seashores surely? They must be taking a shortcut across the centre of England, flying on a northwest heading from wherever they have originated be it on the east or southern coast of England, or further from the coasts of mainland Europe or even Africa. Passing high, unseen and un noticed  over central England, the geography hardly offers a suitable shoreline on which to stop unless they see a large body of water such as a reservoir or gravel pit. Possibly tired and hungry they decide to drop down to what looks to them a suitable place to break their long journey. Many others, I am sure do not stop, so we.are only granted the merest hint at what is going on above our heads in the infinite sky and a world and existence unknown to us.

No one Sanderling looks like another. Dunlins in summer plumage for example all look very much the same but Sanderlings in spring and early summer vary enormously from the almost white of their winter plumage to a rich orange brown that is their breeding plumage.Why is this - is the next question. 

Sanderlings breed when they are two years old which means they will breed in the third year of their lives. For the second year of their life many are said to remain in their wintering areas. My suggestion is that the white birds I see at the reservoir are non breeders born in the previous year and now in their second year of life but making the journey to learn the ropes so to speak before breeding in the next year if they survive. The orange birds are in their third year of life or older and going to breed and therefore have adopted full breeding plumage. I could well be mistaken but it seems a plausible hypothesis to me.

Others have suggested that the white birds have delayed their moult until they have completed their migration and will acquire full breeding plumage on the breeding grounds but I feel this is doubtful as time is of the essence, with only a very short breeding window of 7-8 weeks in the high arctic regions where they are bound.

Others suggest the white birds are for some reason moulting to summer plumage slower than the orange birds which have completed their moult faster. Again this is possibe but not for me.

All Sanderlings are beautiful in both form and plumage but to see them in their summer finery is a rare privilege and is only possible when they arrive on the reservoir unless I wish to make a long journey to the coast.

Today, when summer came to Oxfordshire in a weather perfection of heat and a welcome cooling breeze, five Sanderlings touched down on the wave washed concrete shores of the causeway.

As is often the case they were extremely confiding and allowed one to approach to within literally feet. The group demonstrated perfectly the extremes of plumage referrred to earlier with two birds rich orange and two very much white and even one somewhere in between.

I sat on the low wall of the causeway and watched them dodging the waves and spray of the wind ruffled blue waters. It was almost as if they were on some beach on the coast but no, here they were at Farmoor Reservoir, largely ignored by the public who now increasingly frequent the reservoir.

They will be gone tomorrow and I will feel the loss as the reservoir returns to its mundane normality and the imagined stardust that the Sanderlings have sprinkled will have dissipated as if on the summer breeze

Haring About - 20th May 2026

I am fortunate indeed to live in a village, Leafield, that lies within an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in West Oxfordshire and is surrounded by fields and woodland, much of which  form part of a large estate called Cornbury Park. The southern border of the estate backs onto our rear garden.

Consequently there is plenty of wildlife if you know where to look and one narrow, winding and undulating lane in particular that leads off the main street through the village, bisects the Cornbury Estate and forms a pleasant route which we use to access various other nearby villages and the town of Chipping Norton.

Being such a quiet rural road Mrs U often walks along it for exercise in the afternoon and regularly reports to me that she has seen a Brown Hare and at one place in particular, an upward sloping track between woodland and an open field, adjacent to the lane, that always seems to have an attendant hare or two, quietly nibbling the grass or just squatting as they are wont to do.I guess this private track is appealing to the hares as on one side, close by lies undisturbed woodland and on the other a fallow field currently burgeoning with all sorts of weeds and also providing a place to hide if necessary.

I too occasionally see them when passing the same place in the car and always slow to check if any hares are around.

Today in the early evening I was driving Mrs U back home along the lane and as we came to the favourite spot she exclaimed  

There he is! adding he's right by the road!

Our house is but a few minutes away so having dropped Mrs U at the house I  immediately drove back to see if I could get some photos of the hare. I held slim hopes of success as in similar situations before the hare had always disappeared by the time I returned to look for it.

Convinced this outcome would be no better, nevertheless I drove down the lane, slowing the car to a crawl a little before I drew level with the track. Ever so cautiously  I inched the car forward, now acting as a mobile hide and drew up looking at the track sloping up and away from the lane.

To my delight the hare was still there, very close to the lane exactly as Mrs U had stated. Even better it was with another hare. Two together! My car window was already open in anticipation to the right settings and the camera primed on the seat next to me. Here at last was an unexpected and welcome chance to photograph two of our local hares.

Slowly I reached for the camera, careful not to make a sound and ever so slowly raised and pointed it at the nearest hare through the open window, making sure to keep myself and the camera in the dark interior of the car where I would be  almost invisible.

Would the hares sense something was not quite right and flee? This was the moment of truth. The hares are rightfully wary as there is still shooting on the estate, deer mainly but I am sure the hares are also considered fair game. It was a tense moment and the two hares froze into immobility for a few seconds, nostrils quivering as they smelled the air but then relaxed, although still slightly suspicious of this strange vehicle that had suddenly appeared in their orbit. They resumed nibbling at the grass. 

I raised the camera and took some images. The click of the shutter sounded like a cannon but was in fact almost silent. I need not have worried as it could not have gone better. 

For ten minutes all was well but then their innate timidity got the better of them and they moved slightly further away up the track, not really alarmed more cautious one could say and after a few more minutes moved into the field of weeds parallel to the track and were lost from view.

The naturalist Frances Pitt wrote the following 

The hare presents an interesting study in psychology.Its character is a curious mixture of extreme timidity and boldness, of rashness and suspicion, of cunning and of the most flagrant silliness.

Being this close to a hare was an almost unique experience for me. So close was I, that a superficial glance showed its coat  was a lustrous, uniform tawny brown, a shade darker on its back and matching the stony red earth of the track it sat upon. But looking closer, I could see each strand of hair alternated  black and light brown creating an impression of marbled light and shade.

I also could not fail to notice three notable features of this animal. Its eyes, its ears and its nostrils. All are essential attributes for a creature that lives its entire life in the open with no protection other than its acute senses and physical adaptations for such a lifestyle.

Its black tipped ears are extraordinarily long and large and even act independently at times like radar scanners. Their hearing is ultra sensitive and the slightest extraneous sound will ensure the hare raises its ears like antennae and direct one or both in the perceived direction of concern. Every innocuous sound such as a pheasant's crow, the bark of a muntjac or a distant human voice can precipitate a raising of one or both ears to check and reassure all is well.

At rest or nibbling the fresh green shoots of the Spring grass the hare would lower its ears until they became as one with its body, resting them flat along its back presenting a very different profile.

Disproportionately large,  their eyes appear to bulge from their head. Tawny orange, replicating the colour of its fur and with enormous black irises  they stare impassionately, noting every subtle movement or change in their surroundings. Unchanging familiarity is a hare's nirvana, the slightest alteration to this  will cause it to be on edge and even more wary than usual.

The nostrils are wide and flared, again especially adapted for maximum oxygen intake when the hare is running at full speed.

When relaxed they move slowly, one could almost say sluggishly but once alarmed up go the ears, the body tenses then lengthens, becoming lythe and athletic as the huge hind legs propel it at incredible speed, its only means of defence, away from danger.

Over the centuries, inevitably much folklore has arisen around one of our most mystical native wild animals, one that is known to have inhabited  Britain before written history and even revered as a God, to be buried with honour during The Iron Age. 

This long association with humankind has given rise to many folk names such as  Puss, Lavrock, Bautie, Old Sally, Murchen and Malkin. Hares also have an association with the moon, spanning centuries and cultures, primarily rooted in the animal's nocturnal habits, reproductive cycles and the visual appearance of a hare in the Moon's craters long before the Man in the Moon was ever thought of.

In Spring however, they can be frequently seen in daylight 'boxing' in the open fields.This is not fighting between rival males but thought to be part of the hare's mating behaviour where the male courts the female and if she does not want to mate resists by hitting out at the persistently amorous male. This behaviour and the association with the moon has given rise to the sayings Moonstruck and Mad as a March Hare.

 

Disappointed that the hares had gone so soon I looked further up the track and was delighted to see another hare feeding quietly, totally relaxed while nibbling at the tender sweet shoots of grass. I spent a further pleasant thirty minutes watching and photographing it.

In the end I put down the camera and just watched, feeling that I was very privileged to be here sat in the rural calm of a country lane, with the wind gently swaying the trees and the intermittent sun running shadows up the track on which the hare was feeding amongst the grass.

Some of the sense of magic and mysticism that surrounds this animal seemed to impart itself to me whilst sitting in my car watching the hare, untroubled, going about its natural existence.For an hour I forgot about my human world and all the stress and anxieties of modern life that seem part and parcel of living through these times.

Nature can do this.

I was minded of the words of Lotti Brown who wrote: 

Mysterious, swift, wild, otherworldly...the hare is one of our most cherished Countryside animals, and it's no wonder that so much folklore and meaning has gathered around her through the centuries.

There's something about a hare - not only fleet of foot, but also ephemeral, as though she slips between worlds. It's little wonder that folklore across Britain and across centuries holds the hare as a magical being, part of the Otherworld and part of ours, never fully belonging to either.

Sadly there are others who show them no such respect or appreciation and hunt them with dogs.It is illegal in Britain to do so but it is becoming an increasing problem and owners of land on which it happens are frequently threatened with violence if they seek to prevent it.

Fortunately, to my knowledge our local hares are safe from such practices but I remain vigilant.

It is so regrettable that it has to be this way.

A Peregrine Interlude - 19th May 2026

With a couple of hours to spare before meeting a friend in Chipping Norton and with my camera in the  car I spontaneously decided to renew acquaintance with a pair of Peregrines that frequent an ancient church just over the Oxfordshire border. I went to see them in May last year ,and hoped that it would be a similar pleasurable experience this time.

It was a morning of blustery wind and showers but thankfully the rain stayed away as I drew up by the green in the older, more attractive part of the picturesque village and its twelth century church.

Stepping out of the car I surveyed the tower of the church but could see no sign of any Peregrines so decided to walk around the chuch to survey all four sides of its substantial presence. On the north side I found what I was looking for in the form of a male Peregrine perched on a stone gargoyle.

It was not that obvious as it had its grey back turned towards me which to a great extent merged with the lichen encrusted, crumbling grey and brown stonework of the church tower and the gargoyle on which it was perched. I also noticed it had obviously endured one of the heavy rain showers I had driven through before I arrived, as its breast feathers were dishevilled and spiky due to becoming soaking wet.

I took some images and then wandered around the church to take its picture from other angles while the Peregrine followed my progress with its huge lustrous dark eyes but showed little concern and why should it, perched high and secure on its elevated perch on the tower. It must also be well used to people passing by or entering the church.

It flew to a tree opposite, in the walled grounds of the Manor House which is almost as old as the church and perched high on a broken branch to preen and linger but the wind was troublesome in this more exposed position and it soon returned to its gargoyle, situated out of the wind on the north side of the church tower

 

It was remarkable how the many Jackdaws nesting in the ventilation inlets of the tower seemed unperturbed by its presence and carried on, to and fro, feeding their noisy young in their nests. Woodpigeons too showed little concern perching close to the apparently indifferent falcon. Maybe they and the Jackdaws were aware the Peregrine had eaten and for the time being they were in no danger. However a black wing tip poking up from behind another gargoyle indicated that a Jackdaw had fallen victim to the falcon and others would likely be suffering the same fate in the near future.As if proof were needed, on reviewing my photos I noticed its lower breast feathers were stained with blood, no doubt from a very recent victim. 

Note the blood on the Peregrine's breast feathers

In a brief absence of the Peregrine I saw a smaller falcon fly up to perch high on a ledge of the church tower and on going to investigate, it was as I suspected a male Kestrel. It had a worm which it consumed and then departed which is probably just as well as Peregrines are known to kill and eat smaller raptors such as kestrels.

Male Kestrel

The Peregrine returned and resumed its vigil on the gargoyle and all was as before; the Jackdaws busy feeding their young, the Woodpigeons blundering around the church and surrounding graveyard yews and the Peregrine silently watching - and waiting.

I spent around an hour, undisturbed and left to my own devices in this quiet and pleasant corner of rural England  with only a passing villager stopping to enquire after 'their' Peregrines. The hands of the ancient clock on the church tower pointed to twelve noon. It was time to go.