Not far from the cottage we were renting, the Admiral and I discovered a gem of a pasture. One evening, we had headed out to the north coast of the island, principally to see if we could photograph a sunset, but with a Plan B of exploring along the storm beach.
The sunset was too cloudy, but we were fortunate enough to briefly see half a dozen Orkney Voles, which ran between boulders, across the turf. Working our way along the coast and through a swathe of Campion, we reached a geo (a narrow inlet bordered by steep cliffs), that was fenced off, sensibly preventing us from risking life and limb. With our planned route back to the cottage now in tatters, we looked at the map for alternatives. Rather then bimble across 3 fields, we chose to cut back eastwards and pick up a track used on the outward journey. The light was starting to fade as we set off again across a pasture, but a small white flower caught my eye... Grass of Parnassus. Even before my exclamation of surprise had died away, we also found a Scottish Primrose, the diminutive pastel jewel in Orkney's floral crown. Somehow, I thought, we have to find a way for Our Lass to reach this spot, despite being on crutches.
As the Hooded Crow flew, it was only 500m from the cottage to the pasture, but to walk it on firm paths would mean a detour of over a kilometre and then negotiating a grass meadow, ripe for hay making. I couldn't see how it could be done. Although her stamina was growing day by day, it was still only a few weeks since her operation, and we did not want to jeopardise her recovery. The distance would just be too much, but even without that, an uneven field covered in long grass wasn't the ideal surface for Our Lass to tackle.
As the days until the end of our holiday became fewer, our frustration grew in inverse proportion. I wasn't too keen on risking the hire car on the stony track, especially as it had fairly low profile tyres. However, as time was running out, I threw caution to the winds. That just left the knotty problem of the bumpy field. This was solved serendipitously when Westraak, the local wildlife tour company, drove passed the cottage, along the track and through said field. Flattened grass, wide path, sorted!
So what was all the fuss about?
This is Grass of Parnassus, Parnassia palustris, and we had never seen it growing in such profusion as here in this small pasture, within a stone's throw of the Atlantic Ocean. In fact, I don't recall ever seeing it in clumps before, only single flowers.
Here's the Scottish Primrose, Primula scotica, which, although confined to a small area of the pasture, was presenting well, especially considering that our ID book stated "don't hope to see it in late June or early July."
To prove that Our Lass made it to this fantastic piece of maritime heath, and also to give some scale to the primrose, the below photo features both beauties. Our Lass is the one holding the camera...
Not content with her adventure off piste, Our Lass then went one better and found several specimens of Frog Orchid, Dactylorhiza viridis, which had just started to bloom.
The Eyebright next door showed how low growing these orchids were in this harsh environment.
Various islands in Orkney have just the right conditions to support this wealth of maritime heath flora. The farming techniques are still those of years long past, and though they are inevitably more mechanised, they are still sensitive to the needs of Nature. The farming fraternity is often criticised for its close relationship with agri-business, but at least here, in these northern isles, the balance is more wildlife friendly. Amen to that.
In the ever-increasingly anachronistic posts about the natural history we encountered whilst holidaying in Orkney, here's a short series of some of the flora seen on the island of Westray.
As previously mentioned, with our botanical expert hors de combat, we were rather on the back foot when it came to flowers. The Admiral and I could, however, content ourselves with the thought that to appreciate the beauty of a roadside verge full of wild flowers, one doesn't necessarily need an encyclopaedic knowledge of taxonomy and Latin. It's therefore a shame that I didn't have the foresight to point my camera along a lane and record the scene. Campions, trefoils, vetches, buttercups, orchids, you name it, I ignored it. What a prune.
Keeping things simple, the thistles were just starting to bloom and their fresh look and geometrical shapes were an obvious choice for a photograph.
This is a Marsh Thistle, Cirsium palustre, which we found just about everywhere, but this particular one was on the cliff top at Stanger Head.
As the saying goes, also available in white! And also on Stanger Head.
On one of our potters along the links at Rackwick, my eye was caught by this clover plant, which I blithely assumed was simply a White Clover, Trifolium repens, and so didn't check the leaves.
Though it isn't very tall, as demonstrated by the neighbouring Eyebright, it could be Alsike Clover, Trifolium hybridum. Serves me right for not noticing or even taking a shot of the leaves. To be fair, I was just captivated by the pattern and colours.
Whilst wandering along the cliff path at West Kirbest, we came across a small white flower which we did not encounter anywhere else. There appeared to be only one small patch, possibly a single plant, so I recorded it for Our Lass to puzzle over that evening.
It turned out to be Fairy Flax, Linum catharticum, which as its Latin species name hints, was used in times past as a purgative.
On the same stretch of coast, but growing between the wave cut platform and the storm beach, were these pretty little plants, shown below. I must admit that I thought I was taking a picture of one type of plant, but later, upon reviewing the images, I realised there were two separate species.
We decided that the white flowers with four petals were Common Scurvygrass, Cochlearia officinalis, but the pink flowers with five petals gave us the run around until we resorted to the time-honoured technique of looking at every page in the ID guide. As it happened, the petals were actually sepals, there weren't any petals and the plant was Sea Milkwort, Glaux maritima. No wonder I find dragonflies easier to identify!
Going on holiday in a group can be a bit of a logistical nightmare. Admittedly, the Tense Towers team are only three in number, but as Our Lass wasn't allowed to put any weight on her left knee during the whole of our time in Orkney, things could've been rather fraught. Fortunately, all the preparation beforehand paid off and everyone we met was helpfulness personified.
Inevitably, it was occasionally frustrating for her that she couldn't go rock pooling or climb to the top of the lighthouse, but as she built up her upper body strength whilst using her crutches, new goals became possible. Lowering her sights, literally, put her in the realm of small flowers that would ordinarily have been overlooked in the search for larger Northern Isles life forms: seals, killer whales, red necked phalaropes, Simon King, black guillemots, otters, etc.
A short, grassy track from the North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory led to a five barred gate, beyond which was the preserve of the seaweed-eating sheep. From the low cliffs could be seen a rocky beach and the swirling waters of the North Ronaldsay Firth and the Atlantic Ocean.
Initially with plenty of rest stops, Our Lass trod this 300m track with a monotonous "click, thump" rhythm, in order to reach the nirvana of a wild vista beyond the sheep dyke. Whilst the Admiral and I were intent on photographing Black Guillemots, she innocently pointed out a wee flower that we had walked past umpteen times. Binoculars were wielded, cameras were deployed, Ohs and Ums were oh-ed and um-ed, heads were scratched. Then politeness cut in and we scratched our own heads, before realisation finally dawned. Yes, we definitely don't know what this is.
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| It's a... er...hmmm? |
The small white-centred, pink flower, no more than 8mm across, had 5 petals and grew in small clumps (technical botanical term) on the bare sandy clifftop. Later, in the bar (where else), recourse to a copy of Wild Flowers of Britain and Ireland (Blamey, Fitter and Fitter), narrowed it down to a Sea-spurrey, Spergularia, but which one? Sand (rubra), Greater (media), Lesser (marina), Rock (rupicola), Greek (bocconei)? Only Greater and Lesser are known in Orkney, as Sand has supposedly not made the jump to the Northern Isles. It was definitely not Greek, as there wasn't a bouzouki player for miles, nor was it Rock which appears to be a plant of the west coast of Britain.
The defining characteristic seemed to be the comparative length of petals to sepals. Longer equals Greater, shorter equals Lesser. We couldn't even agree on this and I reckoned they were the same length anyway, which brought Rock back into the frame.
Oh, we're rubbish at botany, if you hadn't already guessed!
So, dear reader (presuming that you are still paying attention and haven't wandered off to do something more meaningful), can you help? Are you the world authority on Sea-spurrey or even someone for whom the ratio of petal to sepal is but a trifle? To be honest, I think the North Ronaldsay sheep probably stood a better chance of working it out than we did.
