Marbled whites

When a low-hanging branch slapped me across the face for the third time in less than 30 minutes, I knew I had made a mistake. It had started a few days earlier when I went to a local park to photograph butterflies. The morning had turned out to be quite windy and there wasn’t much showing, so I wandered up the hill in search of something else. (I will write a separate blog post about those later). On my way back to the meadows, I ran into a gentleman with a camera and we got chatting. The chat turned into a long discourse, so we sat down on a small hill to discuss birds, bugs and badgers. He was very interested to hear about the badgers who visit our garden most nights and asked if he might visit. He offered to show me some peregrine falcon chicks in return. I gave him my e-mail address and we spent the rest of the afternoon chasing butterflies through the long grass. I don’t think I have ever met anyone as knowledgeable about wildlife. However, his technique with bugs didn’t suit me at all and I kept none of the butterfly images I took that day.

Three days later I found myself driving over to his house in the hope of catching the growing falcon chicks before they left the nest. It was a hot and sticky morning, but although the entrance to the woods was only just behind his road, I found the climb quite tough. On the way, I tried to strike up a conversation, but unless it involved birds or butterflies he wasn’t interested. My impression was of a person growing up alone with a passion for nature. Idle chat didn’t seem to be on his radar. More than once I started a sentence to have him butt in to point out a bird flying past or a buzzing insect. I could see he wasn’t being rude. He had simply not developed any communication skills.

On the way to the nest we had to fight our way through dense woodland. In a way, I was grateful because it slowed him down a tad and I didn’t have to keep breaking into a trot to keep up. I soon learned that sticking close was a bad idea though because he never once considered me as he pushed his way through the branches. By the time we reached the edge of the cliffs, I had been hit in the face several times and looked as though I had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Sadly it appeared as though the chicks had already left the nest, but I did spot an adult flying past as my companion hunted up and down along the cliffs. It’s a sight I will never forget. Next, we battled our way to a spot where he said we could get a better view away from the trees. Eventually, we came across a hole dug into the chalky ground and peering down I could see something resembling a small room with a window looking out across the valley. Then it dawned on me. He had spent countless hours digging this hide for a better view of the nesting birds. I wondered what he had done with all the unwanted earth and I had a bizarre vision like a scene from The Great Escape. Here was a true fanatic in every sense of the word.

I’m ashamed to say that I declined his offer to climb down. There was no ladder, it was a long drop and I seriously worried about my ability to get back up. I also declined to visit a hidden pool that he had created elsewhere in the woods. Apparently, it was another hour trekking in the heat and frankly, I was beginning to lose it. More than once I had to stifle a laugh, not at this lovely gentleman, but at the bizarre nature of the outing. We returned to his house and spent some time looking at his wildlife images. Eventually, I made my excuses and left.

Exactly one week after meeting him in the park, I was back again, but on my own this time. I wanted to photograph the marbled whites, but in my own way. So I watched a ten yard stretch of meadow from the mown pathway and tried to befriend any insects that came close. It was still windy – something that worked in my favour this time, as some of the butterflies stayed put. I was even able to stroke a couple of them after taking the photographs that can be seen here.

I haven’t heard from the gentleman since, but the offer to visit our badgers is still open.