By Lesley McLaren
22nd June, we Warblers cleared up and packed our cars, preparing to vacate our chalet in St-Pierre-dels-Forcats. Everyone had plans to stop off somewhere on the way home but, as Robin has described in Nostalgia in the Cerdagne, he, Martine and I also had to visit the wildflower meadows one last time.
For me, though, it wasn't just the flowers that made this place so special. On a small mound in the first meadow you get to, there's a cluster of rocks. They cry out to be sat upon, which is exactly what I'd done the first time I saw them, Day 1. After arriving at the chalet early, to do a quick recce of the locale, I'd mused over who else, over the centuries, might have sat in this same spot, listening to skylarks, breathing in the fresh mountain air and soaking up the views.
Because of my dog, and the convenience of such quiet tracks so close to the chalet, I'd strolled here several times each day after that - often early morning and evening; rarely meeting anyone. Thoughts of my father often surfaced; he would have been in his element. By the last day, it now felt like home and, for some reason, those rocks drew my eye every time I passed them. Bathed in sunshine, they, the flowers, grasses, butterflies, birdsong, and resident families of whinchats, kestrels and choughs, combined to lend this place an ambiance of serenity I haven't encountered elsewhere.
For me, though, it wasn't just the flowers that made this place so special. On a small mound in the first meadow you get to, there's a cluster of rocks. They cry out to be sat upon, which is exactly what I'd done the first time I saw them, Day 1. After arriving at the chalet early, to do a quick recce of the locale, I'd mused over who else, over the centuries, might have sat in this same spot, listening to skylarks, breathing in the fresh mountain air and soaking up the views.
Because of my dog, and the convenience of such quiet tracks so close to the chalet, I'd strolled here several times each day after that - often early morning and evening; rarely meeting anyone. Thoughts of my father often surfaced; he would have been in his element. By the last day, it now felt like home and, for some reason, those rocks drew my eye every time I passed them. Bathed in sunshine, they, the flowers, grasses, butterflies, birdsong, and resident families of whinchats, kestrels and choughs, combined to lend this place an ambiance of serenity I haven't encountered elsewhere.
Pink clover like fat, juicy raspberries, mixed with ragged robin and buttercups
Partly to give Digby a decent walk before the long car journey, and partly to delay the moment of departure for as long as possible, when Robin and Martine headed back, I continued beyond the meadows into the welcome cool and contrast of pine forest. And instead of immediately circling round to the chalet again, which I'd done on the first day, we followed a snow-shoe trail towards the neighbouring Eyne Valley. On a par with everywhere else I'd been - meadows excepted, perhaps - there weren't many birds in here. Several mistle thrushes, jays, a crested tit and a greater spotted woodpecker were just about all. I was expecting crossbills, and my hopes rose at one point at the sound of an unfamiliar call, but whatever was making it refused to appear.
Here and there in the dappled shade, rhododendrons were beginning to open; I was sorry not to see them at their best, but if they had been out the spring flowers would have gone over. You can't have everything. In one glade, I came across an interesting, single orchid, which looked different from the purples and pinks in the meadows and verges further back. (Subsequent attempts to identify it from my photo have been unsuccessful; none of us can decide if it's a common spotted, heath spotted, or a hybrid; our books and the internet don't agree!)
(Mystery orchid on the right. Click to enlarge.)
Here and there in the dappled shade, rhododendrons were beginning to open; I was sorry not to see them at their best, but if they had been out the spring flowers would have gone over. You can't have everything. In one glade, I came across an interesting, single orchid, which looked different from the purples and pinks in the meadows and verges further back. (Subsequent attempts to identify it from my photo have been unsuccessful; none of us can decide if it's a common spotted, heath spotted, or a hybrid; our books and the internet don't agree!)
(Mystery orchid on the right. Click to enlarge.)
After a while, with heavy heart, I turned and regained the circular walk, coming out at our now-deserted chalet and my loaded car. I could have stayed for weeks - there was so much left to explore; raptors to track down (where were they all?); new plants and butterflies to discover ...
Already I was promising myself to return, though not necessarily to the same base; I was aware that a future visit at a different time of year could well affect me differently. At the end of this trip, I drove away with a strong sense of leaving something important behind.
