Dear Readers, there have been times during the past year when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see the Rotmoos valley again, but today, after a steepish climb, I was back! This is probably my favourite place in the whole area, and when we arrived, the Haflinger horses who had foals were being collected – they’re put out to pasture in the early part of the year, then taken in for a health check, vaccinations etc, and then released for the rest of the summer.

There is something very special about this valley – in the course of an hour you go through bog, alpine meadow and scree slope, and the plants change accordingly. Plus, it’s a wonderful place to at least hear marmots, but I wasn’t expecting this:

This marmot was so close to the path that I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t a rock. But in fact it was an adult marmot keeping watch. She wasn’t perturbed by us, as she didn’t whistle an alarm once. In fact, the main predator for marmots is the eagle, and occasionally a fox. And then we noticed that this marmot wasn’t alone…

There were at least three babies, who were even less cautious than their mother – one came to within ten feet of us. Marmots live in very complicated systems of tunnels and dens, so you never know where they’re going to pop up next.

Well, that would have been enough, but five minutes later there was another family:

This one also had several babies, and was also completely relaxed. You never know with marmots! Some years they keep their distance and are very wary, but other years they don’t seem to care about humans at all. A couple of years ago, I nearly trod on one who was dozing on a footpath (by accident obviously) and I’m not sure who was most surprised.

Anyhow, this was such a treat. It’s made the whole holiday worthwhile for me, and if it snows from now till when we come home I will still be happy.

And then there are the plants.. First up are the little red ‘wigs’ of the Alpine Avens, which is in the same family as our Herb Bennet, but has a rather more luxuriant seedhead.

Alpine Avens (Geum montanum)

I’m going to say that the plant below is Lifelong Saxifrage (Saxifraga paniculata). It was everywhere this year, I’ve never seen so much, and the hoverflies seemed to love it.

Lifelong Saxifrage (Saxifraga paniculata(

Saxifrages are extremely well adapted to mountain conditions, so there are lots. This one is Yellow Mountain Saxifrage (Saxifraga aizoides)

And in case you were getting bored with the flowers, here’s a very fine Italian sheep – they come over the Alps from Italy in the spring, feed in the Alpine meadows and then go home again in the autumn. They always look like such characters and, as we had no food, they ignored us completely. Do not be fooled, though, one rustle of a lunch pack and you’ll suddenly become very popular….

I love the little squat willows that grow here – this tree is as big as it’s going to get. Lots of seeds, though!

This one is a bit of a puzzle, but I think it could be Fleischer’s Fireweed (Epilobium fleischeri) – it was discovered in 1825 by Herr Fleischer, just up the road in Solden, so I would be very chuffed if that’s what this turned out to be.

High altitude plants often grow very close to the ground – this red plant couldn’t have been more than 2 cm tall. It’s a sedum, probably Dark Stonecrop (Sedum atratum)

And finally, here’s a plant that looks familiar, but isn’t – this is Alpine Bistort, a close relative of Redshank, but found at an altitude of more than 1100 metres, in snow hollows and on stony ground. Who would think that this inoffensive little plant was a relative of Japanese Knotweed?

Alpine Bistort (Persicaria vivipara)

Well, by this stage my legs were aching a bit, and I was looking forward to some soup at the Schonweisse Hut at the mouth of the valley, but as we crossed a stream I found myself dreaming of seeing an Alpine Salamander. Well, I didn’t see one of those, but I did see this lovely lizard, only the second one I’ve ever seen in Austria. I think it might be the Viviparous Lizard (Zootoca carniolica),  which gives birth to live young. What a lovely way to end the walk!

I celebrated my first ‘proper’ Austrian walk with a bowl of soup and an Affogato – a single scoop of vanilla ice cream with warm espresso coffee. Just as every restaurant in Toronto was offering sticky toffee pudding when I was there in the spring, so every mountain hut and cafe in the Oest Valley seems to have an affogato on the menu. And I’m not complaining, it’s a tiny taste of something sweet and a caffeine kick up the backside all in one drink. And now for a hot bath and a nap.

Zwieselstein

Dear Readers, it snowed again overnight, so we decided to do a low-level walk from Zwieselstein, which is at the place where the Gurgl and Vent valleys meet, to Sölden. This is a relatively easy walk, but the first one on ‘proper’ mountain paths, so I was hoping to build up a bit of confidence. Plus, although short it is a lovely path alongside a raging river, studded with giant boulders and full of botanical interest, so let’s go! But first, we pause to admire the hotel on the right in the photo, which looks a little like something out of the Flintstones, and appears to be emerging out of a pile of local rock.

Every field around here contains several giant chunks of rock, which look as if they’re advancing, millimetre by millimetre, towards the river below.

Some of the boulders which are balanced on the riverbank are habitats in themselves, encrusted with everything from lichens and mosses to young willow trees.

And the river rushes on, milky-white. Just look at the size of some of those boulders!

I have never seen so many orchids as I have this year along this path. The leaves of this one make me think it’s a Heath Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza maculata) – although it’s growing in woodland here, it seems to generally prefer a damp habitat, and there’s something very rain-foresty about this habitat.

This was my prize plant today, though – a Martagon Lily (Lilium martagon). What a surprise to find it here! Also known as the Turk’s Cap Lily (because the flowers were thought to resemble a turban), this is one of those plants that I’m more familiar with in a garden, rather than growing wild.

Martagon Lily (Lilium martagon)

And here’s an old friend – this is the Woolly Cobweb Houseleek (Sempervivum arachnoideum ssp tormentum) – they grow where there is practically no soil, on sunny sites (this is an exposed rock way above Sölden).

Well, this is the highest point on the walk, so now we start our descent into the village.

As it’s been so wet, there are lots of these chaps about – I think this one is a Brown Soil Slug (Arion distinctus). I hope it got a move on, as the path is also frequented by (very polite) mountain bike riders, so the chance of getting squished by boot or bike wheel is relatively high.

And clearly Mr/s Slug hasn’t found this Alpine Strawberry yet – they’re amongst my favourite fruits, each tiny berry a pop of concentrated strawberry taste. If it hadn’t been for the precipitous drop just behind this plant I’d had had to have a taste.

And here’s one of my favourite gardens – the sculpture of the head is extraordinary, and I love the little snail next to the ‘temple’ on the left.

And finally, here’s a little robot, which I’m pretty sure was also mowing this extensive lawn when we were here two years ago. Look at it pottering about, dutifully doing its job! I don’t know if any of you out there have read any China Miéville science fiction, but I’m muchly reminded of ‘Perdido Street Station’, where all the little household robots rise up to take on the challenge of a much larger foe. Gawd help us if the Roombas and the lawnmowers ever get together. Anyhow, enjoy! What I liked was all the blackbirds and sparrows flying around and taking advantage of the exposed insects – you see a flock of them zoom past in the first video. I’m not sure that the lawn actually needs mowing at the moment, though? Is this a constant task, a bit like painting the Forth Bridge?

View from the Hohe Mut (2675 metres)

Well, Readers, we awoke this morning to see the peaks round about powdered with snow, so clearly there was nothing for it but to jump on a cable car and head up for a look. Past experience should have taught us that there’s not actually that much to see when the clouds are still so low, but nonetheless there’s something about heading up through the mist with the wind whistling round the gondola that makes for an invigorating start to the day.

The Hohe Mut Alm

Anyway, with the conditions worsening we decided that that was quite enough of that, and so we headed back down – at the village level it was cold, windy and wet but not yet under snow.

View from the cable car on the way back down.

We got back into Obergurgl, and headed out across the local meadow. En route we passed a man wearing a Tyrolean hat with a feather in it. He was driving a teeny-tiny earth mover, and was accompanied by two men with shovels. Readers, they were filling in the (very insubstantial) potholes on the path. Anyhow, I was soon doing some flower spotting again. I’ve seen this vetch in several places – it looks very like Tufted Vetch (Vicia cracca) to me, but isn’t in my Alpine plant book. Maybe it isn’t ‘Alpine’ enough.

Tufted Vetch (Vicia cracca)

I always admire the extreme water-resistance of the leaves of Lady’s Mantle – this is known as the ‘lotus effect’, or ultrahydrophobicity, and means that the water droplets that gather on the leaves pick up the tiniest particles of dirt or other contaminants, hence helping to keep the leaves clean. I wrote a bit more about this phenomenon here.

Lady’s Mantle (Alchemilla sp)

We saw three or four of these thrushes – they’re looking pretty Mistle-thrushy to me, and they were having a great time picking up insects and pecking for worms. In the background a Blackca was singing – I’d never noticed before how it has little spells of sounding like a Great Tit (teecher-teecher) before heading off on a whole different riff.

Mistle thrush (probably)

One thing that you’ll see all over the Alps are shrines – sometimes for specific people, sometimes in honour of a particular saint, sometimes at the site of an accident. People here in Obergurgl still often go to church on Sunday, especially the older people, and then meet up in the Pic-Nic for a quick schnapps before heading home for lunch.

This is one of my favourite clovers – Alsike Clover (Trifolium hybridum). It’s not a hybrid, but Linnaeus thought it was a cross between red and white clover, hence the name. It’s very pretty with its pink and white petals.

Alsike clover (Trifolium hybridum)

Here’s the view back to the village – you can just make out the snow on the peak at the end of the valley, as the clouds close in.

We walk past the edge of rhe Arolla Forest (we’ll take the walk up on a more suitable day), but all the Alpenroses have already finished – it’s been extremely hot in the village (not this week, clearly) and I suppose that’s brought the flowering forward. I did spot this lovely Campanula though: I think it’s Bearded Bellflower (Campanula barbata), which is only found above 1,100 metres.

Bearded Bellflower (Campanula barbata)

We pop along to see if anyone is training on the Via Ferrata, but as it’s raining horizontally by now there’s no one dangling or climbing. 

And so we head home for an early lunch and possibly a snooze. We have a very nice bathroom here, and yesterday I had my first bath for two years (before you start imagining a cloud of flies above my head, I have been having showers). Since I broke my leg I’ve been a bit worried about getting in and out of a bath tub, but it was no problem at all, and I think the hot water definitely helps with my neuropathy. Hooray! Another small victory achieved.

Dear Readers, one thing about a holiday in Obergurgl is that the weather is never boring. Yesterday it poured with rain all night. This morning the clouds lifted, then came down again, and rain is forecast for this afternoon. So, we decided to have an easy day today, and took the bus into the nearby village of Sölden for a little trot along the river.

By the time it gets to Sölden, the river is known as the Oztaler Ache – it has picked up the river Gurgl (what a wonderfully onomatopoeic name!), for which Obergurgl and Hochgurgl were named, and has also been joined by the Venter Ache, the river that rises in the neighbouring valley. So, by now, it is a substantial glacial river, and clearly isn’t even at full flood yet.

All the glacial till in the river makes it less attractive to animals than rivers that are formed in other ways, but it does have a lot of biodiversity along the riverbanks, including this splendid shield bug sitting on a birch leaf. I’m not sure of the species, but judging by the long legs this is a Formula One model :-).

And look at this very friendly little bird!

It’s a Black Redstart, newly emerged from the nest and very friendly – it flew along in front of us for several hundred metres, maybe hoping that we’d disturb some unwitting insect.

And as we walked along, the sky started to clear…

We thought about going up in the Gaislachkogl lift, but as there were thunderstorms predicted for Sōlden, we thought we’d leave it. We were once stuck at the top of a mountain for four hours waiting for a storm to pass.

Gondolas on the Gaislachkogl lift…

And then it was time to pick up something for lunch and head home. The Backerei in Obergurgl is currently closed, which is heart-breaking as it was our regular stop for an early morning cappuccino or to bag a nice fresh roll to munch beside a mountain stream. Alas indeed. But at least our favourite coffee shop in Sōlden is still open, and has renovated the toilets with some rather striking wallpaper. Whaddya think of this? It was textured, and reminds me a bit of feathers, or pangolin scales. Even my husband (not renowned for his attention to interior decor) noticed it.

Looking towards Hochgurgl

Well, Readers, here we are – the plane wasn’t cancelled, I managed to remain upright and, after a good night’s sleep I’m up for my first Austrian walk in two years. We took a nice gentle route, with a bit of uphill and downhill but nothing too terrifying, from Obergurgl down to the Hochgurgl lift station. This is always a great chance to see what’s currently in flower, take note of a few insects and get back before the predicted thunderstorm hits (96% chance by 13.00 apparently).

Melancholy thistle (Cirsium heterophyllum) and Masterwort(Peucadanum ostruthium)

The Melancholy Thistles are in full bloom at the moment, along with these very fine white flowers, called Masterwort – they’re the same family as cow parsley, angelica etc, but are Alpine specialists, and are used in all manner of herbal remedies. We passed a couple of locals walking their dogs, a young Irish Setter and a very elderly Border Terrier. I’m keeping my eyes open for some area-appropriate dogs such as a St Bernard or a Bernese Mountain Dog (yes, I know they’re both Swiss but close enough!) One year, somebody had brought their hybrid wolf for a holiday, and it used to sit in the local bar and howl when it got bored.

Bellflower – not sure which species!

It’s not until you start trying to identify Alpine flowers to species level that you realise how rich the flora is here – there are no less than 30 species of bellflower, so I shall need to do a bit more research to be precise with the one in the photo above. As it is, it’s delicate and the colour is beautiful. It looks most like a Harebell, but they aren’t found in the Alps (apparently).

And what’s this little guy? Betony-leaved Rampion (Phyteuma betonicifolium), a member of the Bellflower family (Campulanaceae). There are 24 species of this genus in the Alps, all blue and all with those strange, finger-shaped petals.

Betony-leaved Rampion (Phyteuma betonicafolium)

There are quite a few butterflies about, even though it’s a damp-ish, dull-ish day. There are two butterflies with their wings closed on this Melancholy Thistle….

…and one more obliging butterfly below – I think this is a Woodland Brown (Lopinga achene), a new one for me, and not a species that we find in the UK. (Updated – much more likely to be a Almond-eyed Ringlet (Erebia albergana), thanks to Mike at Alittlebitoutoffocus)

I was surprised to see mushrooms popping up on some of the wooden bridges – I’m never noticed them before. Maybe the result of a wet year, and higher than normal temperatures? Let’s hope they aren’t an indication that I’ll be shortly putting my foot through a plank.

The plants start to change as we walk alongside the river gorge.

One very common waterside plant, alongside the Masterwort, is the Adenostyle – the one below is the Alpine Adenostyle (Adenostyles alpina) – I love those large leaves.

Alpine Adenostyle (Adenostyles alpina)

And then we stop for a look at the Frog Pond. It’s doing very nicely! Lots of tadpoles, and crystal-clear water.

The Frog Pond

And here are some tadpoles in action…plus a very vigorous wren in the background!

And on we go, towards the bus station, but here was one plant that I was hoping to find…Broad-leaved Marsh Orchid (Dactylorhiza majalis). What a glorious plant, and what a wonderful way to finish the walk! And as we wait for the bus home, it strikes me again how lucky I am to be back here, strolling through the meadows once again.

Dear Readers, by the time you read this I should hopefully be in Obergurgl in Austria, for our annual two weeks of walking in the mountains, eating more cake than is reasonable and looking at the flowers. This year, I have a choice of not one but two guides to Alpine flowers, both published this year: I think I shall probably take the one below, as it weighs slightly less (an important consideration when one is yomping up and down paths).

I would be lying if I didn’t mention that I have some trepidation about this trip – we missed last year because of my fall/broken leg, and I’m not sure that I’m as confident as I was. But the great thing about going back to somewhere that you know is that the paths are familiar, and we already have a multitude of plans for easy walks so that I can get back in the swing of it. And how I’m looking forward to seeing the meadows again! At every step, butterflies and moths fly up from the paths. I’m in Bug Woman heaven.

We stay in a small hotel where the food is good, and it’s peaceful. At night, the deer come down to the slopes to feed, and there are often bats careering around the chalets. During the day, we have a coffee in the Pic-Nic restaurant, where swifts and swallows are nesting in the eaves. And we can re-acquaint ourselves with the local animals – the Haflinger horses, and the Italian sheep, who spend the summers in Austria.

And on the wildlife front, I’m sure we’ll see a few marmots, or at the very least hear them. I sometimes wonder if they’re actually stuffed toys, being manipulated by Austrian youth on some kind of work experience scheme.

And so, with any luck our plane won’t have been cancelled, I won’t have thrown myself down any flights of stairs, and the weather won’t be too ridiculously hot/wet/windy. At the very least, there will be cake…..

Photo by Michael at https://www.flickr.com/photos/msvg/5994891327

By the time you read this, the heatwave in the south of England may have come to an end (fingers crossed) I don’t mind heat when I’m on holiday (up to a point) but it can be very uncomfortable in a city, especially when it doesn’t cool down much at night. First up, here’s a poem by John Stammers: he’s a London poet (born in Islington no less), and this made me chuckle.

Like A Heatwave Burning
by John Stammers

It was the hottest summer on record;
we flew into rages at the drop of a pin.
The heat made cacti of us all.

I woke up hot crazy at one in the morning.
The day’s sun had heated up the sky so heavy
it felt like being ironed.

We sat on the curbside like hot bananas
and Jane read me the Miranda
of our future lives together:

there would be no future lives together.
I’d never heard the nightjay squawk
so damnably shrilly in the
still, still stilly.

My eyeballs made sinuous rills.
I sloughed on my sandals and loped
onto a streetcar named expire.

Tyres welded cars to the road.
I got out my character
and began the tasks of a lifetime.

Pine trees collapsed in a dead swoon
all over the place. Believe you me,
honeydew features, it was hot.

And as a special treat, here’s Ella Fitzgerald, with ‘It’s Too Darn Hot’. As indeed it is.

Dear Readers, you might remember that  recently I went to Wicken Fen, and fell in love with the Marsh Thistles (Cirsium palustre) that were growing there. This is a tall, multi-flowered thistle, and every plant that I saw was covered in bees, moths, hoverflies or other pollinators. And no wonder! In a survey in 2014, Marsh Thistle was found to have the highest per hectare nectar production of any plant: together with White Clover and Heather, it produces nearly 50 percent of all the nectar in the country. Pretty impressive for a plant that has such specialised conditions, preferring damp but not completely sodden ground, such as that found in meadows and fens.

Marsh Thistle is found throughout temperate Europe and into central Asia (and also in many parts of North America, where it has become invasive) – it was probably brought accidentally with human settlers from the Holocene onwards. Unlike other thistles, it doesn’t spread by underground rhizomes so you are more likely to see individual plants. However, as a single plant can produce up to 70,000 seeds, and as these seeds can survive for at least five years in the soil, I’m surprised that we’re not up to our necks in Marsh Thistles. It’s thought that the UK Marsh Thistle might be spinier than its European conspecifics, which might also put off a fussy grazing animal. But also, the leaves are munched upon by the caterpillars of several butterflies and moths, including those of the Painted Lady (who migrates all the way from the Atlas Mountains to get here), the Red Sword-Grass moth and the Broom Moth. The seeds are also often favoured by small birds such as finches, though the ones in my garden much prefer the sunflower seeds in the feeders, which I assume are easier to get at.

Red Sword-Grass Caterpillar (Xylena vetusta) (Photo By Tarmo Lampinen –  Copyrighted free use, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27055228)

Broom Moth caterpillar (Ceramica pisi) Photo By Ivar Leidus – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=116228633

Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui) Photo By Jean-Pol GRANDMONT – Self-photographed, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27747981

The young leaves are said to be edible,  and the stems can be eaten raw or cooked (allegedly). I suspect there are easier ways of getting one’s dinner. Apparently the ‘fluff’ from the seeds can be used as tinder. The plant was thought to be useful for the treatment of varicose veins – ‘kirsos‘ in Greek,  from which we get the generic name ‘Cirsium‘. Who knew?

Interestingly, Culpeper the herbalist mentions that Marsh Thistle was ‘frequent in the Isle of Ely’, not far from Wicken Fen.

And here’s a poem, by the ever-observant John Clare. I love that he describes the thistle as ‘the very wasp of flowers’, and you’d have to be very determined indeed to pick a Marsh Thisle, for sure.

The Marsh Thistle (John Clare (1793-1864)

The nodding oxeye bends before the wind,
The woodbine quakes lest boys their flowers should find,
And prickly dogrose spite of its array
Can’t dare the blossom-seeking hand away,
While thistles wear their heavy knobs of bloom
Proud as a warhorse wears its haughty plume,
And by the roadside danger’s self defy;
On commons where pined sheep and oxen lie
In ruddy pomp and ever thronging mood
It stands and spreads like danger in a wood,
And in the village street where meanest weeds
Can’t stand untouched to fill their husks with seeds,
The haughty thistle oer all danger towers,
In every place the very wasp of flowers.