Little Bog of Horrors

Much of Skye consists of boggy moorland, a habitat I know next to nothing about. I was so blown away by the profusion of orchids and sedges that it took me a little while to spot the locally common (but thrillingly unfamiliar to me) sundews. These tiny plants with their elegant succulent leaves sporting glistening red nectar tipped hairs are so small you’d be forgiven for not spotting them. On a sunny day however, large colonies of the plant are clearly visible, glowing warmly like alien jewels in the mud. Once I’d discovered one colony and knew what to look for, I glanced about in surprise, suddenly realising that I was completely surrounded by them for some distance.

That is when I began to feel glad that I am several feet tall and human, because this dainty botanical wonder is carnivorous.

Sundews inhabit soils with poor nutritional value and in order to obtain the minerals they need, they have evolved the ability to lure and capture small insects using their mobile, sticky tipped tentacles. Attracted to the bright colours and sweet, glistening dew an unlucky fly will become stuck, the tentacles of the plant slowly enveloping and smothering its victim. The plant then exudes enzymes which will digest the insect and extract valuable minerals. Some sundews are even capable of enfolding their prey completely in their mobile leaves.

I felt fairly certain that the plants I had seen were round leaved sundews and oblong leaved sundews, but upon further research I’m no longer sure about the oblong leaved ones. Oblong leaved sundews are supposed to be rare in Skye, yet the ones I had seen were staggeringly common, suggesting that they could in fact be Great sundews. It may seem like splitting hairs to you but I’m a keen amateur plant geek and I care about the details. Plus, if I really was lucky enough to see huge numbers of a rare plant in an unusual place, I really should report it. I only wish I knew for sure.

Anyhow, that’s the science bit over. I will now invite you to imagine that you are 5 mm tall. You have struggled through head high spongy moss and swum through carnivorous beetle infested waters. Somehow, the gigantic, whirring dragonflies have failed to spot you. Eventually you spy an island, a safe place, and greatfully haul yourself up a blade of grass onto it. Huge bog-myrtle trees tower over you as you pick your way toward a patch of bare mud, and the air is filled with an oddly enticing sweet scent. A dried sedge stalk trips you up, and you stumble headlong into something…sticky. You look up, horrified, and see the questing scarlet tentacles tipped with sickly sweet goo, and no matter how you struggle, the supple, asphyxiating leaves are getting closer and closer….

Don’t ever let anyone tell you that mother nature is kind, be greatful that you are the size you are, and above all, don’t have nightmares!

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Late summer beauty

This weekend was special – a real late summer beauty. Saturday was blessed with day long sunshine, and our walk through the chalk downland near Arundel felt like a gift from the departing season. The route took us through secluded, intimate valleys and along the bony tops of chalk ridges; as we walked agricultural panoramas unfolded like fine carpets under our feet. Many hedgerows have been lost in this environment, but farmers do seem to be leaving wide margins of uncultivated earth to wildflowers. They grow in riotous tangles besides the wheat and barley, sunflowers and desolate, ploughed earth. These tenuous and unruly places are among my favourite sights. Poppies have, strangely, been blooming all summer long.

I defy the most talented gardener to match this for beauty.

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No colour clashes in nature

I’ve never believed in the concept of clashing colours. In nature colours just pile up one on top of one another, riotous and random. A coral reef displays a screaming disregard for colour theory, and wildflower hedgerows in June throw together the most eye poppingly brilliant colour combinations. An overcast, thundery day can reveal brilliant unearthly greens, roiling clouds coloured in bruised shades  shot through with piercing veins of delicate rose pink, silver and gold.

Nature, of course, isn’t doing this deliberately. Heathen that I am, I know that there isn’t anybody out there selecting these fine colours for me to savour; it is all random, and much the better for it. Whenever I find a person who is timid with colour, I’ll always point them to nature and remind them that all you need is the courage to choose boldly and you will never go wrong.

However, in a hedgerow coming down from Woon Gumpus common last week I saw a colour combination so startling that for a moment it threw my pet theory into doubt. A brilliant crimson fuchsia, gone wild and living riotously in a dry stone wall surrounded by red campion and foxglove provided such a violent combination of colours that it was genuinely hard to look at. In the murky light of an overcast day the foliage glowed a deep and peculiar viridian, all the better to show up the screaming blooms.

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