Narcissus Moschatus / Alpestris

Two striking White Daffodils featured by photographic plates in John Blanchard’s book had instantly taken my eye when first leafing through it. I must admit that, from the photos, I couldn’t see much difference between the two but, nevertheless, in the enthusiasm of the moment, they were two species that I determined to see. On taking the time to read the write ups, however, my hopes were dashed on the subject of N.Moschatus by J.B’s assertion that, whilst its origins were “probably the Pyrenees or Galicia”, it “probably no longer exists as a wild plant”. N.Alpestris still seemed to be on the cards and I filed its details in that nebulous region of my brain reserved for “things to do one day”. There the memory remained, as do so many unfortunately, until I was conducting my Cornish “in depth” research on the Genus Narcissus and I came across an article giving details of a site for Moschatus in the Pyrenees. Accordingly this information, together with my original interest, was moved up a notch and placed in the mental file of “things to do soon”.

Eventually on the 8th May 2006 I set off with, amongst other things, four target Narcissus species in mind:- N. Moschatus, N.Alpestris, N.Pallidiflorus and N.Abscissus together with its hybrid with N.Poeticus known as N.Montserrati. The latter species are dealt with separately but the subjects of this article are the first two.

Using all the reference books at my disposal I tried, in advance of my trip, to define the difference between the two species we are dealing with here because I kept going back to the photographs in which, to my untrained eye, they looked the same. Some books grouped the two together, some included one with the other and some called one by the other’s name!

As almost, but not quite, an aside, I am currently trying to pen “A Wildlife Photographer’s Guide to the Bulbous Plants of Europe”. This is not quite as pretentious as it seems, since the Bulbous Plants do seem to generate a great deal of interest amongst those involved in plant photography at a serious level. This is probably because, containing plants such as the Orchids, Irises, Narcissi, Fritillarias, Arums, Lilies etc, they are so photogenic. Additionally in these days of very economical Continental travel it seems pointless to limit writings to the U.K. when the whole of Europe is but a stone’s throw and a few pounds away. What creates a constant stumbling block to my efforts, however, are the often stridently opposing views of many of the “experts” in the various subjects. No doubt similarly diverging opinions pertain in other areas of evolving species but some of these botanical guys take the biscuit. There seem to be two distinct groups, the “lumpers” and the “splitters”. The “lumpers”, strangely enough, tend to “lump” similar species, sub species and varieties under one heading whereas the “splitters” tend to “split” them up under a number of different headings, on what often seems, to me, the slenderest of justifications. Were I forced to declare myself for one camp or the other I guess I would side with the “lumpers” but I must admit, at risk of severe castigation, to adopting a far more simplistic approach. If, through my camera lens, I am unable to differentiate between two supposedly “different” subjects then, in my book, “if it looks like a dog, bites like a dog and barks like a dog” then “it’s a dog”. Many populations of the same species, but living in completely separate areas, are bound to develop certain of their own features and characteristics, for no other reason than the effects of different environment, terrain and local family relationships. That these often minor differences should entitle them to separate specific or sub-specific status does not sit too well with me despite the efforts of the “splitters” to convince me otherwise. I would refer you to my articles on Fritillarias for a fuller explanation of my feelings on this subject. In the meantime suffice to say that I am quite happy for reasonable and established differences to be accorded “varietal” status but for more than that I need to be convinced. (Having read through this last paragraph it makes me sound as pedantic as some of the rest of them!) It does, however, cause much confusion if you are undertaking an amount of research using more than one reference book, as different authors’ views and assertions can often be so divergent that, at the end of the day, you have to make up your own mind.

Back to the hunt!

The site details for Moschatus, such as they were, were to the effect that, above the village of Benasque, in the Spanish Pyrenees, is the ski resort of Cerler, above which there are two ski lifts and a large car park. The supposed Moschatus was apparently to be found to the West of the car park in surrounding meadows. The general area is one that I am reasonably familiar with from previous Orchid and Lily hunting trips, but I had never been there so early in the season, and never as far up as Cerler. Accordingly I set forth, with hope, as ever, springing eternal and dubious weather all round.

The first days of the trip were to be occupied by other species, and also the dubious weather as it unfortunately turned out. My route took me through the tunnel of Vielha and I couldn’t resist turning off shortly after, in the Val d’Arran, to one of my favourite Orchid spots. This site is as close as you get to Orchid heaven on earth. Early in the season it is host to Vanilla Orchid, Elder Flowered in both its Yellow and Purple forms, Marsh Orchids in prodigious numbers, a very dense flowered and deep purple form of Early Purple Orchid and a very fine assortment of Alpines. An impressive early display of various Blue Gentians gives way a little later in the year to Large Yellow Gentian and one of the best displays of Iris Xiphioides I have seen, all growing in an idyllic valley with a picturesque stream running through the middle of it, and overlooked by the towering and majestic beauty of Pico d’Aneto. This time the turf was almost bare but, on the slopes above, through my binoculars I could make out some yellow Narcissi and the massed ranks of Elder Flowered Orchids which occur here in a particularly robust form. Gentians, Early and Trumpet, were everywhere as were Primulas Elatior and Farinosa.The Narcissi, which turned out to be past their best, proved to be N.Bicolour.

It was already late in the day and I have a favourite Hostal just above Vielha that I wanted to get back to for the night. There mine hostess can do things to quail involving blue cheese and other colourful ingredients that makes a meal to die for! Without the stop at the Orchid site I could probably have made it to Cerler and back in good time but I now found myself faced with what, to my sedentary inclinations, seemed an unprecedented need for haste. I therefore flew (as far as third gear in a Landrover can be called flying,) from there to Cerler. It involved a journey of some 80 K’s but in the Pyrenees, where straight roads are not only a rarity, they are virtually non-existent, 80 K’s can be quite a distance.

I arrived at about 6.30 and found there was only one road up and out of Cerler and there, true to my directions, was a ski lift just a matter of metres from the village. Only one it’s true but maybe the other had been discontinued or moved. In any event, that this was the place was clinched by the extremely large car park at the bottom of the lift. Home and dry in one! I hurried over to the Western end, as per instructions, only to find a precipice over which had been deposited rocks, household waste and somebody’s kitchen sink. This abortive foray was followed by an all points search to the East, North and South to equally no avail. At this stage uncharitable thoughts crossed my mind such as “Could they have confused N.Moschatus, which was nowhere, with N.Poeticus, which was everywhere?” or, heaven forbid and wash my mouth with soap, could the fault be mine? There was only one lift, and the article had clearly stated two, and there was a road continuing on above the village, and so up it I duly progressed. To say that this road kept on keeping on would have been an understatement. Nevertheless perseverance (there are those who, out of my hearing, would suggest that it could be pig-headedness), is an integral part of my makeup and so I duly persevered. The light was fading fast and it looked as though I was well on my way to the back of the moon. Imagine my delight as I finally came round a corner and there, before me, lay not one, but two, structures each of which was the bottom of a ski lift. To compound my joy there was also a largish car park. Nothing like as substantial as the one down below, mind, but sizeable nonetheless. By now the problem of determining which was the Western end was easy. The sun was sinking fast below the mountain tops and, trusting that that day was no exception to the rule, I assumed, in true Boy Scout fashion, that where it sank lay West. Certainly in that direction were surrounding meadows but already in deep shadow and with not a Narcissus to be seen. Trusty binoculars to the rescue and scan all points fore and aft. Lo and joy behold, there on a higher slope still catching some setting sun was a Narcissus. White in colour, drooping in stature and looking for all the world like I imagined a Moschatus should look. At this point I abandoned all hope of stuffed quail and leapt to the task at hand.

There were but two plants. Scarcely the profusion I had been hoping for but still two more that I had ever seen before. Pulsatilla Alpina was emerging in vast quantities and through binoculars, at a distance, their nodding heads had a distinctly Narcissistic appearance. However on that far slope could it be? Yes it was! Several more Narcissi. The remaining light could now be counted in minutes. Scarce controlled panic produced one and a half rolls of film in about the time it takes to think “I wish I’d got here an hour earlier.” Then, as if someone had turned off the switch, the sun dipped below the mountain rim and it was as if, maybe not midnight itself, but certainly 11.00 pm had arrived, and that seemed to be that. However, on raising my head, I saw one or two higher hummocks still benefiting from a smidgeon of late May sun so I scurried, crablike due to the slope, to a new vantage point. Wonder of wonders – a veritable cornucopia of Moschatus (or Alpestris!?) hove into view. A great many already “gone over” it is true but also a great many others crying out for attention. Stuffed Quails were now right out of the window and a further one and a half rolls were quickly garnered.

Once again the light beat me and I used what little “twilight” time there was to overlook the population. Some wonderfully photogenic offerings convinced me that a return on the morrow was called for, and so I accordingly sallied forth to find lodgings for the night. These I duly found in a village just a few K’s down the road. Fed and liquored, to a lesser extent than originally hoped for but to a greater extent than was really necessary, I retired replete and in anticipation of a return to the Narcs in the morning.

Arisen, refreshed, and up the road again on what, fortunately, turned out to be a glorious day. Arriving on site in full light, now from the East, the whole scene was transformed. The dark mountain and meadows of the night before to the West of the car park now turned out to be covered with extensive patches of Narcissi. (The altitude here was considerably greater than that of Cerler itself, and the plentiful N.Poeticus of below had petered out on the way up, leaving me up on top with only the one, other, or both species that I had come for). Cameras to the fore I surveyed a likely looking hummock that hosted a goodly population. Confusion and consternation entered the scene! Two days before I had photographed what, at the time, I had assumed was N.Pallidiflorus. (I was subsequently told that this was, in fact, N.Moleroi, a plant I had never heard of and could find no reference to in my books, so whether this is an old plant with a fancy new name or a newly discovered plant with a new name to go with it I do not know.) However, before me, amongst the population of Moschatus/Alpestris/Whatevers were plants that, to my untrained eye it is true, were ostensibly identical in every respect to the plants of two days ago. Certainly there were very many individual plants and clumps of pristine white Narcs which I took to be the Mosch/Alps. However amongst them in some profusion – certainly far too many to be described as “an odd plant or two”- were these pale yellow ones identical in every respect other than colour, as far as I could see, with the white ones. I would not dream of raising hackles with opinions based on my rudimentary knowledge (that’s not true because really I wouldn’t mind at all) – but!! It seemed to me to highlight the problems I outlined earlier on in this article and a repeat of the N.Graellsii/Citrinus syndrome (see separate article on Bulbocodiums) all over again. Anyway – whatever they end up being called they were very beautiful and I was delighted to be there photographing them on such a lovely day.

You would have thought that my confusion regarding species identification would have already been tested to the limit, but no, more was to come. I drive a fairly distinctive Landrover which often attracts an undue amount of attention from conservation Jobsworths who, here in Spain, have only recently sprung into being with a newly acquired awareness of Spain’s “Natural Heritage”. I am delighted to acknowledge their newfound existence but must confess, that secret part of me that cannot be openly portrayed, wants to yell “what do you think I’m doing?” accompanied by suitable expletives when, cameras trained on a subject from all of 12ins away, the inevitable inquisition begins. Fortunately my Spanish is good enough to explain that “No, I do not want to cut it down, dig it up, eat it or stick it in my ear – I just want to photograph it”.

The genuine and helpful ones are a joy to speak with and from them you can often learn a lot but those bustly ones, brimming with self importance, often make me wish them elsewhere – like the bottom of a deep muddy ditch! However, during my Mosch/ Alps sojourn just as I was trying to sort t’other from which, a white van slowly crept up the slope towards me. At least it wasn’t the Guardia so hopefully only a minimum amount of paperwork would be needed to establish my bona fides. Out stepped two guys, one of whom approached me and said, in an accent from somewhat North of Dorset, “Hello, you must be from the Alpine Garden Society.” Taken aback is the polite phrase that springs to mind. It turned out that, for probably the first time in my life in Spain, I was in the company of fellow plant enthusiasts and photographers. These seemed, in fact, far more knowledgeable than was I and they further compounded my amazement by saying they had John Blanchard in the van with them. Having long looked to him as the veritable “guru” of Narcissi and exchanged some letters with him only weeks before, you can imagine my astonishment and pleasure at such a chance meeting, virtually on top of a Spanish Pyrenee.

Having met him and finding him to be an exceptionally pleasant and human “guru”, my obvious question was – “Are they Moschatus or Alpestris?” The answer of “I suppose they’re probably Moschatus” turned many of my preconceived notions of precision identification techniques on their head. I am now left with the situation that I have “probably” now seen and photographed N.Moschatus but - if so - then not yet N.Alpestris!!

Roll on next season!

From “In search of Wild Narcissi” by Brian Pettit.