Motivated by last year’s fern forays and spurred on by my new membership of the British Pteridological Society, I have decided to try something different this year: a personal challenge to see as many of Britain’s fern species as possible in a single year. The idea being that, by seeking out our ferns, I’ll learn more about them, their habitats, and the subtleties involved in identifying them. This blog will be part #3.
Asplenium x clermoniae – 26th January
On Sunday, a trip north into rural Northumberland provided a welcome opportunity to check in on one of the rarest and most intriguing ferns in North East England: Lady Clermont’s Spleenwort Asplenium × clermontiae – a hybrid I hadn’t seen since 2023, when I published a short blog about it here.
To cut a long story short, this is an exceedingly rare hybrid between Wall-rue Asplenium ruta-muraria and Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. quadrivalens. On paper, it ought to be more widespread, given the abundance of its parent species, but this is very much not the case. In fact, it is currently known from just three individual plants across the entirety of the British Isles. The Northumberland plant has been known since the early 2000s and has been visited by many pteridologists over the years.
It is a rather unruly-looking fern, showing characteristics of both parents, and so far as this year’s pteridological challenge goes, an excellent one to notch up early on.
Lady Clermont’s Spleenwort Asplenium x clermontiae
A short distance away, another unassuming wall played host to a second rare little spleenwort, though not quite so rare as the species mentioned above. Rustyback Asplenium ceterach is common in many parts of the UK but decidedly scarce in the North East and, despite an abundance of seemingly suitable habitat, remains confined to a small number of quarries and walls across the region. I do wonder whether climate plays a part. In North Northumberland, it is a Rare Plant Register species, meaning it should be reported whenever encountered.
A lover of limestone rocks and lime-rich mortar, this species is easy to identify thanks to its thick, leathery, almost once-pinnate fronds and the dense covering of rust-coloured scales on the underside. The images below show one of two plants observed during a brief pit stop at a well-known site.
Another species down…
Rustyback Asplenium ceterach
Running Total
Seeing as I rarely carry a notebook, we’ll log our running total for the year here…
Motivated by last year’s fern forays and spurred on by my new membership of the British Pteridological Society, I have decided to try something different this year: a personal challenge to see as many of Britain’s fern species as possible in a single year. The idea being that, by seeking out our ferns, I’ll learn more about them, their habitats, and the subtleties involved in identifying them. This blog will be part #2.
Woodland Ferns – 17th January
By January, our woodlands are not looking especially vibrant. Cold, wet, and muddy, they are far removed from their spring splendour, and by this point in the year, most of our ferns are looking rather jaded too.
With this in mind, yesterday saw us meandering through Jesmond Dene, keen to see what could still be picked out in the depths of January. As expected, most of the ferns looked rather gnarled by the frosts, but in sheltered spots our two most familiar woodland species could still be found.
Broad Buckler-fernDryopteris dilatata, with its broad, wedge-shaped fronds and dark-centred scales, was easily located, as was Male-fernDryopteris filix-mas with its tapering fronds and toothed pinnules. These are perhaps our most abundant native ferns both will look far better come spring.
Broad Buckler-fern Dryopteris dilatata, with its broad, wedge-shaped frondsMale-fern Dryopteris filix-mas with its tapering fronds and toothed pinnules.Toothed, tapering pinnules of Dryopteris filix-mas
Continuing our walk, it was also pleasing to see several healthy clumps of Hart’s-tongue Asplenium scolopendrium looking altogether more robust and vibrant than the straggly individuals spotted on walls during our previous outing.
A healthy example of Hart’s-tongue Asplenium scolopendrium clinging to a bank.
Another group of evergreen woodland ferns still visible at this time of year are the Polystichum species – the Shield-ferns. Our two native species are both fairly common in shady woodland settings and are easily recognised by their distinctly “mitten-shaped” pinnules. They can be told apart by a combination of features, most notably the overall shape of the frond (gradually tapering versus ending abruptly), whether the pinnules are stalked, and the angle of the lowest pair of pinnules (obtuse vs acute).
In images one and three below, we have Soft Shield-fernPolystichum setiferum: soft to the touch, with a truncate base and pinnules set at an obtuse angle. The third image shows an escaped cultivated form, noticeably more frilly in appearance – a reminder of the interesting things we humans have done to ferns. Note in both examples, the pinnules are stalked. This is also a useful factor in separating these species, as set out in the helpful crib here. A good blog on the two native species can also be found here.
Pinnules of Polystichum setiferum, soft to the touchA cultivated form of Polystichum setiferum with very frilly foliage.I did toy with the idea of this plant being the hybrid of Soft and Hard Shield-ferns but alas, I think it just P. setiferum
Close to the first Shield-fern, we also noticed a rather lovely Polypody Polypodium sp clinging to a bridge. I have learned through bitter experience how difficult it is to separate these species on visual characters alone, so having collected a small sample, I’ll be checking the spores later. Stay tuned for another post on those.
A nice Polypodium species clinging to the stonework of a bridge.
Last but not least on our morning walk through Jesmond Dene, we stopped to check in on a more unusual fern, first noted last year while recording for my upcoming Urban Flora of Newcastle. At first glance, you might notice that it looks rather similar to the Soft Shield-fern shown previously – and that’s because it is, albeit a little more exotic in nature.
This plant is, in fact, Japanese Lace FernPolystichum polyblepharon, a widely cultivated garden species that appears to have found its way into the Dene of its own accord. This young plant is growing on a steep, muddy bank where deliberate planting seems highly unlikely, and so can presumably be counted towards this year’s fern fest. As mentioned previously, non-native ferns will count provided they appear to be self-sown.
Japanese Lace Fern Polystichum polyblepharon, an oddity of Jesmond Dene
Right Back at It – 23rd January
After work on Friday, I opted for a rather rainy afternoon walk back into the Dene, this time venturing a little further to see what I could find. It was pleasing to come across another Polypodium, this time growing on a tree, though it lacked the spores needed for identification.
Polypodium species growing on a moss-covered tree in Jesmond Dene
Further along the Ouse Burn, the challenge’s next “new” fern became apparent: Hard Shield-fernPolystichum aculeatum, with its sessile, acute-angled pinnules and tapering fronds. This is one of the scarcer of the ‘common’ ferns in my part of Newcastle, so it’s always nice to see.
Young Hard Shield-fern Polystichum aculeatum clinging to a slopePinnule shape of Hard Shield-fern Polystichum aculeatumA larger specimen of Hard Shield-fern Polystichum aculeatum
In the same area that held the shield-fern, it was also pleasing to find two slightly straggly examples of the once-pinnate Hard FernBlechnum spicant. This species needs little introduction.
Hard Fern Blechnum spicant in Jesmond Dene
Slightly more perplexing are the Scaly Male-ferns Dryopteris affinis agg. These were always going to be the most difficult group to contend with during this year’s fern challenge, and no matter how much time I spend looking at them, they still manage to confuse me. Inevitably, I find myself examining a great many specimens before eventually settling on one that matches the descriptions in the various resources stuffed into my rucksack – most of which contradict one another to some degree.
The two common species involved are Borrer’s Scaly Male-fern Dryopteris borreri and Western Scaly Male-fern Dryopteris affinis subsp. affinis.
A selection of Scaly Male-ferns in Jesmond Dene
D. affinis subsp. affinis is soundly evergreen, so as a first step, I looked for a fern that still appeared reasonably fresh for mid-January. Having succeeded, it was time for a closer inspection. As far as I recall, affinis is the only one of the common Scaly Male-ferns to have an adnate lowest basiscopic pinnule (that is, lacking a stalk). It also has rather lucid veins that extend all the way to the pinnule margin, and lowest pinnules on each pinna that are roughly the same size as their neighbours, unlobed and rounded at the tip.
The fern shown below seemed to fit this description, at least in most respects. With a degree of trepidation, I’m therefore calling it Dryopteris affinis subsp. affinis.
Lowest pinnules of Western Scaly Male-fern Dryopteris affinis subsp. affinisLowest basiscopic pinnule of D. affinis
In contrast to affinis, D. borreri has stalked lowest basiscopic pinnules and lowest pinnules that are slightly longer than their neighbours. These are also toothed at the corners (in the typical form, at least) and show slightly more diffuse venation that stops short of the pinnule margins. All quite straightforward in theory.
Taking a frond from one slightly more convincing example and examining it more closely, most of these characteristics are present, particularly in the shape of the pinnules. However, I don’t yet feel that I’ve fully got to grips with the differences in venation. The plant I tentatively labelled as affinis does not appear identical to examples I have seen online. This borreri, however, shows the pale blotching often mentioned in the literature, which is reassuring.
Lowest pinnules of Dryopteris borreriPale blotching between veins that (largely) stop short of the pinnule margin
We’ll certainly have to revisit these before attempting any of the rarer ferns within the complex, but hey, practice makes perfect (or so I am told).
Running Total
Seeing as I rarely carry a notebook, we’ll log our running total for the year here…
Motivated by last year’s successful fern forays, and spurred on by my new membership of the British Pteridological Society, I have decided to try something different this year: a personal challenge to see as many of Britain’s fern species as possible in a single year. The idea being that, by seeking out our ferns, I’ll learn more about them, their habitats, and the subtleties involved in identifying them.
The premise is simple: any fern growing in a wild situation counts, as do subspecies, hybrids, and species accepted by the major authorities. I will do my utmost to document each new find here, beginning with easily accessible species and, hopefully, progressing to trickier ones further down the line.
Urban Ferns – 16th January
It seemed reasonable to kick-start this year’s pteridological challenge with something low-key and ordinary. Thus, a search for wall ferns was on the cards.
On a typical street in Newcastle, there are four or five ferns that commonly occur on walls, most of which belong to the genus Asplenium. What I find especially interesting about Asplenium is that it is a genus of polar opposites. Perhaps half a dozen species are so widespread as to seem almost mundane, while others rank among our most elusive ferns, known only from a few carefully guarded sites. When it comes to the former group, the good news is that you don’t need to travel far to find them.
Skulking along some Heaton terraces, it wasn’t long before we came across our first species: Wall-rueAsplenium ruta-muraria, growing snugly in the mortar. Around fifteen plants clung to the wall, many stunted but unmistakable on account of their small, fleshy, club-shaped fronds. It is an easy species to recognise, and one of the commonest of our ferns.
A healthy clump of Wall-rue Asplenium ruta-murariaA pitiful example of Wall-rue Asplenium ruta-muraria growing alongside Hart’s-tongue
Mixed in among them were examples of Maidenhair SpleenwortAsplenium trichomanes, its fronds borne on dark, wiry stems and clustered in tight tufts within the mortar. While easy to recognise at first glance, there is more to this little fern than meets the eye. What we collectively know as Maidenhair Spleenwort is, in fact, an aggregate of three subspecies, each occupying its own ecological niche. Two of these are rather rare; the third is incredibly common.
Distinguishing between the subspecies requires attention to detail: the shape of the pinnules, the point of insertion of the stalk, the colour of the rachis, and the angle of growth against the substrate. Truth be told, it is a fiddly, detailed, and at times frustrating affair – though it is possible to cheat. The simplest shortcut is habitat. The commonest subspecies, quadrivalens, is a calcicole: a lover of lime. In the wild, it grows on calcareous rocks, but it is equally at home in the lime-rich mortar of brick walls. The second, trichomanes, is a much rarer plant of acidic rocks, typically confined to upland areas and occasionally encountered on dry-stone walls. The third, pachyrachis, is so scarce that it barely warrants consideration here, though for completeness it favours damp limestone and is restricted to just a few corners of the British Isles. By process of elimination, our plant could only be subsp.quadrivalens – a conclusion quickly confirmed by the insertion of the stalk at the corner of each pinnule.
A sorry example of Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. quadrivalensA healthier colony of Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. quadrivalens on a sheltered wall
Where these two species occur, a third often appears as well, though it rarely looks healthy when growing on walls. Hart’s-tongueAsplenium scolopendrium may tolerate such habitats, but it much prefers the shade and humidity of woodland, where it typically grows on mildly alkaline soils. Perhaps our most recognisable native fern, with its glossy, lime-green, tongue-like fronds, it presents few challenges. It is also a particularly useful Asplenium for demonstration purposes. The specific epithet scolopendrium is derived from the Greek skolopendra, meaning centipede – an allusion to the arrangement of the sori on the underside of the frond in parallel lines, a key feature of this genus.
Hart’s-tongue Asplenium scolopendrium emerging from an exterior wall
Moving on to another terrace, along another street lined with delightfully neglected student front gardens, there was one more species on the day’s agenda. Another Asplenium, though one that, in my experience, is typically harder to come by: Black SpleenwortAsplenium adiantum-nigrum. Unlike the wall specialists already encountered, this species is not a strict calcicole. Instead, it favours base-enriched substrates containing modest amounts of calcium or magnesium. For this reason, it is often found on mortared walls, though it grows equally well on natural rock faces and on ruins built from basic stone. It is common in many parts of Britain, but here in the North East, it is by no means abundant.
While it took some finding, after a short while, we managed to locate one small, rather pitiful example peeking out from a crevice. It will do for now!
A stunted example of Black Spleenwort Asplenium adiantum-nigrum on a neighbor’s wall
Running Total
Seeing as I rarely carry a notebook, we’ll log our running total for the year here…
This is the snowdrop most likely to be encountered on woodland walks and the species most frequently grown in gardens. The Common Snowdrop Galanthus nivalis is a hardy plant, native to parts of Europe from the Pyrenees eastwards to Ukraine, where it favours shaded, sloping woodland and commonly grows alongside trees such as oak, ash, and elm. Although non-native to the UK, it is a much-loved species. The exact date of its introduction is unclear, but it was known in cultivation in Britain by 1597 and had appeared in the wild by 1778.
Befitting its common name, the Common Snowdrop is the most widely cultivated of all Galanthus species, with an extraordinary number of cultivars and forms available. It has also been used extensively in hybridisation and may, when growing close to species such as Galanthus plicatus, give rise to hybrids in the wild.
If you encounter snowdrops growing in great drifts in churchyards, woodland, or on country estates, they are, in most cases, nivalis.
Identification
In a wild state, Galanthus nivalis is the only snowdrop occurring in the UK with narrow, glaucous leaves – less than the width of your little fingernail – and applanate (opposing) vernation. Look a little closer, and you’ll often notice that these narrow leaves twist slightly to one side as they mature. Compared with the other snowdrop species found wild in the UK, it is quite distinctive: Galanthus elwesiihas broad, blue-grey leaves; Galanthus woronowii has bright green leaves; and G. plicatus shows characteristic pleating along the margins. Easy peasy.
When it comes to the flowers, the typical form bears a simple inverted V-shaped mark on the inner petals, although, as you’ll see under varieties, this can vary considerably.
In cultivation, G. nivalis can be confused with a handful of other narrow-leaved snowdrops, though these are relatively rare. The only other common species with glaucous leaves and applanate vernation is Queen Olga’s snowdrop Galanthus reginae-olgae. Crucially, however, this species usually shows a pale, silvery stripe running down the centre of the leaf. In addition, G. reginae-olgae subsp. reginae-olgae flowers in autumn, well before the typical flowering time of G. nivalis. The same is true of the rare but superficially similar Peshmen’s snowdrop Galanthus peshmenii – a collector’s species that flowers in autumn before the leaves are visible.
A rather typically Common Snowdrop with narrow, glaucescent leavesNote the typical green ‘v-shaped’ marking on the inner petalTypical flower of G. nivalisG. nivalis is the species most likely to form drifts as seen here
Varieties
There are quite literally hundreds, if not thousands, of G. nivalis varieties in circulation, and without a collector’s eye, many can appear very similar, differing only in subtle details. Keeping things broad, some representative forms and cultivars include:
Viridescent forms of G. nivalis, in which the flowers are variously marked with green. Well-known examples include ‘Viridapice’, ‘Modern Art’, and ‘Green Tear’, though similar variants are often found in the wild.
G. nivalis ‘Sandersii Group’, the famed “yellow snowdrop”, first encountered in Northumberland, in which the usual green markings on the inner petals and the colour of the ovary are replaced by yellow.
G. nivalis ‘Flore Pleno’, the familiar double-flowered form that is regularly encountered among wild and naturalised populations.
The double-flowered form G. nivalis ‘Flore Pleno’ discarded over a garden fence
Confusion Species
We covered the differences with G. reginae-olgae above, but a more likely source of confusion is Galanthus × valentinei, the hybrid between G. nivalis and G. plicatus. This hybrid is widespread in cultivation and also occurs frequently among naturalised populations. It typically has broader leaves than G. nivalis, with shallow pleats towards the base, though these are not as pronounced as in G. plicatus.
G. × valentinei has been extensively cultivated, but one form that appears with some regularity and may escape across the garden fence is Galanthus ‘Atkinsii’. Discovered by the Gloucestershire nurseryman James Atkins and introduced in the 1860s, its exact parentage remains unclear, though it likely includes G. plicatus. As Mick Crawley notes, this cultivar can often be recognised by its long, drooping outer petals.
Pleated leaves of G. plicatus – hybrids will have similar pleats near the baseApplanate vernation of G. reginae-olgae with faint pale stripe visible
It’s New Year Plant Hunt time again – that time of year when citizen scientists across the country head outdoors to see which wild plants are flowering in the depths of winter, all with the aim of tracking how plants are responding to our changing climate. Led by the BSBI, this fun and accessible project takes place over four days each New Year and is now in its fifteenth year. It continues to grow in popularity and offers a great excuse to get outside, stretch the legs, and blow away the cobwebs after an indulgent festive season. As ever, this year I’ve been out once again, so I thought I’d share a round-up here.
The Annual Heaton Hunt
The New Year Plant Hunt has become something of a tradition in our household. For the last five or six years, we’ve undertaken a ‘hunt’ among the terraces and alleyways of Heaton in Newcastle. More recently, we’ve begun leading this loop as a guided walk for members of the Natural History Society of Northumbria, and this year we were joined by 16 keen botanists.
These extra pairs of eyes proved invaluable, with 65 species spotted in flower during our allotted three hours – a pretty impressive total for Northern England and, at the time of writing, the tenth-longest list submitted in the UK this year.
Admiring the flowers of Adria Bellflower Campanula portenschlagianaSearching for the tiny flowers of Procumbent Pearlwort Sagina procumbensI always wonder what my fellow locals must make of a large group of botanists patrolling the streets early on New Year’s Day
Our Heaton route is largely characterised by an abundance of familiar urban ‘weeds’, species one would expect to encounter in built-up areas at any time of year. Among the most prolific were Oxford Ragwort Senecio squalidus, Mexican Fleabane Erigeron karvinskianus and Welsh Poppy Papaver cambricum; though we also noted all but one of the BSBI’s top 20 common winter plants.
A few early-flowering species were also recorded, including Common Snowdrop Galanthus nivalis and Early Crocus Crocus tommasinianus, both of which are well-established in a local park.
Male and female flowers of Hazel Corylus avellana – a NYPH stalwartWelsh Poppy Papaver cambricum is always a cheery one to findMexican Fleabane Erigeron karvinskianus can always be relied onTrailing Bellflower Campanula poscharskyana is another fixture of the NYPHThe local Snowdrops Galanthus nivalis were particularly early this year, flowering by 15 December
While most of the species encountered were to be expected, a few surprises turned up during the morning’s walk. Among these was White Melilot Melilotus albus, found in flower on a strip of waste ground near an Asda supermarket. Atlas Poppy Papaver atlanticum also occurred as a garden escape in several places. This species is a relatively recent arrival in Newcastle but is clearly on the rise.
Elsewhere, a few unexpected native species included Tansy Tanacetum vulgare, Creeping Thistle Cirsium arvense and Meadow Buttercup Ranunculus acris, all of which would normally have stopped flowering by now.
Meadow Buttercup Ranunculus acris was not one I had anticipatedSticky Groundsel Senecio viscosus was a welcome discoveryTansy Tanacetum vulgare was not one I expected to see in mid-winterAtlas Poppy Papaver atlanticum is not quite as common as other Papaver species but is clearly on the riseWhite Melilot Melilotus albus is an uncommon plant in Newcastle so was particularly nice to see
So, all in all, we had a very pleasant morning plant hunting. It is always exciting to botanise in urban spaces, and even better when joined by such lovely company. I’ll be out and about a few more times in the coming days, visiting regular haunts at St Peter’s with yet more NHSN members, and hopefully North Shields too, so I look forward to sharing further updates soon.
If you would like to join in with the New Year Plant Hunt, you can do so here.
Galanthus woronowii occurs as a native species in north-eastern Turkey and across the Caucasus region, extending into parts of Georgia and southern Russia. The species was named in 1935 by the Russian botanist A. S. Losina-Losinskaya in honour of the botanist and plant collector Georg Jurii Nikolaewitch Woronow (1874–1931). It was described from plants collected in southern Russia, near the town of Sochi on the eastern shores of the Black Sea.
In cultivation, G. woronowii is valued for its vivid green leaves and flowers, though it has long been confused with other green-leaved snowdrops in gardens and collections. Indeed, it is still occasionally sold by garden centres under the name G. ikariae – a considerably rarer species.
Although G. woronowii is not yet as widely grown as G. elwesii or G. nivalis, its popularity is increasing rapidly. It is also appearing more frequently as a garden escape or discard in many areas, as reflected in its distribution map. Somewhat surprisingly, it is now the snowdrop I encounter most often in the wild after the ubiquitous G. nivalis.
Identification
G. woronowii is a bulbous perennial with nodding white flowers in which the inner tepals bear a single green apical mark, distinguishing it from species with more extensive or multiple markings. The leaves are broad, glossy and bright green, emerging in a supervolute vernation – one leaf tightly wrapped around the other in bud and typically remaining clasped at the base as the plant develops.
Although similar in general appearance to G. ikariae and the much rarer G. platyphyllus, G. woronowii can usually be distinguished by its smaller, less extensive green markings on the inner tepals (an inverted V-shape rather than the “boxer shorts” marking of G. ikariae) and by its brighter green foliage. Careful observation of leaf texture and tepal shape can further aid in the separation of these species.
Wrapped leaf bases of G. woronowiiBroad, green, shiny leavesGalanthus woronowii naturalised in woodlandGalanthus woronowii on a Newcastle verge
Notable Varieties
Thankfully, there are not too many forms of G. woronowii to contend with, although new cultivars and selections are beginning to appear for sale and may, in time, find their way across the garden fence. Two of the most popular currently are:
G. woronowii ‘Elizabeth Harrison’, the first yellow woronowii, notable for its bright yellow ovary
G. woronowii ‘Cider with Rosie’, which features a pale green horseshoe-shaped marking on the outer segments.
Confusion Species
Galanthus woronowii differs from G. ikariae in both its inner segment markings and leaf colour. In G. woronowii, the green mark on the inner segment is short and confined to the lower half of the segment, whereas in G. ikariae the mark is much larger, typically covering more than half the length of the segment. The leaves of G. woronowii are light to medium green and usually glossy or slightly shiny. By contrast, the leaves of G. ikariae are medium to dark green and generally matt.
An interesting green-tipped woronowii with darker green markings than ‘Cider with Rosie’An emerging clump of Galanthus woronowii in a Newcastle woodland
Galanthus elwesii occurs in southeastern Europe, around the Black Sea, and across much of Turkey. It was first described in 1875 by Sir Joseph Dalton Hooker, Director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew, who named it after the plant collector, Henry John Elwes (1846–1922).
Galanthus elwesii is probably the most commonly cultivated species after G. nivalis, thanks to its long history in cultivation, adaptability and wide availability. It is an extremely variable plant, having been imported into Europe in large numbers over many years. Striking and attractive, it is robust, decorative, free-flowering and generally easy to grow – perhaps explaining its enduring popularity.
Alongside the common G. nivalis and a few much rarer species, G. elwesii is also one of the snowdrops most likely to be encountered in the wild in the UK, particularly in churchyards where original plantings have been left to naturalise over extended periods.
Identification
As far as snowdrops go, G. elwesii is relatively easy to recognise due to its size – it is far larger than the typical G. nivalis. It has broad, glaucous leaves (around 3.5 cm wide) with a hooded tip, large flowers, and bold markings on the inner segments. Its vernation is supervolute, with one leaf always clasped around the other at maturity.
The green markings on the inner petals are variable but generally fall into three broad types. Commonly, plants may display two separate marks on each segment, located at the apex and base. When this is the case, the apical mark is usually V-shaped, and the basal mark is typically rectangular. Other varieties have a single large mark spanning most of the petal; this mark is often X-shaped, making it quite distinctive. The third type frequently seen in cultivation has only a single V-shaped apical mark.
Wrapped leaf bases of G. elwesiiBig, broad, glaucous leaves and large flowersG. elwesii var. elwesiiG. elwesii var. monostictus
Varieties
There are a great many cultivars of G. elwesii, as well as many hybrids with it as a parent. These are beyond the scope of this post, but fortunately, all retain some of the identification features described above. It is, however, helpful to assign your G. elwesii to a recognised variant when possible. The two you’re likely to spot are:
G. elwesii var. monostictus, which has a single apical green mark that rarely extends beyond half of the petal.
G. elwesii var. elwesii, which has either two green marks or a single large X-shaped mark on the inner petal.
Confusion Species
Galanthus gracilis, a rather rare species in cultivation, is somewhat similar to G. elwesii but displays applanate vernation and has narrow leaves, around 1 cm wide. Other than this, the main identification challenge comes from hybrids involving G. elwesii. One that appears from time to time is Galanthus × hybridus, the cross between G. elwesii and G. plicatus. This hybrid has leaves resembling G. elwesii but narrower, with shallow pleats along the margins – a feature inherited from G. plicatus.
A healthy clump of G. elwesii left to establish in a Newcastle park
It will come as no surprise to readers of this blog that I’ve developed a slight obsession with ferns of late, centred on both tracking down and identifying wild ones and growing them at home. Despite that, I hadn’t yet tackled the seemingly difficult process of growing ferns from spores. At least, not until this year.
Fern Biology
Ferns are among our most primitive plants, and their reproduction, while fascinating, is less sophisticated than that of flowering plants. Cutting a long story short, spores are produced on the underside of the frond in structures called sori (or a sorus if referring to just one).
Ferns are interesting in that they have two distinct life stages. The first is the gametophyte, or sexual stage, in which the spores grow into a curious, shield-like structure called a prothallus. It looks a bit like a tiny green fish scale and, in truth, rather resembles a bryophyte, but with minute pockets that hold the egg and sperm. When conditions are right, fertilisation takes place, with sperm swimming through water droplets to reach the egg of another prothallus. Only after this stage does what we think of as a “proper” fern develop, as the plant enters the second phase of its lifecycle.
Keen to try this myself – and having sufficiently swotted up with a range of fantastic resources online [here] and [here] – I decided to give it a go this summer. Time for an update!
Lemon-scented Fern Oreopteris limbosperma showing ripe spores in the pinnule margins
Gathering Spores
Ferns produce spores at different times of the year, though most seem to be ready between June and September. It’s fairly easy to tell when they’re ripe: in most species, the sporangia curl back or fall off entirely, revealing brown, yellow, or even black dust – the spores. Gathering them is incredibly simple. You can either tap a fertile frond over a paper envelope or collect a small section of the frond; a little goes a long way. If you choose the latter, it’s best to let it dry on some paper for a few hours, after which you’ll notice the spores beginning to fall and gather on the surface.
For this little experiment, I gathered spores from a mix of cultivated plants growing in the garden including Brittle Bladder-fern Cystopteris fragilis, Rustyback Asplenium ceterach, Soft Shield-fern Polystichum setiferum, Scaly Buckler-fern Dryopteris remota, and Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis; as well as a few common wild species growing in public spaces (remember, you need permission to collect even the smallest hint of plant material from private land). In the end, this meant I collected spores from Western Scaly Male-fern Dryopteris affinis subsp. affinis, Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri, and Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes too.
Sowing the Spores
Having gathered our spores, it was time to sow them. This, it seems, is the stage you really need to get right. First, you need an airtight container that seals in moisture and provides the humidity required for the spores to germinate (we used a multipack of cheap plastic Tupperware). Secondly, you need a fine, sterilised compost. We opted for a fine seed compost, zapped in the microwave for three minutes to kill any nasties lurking in the soil. Other sources suggest that pouring boiling water through the compost or placing it in the oven works just as well.
With your materials prepared, all that remains is to sprinkle on your spores, give them a good spritz of water, label the container, and replace the lid before leaving it somewhere bright for nature to run its course. In our case, we placed all our containers under fluorescent grow lights used for our houseplants.
Watch and Wait
Next comes the hard part: ignoring your containers until you notice signs of life. I didn’t manage this perfectly, which may explain some of the problems mentioned later in this post. Generally, sources online suggest that different ferns take varying amounts of time before any activity becomes visible. I was pleasantly surprised that after only a month, each of our test containers hosted a fine, green, algae-like film spreading across the soil. This was the first sign that our spores were starting to grow into prothalli.
Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis forming prothalli after one month under supplimentary light
Watch the Prothalli Grow
Eventually, after a variable amount of time depending on the species (around three to four months for most of ours), the initial green, algae-like growth began to transform into the shield-like structures recognisable as prothalli. At this stage, the fern grows its first roots and begins to photosynthesise, and it is also the point at which the all-important fertilisation happens, if you’re successful. To help with this, sources recommend a regular spritz of water to aid cross-fertilisation, something that would normally be provided by rain outdoors but must be administered manually when growing ferns indoors. The photos below show a range of more advanced prothalli.
After some time, these prothalli develop into the sporophyte generation, the form we most closely associate with ferns.
Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri prothalliThe rather large prothalli of Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri
Signs of Life
Fast forward to early winter and most of our ferns have now begun transitioning into their sporophyte generation. Some, such as Beech Fern and the larger Dryopteris species, are lagging behind, with only the tiniest hint of their first fronds visible. Others are positively romping away, particularly Brittle Bladder-fern which has already warranted the relocation of larger plants to individual pots (again in sealed containers) for growing on over winter. I have also been impressed with Soft Shield-fern.
As we now have so many young ferns growing in containers, we have broken with the usual advice that recommends leaving sporlings in place until they are large enough to handle. Instead, we have opted to split our batches, leaving some in situ while moving small clumps of prothalli to individual containers to see whether this results in healthier, more vigorous plants. All are being kept under plastic to retain that all-important humidity, but I have already begun removing the lids from larger specimens to gradually accustom them to harsher conditions, with the aim of moving some outdoors come spring.
The images below show various species as of 20 November 2026, which is not bad at all for spores sown in June and July.
Young Brittle Bladder-ferns Cystopteris fragilis potted up in Novemeber 2025 (sown in June)Transplanted Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes with signs of new growthThe first fronds of Soft Shield-fern Polystichum setiferumRather congested Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri
A Few Problems
While some of our ferns have been successful, others have failed miserably, and in most cases, this is entirely my fault. I mentioned earlier that you should ignore your spores for a prolonged period, something I confess I didn’t do, as too often I found myself opening the pots for a sneaky look. Doing this, it seems I allowed contaminants into the pots, resulting in mould that quickly overtook many of the young plants. We lost most of our Rustyback specimens this way, but I did discover that you can safely move prothalli to another jar, helping to preserve at least some plants.
Not sterilising the soil sufficiently may also have been a problem, as algae and bryophytes appeared in several pots, leading to competition with the young ferns. The greatest problem of all, however, seems to be overcrowding. It is all too easy to sow far too many spores in a single container, and when this happens, the added competition prevents the prothalli from developing properly. This is currently affecting our Dryopteris affinis containers, but I hope it can be remedied by thinning, just as you would with the seedlings of any other plant.
And with that, the first stage of the challenge is complete. I will post an update further down the line as we progress to potting on and eventually planting out. I am optimistic, as the whole process has been far easier and, dare I say it, quicker than I envisaged at the start. If you have ever fancied growing ferns from spores yourself, I would strongly recommend giving it a go. You may find it slightly addictive and end up with more than you can handle, just as we have.
As a quick further update since drafting this post, we ended up sowing spores from a range of other cultivated species, including Oak Fern Gymnocarpium dryopteris and Limestone Fern Gymnocarpium robertianum, as well as some Narrow Male-fern Dryopteris cambrensis gathered from an unassuming Northumbrian roadside. Being more ambitious, I am also attempting to hybridise Male-fern Dryopteris filix-mas with Borrer’s Male-fern to create Cryopteris × critica, but we will see how that pans out.
I won’t pretend to know the slightest thing about fungi. As a botanist, I find I can only retain a small amount of non-plant-related information at any one time, and for some reason, whenever someone tries to instruct me on fungus identification, the information seems to travel in one ear and promptly out the other. While I struggle to make sense of them, however, I do rather enjoy their appearance, particularly in autumn when they offer something to look for during the botanical “off-season.” Of all of them, it’s the waxcaps that I enjoy the most.
There’s just something about these brightly coloured, glutinous grassland fungi that appeals to me more than other mushrooms. Perhaps it’s because they tend to grow in special places, or because their presence often signifies habitats of high conservation value. Despite this, they’re a tricky bunch for beginners like me. Still, it never hurts to try, and this weekend, equipped with a new field guide, Matt and I set out to the ancient grasslands of Hadrian’s Wall to see which waxcaps and other grassland fungi we could find.
We started out by visiting the area near the Sill, a spot we had also explored last year, albeit late in the season. Whereas last year the Crimson Waxcap Hygrocybe punicea was by far the most numerous species we encountered, this year that title went to the lovely, if somewhat beige, Meadow Waxcap Cuphophyllus pratensis. Those that had not been trampled by passing sheep looked rather fresh.
Meadow Waxcap Cuphophyllus pratensis
Another easy one to spot here was the Snowy Waxcap Cuphophyllus virgineus. We gave a few a good sniff to rule out the Cedarwood Waxcap Cuphophyllus russocoriaceus, but alas, they smelled pretty “mushroomy” to me.
Another nice one to identify was the slimy Parrot Waxcap Hygrocybe psittacina, a pretty variable little thing that usually shows a hint of green in both the stipe and the cap. This is probably the species I’m most accustomed to seeing in Newcastle, so no problems there. It isn’t the most striking of fungi, though.
Parrot Waxcap Hygrocybe psittacina
The species mentioned so far are admittedly on the dull side, but thankfully several of the others present were a little more vibrant, if somewhat confusing. The yellow ones in particular warranted a closer look, as both of the common species, Butter Waxcap Hygrocybe ceracea and Golden Waxcap Hygrocybe chlorophana, are rather similar. I’m inclined to think that the ones below are Golden Waxcap, on account of their narrowly attached gills, but I’d happily be corrected. They also tend to grow a little larger than Butter Waxcap.
Golden Waxcap Hygrocybe chlorophanaGolden Waxcap Hygrocybe chlorophanaGolden Waxcap Hygrocybe chlorophana
If the above guess is correct, I’m rather hoping the slightly squashed specimen below turns out to be Butter Waxcap. Where the gills attach to the stipe, they certainly look a bit different. It also wasn’t quite as slimy as those above and seemed to fit the description of that species as “greasy.”
Another tricky group are the red waxcaps. There are several species, but I believe the most common in this area are Scarlet Waxcap Hygrocybe coccinea and Crimson Waxcap Hygrocybe punicea. Someone told me a while back that you can tell the two apart by the stipe, which is fibrous in Crimson Waxcap and smooth in Scarlet. In that case, I’m taking a punt on Scarlet Waxcap for the one below – a beautiful little fungus.
Scarlet Waxcap Hygrocybe coccinea
The rather large mushroom below, spotted last year, might just be Crimson Waxcap, given its noticeably fibrous stem. If not, I’ve been barking up the wrong tree!
Crimson Waxcap Hygrocybe punicea
ast but not least at the first site was a tiny, lurid red-orange mushroom shown below. Thankfully, local naturalist Chris Barlow had arrived a short while before us and had identified it as Vermillion Waxcap Hygrocybe miniata – a new one for me. You can’t quite make out the “grainy texture” in my photos, but I’ve been assured that it is visible in Chris’s.
Vermillion Waxcap Hygrocybe miniata
Chris also did a superb job pointing out a range of other grassland fungi that I would probably have overlooked if visiting the site on my own. Among them were the three rather alien-looking species shown below.
Meadow Coral Clavulinopsis corniculataYellow Club Clavulinopsis helvolaScarlet Caterpillarclub Cordyceps militaris
After a quick lunch break, we decided to head to another site a few miles away at Walltown. While there were fewer fungi to be seen, some of the usual suspects were apparent.
Snowy Waxcap Cuphophyllus virgineusParrot Waxcap Hygrocybe psittacinaMeadow Waxcap Cuphophyllus pratensis with bonus Golden Waxcap Hygrocybe chlorophana
We only spent an hour or so at the latter site, but we did note what could possibly be a new species for the day’s haul. Now, I have never seen Fibrous Waxcap Hygrocybe intermedia, but from some on-the-spot reading, I’ve taken a punt with the specimen shown below. It is certainly orange and has a noticeably fibrous stem, though the cap isn’t particularly fibrous-looking. Who knows!
Fibrous Waxcap Hygrocybe intermedia?
I will never be a mycologist and, indeed, have no desire to be. However, waxcaps do have a certain allure, and it was nice to try something different for a change. At least the two species shown below were less problematic…
Ancient woodland indicator species are plants that take a long time to colonise new areas. Because they prefer the stable, undisturbed conditions of long-established woods, they can help us tell whether a woodland is truly ancient.
The exact species to look for vary from county to county. Spotting just one doesn’t prove much on its own, but the more indicator species you find, the more likely it is that the woodland has been there for centuries.
Below is the current list of ancient woodland indicator species for Northumberland, which includes flowering plants, grasses, and ferns that are used locally to identify this special habitat. A separate list for County Durham can be found online (here). As a rule of thumb, finding at least 10 species gives a good chance of confirming ancient woodland. The more you find, the stronger the evidence and usually, the healthier the woodland.
At the end of the list, you’ll also see a few extra species. These aren’t on the official list, but I’ve included them because they have a strong connection with ancient woodland in this area.
Herbaceous Plants
Field MapleAcer campestre
MoschatelAdoxa moschatellina
RamsonsAllium ursinum
Wood AnemoneAnemone nemorosa
Lords-and-ladiesArum maculatum
Giant BellflowerCampanula latifolia
Alternate-leaved Golden SaxifrageChrysosplenium alternifolium
Northumberland’s Cheviot Hills have been a major focus of my extracurricular botany outings so far this year. Back in May, we enjoyed a fantastic visit to the Hen Hole and later returned with a group from the Natural History Society of Northumbria for another day of hills, ferns, and mountain flowers. Fast forward a few weeks, and it was time for another trip—this time to a part of the area I’m less familiar with.
The Bizzle Burn is a small waterway that flows down from Bizzle Crags toward Dunsdale in the College Valley. It’s a steep walk, but one that offers plenty for the keen-eyed botanist. The site has drawn attention for centuries due to its rare arctic-alpine flora, interesting ferns, and other botanical gems. This was our second attempt to explore it, having been rained off the hill late last year.
Spoiler – due to an unfortunate phone malfunction, pictures from this trip are somewhat limited. Sadly this included some of the special plants seen during the day. Still, we’ll preserve.
Setting out from our starting point at Cuddystone Hall, the walk to the base of the hill proved highly interesting. Along the path, typical upland grassland species such as Fairy Flax Linum catharticum, Wavy Hair-grass Avenella flexuosa and Wild Thyme Thymus drucei were seen. These are all plants commonly associated with the thin, parched soils of this terrain. On the walls surrounding a farmhouse passed early in the walk, the day’s first ferns made an appearance in the form of Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. quadrivalens and Wall-rue Asplenium ruta-muraria. The Harebells Campanula rotundifolia were also particularly striking along this stretch.
Slightly more unusual species were encountered in a damp rut about halfway along the trail. The vivid flowers of Bog Asphodel Narthecium ossifragum were an immediate draw, and a closer inspection revealed the characteristic leaves of Round-leaved Sundew Drosera rotundifolia, one of our region’s few carnivorous plants.
Further uphill, a pause to explore the scree slopes yielded a fascinating suite of ferns. The most plentiful was Narrow Male-fern Dryopteris cambrensis, easily recognised by its distinctive wavy pinnae but also recorded were Male-fern Dryopteris filix-mas and several young specimens of the quirky Parsley Fern Cryptogramma crispa. A bit of poking around beneath overhangs revealed both Brittle Bladder-fern Cystopteris fragilis and Polypody Polypodium vulgare.
At the bridge at the foot of the trail leading up the Bizzle, another overhang held a somewhat desiccated example of what I believe to be Delicate Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. trichomanes — a relatively rare relative of the more familiar Maidenhair Spleenwort commonly found on garden walls. A few Common Spotted-orchids Dactylorhiza fuchsii were also growing nearby, and a look at the riverside gravels revealed an interesting variety of willows. These included Purple Willow Salix purpurea, Osier Salix viminalis, Goat Willow Salix caprea, Eared Willow Salix aurita, and Grey Willow Salix cinerea.
Having passed the last vestiges of civilisation, we soon began our walk up the burn, initially passing through heather and areas of acid grassland before following the now stone-dry watercourse the rest of the way. It was tough going in places, and a near miss with a large female Adder certainly livened up proceedings. A few Common Lizards were also spotted along this stretch.
It was around this point that my camera began to malfunction, so photographic evidence is limited. Nevertheless, the plant life in the burn bed was typical for this part of the valley. The montane willowherbs were in full flower, with some attractive examples of Chickweed Willowherb Epilobium alsinifolium found alongside Alpine Willowherb Epilobium anagallidifolium and the non-native New Zealand Willowherb Epilobium brunnescens. Also of note was a lingering patch of Pale Forget-me-not Myosotis stolonifera, another local speciality. A suite of species more commonly associated with woodland was also encountered, including Opposite-leaved Golden Saxifrage Chrysosplenium oppositifolium, Wood Crane’s-bill Geranium sylvaticum, and Wood Sorrel Oxalis acetosella.
Chickweed Willowherb Epilobium alsinifoliumAscending the Bizzle Burn
Befitting my newfound obsession with ferns, it was the pteridophytes that proved most interesting at these lofty heights. The day’s target species, Northern Buckler-fern Dryopteris expansa, was eventually located after considerable effort tucked among its preferred scree habitat. The diversity of other species present was impressive as well and, in no particular order, included common types such as Broad Buckler-fern Dryopteris dilatata, Narrow Male-fern Dryopteris cambrensis and Hard-fern Blechnum spicant, along with some altogether scarcer finds: Oak-fern Gymnocarpium dryopteris, Parsley Fern Cryptogramma crispa, and Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri. The latter was a bit of a surprise, as I’ve always associated it with woodland – but who knows!
An assortment of fernsBorrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreriNarrow Male-fern Dryopteris cambrensisOak-fern Gymnocarpium dryopterisParsley Fern Cryptogramma crispa
At the top of the burn, we eventually emerged into a vast, open corrie at the foot of Bizzle Crags. This is where many of the more interesting plants are known to grow, though oddly, we struggled to locate several of the anticipated targets – including Alpine Clubmoss and Fir Clubmoss – and some others were well past their best due to the heat, particularly the Mossy Saxifrage.
That said, Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis was a pleasing find among the scree, and a scramble up to a damp ledge yielded some interesting discoveries, including Butterwort Pinguicula vulgaris and Viviparous Sheep’s-fescue Festuca vivipara. I had considered continuing higher, but by this point, my legs were beginning to protest. The 1970s record of Green Spleenwort will have to wait for another day…
Viviparous Sheep’s-fescue Festuca viviparaGoldenrod Solidago virgaureaUp, up we goBeech Fern Phegopteris connectilis
We ended our hike at the corrie, opting not to follow the burn further on this occasion. A walk beyond that point will have to be saved for a cooler day, I think. Still, the descent via a slightly different route added plenty to the plant list and offered some truly stunning views.
In my opinion, this walk isn’t quite as botanically diverse as the Hen Hole, but it’s a beautiful route nonetheless and well worth doing if you find yourself with a day to spare.
For our next plant profile, we’ll take a closer look at one of my favourite ferns – the delicate and beautiful Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis. This is a rather uncommon species in the North East but one which I have been encountering more frequently thanks to my ongoing Big Fern Challenge. Now seemed like a good time for a closer look.
Beech Fern
Phegopteris connectilis
Beech Fern is not a species many of us will encounter regularly – unless you’re lucky enough to live in parts of Scotland or perhaps Wales.
This delicate and attractive fern tends to grow in special habitats, including ancient woodlands dominated by Sessile Oak and on shaded, humid gully sides where base-rich water seeps through. Locally, I have found it in both habitats, though the greatest concentrations are nestled among boulder scree in upland areas or tucked away in permanently damp, humid spots around waterfalls and burns. Beech Fern is known to be intolerant of grazing and is therefore often found in places out of reach of passing sheep or deer.
Surprisingly, it is seldom found under Beech trees as it avoids overly acidic substrates, favouring instead neutral to mildly acidic.
Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis spotted at Hen Hole in the Cheviots
Upon further reading, I discovered that Beech Fern has a rather interesting history. It was first reported by Bobart as far back as 1699, who – using typically lengthy Latin – named it Filix minor Britannica pelliculo pallidore alis inferioribus deorsum spectantius. Quite a mouthful, but the name roughly translates to “a small British fern with pale green fronds and downward-pointing pinnae.” Even today, this description remains remarkably accurate!
The name Phegopteris connectilis is a combination of Greek and Latin terms. Phegopteris comes from the Greek words phegos meaning “Beech” and pteris meaning “fern”, describing a fern associated with beech trees. The specific epithet connectilis is Latin and translates “fastened together”.
Although uncommon in lowland areas, the distribution of Beech Fern is considered stable by the BSBI, with new sites being discovered on the edges of its Scottish and Welsh populations. While it may have declined slightly in England, it can still be found in most of its historic haunts.
Unfurling Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis spotted at Hen Hole in the Cheviots
In terms of its associates, Beech Fern commonly grows alongside Oak Fern Gymnocarpium dryopteris in ancient woodland but in the uplands, may often be found alongside Brittle Bladder-fern Cystopteris fragilis on damp ledges, and in scree alongside Mountain Male-fern Dryopteris oreades.
Identification
Phegopteris connectilis is an easy plant to identify. It is a small, rhizomatous species that can form dense, spreading colonies in suitable habitats. Telling it apart from other ferns shouldn’t be a problem if you focus on a few key features.
Firstly, unlike any other British fern, the pinnae are winged – meaning they’re connected to the rachis along their entire length. This is the origin of the specific epithet connectilis.
Secondly, take a close look at the lowest pair of pinnae. These are opposite, backward-facing, and angled at about 90° to each other. They typically stand erect – resembling a pair of rabbit ears!
That’s all there is to it with this one.
Beech Fern Phegopteris connectilis at Hareshaw Linn, Northumberland
Distribution
In the North East, Beech Fern is an uncommon species. As the orange dots indicate, it hasn’t been recorded at many of its historic sites since the turn of the millennium.
Nevertheless, the species persists in several locations, with notable clusters in the Kielder and Cheviot areas of Northumberland, as well as in the North Pennines of County Durham. It can also be found along watercourses and in remnants of ancient woodland along the River Tyne, from Haltwhistle to Hexham.
Given the lack of recent records, it seems reasonable to conclude that Beech Fern has been lost from most lowland areas of the region.
Phegopteris connectilis in the The ferns of Great Britain and Ireland (Plate IV)
Fresh from our recent visit to Falcon Clints, last week, I had the pleasure of returning to Upper Teesdale – this time as part of the Botanist’s Year course I’m leading for the Natural History Society of Northumbria. This walk was a little less strenuous than our previous outing and took us from Bowlees, past Low Force, and on to the spectacular High Force waterfall. Along the way, we encountered a variety of fascinating plants and as ever, this blog will list just a few of the highlights.
One of the things I adore most about Teesdale is the abundance of GlobeflowerTrollius europaeus. There is just something about these plump, yellow, spherical blooms that makes me feel inextricably happy. Perhaps that joy comes from the plant’s tendency to grow in particularly special places, often in rugged upland areas?
Closely associated with limestone, Globeflower favours damp, open habitats along rivers and on mountain slopes. Along the Tees, it is remarkably abundant, and almost as soon as we reached Low Force, we were treated to a fine display.
Having spent more than enough time admiring the Trollius, we soon set off along the banks of the Tees. In these early stages of the walk, we encountered several other interesting plants, including Rock Whitebeam Sorbus rupicola and Dark-leaved WillowSalix myrsinifolia, two of the area’s more notable trees. We also came across several more commonplace species including Bitter-vetchLathyrus linifolius and Wood Crane’s-bill Geranium sylvaticum.
Than admiring some Globeflower
Far more striking during these early stages were the orchids, which, thanks to some long-overdue rain, were now flourishing. Early-purple OrchidsOrchis mascula are usually plentiful along the riverbanks here, but most (aside from the fine specimen below) were now past their best. In their place, the summer species were beginning to take over, including a large population of Heath Spotted-orchidDactylorhiza maculata and several smaller populations of Northern Marsh-orchidDactylorhiza purpurella.
We also observed signs of hybridisation between the latter two species, which had produced several pale-pink, intermediate specimens. These may well turn out to be the hybrid Dactylorhiza × formosa, though I’m not entirely certain. Orchids are a rather difficult bunch…
Early-purple Orchid Orchis masculaTaking a punt on Dactylorhiza x formosaHeath Spotted-orchid Dactylorhiza maculata
Orchids aside, the banks of the Tees are an excellent place to spot all manner of colourful and interesting plants, including several of the area’s specialities. On our way to the midpoint at Holwick Bridge, we were pleased to encounter Common Butterwort Pinguicula vulgaris, Alpine BistortBistorta vivipara, and a handful of Bird’s-eye PrimrosePrimula farinosa that had not yet gone over.
Common Butterwort Pinguicula vulgarisAlpine Bistort Bistorta viviparaBird’s-eye Primrose Primula farinosa
Arguably more interesting during this leg of the trip were several superb examples of Shrubby Cinquefoil Dasiphora fruticosa. A species of damp rock ledges and riverbanks subject to periodic flooding, this is an incredibly rare native plant whose distribution maps are distorted by escapes from cultivation. In fact, it is more commonly encountered as a garden escapee – often from supermarket car parks – but in the wild, it occurs in Teesdale and just a select few other locations. With its vibrant yellow flowers, it is quite the attractive plant.
As we neared Holwick Bridge, several more noteworthy plants caught our attention. First came a lovely brace of Common TwaybladeNeottia ovata – not the most eye-catching of orchids, I admit – and later, an exciting duo of horsetails. Wood HorsetailEquisetum sylvaticum was easy to spot thanks to its distinctive, feathery branches. The second, Shady HorsetailEquisetum pratense, took a bit more effort to identify.
Once you get your eye in, it has a fairly distinctive appearance, with its branches swept to one side in a somewhat Trump-esque fashion. It is an uncommon plant in England, with the majority of the national population found in Scotland.
In the near area, we also encountered a flowering patch of Common BistortBistorta officinalis.
Common Twayblade Neottia ovataShady Horsetail Equisetum pratenseCommon Bistort Bistorta officinalis
Beyond the bridge and onwards towards High Force, the flora began to shift, with lush riverside vegetation gradually giving way to JuniperJuniperus communis scrub. It was disheartening to see that many of the junipers were blighted by disease – presumably the much-malignedPhytophthora austrocedri. Still, despite this, we were pleased to spot some cheerful Mountain PansiesViola lutea, and the scenic views were certainly not to be scoffed at.
Mountain Pansy Viola luteaHigh Force
The surroundings of High Force itself proved interesting, particularly due to the variety of ferns present. While we didn’t manage to find the hoped-for Mountain Male-fern Dryopteris oreades, we did come across some fine examples of Narrow Male-fernDryopteris cambrensis. Better still was Lemon-scented Fern Oreopteris limbosperma, with its distinctive tapering fronds and subtle citrus aroma.
We also found some attractive Beech FernPhegopteris connectilis, and a brief look at the insect life proved rewarding. A fleeting glimpse of a Broken-belted BumblebeeBombus soroeensis – sadly too quick for a photo – was followed by several rather more obliging Gypsy Cuckoo BumblebeesBombus bohemicus.
After saying our goodbyes to the group, Matt and I decided to make the most of the day by setting out in search of yet more ferns (by this stage, you may be noticing a bit of a trend this year). High on our agenda was an abandoned quarry on the opposite bank of the Tees, not far from the paid entrance to High Force.
Following in the footsteps of John Durkin, who recorded several interesting species here in 2023, we set about exploring the quarry walls – and were rewarded with some noteworthy finds.
Among the more common ferns were Wall-rueAsplenium ruta-muraria and Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. quadrivalens. More exciting, at least for this budding pteridologist, were RustybackAsplenium ceterach and Delicate Maidenhair Spleenwort Asplenium trichomanes subsp. trichomanes – two species I see far too infrequently for my liking.
Among the larger ferns, one in particular caught my eye due to its noticeably extended dark blotches at the junction of the costa and the rachis. My hunch was that this might be a new species for us – Alpine Male-fern Dryopteris lacunosa – however, as I wasn’t yet fully familiar with the species, we chose to leave it unidentified for the time being.
Happily, once photos were shared with John Durkin, he appeared to confirm my suspicion. We’ll need to check in again to be sure, but this could well represent the first record of D. lacunosa for Upper Teesdale – how exciting, and what a fitting note on which to end this little blog.
For those interested, I share further musings on Dryopteris lacunosa [here].
Last week, I visited an abandoned quarry in Upper Teesdale and found myself puzzling over an unusual-looking fern. It seemed to resemble both Borrer’s Male-fern Dryopteris borreri and the Common Male-fern Dryopteris filix-mas, but something didn’t feel quite right – at least to my novice eyes.
The main point of confusion was the distinctive ‘dark spot’ at the base of the costa which typically helps identify the scaly male-ferns. In this specimen, the spot was unusually extensive and, on the underside of the pinna, extended some way up the costa. From my hazy recollection, in D. borreri, this spot is usually fairly faint and confined to the point where the pinna meets the rachis.
Beyond that, I was stumped. Aside from snapping the photos below, I decided to leave it there. However, having revisited a few Facebook posts from local botanist, John Durkin, mentioning that same feature in another species, Alpine Male-fern Dryopteris lacunosa, I am beginning to wonder…
Unknown Dryopteris from Upper Teesdale
After a deep dive on the internet, I found relatively little information about Dryopteris lacunosa. It appears to be a fairly recent split from the Dryopteris affinis aggregate and has only recently started to be recorded in parts of the UK. From what I can gather, most records are concentrated in Cumbria, western Scotland, Wales, and southern Ireland. Pleasingly, however, the species has now been recorded at a few select sites in North East England – thanks to the efforts of recorders far more knowledgeable than I.
One of these sites, Blaydon Burn, lies just a short distance from home so with a day off work, I thought I’d try to seek it out for myself.
Dryopteris lacunosa at Blaydon
The most helpful information I’ve found on Dryopteris lacunosa comes from an excellent page by Roger Golding, which includes images highlighting the key features to look out for – most notably, that extended dark blotch on the costa. A very informative online talk by Alison Evans offers further insight, mentioning additional traits such as the distinctive double teeth, funnel-shaped gaps between the teeth, and the long stalks on the pinnae. A third mention, on a blog by the Kirkcudbrightshire Botany Group, echoed many of these points. All of it made for very useful reading on the bus to Blaydon!
Blaydon Burn Nature Reserve was entirely new to me, but with its steep, well-vegetated banks lining the burn, it immediately looked promising for ferns. And indeed, it delivered with plenty of Male-fern, Borrer’s Male-fern, and Broad Buckler-fern Dryopteris dilatata noted, along with Hard-fern Blechnum spicant, Lady-fern Athyrium filix-femina, and Hard Shield-fern Polystichum aculeatum. All species one can expect to encounter in Tyneside’s humid denes.
The first interesting fern (pictured below) came about 15-minutes into the walk…
Possible Dryopteris lacunosa showing extensive dark spotUpperside of the pinnules showing teethThe whole plant
In the individual pictured above, the dark mark at the junction of the costa and rachis was extremely pronounced extending, in some cases, a good inch up the stem. In this neck of the woods, that would suggest either D. borreri or D. lacunosa (it certainly wasn’t D. affinis). If you look closely at the zoomed-in image below, you can also make out double teeth on the auricles (the ‘ear’ or lobe at the base of the pinnule). These were distinctive in some cases but rather variable, and certainly not present on all of the lowest pinnules I examined.
The gaps between the teeth were even less clear-cut, and I must admit this isn’t an area I’m particularly familiar with. That said, in many instances, they could reasonably be described as funnel-shaped, though I do rather like the ‘fjord-shaped’ description mentioned in the video linked above.
A closer look at those teeth
After pottering further into the woods, I came across two more promising individuals on a slope among patches of both D. filix-mas and D. borreri. In these specimens, the dark marking was even more extensive and far more convincing. The pinnae stalks also appeared longer, and at least some double teeth were clearly visible. I still can’t quite wrap my head around the reference to ‘islands’ in this resource, but otherwise, the features seemed to line up well.
Possible Dryopteris lacunosa #2and #3A more impressive dark spotFunnel-shaped teeth?The most extensive of the dark markings
The fourth and final candidate I found was a small, immature specimen perched above an eroded area further up the bank. Most of its fronds had yet to develop the characteristic dark mark, but on one mature frond, the blotch was incredibly extensive – more so than I’ve seen on any fern before. This feature alone was more convincing than the presence of double teeth, though the auricles on the more mature frond were clearly toothed as well.
Possible Dryopteris lacunosa #4Dark marking extending up costaThe whole plant
Having spent a good few hours now examining collected fronds and poring over photos from the trip, I feel reasonably confident that I’ve found something different from the ferns I usually encounter. After comparing my specimens to images associated with accepted records of Dryopteris lacunosa in the local area, I’m cautiously optimistic that this may, in fact, be it. That said, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I’m mistaken – ferns are a notoriously tricky group, and despite the time I’ve been dedicating to learning them, they continue to frustrate me no end. If, by chance, a proper pteridologist stumbles across this post, please do feel free to correct me!
As for my original Teesdale fern – the jury is still out. The dark spot is certainly promising, but the absence of double teeth (or lobes, for that matter, as seen in Roger Golding’s images) is a bit disconcerting. I won’t be submitting a record for that one unless someone with more expertise can weigh in and help clarify things.
