The yellow base of each petal emphasizes the thick clump of stamen, creating a densely yellow heart.

Insects are drawn to the rich, easily accessible supplies of pollen. As well as bumblebees and white-spotted rose beetles I found this male Anthaxia hungarica, with enormous black eyes and green metallic sheen, dining in radiant surroundings.

Another member of the Rock rose family was in flower, Tuberaria guttata, with a strongly marked red-brown ring to guide pollinators to their target.

While holm oaks and pines predominate, in the north of Collserola there are many deciduous oaks. Here, under the shade of the new canopy, Granny’s Nightcaps (Aquilegia vulgaris) are blooming.  The elaborately structured flowers hang down, and the nectar is stowed deep within, at the end of narrow, neatly coiled spurs. Bumble bees were out foraging, but instead of disappearing inside the flower in search of their booty, and emerging dusted in pollen, they were settling on top.  Each spur had a small hole bitten out: the flowers were being cleaned out by backdoor thieves!

A prize piece of territory on the Cami del Mar is the corner where people sit and look at the view, and quite often eat at the same time.  The robin that rules there looks sleek and smooth, no longer a ball of fluffy insulation.

Across the road from the Funicular station, there’s a tall row of shrubs, with glossy, laurel-like leaves.  Rustling and squabbling sounds emanate, as blackcaps have taken up residence there.  They are coming to the end of a copious supply of berries.

On the Cingles de Berti, small tokens of spring are visible: the first grape hyacinths and liverwort.  A common toad surprised on the path tries to ward off attack by inflating itself and standing on tiptoe, before deciding to bury itself in the leaf mulch.  Then, spotted in the distance, a long strand of birds crosses the sky, forming an immense curve: a hundred cranes powering their way north.

Enthroned in a Pitch Trefoil flower, the Heather crab spider (Thomisus onustus) had arrayed its legs like a multi-limbed deity.  The colour of raspberry-ripple ice cream, it blended in well with the purple bloom where it meditated, invisible to prey and predator.  Enormous forelegs lay in wait.

It’s always worth getting up close and making eye contact with a Jumping spider. This female Carrhotus xanthogramma was spotted on a Common Smilax leaf.  

Her abdomen has handsome tawny markings.

Shining a torch in a spooky underground chamber in the middle of Collserola’s woods revealed a colony of Meta bourneti – a Cave Spider of the Tetragnathidae family.   The light cast great leggy shadows on the vaulted walls and picked out the prominent black bristles.  Like other Orb spiders, these cave-dwellers rely mainly on these touch sensors to hunt.  They seemed to hang in mid-air, perfectly in tune with the vibrations in their nearly invisible webs.

The Wasp Spider (Argiope bruennichi) adds drama wherever it sets up camp.  There were several alongside Vallvidrera reservoir at the end of summer.  They’d slung their webs low down in the grass where dragonflies cruise.

Montjuic overflows with birds during autumn migration.  Swallows are swooping low over freshly cut grass. The robin population has multiplied.  One feisty individual is jostling other birds out of a stand of trees. The woods and parks become incredibly crowded with them: too many robins in the broth, so inevitably some have to keep moving further south or inland.

Another redbreast is in evidence, the Common redstart, far from common in Barcelona, and only glimpsed on spring and autumn passage. Unlike its not particularly close relative, the Black redstart, who arrives to spend the winter, its destination is tropical Africa.

Flycatchers – spotted and pied – make protracted stopovers in the city’s parks, breaking up the long haul south. The warm weather ensures plenty of insects so they can fatten up for the tough journey ahead: the sea followed by a desert that’s expanding year by year. Slim, sprightly birds, you notice them as they repeatedly launch themselves to scoop up prey and return to the same perch.

In the woods, firecrests are back, travelling with the tit flocks, always in the lowest branches, and last to move on. There was lots to eat in this holm oak infested with gall midge larvae.

A tiny Praying mantis was a distraction on the way, sitting on top of a seeding Matabou umbel.

When I reached the remote, unvisited location, deep within Collserola, nothing stirred except for a boar, who was trundling through the bushes, before emerging to cross the track and disappearing into an overgrown gully.  The habitat was perfect: shrubby open woodland on a high ridge, with lots of strawberry trees (Arbutus unedo – the Pasha’s food plant), so I decided to sit down, eat some breakfast and see what turned up.

Within minutes I’d been spotted.  The Pasha flew fast around my head, inspected the camera on my lap, and then stuck its proboscis into my sandwich.  It was immediately whipped out again, as if in distaste – uggh! So where’s my rum-soaked rotten banana?

The butterfly then flew up to its vantage point high up in a pine tree, where it remained a while, until giving chase to another Pasha. The rival had staked out an adjoining territory, which it surveyed from a small oak tree.

It sallied down to some faeces in a holly oak bush. It ignored me, absorbed in feeding, using a startlingly red proboscis, which I’ve never seen before (aren’t they usually black?). The beautiful tapestry of the underwings countered the pong of the food matter.

Still trespassing, I was subjected to another prolonged attack. Intensely beating butterfly wings can only tickle, but the determination with which the Pasha repeatedly charged towards me made me want to duck. Then it started sucking at the sweat on my arm, and sat on my shoulder for a while.  Who cared where it might’ve perched before.

Their fearless nature and love of alcohol can get the Two-tailed Pashas into trouble.  A video on Youtube shot by a holidaymaker somewhere on the Med shows one drinking spilt beer on the table, and then falling to the ground when attempting to fly.

Throughout the month of June the Blue-tails are harvested by House sparrows.  Bills bristling with wings,  the sparrows somehow manage to keep on collecting without dropping any of the existing catch.  You can imagine their nestlings getting fat on plentiful damselfly protein.

By the end of July, the pond vegetation is full of Tree frogs (Hyla meridionalis),  perching motionless alongside the Blue-tails.  I found one very slowly ingesting its meal, till it seemed to be champing on a blue-tipped cigar.  One tremendous gulp and the rest was engulfed.

Food chains are long and complex.  Damselflies hunt small flies . . .

. . . and each other.  As the sunlight broke free of the early morning clouds, it stirred the damsels from their resting places. A newly emerged Blue-tail on its maiden flight was immediately snatched, hoisted up and devoured by a mature female.

The valley of Núria is an olla, or pot.  In a tough annual race, runners follow its rim, tracing the circle of mountains, which range between 2,700 and 3,000 metres.  But individually the peaks are very accessible for a day’s walk, considering your starting point is at 2,000 m.  Our destination was Noucreus, at 2,790 m.

Past the pines and extensions of alpenrose (Rhododendron ferrugineum), marmots were bounding across the grassy slopes. One got chased into its burrow by a wheatear. The nesting bird fluttered incessantly around the rodent’s head like an angry butterfly.  Alpine gentians (Gentiana nivalis) cover the grass here, low to the ground, barely flinching in the sudden strong gusts of wind.

The way is steep, so before long you’re commanding a good view of the valley, the Núria complex still in view but increasingly remote. Then the path zigzags onto the scree and the majesty of the surroundings takes over completely.

The sight of plants cheerfully flowering in this desolate expanse of rock took me by surprise. The Parnassus-leaved buttercup (Ranunculus parnassifolius) has large white petals densely veined in pink, and dark green leaves. Its secret to surviving in this shifting world of rubble is a thick clump of roots, ensuring a secure anchorage.

Nearby Spoon-leaved Candytuft (Iberis spathulata), a member of the Crucifer family, was peeking coquettishly out of the rocks.  This plant adopts a different strategy, spending the winter in seed-form until the next growing season.

Another plant, Senecio leucophyllus, still hadn’t produced its dense yellow flowerheads, but its velvety frilly leaves had spread widely.  Once decomposed, all this biomass would be a great contribution to the richness of the soil below the scree.

I felt exposed on this narrow path, teetering slightly after bending to take photographs. There was nothing to hold onto, just an expanse of grey stone, falling away steeply. But what at first glance might seem a harsh, inhospitable desert is clearly a good home for a well-adapted plant. Low clouds frequently shroud these mountains, and the moisture condenses on the stones, to trickle down below. The scree then protects the soil from drying out in the strong sun.

The stark scattering of iron crosses on the Noucreus pass mark the deaths of travellers who tried to cross the mountain in snow but conditions that June morning were very benign. We lingered for hours, enthralled by the view and the vultures that regularly coasted past, including two Lammergeiers, who cruised slowly above the peaks.  Far below in another valley was a herd of about 100 chamois – the young taking it easy while the mothers foraged.

On the peak itself there’s a sloping slab of rock, and sheltering underneath I found a Pyrenean endemic, Saxifraga pubescens.

Nearby, a tight cluster of soil-hugging rock plants had enabled the Alpine Forgetmenot to survive on the peaks, well above its usual alpine pasture habitat.

First out of the bag was a male, identified by its smaller size.  At just over three weeks old, it was still covered in sparse white down.

But a fine set of tail feathers were already on display  and the plastic-like protective sheaths were crumbling away.  By the end of the ringing session, the area was covered in white dust.

The young male stayed relatively calm throughout.

But both females were lusty screamers.  They wouldn’t relent, even with a hood in place, which made it harder for the ringers to concentrate on the job.  But it was a good sign they were strong and healthy, particlarly welcome after the sad news from the Sagrada Familia.

The young falcons might look like they’re wearing fluffy bloomers, but their talons are already strong and sharp.

Despite the uncomfortable steepness of the rocky slope, the whole operation was seamless, and soon the chicks were safely deposited back on their ledge.  The adult Peregrine took a while to calm down, and vented its stress by harrying seagulls.

Among the meal remains in the nest was a moorhen’s foot and numerous Collared dove feathers.