Once upon a time, there was a knock at the door of a house in the bush. The man who owned the house was feeling mellow and he invited the two strangers in. They talked about god for a while, and then the conversation turned to orchids.

Two years later, a handwritten list appeared on the doorstep: a list of all the orchids the visitors had seen in the Eurobodalla, complete with botanical names and location notes.

Then a phone call: “If you want to see sun orchids, turn off the highway along C Ridge. Go to the old forestry log dump, a clearing about the size of a football field, with a bit of debris in the middle. Look along the western edge, in amongst the wattles and other regrowth. They're flowering there, about knee high, and powder blue.”

And indeed they were.