Last time I wrote on this blog, I was sheltering from the
wild winds of Storm Imogen. Today, I sit
and write in the most glorious weather we’ve seen so far this year, with
cloudless blue skies, a glowing, burning sun and the smell of freshly cut grass
drifting in through the open window.
Since I last wrote I have also been a bit off piste from our
countryside estate and been winter trekking in the High Atlas Mountains in
Morocco. 7 days of trekking through
stunning snow covered mountain peaks and valleys, where icicles hung off every
rock face and the snow lay in thick drifts under a burning alpine sun. The whole group conquered the highest summit
in North Africa (Mt Toubkal) on a sunny, clear but bitterly cold day, with a
wind chill of minus ridiculous. Then
myself and two others tackled the second highest summit (Ouanakrim) which was
slightly lower but more technical and involved ice axes, cramponing up and down
sheer icy slopes and climbing up rock faces whilst looking down into icy
ravines; my terrified, frozen fingers clinging to the rocks in fear, the wind
whipping ice and snow into our exposed faces and my mind filling with thoughts
of ‘if my mother could see me now!’ (she’d
have more than kittens). However once
past the terrifying bits (and being handed an avalanche monitor on day two, to
keep strapped to my body was certainly a slight downer) you got up to the lofty
peaks which felt like the ends of the earth and the top of the world. No human, animal or plant was in sight, just
miles of beautiful, carved out mountain terrain which stretched away below us
into the distance, towards the Sahara and the endless horizon. It felt like we were the only people on the
planet.
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| Me at the Top of the World! (Or North Africa anyway). |
This fine clear weather lasted
only until the following day when we had to walk out the valley for five hours
in a white out blizzard, which was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. My hat and buff froze around my face, my
contact lenses froze in my eyes until I blinked rapidly, and the person two
steps ahead disappeared from view when the wind picked up. I was constantly stepping into waist deep
snow which then had to be clambered out of and we put all our absolute faith in
our guide who led us unflinchingly through the storm, using invisible mist
covered rocks to guide the way. One of our
party had to wet himself walking as to stop and go to the loo would have meant
frostbite somewhere very unpleasant and a guy from another group who was
improperly clothed, had to be carried down with hypothermia and frostbite – and
will probably lose some toes. After
hours of walking through the storm, singing to myself to keep motivated and
swallow the little frissons of fear that kept surfacing everytime I thought of
what would happen if our guide failed, we began to descend below the level of
the winds fury.
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| Human Popsicle. |
Lower we climbed, and
soon we could make out the sides of the mountains, trees and shrubs, until,
eventually, the skies cleared and we could see again! The feeling of relief was euphoric; once more
the world was full of sunlight and sounds like rushing mountain streams and
Alpine Choughs calling overhead. We had
spent hours in a snow cloaked bubble, our vision limited to a few feet, with
our faces frozen numb like our clothes and every step a fight through the deep
snow and the wind. Now, out of the storm
and safe down the valley we blinked in the sun light and threw snowballs at
each other out of sheer joy and adrenaline.
On our final day walking out of the mountains I kept turning back to
look at the heights we had come from.
Toubkal stood, tall and imposing among the crests, some wisps of cloud
hiding its true summit from our eyes as we stood in the safety of the
valley. Finally I turned my back on
those sunlit, Godlike peaks for the last time and began the final descent, and
the journey home.
Like swifts on the wing I fly from the lofty summits of
North Africa to the green lowlands of Mottisfont and we have finally been
graced with some drier weather of late and the sun actually holds some warmth
to it despite the cool Easterly winds.
This turn of the Big Wheel has set in motion the beginnings of the
spring season with Celandines, Daffodils and even the odd Bluebells popping out
and the woodland rides we have worked on over the past few winters look to be
very promising in turns of the floral display to come – the bluebell foliage is
thick on the ground here and will look spectacular when they finally all bloom
across the Mottisfont estate and at Curbridge Nature Reserve, which is always a
winning site for Bluebells.
The Rookery
in the treetops of the Sycamore and Plane trees in the Abbey gardens is alive
with the endless cawing and chattering of the Corvids to one another as they
bustle about remaking their old nests, spring cleaning, nicking each other’s
twigs and showing off to their potential mates.
Anywhere you wander in the pay zone here, you can hear the sound of the
rookery and to me it is one of the definable sounds of the beginning of spring
here at Mottisfont Abbey.
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| The Rookery |
Another herald of the season was found by our river keeper
Neil two days ago, on the banks of the River Test; a sleepy, young grass snake –
our first snake for the year! He rang me
to see if I was nearby to come and admire it but unfortunately I was up on
Stockbridge and unable to make its acquaintance – so I am yet to spot my first
reptile this year, but I’m sure a stroll round our Foxbury site could sort that
out in an instant.
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| Neil's grass snake (Photo credits: Neil Swift). |
The hedgelayers on the Down have stopped their work for the
season, having laid their way through about 700M of hedge. The remaining stretch will be finished next
winter and meanwhile I look forward to seeing the regrowth of the laid section
which will bring it back from a derelict, dying hedgerow, to a thicker, more
vibrant wildlife corridor. Of course you
can’t have a winter’s worth of hedgelaying with no brash to clear up and so, in
the last week of February, Ryan and I chuntered up to the Down in a tractor
each and set to work burning the brash.
Ryan was in the loyal but clunky Massey, whilst I was driving the brand
new Valtra which was smooth as a nut and a pleasure to drive and to use –
heated seats (which I didn’t like as I could find the off switch!), radio, air
con and front loader suspension that meant I didn’t end up 3 inches shorter
from compression of the spine from the bouncing of the seat!
Up and down the stretch we drove, back and forth grabbing up
great piles of brash in our tractor claws, taking it to the bonfire site and
then going back for more. The fire burnt
like a beacon and the weather was perfect – dry, little wind and still damp
enough on the surrounding ground to not fear it spreading. After three days of tractoring and the
volunteer group following behind stick picking the smaller bits, we finally burnt
the final lot and the site was clear again and ready for the growing season.
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| Grab a load... |
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| And watch it burn! |
Talking of the growing season, we have just installed
another 6 Juniper seed cages on Stockbridge Down, to see if we can continue to
encourage more natural regeneration.
Some have gone under trees which have already proven viable and able to
produce young, and others have gone under new female trees to allow us to see
if they will produce little ‘uns within the cages. That’s gives us 16 cages in all and with the number
of seedlings so far doubled each year, I look forward to the summer to see if
we get even better results this time around.
I have spent time over the last two days going round our
dormouse box grids and clearing them out of rotten nests and leaves, ready for
the survey season to begin again.
Wandering the woodlands with dappled sunlight flitting across the ground
flora and Brimstone butterflies flapping past is not a bad way to spend the
time, even if you do get the odd stab from a bramble bush or a twig in the
eye. Several of the boxes had
inhabitants in them, in the form of small, plump, angry shrews that squeaked at
me noisily (I left them in peace) or lazy wood mice that lay on their bed of
leaves, looking up at me sleepily and blinking at the sunlight like a teenager
that has just had the curtains thrown open in his bedroom after a night out. I also noticed another spring like sign
whilst I was doing this job; midges.
Small, irritating black blobs bounced off my eyeballs and floated up my
nose, making me swat my own face – definitely almost time for the insect repellent
I think…
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| Do i have to get out of bed? |
So we have finished the winter season and made it out the
other side and now we look forward to reaping the rewards to come; witnessing
the results of the work we do as our sites burst into life and sound and colour
– we are heading into my absolute favourite time of the year and as I sat on
the banks of the river today amid the Daffodils and the Primroses, and admired
the diamond like glitter of the sun on the rushing water, I breathed a sigh of
relief; the Spring Solstice is only 4 days away and lighter, longer days lie
ahead. Amen to that.
