High Tide

Ten minutes by car and I am at the seaside. Not the buckets and spades variety, this is the sheltered strip of sea between the mainland and Anglesey, the Menai Strait. The tide is exceptionally high, higher than I ever remember seeing it here, so there is only a narrow strip of shingle between high water and sea wall. This strip is coated with bladder-wrack, a harvest I would dearly like to gather to improve my asparagus bed, but it is laced with plastic debris. I doubt if the little huddle of seven oyster-catchers standing only feet away mind about that, but for me it is a reminder that we treat the sea like a dustbin.

As I watch, the tide starts to pull the waters away towards the ocean, and a riffle appears where the retreating water is drawn across the concrete edge of a small quay. What power there is in the tides, and how long before someone suggests building a barrage here to harness it to feed our collective energy hunger?

Further along the shore there is a small woodland, which I approach carefully, treading gingerly on the thick bed of seaweed. The wood is the colour of spring, a carpet of bluebell and sanicle, violet and lesser celandine, but mostly of wild garlic, tens of thousand of bulbs sending up a single bright green leaf to greet the new year. The sun is shining, I revel in this moment of greenery. No need for a barrage. All it takes is a walk by the sea to re-charge your batteries.

Nature of Cwmorthin

When wind and rain beats down on the mountains a good alternative is to explore a mine - my guide took me deep underground into Cwmorthin. A massive complex of levels, inclines and chambers crossing through two principal veins of slate. ‘The Slaughterhouse’, its nickname for obvious reasons, is just above Tanygrisiau and connects through the mountain into the Oakeley quarry formerly owned by the occupants of Plas Tan y Bwlch.

The map looked impossible to my ordnance survey mind, the extra dimension of multiple levels was difficult to absorb. As for ‘finding north’, not by compass, GPS, moss or star but by angle of the vein – ours travelled downwards in a northerly direction.

This underground world is massive and full of industrial and cultural heritage .... railway tracks, trucks, wagons, catwalks, winding gear, generators etc. and every now and again a ‘caban’. Single room, stone-built canteens in which to take a break and discuss world affairs. The inside walls of one caban were papered with newspaper sheets from as long ago as the Titanic.

We had our picnic outside one of these cabans in a large chamber and as we munched we talked about the wildlife and nature within. Fungus was eating rotten timbers and a bat had been seen flying out on a summer’s eve, but what else can prosper in this energy starved world? I kept a wary eye out for Trolls.  

This is what it’s like deep down ....

Cockles and Mussels – Hollywood in Wales

Back in the late 50s, when our family had 1 of the only 2 caravans in Borth, I remember vividly the nightmare of getting lost at Ynyslas. Chasing my brother across the dunes I missed a turn and ended up the sticky end of the estuary before a stranger stopped and drove me back to the most worried looking parents on the sands.

I remember too the cockles, raking a bucketful out of the sand. I think we added flour to the water in the bucket to flush out the sand from the cockles but they always seemed a bit gritty to me.  Those days when the sun seemed to shine forever and the sea was never cold.

It has been a treat for me to return and make a film with members of CCW about Ynyslas Spit, one of a series of films that try to explain the current ‘ecosystem’ buzzword, through examples of what they are, how they work and the benefits we derive from them. The film can be viewed on the Natur Cymru YouTube channel.  Much has changed but the essence is still there. 

Mussels have always been a gourmet item to me, their modest price out of all proportion to their magnificent taste – the sight of a steaming bowl of moules marinières sends me into ecstasy. I have harvested a few saucepans’ worth from Borth y Gest rocks, at low tide, and always wondered how they were harvested commercially.

Another filming assignment explained the mareculture of mussel farming in the Menai Strait. I was staggered to learn that 50% of British farmed production comes from this tiny bit of sea bed, so perfectly fit for purpose with masses of nutrient rich water washed through the strait each tide. Furthermore, Ynys Môn provides natural storm protection to prevent the mussels being smashed or washed away and also makes it possible for dredgers to venture out whatever the weather.

James Wilson, of Deep Dock Ltd, welcomed me on board the 43m long Mare Gratia mussel dredger and explained the process.

BTO Atlas, some birds and a Pine Marten

I thought I’d start by deconstructing the picture taken at Easter last year. I’m kitted out for a bird survey, counting birds in a 2x2 km square for the British Trust for Ornithology’s Bird Atlas 2007-11. The location is close to the A5, on rough grazing land between Penmachno and Ysbyty Ifan, and about 5 miles SE of Betws y Coed. For local bird recording, we are in Vice-county 49 (Caernarfonshire), but for LBAP purposes we are in Conwy County Borough Council. The wildlife must find this very confusing! I’m pointing out a Red Kite which has just flown past; they are just moving into this area as the range expands (over 1,000 pairs in Wales now).
The pasture has probably been improved at some stage, and this has not helped small birds, although there are still meadow pipits, wheatears and linnets. Forty years ago, when the first Breeding Atlas was on, this area was full of curlews and lapwings; now there a few of each left. The RSPB is helping to look the residual population in this area (Hiraethog). Both land-use and predation are important factors in these population changes – if you want to see what this area was like 40 years ago, visit the North Pennines (Upper Teesdale, for example). Will we ever get these breeding waders back in Wales?
For the BTO Atlas, we have been mapping birds in the winter as well as the breeding season. Some winter visits produce no birds at all. Natur Cymru subscriber John Lloyd lives and farms in the original heartland of the Red Kites, where a few pairs managed to survive. John emailed me the other day to tell me about some recent fieldwork for the Winter Atlas. He says:
I even managed a zero count in an hour at Abergwesyn at the beginning of the month. I was just congratulating myself on having become a "proper atlaser" and walking out through the conifers of a neighbouring tetrad (2x2km square) when I came across a pair of Crossbills defending a probable nest against what I am sure was a Pine Marten. I never saw the front half of the beast, just its rear but that woke me up from my reverie. The Vincent Trust have accepted it as a sighting.
The moral is: you never know what you are going to see, just get out from behind your computer!

Reality kicks in

If you are reading this, you probably spend too much time staring at a screen. I certainly do. Editing a wildlife magazine for me means lots of time spent in the office, and little time engaging with nature. But I do have a large dose of reality on my doorstep. I have a small herd of Welsh Black cows to graze my meadows and, almost a bi-product, produce organic beef. This week the time had come for one of my steers. Approaching 30 months, his value would sharply decline once over that magic age, for no good reason that I can think of – slow maturing traditional breeds need longer than that.

Anyway, the decision was taken, I put him in the cattle crush and starting clipping beneath him to remove matted lumps of hair and dung, to clean him up. He thought little of this. Three kicks in succession alerted me to the difficulties of my task. The fourth scored a direct hit on my gloved hand. At that point, perhaps satisfied that he had made his feelings known, he settled down to eat the bucket of rolled barley before him, and I was able to get on with the job. An hour later he was on his way, the paperwork complete.

So I’ve had my dose of reality for the week, and have felt like a farmer for half a day. It keeps me grounded, and gives some practical basis to any preaching that I might indulge in from time to time; like berating the folly of scientists who advocate increasing food production by intensifying output on current farmland, apparently unaware that traditional farming systems are vital for wildlife. I’ve learnt about farming and nature the hard way – at a rather painful first hand.

What’s New in the Forest of the Wolves?

Mother Nature does most of the work but CCW wardens do their bit. Just recently there has been lots going on, including sprucing up of the willow wolf. 10 months old and it had grown a bit straggly so 4 of us set to, weaving the pliable strands back into the structure – what a barbershop quartet we could have made. The chestnut paling fence around the outside will remain in place for the coming year to protect it from goats until it becomes more established.

Speaking of goats ... the snow was heavier and hung around for longer than usual, squashing the undergrowth of bracken. This left young saplings standing proud and with little else to eat, the goats had a nibble or two.

On the positive side the double height fence, enclosing a section of the reserve close to the railway line, has been removed. For over 20 years the area has been free from grazing and the inevitable consequence, a profusion of brambles and ivy, is what the goats are feasting on at the moment.

Stands of trees, generally square in shape, like military formations, were planted 20 years ago and enclosed with wire netting. The fencing has all been removed and so too the Y shape funnel. This funnel was designed as a means for catching goats in the days when the local population was an unsustainable 50+. The idea was to lure the goats into the narrow funnel, with tasty strands of ivy and other delicacies hanging from the fence, then quickly close the door and transport them to Scotland. It didn’t work and now it has gone for recycling.

The ability to exclude sheep is vital to regeneration of the woods and the old perimeter fence posts are being replaced. Instead of those rounded, chemically treated, poles we are being re-fenced with cleaved, sweet chestnut. 

In the really good old days dry stone walls would have been the stockproof barrier. Sustainable and enduring they will last indefinitely, provided there is some maintenance. Sadly one of the most impressive stretches of wall was breached by a fallen tree. My neighbour in the farm below says this stretch, which rises steeply from the mouth of the waterfall, was built by 2 brothers competing against each other.  Thanks to CCW the tree has been chopped and the wall rebuilt by a local master craftsman.

He’s not going to be so local in future, next month he goes West with a renewable 1 year visa to work on America’s stone walls as part of an initiative to re-introduce the craft. He’ll start in Kentucky before moving to Dallas and will employ a US citizen to work with him.

Finally for those who don’t enjoy the indignity of stiles the good news is that kissing gates have been installed on the top path heading out of Coed y Bleiddiau towards Dduallt and below by the waterfall at the hairpin bend.

To see a short film of what's been going on, click here.

Huw

January 2011

Winter Spruce for Willow Wolf

‘Wolf!’ he cried. ‘Wolf!’ and there it was, a huge wolf in Coed y Bleiddiau, the ‘forest of the wolves’. Full of life and vigour, with its jaws open, howling up at the sky. Nothing but a skimpy picket fence to hold it back and 400 sets of roots. This was a willow wolf in the Vale of Ffestiniog. 

Local legend says here was home to the last wolf in Wales, hence the name of this oak woodland is Coed y Bleiddiau. On the other side of the valley is Cae’r Blaidd or ‘field of the wolf’. Just across the mountains is Beddgelert, the ‘grave of Gelert’, the dog that saved the son of Llewelyn the Great from a wolf attack (or so they say).

Wolves became extinct in England in the early 1600s but lived on in the wilds of Wales for much longer. They were probably still around during the Civil War and there is talk of a Knight’s Grave nearby, maybe he slew the last wolf? Or was he a victim?

This wolf has every chance of living forever, a vigorous type of willow (salix viminalis) planted in March 2010. It’s been sited by the path that runs parallel with the Ffestiniog Railway, in a small clearing, away from overhanging trees which would block the sun and inhibit growth.

10 months on and our wolf was looking a bit shaggy. Instead of taking pruners or shears to it we twisted the new growth back into the framework. We had meant to do this in December but feared the willow would have been frozen brittle and snapped. Click here to see the willow wolf having its winter spruce.

Previous residents of note at the derelict cottage, the other side of the railway track, include St John Philby, father of Kim Philby, the infamous spy. His house guest at the outbreak of WWII was William Joyce who travelled from here via London to Berlin where he became known as Lord Haw-Haw, the propaganda broadcaster, subsequently executed for treason.

The wolf was funded by the Countryside Council for Wales (CCW), designed and built by Beryl Smith of Llanidloes (www.craftsmidwales.co.uk) with a little help from CCW wardens and volunteers.