GORGED & BLOATED January/February
2008
Gorged and bloated from seasonal excess, the modern human will
be forgiven for retreating indoors, confronted by the wet, dark
and cold of British winter. However, this is just the time of
year when excursions into nature are surprisingly productive,
and exercise and fresh air are a great antidote to the indulgences
of christmas.
Human beings are a contrary lot. Our recent abuse of the the
planet speaks for itself. So just as we pile the produce high
upon our christmas and new year tables, the cupboard is often
bare for our furry and feathered friends at this time of year.
January and February are murderous months for many, and a true
test of their survival skills, the process of natural selection
at its most obvious in the harsh climate of winter.
So instead of a package holiday to the chase the sunshine, consider
stepping off the beaten track into wild Britain. Despite the
apparent barren and bleak landscapes of the countryside or garden,
there is still a lot going on in terms of wildlife action, for
those prepared to attune to its more subtle rhythms. In the search
for sustenance, and with only bare twigs and transparent hedgerows
for cover, there normally secretive creatures can expose themselves
to those prepared to still themselves and watch for signs of
life. Winter is a desperate season, and like a war-torn, ravaged
third world country, there is potential violence around every
corner as the hungry looters and raiders stalk new territories
like war-lords in search of the weak and easy prey, particularly
within the kingdom of the birds - for example, witness the plundering,
pillaging raids of the redwings and fieldfares, wintering migrants
from Scandinavia, acting like a faint echo of the viking visitors
of long ago.
By January, there is a small but highly significant shift that
establishes a new pattern for the new year. We make our new year
resolutions deciding to break old habits or addictions. For the
birds in our garden, their new year resolutions are a product
of their light sensitive cells in their brains, that take account
of the longer days, and begin their first lap on the breeding
race. These internal chemical reactions can't be observed so
you need to tune in with your ears to hear wistful winter notes
extend into longer song sentences and phrases, which are early
signals that prelude breeding. The soloists get going first,
especially in bouts of warmer weather. Birds like wren, robin,
song thrush and blue tit are heard before the rest of the choir
join in, heralding the approaching 'light at the end of the tunnel',
the death-knell of winter.
And yet, despite this growing awareness, the days are frought
with the struggle for survival. With one eye upon the breeding
possibilities, the other eye upon finding an increasingly dwindling
food supply, they must also remain alert for ever-present danger,
from sparrowhawk assassins for example, increasing in number,
now the second most common raptor in the UK after the kestrel.
Among the first events to herald the dawning of a new age is
also easily discovered. Head out at night with a torch, to find
one of nature's mens' groups, gathering together for some purring
and posturing before the arrival of the females. Sound familiar?
Well, its not a Friday night down in Union Street, Plymouth,
but a scene from your local pond. Male frogs congregate as early
as January in the south, and frogspawn is soon to be seen in
ponds and ditches and even puddles. Toadspawn follows later,
and is easily distinguished by the string-like shapes. If you
are unsure of whether your garden visitor is a frog or a toad,
give it a gentle poke. Frogs hop and toads walk.
Finally, to turn the oppression of winter storms into a naturalist's
opportunity, head down to the coast. The buffeting and barrage
of winter weather will wreak havoc upon marine life, and some
of it will end up washed ashore, bringing bounty to the beachcomber.
Amidst the wreckage on the strandline there will always be things
of interest, curious trinkets and treasures, especially after
the first high tide following a gale.
Whelk egg-cases for example, are also known as sea wash balls
because sailors used to wash with them like sponges. Look for
the little whelks developing inside each of the off-white egg-cases.
There are about ten in each, but only one will survive as the
first to hatch will eat its siblings.
Mermaids purses are the egg cases of skates and rays. Sometimes
they have the baby inside - shine a torch to see if you can make
out the shape inside, and to see if its living or dead.
For the bushcraft community, the seashore is often about finding
an easy harvest of wild foods, and a great place to be adventurous
with your palate!
But on WildWise's seashore edible courses, we like to tell the
story of the creatures that we might be harvesting and eating,
to cultivate an appreciation and understanding. Take limpets
for example. Cooked in the right way, they are surprisingly tasty,
but they are quite fascinating beings, and deserve our attention
beyond their status as a 'resource'. Anyone who has removed limpets
from rocks will have been impressed by their 'sticking power'
(they are best approached by stalking quietly!). This of course
is a water-retention mechanism to ensure they do not dry out
at low tide. You would imagine then that they are fairly stationary
characters, but nothing could be further from the truth. In fact,
when the tide is in, they wander all over the rock surface, up
to a range of about 3ft, grazing and foraging for microscopic
algae, returning very precisely to their home-base, a tiny etched
circle in the rock. They can live as long as 16 years, assuming
they don't fall prey to their occasional predator, the oystercatcher,
or indeed one of you wild food enthusiasts!
So my invitation to you this winter is to keep
those fires blazing, but the best way to enjoy them is to return
from an excursion into wild Britain, with a story to tell by
that fireside, of a surprising winter wildlife encounter! |
