A glorious day today, the sun had some real warmth in it. The birds are getting very vocal, some daffodils are now in full bloom, and the trees are gaining a greenish tinge as the leaf buds emerge. I love the British spring. As a child, I lived in Australia. In our bit of the country there was always something in bloom throughout the year, so spring was a gradual and fairly muted affair. Here, everything suddenly bursts into life. Two days of warm sunshine and the cherry blossom is everywhere.
I have solved the mystery of the vanishing dog poo. In spite of being told on a previous occasion that it was not our responsibility, it is indeed we who keep the place tidy. This morning we went out along the trail and into the Bluebell Wood. Our purpose? Litter picking. We have long armed tongs and a black bin bag for this task. The main pickings consist of plastic drinks bottles and cans, crisp packets and lots of abandoned plastic bags containing dog poo. The country's spring budget has just been announced and I would have to say that the Chancellor has missed a trick here. If he wanted to raise a lot of money quickly, a tax on all of the above items would yield a small fortune. Especially dog poo. There is definitely no shortage of it. It is a sad but true fact that the greatest problem for nature is the human, the only species that seems intent on messing up his own environment. On our way back to base we encountered a toad, which tried to hide in the leaf litter, and then a frog jumped across the track in front of us.
A return to base and a short conversation resulted in a decision to spend the rest of the day helping Our Lady of the Bridleway with some drain clearance. As the sole member of staff responsible for some 60 miles of bridleway, she sometimes finds it necessary to borrow members of the countryside team. Rains which fell about a month ago caused a lot of damage, which is worse if the drains get blocked. The section that we were going to gets a lot of traffic from trail bikes and 4x4s., which churn the whole thing up and make everything worse.
We took the new landrover. In driving to the place where we were to do the work, I was to receive an education in what these remarkable vehicles can do. My only previous experience of landrovers has been in driving about grouse moors in Scotland, along tracks which are generally quite gentle. Today's drive was a different prospect altogether. The erosion to the track was so bad in places, that at one spectacular point we had to drive down an actual step that was about a foot deep. Our Lady showed off her driving skills with great aplomb. Selecting one of the many gears, we sallied forth with only a few bumps but no problems. I'm afraid my consternation got the better of me: my general state of alarm was spotted and caused some amusement among my colleagues.
The Peak District is mainly limestone, the landscape being full of rocky outcrops, high hills and steep valleys, which are called "cloughs" hereabouts. We were visiting one of these cloughs which is quite out of the way, so the drive in along the track lasted about 30 minutes. We parked at the bottom of the clough on a grassy patch near a spot where the bridleway goes over a ford. At regular intervals down one side of the hill and up the other, stone culverts have been built across the track to drain away water coming downhill and attempt to avert erosion to the track itself. A combination of weather and a general hammering from vehicular traffic has resulted in a good many of these culverts being filled up with rubble.
After a picnic lunch in the sunshine, we set to work with spades and a shovel, but a pickaxe might have been more appropriate for breaking up the packed down rubble. It was hard graft, chipping away with the corner of the spade to loosen the pack until there was enough loose material to lift out of the way. We did four or five culverts on one side of the hill, then started on the side. I was working alone on a culvert near a bend in the track. Gradually I heard the sound of an approaching engine, and wondered what on earth could be in the vicinity. The noise got closer and then over the brow of a little hummock I saw two orange safety lights bouncing up and down. I picked up my spade and stepped to one side. Round the corner came ... Mr Head Ranger in the other landrover. He had finished his office duties and decided to join us.
I don't think the 4x4s are supposed to use the bridleway at all. Our Lady of the Bridleway explained how they had had to erect fences at certain points to prevent them from taking short cuts and carving out new tracks. It is a difficult activity to manage, and the policy is to minimise access to these vehicles. I can see that this is quite a problem. Clearly people who enjoy this kind of sport must have somewhere to indulge their passion, but not at the expense of fragile moorland environments. I wondered whether the drivers of 4x4s actually enjoy being out in the countryside, and if they do, do they understand that their hobby is destroying it? Or is their enjoyment merely the thrill of a difficult drive?
It was certainly an exciting drive back afterwards. Mr Head Ranger regained possession of the new landrover (I understand he is quite possessive about it) and put it through its paces. We reached the step that caused my trepidation on the way down. Three times he tried to drive up it. The fourth, on a different tack, succeeded. Extraordinary. I am sure it could drive up a flight of steps. I wonder whether a landrover has ever featured in James Bond film? On reflection probably not, it isn't sexy enough.
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