In search of the white hare

"Early January, high on the moors of the Peak District National Park" 

That is unlikely to be a phrase that conjures up images of sunshine and warmth to anyone who knows the Peak District. And I can live with that, but on this particular day I really didn't want it to rain. I was taking my daughter up onto Bleaklow in an attempt to witness a rare sight in the UK, even rarer if you limit your purview to just England. The trip had to be made in winter, our goal is not there to be seen in summer. So back in the Christmas holidays we picked a free Saturday a few weeks away and hoped for the best. The night before the big day the Met Office forecast suggested cool, dull and very windy, but crucially no rain - we were on.

Loaded with warm and waterproof layers, cameras, binoculars and the de rigueur Thermos of hot chocolate, we left home early to complete the 1hr 20min journey before the traffic picked up, and to make the most of the short hours of daylight. Driving through the southern half of the Peak District in the incremental reduction in dullness that passed for sunrise that day, we talked about our goal for the day - white hares.

The only population of mountain hares in England, if you want to see them anywhere else in the mainland UK you're going to Scotland - by no means a problem, but a slightly longer trip. They are native to the UK, but the Peak District population is the result of a reintroduction  with the natively present populations having gone extinct previously. To the untrained eye in summer, relatively easy to confuse with Brown Hares, their lowland, non-native cousin. But in the winter, like a few other upland specialised species, there is no difficulty to determine what you have seen. The mountain hares turn white.

I've been pretty fortunate in my experiences with mountain hares. I used to see them often during the years I worked up on the moors of the Peak District, both in their summer and winter pelage, and have also seen them in Scotland. But my daughter had never seen one. A white hare was the stuff of folklore for her, and this trip was a dream fulfilment mission. No pressure then. 

Parking up at the summit of the Snake Pass, we battled our way out of the car in strong winds. The Met Office had nailed it. It really was cool (for a little girl getting perilously close to properly cold with the wind chill!), very dull with a thick blanket of grey cloud just skimming the high point of Kinder to the south and Bleaklow to the north, and very, very windy. Struggle-to-open-the-car-door-into-the-wind, sort of windy. Getting your outer layers on in those conditions is always fun, but we managed it. In the process I realised that I've still got things to learn as father to a young daughter. I hadn't tied her hair back, and it was already whipping around her face before we had even left the car. Whoops. She was not amused, and fair enough. It wasn't quite the start to the outing I had hoped for.

North was our direction of travel, our backs more or less to the wind to begin with. A wind that intensified as we followed the Pennine Way into its sunken channel, a natural and highly effective wind tunnel. Buffeted by the wind and out of sight of the surrounding moorlands we may not have been able to see any hares, but they were also relatively unlikely to catch sight of us. As we progressed further from the Snake Pass, we raised ourselves above the parapet occasionally to scan the moors with our binoculars - trench warfare. At one of these scouting sessions I spotted a blob of white far off on the edge of a depressions in the peat. Was it a hare!? No, it was a piece of a sheep, the rest obscured further into the depression. Disappointing but it was still early. We had as long as we wanted, or as long as a small person could put up with, whichever arrived first.


On our route up to Hern Clough we spotted hare droppings and frequently used runs through the cotton grass, heard the distinctive, staccato cackle of red grouse and the acorn symbols of the Pennine Way trail markers.  We were definitely on the right track, in more ways that one on this occasion.

The wind continued to blow us toward our intended destination, but it was also still mercilessly blowing hair into a not-as-smiley face, chilling little fingers and a little nose. Despite being wrapped up to the eye balls there was a very real risk that this wind, and the resulting cold was putting a downer on our little adventure. The trip, intended to fulfill a wish and ingrain positive, outdoor experiences, was at risk of becoming a negative, "why did we do this" sort of a trip.

Now of course, when out of doors with little people, versatility is the name of the game, and I was prepared for such an eventuality. On reaching Hern Clough, we turned and followed it downstream in an attempt to drop out of the wind. It didn't work quite as well as hoped... but we did eventually find a sheltered spot round a meander and behind a shoulder of the hillside where we perched for a bite to eat and some of the hot chocolate, a guaranteed spirit lifter. Now working on a circular route outlook rather than the original out and back route we were covering different ground, and were able to spy out into the dead ground of the stream valley ahead of us as we went. Still nothing.

As we reached a turning point in our route, literally, we needed to turn right and go back up hill, we found (drum roll please) some pieces of a white hair. Yep, pieces. A foot, a tail and a few other bones and bits of fur. Granted it was not quite what we had hoped for, but it was exciting enough to put a smile on a cold little face, and a smile on my face too. Not just because my daughter was a bit happier, but also because nestled into what was left of the tail was a sexton beetle, Necrophorus vespilloides, to be specific. In case you are wondering why a beetle which feeds on dead stuff puts a smile on my face, I wrote my Masters dissertation on them, so they bring back happy (and smelly) memories. Good times.

This finding, and the assurance that we were now heading for the car, put a little extra vigour into our pace but we still had a little way to go, and now had no formal path to follow. Navigation wasn't an issue, it was an area I knew and we had good visibility to pick out of reference points - the problem with no path was the trips and slips which result from walking through tall heather. We followed a fence line, and the sheep run that paralleled it, continuing to scout out for a blob of white. a few spells of sitting down, and an eventual caving in to the request for a ride on my shoulders (oh my poor aching back!) we were back in sight of the car in the distance. Surely now the motivation to keep going would be there, with the original goal of the trip now a distinct second place to getting back to the warmth of the car. Until.

"HARE!!" There it was, the legend incarnate. Hunched in the lee of a peat hag, white fur in striking contrast to the black peat, stationary and staring, just like us. We broke first, reaching for cameras, but it was faster out of the blocks and was up and gone. We watched it go and smiled. Mission accomplished. The rest of the journey was irrelevant. We had seen the white hare. Memory banked, positivity restored, foundation for future wildlife adventures reinforced. The magic rabbit had been pulled out of the hat in the nick of time, and saved the day.

Richard

Daddy-Daughter Wild Camp: Summer Solstice Microadventure

"The longest day of the year" - that always sounds dramatic doesn't it. Is it also a little sad? Almost as if the year is saying, "You've got less sunshine from here on, sunshine, make the most of it!" Last year on the longest day I was making the most of it, I think so anyway. I was walking down a river in Wales - read about that adventure here. This year I had originally considered walking Hadrian's Wall around the solstice weekend but had changed those plans to do something I could include the family in - the end result was a plan to go camping with my daughter. Excellent.  

A month or so back Alistair Humphreys (if you haven't heard of Mr Humphreys you should check him out, I find his approach to encouraging people to 'live adventurously' both motivational and realistic) issued a challenge to #goniceplacesdonicethings over the summer solstice weekend; specifically encouraging people who struggle to fit 'adventure' into their life to get outside and do something attainable. Oh, and there were prizes too, you know, added motivation. In any event, any uncertainty there may have been that we would get out that weekend vanished. The fervent and hopeful weather forecast watch began and the specific plans started to materialise.  

The final resolution on location came when my old colleagues up in the Peak District informed me they were having a BBQ that evening and invited me to come along. We would drive up to the Peak District, drop in to the BBQ to see some old friends and then find a secluded, quiet spot for 'little wild guy' to experience her first wild camp*. She wasn't quite ready for the full bivvy bag only experience (which is a shame as the weather would have been perfect for it and I love my bivvy bag!!) so we took my small hiking tent along instead.

Suitably stocked with snacks, sweets and a large thermos flask of hot chocolate we parked Rhino (the family adventure wagon) below Mam Tor and walked up to Hollins Cross before turning right and heading for Lose Hill at the eastern end of the Great Ridge while the sun set on our left over the Kinder Plateau. To be honest, this was a greater distance than I had remembered from previous visits and the littler legs of the party were starting to lag before we reached the spot we were aiming for, but reach it we did. 

We tucked in to a modest supper of crackers, cheese, salami, M&M's and hot chocolate before putting the tent up in what was by then - about 10:15pm - fast falling light. Little wild guy was out like a light seconds after snuggling into her sleeping bag giving me a chance to do a bit of reading - "The Kindess of Strangers": watch this space for a Best Books entry soon - as the light blue darkened to navy and filled with stars, and the warm glow receeded from a significant chunk to a sliver along the north-western horizon. 

After a good nights sleep we did it all again, in reverse. The tent, the meal, the walk, the car - getting home mid morning on another beautiful sunny day filled with plans and chores. Little guy had slept well. "More comfortably than in her own bed" were the words she used. Our wildcamp had been a success then! It certainly was for me anyway - I had slept well too, enjoying the occasional awakening providing opportunities to glance up and out of the tent door (we may not have been in bivvy bags but I left the tent door open as a compromise) and see the stars, then the first hint of dawn, then a pre-sunrise glare girding it's loins behind scattered cloud before eventually full morning and daylight was upon us once again. This may have been the first daddy-daughter wildcamp but it won't be the last. And the littlest wild guy, my son, was extremely jealous of big sisters adventures and is desperate for one of his own ... Oh, alright then, if you insist son...

Richard  

  

Wild Thoughts: Moorland Fire

(Taken from a series of Instagram posts from a few weeks back)

I read a concerning article online last week from the New Scientist magazine about the number of wildfires in the UK so far this year - there have been more already this year, than any other whole year on record.

Last year in my previous job I was working closely to plan and coordinate moorland restoration work on a large estate just outside Stalybridge near Manchester. Just a few weeks after I started my new job and handed that task over, the estate was on fire and all over the news. It burned for ages, threw a cloud of smoke over Manchester, and terrified local residents. But it also turned what was an already degraded moorland - damaged by and still suffering from historic pollution and drainage issues - into an ecological disaster zone.

I haven't been able to go back and visit that site since the fire, but I'm fairly sure it would be heart breaking. To see a piece of land I knew so well so damaged, having invested so much time and effort on, planning it's future restoration and enhancement - arguably destroyed, at least in the short term. To see it now, most likely looking a lot like the picture above would be a hard pill to swallow.

Just a few weeks after the Stalybridge fire, and a few months into my new job at Staffordshire Wildlife Trust a large fire started on the Roaches, a reserve in the Peak District National Park. While not directly involved in the emergency response, the atmosphere of urgency in the office was palpable, and I could hear and see the sadness in the conversations and faces of my new colleagues. They were, like me with Stalybridge only up close and personally rather than from a distance, seeing years of effort and investment wiped out in a matter of days, and a haven turned into a wasteland.

I saw this fire in person, only from a distance, but close enough for the scale and severity of the damage to sink in, or so I thought at the time. I've since seen it several more times from a distance, but it took me until last week to actually visit it up close.

I have seen the recent aftermath of wild fires before. As a boy I walked across the fresh scars of a fire in the Brecon Beacons, fresh enough that the odd wisp of smoke still curled from hot spots. That was probably 15 + years ago but I still remember being speechless at the damage caused.

Fast forward back to now and the Roaches - this time the child in attendance was my own daughter. She too saw the fire burning from a distance and has commented several times since that she is sad about the fire because she loves the Roaches. It has been one of her favourite places for a family adventure for several years. I could tell that even though the smoke has long since stopped at the Roaches, that the damage left behind still made an impression on her.

The decision to go for a walk was last minute. It had been the plan for her to go out for a walk earlier in the day while I was at work, but with other members of the family unwell that hadn't been an option. Instead when I got home from work we made an impulse decision, threw together some waterproofs, jumped in the car and headed initially for Luds Church - the forecast was for heavy rain so we wanted to be somewhere a bit more sheltered.

As we passed the Roaches she decided that, actually, she wanted to stop here. The forecast had massively over-exaggerated the levels of precipitation so we did so. And I'm glad we did. You could tell her 6 year old mind was contemplating what she was seeing; that the damage was genuinely upsetting to her. I think it's a lesson she will carry with her. When she asked how it started and I explained she was cross with the campers. I'm pretty sure she will be more responsible on her future adventures as a result.

Anyway, to bring it full circle, if that New Scientist article is accurate, and we have another hot dry summer this year we could be in for a pretty dire year in our moors and hills. Be careful and sensible out there people - the poor decision making may be the work of just a moment, but fixing the damage certainly isn't!

Richard

Back to the Peaks

At this time of year the alarm which wakes you for sunrise doesn't have to be early. Of course your chances of actually seeing the sunrise are somewhat diminished by the temperamental British weather, but that makes the nice ones all the more special. 

I had taken a day off work and decided that the best way to use my 'adventure day', perhaps ironically, was to go back to my old office; back to the Peak District National Park. I hadn't had a day to myself in the wild for a while and I wanted to make the most of it. To me 'making the most of it' means either out early or out late and with two children waiting for Daddy to come home the preference is always the former. So I set my alarm early enough that I could drive to Edale (which really is where my old office is) and hike up onto Kinder Scout in time to watch the sun rise. 

My plan more or less worked. I was a good way up the southern slopes of Kinder with a few minutes to spare until sunrise when I stopped at a vantage point below Ringing Roger. Overlooking Edale and the Great Ridge it was an ideal spot to watch the sun rise at the mouth of the valley, behind Lose Hill. It was great to be out in the fresh air, watching the world waking up for a short winter day - that never gets old. But my view of the sunrise itself was mediocre, there was just a bit too much cloud. As technically I shouldn't have been able to see it at all I didn't feel to complain too much - the weather forecast had been for thick fog. And anyway, this was just the start of my day.

I often forget how narrow the top of Kinder Scout is at this western point; only a few hundred meters from southern edge to northern lip. Having quickly crossed it, hoping across boggy patches and mini streams, passing the trig point on my way. Reaching the edge I turned west along the northern ridge to reach the head of a stream, Blackden Brook, which would lead my back down again.

A friend had previously remarked about how scenic Blackden Clough was, with its steeply falling stream and many waterfalls and cascades. Ever since that conversation I had been looking for an opportunity to see it for myself. This was my chance and it didn't disappoint, but like many beautiful spots you have to earn the sight. The descent along the stream required hands as well as feet particularly with the rocks slick from over-night rain. 

The tumbling water was clear and strong, the normal peaty darkness of the streams diluted by the freshly fallen. I followed it right down to the valley floor, to the Ashop River. I'd had a relatively crazy plan to make it all the way up to Alport Castles which I quickly realised wasn't going to happen that day - it was an extra 10 km or so, and I while I had been making a reasonable pace, stopping to take photo's and timelapses doesn't cover miles, and I wanted to get back at a reasonable hour to see the family. The long walk would have to wait for another time. 


I turned west and followed the river upstream, until I couldn't without getting wet! The valley slopes transitioned from steep to vertical and I backtracked to get up onto a passable grade. At another time of year, and with some company as a safety back up I'd have happily continued in the river itself, but not in December, flying solo and after a decent rainfall. After a few gentle kilometers, numerous dead sheep and dozens more mini-falls and cascades dropping off the steeply rising land to my left I crossed Fairbrook and started heading back up again. 

The weather up to this point had been changeable, the fog rolling in and out sporadically. As I started up the clough I could see Fairbrook Naze, and then I couldn't - the low cloud obscuring it from view, before breaking and flooding the hillside with sunlight. By the time I reached the top the fog was pretty well set it and remained for the rest of my time up on Kinder that afternoon. 


I crossed the plateau from the top of Fairbrook clough across to Kinder Downfall, a route I had taken before, but I was glad of the reassurance that the Ordnance Survey app on my phone gave me that I heading in the right direction as at times I couldn't see more than about 30 or 40 yards in any direction. I could barely see the downfall when I got there, having followed the Kinder river along its shallow gravelly course for a few hundred yards. The contrast between peat soils and sandy, gravel river bed has always stuck out to me - the Kinder plateau is a funny old place. If you haven't ever visited, I highly recommend it. 


The rest of the trip was really just a return to home. I followed the Pennine way south from the downfall along the edge of the plateau, veering off to pick up the second trig-point of the day and cut off the south-western corner before picking up the path along the southern edge and following past the Woolpacks and Crowden Tower to the head of Grindsbrook Clough. The path down Grindsbrook is a decent and a half, it's one that I have done many times and don't think I'll ever really get tired of it. 

Looking back up at Kinder along the flagstone path which leads you back to Edale and civilization I knew I had used my day off well. 

Richard  

'The Best Books' - Robert McFarlane: The Wild Places

Reading is a luxury I don't get in large quantities these days - work, family, church, part time work (glorified hobbies), photography - they all take their chunk of time. As a kid I used to read loads and when we first got married, before I started University, we both used to read loads together - probably because we couldn't afford to do much else! These days what would have been my typical reading time - the period between going to bed and falling asleep - is often so short that reading the blurb in one go would be a struggle.

Anyway - that slightly off topic waffle goes to explain why it took me nearly two years to finish reading this book, but it was certainly worth persevering!

I'd been aware of Robert Macfarlane as an author for a while but not had an opportunity to read any of his books until a few years ago when I requested a few for a Christmas present (or Birthday... I can't actually remember!). Thereafter I started reading it in fits and spurts as time allowed, which often meant while I was away from home on trips - working in the woods, holidays visiting family and so on - when the normal routines which fill up your day were disrupted enough to free up a bit of time in the day. These are also the times when I am most likely to be able to spare some time for adventure, exploration and time spent out of doors in the peace that the natural world provides, either as a family or occasionally solo. 

And this is the core of the 'The Wild Places' narrative. It is certainly something that resonates with me - an exploration of the last places in the UK which can still be considered as wild, what an adventure! I'm lucky enough to be familiar with a few of the places he visited in the writing of the book. I even read the chapter about coastal wildness - which recounts a visit to Orfordness on the Suffolk coast - the night after a micro-adventure of my own in that area. My in-laws live just a few miles from Shingle Street, the little hamlet where the spit fades away and joins the North Sea. My brother in law had recently acquired a set of inflatable canoes and had been looking for a chance to try them out. Being mid-summer we made the most of the long evening and stole away for a few hours to try the new toys. The sunset canoe expedition which followed is a fond memory which I have written about before and took us up river toward Orford flanked by Orfordness to the East and the salt marsh on our landward side. We stopped briefly on the shingle to enjoy the views before heading back to our start point... a journey made far more difficult by the tide which had turned and was now racing in. We ended up walking back to the car, beaten by the speed of the inbound tide which rendered our inexperienced paddling completely useless as we struggled to not be drawn back inland, let alone making significant forward progress!

Suffolk was among the tamer landscapes and habitats described. Trips to islands, far flung, dune clad coastlines, limestone pavements and the hidden world within there shaded grykes, windswept moorland, barren mountains tops and snow covered bogs with the shadow of ancient woodland are all described in a detail which simultaneously transports you there in person while instilling a burning desire to make a similar pilgrimage to such places yourself . Ever since reading about a night Macfarlane spent on top of Ben Hope near the north coast of Scotland I have been trying to find a reason to justify the 1000 mile round trip to see it for myself. I haven't found a reason yet... but it isn't going anywhere, I'll figure it out someday. 

Of course his trip to the Hope Valley in Derbyshire to look for mountain hares is something I can recreate far more simply - given that my office is in the valley next door! That's not to belittle the experience, I still love to see the white hares bounding away, particularly when there is snow on the ground. So far this year I have been tied up with office work and haven't been up on the hills yet to see them in their winter coats. Luckily there is certainly good opportunity for me to do so in the new year and I'll be sure the make the most of it! It is easy to forgot - working there everyday - that to so many people in the UK coming to the Peak District is a way to escape the daily grind of work, whereas for me, it is work. 

The picture at the top of the page was taken while on a short trip of my own - I was on route to watch a rugby game in Cardiff with my family. Having spent many of my formative childhood years in Wales I made the most of the opportunity by travelling down through Wales revisiting old haunts. In the evening I travelled to the end of the Gower Peninsula on the south coast of Wales to watch the sun go down over Worms Head. It wasn't long after I had acquired my new camera and I attempted to capture the scene with a time lapse... it wasn't the greatest success (you can watch it here if you really want!), but it gave me an hour on a wild coastline to sit in beautiful surroundings and read about Macfarlane making a trip to a comparable coastline a few hundred miles north, only he was approaching from the sea.

I won't go on - discussions of this nature get my mind racing through the long list of places I'd like to visit. And while patience is certainly a virtue it's not one I'm blessed with in abundance. There is a real risk I will lay awake at night dreaming of the Cairngorms, or the Outer Hebrides, or the wild rivers of mid-wales where I swam as a child, or the rugged coastline of Devon where I camped as a teenager... you see what I mean!? Much like 'The Wild Places', my list of dream destinations are largely in the UK. We are blessed with such a diverse island, or series of islands, that international travel isn't necessary if you goal is to visit wild places. If you're struggling for ideas then reading 'The Wild Places' will certainly give you food for thought, in fact it will be a feast! 

Follow Robert Macfarlane on:

Twitter:       @RobGMacfarlane
Instagram:   @robgmacfarlane

Alternatively have a look at all of his books here at his Amazon author profile.

Working in Conservation: Moors for the Future Partnership - My Day Job

I have often mentioned 'work' and posted images I've taken while out working or on my way to work or some variation on those themes. I've been asked by several people what on earth it is that I do for work! So I wanted to answer that question in some detail. I'd also like to use this to kick start an ongoing series on working in conservation in the UK. 

In later posts I'll talk about my work at The Riddy Wood Project and give my perspective on the good, the bad and the ugly (and the beautiful) of working in the conservation sector in one way or another over the last 7 or so years (wow, it has been that long!). I have no doubt there will be other posts to come after that too.

------------------- 

Since June 2016 I've been working for the Moors for the Future Partnership full time as a Conservation Works Officer. You could say it is my first proper job in the conservation sector as prior to that I had only done part time, seasonal or voluntary jobs. Moors for the Future are a partnership organisation headed up by the Peak District National Park Authority but also including the National Trust, the RSPB and several water companies. As the name suggests the focus of the partnership is protecting moorlands (in the Peak District and South Pennines) for future generations.

Edale Valley, Derbyshire
Not quite the view from my office, but my
office is in this valley, just out of frame (left) 

There is plenty of information on the Moors for the Future website (linked above) but to give a quick run down: the peatlands of the South Pennines are (or were at any rate) some of the most degraded anywhere in the world as a result of years of atmospheric pollution, drainage and wildfire. This came about largely as a result of the industrial centres surrounding the moors and the air pollution that resulted from those industries, but also from short sighted agricultural policies and unsympathetic management practices. This damage resulted in large scale loss of critical plant species from the moors and eventually led to complete vegetation loss over large areas and the associated erosion of the peat soils. This causes problems down stream as well as up on the moors as the peat soil washed off the hills, silted up reservoirs and increased the cost of water treatment among other things.

In about 2003, what was to become Moors for the Future (MFF) started work to address these issues. Fast forward 13 years through several rounds of funding from various sources and of various sizes and we get to 2016 when I joined the team. The year before a new funding stream had been secured, a second EU LIFE funded project called MoorLIFE2020. At the time it was the largest grant from the LIFE programme for a environmental conservation project in the UK - €12 million. The increase in work resulting from this new funding stream required extra capacity and I was in the right place at the right time - often the way jobs in conservation come about - and got one of the two roles being offered.

On this occasion the 'right place' happened to be working with a conservation works contractor - Aitch Conservation - building a footpath across Brown Knoll, an exposed ridge to the south-west of Kinder Scout in the Peak District. The 'right time' was the winter and early spring and it didn't always feel like the 'right time' to be working up there to be honest! The footpath project was being run by MFF and during my time working on the path I got to know a few of the staff a little who tipped me off to the upcoming recruitment and suggested I may want to apply. I did and here I am.

But what do I actually do? I work in the CaLM team (Countryside and Land Management - there is a certain irony in the acronym I have to say!) which is responsible for the physical 'on the ground' conservation and restoration work such as bare peat re-vegetation, gully blocking and sphagnum reintroduction. (There are also Science and Communication teams within MFF which do pretty much what they say on the tin.) We work as a project management company when it comes to our works delivery and as such we don't actually do any of the works ourselves, rather we contract it out to specialist contractors. 

I am one of a team of 6 Conservation Works Officers (CWO's) although we are soon to be expanding that number. Our day to day job includes land owner engagement, site surveys, writing work proposals, tendering for conservation work contracts and supervising contractors. Throw in the odd bit of preparing funding bids, working with Natural England as moorland restoration experts and occasionally assisting other teams with public presentations and you have a fairly comprehensive idea of what I do. 

Moving heather brash for a bare peat re-vegetation
contract in the Peak District National Park. 

Oh, and helicopters - nearly forgot. Understandably that catches a lot of peoples attention. As so much of the work we coordinate takes place miles from any sort of road, and often requires transporting tonnes of material (literally - often hundreds, and in some rare cases even thousands of tonnes) the only way to get those materials to the site is by helicopter - and yes, I do occasionally get to have a ride! Yes, it is cool. No, the novelty hasn't worn off yet. One of the better perks of the job for sure!  

So I do spend a fair bit of time outdoors 'in the line of duty', certainly more than most office dwelling folks. And because of the nature of the work, when I am out doors, it's normally in some pretty scenic places. Predominantly at the minute in the northern half of the Peak District National Park, but also further north into the South Pennines on occasion and for some recent projects short spells into the South West Peak too. But it certainly isn't always in good weather. In fact between April and August, so certainly the best 2 or 3 months of the three, we're not really allowed up on the hills at all on account of that being the breeding season of the ground nesting birds which breed in the uplands. This and other time restrictions means that the majority of our conservation works contracts run over the autumn and winter months, which is always when we spend the largest proportion of our time out and about. BUT - I subscribe to the philosophy that even a bad day out of doors is better than a good one stuck inside, so I can live with that.

It's not all helicopters and hill walking of course - writing contracts and managing budgets doesn't exactly get my heart racing and that type of task makes up a pretty big chunk of my day to day work. And while the scenery of my commute through the UK's original National Park takes some beating, at least on the days when you can see it through the fog and low cloud (as hopefully my photo's regularly illustrate - take a look at my hash tag #aconservationistscommute on Instagram) nothing makes the 70 mile a day round trip commute any shorter.

So that's what I do for work - is it a perfect job? Not for me perhaps, because I tend towards being a hands on kind of person. In an ideal world I'd prefer to get my own hands dirty and do at least some of the work myself. Is it a good job? Definitely. Because the changes which are made through the work we do (or coordinate and facilitate) make real, noticeable and measureable differences to the habitats we are working on, and by doing so, provide significant benefits to local communities.

Next time I'll fill you in on my work on The Riddy Wood Project which is how I get my needed fix of hands on conservation work and hard, outdoors manual labour!

Richard

  

Let's stop here, Daddy

** We try to  set aside one day a month for us as parents to spend one-on-one time with 
our children - having only two children at present the numbers work out neatly! **

The plans had been made, the kit gathered, snacks selected, 'Rhino the adventure wagon' locked and loaded and we were half way to Kinder Scout in the Peak District National Park. A familiar route for me, as it is also my daily commute. This was to be Megan's first 'big hill' experience because she has been asking recently to climb a big mountain, and specifically 'the 4000 foot mountain' (Ben Nevis). I had informed her she would need to do some training for that, and thus the plan had been born to climb the highest hill in the Peak District.

However, as we were passing Ramshaw Rocks, just east of the Roaches and barely visible off the A53 in the swirling mist Megan piped up - She recognised this place. This was where we had been with Uncle Rob and Aunty Serena. She liked it here. Could we stop here instead please?

So we did - it saved us almost 40 miles of driving off our round trip after all. We continued round to Roach End at the far west of the ridge. Having always walked it from the east before that day I thought even a slight change of scenery would be welcome, not that you'd ever get bored of the Roaches I suspect!

The weather was ... sub-optimal. The cloud was down, the wind up and the rain persistent enough that we were getting wet from the get-go, but Megan lapped it up. She loved clambering over the various rocky tors and outcrops, peering down over the edges to see what was below.
(Luckily, on this occasion, she was also very good at following instructions, because some were high enough to be extremely unforgiving of slips and trips near the edge!)

She wasted no time negotiating when the sweets were going to make an appearance, and spent a large chunk of our time out that day clutching a slowly dwindling bag of midget gems - I managed to persuade her that the chocolate would suffer as a result of similar treatment so that stayed in the bag!


To anyone who has been to the Roaches no explanation is necessary of how impressive they are; to those who haven't, my inadequate vocabulary isn't going to do it justice, so I've thrown a few pictures in.

It is a spectacular grit stone ridge, with frequent rock outcrops along what is in reality more cliff edge than ridge for most of it's length. I thoroughly recommend a visit at some point, whether as a keen walker, casual observer or more daring rock climber it holds something worth experiencing for everyone.

Peregrine Falcons have nested there regularly in recent years, and Staffordshire Wildlife Trust, who manage the site, set up a Peregrine Watch station near Hen's Cloud (at the eastern end of the ridge) to give visitors views of these awesome birds of prey.

Megan loves it there - the combination of rocks and slopes, stunted trees and huge views to the south over the Staffordshire moorlands are stunning - when the cloud base allows - and we will certainly keep coming back. Another definite area to take a look at is Lud's Church to the west. But we've been there recently for a family trip so I'll save that for another time.

Eventually the cloud lifted giving us those aforementioned views South, down towards Tittesworth Reservoir and beyond. With the lifting cloud the wind eased and the rain stopped which made out return trip along the ridge back to Rhino more enjoyable.

Most importantly, Megan had a great time and we got to spend some time together out and about - she also started her Ben Nevis training, although I think we have a little way to go just yet. We are planning to go up to the Isle of Skye next year, which would be a prime opportunity to stop of at Fort William on the way past, but... we will have to see.

Richard

The Dale of the Dove - or, For the Love of Maps.

Just like any loving parent, I want the best for my children. I want my children to learn to love maps. 

I love maps, I always have. There is nothing quite like unfolding a map, laying it out on the floor and then stretching out alongside it to take it all in. Automatically I begin to trace the rivers, follow the ridges, pin point the high spots and link them all together into hypothetical routes, continually re-drawn to include particularly appealing features not originally noticed. It's wonderful - lean too close and you might just fall in!

Dove Dale is a perfect example of a landscape which immediately catches the eye of any diligent student of cartography - the sinuous river, the formidably steep valley sides, the ribbon of woodland clinging on for dear life in an otherwise open, pastoral landscape. Potentially last, though certainly not least you notice the names! While the title 'Dove Dale' itself paints a relatively harmless picture, throw in 'Ravens Tor', 'Hurt's Wood', 'Reynard's Cave', 'Tissington Spires', 'Jacobs Ladder', 'Twelve Apostles', 'Lovers Leap' and 'Thorpe Cloud' and you have beginning, middle and end to a cartographical fantasy trilogy without ever leaving the living room floor. And that's before you consider the list of caves, weirs and natural arches long enough to keep Enid Blyton's Famous Five busy for their entire summer holidays.

I didn't need to keep my children occupied for an entire holiday - we were aiming for just a single morning. The scramble up to the caves, and indeed the majority of the path along the valley itself was out of the scope of the littlest legs of the family (just 1 year old) but these trips are about planting the seeds of adventure and exploring. So fully expecting to never make it past the stepping stones (perhaps less than 1km from our start point!) we left the almost entirely deserted car park in scruffy clothes to enjoy a couple of hours of family fun in stunning, natural-world beauty, without the crowds. It was a dull grey day, and only just turned 9am but it wasn't just the weather, or the (relatively) early hour which allowed us to beat the crowds. My daughters school was closed for the day so we were there on a week day in term time - a rare and perfect opportunity to see Dove Dale as God intended and it's name implies ... peaceful!

And so it proved to be - we only had each other for company on the path out along the river - that is unless you count the ducks, grey wagtails and almost unbelievably confident crows which stole the meagre portions of bread the little ones had brought along for the ducks. We, that is my wife and I, have been to Dove Dale before, and we've wanted to bring the children for a while because we loved it. But knowing just how busy it gets, we wanted to save it for a day when we could make it special and we could all enjoy it as much as possible, preferably with as few other people as possible. And obviously to enjoy any river valley fully, you need to get wet. Why wouldn't you? Hence the scruffy clothes.

Pretty much since the first day our youngest started walking we gave up hope of keeping him out of the water on family outings and instead embraced (and sometimes even encouraged) his fearless love for going the extra watery mile, even if it means the return miles are soggy. He was true to form making straight for the river and the puddles, splashing in the surprisingly bracing currents (given that it was early June) and loving every minute of it. The smile never left his face... until our little girl (3 1/2 years his senior) started scaling the scree slopes up the valley sides. This was beyond his still slightly wobbly ability and at that point he lost the smile and started to get cross, thinking that he was missing the fun! This is not a child who will need any encouragement to explore when he gets a bit steadier on his feet.

We arrived at the stepping stones without major incident and spent a few happy minutes hopping from stone to stone and trying to make sure our he didn't get out of his depth while following the ducks into the river. I even got to take a few pictures while the rest of the family were tucking into our modest picnic rations! The rain had started by this point, but we were already wet, and it wasn't too cold so we weren't going to let that stop us. But then the school groups started arriving and the relative peace we had enjoyed was at risk of being disturbed. So we called it a day and headed for home, wet, dirty and happy - exactly as it should be. 

A few days ago we had the map back out - the seeds are growing!

Richard