“Write a blog” we were told, sorry, advised. I was born in….no that’s a biog, which is different; my fellow interns have reminded me. Apparently, it’s to give people a flavour of what it’s like to be in Wales’s first residential volunteer internship.
We are two men and two women (‘boys and girls’ is stretching it, especially in my case): at present me and Mary are at Lake Vyrnwy, and after six months we swap for a similar stint at Ynys-hir. Mary has studied meteorology, and in her learned opinion, the gods of weather have been kind, with no rain to speak of before Easter.
As the migrants appear, however, so does the snow. Early April is lambing time, and down at the RSPB farm the beasts are having a hard time, with a nasty blizzard coming from the north. Quick thinking by the farm hands, and the open barn sides are blocked by trailers, massive straw bails, anything to protect the newborns and fractious mothers. We assist on odd days when we can, and with seven layers of clothing restricting mobility somewhat, we waddle up and down the central aisle, erecting pens, spreading straw, and every so often bringing new life into the world. The ‘lads’* will work for five weeks without a break, so we don’t complain about our small contribution (*Carole has come from France to work nights, so it’s not all male dominated).
It didn’t start off like this – our first two weeks were a whirlwind of quad bike, 4x4, health and safety and upland training, followed by a trip to Wales HQ . After a rolling series of meetings (hot powerpointing?) with the great and the good, the weight of expectation gradually dawned on us. Suitably inspired, we headed back to our reserves, to make critical infrastructure enhancements, cleaning signs and painting railings.
All new recruits to whatever workplace must endure an initiation ceremony, so I should have been suspicious when asked to climb to a goosander box overlooking a stream. Knock on the side as usual, nothing, followed by a face to face confrontation, and the Vyrnwy flying squirrel glided past my head, sploshed into the stream below before making a rapid exit. Cue sniggers from my so-called ‘colleagues. Set up? You decide. Any road up, nest box duties dominated for a fortnight, at furious pace to refurbish before avian residence. In more reflective moments, we debated what size of freshly painted number would deter a fatigued flycatcher, or a recalcitrant redstart.
Which brings us up to date, or ‘survey season’ as we call it. We’ve had trial runs, hearing bubbling black grouse in the mist at dawn, viewing hen harrier and merlin in the unseasonal midday heat, unexpected osprey sightings on the lake, and a first for me, great grey shrike on conifered sentry duty. These uplands truly are a magical place, probably more precious just because of that extra effort needed to experience them.