Survey season is upon us, and your intrepid interns are using senses that they didn’t know existed. Working overtime, as someone sang. Walking across deep heather, looking up for raptors, down for nests, across for hidden ravines, and close to for GPS co-ordinates. Here, everything with a sharp beak is counted. It starts with a long drive up a mountain track, then a long trek across the ‘heath/bog’, followed by a long wait with scope, coffee and the strange ‘heather bottom’ phenomenon (how does it get down there?). In ‘changeable’ weather, where fellow intern Mary sports a ‘first for the reserve’ nine layers, hailstone is ridiculed, after days of horrible drizzle and mist – “is that the best you can do?”
But then in the distance, a grey speck grows larger, advances up the valley towards us, wings flapping awkwardly as if on bungee cords, and those senses kick in. One eye on this male hen harrier, one on a female who flies up for a food pass, and another on the nondescript patch of heather that we may pinpoint as the nest site. Yes, three eyes, but sometimes there are two of us, which certainly helps. On another occasion, the male chases after the much larger red kite, with a call almost as high as a dog whistle. The kite proceeds lazily, and the scene is like some surreal mid-air refuelling gone badly wrong. As the kite disappears, the harrier returns to the nest zone, chest puffed out a little, no doubt. Job done. In a similar vein, in a similar valley, another mismatch ensues as one of our merlin males chases a curlew out of its territory. This time though, the big wader is despatched at breakneck speed, as you don’t mess with these tenacious fellas. Merlin are magic.
April was black grouse survey time, as we drafted anyone with good hearing and caffeine in their veins to help with our dawn transects. Anywhere else there would be suspicions about night-time rendezvous of camouflaged teams with 4x4’s, radios and telescopic sights in remote rural areas, but residents of Vyrnwy are blasé, or at least do not call the security services. Any more. The three o’clock starts take some getting used to, but sometimes we survey off site and ‘do a hobbit’ – that third breakfast at nine o’clock in a caff in Bala - tremendous. Apart from the very very last survey, I was pretty useless at black grouse surveys but I did catch a few ring ouzels. On the ring ouzel surveys, I didn’t find ring ouzels. I didn’t find curlew on the latest survey, but had seven hen harrier sightings. And on the official hen harrier surveys…well, you can guess….
So, I hear you say, if the working day finishes at eleven o’clock, what do I do with all this leisure time? Well, at the mo there is no television, radio reception is ‘intermittent’, I gave up on mobile phone reception some time ago and if I head into the office for internet, intern-specific tasks miraculously appear. Well, there is Training. Child-aware stuff, Wet Grassland Management stuff, RSPB Experience stuff. All worthwhile, and at Sandy I finally met Jane and Kate who have changed my life with res vol holidays for the past dozen years, which set me on the current ‘crazy paved’ career path.
There is also People Engagement. Helping with the odd guided walk on the reserve, where my tactic of answering difficult questions with “it’s a juvenile” or “it’s a hybrid” has stood me in good stead. Then there are RSPB Talks. Bromborough local group got my Bird of Prey spiel. Huddersfield group heard the spin on the Albatross debate. ‘Difficult questions’ were served, and returned with the usual topspin volley. Oh, and did I forget Education. Survey time clashed with Open University end-of-module assessment time, hereafter termed ‘Blind Panic Time’, and as the results are not yet out, we should swiftly move on.
There hasn’t been much time to talk about the cows in the churchyard, rescuing stranded horses on the Migneint, or my close communion with a kestrel. No time for details of our avian lodgers Mr. Buzz, Mr. Phezz, and Mr. Pidge (have you guessed what they are yet?). Those will have to wait; time for a power nap.