Balancing act

The brilliant sunshine of the last few days of the year have been a welcome bonus to the flocks of wimter migrants, the fieldfares and redwings. The wet pasture is a smogasbord of wriggly delicacies to augment the few haws and berries left by the flailing hedgers. Why do the farmers choose the winter months to obliterate the food supplies of so many birds? I suppose they can't do it in spring because of nesting and, in the summer, it is just too much work, too much foliage. There can never be a right time to cut hedges but trimmed hedges are better than none at all.

It's all about the balance between us and our needs and those of the other inhabitants of our planet, the ones that don't have a voice. Difficult to maintain the balance but the responsibility is ours.

As a supporter of the reintroduction of the beaver to Scotland, I am pleased that the five year trial in Knapdale has been judged a success. Far from creating havoc as the doom-mongers predicted, the beavers have improved the natural environment as well as attracting tourists and their money to the area.

http://www.scottishbeavers.org.uk/

The next proposal is the introduction of the lynx, ostensibly to reduce roe deer numbers.

Which would you chase?

 Our own Scottish tiger, the wild cat, is highly endangered, no longer by persecution but by hybridisation with feral cats. Once widespread – there are cat-cleughs and cat-hills and cat-holes all over the country – these famously untameable, even if captive reared, predators are reduced to less than a hundred pure bred specimens.

 http://www.scottishwildcats.co.uk/

It is all about balance. Do we really need to continue to support subsidised borderline sheep farming when there is no demand for the wool and no profitability in the meat or should we re-balance the land use by “wilding” the rural landscape in favour of eco-tourism, forestry, and responsible access to the remote wild places that help us reconnect with the landscape?

Local fishermen are turning to providing transport for sea anglers and sub-aqua divers as the fish that sustained their forebearers are no longer there to be caught.

Communities can find other sources of revenue. It's all about adaptability.

Bison bred in captivity in Scotland are helping to bring genetic diversity to the herds of Romania, reintroduced there after extinction in the wild in the 1920's and there are calls for the wolf to be brought back to control deer numbers in the Highlands. 

http://www.scotsman.com/news/environment/scottish-bison-to-be-reintroduced-to-wild-1-3391190 

http://www.scotsman.com/news/environment/bring-back-wolves-to-highlands-john-muir-trust-1-3415318 

Now that is controversial. The wolf given the choice between chasing something that can run like Usain Bolt and is armed with a vicious kick and multibladed headgear and a fat wooly creature is likely to pick the latter. Keeping the wolves in the place they are meant to be will be problematic.

A difficult balance to achieve but it can be done.

While wandering about on the moors, I had an old map that showed some of the features and names missing from the latest editions. Crossing the Endless Knowes and passing the Boundary Stone, the names making me feel like I was in a passage from Tolkien, I came upon an ordinary little valley distinguished by the name of Wolf Cleuch.

Wolf Cleuch

The Boundary Stone

The last wolf was killed in Scotland in the 18^th century in Morayshire, how many years, how many centuries has it been since there were wolves at Wolf Cleuch?

Our land is too small with too many people on it for there to be any truly wild places. The wilding  would have to be managed. It would always be a sort of wildlife park. Wolves and lynx, bison and bears and even the wild cat are always going to be maintained in an artificial environment. We cannot go back to the 11^th century.

 If there is to be a move towards the reintroduction of predator species in this crowded island,it would be well to remember the Fool's words in King Lear

"He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf”

Still... it is an exciting prospect.

The rising of the sun

The solstice is past. The shortest day has come and gone and we are moving towards the long days of summer. They are far off but at least we are going in the right direction. 

The hellerboris niger, the Christmas rose, is in flower, just in time for Christmas.    Usually, it is weeks early or late but this year it is bang on cue. 

What evolutionary advantage does it give a plant to flower in winter? Far fewer insects about to act as pollinators but then no competition from other flowering species. Hmm? 

Unlike the hellebore, the winter sunrise did not appear ... well, at least, not in this airt.    Early morning found me up on the cliff tops scanning the eastern horizon.   Alas, cloudy skies resulted in a non-event. 

Sunrise

Unlike last year's spectacular burst of light (Blog 22/121/2013), this year was more like an Abstract Expressionist painting, a Rothko in blues and greys. Blocks of seeming emptiness with just a line of light between. I'm sure the shamans would have understood the meaning of it. 

Which is the Abstract Art?

Back in the village, the flashing electric blue and diamond white of the Christmas lights were stridently defying the winter gloom.We make our own sunshine now.

Signs of the times

Our last sat-nav had a lisp..” in thix hundred yards turn left”... “at the next roundabout, take the thecond exthit”. Obviously, it was a glitch somewhere in the circuitry but rather endearing nonetheless. It gave her, for it was a female voice, a personality.

 Our new one has perfect diction and a somewhat school-teacher demeanour, possibly one dealing with a less than able pupil. “In one mile, bear right” followed by a higher pitched, slightly desperate   “ Bear Right!” as if expecting the obtuse driver to have forgotten the original command.

 The voice of the sat-nav like that of the primary teacher of yesteryear, rules our every move.

Maps and signposts are no longer consulted with care. Mileage signs after every junction scarcely merit a passing glance.

We are now so dependent on our on-board electronic guides that these old friends have been forgotten. 

I remember, as a student on the long drive back, enjoying seeing the digits dropping from three to two then counting them down ... 90+ 80+ 70+... as the miles passed and, though my tank emptied, my destination neared. Now, the sat-nav tells me not only how far it is to go but how long, given my current speed, it will take.

They are still there, those old friends, the fingerposts and milestones. Some rusty old RAC signs erected before the standardisation of the 1950's can still be found. 

Milestones now are more used by paediatricians than motorists but in the days of the horse and cart or Shanks's pony they must have lifted the spirits of weary travellers as yet another one was passed en route to a destination.

Going back to Roman roads...”mile” comes from milia passuum, literally, one thousand paces... the Romans erected a stone at each distance, the heirs of these markers can  still be seen in the verges along our minor roads. 

They can be delightfully quirky.

If you were travelling to Kingshouse, you're there!

 Some give the distances down to quarter miles presumably from times when villages and towns had an immutable edge to and from which distances could be measured. An important distinction in the days of Sunday drinking laws when only bona fide travellers i.e. those who had journeyed more than four miles but “not solely for the purpose of drinking” were entitled to alcoholic refreshment. 

The latter restriction was almost impossible to prove

This accounts for the preponderance of Four Mile Inns around Scottish towns and, certainly, it was a valuable source of revenue for country pubs and hotels if not the ideal way of promoting road safety. Those partaking had to sign a ledger confirming their bona fide status.

There is another group of obsolete markers scattered about the countryside. The triangulation points or trig points beloved of hillwalkers. Once used for geodetic surveys, they are no longer needed in these days of satellite navigation but are still collected by ramblers who find Munro bagging too demanding. Many have been adopted and are maintained by local walking groups.

Perhaps local milestones and signposts deserve the same, pointing us, as they do, not just down the road, but back into history.

 O' a' the airts      A finger in every direction