You are struggling up a hill. It’s dark, it’s cold, it’s wet (well not really right now, but bear with me). There are huge felled trees to struggle over, which until you actually experience it is hard to describe. Imagine walking along slippy tubes with huge, bendy, sticks coming out of them which spring back and hit you in the face. One wrong step and your foot drops about three feet into the abyss. You are exhausted but you need to make it to your destination before sunrise. The quiet is not deathly, more anticipatory. But it is absolute. You reach a path through the woods for a short amount of time. It may be steep and rocky, but it is bliss. There is the tiniest glimmer of light through the trees, and as you reach it you realize the sun is very close to rising.
Spider's web, Dundreggan
Emerging from the forest, it is already a lot brighter than you expected – ‘always darkest before the dawn.’ The sky is streaky, grey and cloudy, but with a sort of blueish yellow hue that looks like a giant has painted the sky, shining a light behind it. And in the north, deep blue sky. It’s still windy, and you can hear a flapping noise behind you as you climb onto the open hill. The light gets brighter and brighter – the amazing hills in the distance peaked in snow become visible, but this is just the beginning. You turn around – and there it is. A cuckoo that has flown all the way from Africa(!) is sitting on the fence. It’s huge and it looks like a peregrine falcon at first glance. The sound it emits ensures you won’t mistake it though, one of the sounds of Spring. The air is so fresh, it takes your breath away. The heathers and grasses are covered in tiny diamonds of rain on every single tip. You hear one of the most fantastic sounds in the world (even more amazing than a cuckoo) and you stop to get your bearings. A bubbling cooing is coming from over a ridge, like a small burn flowing over rocks, with an occasional hissing sound like an angry cat noise emitted by a crow. You can’t be seen so in an epic game of hide and seek you walk around the ridge and find a good rock or clump of heather to stay behind.
Early morning, Corrimony
There are eight male grouse on the lek, dancing in slow motion. They look like chunky black feathery blobs with pure white at the back, and they look ridiculous. Two pairs are facing off, heads with bright red wattles low to the ground and moving forward and back, an invisible line drawn between them, like fencers in a duel. Three are walking around in circles, looking like clockwork toys on speed. One is off on his own frantically dancing for no-one in particular, jumping madly and hissing. The clouds and wind have gone. Suddenly, the sunlight is a million times brighter than you ever thought it could be. It is actually alive golden, moving, seeping along the sides of the ridges as the sun rises in the east. It gives life to the ground, making it turn from brown to red, gold and green and it is AMAZING.
These black grouse surveys are the unexpected highlight of my apprenticeship, which is coming to an end on Friday. I am an avowed night owl, and despite my granddad telling me dawn is the best part of the day, I never really believed it. But he’s right. It is. Get out there! You will never be the same again!
My wishing tree, Corrimony
I’ve wrangled bees, had close encounters with red throated divers, chopped down trees, been eaten alive by midges, wood ants, an angry shrew and an irritated goose and spent hours looking down a microscope at flies. I couldn’t list the amount of amazing insects, flowers, birds and mammals I’ve seen, the spectacular places I’ve been. I’ve also met some fab people at events, volunteering on Corrimony, at BTCV and in the wider conservation sector in Scotland. In would be impossible to thank everyone (cliché alert) so thank you in particular to Simon for putting up with me for 16 months, and for all the handy tips about reserve management, spiders, birds and countless other things, including ‘man stuff’ like tools. Thanks for being patient and a great person to be around.
Thanks of course go to BTCV and John in particular. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone big up their staff as much as John does! Thank you for an amazing opportunity that I couldn’t have got anywhere else – I really think this apprenticeship thing could catch on!
Thanks to RSPB staff in North Scotland for making me so welcome (and helping with funding and training), Craig McAdam at Buglife for his knowledge and support, Richard Lyzkowski at NMS for his knowledge and enthusiasm for insects (which is infectious) and Alan Watson Featherstone and Steve Morris at Trees for Life for letting me come and look for craneflies (and all their crazy volunteers/folkalizers coming to help us plant trees!)
Finally, I’d like to thank the other apprentices new and old that I have met and/or made merry with. The fact that all the past ones I have worked closely with now have a role with their placement organizations is testament to their ‘fabness.’ To those of you finishing your apprenticeships soon/recently finished – the best of luck and thanks for all you’ve taught me – ‘capable of world domination’ for sure!
It’s astonishing to meet such a passionate, dedicated, knowledgeable group of people, without exception they are inspiring and I know that Scottish wildlife is in safe hands. I have a couple of months’ grace to continue working as a warden on Corrimony, which I’m really looking forward to, then who knows – the world is my Pteria.
I have skills that I will hopefully put to good use in the future, and memories I will treasure for the rest of my life. Adieu, but not goodbye, Corrimony.
Gwen Potter, Upland Invertebrates Apprentice