Wet and Windy

 Wet and Windy: that’s what the weather soothsayers predicted for the weekend, and by golly, they were right, about the wet at least. The wind had exhausted itself earlier, so in the spirit of being thankful for small mercies we can be grateful for that at least. Nonetheless, 14 common-sensibly challenged martyrs arrived in pouring rain to do the Team Leaders’ bidding, having frequently checked their phones hoping for the message calling the session off. That old chestnut about there being no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothing, had a certain relevance today, but mostly it looked like a chance to sport headgear that in any other circumstances would expose them to ridicule (and did here too, as it happens).

The advertised tasks inviting us to attend today were to trim back the scrub encroaching on the boardwalk, and to clear the section beside the spur of the boardwalk leading to Bradfield Road. Here’s how the pre-cut crew had left that bit on Friday.

In the event, such were the conditions that we only dealt with the latter task, so at least the snowdrops can look forward to an un-cluttered emergence in the Spring. Cutting back soaking wet scrub felt possibly hazardous, as well as trying the patience of the assembled company, whose sense of being virtuous might wear a trifle thin, so that job was quite correctly left for next time.

What was there awaiting our attention looked to be quite a lot…

… but with a couple over a dozen of us loading two drag sheets (matching some people’s outfits, you’ll note), it was soon gone.

You can’t clear cut vegetation without creating a pile nearby: John here is a modelling a fetching outfit in varying shades of yellow, atop today’s pile.

Such was the intensity of our efforts (getting us over-warm beneath our waterproofs) that we had finished after a mere 30 minutes or so. Standing around in the rain to imbibe the usual beverages lacked appeal, so we adjourned to the storage container instead, where a pop-up refreshment stop was set up. This week there was no Nina, and therefore no apple cake, which as can be seen was a further blow to our already dampened spirits.

Despite that, some hardy souls preferred the al fresco experience: the trolley, resplendent in its new wheels, had no choice, there being no room at the container.

Never mind, it’s all good as Grizzly is back (and it had cut beautifully) and it’s already getting ready for Christmas!

Here’s how that little patch looks following our soggy efforts.

Here’s Team Leader Margaret’s message of thanks:

Hello all

Well what can I say, now that the sun is shining and you have all dried out? The leaders were just amazed that 14 of you braved the heavy rain to clear the Bradfield spur. Your dedication to the Common and your community is awe inspiring, either that or you are all as mad as a box of frogs. Despite the rain, the work was quickly and cheerfully accomplished. So thank you and we look forward to the omens of spring, the snowdrops.

Hopefully in two weeks’ time the sun will shine on us as we cut back the scrub that is encroaching on the boardwalk.

Thank you

Margaret for the team leaders.

 

A trip to Cley Marshes – the NWT reserve that our warden George also looks after to magnificent effect – last Wednesday was eventful, not so much for the birds, but the wind. Coming straight from the Arctic, it hit me with great force. Opening the door of the first hide I visited was a particular shock: the door itself had every intention of leaving its hinges and decamping to the Coast Road, en route to somewhere calmer. Those central hides face north, so peering out of them tends to be a chilly experience at this time of year. Usually, the reward is hordes of great birds to watch, but this time all I could see were a few windblown ducks, intermittently panicked by patrolling marsh harriers. A different hide gave a different view, this time including some 70 brent geese, so that was nice. Feeling the need to stimulate my circulation in a Captain Oates sort of way, I decided to walk back towards Salthouse and then down the famous East Bank, which heads directly to Cley Beach. Strangely, almost no other people had opted for that excursion, and wisely so. Holding onto the peak of your cap whilst trying to focus binoculars is an example of the sort of multi-tasking that men famously cannot do. Only by turning my back to the wind could I see anything – but what I did see was a crowd, a host even, obviously not of golden daffodils, but wigeon, my second favourite duck. (Pintail, since you ask.)

Moving from A to B

 On a stunningly beautiful morning, 21 volunteers assembled on Warren Road, in order to clear material cut on Area B a couple of months previously. This small step across the boardwalk, but a giant leap according to the normal schedule, was needed because reeds encroaching onto the top end of that section were cut at the same time as the year’s main target for this part of the Common was also mown – and clearing that has taken up the last three working parties.

At first glance the task seemed daunting: there was clearly a lot of stuff to move, and it had absorbed a lot of moisture during the time it had been lying there. Would one session be enough?

The only thing was to knuckle down and scoop some of it onto the drag sheets. Just look at that blue sky!

And drag sheets was the appropriate term, for we had nowhere suitable to attach the winch, so all the sheets were going to need to be dragged by hand, in the old-fashioned way. Therefore, it was important not to overload them. An innocent question about whether the piles were small enough generated a certain amount of unnecessary ribaldry, in much the same way as it does almost every time.

Perhaps it was because we were working in a relatively small area, or perhaps it was because there were a lot more of us than for any other session of this season, but the sheets seemed to be constantly on the move, and traffic jams sometimes happened.

Of course, once you have dragged them to the dumping point, you have to turn them over in order to empty them. It can be an amusing time.

On this occasion erstwhile winchman Noel was at his accustomed post, sans winch, but with pitchfork. He tried to declare he was there for forking, but it’s not easy to enunciate clearly in the midst of physical exertion. In addition to that activity, he it was who greeted each sheet and directed it to the most suitable spot. He was therefore the forking greeter, and inevitably he did it well. All this amused those of us with juvenile mentalities.

Tipping out can be where unsteadiness catches out the unwary, and it again never fails to cause amusement.

Team Leader Margaret was the sufferer this time. We hope she doesn’t find it embarrassing; it could have been so much worse Margaret!

As we’ve seen before, our techniques are constantly evolving, so I am proud today to announce of the ‘Westlake Variant’ for hauling a loaded sheet. In this exciting development, in addition to the two pullers hauling on the ropes attached to the sheet’s front corners, with this variant a third puller is between the other two, pulling the ropes attached to the rear of the sheet. Simple, but effective (the method, as well as its inventor.)

Some of the vegetation had evaded the mower, so Team Leader Kevin set to work with a “slasher”.

Here he stands, posing proudly with the trusty tool. He was proud to declare he had caused absolutely no injuries.

Seeing Brian chasing after a sheet with a loaded pitchfork put me in mind of the famous cover of the Led Zeppelin IV album. Here we tried to re-create it.

Were we successful? You decide.

Do you have trouble remembering the names of people you have only recently met? When I started volunteering on the Common way back in the Jurassic period it seemed that every other man was called John – so guessing one had that name was always worth a punt. But times change and fashions move on, so that now it’s Andrew, and today we had a full set, with three Andrews in attendance. (A fourth of that name lives somewhere near Windsor, and we unsurprisingly we didn’t see him.)

Despite our early misgivings, by 11.00 the job was done – in time for us to join together to observe the two-minute silence. I think that short period of calm reflection was appreciated by us all, and it was made all the better by the accompaniment of a sweetly singing robin.

Then it was time for a cuppa, and of course some of Nina’s now famous apple cake.

After this the party broke up, and we left the Warren Road end of Area B looking like this. 

Here is Team Leader Julie’s message of thanks:

Hello all

I hope you are all enjoying the autumn sunshine and warmth.  21 volunteers enjoyed it this morning on the common. We were clearing the last of the cut reed on the Fen area by Warren Road.  As there was no tree to fix the winch to, the sheets were pulled by hand and it was a conveyor belt of sheets skating over the ground to be emptied. Everyone was in great spirits and the work was completed in record time today. So thank you all for your hard work.

Thanks also to you all for the two minutes of silence at 11am. It was beautiful in the sunshine with the birdsong - a perfect space to remember and reflect.

We shall return in two weeks, cutting the area on Bradfield Road in preparation for the snowdrops and clearing back scrub along the boardwalk to ensure it remains accessible over the winter months and into the spring.

Take care

Julie for the TLs.

 

Caused no doubt by the unusually mild weather and a southerly air flow, the usual autumn influx of migrant birds has not yet happened – at least so far as I have seen. There are now a few redwings about (Gilbert White noted that they “begin to appear at last” on 10^th November 1776), and blackbird numbers appear to be increasing, having been worryingly low lately. Occasional skeins of geese pass noisily overhead, while flocks of gulls are following the busy ploughs and beet lifting machines. Rev. White also noted at this time in 1770 that “Lime-trees leaves fall all at once”. Gilbert, I hear you: our neighbour’s Limes have shed their leaves too, and under them can be found our little garden by the intrepid delver into leaf drifts. By 1773 he was noting flooding from rains that had lasted for ten weeks, and the next year he declared 11^th November to be the first day of winter, with snow on the ground.