So I’m Autistic

A little background from the professionals.

Diagnosis

I can well understand why some people might be surprised if I told them I’m autistic. To be honest it came as a surprise to me too. 

I first started to suspect I was autistic around three years ago. My journey to diagnosis started when a friend came to me to tell me she suspected she was autistic.

I was surprised, as she didn’t fit into my understanding of what autism is. I already knew several people with Autism Spectrum Disorder, so I felt I had a good understanding of how individuals affected by the condition might present. However, I knew she wouldn’t have reached this conclusion without a great deal of thought and research.

It turned out that autism often presents very differently in women to men, particularly those with higher IQs. Though they may be experiencing many of the same issues and constraints as their male equivalents they are simply able to hide them better. This is known as masking.

Masking techniques are unconscious methods for hiding autistic traits in order to better fit in with non-autistic people. For example, a common autistic trait is a dislike of making eye contact. This may be very obvious in autistic men, but autistic women may learn to stare at the gap between someone’s eyes, so as to appear to be making eye contact. 

My friend now knows she’s autistic, having sought professional help and advice. Yet, even as I better understood what autism in women looks like, it still took over a year from her first bringing the topic to me to suspect the same might be true of me.  

During this year I’d been passing on any articles or videos that popped up on social media to do with autism in women. To ensure they were worth her time I would give them a read or a listen. I don’t know when I started to think, ‘This sounds like me’, but at some point it started to seem like the obvious conclusion.

(Just a quick note. Below I talk about therapy, and I went back and forth alot about whether to include this, but decided it’s important to normalise talking about therapy as much as possible. It’s not a big deal; have a cough, see a GP, have a bad knee, see a physio, have some mental niggles, see a therapist.)

At the same time as this was happening I’d been to visit a therapist. My reason for this was because I’ve always had a strong sense of guilt connected to very insignificant occurrences in my life. This could be something as simple as forgetting to buy someone a birthday present when I was 16, or accidentally mistaking someone for a shop assistant.  

Alongside this overactive sense of guilt I’d begun to suspect I wasn’t a very nice person. This was a conclusion I’d reached from a lifetime of accumulated failed social interactions. I struggled to make connections with new people, who often seemed to find me odd or difficult. I also found that people often became angry at me unexpectedly, like I’d done something wrong, and I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. I was also aware I’d never been very good at maintaining friendships, and felt I had a very small number of friends compared to other people.

With all this available data (obsession with data and facts is of course a well-known autistic trait) I became very concerned that the logical conclusion could only be that I was an unpleasant person to be around. One of those horrible people that doesn’t realise they’re horrible (this might sounds like an odd conclusion, but reading up on autism diagnosis in older women it’s actually a surprisingly common belief among autistic women). So I went to therapy, because I thought it might help me answer this concern. 

However, therapy (the two sessions that I attended) didn’t help as such. Now I know I’m autistic I understand why. At the time I felt the therapist really didn’t understand why I would react in certain ways. I felt she was at a loss as to why I’d reached my conclusions, or why what I wanted to discuss mattered. Still one thing she said seemed to chime with me. Taking on board everything I’d told her she pronounced ‘you’re an extremely logic-driven person aren’t you?’ I don’t know why but this suddenly made me think that perhaps she couldn’t help me because she wasn’t used to people like me, people on the autism spectrum.  

Having spent almost half a year thinking and reading up further on autism I decided to pursue this line of reasoning. Feeling slightly stupid, and that I was probably wasting everyone’s time, I wrote an email to my doctor stating I thought I might be autistic and could I talk to someone about it. To my surprise he sent me back an online questionnaire. I filled out the questions as honestly as I could and the results came back as a 95% chance that I was autistic. This was when I started to treat my suspicions seriously.

Yet, this is also where I hit a stumbling block. The questionnaire I filled out was not a diagnosis, and I wanted certainty. Not only did I want to be sure for myself, but I’d heard again and again how autistic women had been dismissed by people because of their ability to mask. I felt an official diagnosis was the only way anyone would believe me. The NHS doesn’t provide adult diagnosis (the video above claims it does, but I’ve never met an adult autistic person who was able to access this help). Yet when I looked into paying for a diagnosis it turned out it would cost between £1,000 and £2,000. 

So I contacted an autism charity. Luckily, though they didn’t offer diagnosis themselves, they were able to recommend another charity who did. Before contacting this charity they suggested I first see their autism specialist therapist.  

I wouldn’t say I found this therapy session any more helpful than the last, it seemed a little like a box-ticking exercise. Yet this woman seemed to understand a little better why I reacted in certain ways. At the end of the session she told me she certainly recognised autistic traits in me, something which again made me feel I was on the right road. 

Finally, I contacted the people who would eventually give me my diagnosis. The first step was to fill out a long and detailed questionnaire answering questions such as how I found being around groups of people, whether I experienced light sensitivity etc. 

This questionnaire was placed before a committee who agreed that I should come for a diagnosis. I can understand why people give up before they get to the end of this process, it’s a long and difficult road and there was a lull, a period of two years, where nothing much happened. As with many such services they’re overstretched and underfunded. Of course I would have liked a diagnosis sooner, but I was simply glad I’d found someone willing to do it for free. 

Finally, I got the phone call to say I was at the top of the waiting list. I was then sent another set of online questionnaires, with multiple-choice and written-answer questions. I think I filled in around five in the end. A time was then booked for my interview. 

As well as having to be interviewed myself, someone who has known me since I was a child also had to be interviewed, in this case my mum. This step is needed because adults can develop autistic traits due to physical or mental trauma. In order to be sure the autism is inbuilt, so to speak, those traits need to be seen in you from a child.  

A common image of an autistic child is arrange building blocks in a overly neat and organised manner for their age. As with many autistic stereotypes this is more of a male autistic trait.

The interview was a strange experience. I’d expected similar questions to those in the questionnaires I’d filled out, but many were quite different from before. Alongside the questions came a series of tasks. I was asked to bring five small objects with me, and then told to make up a story using them. Next I had to talk through how someone would brush their teeth, and finally I was given a picture book without words where I had to tell the story. 

It did feel a little like the tests I’d carried out as a child when they’d thought I had dyslexia (I was given help for dyslexia for about a year, and then everyone went away and stopped taking me to special classes. I’m not sure if that means I was cured, misdiagnosed, or abandoned…). Mostly I felt like a bit of an idiot. 

With every hoop jumped through, I finally got my diagnosis. I am autistic. It’s a strange thing to go through this long protracted process, as I’d been pretty convinced of this fact several years ago. But had wanted the certainty of a diagnosis. If they’d said I wasn’t autistic I’m not sure what I’d have done with myself, I’d have felt a little lost. So it was a relief, but not a surprise.

So I’m writing this blog just in case it can help anyone else with the process. Getting diagnosed is a personal choice, not everyone with autism feels they need a diagnosis, but for many it can answer a lifetime of questions.

Why get diagnosed?

Even looking at this picture makes me feel stressed and uncomfortable.

One of the questions the autism therapist asked me was, “why did I want to be diagnosed?”. I found this a bizarre question at the time, but I now know it’s a common one. I thought hard about how to explain it and here is the metaphor I’ve come up with. 

Imagine you spend your whole life feeling you must be slightly slow or stupid because other people constantly seem to be aware of things you aren’t. They point out hazards in the road, birds in the sky, and yet you always seem to miss them, and often can’t even see them when they’re pointed out. Then one day you’re describing your experience to someone and they say, ‘Do you maybe need glasses?’ If this could be the answer to why you’re always unaware of the things around you, why would you not go to an optician?

This falls down, of course, because you can’t get glasses for autism. However, what you can get is coping techniques. Something I realised half-way through my self-diagnosis was that I’d been implementing coping-techniques all my life. I avoid busy places. I give myself recovery time after socialising. I plan my life to a degree that irritates most people around me. There are hundreds of ways I have adapted without realising it. As such I already have a good pair of glasses most of the time, but the difference a diagnosis makes for me is that I can explain why I need these things. I’m not being difficult, they are simply necessary to allow me to be able to cope with the everyday. 

I can now see that my autism is the root of my intense guilt. Now I understand myself, I understand my brain is not neurotypical and therefore sometimes trips over social-niceties that it isn’t programmed to understand. I’m not able to read social cues as well as other people, meaning sometimes I get in trouble without knowing why. People often don’t connect with me because my brain talks a different language to theirs, making it hard for us to relate to each other. It’s no one’s fault, but now I know why, I feel more accepting of these things, more able to let them go.   

How autism affects me

Autism is a spectrum and it presents very differently in different people. As the saying goes, “Once you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism.” I am lucky that I’ve been able to build a life around my autism, with good friendships, a relationship and a job. For some autistic people this isn’t possible. I don’t want to take anything away from the struggle of other autistic people by explaining how it affects me, but I think it is useful for myself and others to understand how it can present.

Masking 

It’s worth me mentioning masking again because it’s the biggest hurdle any autistic woman has to being recognised as autistic. According to my report I am very good at masking. This is both a good and a bad thing. It’s made it easier for me to fit into a neurotypical society, but it’s prevented me from getting help earlier. It also gets me into trouble as people assume I’m just being awkward. I would describe my masking like my fluency in German. I am very fluent in German, enough that Germans often think I’m a German too. However, I do make mistakes. Because of my fluency people don’t give me the leeway they would to a foreigner,  who they know will get things wrong. Rather than a foreigner trying their best, I’m just a weird German. The same is true of my masking. 

Social situations

The most obvious aspect of my autism is the intense stress I feel in social situations. This could be meeting a new person, attending a wedding, or even entering a crowded supermarket. At their least extent these situations make me feel a constant low level of stress. At their worst, I can’t cope, and have to leave.

I largely only attend large gatherings I feel I cannot avoid. Personally I prefer meeting people one on one, ideally somewhere quiet with no other people. Even better, we’ll be doing an activity, rather than simply talking, such as walking, swimming, painting pots, something to ease the pressure of talking.  

Social interactions are also immensely tiring for me and I often plan in ‘recovery time’ if I know I will have to socialise for a prolonged period. In general, I would say an hour of intense socialising time is what I can manage before my reserves start to deplete.

The way I’ve come to think of it is, everyone is together out at sea. However, besides me everyone else is on a raft, while I’m treading water. We’re both able to stay in the same place, but the amount of energy expended by me is much higher. 

Physical contact

I dislike all physical contact from people outside my closest friends, my immediate family, and my partner. One of the things that indicated to the assessors that I had autism as a child was that my mum said I had to be taught how to cuddle.  

Hugs, handshakes, even people accidently brushing by me in a public place are stressful and uncomfortable for me. My boyfriend hates that I often leave things without saying goodbye. Part of this is down to the tendency for people to hug and kiss when they meet or leave. I simply can’t avoid contact from a relative stranger at the start of an event but, if I’m lucky, I can avoid one at the end. 

Dislike of eye contact

I have always avoided eye contact. I believe that I have learnt to give eye contact, but I still avoid it if I can. When I was younger I never understood why anyone would want to have eye contact, it seemed an aggressive and unpleasant thing to do. 

Facial language

I’m often asked if I’m angry or worried at times when I feel calm, emotionless, or even happy. I think many of the interactions I’ve experienced where people have become angry with me without me understanding why, are because my facial expression or tone made them believe I was being rude or disrespectful. In most of these situations I’m unaware of how I’m coming across. I simply think I’m being passionate, engaged or curious.  

Bluntness

As with my ‘angry face’ I often feel I’ve been very politically correct only to have people complain of my bluntness. I generally feel I spend my life walking on eggshells, trying incredibly hard not to cause offense. This gap between my feelings and other people’s interpretation of me is probably because I want to be more blunt than I present, so I feel I’ve toned it right down (a masking technique). However, what remains is still too blunt for those who don’t expect it of me. 

Sensitivity and overstimulation

Sensitivity to certain stimuli is common in autistic people. For me loud noises, bright lights, certain fabrics, certain foods and metals, can all cause discomfort. I don’t wear makeup, jewellery or tight clothes because these can make me feel uncomfortable. Parties with flashing lights and loud music feel like sitting inside a headache. 

Something I struggle with a lot is overstimulation. Because of my autistic mind I’m able to take in more visual information in one go than many other people. This means that too much at once is almost painful. An everyday example would be flicking through Netflix, which hurts my eyes. I often cover one eye to compensate. Similar is true if I’m walking through a town center where there are many things going on at once. It’s for this reason I prefer quiet places, such as the countryside. 

Unplanned changes

My life is very well planned. Yet many people in my life aren’t planners. This has led to me being unable to cope with a new item being added into the diary at short notice. It doesn’t matter if the change of plans is a chore or something I’d enjoy. In general, I require a minimum of two weeks’ notice for a change in schedule, or ideally at least a month. For a long time I couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see how stressful these changes are, now I know neurotypical people tend not to get stressed out by a last minute invitation to go out for a meal. 

Emotions

As with many autistic people I have the double whammy of often having very strong emotional responses (the idea that autistic people don’t feel things is false, they just don’t know how to communicate their feelings), usually out of proportion to the issue, and difficulty talking about them. This is one of the reasons I really enjoy writing. There is a controlled order to writing down your thoughts and feelings, whereas conversations are often unpredictable and hard to control.

One topic kind of girl

A common autistic stereotype is the guy who is obsessed with trains. For women their obsessions are often bands, TV show, animals or art. Personally, I like nature and the environment. And unfortunately I don’t have as great an interest in anything else. This is a topic which fully absorbs me while I find most others pretty boring and struggle to engage with them. The good thing is nature and the environment covers quite a lot of things. However, it means I struggle to pay attention to many common cultural topics such as TV shows and sports. I remember being at a pub during university and someone asking me why I wasn’t joining in with the conversations. I said the subject doesn’t interest me. They looked shocked and said, ‘so if you don’t find the subject interesting you just don’t join in?’ It seemed completely logical to me. 

Give and take

Something that was highlighted in my autism report was that I didn’t pick up on cues when the interviewer left openings for me to ask about their life. Now this has been pointed out to me I can completely see it. I am interested in other people’s lives but I struggle to open up the topic if the other person doesn’t bring it into the conversation. I often feel like it’s a train rushing passed me, and I just don’t know how to jump on. 

ADHD

ADHD is a common companion of autism. Personally I see it as a positive trait. My ADHD drives me constantly to explore and build. Sitting still just isn’t an option. The only downside is I also struggle with concentration.

What does this all mean?

Luckily many of my closest friends are autistic or have ADHD. This isn’t unusual, as neurodivergent people often find each other easier to understand. That doesn’t mean that an autistic person and non-autistic person can’t be friends, it just means that there may be more similarities in how two autistic people may think, making friendship that little bit more likely. Many of my friends require the same things as I do. They prefer to schedule things months in advance, meet somewhere quiet, and leave fairly early to enjoy being alone again. 

When it comes to interactions with people for whom this isn’t the desired outcome I’d simply say you don’t have to worry about it. I know what I need, and will probably avoid hugs and eye contact, talk about a newly discovered tree shrew, and leave early. If you’re still happy to have me there with all that in mind then great. But perhaps give me some notice before any invite, and remember I’m never really as angry or confrontational as I come across. 

It’s just my face. 

Post script

If you think you might be an autistic woman I highly recommend the book below. I found it very eye-opening and useful.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25519486-women-and-girls-with-autism-spectrum-disorder

I also found the below book very helping in understand how I’m affected by ADHD.

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/60446171-adhd-2-0

There are many famous people on the spectrum, including Susan Boyle, Anthony Hopkins, and even historical figures like Jane Austen are believed to have been autistic. But my favourites are the autistic comedians.

Visiting Lithuania and Latvia

Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania form the eastern shoreline of the Baltic sea, from North to South. These three countries together are roughly the same size as the UK, but only have a combined population of around 6 million (versus the UK’s 68 million).

Due to their small populations, and because of the perseverance of more traditional methods of farming, the three nations are often held up as examples of how much of the rest of Europe once was, including an abundance of wildlife.

Visiting Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, for a wedding, we decided to explore Lithuania and Latvia, though sadly without the time to include Estonia.

Vilnius itself is a beautiful city, full of interesting architecture, largely in the baroque style, full of very clean angular lines painted in white and pastels. The winding streets of the old town lead through open squares, playgrounds and green spaces, to impressive churches, government buildings and a wide array of shops, restaurants and bars. Amber is a popular material for sale, as the Amber coast lies along the Baltic sea. Here this valuable stone washes up with certain tides and can easily be collected by hand.

Through the city winds the wide Neris river, along which there are foot and cycle paths. Close to the river, on its own grassy hill is an old fortification, now a museum, and popular tourist attraction. Further out from the centre is the KGB museum, once their headquarters, which chronicles the lithuanian resistance to Russia rule, and the crimes of the KGB and later the Nazi’s, towards the lithuanian people.

Outside the old town Vilinius is surprisingly new and shiny, most likely the result of Lithuania’s GDP doubling in the last few decades. A range of architecturally interesting, metal and glass designs make up the skyline. Overall the city is vibrant and interesting, and feels incredibly safe. Certainly old scars of past poverty still exist, with some crumbling buildings and boarded up windows, but mostly it is a city well-established in its identity and long thriving.

Leaving Vilinus can at first feel a little of a let down. Outside the city much of the centre of Lithuania appears given over to industry and farming. Vast industrial estates demonstrate how much of the country earns a living, but are neither attractive nor particularly interesting.

Within the agricultural landscape there are still many smaller farms, with tiny soviet-era tractors careful maintaining traditional hay meadows, or ploughing over last year’s stubble a few rows at a time. Yet, more industrial farming is starting to make its dent, with huge fields manned by the latest machinery, slowly ridding the countryside of its wildlife friendly-farming. On the one hand this is progress, on the other hand it is the same trade off all countries have at some point made; higher productivity but less nature. It feels inevitable that the richness of Lithuania’s farmland will disappear in time, but also hard to understand why we cannot find a better way.

In this central Lithuania, forests seem largely patchy, with some larger areas dotted between. Traditional Lithuanian wooden houses are common but many look run down, perhaps abandoned as more of the younger generation move abroad or to the city. Currently Lithuania’s population is declining, both through an aging population and immigration.

Unlike the UK however there are plenty of unmanaged areas, where perhaps the ground is consider too wet or stony to farm. Here rough grassland and scrub dominate, ideal for all manner of wildlife.

It’s this, plus the traditional farms, that help storks to thrive. Special metal platforms are commonly installed on houses, telephone posts and on specifically designed structures, to allow these large birds to build their impressive nests. Across the landscape we spotted storks stood in fields, following tractors, up on roofs, and flying overhead, with flocks sometimes numbering in the dozens.

Yet while there is certainly beauty to be found here, the more picturesque Lithuania is on the edges of the country, by the coast and the areas bordering Belarus and Kalingrad.

The Baltic coast is wonderfully scenic, with white sandy beaches, dunes and pine forests, dominating all. Despite its name the Baltic makes a pleasant swimming spot on warm calm days.

The most notable feature is the Curonian spit, a long sand spit that runs along much of the Lithuanian coast, and into Kalingrad, where it is connected to the mainland. A short ferry ride gets you across to the spit on the Lithuanian end. Behind the spit sits a large lagoon, three times the size of lake Baikal in Russia, and surrounded by marshes and wetland. It’s well known for the sea eagles that like to hunt here, along with other coastal and wetland bird species. The spit itself is made of sand, with endless beaches backing onto dunes and pine woodlands. Historically the woodlands had once been removed, but without the trees to hold them back the dunes started wandering, swallowing 14 villages before the replanting of the trees saved further disaster. Several small settlements exist along the spit, with pretty wooden houses, sometimes painted in bright colours, and with plenty of wooden carvings dotted around. Cycling is a popular tourist activity, and cheaper than driving, as there is a toll booth charging 30 euros to drive a car onto the spit. A popular attraction are the grey dunes, massive towering hills of sand, which look down onto the surrounding landscape, feeling like at any moment they should tumble down. Overall the spit is something like a beach resort, except all the beaches are fairly quiet and there’s hardly anyone around to spoil the solitude.

Heading east we visited the Aukstaitija National Park. The first of five national parks to be designated in Lithuania, you could say it’s the apitomy of what Lithuania is all about; lakes, forests and meadows. There are a number of other national parks, regional parks, and undesignated areas, that seem very similar, however, Aukstaitija consistently seems to be rated the most beautiful and worth visiting. With over 120 lakes, surrounded by gentle forested hills, and beautifully kept, traditional Lithuania houses, it’s not surprising it’s popular. What is surprising is how quiet much of it is.

While swimming, fishing, canoeing and rowing are all popular activities, you can easily visit large and beautiful lakes on a weekend in the summer holidays and find nobody there but the dragonflies and the fish. Canoing is one of the best ways to experience this wilderness, with crystal clear rivers leading between large lily-filled lakes, the surrounding forests offering landing spots and opportunities to step out for a swim. Clear views from above are hard to come by, with most lakes being naturally obscured by the trees. As most of it is Scots pine, however, there isn’t a dense understorey, meaning glimpses of the water are often and satisfying.

Such wild places are home to a wide range of wildlife, from elk to beavers to cranes, though naturally nature doesn’t always put on a show when demanded.

Latvia is a similar size to Lithuania, however, it has kept much more of its native forests, though most are managed in some way for timber extraction. Driving through Latvia, which has no motorways, often means spending hours and hours driving passed rows of pines, with occasional farmsteds and villages to break up the trees. Many of these woodlands are home to large mammals which were long since lost from many other European countries, such as wolves, bears and lynx. Mostly encountering one of these large carnivores would be an exception, as they are secretive and avoid humans as much as they can.

A dung beetle ready to roll some moose poo.

Like Lithuania the Amber coast, with its white and golden sands, sometimes with tall sandy cliffs behind, extends along Latvia, to the gulf of Riga, where Cape Kolka forms of sandy point that was once used by the Russian military. Behind Cape Kolka the Slitere national park is composed of ancient forests, which sit largely on old dunes systems, once marking the coastline but today well away from the sea. In some places lakes have formed between these dunes, later becoming bogs. Boardwalks let you explore some of these bogs, with their floating sphagnum carpets, cranberries and carnivorous sundews, while others have no obvious tourists routes and can only be explored by those confident in these kinds of wild habitats.

Further south, near Riga, is the Kemeri National Park, itself a huge lowland raised bog. A 4km boardwalk, and observation tower, lets you explore this area, with its green and red carpet of sphagnum and dark bog pools, formed by the 10m deep peat slowly cracking under it’s own pressure.

Wonderful wildlife lives in these bogs, from bears to cranes to wood sandpipers. Turn your eyes South however and many of Lithuania’s bogs have been cleared and drained, in order for peat to be extracted for the horticultural market, including use in the gardens of British households. While your tomatoes may be growing well in your peat-based compost, remember all the wonderful plants and animals that no longer have a home because of the use of this incredible material. And with peat only growing at 1mm a year, large-scale abstraction can simply never be slow enough to be sustainable.

Much of the rest of Latvia seems to follow the theme of this western area, largely wooded with small farms and villages dotted between. The two other national parks are surrounding a large lake and in an area of sandstone bedrock where caves and castles seem to abound.

The people of these two countries are for the most part very friendly, though a stoic outward appearance and a cultural norm not to greet or smile at strangers, can at first make it appear otherwise. The Lithuanian and Latvian languages are not particularly similar, meaning a whole new set of vocab needs to be acquired when crossing the border. Lithuanian is thought to be one of the oldest Indoeuropean languages in the world.

A perfusion of accents makes it a little scary to learn, though some common phrases can quickly be picked up. Many younger people have perfect English, and Russian can often be heard spoken. Outside the cities finding placed to eat can be difficult, with mostly fast food options along the lines of pizza, barbeque and burgers available. Sadly Lithuanian and Latvian food rarely seems to be on the menu, though it consists of a hearty amount of potatoes, pork and mushrooms.

Lithuania is certainly changing, as more money pours into the country, while Latvia seems more comfortable in its traditional ways. Currently there’s certainly a wealth of wildlife here, and some beautiful places to go to see, but it will be interesting to see what the coming decades will bring. The big question is, will these countries be able to offer their inhabitants everything they need and desire, and still keep hold of what makes them so special? How long with those wild and untouched places, and the creatures that live there, be safe from the fast approaching future?

Snorkling Norfolk’s Chalk Reef

I’ve come late to snorkelling, and I’d still say I’m not the most confident when heading out into unknown areas. However, despite my lack of experience I find sticking my head under the surface and watching the underwater world incredibly fascinating. It is amazing how seemingly dead and lifeless waters, even close to shore, is full of life. Just as we carry binoculars to get to know the creatures of our skies, we can don a snorkel mask to get to know the creatures below the waves.

Since starting snorkelling I’ve used my mask and flippers to explore the coasts of Anglesey, Scotland and Croatia. Yet, somewhere I never would have thought to have a go on the Norfolk coast.

The Norfolk Chalk Reef

Having attended a University in Norfolk I felt I had explored most of the counties natural wonders, from the coast to the broads to the various heathlands and woodlands. While I’ve always loved the coast and would be happy to swim on many of the beaches, the vast stretches of sand, or flinty pebbles, didn’t encourage me to think there was much to see below the surface.

It was only when my boyfriend found a reference to the Sherringham snorkel trail that it became apparent there was something particularly special to see.

The chalk reef stretches for 20 miles along the Norfolk coast. Though we tend to think of corals when we hear the word reef, it actually just refers to a raised structure that protrudes from the seafloor, in this case, an exposed area of chalk bedrock.

This chalk was laid down at the same time as the dinosaurs roamed the Earth, and is part of the same bed that forms the white cliffs of Dover.

Across the world chalk shorelines are fairly rare, meaning they create an unusual habitat that supports rare and interesting species.

Amazingly people weren’t particularly aware of the value of the reef until recently. Now it is protected as an MPA, a Marine Protected Area.

To encourage people to explore the reef a snorkel trail has been created at Sherringham, along an old pipeline. It is marked out so snorkelers can safely travel out to the reef and back.

Snorkelling the Reef

Our intention was to snorkelling the trail at Sherringham, and we set out to where the map showed us it was. Unfortunately, we never managed to locate the start of the trail, so instead dropped our belongings amongst the large boulders that serve as protection from coastal erosion, and headed into the sea where we found ourselves.

Snorkelling in the North Sea can be tricky, as it often isn’t calm enough for a pleasant experience. We were lucky, finding a clear and sunny September day when the sea was as calm and flat as a pond. Taking advice from experienced chalk reef divers we headed out at low tide when more of the reef was exposed.

Walking into the water in our wetsuits, with flippers and masks dangling from our hands, we padded over smooth golden sands, before stepping onto the exposed chalk, worn and pitted by the ocean.

Dropping down we floated in the shallow waters fumbling with our kit before flipping over and gently propelling ourselves out of the cloud of sediment we’d disturbed.

The water was amazingly clear, and below, the pale chalk made the overall landscape appear more like something you’d expect to see in the Bahamas than off the English coast.

What most surprised me was the profusion of red. Everywhere red seaweeds clung delicately to the chalk, waving in the current. I was used to the Welsh and Scottish coasts where tough-looking dark green wracks form dense curtains or bright green sea lettuce clings to the surface of the rocks. Of course, I had seen red seaweed before, but never in such an attractive density.

Crabs were everywhere as we swam gently over the reef. There were plenty of the usual shore crabs and edible crabs, but more unusual for me were the large red-eyed velvet swimming crabs, looking like demons of the deep ready to attack. Their flattened legs, perfect to help them swim, were covered in attractive black lines, like some kind of tattoo.

The area is famous for its lobsters but sadly these did not appear on our trip. Instead, we were graced with the oddly shaped squat lobster, looking like a lobster someone forgot to finish. Hermit crabs scuttled across the reef with their stolen shell homes, pulling themselves into their shells and staying still if I paid them too much attention.

One of my favourite lifeforms were the dahlia anemones, their many tentacles strikingly striped in bright reds. I’d seen plenty of the much smaller red beadlet anemones elsewhere, but these are a much larger species.

Other new species for me were the bright green sponges that encrusted some of the rocks. I’d been lucky enough to be shown a breadcrumb sponge before, which is orange in colour, but I’d never seen this species before.

Fish inhabited the reef, as well as all their other underwater companions. Thin translucent shoals of sand eels caught the light as they swam ahead of us. Large striped sea bass and their small offspring wandered calmly between the rocks. Fatheaded blendies clung to the rocks with their large fins, their mottled colours helping them to camouflage.

One of my favourite fish, technically isn’t a fish, the long thin pipefish, a relative of the seahorse. And just as the cold had driven into my bones and I was slowly winding my way back through shallower and shallower water, till I barely had space to swim, I spotted a flatfish, well disguised and laying still in the sand, not far from where people were letting their dog’s chase the rising and falling waves. Realising I had spotted it the fish took off, leaving behind a plume of sand.

Hidden world

There is something magical about stepping into the underwater world. For most of the creatures you meet you are so unrecognizable that they pay you no heed, allowing you to observe a completely different way of life without intruding. Once the sea has retreated little remains to tell us of this mysterious world, as receding from us with the tide.

Watching the Salmon Leap

A World of Salmon

We have all grown up watching American documentaries, where large, red-bellied salmon, make awe-inspiring leaps up raging waterfalls while grizzly bears attempt to grab them from the water. While we may not have the grizzly bears to enjoy, the great thing is that we can enjoy the amazing sight of these huge fish desperately flinging themselves upstream right here in the UK.

Photo by Brandon on Unsplash

Globally, there are six species of salmon, though a number of other species bear the name ‘salmon’ without being true relatives. The six species can be divided into the broad categories of Pacific salmon and Atlantic salmon, simply meaning those that spend part of their lives in the Pacific Ocean and Atlantic Oceans, respectively. While there are five species of Pacific salmon, who spend their lives in various river systems along the American and Asian Pacific coastlines, there is only one Atlantic salmon.

The Atlantic salmon breeds in rivers along the west coasts of Europe and the Eastern coast of North America. In Europe, the range extends from Portugal all the way to the most Western edges of Russia, while Iceland and Greenland have a share of salmon to the west. In America, the range runs from Connecticut in the South up to Arctic Canada. While all these salmon are the same species, it has been found the majority of them are true to their spawning ground, travelling long distances to return to the rivers they once came from.

The Life of an Atlantic Salmon

The life of all salmon starts in the freshwater, usually within the upper reaches of a river, where the water pools and a clean well oxygenated gravel bed exists. Here, the female will dig a small nest, known as a redd. Within the redd she lays her pea-sized orange eggs, the large male beside her quickly releasing his sperm (known as milt) to fertilize the eggs.

Photo by James Francis on Unsplash

After fertilisation, the exhausted adults abandon the eggs to grow up alone. It’s estimated 95% of the adults die before they can return to the sea, their missions accomplished. The small percentage that do make it back can feed up and return to spawn another year, but most don’t get the chance.

For the eggs, their gravel bed is very much home, protecting and hiding them from predators, and preventing them from being washed downstream. Having been laid in Autumn, they hatch in Spring, becoming small transparent fish known as alevins. These alevins remain within the gravel and feed on an attached yolk sac that provides them with all the nutrients they need.

In time these tiny fish use up their yolk and grow into fry, small 5-8 cm fish that feed on smaller plant and insect matter as they continue to grow. After a year they transform once again, becoming parr, larger fish with camouflaged markings to protect them from predators. They remain parr for up to five years, feeding within the river system they were born in.

A process called ‘smolting’ finally transforms them into sea going fish. During their final spring in the river, they undergo a number of internal and external changes, growing silvery in colour and developing the ability to regulate the salt in their bodies. The smolts, only around 24 cm in length at maximum, turn towards the sea and head out to their feeding grounds in the Atlantic Ocean.

Photo by Silas Baisch on Unsplash

Where they head once they are out in the ocean depends slightly on where they originate from, but the waters around the Faroe Islands and the strait between Greenland and Canada are well known for the migrating salmon to head to.

Once in the ocean their aim is to feed, grow and become stronger, building up to the challenging task ahead.

Salmon leap

This is where we as humans are most likely to encounter and enjoy salmon (aside of course on the end of a line or laid out on a plate). While some salmon may return to their rivers after a year, having fattened up by feasting on krill, crustaceans and other sea creatures, most will make the journey in around four years. To become adults, ready to breed, they undergo a further transformation.

For the females, they become swollen with eggs and have become a wonderfully dark blue colour. The males change even more dramatically, developing a large hooked jaw, and a kind of hunchback. Their sides become tinted with reds, making them appear like warriors heading into battle.

Together the males and females head up stream, aiming to reach the same pristine gravel beds, where their young can grow up safely. The effort of this journey is enormous, not just because they are swimming against the current, but because many obstacles stand in their way, from fallen trees to waterfalls.

Photo by Luca Bravo on Unsplash

It is at these waterfalls where we get the dramatic image of the large, muscular salmon flinging themselves up into the air, trying to fly over the white and tumulus waters below. It was to see this iconic image that I headed out to a well known salmon jumping spot in the autumn. Catching the salmon run is in many ways down to chance. Depending on the number of salmon travelling up the river, the chance to spot them jumping can be over in as little as forty-eight hours. While rough dates can be approximated, the exact time the act will occur is very hard to predict.

I have been down to the same spot outside my village many times in the last few years, looking to spot the salmon leaping through the air, yet I’ve always missed them. This year my luck changed, with the helpful tip of someone else who had been looking out for the spectacle.

I must say, as I stood at the edge of the river, watching the water rush over an old mill weir, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I imagined that whatever a British salmon run looked like, it wouldn’t be as dramatic as those I had witnesses on nature documentaries, set in the wildernesses of Canada. Yet, as the first metre long, rose-tinted male, threw himself out of the water and landed heavily in the rapids, descending back into the pool below, I realised I was wrong.

I had arrived towards the end of the run, but I still witnessed around half a dozen large males fling themselves over the rapids, smaller fish making the same leap in between. Despite my pre-existing knowledge of the salmon in our rivers, I was still surprised at the size of the fish I saw that day, true giants in my local watercourse. For a spot just a few minutes away from a road, a pub, and several villages, it made the area feel somewhat wilder and more majestic.

The Trouble with Salmon

In England, only 2% of our salmon populations are not considered at risk, while in Wales none fall under this category. While river health has slowly been improving over the last few decades, as environmental regulation has strengthened, only 14% of English rivers are considered to be in good condition. Currently, pollutants such as run off of sediment and nutrients from farmland, pollutants and litter from roads, sewage from storm overflows and disconnected septic tanks, and illegal discharges of chemicals from manufacturing, all play their part in making rivers unsuitable for fish spawning.

Excess nutrient can lead to algal blooms, which result in lower oxygen levels within the water. Sediments can bury gravel beds, making them unsuitable for egg laying. Beyond pollutants, other more literal obstacles exist. While salmon are able to make it up a certain height of waterfall, humans have placed barriers in their way that are too steep to climb, or funnel the water too fast for the salmon to swim against the stream. This cuts off large areas of spawning habitat. Beyond the simple height of the barrier, the sheer number can be an obstacle, every barrier tiring the fish more and more.

Photo by Xianyu hao on Unsplash

Other man-made problems can come in the form of salmon farming. Due to the density of the populations used by the salmon farms, diseases and parasites are often common. These diseases, can spread to wild populations, particularly when farmed salmon escape. Another surprising human impact can be the act of restocking. Due to the crashing of salmon populations and the impact this has had on the fishing industries, some organisations have taken to restocking salmon rivers by the breeding salmon to release back into the rivers.

While in theory this might sounds like a good idea, it neither deals with the causes of the salmon decline, or actually replaces the fish stock, as most of the introduced fish have been found to die or not return to the river to breed. This method is therefore ineffective compared to helping wild populations.

Bigger problems are coming too, in the form of climate change. It’s been found that fish will turn back when they reach a section of the river where the water is too warm, something that occurs on unshaded rivers during the warmer weather we are experiencing. The final piece of the puzzle is of course overfishing, both of the salmon themselves but also the food they feed on, such as smaller fish and krill which are then fed to the farmed salmon.

Hope

Overall, the picture is bleak, but at the same time we are well aware of the problems and how to solve them. Some rivers have seen the return of salmon, as water quality has been improved, or barriers have been removed. Famously, the Thames have recently seen salmon returning.

An exciting project on the River Severn known as Unlocking the Severn, the longest river in Britain, has been creating a number of fish passes to open up 158 miles of habitat for spawning that have been lost for hundreds of years due to man-made barriers. Such projects lead the way in restoring our rivers for native fish.

It will take a great deal of time, investment and cooperation to solve them, but these magnificent creatures are certainly worth the effort.

Grime’s Graves

Grime’s Graves is one of those sites that may not look like much from the surface but contains thousands of years of fascinating history. Owned and managed by English Heritage, it looks to the naked eye like an overenthusiastic astrologist has tried to recreate the lunar surface with the help of a large digger and a little imagination. The 37ha site contains 433 mining shafts, depicted on the surfaces as a series of large pits, which undulate across the landscape, covered in the summer by a carpet of wildflowers, for which the site earned its SSSI status (Site of Special Scientific Interest).

If you visit you will find a small museum and gift shop, and an opportunity to climb down into the only mineshaft of its kind that is open to visitors. And of course above, the contorted and scarred landscape itself. If you are not drawn in by the story of the site itself and what it has meant to generations of ancient humans, then it really isn’t the place for you.

The Industrial Revolution

When we talk about the industrial revolution, we think of Victorians with big hats and bigger smog clouds. Yet, there’s more to revolution than one point in time. The Neolithic period was in itself an almost constant string of revolutions, as new technologies spread across the globe. This period is officially earmarked as starting 6,000 years ago and finishing 4,500 years ago in the UK, though the neolithic period across the rest of the world starts at different timescales, with the earliest civilisations entering the neolithic period around 12,000 years ago.

Grime’s graves were in operation from roughly around 4,600 till 4,200 years ago, coming in at the end of the Neolithic period. The mines were created by Neolithic farmers to allow them to dig out particularly valuable flint from the surrounding soft chalk that incased it. These miners had to descend up to 13 m, past many other flint layers, to access the particular flint seam they found so valuable. This deeper flint was stronger, less likely to shatter, and therefore more useful for the making of tools.

The archaeological evidence suggests that the mines were active during the winter months, when the farm work decreased. This allowed the neolithic community to run the mines as an industrial workshop, without impacting their food production abilities.

Each mine was dug down as an open shaft, steep-sided but slanting slowly inwards. This kept the mine stable and allowed them to dig down to great depths fairly safely. To allow them to get in and out of the shaft, they used wooden ladders and platforms, carrying the debris out. It is thought this waste would be used to fill in previous shafts.

At the base of the shafts, where they hit the desired seam the miners would tunnel out, spreading out spider-like from the main mineshaft. These side tunnels were small, largely only big enough to crawl through. If you make the long descent, down a steep metal staircase into the open mineshaft at Grime’s Graves you can gaze at the tight spaces they would have crawled through, with only candlelight to light their way and only antlers for tools to help them excavate the stone.

It’s thought that this mining community carried out its work on approximately one shaft a year, meaning mining was a continuous part of the landscape for over 400 hundred years. It was largely a new revolution that forced an end to this way of life, with flint consigned to the past when bronze became the technology of the day.

The Rituals of Grime’s Graves

Not all the shafts have been excavated, but in those that have there had been a number of fascinating discoveries. As well as the day-to-day essentials, the neolithic miners surrounded their work with their own beliefs and rituals. Many of the shafts contain small chalk altars, on which antlers or pottery were placed.

When particular shafts ran dry of flint, ceremonies were also performed, perhaps to ask for better luck in the next shaft. One of the most elaborate found to date involved laying the head of a phalarope, a small wading bird, uncommon in the UK, and an axe made of Cornish greenstone, both uncommon and no doubt valuable items, between two antlers. Often fires were also lit in these shafts, perhaps as more elaborate ceremonies.

In another pit the skeleton of a dog was found, carefully and affectionately buried, clearly a beloved pet rather than a creature kept for meat. Such touching tributes remind us that these ancient people were just as human as us. Another reminder that people never change is the presence in some mines of carved phalluses, created from chalk.

A less certain discovery was that of a goddess figurine, a lumpy almost formless female depiction. While there is little evidence that the figurine is definitely a forgery, doubts exist as no other similar figures have been found.

Beyond the Neolithic

Beyond the Neolithic era, the site remained in use, with settlements from the Bronze Age right through to the Romans leaving artefacts. The area was even reused as a burial site, with a number of bodies found during excavation. One of the final artefacts could perhaps be said to be the name itself, Grime’s Graves is a corruption of the Woden’s (Grim’s) burial ground.

The Significance Grime’s Graves

Grime’s graves may not have the immediate appeal of the Stonehedge, yet they came into being around the same time, and in a more practical way carried as much importance to the people of the time. The dark, tough flint of these mines was thought to be revered and often used for ceremonial and spiritual items. Artefacts made from the flint of Grime’s graves have been found as far as France.

While we will never know all of the secrets that Grime’s Graves have to conceal, what has been learnt from the various digs and excavations, shows a fascinating history that we are privileged to be able to glimpse into.

What leaving the EU means to me

It’s been a bad decade for me and public votes. I’m afraid I’m the very definition of a liberal lefty. I am pro immigration, passionate about helping refugees and asylum seekers, think the environment should be a central issue in everything we do, and believe in providing a free health care, education and a safety net for societies most vulnerable. Yet, one of the things the last few years has really opened my eyes to is how many people disagree. Language used during the Brexit campaign demonstrated this, included words like cockroaches for refugees and Islamophobic rhetoric. During the campaign hate crimes against people born outside Britain increased five-fold.

No one can deny the campaign to leave the EU was fuelled in part by anti-immigration sentiment, yet the black and white portrayal of stereotypical Leave and Remain voters is too simplistic. Both sides behaved in a shameful manner many times throughout the process. The 52% who voted for leave did so for many different reasons. During the campaign, and after, I spoke to those in my life who were voting to quit the EU. Of course, some had brought into the fear mongering, and believed that crime was on the increase due to immigration, though national statistics have shown a largely downward trend. I even spoke to those who themselves were born outside the UK, had acquired British citizenship, yet who now felt there were too many immigrants.

The NHS was another key concern to many people, with the Brexit campaign claiming the NHS would be saved from collapse both through lower usage, with less immigrants, and the money sent to the EU being rerouted to support it. I fully support giving more funding to the NHS, however the day after the vote Nigel Farage himself stated this was never going to happen. Going beyond that many economists argue the benefit of being in the EU far outweighs the cost in terms of jobs created, trade and grants, though it’s difficult the get accurate estimates due to the complexity of the situation.

Many of those I work with in conservation voted leave due to a wish to leave the Common Agricultural Policy, something I completely agree with and will go into in more detail later. And finally I spoke the many farmers who wished to leave because they believed they would get better prices for their goods, as competition from foreign imports would be decreased. A high numbers of farmers live on the edge economically, and I completely agree with paying them more for their produce. However, Brexit is unlikely to decrease competition as trade is a highly politicised game of give and take. In simple terms making it harder for others to sell to us often makes it harder for us to sell to them.

In summary the reasons people voted Brexit are complex and personal, some were based on misinformation, but some were based on well thought through reason. The problem is membership of the EU is vast and complex and the outcomes of leaving were unpredictable. Basically we lit a fuse under everything we wanted to save and everything we wanted to destroy, and we couldn’t be sure what would survive the blast.

So now the ink is drying on our leaving documents, and we are officially adrift we still don’t really know how Brexit is going to effect us. We can make educated guesses, but the reality is that the future will tell us the sum of what we’ve done. Give it ten, twenty or fifty years and we’ll really have started to get a grasp on the positives and the negatives of the situation. Because don’t get me wrong, although Brexit was a gut punch, which led to at least a month of existential sadness, I do not believe it will be all bad. Like everything there will be both benefits and downsides to come out of this change. And however much I wish it hadn’t happened I’m happy to be out of the 4 years of limbo the negotiations put us in. It’s time to move on and rebuilt. So realistically I can’t tell you what the future will bring, but I can tell you how I have seen Brexit affect my life so far.

1. Common Agricultural Policy: For myself the biggest win from Brexit is the chance to change the way we support farmers in the management of our landscape. The Common Agricultural policy was set up to encourage food production in post-war Europe, when starvation was a real threat. In its simplest sense this paid farmers for farming the land. In some situations the payment farmers get for keeping land in productivity actually outweighs the amount of money they make from selling the food itself. This is particularly true of relatively unproductive areas such as the uplands, or industries which are suffering under market forces, such as the dairy industry. In theory paying farmers to farm isn’t such a bad thing. We all need food, local food, and farming is a tough and underpaid job. Yet the unforeseen consequences have been vast, from inflating land prices, so younger farmers struggle to get a foot in the door, to encouraging wealthy people from accumulating land to rake in the payments, whilst their tenant farmers work in outdated and unsuitable conditions. One of the most environmentally damaging consequences has been encouraging farming every inch of land even if it doesn’t make sense. This includes grazing steep-sided valleys, or boggy ground, ploughing up areas which regularly flood or areas immediately under large trees. Essentially the unmanaged areas of land have drastically shrunk, leading to a loss in habitat for wildlife, speeding up the pathways of water, encouraging flooding and leading to the premature death of many ancient trees. On most farms you could reduce workload, lower costs and create important wildlife refuges, without lowering overall farm profits, if these unproductive areas were abandoned. However if you were a farmer living on an economic knife blade would you abandon any land which could make you a profit? It’s not easy being green. Yet with the UK no longer tied to EU policy, decades of pressure on the government are finally turning the cogs, and work is in motion to scrap funding for farming. Using the money instead to fund environmental benefits in the ELMS (Environmental Land Management Scheme) programme. Not only should this encourage the return of unproductive areas to nature, it will rebalance who receives the cheques, with the old system favouring already wealthy large landowners. It’s still early days, and lots can go wrong, but I’m hopeful this could make a huge difference to our environment and the fortunes of small farmers.
2. Loss of a reputation: I feel I am extremely fortunate to have grown up in a very European household. When we were little we went to live in Germany for five years, and later I returned to Germany for a little less than a year for an internship. My siblings similarly did placements in Germany, Denmark and France, whilst my sister now lives in Spain. Over the years I have visited 15 of Europe’s 44 countries and have many more I would like to explore. From all this I have come to believe freedom of movement is important, and openness to other cultures beneficial. I do understand there are downsides to this, particularly within poorer communities, where resources are often under strain anyway. But step into any hospital and you’ll very quickly see how we’ve benefitted from it as well. In fact since Brexit the NHS has seen a huge drop in recruitment from abroad, leading to concerns that we will struggle to staff our hospitals, as there aren’t enough trained people within the UK. The main reasons for the drop are thought to be uncertainty as to what the rights of foreign nationals will be, but also the reputation the UK has acquired abroad of being xenophobic. Shortly after the vote I travelled to Calais to volunteer with Help Refugees. There I spoke to people from different places around world , some of whom asked me if the UK would be safe for them to visit, as they had heard we didn’t like foreigners. From my time in Germany I still keep in touch with some of my friends out there, and from them I got the sense that many Germans simply saw Brexit as a UK-wide tantrum, something to be pitied, but that we would grow out of one day. I’m sure over time we will repair our damaged reputation, but few can deny, on the international stage it has taken a nose-dive in the last few years.
3. Loss of a friend: whilst the news focuses on the masses, our lives are much more singular than that. I personally felt the effects of Brexit in the loss of a friend who had moved to the UK a few years before and intended to stay at least several years more. Her and her husband made the decision to move back to France as Brexit made it uncertain as to the future rights of EU citizens. Many others made similar decisions in the years following Brexit, or lived in anxious uncertainty as to whether they would gave to uproot their lives. My French teacher, also from France but with all her rights in place, told me how after the vote her favourite French restaurant received voicemails telling them now the vote had been decided it was time for them to pack up and go home. Who would be surprised that such sentiments would make people feel unwelcome, indeed it was growing anti-Turkish sentiment in Germany which was one of the reasons we came home when I was a child, my English father’s dark hair and olive skin leading people to assume he was a Turkish immigrant.
4. Loss of farm workers: One of my first jobs in conservation was up in Scotland. It is such a beautiful country and I was very lucky to work there. Near where I lived there were abundant polytunnels, growing largely raspberries. In the summer farm workers are brought in from abroad to help harvest the fruit. When my father was at University him and his brothers used to travel up to Scotland for this very same job, but today British farmers struggle to attract British workers for seasonal picking. The work is hard and physical and not that well paid compared to easier admin or retail work available. When driving to and from the supermarket I would occasionally see the fruit pickers catching lifts to go off exploring or get their weekly food shop. A couple of times I picked them up myself. They were largely students come from less wealthy EU nations, saving up money for their studies and enjoying the chance to explore the UK. Speaking to them they found the work tough, but the wages they could get compared even to a good job at home made it a no brainer. The ones I spoke to were polite, enthusiastic young people keen to make their way in the world. From speaking to farmers many of them are very appreciative of these seasonal workers, who make their businesses viable. Since Brexit many have struggled to attract as many workers as before. I hope in time this will be rebalanced. They claim the new system will allow in people as they are needed. I think in time we will realise we needed a lot more than we really wanted to admit.
5. My uncertain future: It has amazed me how, even now, so little is known as to how life post-Brexit will work. I am keen to move to France for a year or two, both to improve my French and experience the culture. In researching the move I’ve found many gaps where there are no answers on how life will work for British living or working abroad. What visa will I need? Come back later and we’ll let you know. Will I be able to have a bank account in the UK? Perhaps, but we haven’t decided yet. Will I be able to use the French healthcare system? Hm, we think so but it still needs to be discussed. When I moved to Germany several years ago things were much simpler. I opened a bank account, got a job and used my local doctors and dentists, without any annoying or complicated paperwork. For myself and my partner this lack of certainty is very frustrating, but for people who already live abroad it must be very stressful. Many have already been told their UK bank accounts will be closed, by several leading banks, as the government hasn’t made it clear to these institutions what they will be allowed to do. So many years have passed and we are still living with so much uncertainty.

It’s a small list for now I admit, but I get a feeling it will grow as our separation from the EU makes itself felt in weird and unexpected ways. I don’t think they will all be negative, and even some of the negative ones will right themselves in time. I think Brexit is a defining moment for us, yet I think the future will be built around cooperation, through business, science, education, and yes even migration. Whatever it says on our passports we are not completely separated from those which surround us, and never will be. So here’s to a future of cooperation and exchange, whatever flag is flying over us.

Lockdown 2/3: The sequel is never as good

I’m well aware that depending on where you live in the UK this is probably your third or even fourth lockdown. Being in a high rate area it certainly feels like we have barely been out of lockdown at all. But, despite its possible inaccuracy, really liked this title and let’s face it after a while they all seem to blend into one anyway!

Where we live our current lockdown began just before Christmas 2019 and, now in February, there’s no end insight. As with the last lockdown I’ve been placed back on furlough, as my job involves driving around visiting people, and my partner is in the high risk category. As before I thought it would be interesting to write down some of my observations of the lockdown experience for my future self (who is generally very forgetful). Last time I asked my friends and family to add their comments on the situation, but this time I’m going solo. I feel this is very apt given how much more isolating this lockdown feels. I think in some ways the puff has run out a little of the overly jolly ‘we’re all in this together’. Almost to a person we’ve put in our headphones, lowered our gaze, and are trudging slowly on through the mire hoping the end will soon be in sight. So, keeping one foot falling in front of the other, how is lockdown 2 affecting me and my little rural life?

Nothing to update

I’ve found there is a strange phenomenon when I speak to people outside my household. In general nothing has happened since I last spoke to them. I’ve not been anywhere, done anything, seen anyone. Anything I do do is too boring to tell other people about at length, and this leads to a very brief ‘nothing to update,’ update. Alternatively, I sometimes find that that small amount of human contact initiates a whirlwind of words, pouring out of me a mile a minute, about the book I’m writing, the DIY I’ve done, a funny thing the dog did, a naughty thing the dog did, a nice walk we went on, how I’m thinking of planting a lavender hedge in the garden, and on and on. I think it rather leaves the listener a little shell-shocked. I’ve experienced similar when I was working in Scotland on a job that required me to go out at nights bird surveying. Because I never saw anyone, whenever I went to the supermarket for my weekly shop the checkout person got an earful. I imagine the staff started to avoid me when they could.

I feel worried when people in TV dramas touch

Though recorded pre-pandemic, as soon as Jeff and Amy on romantic comedy 2.0 lean over for a heart-warming embraced, an automatic ‘Nooo!’ rises up inside me. I am currently writing a novel and even in this I struggle whenever the characters aren’t the proper distance apart. It’s similar to a reaction I get post-lent when I consume the item I had previously given up. I think ‘oh crap’ before I have the chance to remember it’s all fine. When touching is finally allowed again I imagine I’ll have a sense of impending doom whenever I’m about to get a hug…

What a difference the weather makes

Wasn’t the last lockdown lovely, with all that sunshine? This is a phrase that gets repeated to me a lot, and by me. A spring lockdown with blue skies was certainly easier to feel happy about than a winter one with endless dark and rain. In the last lockdown my boyfriend and I spent most of our time walking and gardening, in this one we only go outside if we have to. Aside from the weather, another difficulty is that my to do list is so much shorter. Last time I had a big list of DIY, and plenty of personal activities I didn’t usually have time for. Well there’s only so many things you can find to do on your own around your house, and I’ve done most of them. I find myself looking at rooms thinking ‘should I repaint these walls’ even when they are perfectly fine.

I f###ing hate TV

As with many people, this pandemic has got us stuck to the sofa flicking mindlessly through the channels. We currently have access to Netflix, Amazon Prime, BBC iplayer, ITV iplayer, More4, as well as all the multitude of traditional channels. And now I hate them all. Prior to the pandemic I quite enjoyed sitting down to a good drama or a mindless action film, today every film within a particular genre has merged into one indistinguishable blob. In the first ten seconds of a buddy comedy or a gritty thriller I’ve gone through the whole predictable plot in my head and I’m already bored. Not that this has stopped me watching no end of crap I’m not really enjoying. Afterall, at a certain point in the evening what else is there to do? If your answer to this is read then you really are a better person than me.

I feel nostalgic for the weirdest things

I was listening to an interview on the radio the other day about the plight of cinemas during the pandemic. Hearing their descriptions of the big empty auditoriums I felt an overwhelming nostagia to be back in those big folding chairs, looking up at the massive faces on the screen. It was a particularly odd thing to desire as, as I’ve said before, I currently passionately dislike all genres of films. On top of this going to the cinema was something we rarely did pre-pandemic. Maybe for an anniversary or with my family at Christmas. Other things that make me nostalgic are sitting in a cafe, walking round a park without feeling worried about how close other people are, and visiting my parent’s house.

I’ve forgotten how to drive

The other day my boyfriend needed me to collect him from the garage, as he was dropping his car off for an MOT. Getting in my car for the first time in probably several months, my brain went completely blank. How does this thing work? It was getting dark and I sat twiddling nobs for a moment trying to find a way to turn on the lights. It came back to me, but it took its time.

I don’t brush my hair every day

Now I know not taking care with your appearance can be a sign of depression, so let me reassure you this isn’t the case. The reason I don’t brush my hair everyday is because I have very thick hair, which I normally have to thin out to keep managable. Brushing my hair literally hurts my wrist because it takes so long. Prior to the start of the pandemic it was higher than shoulder length, which makes it much less time consuming, but it grows quickly and is now down at the base of my shoulder blades. It’s a lot of hair, and with no one seeing me outside my household, some days I just can’t be asked. I’ve also spent a significant amount of time in my pajamas, or clothing it’s not acceptable to wear outside the house. Well if you’re going to wait out a pandemic you might as well be cosy.

I hate zoom

I’ve had a lot of zoom catch ups, a lot of quizzes and gatherings. It’s going to sound ungrateful I know but I have come to hate them. In part this is because of how many there are, but it’s also just a flaw in my personality. I can’t sit still and talk to people. If I have a choice all my conversations will be on the move. This could mean chatting whilst walking, it could mean chatting whilst I complete an activity, such as knitting or cooking or gardening, or at the most basic level whilst I tidy up around you. I know many people find this annoying, but I’ve always been this way and it’s not about to change. If, therefore, I was allowed to sit and cut out paper for a homemade card whilst on a zoom call that would be just fine, but sitting still looking at the screen drives me mad. Many of my family have noticed how they get many more phone calls since I got a dog, this is because I can chat whilst I walk him. Is someone can invent those little flying cameras that just follow you around whilst you get on with whatever you’re doing (I’m sure I’ve seen them in a film), then that would be perfect.

I’ve made big life decisions

Essentially I think I’ve become so bored I’ve gone to the other extreme and planned to completely overturn my life. This has led to a decision to quit my job, buy a house in france and go live there to renovate it. Now, as with plans you make whilst lying on the beach when you’re on holiday, it may be I come back to the real world and throw these out the window, but for now it’s adding a little fuel to my engine to keep going through the mire of inactivity and ennui.

I am developing greater empathy

Now I know my situation is nothing like that of people in refugee camps, or those who cannot leave their homes because of illness, but I think being forced to stay put has given me a greater emphathy for those in such situations. It’s similar to how you look at a person in a film jumping the gap between two building and think, that looks easy, only to try jumping a small ditch and realising how small a distance you can manage. Staying put often seems like the least of anyone’s troubles. As long as you are safe, and warm and have enough food (which I realise isn’t always the case in the examples I’ve mentioned) then you should be fine. But humans don’t cope well with restrictions, we are natural roamers, explorers, enquirers. It’s simply hard to stay put.

I’ve developed a love hate relationship with my phone

I realise when I’m doing it, when I’m scrolling pointlessly through my social media accounts to see if there’s anything new. I know there won’t be, because I checked them five minutes ago. It’s simply a reaction to boredom, to the isolation and the lack of excitement, but I hate doing it, and yet it’s become a kind of compulsion. Like a nervous tick.

Now I know my revelations aren’t jaw-dropping. Afterall I’m very much stuck in the middle during this pandemic. I’m not one of the millions of people who have suffered job losses, or impacts to their health or have lost people they care about, and I’m also not one of the people working tirelessly to resolve the situation and it’s consequences. I’m just little old me sat in the middle twiddling my thumbs and waiting for it to be over. But still there are alot of us, and whilst our experiences aren’t exciting, they are our experiences. One day someone will ask me what life was like in the pandemic and I can say ‘l tell you one thing, I never watched another action thriller again!’

Deterring Rats and Squirrels from Eating Your Birdfood

We British are great bird feeders. We love it. In fact we do it on such a massive scale that scientists have found some birds beaks are changing to become more adapted to retrieving food from feeders. The blackcap in particular seems to be developing a new British sub-species almost entirely driven by our excessive feeding.

Birdfeeders have been shown to increase the chance of survival for chicks and adults at key times of the year, particularly during spring nesting and the harshest months of winter. Not all species of birds are happy to use feeders though, so it does favour more generalist species, who tend to do better anyway. Yet on the flip side many common feeder users have seen dramatic declines in recent, such as house sparrows and starlings, meaning they may need to extra help afterall.

The main benefit of feeders could however be on the human side of the equation. Not only do many of us get a lot of joy from being able to watch birds, studies have shown many benefits to mental health from taking care of something. For the elderly in particular putting out food for the birds is much more manageable than walking a dog or cleaning out a fish tank. On a larger scale it has been shown that humans are more inclined to protect things they care about, and more likely to care about things they can interact with. Many a person has told me how worried they are about this bird or that because they’ve seen less of them at their feeders.

However there are always downsides. Feeders have been shown to increase transmission of disease amongst the avian visitors. Cleaning feeders regularly can help with this, but there’s evidence that the disease which decimated the green finch population was partly spread in this way.

Rats are actually very clean, intelligent and sociable animals. I’d be happy to have one as a pet but I think feeding wild rats has negative environmental effects.

Another negative aspect of feeders is that they attract other, unwanted species. Rats and squirrels are extremely agile and inventive when it comes to accessing bird food. Sometimes the birds make it easy for them by dropping half of what they pull out of the feeders, other times they just get the food themselves. In principle there’s nothing so different about feeding a rat compared to feeding a bird. They are both wild animals, both fascinating and extraordinary. The main difference that swings feeding rats to the negative is the rate at which they breed. With a constant food supply rat numbers can quickly get out of control, and once they have expanded they can have decimating effects on other species. Rats will eat anything, eggs, chicks, other rodents. In many parts of the world the introduction of rats has led to a crash in the numbers of birds species as well as other types of wildlife.

For squirrels the argument is less clear. Grey squirrels do not have rat-like reproduction rates, but they are a non-native species. The increase in grey squirrels has resulted in the loss of red squirrels from many parts of the country. Exactly why is debated, but we know that grey squirrels carry squirrel pox, which reds are more susceptible to. Grey’s are also bigger and more generalist meaning they outcomplete and muscle out the reds. However, many people still enjoy squirrels visiting their feeders, and live in areas of the country unlikely to see the return of the reds any time soon, so I would put it down to personal preference as to whether you provide your squirrels with a nut and seed buffet or not.

Our problem with our feeder was rats. We’ve also had a grey squirrel and a mouse visiting the feeders, but I was less concerned about these. Reading up online many suggestions were put forward, but most of them seemed impractical or cruel to me, from poison to sweeping up all the dropped food. The one that looked most promising was the idea of mixing chilli powder with the birdseed. The spicy taste we associate with chillies is a chemical called capsaicin. Evolutionary theory states that it may at first have developed to discourage insects from damaging the plants, but in time prospered because it prevented mammals from eating the fruits whilst allowing birds to have their pick. This is thought to benefitted the plant because birds are more likely to carry the seeds far away, rather than drop them close to the original plant. Chilli seeds are also fragile enough that a mammal gut can digest them, but they can pass through a bird unharmed. It’s therefore been found that birds are unaffected by the capsaicin chemical, whereas mammals get the full force of its unpleasant heat. Humans of course have bucked the trend and many of us now relish a spicy curry or chicken chilli glaze.

Therefore, mixing chilli powder with your birdseed should have no effect on your feathered friends but put off anything with fur. For us this meant losing our mouse and squirrel too but I was pretty sure they could get their snacks elsewhere. The best thing is that the chilli won’t harm any of the rodents that do take a nibble, just put them off the next bite. The RSPB guidance says to mix in enough chilli that the seeds are well coated, but not hidden. They suggested shaking it all together in a plastic bag, but I found stirring it together with spoon worked just as well.

Be careful when mixing not to breathe any in. You’ll see why the rats don’t like it.

It’s hard to be certain if it’s worked but, having spotted a few rats before the change we’ve not seen a single whiskered hairy face at our feeders since and the birds are happily chomping down the food. Some caution should be taken if you have a dog and no catching plate under your feeders to prevent food landing on the floor, as chilli will upset your dog’s stomach if he or she eats it. However, my dog is a regular hoover, even eating non-edible things like paper quite merrily, and he walked straight passed the chilli covered seed and nuts, clearly as put off by the chilli as the rats. The one downside is that the chilli turns the inside of the feeder red, but that should encourage me clean it more often. Family members similarly brought a spray to discourage squirrels from their feeders, and found it dropped their daily squirrel count from three to zero overnight. Looking on the label this too was simply chilli. You may feel more comfortable with a spray, however environmentally and economically a massive pack of chilli powder has less packaging and costs less over time.

So overall I’m very happy with the chilli method, and I promise to update if the rats make a return or my dog developes a taste for spicy nuts.

The Flip side of 2020: Good things in a bad time

As New Year creeps steadily towards us we are inundated with ‘Thank f### 2020 is over’ from every direction. From shared posts on Facebook to novelty t-shirts, and banter on the radio, everyone is wishing the year away. Not that I blame them, it did have a very apocalypsey vibe. Yet 2020 was a full 365 days of life. Life which undulates, does handbreak turns and gives us both pleasant and nasty surprises all the time. So it couldn’t all have been bad for everyone, all the time? Therefore, I decided I should have a look back over the year and have a think about the good bits, both privately and globally. Privately so I can remember the year a little more kindly, and globally because the good which has happen across the world is much more important than my own personal wins.

1. Personal: We did Veganuary! I’ve thought alot about veganism and done alot of research over the last year. Whilst I do not think it will save the world, as the papers like the imply, I do think it should be part of a healthy sustainable diet. Taking part in Veganuary was really eye-opening for myself and my partner and made us try new and interesting meals. We now aim to have one or two vegan meals a week and two or three vegeterian ones, with meat being a special treat rather than an everyday occurrence.

1. Global: A big win for the Ashaninka indigenous group, as their decades long legal battle again illegal logging was decided in their favour. Indigenous groups around the world are taking on big business and every win for them is a win for all of us.

Indigenous Group in Brazil Wins Decades-Long Battle Against Illegal Loggers in the Amazon

2. Personal: In February we adopted our rescue dog Idris. I’ve wanted a dog since I was a child, but as my family never had one I was always worried I wouldn’t make a good owner. Taking the leap of faith was definitely a highlight of this year as I couldn’t imagine life without a dog 10 months on.

Idris helping me with my work.

2. Global: Lyme disease is a horrible illness, which if not treated straight away can leave sufferers with a lifetime of fatigue and illness. With new research it seems a treatment maybe just around the corner.

Potential Treatment for Lyme Disease Kills Bacteria That May Cause Lingering Symptoms, Study Finds

3. Personal: During lockdown I started to learn the harp. Yes the harp. It’s not really what most people would decide to take on, but I’ve had an inclination to learn since first hearing my first Joanna Newsome song when I was at University. Initially thinking I would just have a few lessons to scratch the itch, I’m actually really enjoying it, and it’s quite a relaxing activity in this stressful time.

3. UK Overseas Territory: A Marine Protected Area three times larger than Great Britain has been created around the island of Tristan da Cunha. Not only does this benefit wildlife by preventing damaging activities within these areas, MPAs have also been shown to increase fish stocks elsewhere, making fishing more sustainable and profitable in the long run.

Britain Helps World’s Most Remote Inhabited Islands to Establish Biggest Marine Sanctuary in the Atlantic

4. Personal: This year has certainly reduced my carbon footprint. Firstly from cancelled holidays and flights, but also because I am driving so much less. It has made me think of how I can keep this reduction going in the future, which is no bad thing.

4. Global: Costa Rica celebrates its first same sex marriage. There’s still a long way to go on LGBTQ+ rights around the globe but with every country that legalises same sex marriage it’s another step forwards.

World Celebrates Central America’s First Same-Sex Marriage After Costa Rica Passes Trailblazing Legislation

5. Personal: During this year, and particularly with a dog to walk, we got to know our local area much better. We are incredibly lucky where we live, with lots of wonderful parks and footpaths. Often we will drive out to the Peak district or into Snowdonia for our walks, but being forced to stay close has given us a chance to explore more local trails.

5.Global: There’s been a massive leap forwards in decreasing the number of deaths from malaria in the last decade. Now new research could be another nail in its coffin, with a microbe found which can prevent the disease from infecting their hosts, which in turn will stop humans from being infected.

Breakthrough For Kenyan Scientists Who Discover Natural Microbe That Completely Stops Malaria in Mosquitoes

6. Personal: We got to see the NEOWISE comet, visible for the first time since the Stone Age. Standing out in a field, our binoculars watching the pale streak in the sky I found this moment strangely emotional, as if nature was pointing out the bigger picture.

6. UK: A lammergier hung out in the UK for a few weeks this year. This amazing bird may not be a native to England, but its visit was only possible because of the work which has been done to boost the species population in the Alps, a real conservation success story.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-lincolnshire-54465297

7. Personal: We dug a pond and sowed a meadow in our garden. I think everyone got a bit of DIY or gardening done in lockdown this spring. It was lovely to be able to watch the seeds we planted bloom and birds bathing in our pond.

7. Scotland: After years of campaigning by conservation groups Scotland decided to enforce a permit system on grouse shooting. This permitting system will help regulate an industry which is responsible for severe damage to raptor populations in this country. Of course there are plenty of shoots that work with and encourage wildlife, but the few that set illegal traps are the ones the permits should help bring back into line with sustainable practices.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-55086547

8. Personal: Every year I go out hunting for starling murmurations and often I don’t get lucky. Yet this year I got up close and personal with a very dramatic display.

8. Global: As someone who has a relative currently on the liver transplant list it’s a big win that doctors can now keep donor livers alive for days rather than hours.

‘Breakthrough’ Device Allows Doctors to Keep Livers Outside the Body for 7 Days Instead of Mere Hours

9. Personal: We got a moth trap. Yes very dull for most people but this year I ran my very own moth trap for the first time. The trap draws moths in with a light allowing you to observe and survey them before releasing them into the wild. Moths are important pollinators which have seen massive declines in recent decades, and surveys can help to monitor changes in their numbers.

9. Global: Nuclear fusion is the green dream for many. Technology taken straight from the heart of the sun it could provide a bigger energy source than nuclear power without any of the waste. Several reactors are being developed around the world but the largest is in France and part of a trans-national attempt to make this technology a reality.

A Giant Fusion Reactor Hotter than the Sun to Provide Unlimited Clean Energy Without Waste Marks Milestone

10. Personal: I have been writing a book for several years now, but in recent years I’ve struggled with inspiration and time. Lockdown gave me the headspace to get writing again and finish it.

10. UK: Many people aren’t aware that Europe has its own bison, once an important part of our ecosystem. Recent work by conservation agencies has not only saved this amazing animal from extinction in mainland Europe, but are now bringing it back to the UK. Although these mammals will be restricted to an enclosure it will be fascinating to see how their presence might effect the ecosystem as a whole.

https://www.kentwildlifetrust.org.uk/wilderblean

11. Personal: I did some baking. I think almost all British people turned to baking in the lockdown. I enjoy baking anyway but I was particularly  pleased with my first attempt at a brioche, bruchetta and a stollen. My favourite was a chocolate pancake cake, which looked rather like a cow pat but tasted amazing. I’m not master baker but small achievements can be celebrated too.

11. Global: The trends on malnutrition are heading in the right direction across asia, dropping by 20% in India and similarly in China and other nations. The fact that any person shouldn’t have enough to eat in this day and age is terrible, but this big drop shows efforts to change this and working.

Malnutrition Across India Has Plummeted By 60 Million–And Most of Asia Has a Similar Success Story

12. Personal: During the brief period of freedom between our national and local lockdowns we managed to get a little further afield and walk the Roaches, a beautiful chain of hills on the edge of the Peak district. With stunning views for very little effort they are well worth a visit.

12. There’s something very sci-fi about about landing on an asteroid to collect samples which might tell us about the origin of life. An amazing engineering achievement I look forward to the results.

In Historic First, NASA Lands on Asteroid and Collects Samples of Debris That Helped Form Our Earth

13. Personal: I was quite old when I first realised we have glow worms in the UK. Bioluminescence is something we think of as being exotic and tropical, so to think of it in the UK is almost mystical. I’ve been out to see glow worms a few times in the UK and was lucky enough to see them again this year, along an old railway track well known for sheltering good numbers.

13. UK: We often hear about new laws and incentives to cut our carbon footprint, but it’s rarely reported how effective they are. Not only has the carbon tax dropped coal fired electricity by 93%, but work in London over the past four years has also reduced the number of people living in poor air quality from 2 million to 119,000.

British Carbon Tax Leads to Whopping 93% Drop in Coal-Fired Electricity

14. Personal: Looking back on the year I had completely forgotten there was a life pre-virus, but actually we had managed to live a bit of the year before we were forced to overhaul our lives. Back in February we headed to the Lake District for a bushcraft course, learning how to build a fire, whittle a spoon and prepare a meal over an open fire.

14. Global: Modern slavery, child labour, unsafe working conditions and environmental contamination, all go hand in hand in many of the raw materials we use in some of our most technological accessories, from iphones to cars. It is therefore great to hear of big companies like BMW signing up to ensure their raw materials are ethically produced. None of us want to be responsible for these human rights violations simply so we can have the shiniest toys.

BMW Becomes First Carmaker to Join Responsible Mining Initiative Protecting Laborers and the Earth

15. Personal: I have spent much of this year designing a wildlife project for my village, including digging a pond, putting up bird boxes and planting a meadow. As of yet I have no idea if the funding we are applying for will be successful, but even so I think the attempt has still meant alot to me this year.

Last year I managed to get the council to agree to leaving some areas of long grass as a refugee for wildlife. They might not be as pretty as some people would like but I’m still very pleased with them, as are the insects and birds which are using them.

15. Global: The Ocean Cleanup project has been an inspiration from its first moment to its most recent. The project aims to clean up the great pacific garage patch, a great swirling island of rubbish in the middle of the ocean. Not only are they pulling plastic out of the ocean, they are then recycling it into new items, such as these wonderful sunglasses. Even better the Ocean Cleanup project is take its litterpicking skills up the rivers which are the primary producers of the plastic which ends up in the pacific.

These Sunglasses Are Made From the First Ever Batch of Plastic Waste Recovered by the Ocean Cleanup Project

So 2020 is coming to an end. It’s been a tough year, a year where alot of people have suffered financially, emotionally or physically. But the thing that really hit me when putting this blog together is how much good has also been done. At one point I had over 70 tabs open on my phone as I was trying to pick the best of the best of all the great things people are doing across the world. Aside from all the people working to get us through the virus, there have as always been millions of people just getting on with the amazing work they do every day, from medical research to charitable work to trying to help the environment. There is alot of good that’s been done in 2020, and I think that is something worth remembering and celebrating.

Walking The Roaches

The Roaches are a set of gritstone hills within the Peak District National Park, which look down on Leak and the Tittesworth reservoir. Although today the word ‘roach’ doesn’t bring up pleasant associations it is actually a distortion of the French ‘roches’, meaning rocks. The Roaches is made up of two parts, one being the wonderful lone peak of Hen Cloud, thought to be so named either because it looks like a perching hen or be related to the angalo-saxon for ‘steep cliff’ (Henge Clud), and the group know as Ramshaw. The beauty and attraction of the Roaches for visitors is the relatively small climb, their height reaching a maximum of 505m, for fantastic panoramic views of the plateau below. On a clear day much of Cheshire comes into view, whilst it is said that the Snowdon peaks can at times also be seen. It is these views, and the excellent climbing opportunities, which mean the Roaches often hum with visitors, though quiet periods, outside of the summer and weekends, can still be found.

The key element to the Roaches success has to be in the very thing that gives it its name; the rocks. The gritstone, often known as millstone grit due to this being one of its main uses at one time, is a type of coarse sandstone. Due to its hard nature, and impermiability to water, it often remains when other rock layers, such as the weaker limestones and mudstones of the area, have been eroded away. Laid down approximately 300 million years ago the gritstone was formed when a river the size of the Amazon created a river delta across most of what is now northern England. Due to shifting currents, storm events and changing water levels much of the gritstone is layered, creating weaker beds which can erode more easily. In places though, large amounts of sand accumulated in one go, creating areas of rock without these weakness. These rocks without beds were particularly desirable to stone masons. As sea levels changed the sand became buried by mud and silt, and in time compacted to the rock it is today. Plate tectonics then caused an upheaval, raising up these layers of rocks and allowing the weaker ones to erode away, leaving the gritstone hilltops we see today. The stunning cliffs were created by those same weaknesses which were laid down millions of years ago, allowing the rock to sheer and crumble. Wind has sculpted the tops into weird and wonderful shapes. One of thr most famous is the face of the winking man, a rock protrusion which looks like a face with an open eye. Moving passed it on the road observers were made to think he was winking, as the light through the eyehole was obscured.

Today the rocks are owned by the National Park and managed by the Staffordshire Wildlife Trust. Being part of the dark peak much of the area around the rocks is peatland, or blanket bog, a rare and important habitat. In the past much blanket bog has been drained to make it suitable for grazing. This has resulted in the creation of large areas of heather moorland. Though both habitats are rare and important, climate scientists and many conservationists argue for the rewetting of peatlands, as when dry they release carbon which has been stored for thousands of years into the atmosphere. Being dry also makes them more at risk of being set ablaze, and a large fire has indeed ravaged the Roaches in recent years, damaging the moor, killing wildlife and releasing more greenhouse gases. The Staffordshire Wildlife Trust are aiming to reset the moorland where possible for the many benefits it will bring to wildlife and the climate.

Parking at the side of the road, in one of many marked out parking bays, you are already beset by beautiful vistas. The main path is easy to find, being wide and well maintained. We opted in our visit to forgo Hen Cloud, though it is a beautiful hill, and walk the rest of the ridge. On the way up you can admire the beautiful rounded cliffs above you and the path to Hen Cloud stretching away below. Though a steep climb it isn’t long before you reach the ridge and are able to stand amongst the globular rocks, looking down on the valley. A few areas of pine plantation provide a bit of variety before you reach the open moorland. When we visited there were still the blackened scorch marks of the fire across much of the land, though the purple bloom of heather was already partly masking it.

Wildlife here is typical of upland moors, with curlews and peregrins being the star players, whilst pipits, stonechats and skylarks are there for the enjoyment of those who don’t have time to go hunting with their binoculars. As well as common and bell heather, bilberries flourish, meaning the right time year can offer up plenty of nature’s bounty.

Not far into the ridge exists a small murky pool, known as Doxey pool. Like the tarns of the lake district it is fed by rainwater, making it slightly acidic, the peat dying it brown with tannins. My dog was very grateful for the opportunity to drink the muddy water, as no doubt are countless bird and insect when there aren’t too many tourists to scare them away. Yet legend tells us that the dark water is inhabited by something much more sinister than dog dribble and mud. Jenny Greenteeth is a popular character in British mythology, a creature who takes the form of skinny woman with green skin and sharp teeth, who beckons passersby and then drags them to their doom. This tale is common throughout the world with many different creatures taking this role in order to warn children away from the water’s edge. In an age when few people could swim water was indeed one of the most dangerous features in our countryside.

Beyond the dark pool the ridge gently oscillates through the landscape until the path takes you down to a road. Here you can leave the ridge and return on the quiet and picturesque road, lined with wildflowers and rambling blackberries, or you can continue on through a small gate, to the back forest.

The back forest is a rather bright wood on a summer’s day, the white bark of the many silver birches, and the thin canopy keeping it from becoming too dense and gloomy. You can wander through woodland paths for as long as you like, finding here and there little glades and piles of rocks which can be climbed in an attempt to gain a view over the treetops, but by far the greatest attraction in this area is Ludd’s church.

Once thought to be the ‘green church’ in which Sir Gawain faced the green knight in the tales of King Arthur, Ludd’s church is a large chasm in the ground 100m long and 18m deep. Lined with hanging ferns and bryophytes it does appear like something out of a fairy tale. The name derives from the secret church meetings that were once held here, by a break away faction of the Christian church known as the Lullards, and one of their number Walter de Ludank. Though some said the devil himself gouged out the chasm with one swipe of his finger, geologists insist it was formed when a mudstone bed caused the gritstone to slip sometime after the last glaciation, tearing a rift in the ground.

Today Ludd’s church is a peaceful spot, if you can wander through without too many other gamblers in your way. It might not be the grand canyon but it’s still one of those places that makes you feel the smallness of yourself, and the greatness of the forces that act around you.

You can return to the road over the ridge, enjoying the view of the Roaches stretching back from where you first started the walk. Dropping down onto the road the final section is just as enjoyable looking up at the rocks as it was looking down on the valley.