If you are gifted in the way that snooker player Ronnie O’Sullivan is, i.e. you are ambidextrous, then this blog post may not be relevant to you. If on the other hand (sorry) you are like most people and have a dominant hand try this; clean your teeth with the opposite hand to that which you normally use. If it isn’t the right time of day to try it you can just pretend to get a feel for how difficult it is. (It might be better to leave it for now if you are on the bus or the train.) Now try this challenge; clean your teeth with the opposite hand for thirty days. At the end of the month something quite remarkable will have happened, well two things actually. Firstly you will become competent at cleaning your teeth with either hand, which could be convenient if your dominant hand ever develops an allergy to toothpaste. Secondly your brain will be fitter than it was at the start of the experiment. That’s because doing something like this is the equivalent of gymnastics for the brain. It forces the brain to do something completely different which makes it work harder and get fitter. Which brings me to The Wildlife Trust and the natural world; obviously.
You see this whole business of doing something different for thirty days is one that I have been fascinated by for several years and regular readers of this blog will both know that I have written about it before. It came to my attention again earlier this year when I came across The Wildlife Trust’s 30 Days Wild campaign. The challenge is to do something every day that connects you with nature and the outdoors with the intention of changing your perspective on such things at the end of a month. That month is June and we are now one third of the way through the task. Despite thinking I knew all about this idea I realised yesterday when taking a photograph of a snail that I had actually failed completely to enter into the spirit of it all.
You see the clue is in the word change. The whole purpose of any thirty day challenge is to bring about change and I suddenly realised that whilst I may have been putting vaguely amusing posts on Facebook and Twitter about my encounters with wildlife I had completely missed the point. I wasn’t actually doing anything very different to any other month’s activities, hence the photo of the snail. You see I don’t normally photograph snails, or any other terrestrial pulmonate gastropod molluscs for that matter, so yesterday was a bit of a breakthrough. Now the challenge really starts as I try to find new things to do that will give me genuinely new experiences.
Getting down with the molluscs
Even our bike ride that started at the unearthly hour of four a.m. this week didn’t really count because we do such things at least once every year. Now if I had borrowed a unicycle and set off at midnight rather than dawn then that really would have been different. Possibly disastrous too I admit but at least it would have given me a whole new experience. I’ve got twenty days now to come up wild ideas that are nothing like my normal activities. The difficult task will be striking a balance between being truly imaginative and trying not to get arrested. Wish me luck. Or send me some suggestions if you like.
Nice, but not very original
You can still join in #30DaysWild by going to the website for some ideas here. Go on, you might discover the new you.
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The song of the blackbird is a complex and beautiful thing, but not necessarily at 3.25am when it is just outside your open window. On this occasion, I was prepared to forgive him because this was the day of one of our annual dawn adventures and he was only five minutes ahead of the alarm I had set on my phone. I used the extra five minutes to listen to the seemingly infinite variety of beautiful calls that a blackbird can make and even smiled to myself as he seemed to try one or two that didn’t quite come off. If you have never listened to a blackbird then you should. It’s a sound that lifts the heart and is guaranteed to banish the saddest of feelings. I have read that the males sing like this to reinforce their territorial claims which seems a bit odd to me. Most animals spray urine or defecate to mark boundaries and many will openly fight. The blackbird sits on a post or rooftop and declares; “Just one step closer and I am warning you I will sing something even more beautiful than the last bit.” Rambo of the bird world he certainly is not. But this isn’t a blog about blackbirds; it’s a blog about going on a mini-adventure.
Ready for off
“You must be mad”, “Are you crazy?” or “Rather you than me” are the usual responses when I tell anybody that we plan to rise before the sun and head off for a walk or a bike ride, but these are knee-jerk reactions with no thought for what such an experience is really like. I’ll save you the bother of thinking it through for yourself and tell you what it’s like.
For me, at least, a good walk or bike ride in beautiful surroundings is a bit like a lovely tasty meal. That is to say that these things are satisfying in their own right but when you add a sprinkle of salt and vinegar to fish and chips or a generous handful of parmesan cheese Bolognese they really come to life. They are lifted to another level of sensation and choosing to set off on a walk or a bike ride before sunrise has the same effect. It adds spice. It turns just another outdoor experience into a mini-adventure. There is an enchanted short period before the sun rises when all the pleasures of being outdoors are intensified. The light is magical; the sounds are amplified and the smells are more distinct. There is a feeling of being part of a secret escapade simply because the majority of people wouldn’t contemplate doing such a thing. It’s as if the world is briefly yours and yours alone to explore and to indulge in. So that is why we crawled out of bed at 3.30am and put on our cycling kit.
Empty road, promising sky
The dual carriageway to Preston is normally a road we dread but at this hour it was a joy as we cycled side by side soaking up the passing sounds of the birds as they announced another day. After ten minutes we stopped in a layby for a quick breather and gasped at the beauty of the rapidly brightening eastern sky silhouetting the distant hills and the two hares that frolicked around in the field besides us. It was hard to imagine that just a few hours from now this road would be packed with speeding cars and lorries, their occupants totally unaware of our other world that had recently existed in another time.
Sunrise, Preston Marina
Our destination was Mere Sands Wood Nature Reserve about twenty miles from home and in the time it took us to get there our two worlds of calm and chaos had been bridged. As we arrived in the village of Rufford at 6am the traffic was already starting to build and it was a relief to escape into the peaceful sanctuary of the woods and be enveloped by the sounds and smells of nature once more. We crept into one of the many lakeside hides and tucked into a well-earned breakfast sandwich before taking in the scene before us. The early morning light was as sharp and clear as the mist on the lake was ghostly, and the sound of an owl reminded us that the brand new day was only just beginning. A heron flew towards us from the far shore and landed just twenty yards away to patiently await its own morning snack while a small duck (Pochard we thought) with two youngsters in tow glided back and forth just in front of our viewpoint.
View from the hide
Now it was time to be still. To look, to listen and to breathe in the complex cocktail of aromas that surrounded us. The deep damp woody smell of the hide itself enhanced by the subtle fragrances from flowers and woodland plants all around us. The periods of complete silence broken by a tiny splash as a fish took a fly from the surface of the lake or the sudden surprisingly loud call of a moorhen amongst the reeds just below our viewpoint. Gradually our senses tuned in like eyes getting used to the dark as more and more of this magical scene was revealed. The incredibly subtle movement of the heron as it watches with infinite patience for a fish or frog in the shallows by the side of the lake. A huge bug clinging to a reed just inches in front of our eyes that we didn’t see until it moved and made us jump. It was like a secret magical world that would only be revealed if you were prepared to wait and let it come to you. This time of the day is something that is precious and deserves to be savoured and given space, it’s not a time for rushing around to see what can be seen. Let it come to you and the rewards are enchanting and will stay with you forever.
Inevitably the transient early morning had to come to an end and we prepared for a very different experience as we knew all along that this would be a trip of two halves. With some reluctance we pushed our bikes back out of the woods and taking the memories with us we took to the roads once more for the journey home.
We took a more circuitous route to get away from some of the heavier traffic and there was a little added spice as we progressed further and further along a road that we had been told more than once was “closed ahead”. Turning back at the first warning sign would have been like eating the fish and chips without the vinegar. This was a perfect opportunity to add that little extra zing as we gambled that we would be able to get through. I’m pleased to say that on this occasion the wager paid off.
We rode along quieter roads with names like Long Meanygate and Wholesome Lane and all the time the power of the sun grew steadily stronger reminding us of yet another reason for our crazy early start. Sadly, in the crossing of a roundabout these quiet roads were but a memory as we plunged back into Preston and all our attention was immediately focused on the fast and heavy traffic around us. We weren’t quite finished with nature though as on the city marina there are dozens of pontoons supporting nest boxes for visitors from Namibia in the form of common terns. We made a small detour to see how these noisy but spectacular birds were getting on.
The population had boomed since our last visit and hundreds of birds are now sitting on one, two or sometimes three speckled brown eggs while their partners dive for fish to keep them sustained. In contrast to the peace and tranquillity of the woodlands this was a scene of noise, aggression and fast, furious movement. All the birds seem to be continuously at war with each other, squabbling over space and stealing food from the very beaks of other birds in random acts of ambush.
Just another argument
They screamed at each other and pecked furiously at their neighbours, keen to maintain their small precious share of the available space. It occurred to me that life in the city is pretty much the same whatever the species.
We arrived home in the middle of another hot day. The blackbird was still singing away from his high perch but now I looked at him a little differently. Now we shared a secret, this blackbird and me; we both knew what it feels like to experience a new day from the very, very beginning. That blackbird isn’t crazy, and neither are we.
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