I’ve already written about our hasty decision to rent a cottage on The Lizard because we were both suffering from post COVID tristesse. We calculated – as we always do – what was the cheapest week we could get before the price doubles at Easter, and a phone call sealed the deal. After weeks and weeks of continuous rain and three weeks of COVID symptoms we were desperate to take advantage of what promised to be a dry week with occasional sunshine. Both of those qualities were abundant here but sadly we also had wickedly strong north-easterly winds which kept the temperature down to 4C but felt more like freezing. Cold enough to take your face off even with three layers of clothes, beanies and mittens. I don’t think we’ve ever known it colder here – as far South as it’s possible to be on mainland Britain. Still lovely as ever but the usually reliable signs of spring seem to have been stopped in their tracks.
My initial aim was to check out a pond. Here it is. Last year I’d come to believe that I’d failed to spot a little plant called Spring Quillwort – Isoetes echinospora – which sheds its fronds in the winter. It turned out I was wrong because if I’d taken the trouble to check I’d have seen that it’s never been recorded on the Lizard. Anyway one thing led to another and I discovered that there is another, even rarer, member of the same family which does grow here and attracts visiting botanists from all over the world. It’s an odd plant that grows in impoverished soil in temporary puddles during the winter and, in order to survive the constant drought, dies back in early summer. Our first expedition was compromised by sheer driving wind, but I managed to narrow our find down to one of two species and then decided to send a photo to the local Vice County Recorder for his opinion. He was right – I was wrong and it was Spring Squill but he’s a very encouraging kind of man and sent me a detailed map of where I could find the real deal. Short of coming and holding my hand he couldn’t have been more helpful.
So on Tuesday afternoon we set out once again, map in hand in the fierce wind to a place close to the car park to search again. They weren’t there but it’s a bit early in the year anyway. What we did notice was an enormous gorse fire running apparently out of control and very close to another potential group of plants. Cue for a strong email to the National Trust asking why on earth they were burning gorse so close to a nationally important site. To their credit the project manager emailed me back within the hour explaining what they were doing and describing “controlled burning” as one among many controls that were being trialled on the Lizard, to improve the life chances of around 20 nationally important species. “That’s great” – I thought, but the word controlled is a bit of a tricky one. You can control everything up to the point where you apply the match to the tinder but thereafter the wind will take over and from where we were standing it looked as if the flames were twenty feet into the air and travelling at speed in the direction of the footpath where the rare plants had a foothold. They wouldn’t have had the ghost of a chance of stopping it, if it got sufficiently close to the path to cause damage. Fire and flood are two of nature’s gifts that do not allow negotiation.
The project manager said that he had been present and he didn’t think it was out of control, but conceded that we might have had a better view of it. He also said that the burning had been carried out by contractors. From a contractor’s point of view a strong northeasterly, driving the fire towards the cliff would have done the job quickly and efficiently – which would have been fine if the purpose of the burning was merely to clear the ground of gorse. But the true purpose of the burn was to create a better environment for the rare plants and therefore speed and efficiency were – or should have been – subsidiary to their preservation!
My other objection would be the sheer amount of particulate (PM 2.5) matter released into the atmosphere along with Co2 and all the other noxious substances that bonfires emit, plus the release of phosphate and potash from ash into what needs to remain impoverished soil. Against that you might argue that if the contractors had waited for a southwesterly which would have taken the direction of travel of the fire away from the cliffs; Lizard village would have been inundated with choking smoke – so maybe cutting the gorse back would have been a more expensive, slower but greener alternative.
So after smoke – which we know to be a component of climate heating and lung disease – there comes ash, which is quite alkaline, quite mobile, and known to be fairly soluble in some cases; plus all of the the accumulated trace elements which – depending on the heat of the fire – can also be released. There’s an abundance of science on all this and it seems wise to err on the side of caution when it comes to these highly vulnerable sites. It’s never a good idea to let the perfect drive out the good but sometimes we need to look for a better kind of good.
Obviously, fire and overwintering insects aren’t a good mix. In a world of reliable abundance maybe the loss of a population of insects would be soon repaired. Eggs and pupae can’t get out of the way. The Project Manager wrote that expert surveys had been carried out before the policy had been adopted, but there is no denying the impact on insects and many species of bee overwintering in the earth beneath the gorse; and finally, Gorse, which flowers the year round, is a useful source of nectar at a time when there’s nothing much else around.
Now I have the greatest of respect for the National Trust and for Natural England and I’m quite sure that a good deal of discussion was expended on the variables in all this, but “The best laid plans of mice and men” …… etc are always liable to be upended by the facts on the ground, and a little humility, when the plan literally turns to dust and ashes, goes a long way. Nature conservation demands a fleet footed and occasionally improvisational approach and the problems come thick and fast when institutional inertia gets in the way. If this is an experimental project this may be a time when one part of it should be abandoned in the light of events.
First list of the year
We come down here most years for a break – usually around three weeks later than this year so we can look for spring plants.As the years go by it’s more like checking out on old friends; but there’s more than an element of looking for signs of spring – like fields of flowering daffodils near Culdrose, as they are this year. But the weeks of rain followed by this extreme cold snap has certainly held things back. I’ve come to appreciate the exuberant beauty of plants as they burst through the soil. The rosettes of Wild Radish leaves are probably as lovely as the plant gets, for instance. In particular we were looking for some small populations of Babington’s Leek that we’d recorded for the first time last year, and a wireplant that must have travelled from New Zealand via the isles of Scilly; both of which were in or near the ruined serpentine works at Poltesco. So we parked the car at Ruan Minor and set off down the steep valley, past a restored but apparently abandoned water mill and on to the ruined mill on the sea shore. What’s not to like? industrial ruins and rare plants – paradise.
So with the two boxes ticked we also looked for plants in flower and found twelve.
- Celandine
- Winter Heliotrope
- Hogweed (unexpectedly)
- Perennial Sowthistle
- Dandelion
- Ivy Leaved Toadflax (white form)
- Primrose
- Snowdrop
- Violet
- Red Campion
- Gorse
- Daisy
Admittedly we’re talking about single specimens in some cases, but that’ll do for a harbinger of better times, we need some good news. I’m not sleeping well and tormented by dreams of violence. Last night I dreamed about children in a war zone. I won’t bother you with the details. Here are some pictures of the mill and some of the plants, taken by Madame.
Postscript
The gorse burning has continued for several days, with the Fire Brigade called out at least once. Photographs on social media on Sunday showed that the plume of smoke could be seen from Penzance. It seems to me that in an age when we’re thinking twice about wood burning stoves and garden bonfires, it’s a bit rich when a state sponsored organisation (Natural England) is burning acres of gorse for any reason at all. It may be perfectly legal, but that doesn’t mean it’s sensible or ethical. One obvious possible solution is to cut the gorse back, shred it on site to reduce the volume and then compost it and/or use it for mulch. More expensive? Well who’s paying the bill for the environmental cost of the fires?
