Swift, I am not.

Just before I left for my ill-fated Dartmoor trip I had a last bit of business to do.

Transport yourself back to the middle of August, it is where you find me now.  My backlog of potential blog/diary entries is rather considerable.

An unusual sunny day broke clear of the dross August has been. It was a reminder that this was late summer, 19th August not 19th Feb and the weather should at least be civilised. Shirt sleeve order, the sky was a clouded blue, strong deep like bulletproof glass.

I am crammed on the last vestige of land before England gives way to sea. At the base of south facing slope linking sea to sky, dotted with scrub but dominated by a large wild rose bush. The red rose hips stand out clear, a scene of strong colour. Bursting with health, nothing wrong with them.

It is the dozens of swifts which are skimming the slope which have attracted my attention. I am not alone on this patch of England but I am alone in watching the swifts. They seem invisible to others even as they come down the slope through them.

The swifts squeak as they wheel and cart through the sky, feeding on insects caught in warm updraft. The swifts themselves take on the appearance of a swarm, flying crazy lines, in out and around, they come close to everything but hit nothing.

So rare to land they are the perfection of flying. As I watch the display more things come into focus. There is a blackbird chucking leaf litter about under the rose bush. Industriously busy he seems oddly earthbound, not prepared to take flight among the swifts.

Not so a number of white butterflies, they flutter seemingly without concern going about the business they have and always will have. A group of wasps take the usual unhealthy interest in me. Wasps seem to take a naughty delight in the reactions they instil. I let them hover and idle about me, arm waving seems to increase their interest rather than deter them.

All this is and so much more I do not see is going on in a bit of land maybe 20 foot by 60 foot. It was wonderfully life affirming. Yes, a newspaper article has just told me the swift population has collapsed and the future will contain less of them, but right there, right then, there were enough to put on a marvellous show for me.

Was it because it is a common enough site that I alone took time to stop and stare or were people too busy relaxing to care. I was the only one there who had business to conduct, everyone else was there to relax and enjoy themselves.

It is just one of those simple scenes which weave themselves into memories fabric for reasons .unknowable

Tree hugging.

My stroll through the history of Furze Hill, guided by the efforts of those that had taken the time to record the girth of some ancient trees had been enjoyable. My eyes had literally been opened to new knowledge.

It seems like a geeky thing to do, but I am all for that. So embracing my inner geek, I thought it was time to give a little back to the community that is logging the old and commendable trees of UK.

In a churchyard a few miles from Furze Hill I had a recollection of a most wonderful tree. It is a favourite tree. I saw it a few years ago and the memory has remained. Given this is as close as I am likely to get for a while, I went where memory took me.

Old tree in churchyard means only one thing in my mind, Yew Tree.

The church barely has a parish to serve now, it is at least a mile from anything significant, but it seems to have congregation enough to remain viable. There is a pond on the outskirts of it and a graveyard of some size and much used down the centuries, generations of families from pre-mass transit days. The church must be linked with the manor house nearby.

The tree itself is as high as the square tower of the church, a good deal more wondrous too look at and shades a considerable part of the churchyard.

Some gravestones have been moved and cracked by the trees continued growth. The branches are thick and twisted and in places threaten to touch the ground.

There is something otherworldly about this. Dwelling on the nutrient source for its root system is not completely comforting. Is this what prompts such strange growth? At the same time I sort of like the extended lifespan being part of a tree confers upon you.

The tree turned out not a yew, it was not one of the few species I am capable of recognising instantly. Still it would only be a matter of leaf comparisons later. I took enough pictures of the leaves to help identification. The tree was looking very healthy and vigorous, no need to remove a leaf from it when a picture will do.

Measuring the tree was made slightly more problematic because a group of hornets were busy in a pear tree 20 foot or so away. Not good, but they seemed to be minding their own business. I had seen a broken wasp nest in the ground next to the footpath earlier. The occupants of the nest were not best pleased. It felt like I was pushing my luck a bit.

My shoulder is 1.5m off the ground, a good height for measuring tree girths, I was built for the task. Too add another level of geekiness I can measure a 1m length of string to a 1cm+/- relentlessly just by arm span. Hand for 10cm measurement. fingers for 2cm. Well everyone needs a hobby :)

None of this was needed as I had prepared a 7m cord with knots at 1m intervals. The tree was a warty rascal and had a girth of 5m 30cm, maybe a little more, but this can hardly be exact science.

There was still the issue of identification. Thankfully after some feeble efforts searching the internet I gave up and asked on the Wild about Britain forum. Within half an hour I had my answer, Holm Oak.

5.3m girth put it in a category worthy of note so I placed it on the ancient tree website where it awaits verification.

It was a nice feeling to put this tree on the map, give it a bit of recognition the person that planted it could never have imagined possible. It is not much but it is a bit.

 

The Holm Oak sitting on the Woodland Trusts website, recorded, awaiting verification (I wonder if that will happen)

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Light as air.

Image by Neil T via Flickr

 

"Many a mickle makes a muckle". So said Gordon Jackson in an advert about supermarket savings in the 1970's. It had something to do with looking after the pennies and the pounds looking after themselves.

It is just as relevant when it comes to grams and kilos.

There are always savings to be made. I just reduced the weight of my psion 5 by 3 grams by changing the stylus. I could reduce it further by not using the stylus, the plastic tweezers can double up, or a small carbon fibre rod. I can reduce it further by removing the AA batteries and running it on the backup Lithium. I choose not too because it reduces functionality more than I wish. However I know the options and have considered them.

Not all 500ml plastic bottles are created equal. They all weigh slightly different amounts.

My tent pegs, similarly so, some are lighter than others. A gram or two, but why not take the lighter of them, they will perform the same practical function.

I suffer from asthma which means medication in the form of an inhaler. For whatever reason I cannot get just the refill bottles, the NHS hands out the whole container each time. I pay for it and am happy to pay for it, but I would be just as happy to pay the same and avoid the plastic pump mechanism.

The original plastic inhaler pump weighs in at 46grams. Once I had removed all the stuff that is not necessary for function this halves. Still though it is more material than I need to make it function.

Fortunately not one to ever throw anything away I had an older style inhaler. Attacking this with a pair of scissors and then attacking the remnants with a drill I get the weight down to 5 grams.

It still fulfils the same function. I could reduce the weight a little more but it begins to get potentially "un-functional".

46grams of equipment which could save my life doesn't seem a bad trade off. However with a bit of thought this can be reduced to 5grams of equipment which can still keep me alive. 

I used to scoff at these sorts of weight savings but it is remarkable how it adds up. It also represents a different mindset. The first, if I don't care about the few grams here and there I end up with a few kilos here and there and that is no fun carting around. 

To be constantly looking at ways of saving grams easily means a packweight which is always being refined.