Walking with the Wounded Badger Patrol

Walking at night with the Dorset Wounded Badger Patrol, naturalist Rachel Henson witnesses the controversial badger cull first hand, reflecting on the impact it has on one of our most iconic mammals.

The fields were laced with orange mist, illuminated by a Halloween pumpkin moon. The sloping fields were kept from running away by hedgerows hiding mammals and the traps laid out to catch them with. This part of Dorset was hosting a nocturnal battle for the fourth consecutive autumn. The government-led badger cull was brought in as part of an attempt to curb bovine tuberculosis, but arguments over efficiency and animal welfare rose in temperature until activists raised up from their armchairs and put on welly boots and head torches. By day these paths led dog walkers and ramblers, but during the cull the traffic changed. After the ten o’clock news, a human on these paths could be a peaceful protestor, a cull contractor with a weapon, a hunt saboteur, a police officer or a curious neighbour. For a badger, it would make the world of difference.

Lowland navigation is hard at the best of times. Map reading by moonlight is harder. Hedgerows merged into the night, distorting field boundaries. Distant landmarks couldn’t help us after dark, keeping quiet until sunrise. Every cowpat squelch or cracking leaf made my muscles tense, but not as much as the pigeons who chose flight over fight as we interrupted their sleep. We entered the woods, sinking into land that gave way under foot, hidden by water left behind from a storm the week before. I shone my torch to the base of each tree, looking for any sign of mammalian life. The map indicated that this was Brock Farm. It couldn’t confirm the presence of badgers, but it seemed like a safe gamble. Memories of a previous outing came to mind when my torch light picked up a badger, standing still at the entrance to its sett. It didn’t leave immediately. Dipping our beams in respect we watched the badger as it decided that whatever threat we posed was minor, and turning slowly, its tail wobbled back underground behind it.

A tawny airborne steam train hooted in the distance, making me stop in my tracks. I chilled from nerves as well as my wet feet encased in no longer waterproof boots. Having recomposed myself, a barn owl barked above my head, and I started to think the badgers would be fine looking after themselves.

“I’ve got one.” Katie called from behind a bank peppered with sett holes. I scrambled closer, cursing foliage too low for my torch to warn me about, that only announced itself by smacking me on the forehead. The cage sat ugly in the amber glow. I had expected it to be shiny, but it was painted bullshit brown. The death box was tied open with baling twine, which tripped effortlessly with a sturdy stick. At the very least it wouldn’t kill anything that night. A silent text message carried away our location as I studied the trap. Either the badgers had grown wise, or this sett was already empty. Peanuts remained in the bait point, the trap untouched.

Less than a mile away, a sow dragged her bleeding body back to her sett, seeping the soil red because the free-shooter couldn’t get a clean shot. The ladies on patrol found her at the entrance, too exhausted to make it underground. At least with a trap, it should be a quick kill. But if a badger enters the trap at sunset, it has no choice but to cower there until somebody comes to shoot it after breakfast. Many of these contraptions were recalled from the vaccination trials and reissued for this year’s extended culling. Standing where a protected species was due to be shot at dawn, the cull seemed an expensive slaughter of scapegoats for a disease mismanaged by humans.

The phone screen glared in the darkness: “Thanks, will sort it.” We carried on our night walk, relieved that the trap was retiring soon. Thoroughbred Black Beauties lined the fences as we returned towards the houses. Demon eyes and Batman ears surveyed the situation. Galloping into the fog they took our secrets back to the farm, but we were gone long before they told anyone.