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.

Fun in the Field

It's 9.30pm. We picked up our route two hours ago, drove to the Cull Zone and started our evening perambulations. We've done this before. It's less nerve racking now but just as exciting. Until now we've seen nothing. Are we actually achieving anything? I don't know. I hope so.

It's a beautiful clear night. Chilly but not Arctic style. The moon is orange and keeping watch from above. We take a moment to appreciate the stars, torches off. And breathe. We have work to do. Whilst we walk these footpaths, so do contractors with weapons. They're allowed to be here. So are we. Time to be visible. Torches on.

We find a Badger sett. No traps, but then we're still not experienced patrollers, maybe we miss them. We know it's an active sett. We know they're not safe, but keep our fingers crossed and move on. We walk the trails, keeping a close eye on the map, making sure we don't get lost in the dark. Regardless of where you stand in the Badger debate, no one wants to upset landowners by traipsing into the wrong field, or at least we don't. It's a navigational challenge. Your range of sight is reduced to distances that aren't helpful in finding your way. We manage.

We hit a road and take a break, it's a nice evening for a walk. It was pouring the other week. That was character building. As biscuits disappear we hear shots from behind us. Damn. Frustration. We just came from there, they waited for us to pass. Quiet for a moment whilst we hope to Whatever We Believe In that they missed. It was probably back near that sett.

Carry on, there's more ground to cover. A pickup truck passes us, it slows down then tears off into the night. We wander on, chatting, being visible. The pickup passes again in the other direction, slowing again when level with these midnight wanderers. Wish they'd stop discussing horror movies. I tell them that. The conversation moves to Christmas. I tell them to go back to horror movies.

We get a tip off that someone's hoping to shoot roundabouts where we are. They can't do it whilst we're here. Satisfaction in small amounts until we hear another shot somewhere over yonder. We've split slightly, migrated into pairs for conversation and safer walking at the side of the road. Our pickup truck pulls up to the girls in front, slows, window down. A man with all the allure of a cowpat is talking angrily at my friends. They don't bite the bait, they absorb the colourful language admirably, but then they're colourful people anyway. I can't help but feel a little nervous though. He crawls past us, but brings his goading with him. His vocabulary is limited but it's clear he has very strong opinions about our adventure in Britain's beautiful countryside. He enters a property and leaves us behind.

A realisation is starting to set in, but it doesn't have time to settle because a policeman steps out of the car behind. I hadn't even noticed there was one. Are we alright? Yes, actually we are. Because although that man was inflicting Threatening Behaviour (the police man's terminology, not mine), there's probably a fairly understandable reason for his rage tonight:

He didn't get his Badger.

We made a difference tonight. You can too.

03 June 2010

World Environment Day is approaching. Events will take place across the world on June 5 to promote environmental awareness and to pressure political bodies to take action on important issues.

2010 has been declared the International Year of Biodiversity by the United Nations. Biodiversity is not only important for preserving individual species and habitats, but is also essential for maintaining the ecosystem services we rely on, such as food, clean water and fuel.

The UK has a Biodiversity Action Plan to monitor and protect our biodiversity. The latest figures from it estimate that over a third of the high priority species in Wales are declining or have been lost since the last assessment.

Economically, biodiversity loss is also a bit of a nightmare. ‘The Economics of Ecosystems and Biodiversity Study’ could well be the most influential report since ‘The Economics of Climate Change’ by Lord Stern in 2007.

The study was undertaken by leading economist and senior banker, Pavan Sukhdev, and the resulting report is expected to announce that the ratio of costs of conserving natural ecosystems to the benefits of doing so range from one to ten, up to as much as one to 100.

Natural ecosystems play an essential role in supporting human civilisation, but we’re currently living in the age of the sixth mass extinction. The last time Earth experienced one of these was roughly 65 million years ago, when a meteorite collided with the Yucatan Peninsula and led to the extinction of the dinosaurs.

However, this mass extinction is due to the destruction of numerous habitats faster than species can adapt to suit them. If they can’t adapt to altered habitats, the only other viable option is to move, but the corridors that once made this possible are now largely absent or blocked. The remaining path to take is extinction.

The silver lining is that, because this mass extinction is largely caused by us, it is not an unpredictable event that we can do nothing about. Reversing the biodiversity crisis is one of the biggest and most complex challenges to face our generation, and it will take global participation and skills from all walks of life to solve.

World Environment Day has been celebrated on June 5 since 1972. In Cardiff, the National Museum of Wales is holding an ECOfair on the day to celebrate it, which includes an informal Q&A session at 2pm. The theme this year is ‘many species, one planet, one future’. It may be clichéd but it’s all we’ve got.

- as published in the latest issue of gair rhydd, Cardiff's student newspaper