It is Sunday on a cold murky February morning and we are out on the west edge of the Moss dismantling a pheasant pen. Why ? Well in its past life Flanders Moss used to be shot over quite a lot. A previous shooting syndicate decided to build a huge pheasant pen but when they finished they left a huge pile of junk and collapsed fencing which should be on one of Scotland's top nature reserves. So we have a hardy band of volunteers who are going to do the demolishing. But it is not just demolishing, we aim to recycle or reuse as much as possible. Some already has been used for giving grip to bridges and for building hen runs and everyone on the work party is looking at what they are dismantling to think what they can re-use the materials for. Ballangrew wood is a dry edge to Flanders and is filled with a mix of straight and twisted trees hinting at an unclear, mixed history. Some of the wind-blown biggest look like a moss covered whale skeletons lying abandoned in the wood. By 1230 everything was done in perfect timing for lunch, the highlight of which was Di's smelly cheese, no actually it really was good.
Smelly cheese digested we head south through the wood to tackle rhododendron seedlings. This is an area where over the years we have been tackling the invasive rhodi and seem to be winning. The huge bushes have mostly been killed but like the aliens films it keep coming back. Seeds in the soils every year sprout into life so we sweep through the woods pulling seedlings as we go. A little heave today is much easier than a major operation later. Through the woods we see the creative browsing of the increasing deer population with the beautiful topiary of the holly bushes. Rhodis blitzed we head out onto the open bog and have a go at pulling and snipping the pine seedlings that are spreading out onto the moss. Claudine swears at the cheeky trees, the smallest that are often the most difficult to put out. She's French. A large brown hare lopes off the moss disturbed by us from his bog siesta.
On the way off the Moss the highlight of the day, we find a small hummock of Spahgnum fuscum, a rare sphagnum moss that has very firm brown hummocks. For a bog manager this is exciting and very beautiful but Di starts muttering about Denzil Washington and I know that I have lost them, its time to go home.
