One of a kind?

With money a necessity and a lengthy period of unemployment inevitable, last November I took up my father's offer of work. I did four mandatory courses that enabled me to earn money as a commercial fisherman, and once completed, my dad talked me through what I was to do.

The first time I went out on the boat, and was fully licensed to do so, my dad and his crew had 'hit the jackpot' the previous night. They wanted me to jump aboard in our fishing village to steam down to Falmouth to help land the catch of anchovies. A boat FULL of anchovies.

I can't remember exactly how much that catch weighed, but it wouldn't have been far from 12 tonne. It took us about 4 hours to land, and a 2 hour steam each way. All in daylight. For those who don't know, anchovies are worth about 3 times the amount of the usual catch of sardines, so I was paid handsomely for my efforts.

Somewhat naively, I was impressed with the ease at which so much money could be earned, and threw myself whole-heartedly into this season's ring-netting. My luck? We haven't caught anchovies again this season, so no cut of a jackpot for me! I don't mean to sound ungrateful; I've earned more than I could doing any other sort of temporary job this winter in Cornwall. There is, however, a tendency, for one's mind to dwell on the potential for the bigger, better or quicker catch. Human nature, I suppose.

I was dubious to start with though, about the various necessities that are associated with this type of work. For instance, it involves going out about an hour prior to sunset, and more often than not, not returning home until a few hours before, or even after dawn. So for most of the winter, I have spent my waking hours, in the dark- a problem for some, I would imagine. I also dealt with the 'below-par' toilet facilities a.k.a; a bucket. As an 'outdoorsy' person though, this was not much of a issue. I spent every night donned in the classic but incredibly unflattering yellow oilskins (I would I have been a lot colder and wetter without them!).

I gladly dealt with the hard work and muscle aches of 3 hours bent over in the fish room, shovelling fish. I even dealt with the teasing, the first time I emerged from the fishroom, with my hair matted with fish scales (I hadn't the foresight to wear a hat- a mistake I will only ever make once I think!). I have made hundreds of cups of tea for the crew, and watched for hours on end at blue, yellow, green, and red blobs on a sonar screen. I've also heard more swear words and profanities than I ever thought possible! I haven't yet had the misfortune to suffer from seasickness, but luckily for me, this type of fishing is a relatively fine weather one, and so conditions are rarely rough enough form me to do so.

Unfortunately, I have also witnessed tragic scenes that I hope no one else ever needs to. I've been shaken to my very core, and forced to question a lot of practices and meaning. I have silently hoped and prayed for the lives of people I know, and now fear for the lives of others I hold dear.

After reading that, I can't imagine many people would be envious of me. My opinion? I think they should be!

I've seen porpoises diving at the bow of the boat. I have seen gannets diving into the sea. Watched a seal get himself an easy meal (climbing over the headrope of our net, into a 10 tonne bag of fish); the equivalent of an all you can eat buffet! I've hand fed a wild seal in Falmouth harbour; a seal the size of a small car, with teeth that would rival those of any beast found on land! I seen a full moon the colour of amber and lighting up an entire bay. I've seen a whole full sky of stars on most nights I've been out. I've watched the sun rise in front of me, over the horizon, as I sit on deck on my way home. I've caught shoals of fish worth thousands of pounds. I've seen so many different species and size of fish, learning all the while about their characteristics. I've seen the sky so dark you can't use your eyes for navigation, but need to rely on plotters and the radar. I've been the only boat, or apart from the crew, the only person for miles around me. I've been in total silence but also amid hundreds of screaming gulls all trying to get at our catch in the net.

As I walk among others in London or even in Cornwall, I can't help but wonder if I really am one of a kind? A female graduate of Cambridge University with a Master's degree, working on a commercial fishing vessel, and loving it? I'm certainly the only one I know!

I've shed blood, sweat and tears this season. I've witnessed some of natures most wonderful things. I've also witnessed the power of the seas and the consequences they have. I have earned more money than ever before, and worked hard for it. I've learnt more than can ever be gathered from a book.

I've been physically exhausted, fallen asleep standing up, and been frustrated by the poor prices the tonnes of fish we catch makes. I think it is fair to say, I've had a baptism by fire this winter!

So, if you had wondered why my name is Fisher_Girl, now you know!

And a word to those who maybe think it is beneath them, or a disagreeable job, from someone who has done it, I say, don't knock it until you have tried it! And, ask yourselves, how much job satisfaction do you get from your office job? Not as much as I do, that is for sure.

But also, to those who are interested in doing more, eat more fish! The Cornish waters are full of fish, and by doing so, you support small businesses and non-destructive practices. In return, you get a healthy, fresh meal that is cheap and full of vitamins. Where's the catch?!

Thanks,

Becky

Golitha Falls

Golitha Falls is a mixed oak woodland in Cornwall on the site of an ancient woodland. It is a National Nature Reserve set in a deep valley, the bottom of which houses the fast-flowing upper reaches of the River Fowey.

There really is no where else like it in Cornwall; the water tumbles, trickles, cascades, rushes, meanders and crashes through the valley, over boulders, under tree branches, around roots and through the tendrils of underwater plants. To the unobtrusive visitor, the only noises to disturb the constant but soothing whoosh of the water are the calls of the various winged inhabitants of the wood.

Why do I write of this?

I spent yesterday volunteering with Natural England trying to protect this Cornish nature haven from the blight of Phytophthora ramorum, known to many as 'Sudden Oak Death'. Although the Falls are as yet, not known to be contaminated, the larch trees within the woodland are potential carriers of the pathogen. 


Natural England employees and conservation volunteers alike embarked on the felling of any Larch trees within the woods. I, not possessing a chainsaw licence, had little to do at the beginning except watch these impressive trees fall like dominoes at the hands of my colleagues. I had never before heard the crash of tonnes of wood fall to the floor, taking any obstructing branches, and indeed, trees with it. Never had I felt underneath my feet, the tremors as shock waves pass through the earth in response to the huge disturbance. I have now. 


I had mixed emotions whilst watching the decades of growth plummet to the ground to find their final resting places. As a conservationist, I have always associated the felling of woodland to generally be a negative occurrence, my mind automatically flicking to the rapid loss of rainforests the world over. The education instilled unto me (quite rightly) drags my mind back to reason, just seconds after this initial generalisation. Unsurprisingly though, the benefits of felling never inspire such intense feelings within me as the negatives of it do. 


Conservationist or not, I couldn't help but feel impressed (and unnerved) at the relative ease with which one man with a chainsaw could make something so large tumble to the ground: like a child watching as a pencil stood on it's end fall over with a mere tap or puff. 


Yesterday, however, I observed first hand, just one of the positive benefits to the felling of trees in England. I've no doubt that everyone would agree, the felling of a dozen larch trees is of little consequence when attempting to maintain the integrity of hundreds of oaks in an age old woodland as beautiful as Golitha. 


An age old woodland that is, that houses hundreds of bird species, moths, mosses, liverworts, flowers and invertebrates. Just yesterday, I observed two courting ravens flying above the canopy, hundreds of polypody (a small fern) sticking out of branches and trunks, the bright 'Orange Jelly' fungus and 43 pied pied flycatcher nesting boxes littered the woodland in an attempt to encourage residence (and a welcome reminder spring is on its way!). Dippers are apparently a common sight to be seen flitting in and out of the river, alas I was not lucky enough to see one yesterday- an effective means of bribing me to visit again though! 


The most striking thing of all though? The green. Hundreds of different, shades of green, from the lichened bark of the trees, to the branches covered in thick, lush mosses, the undergrowth with sedges and ferns, the algae-covered rocks and boulders in the water and the strikingly bright patches dotted throughout the valley. A spectacle to behold on a crisp winters day, and a fantastic, worthwhile day's toil. 


Let's hope our work was not in vain, and the curse of Phytophthora remains at bay! 


Thanks for reading, 


Becky 

Batty?

Yesterday I went on my first ever bat group outing. I arranged to meet the other members in a car park in Cornwall at 11am. I was warned I may get muddy, and wellies were a definite.

Not thinking much of this (getting muddy and requiring wellies is almost a given with most conservation activities), I set off to meet them. After a few initial identification issues, I found the group and was given a battery pack (the size of a novel, but the weight of a reference book!) to strap around my waist, under my coat. This had a lead going up to a lamp which I had to attach to the front of my helmet. This done, and introductions made, we set off.

Getting to know a few of the people on the walk to the first site, I was treated to a few anecdotes about what lay in store for me. I, having never been on a bat outing ever, was completely in the dark about what was to happen. The most I had gathered was that we were visiting about 5 hibernacula near to the carpark, and once inside, we would count the bats and record what species they were.

These anecdotes though, filled me with dread. Horror stories of the 80's where health and safety was a little less stringent than it is today; stories of caves on cliff faces, and safety ropes coming loose, I thanked my stars that we are not on any beach, and it was no longer the 80's.!

The first hibernacula, was to be 'a bit of a squeeze' and the majority of the group would not actually fit inside. This one, I was also told, resembled a badger set from the outside. A badger sett?! I'm going to be sent in a badger sett?!

Now I'm sure you can imagine what must be running through my mind at this point...I have to squeeze myself, in full outdoors gear, down a muddy hole in the ground, that looks essentially like a badger set. I am also not what I would describe a slight of figure, so now I am really beginning to wonder if I am actually capable of doing this full stop.

Nevertheless, we reached the first site, and sure enough, it was a small hole in a bank, that did resemble a badger sett. I was told not to worry, that only 'Luke' was to be going down this one, and should he need assistance to get out, we were all there to pull him out. Down he went, it took about 2 minutes for him to shimmy his way down about 3metres through an even smaller hole at the end, where, I was told, he could stand up as the adit opened up. After losing sight of him completely for a few minutes, he shouted up that there was one lesser and one greater horseshoe bat. He then reappeared and grappled his way back up the muddy slope; an extremely difficult task given he could barely raise his head of the ground before it reached the roof.

After he resurfaced, looking very muddy, and very out of breath, we set off for the second site. This one, I was told was a bit easier, and all 5 of us would be able to fit in. "A bit easier?" I thought, I am going to need an awful lot more that 'a bit easier' to go down there!

So I donned my hard hat, tuned on the lamp, and removed my gloves; I meant business! I sat down at the entrance and started to shimmy my way down the muddy black crevice. Sure enough, the hole got smaller, and the air got damper, but eventually, it opened up to a 10 metre passage which had clearly been mined at some point. A little surprised, but essentially relieved to have fitted down the hole without much ado, I began to scour the walls of the cave for hibernating bats. Alas, there were none- already disturbed by something, or roused from their winter slumber by the warm weather, I was told.

Stalling slightly, before I had to climb back up the muddy slope, I saw a white cotton ball sized blob about the size of my fingernail hanging from the ceiling. Genuinely interested, I asked the man behind me what it was; a spiders egg sac I was told. Time no more to stall I set off...

Back up the hole I went, saying silent prayers all the way up, hoping that my physical strength would be able to pull myself up, without having to ask these men who I had only met an hour previously to pull me out. Especially given they were all very experienced at doing this, and did not even bat an eyelid at the challenge. Sooner than I thought I would, I emerged, slightly out of breath, but relieved to be back above ground relatively scathe free.

Before moving to the other side of the valley, we went to a nearby pool, where the sight of 6 grey herons standing together in the reeds greeted us. At this point, I curse myself for not thinking to bring my camera, and therefore missing this perfect photo opportunity. The weather was a perfect winters day, cool crisp air, with perfectly glassy waters in front.

Nearly halfway, and I had yet to see a bat. A little apprehensive about what was to follow, but still eager to see my first live bat.

The third hibernacula, was the one I think I would have appreciated being 'broken in' with. This one was not a squeeze at all in comparison to the others, and I merely had to crawl in about 3m, and then I could stand up and walk the remaining 10m of the hibernacula. Here, I saw my first 3 bats. All of them were lesser horseshoe bats, 2 were asleep, and one was waking, stretching its legs and gradually unfolding its wings.

They were dark in colour, hanging upside-down from the ceiling, with their wings wrapped around them acting as a duvet while they slept. I was however, surprised by their size. I have always had, out of ignorance I presume, an impression of bats as larger than that, but these were the length of my little finger, about the size of an elongated new potato. Please excuse the relatively unrefined comparison, but I could not think of anything else of comparable size/shape!

I was also very surprised at how delicate they also looked, fragile. I wondered how on earth had these creatures got such a bad name for themselves? They are tiny. And from what I had seen, not exactly fast moving yet- it takes them 30minutes to wake from hibernation before they can fly. I'm sure though they are much more active in the summer, and really can't wait to go out and witness them in flight. All I wanted to do was reach out, pluck it off the wall, and unfold the wings to see the horseshoe face...you will, I'm sure, be glad to know that I kept any errant ideas at bay, and refrained from disturbing this protected species from its hibernation.

The remaining adits went relatively smoothly, both requiring more 'shimmying'. The only casualty of the day, was my trousers, which ripped slightly when I climbed over a barbed wire fence to get to the last site. This one had been fenced off because adjacent to the horizontal one I entered, was an open, vertical mine shaft.

All in all, a good mornings work. I didn't get to see a greater horseshoe bat, but I saw 8 lesser horseshoe bats, and was very happy with that. The next site visit is in two weeks, and the quiet sense of reassurance I had felt following the excursion, was completely blown out of the water, when I was told next time, the organisers need to remember the safety rope...another new challenge for me, but I have to admit, I'm excited. :)

Thanks for reading it,

Becky

Graduate Unemployment

With this being my first blog, I'm not sure how it really works but am keen to give it a go!

I am a graduate of Cambridge University, and have recently completed a Master's degree in Wildlife Management and Conservation. I am, however, one of the growing number of graduates who are finding it hard to find work in their chosen field.

I would like to point out however, that I do not put myself in the category with those doing somewhat dubious degrees in order to partake in the three-year party whirlwind that so many consider to be a 'right' nowadays. No indeed, I worked hard to earn my place at Cambridge, I worked for all three years, and then worked my socks off in my self-funded Master's degree.

My question is, why, if I have worked so hard, am I still (3 months after finishing), unemployed?

If you are now thinking she must be really dim, and barely scraped a pass for each of her degrees, you are wrong. It is true that although my Cambridge degree was not a first class one, as I like to reassure myself, it was only 2 marks off a 2.i, and, I passed my master's with a distinction. Surely that must count for something?

On top of that, I gave up a whole summer to volunteer for various conservation charities, and have, since finishing, continued doing so. This, I might add, was (and still is) at considerable monetary cost to myself.

So, having recently been reunited with old Cambridge friends for New Year, the topic of conversation, as it always does, turned towards jobs; current success/enjoyment of their jobs, the excitement of a regular salary, and then the question I dread..."and what are you doing now, Becky?"

To this, I answer with as much gusto as I can manage (which is considerably less than in previous months)... "well, I'm working for my father, as a crew-member on his fishing vessel, and I'm volunteering in my spare time". I see the look of pity and wonder how quickly I can steer the subject away from my lack of employment and the impending feeling of inadequacy.

Why is it, that my all my Cambridge friends have managed to find employment, and I haven't? Comparing myself directly to them, it was not my results from Cambridge- other friends with comparable or lower grades have graduate jobs. It is not the fact I did a Master's and they did not- one friend did a Master's and has been working for nearly 2 months. It is not for want of trying- I have applied for several appropriate jobs, and dedicated hours to each application (not, like some people I know, who email a CV and generic cover letter in response to each potential position). Is it my chosen career path? Ahh...now here I stumble across an interesting notion.

I, out of all my friends, am the only one to have chosen a conservation career, I am the only one to have spent an entire summer volunteering for conservation charities, and I am also the only one without a job. Coincidence? I think not.

When I now compare myself to my colleagues on the Master's degree, yes there are the odd one or two who have managed to find employment in our chosen sector. However, (and this is honestly not my bitter side coming out), the majority of those, are the result of "who they knew", and not "what they knew".

On the rare occasion that I do get a personal response from a company, detailing why they could not select me for their final interview candidates, I find out that it is my experience that lets me down. This I have heard many times in the last 6 months, and am quite frankly no longer surprised when I get the same response.

Not enough experience. Easy enough to solve right? Work experience, volunteering, professional development courses, bat groups, mammal groups? Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes and....YES! I am doing all these things...so why does no one give me the time of day yet?

SO, the catch 22 of conservation, you need plenty of experience to get a job in conservation (probably because these companies are often charities and/or have very little extra resources to throw around training up graduates in complicated field techniques). How do you get experience? You do all the things I have been doing...volunteering, short term work placements etc. How do you fund these? Yourself.  I.e. get a job which thus prevents you from doing the aforementioned volunteering.

I don't think I would mind so much, if more people I knew were in this situation, but it would seem that the only people I know of who are unemployed graduates, are those in the conservation sector.

I wouldn't even mind so much if there were a decent number of jobs that I could apply for, but there is probably only about 1 job a month advertised, for which I meet all the specifications. The others I apply for, I just have to hope that I have something the employer likes enough to give me a shot. No luck yet.

too late to change career path? It most definitely is I think, especially after paying so much money to fund my Master's. I can't help feeling though that somewhere along the line I have been mislead about the success rates of graduates finding employment.

Yes, that did seem like an inappropriately long rant about my current state of unemployment. But ok, I admit it, I am jealous of my friends who are happily settled in their jobs and have been for a considerable time. That is only natural right? I am just left wondering, when will it be my turn? Am I doing something wrong?


Please, is there anyone else in my shoes who feels frustrated with their state of unemployment, despite being what they thought was highly qualified to find work?

If you got this far, thanks for reading it!

Becky