Cornish tin mining pit: undisturbed haven for bats

Further to the day spent looking at bats in the Helston area, I have been, and survived (unscathed) many other excursions with the Cornwall Bat Group. One of note however, was last Sunday. This one was in the Bodmin area, at the site of a old tin mine.

We met as usual, donned hard hats and headlamps, and set off to the first site. Never having been to any of these sites before, I never know what to expect, but had been suffering with a bad back, so thought it best to mention it before we left. The approach is always the same for the apprehensive among us; only do those sites you feel comfortable with, if you don't want to enter an addit of shaft, don't. Simple enough.

We scrambled through some scrub, until we appeared at the top of a pit probably 200 metres deep, 500m long and 50m wide. I thought it was stunning, but surely not where we we headed. I should have learnt by now to expect the unexpected.

We set off, forewarned to leave a good gap because the shale debris was very slippy and unstable, and to be extremely cautious approaching the bottom, as many years of fly-tipping had left large amounts of scrap metal and glass; problematic when scrabbling on hands and feet.

Halfway down the very steep slope, we stopped, and the leader disappeared into a hole beside the base of a tree. We all followed in. It was a smallish addit, with one lesser and one greater horseshoe bat in. The old tin load was still just visible in the back the the bottom of the addit. The remarkable thing was though, the pick-axe marks of the old Cornish miners were still visible- dating the mine to 16th Century (or so I was told).

Off we set again, it took about 20 minutes to reach the bottom, holding on to saplings and rubble as we went, hoping they would hold and the shale would not continue sliding under foot.

Once at the bottom, we went into a partially collapsed tunnel, which once ran along the centre of the pit. It was held up by rotten railway sleepers, and housed a vast deal of rubble which had collapsed through the ventilation/tipping holes. Inside there were drill holes where recent excavations had tested surrounding bedrock for any potential extraction sites. Another 2 horseshoe bats, and we were off again.

The final site was almost unnoticeable from the outside (as with many of these addits). A quick scramble through a gap between the rock face above and the mud below, and we emerged into an 8ft by 8ft tunnel, running perpendicular to the pit, with the floor and rail-tracks still partially intact. This was how the miners removed the tin from the pit- which apparently emerged a mile or so away. It was pitch black because the exit route had apparently caved in, and the entrance which we used was partially obstructed. We walked several hundred metres along the tracks, counting the bats as we went, turning back only when the water levels reached wellie-boot height. The atmosphere was damp, but rich and earthy. Spider's egg sacs lined the walls, and water droplets glistened to look like precious metals in the light of our headlamps. One could almost feel the history, imagining the miners trucks coming back and forth along here. Fantastic.

Once back out of the tunnel, I asked "How do we get out, the same way we came in?". "Up there" was the given response, with a finger pointing to the rock face above me, about 250 metres high. At the bottom of the pit lay an animal carcass which had fallen from the top and died; a reminder of exactly how far up it was. Apprehension? Doubt? Disbelief? Yes, all three. We got halfway up by scrabbling up the shale. We stopped for breath, and one of last years Raven's nests were still visible about 30 metres away, balancing precariously on the ledge. I was also shown a point at the far end of the pit, where two Peregrine Falcons were nesting. That alone made the fear, wobbly knees and raw fingers worthwhile!

The final hurdle; a steep rocky climb to a section where a few trees were growing. The problem; the safety rope left by last year's group was broken. Climbing it was to be strictly one by one as rocks could come down as we climbed.

We all made the top, and my comment? Bad back?! What bad back! I hadn't thought about it once...

Wouldn't want to be an old Cornish tin miner though.

Thanks,

Becky

A Transient View

I recently returned from a trip to London involving a five hour train journey each way. I had packed anticipating the occasion; a novel in which I could lose myself for those hours, and wildlife magazines to peruse if I bored of the novel. Little did I know I was to witness the opportunistic naturalist's dream!

As always, a few hours into my journey, I watched out the window as I passed along the seafront by Dawlish. It is a treat to behold on any day, however, on this day, the water glistened with the warm winter's sun but was as still as a mill pond. The surface almost appeared oily or glassy it was so calm. Further along into the Exe Estuary, by Starcross, part of the mudflats were exposed at half tide to reveal a number of wintering birds; black headed gulls, redshank, and an avocet on one side, brent geese, oystercatchers and lapwings on the golf course on the other side! Many were undisturbed by the passing train and continued feeding. Fantastic!

Returning inland, my mind reverted back to my book, the sights seeming comparatively dull after that spectacle. It was much later, that I glanced up and out of the window, and saw a flash of orangey-red darting through a field. A fox! Confused or disturbed maybe, it was roused from its daytime slumber. On three more occasions, I saw the same thing; lone foxes roaming through the open fields. I wondered what would cause them all to be conspicuous and active in the middle of the day. My conclusion? Hunger. I think all these animals were hungry, and were making the most of the crisp, sunny day in the hope they would find a meal before the cold of the night set in.

I lost count of how many jackdaws, crows and magpies I observed on the trip, either making the most of the midday warmth, or searching for food.

Later still, nearing Reading, I counted 5 buzzards and 8 red kites. All were either soaring in pairs above the train, or flying acrobatically very close to it. The red of the kite's underbelly clearly visible and bright in the winter sun. I was so close to some that even the individual primary feathers could be discerned. They offered me a better view than I've ever seen after spending hours with binoculars in the cold and a crick in the neck!

What I thought was to be a tedious afternoon on a train, turned out to be a neatly disguised exposure to some of Britain's hidden treasures. Any nature lover would be cheered on a winter's day by the sights I saw.

My tip: next time you are taking a long train journey, don't bury your head in a book like I planned to, look out the window. Trains run through some of the least disturbed areas of the countryside...make the most of it!

Thanks,

Becky