Tales from the Bog
Speaking, nay, arguing with "environmentalists" yesterday reminded me of adventures in Ireland when we "mined" peat and restored an otherwise rather barren valley bottom to a much richer diversity of life. I dug out, as it were, some old articles I wrote about these times and if they are not too "off topic", if indeed such a thing exists at HTW, I would be pleased to share them. There's quite a lot, so I will break them up into, I hope, readable chunks. These experiences taught me a great deal about applied ecology, human nature, and minimalist engineering.
Tales from the Bog* (1)
We bought a second-hand Hymac 580B, an hydraulic excavator on caterpillar tracks, for working on the Bog*. It was cheap, being twenty years old, and hadn't had such a hard life having always worked on soft ground. The lads arrived with it on a low-loader, twenty tons of very bright yellow, for it had been re-sprayed. They manoeuvred it down, we shook hands, and they left us standing by the boreen** in the winter morning sunshine.
- “You know how to drive one of these?”, says Charlie. Neither did I, so we started the engine and played with the levers and pedals. The Bog was extensively worked during the war, when no coal could be imported, and the council had built roads, and a bridge. We measured, and although the bridge was just wide enough we were worried that digger would be too heavy for it. Later, when drivers of loaded 30-tonners flew over it we were proved wrong, but then again, they went much faster.
- “Sure, that way ;it wouldn't have time to fall down!”
The only other way in was across the Borlin River, no more than ten feet deep at this time of year. We rigged a high air-intake and exhaust, tanked up, pulled straws, and after lunch were ready to go. Charlie stood on the bridge and took the photos. Driving such a large and ponderous machine for the first time is exciting enough, but how much more so when you are up to your neck in cold, swirling, black water. I was the one with the short straw, of course...
We quickly grew to love our big yellow Hymac, every home should have one. The neighbours soon came to watch.
- “What are ye doing then, Charlie?”
-"Just diggin' a bit o' garden..! "
By nightfall we had a mighty duckpond at the bottom of the yard, and had rooted out patches of brambles that we thought we'd never see the middle of. With the duckpond came the ducks, who seemed quite happy to stay with us - maybe they knew we would never eat something once we'd given it a name. We had hoped that the ducks would keep the kitchen garden free from pests, and they did a pretty good job, but would not eat the slugs; you must admit that they do not look particularly appetising, although I'm sure they are full of protein. We'd read about a 'homeopathic' treatment, and not wanting to use toxic chemicals on the vegetable patches we decided to give it a try:
"Gather as many slugs as you can find. Burn them on a shovel, mix the ashes with water and sprinkle around the beds... This may not work for several months... "
I suppose that this was intended to scare the slugs away, having to crawl on the cremated remains of their kin, but it didn't seem to bother them in the slightest. Where would they have gone, anyway? Having regularly gathered great handfuls of gastropods, we tried feeding them to the ducks. There would be a good solution to the problem - a tireless army patrolling night and day! Alas, the ducks were just not interested, indeed, they preferred to eat the lettuces. Then Charlie has an idea, rolls some slugs in breadcrumbs - and the birds just gobble them up! After a few days they needed no more encouragement, nor indeed any more breadcrumbs, and our problem was solved thereafter.
* Bog - peat bog. Peat, known as "turf" in Ireland, is traditionally used for fuel, and is especially prized in "smokeless zone" cities where burning coal is banned.
Boreen** - small track or road. The suffix -'een' denotes smallness in Gaelic.
Tales from the Bog* (1)
We bought a second-hand Hymac 580B, an hydraulic excavator on caterpillar tracks, for working on the Bog*. It was cheap, being twenty years old, and hadn't had such a hard life having always worked on soft ground. The lads arrived with it on a low-loader, twenty tons of very bright yellow, for it had been re-sprayed. They manoeuvred it down, we shook hands, and they left us standing by the boreen** in the winter morning sunshine.
- “You know how to drive one of these?”, says Charlie. Neither did I, so we started the engine and played with the levers and pedals. The Bog was extensively worked during the war, when no coal could be imported, and the council had built roads, and a bridge. We measured, and although the bridge was just wide enough we were worried that digger would be too heavy for it. Later, when drivers of loaded 30-tonners flew over it we were proved wrong, but then again, they went much faster.
- “Sure, that way ;it wouldn't have time to fall down!”
The only other way in was across the Borlin River, no more than ten feet deep at this time of year. We rigged a high air-intake and exhaust, tanked up, pulled straws, and after lunch were ready to go. Charlie stood on the bridge and took the photos. Driving such a large and ponderous machine for the first time is exciting enough, but how much more so when you are up to your neck in cold, swirling, black water. I was the one with the short straw, of course...
We quickly grew to love our big yellow Hymac, every home should have one. The neighbours soon came to watch.
- “What are ye doing then, Charlie?”
-"Just diggin' a bit o' garden..! "
By nightfall we had a mighty duckpond at the bottom of the yard, and had rooted out patches of brambles that we thought we'd never see the middle of. With the duckpond came the ducks, who seemed quite happy to stay with us - maybe they knew we would never eat something once we'd given it a name. We had hoped that the ducks would keep the kitchen garden free from pests, and they did a pretty good job, but would not eat the slugs; you must admit that they do not look particularly appetising, although I'm sure they are full of protein. We'd read about a 'homeopathic' treatment, and not wanting to use toxic chemicals on the vegetable patches we decided to give it a try:
"Gather as many slugs as you can find. Burn them on a shovel, mix the ashes with water and sprinkle around the beds... This may not work for several months... "
I suppose that this was intended to scare the slugs away, having to crawl on the cremated remains of their kin, but it didn't seem to bother them in the slightest. Where would they have gone, anyway? Having regularly gathered great handfuls of gastropods, we tried feeding them to the ducks. There would be a good solution to the problem - a tireless army patrolling night and day! Alas, the ducks were just not interested, indeed, they preferred to eat the lettuces. Then Charlie has an idea, rolls some slugs in breadcrumbs - and the birds just gobble them up! After a few days they needed no more encouragement, nor indeed any more breadcrumbs, and our problem was solved thereafter.
* Bog - peat bog. Peat, known as "turf" in Ireland, is traditionally used for fuel, and is especially prized in "smokeless zone" cities where burning coal is banned.
Boreen** - small track or road. The suffix -'een' denotes smallness in Gaelic.
posted by Simeon Lapinbleu at 20:27
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