No Business Like "Tracking in the Snow" Business

Britain has come to a stand still this last week as snow has enveloped most of the country. Media hype hit again as reports of "chaos" swamped the news channels.

I will merely note that this is the heaviest snowfall for about 18 years, and since last Sunday, we've had about 1 foot of the stuff. I'm not going to get sucked in to the arguments as to why this great nation grinds to a halt when the slightest barrier is put in front of it. Having said that, my armchair observations have noticed a sprinkling of the Dunkirk spirit, and Mrs P poignantly reported that for the first time for along time, she could hear children laughing in the street. 

I managed to snap a couple of pics of the garden for prosperity...

Of course, snow is the tracker's great friend. Fine details of individual tracks may be lost and you may have to rely more on identifying the overall compression shape especially once the track has started to age (or melt). 

Snow will also help you in other ways such as identifying various gaits. When does the walking gait change into trotting and why is it changing? Where is the animal going? Why is it going there? You should also be able to add a few more bits to your jig-saw puzzle on the day-to-day life of the creature you are tracking. This sometimes offers some rewarding "Eureka" moments (like Badgerwatchingman's post). Although you may still never see the completed picture, snow may offer a chance to add a couple more pieces to it.

There was an interesting discovery waiting for me as I was taken to the local fields by Mrs P  last Monday. Unfortunately, it had been snowing all day, so fresh snow fall had covered up the tracks of the previous night.

Nevertheless, I spotted this fox trail (poor quality pics because of the time of day). Nothing unusual about that you might say, but what was unusual (and one I would not have noticed without the snow) was that it came out from a badger sett entrance. The tracks could only have been about 30 minutes old. It really had me scratching my head, but I had to accept what I saw. Now, I've heard of badgers and foxes sharing dens and setts but I never thought it would happen at my local sett. I believe that it's only when food is in contention would things get a bit nasty between the two tenants.

I wish I could have got out of the Land Rover Discovery and studied the tracks more closely. But it was plain to see, that the fox had came out of this lower entrance, wandered up to one of the top sett entrances, walked back down the embankment and trotted along the path parallel with the embankment. He had then crossed the path to go under a fence and into an area where there's a small water reservoir.

I've certainly shed some interesting light on where the foxes are at the moment and also (from looking at the tracks pictured below which were taken yesterday in the melting snow) the route the badgers and foxes take getting from the field where the sett/den is to other areas. In the summer I'll be able to sit at a spot near these tracks and hopefully watch them passing by.

No Business Like "Tracking in the Snow" Business

Britain has come to a stand still this last week as snow has enveloped most of the country. Media hype hit again as reports of "chaos" swamped the news channels.

I will merely note that this is the heaviest snowfall for about 18 years, and since last Sunday, we've had about 1 foot of the stuff. I'm not going to get sucked in to the arguments as to why this great nation grinds to a halt when the slightest barrier is put in front of it. Having said that, my armchair observations have noticed a sprinkling of the Dunkirk spirit, and Mrs P poignantly reported that for the first time for along time, she could hear children laughing in the street. 

I managed to snap a couple of pics of the garden for prosperity...

Of course, snow is the tracker's great friend. Fine details of individual tracks may be lost and you may have to rely more on identifying the overall compression shape especially once the track has started to age (or melt). 

Snow will also help you in other ways such as identifying various gaits. When does the walking gait change into trotting and why is it changing? Where is the animal going? Why is it going there? You should also be able to add a few more bits to your jig-saw puzzle on the day-to-day life of the creature you are tracking. This sometimes offers some rewarding "Eureka" moments (like Badgerwatchingman's post). Although you may still never see the completed picture, snow may offer a chance to add a couple more pieces to it.

There was an interesting discovery waiting for me as I was taken to the local fields by Mrs P  last Monday. Unfortunately, it had been snowing all day, so fresh snow fall had covered up the tracks of the previous night.

Nevertheless, I spotted this fox trail (poor quality pics because of the time of day). Nothing unusual about that you might say, but what was unusual (and one I would not have noticed without the snow) was that it came out from a badger sett entrance. The tracks could only have been about 30 minutes old. It really had me scratching my head, but I had to accept what I saw. Now, I've heard of badgers and foxes sharing dens and setts but I never thought it would happen at my local sett. I believe that it's only when food is in contention would things get a bit nasty between the two tenants.

I wish I could have got out of the Land Rover Discovery and studied the tracks more closely. But it was plain to see, that the fox had came out of this lower entrance, wandered up to one of the top sett entrances, walked back down the embankment and trotted along the path parallel with the embankment. He had then crossed the path to go under a fence and into an area where there's a small water reservoir.

I've certainly shed some interesting light on where the foxes are at the moment and also (from looking at the tracks pictured below which were taken yesterday in the melting snow) the route the badgers and foxes take getting from the field where the sett/den is to other areas. In the summer I'll be able to sit at a spot near these tracks and hopefully watch them passing by.

Under The Knife (Part 3)

The last thrilling (?) instalment.

Was I awake or was I just dreaming? I was conscious of somebody over my left shoulder.

I still wasn't sure where I was until I saw a large figure at the foot end of the bed. It was the consultant still in theatre garb.

"All went well," he said. "We did the basic fix and just sewed it up as the tendon hadn't shortened very much. It's looking good. Oh, and I scraped away some of the old scarring." Ha! What a bonus! An optional extra thrown in for free.

My heel twinged as he said it, but I'm sure it was just psychological. I thanked him and then nodded off again thinking how unbelievably clever these people were. I think I woke up a couple of times. I tried to take in details of the recovery room. It was a long room with lots of staff. I can't remember seeing any other patients. Perhaps I was in the tea room.

I remember being wheeled back onto my ward and I was propped up. My mouth was dry and my eyes were unfocussed. Two oxygen straws protruded from my nose and led to the oxygen outlet at the wall. After a few short minutes, I was fully compus mentis. A nurse came to perform the usual monitoring duties. I looked at my watch. I'd been away 3 1/2 hours, which meant I had been under the knife for about 2 hours.

I looked at my foot to make sure it was still there and that the surgeon hadn't made the mistake of operating on the wrong one. Excellent! They'd got the right one. Even though I expected it, I was a little dismayed at seeing the familiar white cast and my toes pointing toward the floor like a ballet-dancer.  Well, that's it. No weight on that for 6 weeks!

With mixed emotions, I picked up my novel and read. I was still tired but I didn't want to sleep again or else I wouldn't sleep that night. One advantage was that there was absolutely no pain.

I sent a text to Mr P to say I was awake. Her reply, "You're alive Number 5!" made me chuckle for hours until she came to see me. Unfortunately, as expected, she had eaten all the grapes by the time she arrived and left me with only the dregs of a fresh fruit salad. She also insisted in taking a photo, which was revenge for me taking pictures of her surgical experience a couple of years ago. After an hour of wrecking havoc but making everyone smile, she left me with the promise to be on one hour's standby to exfiltrate me the next day.

I was ready for my main meal at 7pm and eagerly scoffed it down. All 5 spoon fulls of it.

Mrs P and I had tried to get the TV monitor working. It was a pull round plastic affair with a flat screen. Apparently it had TV, radio and an integrated phone. We played around with the settings but couldn't get anything to work.

I caught the eye of the chap opposite me. A nice elderly man who had obviously had some hip surgery.

"If you want to use that, be prepared to pay out a lot of money," he said dryly. I pushed the monitor away in disgust. Is there nothing that doesn't cost?  I thought about the £3.50 an hour car parking fee. I wondered if there was a private option so I could get a decent meal.

I lasted until 10pm when at last the lights dimmed. As soon as they did, the patients' buzzers started. As I was at the staff desk end, I couldn't help but hear the incessant buzzing, which had a habit of staying on until cancelled. I'm not exaggerating when I say that for 2 hours, someone was calling out "Help me " in a distant side ward. My scowling glare at the staff was answered with, "Now, don't start this all night Mrs ***. We know there's nothing wrong." I finally managed to get to sleep about 3am.

At 7 o'clock the prospect of going home spurred me into action. In the confusion of shift change I got dressed and planned to make my way to the bathroom. I had a sneaky suspicion that I would be challenged and get caught like a potential escapee from Colditz. I planned the most un-noticeable route and went into staking mode. But I was right. I got nabbed!

"Not until you've been seen by the physio's" was the explanation.

"As good as they might be, I don't think even they will be able to make me walk that quickly," I replied.

"No, but they'll tell you how to use those crutches. It's Health and Safety."

There was no point explaining that I'd been using crutches for the last 8 weeks.

I was sent back to bed with a plastic bottle. I considered its value  for use in bushcraft circles. Man, could that thing take a lot of fluid! Great for hammock users! I didn't think that it would fit in a pack that well though. Wrong shape.

At last the consultant came round. We went through post-surgery procedure and a date when the stitches would be removed. He confirmed I'd eaten, drank, and urinated. He seemed surprised that I had not taken pain killers. I assured him I was no hero and it wasn't a ruse to expedite the escape. I was cleared to go subject to approval from the physios who subsequently assessed my crutch management skills as A1 (!) and gave me the green light. A nurse extracted the cannula from the back of my hand ("Don't want you walking away with that do we?" - No, we don't.)

I was free! I thanked the staff and sped-off down the corridor as fast as my crutches would carry me; out of the hospital and into cold January day.

Under The Knife (Part 3)

The last thrilling (?) instalment.

Was I awake or was I just dreaming? I was conscious of somebody over my left shoulder.

I still wasn't sure where I was until I saw a large figure at the foot end of the bed. It was the consultant still in theatre garb.

"All went well," he said. "We did the basic fix and just sewed it up as the tendon hadn't shortened very much. It's looking good. Oh, and I scraped away some of the old scarring." Ha! What a bonus! An optional extra thrown in for free.

My heel twinged as he said it, but I'm sure it was just psychological. I thanked him and then nodded off again thinking how unbelievably clever these people were. I think I woke up a couple of times. I tried to take in details of the recovery room. It was a long room with lots of staff. I can't remember seeing any other patients. Perhaps I was in the tea room.

I remember being wheeled back onto my ward and I was propped up. My mouth was dry and my eyes were unfocussed. Two oxygen straws protruded from my nose and led to the oxygen outlet at the wall. After a few short minutes, I was fully compus mentis. A nurse came to perform the usual monitoring duties. I looked at my watch. I'd been away 3 1/2 hours, which meant I had been under the knife for about 2 hours.

I looked at my foot to make sure it was still there and that the surgeon hadn't made the mistake of operating on the wrong one. Excellent! They'd got the right one. Even though I expected it, I was a little dismayed at seeing the familiar white cast and my toes pointing toward the floor like a ballet-dancer.  Well, that's it. No weight on that for 6 weeks!

With mixed emotions, I picked up my novel and read. I was still tired but I didn't want to sleep again or else I wouldn't sleep that night. One advantage was that there was absolutely no pain.

I sent a text to Mr P to say I was awake. Her reply, "You're alive Number 5!" made me chuckle for hours until she came to see me. Unfortunately, as expected, she had eaten all the grapes by the time she arrived and left me with only the dregs of a fresh fruit salad. She also insisted in taking a photo, which was revenge for me taking pictures of her surgical experience a couple of years ago. After an hour of wrecking havoc but making everyone smile, she left me with the promise to be on one hour's standby to exfiltrate me the next day.

I was ready for my main meal at 7pm and eagerly scoffed it down. All 5 spoon fulls of it.

Mrs P and I had tried to get the TV monitor working. It was a pull round plastic affair with a flat screen. Apparently it had TV, radio and an integrated phone. We played around with the settings but couldn't get anything to work.

I caught the eye of the chap opposite me. A nice elderly man who had obviously had some hip surgery.

"If you want to use that, be prepared to pay out a lot of money," he said dryly. I pushed the monitor away in disgust. Is there nothing that doesn't cost?  I thought about the £3.50 an hour car parking fee. I wondered if there was a private option so I could get a decent meal.

I lasted until 10pm when at last the lights dimmed. As soon as they did, the patients' buzzers started. As I was at the staff desk end, I couldn't help but hear the incessant buzzing, which had a habit of staying on until cancelled. I'm not exaggerating when I say that for 2 hours, someone was calling out "Help me " in a distant side ward. My scowling glare at the staff was answered with, "Now, don't start this all night Mrs ***. We know there's nothing wrong." I finally managed to get to sleep about 3am.

At 7 o'clock the prospect of going home spurred me into action. In the confusion of shift change I got dressed and planned to make my way to the bathroom. I had a sneaky suspicion that I would be challenged and get caught like a potential escapee from Colditz. I planned the most un-noticeable route and went into staking mode. But I was right. I got nabbed!

"Not until you've been seen by the physio's" was the explanation.

"As good as they might be, I don't think even they will be able to make me walk that quickly," I replied.

"No, but they'll tell you how to use those crutches. It's Health and Safety."

There was no point explaining that I'd been using crutches for the last 8 weeks.

I was sent back to bed with a plastic bottle. I considered its value  for use in bushcraft circles. Man, could that thing take a lot of fluid! Great for hammock users! I didn't think that it would fit in a pack that well though. Wrong shape.

At last the consultant came round. We went through post-surgery procedure and a date when the stitches would be removed. He confirmed I'd eaten, drank, and urinated. He seemed surprised that I had not taken pain killers. I assured him I was no hero and it wasn't a ruse to expedite the escape. I was cleared to go subject to approval from the physios who subsequently assessed my crutch management skills as A1 (!) and gave me the green light. A nurse extracted the cannula from the back of my hand ("Don't want you walking away with that do we?" - No, we don't.)

I was free! I thanked the staff and sped-off down the corridor as fast as my crutches would carry me; out of the hospital and into cold January day.

Wood Spirit Project

Last time I was laid up some of my planned projects didn't really get off the ground. This time I'm determined to do something more constructive than watching DVD's and sitting in front of the computer!

So...Let the projects begin!

The first project I wanted to try was fine wood carving. I've done the usual spooncraft and tried a little bit of fine carving like the feather on my tracking stick but I've been intrigued by wood spirits since I saw my mate Adam have a go at one. Additionally, this is something I can do indoors with minimal mess!

I bought a cheap 8 piece detailed carving set for about £8-00 from Axminster tools just to see how I got on and found a couple of bits if wood knocking about.

I followed a tutorial on the net (the YouTube tutorials aren't really good enough) and set to work on a practice carving.

I was quite pleased with the first one but found that because I was working on a much smaller piece of wood than was originally advised (plus it was round and not square) it was quite tough work. Mind you, if I could do it on this, I could probably do it on any sized wood.

I had a go at a second face. Even though I employed the same system and cuts, the wood spirit design came out completely different (and actually not as good).

Even so, I got confident enough to put a wood spirit on my beloved tracking stick. I wish I hadn't started! It started off as a complete disaster! I cut the nose too short and a myriad of other things went wrong. The one thing that kept going through my mind was that I'd have to get another tracking stick. I really had to work hard in covering up my mistakes.

In the end I think I got away with it. I decided to leave the wood spirit looking craggy and slightly angry; a reflection of how I treated it in creating it! I'll put some boiled linseed oil on it later and leave it at that.

You might smile at the last but one sentence but it's true what they say about carving wood spirits. Not only is every carving different, it's as if the wood itself and not necessary the carver which is dictating how it will end up. Quite spookily, it's almost as if the wood wants you to carve it in it's representational form. Fascinating stuff. I'm definitely hooked and you may well see a few more of these cropping up in the future, but they'll certainly be improved versions... I hope!

Have a look here at some proper ones.

Wood Spirit Project

Last time I was laid up some of my planned projects didn't really get off the ground. This time I'm determined to do something more constructive than watching DVD's and sitting in front of the computer!

So...Let the projects begin!

The first project I wanted to try was fine wood carving. I've done the usual spooncraft and tried a little bit of fine carving like the feather on my tracking stick but I've been intrigued by wood spirits since I saw my mate Adam have a go at one. Additionally, this is something I can do indoors with minimal mess!

I bought a cheap 8 piece detailed carving set for about £8-00 from Axminster tools just to see how I got on and found a couple of bits if wood knocking about.

I followed a tutorial on the net (the YouTube tutorials aren't really good enough) and set to work on a practice carving.

I was quite pleased with the first one but found that because I was working on a much smaller piece of wood than was originally advised (plus it was round and not square) it was quite tough work. Mind you, if I could do it on this, I could probably do it on any sized wood.

I had a go at a second face. Even though I employed the same system and cuts, the wood spirit design came out completely different (and actually not as good).

Even so, I got confident enough to put a wood spirit on my beloved tracking stick. I wish I hadn't started! It started off as a complete disaster! I cut the nose too short and a myriad of other things went wrong. The one thing that kept going through my mind was that I'd have to get another tracking stick. I really had to work hard in covering up my mistakes.

In the end I think I got away with it. I decided to leave the wood spirit looking craggy and slightly angry; a reflection of how I treated it in creating it! I'll put some boiled linseed oil on it later and leave it at that.

You might smile at the last but one sentence but it's true what they say about carving wood spirits. Not only is every carving different, it's as if the wood itself and not necessary the carver which is dictating how it will end up. Quite spookily, it's almost as if the wood wants you to carve it in it's representational form. Fascinating stuff. I'm definitely hooked and you may well see a few more of these cropping up in the future, but they'll certainly be improved versions... I hope!

Have a look here at some proper ones.

Under the Knife (Part 2)

I got shown into what was described as the day room. This didn't inspire much confidence. It had physiotherapy equipment and an old pair of crutches. There was an old bookshelf with half a dozen books, a round table and 4 plastic chairs. The room was no bigger than a standard dining room. I saw no TV or anything to make it mildly welcoming. It could have done with a coat of paint. The last time I was in hospital for an operation was 30 years ago. I was quite shocked how things had changed.

At least I had come prepared and instantly whipped out my novel. I knew what to expect in NHS hospitals now. It was "wait" - with a capital "W". I had been asked to report at 7am. I had been up since 5am.

After an hour I saw the cheery face of my consultant. Despite a tendency to be skeptical and slightly critical of all things medical in the UK, I had warmed to this chap and had confidence in his abilities. That was until he drew an arrow in indelible ink on my calf.

"Don't tell me, that's so you you don't operate on the wrong leg," I chuckled.

"Correct," he replied. I found it hard to resist saying that one leg had a prominent Achilles tendon and the other didn't. You'd be hard pressed to miss the damaged foot. I was also concerned that the arrow seemed to be pointing up my calf and not down to the proposed incision point.

We went through a few other details and I was left alone again with my novel.

Another 45 minutes passed and in came a young chap who introduced himself as an anaesthetist. He went into huge detail about what I was going to expect. My mind drifted and for the first time I started to get nervous.

"... some bruises on your face. So don't be surprised." I caught the tail end of the sentence.

"Pardon? Bruises on my face?"

"Yes, because you will be face down, there may be some bruises to the face. But we will pad you up as much as possible."

This was turning into a nightmare. Luckily things moved on pretty quickly after this, which stopped me dwelling too much on wrongly placed incisions and being beaten up in theatre.

I was shown to my bed and efficient nurses buzzed about one at a time checking blood pressure and temperature, providing surgical gowns and strange paper thin undergarments, and firmly but politely conveying orders, which I obeyed without question.

"Are you chewing gum?" said one nurse.

The whole ward became silent and a dozen eyes looked at the perpetrator of this heinous crime. Me.

"Umm... yes," I replied. I'd taken to chewing nicotine chewing gum to help me stop smoking.

"Nil by mouth means exactly that!" She barked.

I considered challenging the comment by saying that it actually stated on the leaflet no eating or drinking, which in my mind meant no actual consumption of products. I decided not to. Such was their physical presence in their own domain.

I followed the pointing finger and limped over to the chewing gum receptacle with a bowed head.

I had just hopped back on the bed when almost immediately two blue-shirted porters came in and after the standard identity checks they started wheeling me away. I felt a twinge in my stomach as I knew that my time had come.

The hospital corridors sped by and I watched the sympathetic faces of patients, visitors and staff as I approached the theatres. I wanted to call out, "It's nothing serious, honestly."

Despite good timing so far, the theatre prep room harboured a delay. An embarrassed theatre nurse who was obviously briefed to guard me, tried to make small talk as she went through the identification procedure again and confirmed that I was "The Achilles". We talked about cats and dogs, neither of which I knew a great deal about. I watched as my pulse on the monitor swung between 75 and 95.

She looked at the arrow on my leg. "Ha ha. He's drawn the arrow upside down. Ha ha ha". I didn't laugh.

Eventually, the anaesthetist came in. Here we go. I took some deep breaths. A mask was waved in front of my face and something was injected into the cannula on the back of my left hand. "This will sting a bit but it won't last too long".

It did sting and it didn't last too long. I was out.