Has it really been 50 years since a small group of people met at a community centre somewhere in Halliwell (so the legend goes) and decided to do something to for nature? Apparently so. 50 years of blood, sweat and beers, 50 years of working for wildlife, 50 years of trying to reverse the damage caused by the human world.
Doesn’t time fly.
Over those years we have built ponds, planted woodlands and hedges, reed beds and meadows; created habitat for frogs, toads, newts, dragonflies, butterflies and birds; used traditional crafts for hedge laying, dry stone walling and willow weaving. We have worked with schools, local authorities, farmers, land owners, and other community groups wanting to improve and protect the natural history in their area; and we built and cultivated one of the best independent conservation groups in the country. We have won awards for the work we have done and the respect of some of the great and good in the conservation world.
It’s only fair that we let our hair down (at least those that still have some) and enjoy a night of partying. Without our dedicated band of volunteers we wouldn’t be able to do the things we do, so tonight is for you.
Over 50 years we have had too many volunteers to count. A few are still here from the early days, but a new generation of BCVers are rapidly making their presence felt. But as well as celebrating the present and future, tonight is also about remembering those who are no longer with us. These people gave their time and commitment but didn’t get to see the continuing results of their work. Here’s a list in their memory.
Rick, Dr John, Jane, Dennis and Edith, Jim, Harry, Evelyn, Dennis D, Neil, Dwain, Fred, Kevin, and John F. And lets not forget the pets: Ben, Reggie, Jasper, Buddy, Brandy, Bruno, Floyd, Luna, and Ziggy. I’ll be happy to add any I’ve missed.
So, tonight’s party was held at Tonge Moor Cricket Club and attended by 100 people, a mix of volunteers, clients and colleagues from other groups, friends and well wishers. This wouldn’t have been possible without the contribution and organisational skills of the following heroes: Tom and Caroline, Katrina, Craig, and Jane. Thanks you all. Let me know if I’ve missed anyone and I’ll add them to the list.
Our first task of May and we’re back at Moses Gate Country Park planting trees. We’ve planted here and nearby since 2022 and today’s session extends the planted area and also replaces some of the previously planted trees that have failed. We also cut back some trees and branches on the nearby reed bed. We plant some we chop some.. circle of life I suppose.
There’s no mystery to planting trees: you dig a hole, put the tree in it, put in a small stake for support and a tree shelter to stop deer and shrews nibbling it to death. Trees are planted a few feet apart and then grow as nature intended. There’s a bit more about tree planting on a previous post which you can read on this link.
We also celebrated Francis’ birthday, his age is an official secret so.. sshhhhhhh.
Thanks to Tom and Caroline for organising and every one else who turned up.
his years hard boiled Easter task was actually on the day itself, Easter Sunday. Despite it being a popular day for family stuff etc. our numbers were pretty good, but we did get over a baker’s dozen of egg-ceptional volunteers turning up to continue the work on the Jumbeles ponds. If you want to see what we did here previously click here.
On the task side of things we did some trimming of branches, trimming of hedges, built a dead hedge, or linear habitat pile if you prefer, and some pond dipping.
In the pond we found the usual assortment of chocolates.. er.. creatures: fresh water shrimp, hoglouse, various types of rams horn snail, evidence of frogs and toads, and a newt larvae.
But mostly we found chocolate eggs.
Thanks to Caroline and Tom for organising, Jane for shelling out for the eggs, and everyone you made it a cracking task.
Unusual task this time around which highlights how some conservation activities aren’t actual conservation but are still necessary to looking after a site. By this I mean making the site safe for visitors, and in this case the danger comes from a sheer drop of the edge of a cliff.
Some years ago a fence had been put up to stop people inadvertently walking off the edge of the quarry, the edge of the quarry being next to the car park. Over the years the wooden fence posts have rotted and the fence had fallen over; Bolton Council asked us to if we could do something to fix it.
The first time we came here in November 2025 we cut down the rhododendron that had grown up near the cliff edge and created a dead hedge set back from the cliff edge. Then we began restoration of a hedge that had been planted previously, partly by laying the hedge but also planting new hawthorn/blackthorn to fill in the gaps and extend the hedge line where needed. We then began the process replacing the fence posts, and recovering and reusing the metal sheep fencing that had become buried under years of fallen leaves.
This task we worked on the hedge again, and also along the path from the car park. We also continued rebuilding the fence using Tom’s fencing tools, and it doesn’t look to bad. Good job everyone.
Last year we did some work with the Wildlife Trust for Lancashire, Greater Manchester and Merseyside (The Wildlife Trust for short) on creating habitat for willow tit. This task is partly a continuation of that work but also a continuation of our work to extend the reed beds at Doffcocker Lodge LNR.
Willow tits have been present at Doffcocker, to some degree, for a number of years but not in any significant numbers. Willow tit’s, including sub-species, have an extensive range covering Europe and other sub-arctic areas with estimated numbers of 175-253 million. However, since the 1970s the population sizes of these birds in the UK has fallen by around 83% and were Red-listed in in 2022. Habitat deterioration is thought to be the main cause of these changes; competition from other similar species and predation could also be a factor.
So, what does willow tit conservation involve? Willow tit’s like to create nest holes in rotten trees in wet willow carr and fen like habitats. But there aren’t enough rotten trees around for them. To give them a hand we took some old, dead branches and attached them to living trees, partly burying the ends of the branches in the ground. Over time the attached branches will rot and soften and the willow tits will be able to excavate nest holes in them. The photo at the top of the page shows a willow tit and the nest it created at Doffcocker a few years ago.
So, that’s the background on willow tits, and there are photos below from that task as week as today’s task. The work to extend the reed beds involved cutting back the willow. You can find more information on our reed bed work on these posts from previous years.
It was a grim day, the sky was overcast, the water around Doffcocker Lodge’s island was grey, cold, and choppy. On the shore opposite the island, beneath a gnarled willow, stood 15 volunteers braving the autumnal weather and waiting their turn to be ferried across the few dozen metres to the island. Two by two with tools and bags the volunteers crossed the water with James acting as ferryman, until all had passed over and stood surveying their world for the next few hours.
“The task today,” said Tom, “Is to cut back the vegetation, pull up any self-seeding regrowth, and harvest the willow. We’ll use the willow to reinforce the hurdles around the edge of the island to stop erosion. Put the brash behind the hurdles, this will help with the erosion control.” “And if there’s any left we’ll build a wicker man for Francis,” said Colin, but nobody was listening.
Everybody began to pick up their tool of choice, bow saws, loppers, or slashers, then got to work on the island’s annual tidy up. After a couple of hours some areas were cleared and a nice pile of willow stems began to pile up ready for use.
“Tom what are these?” asked Craig, pointing at dozens of eggs sitting in hollows. “They are Canada geese eggs,” said Tom. “Doffcocker used to be full of Canada geese, they’re not native and damage to the lodge. They graze the shoreline and dump [phosphates] in the water.” “The eggs were treated with paraffin so they wouldn’t hatch. If they don’t hatch then there are no new geese, so over time the goose numbers dropped. This was something that happened years ago.” “Did we do that?”asked Craig. “No,” replied Tom “We weren’t involved, it was work done by other groups. These eggs are old so whatever you do don’t break them.” “Are they full of dead birds?” gasped Craig, “Jane, come here I’ve something to show you.”
And so the day went on. Just after dinnertime something strange began to happen. In the sky, glowing through the clouds, pale green flashes appeared, bursting silently like eerie flares. “What is that?” asked Jeff. No one knew, not even Chris, who usually would. The flashes continued for several minutes, then died away leaving a sense of unease in their wake. Shortly after, a dull cracking sound could be heard coming from nearby. “Nathan, stop cracking your knuckles,” chided Katrina “It’s not me…. it’s the eggs,” remarked Nathan.
Everybody stopped and stare at the pits full of eggs, each glowing the same green as the lights in the sky. One by one the eggs cracked open releasing small rotting goslings, and a foul stench. As each of the hatchlings caught sight of the volunteers they started to drag themselves forward, black fluid dripping from their twisted beaks and malformed wings. “They’re hideous,” gasped Andrew, “It’s like a nightmare, a badly written nightmare,” and then ran behind a tree for a quick vape.
“We need to get off the island,” said someone sensible, but no one was listening. “We need to get off the island,” said Tom, everyone agreed. “We’ve got time, they’re not moving very fast,” said Jane bravely walking backwards. Caroline took charge of the situation, “Everyone to the dinghy, women and children first…. Mark, get out of the dinghy.” “It was worth a try,” groaned Mark climbing back on to the island. “Joanne, Eve, you go first,” “I’m not a kid,” complained Eve. “Sshh, get in the boat, Ellie.. I mean Evie” said Joanne.
At that point the ground began to quake, the earth broke open and adult zombie Canada geese erupted from their graves. They staggered and croaked, as they tried to find their legs.. some literally. Then suddenly some of them rushed forward. “Stop it, I’m a vegetarian,” screamed Francis as one of the undead birds tried to bite him. “I don’t think they care,” quipped James. “We’ll never get everyone off the island while they are attacking. Someone has to stay and fight them off while we escape,” suggested James. Everybody shuffled around, looked at their phones, hummed, or pretended to be trying to remember something important. “Looks like nobody’s nobody is gonna do it, so might as well be me,” sighed Caroline. “Tom, get everybody off the island. I’ll meet you in the pub.” “But…,” garbled Tom “Do as your told!” shouted Caroline picking up a slasher, walking towards the birds with purpose, and swinging the slasher at the putrid poultry like she was born to it.
The dinghy was built for 3 but that day it carried 14 across the few tens of yards to the shore. The group stood and stared across at the island. The decaying remains of the reanimated geese still quivered and crawled, their terrible cries echoing across the water. But of Caroline there was no sign. An evil wind blew from the island beneath a grim sky. “So, which pub are we going to?” asked Francis.
Sitting in the Doffcocker Inn the group sat and pondered their loss. “She’ll be here soon Tom, I know she will,” said Jane optimistically. “I hope so, I’ve bought her a pint,” replied Tom.
At that moment the door crashed open and in staggered Caroline, dripping lodge water and mud on the pubs newly refurbished flooring. She raised her hand and reached out to the group. “You’ve earned this pint,” Tom said, “here,” and handed it towards her. Caroline’s hand dropped from her wrist, dangling by a shred of flesh, black fluid dripping from the wound. “Food,” she zombie groaned, “pub food”. More zombies burst through the door, some still carrying their smartphones. “Maybe I should have got her a half instead,” said Tom as the planet’s new rulers lurched forward.
And the screams of the living soon became the snarls of the undead.
And now what really happened. The weather was too bad to work on the island so we cut back willow along the edge of the reedbed instead. No one was eaten or turned in to a zombie, and the pub’s carpet wasn’t soiled in any way.
