the pump house and the faint laughter of children in
the camping field. We make our way quietly down the
woodland path, old beechmast crunching underfoot,
midges fussing about our faces. The moon rises up in
the east, spilling light over a few steely clouds. The sky
deepens to a twilight blue. Below us the woodland
f loor falls away in a confusion of ferns, red campion,
bramble and ivy. Somewhere down below is the badger
sett we discovered earlier in the day, inconspicuous
unless you are close by. The smooth hummocks,
discarded bedding and well-worn paths meandering
off through the trees are tell-tale signs. It’s intriguing
to think that a badger family might be slumbering
beneath our feet.
We wait. The ground is damp; it has rained in the
last few days and the badgers will be out foraging for
earthworms. They emerge earlier in the evenings in
autumn for food and bedding. We listen. I crouch in the
spiky twigs of a hawthorn bush in a pocket of darkness,
fingers in the earth to steady myself. The close smell of
earth and leaf litter. My partner stands motionless a
few metres away, back against a beech. We wait and
listen, wait and listen. Anticipation. Darkness creeps
into all spaces, rich animal darkness wraps around us.
Japanese folklore has it that badgers can shapeshift
into humans and sing songs. Or they may change
themselves into trees, stones, comets, drum on their
bellies as pranksters, lure unsuspecting observers into
ditches and swamps. This evening we have been lured
into the woods at dusk by our own curiosity.The shadows rustle. The sound becomes a movement
in the corner of my eye. There is a movement to my left
along the path I am sure.
A little piece of grey-garbed night is trundling towards
us, quite unaware of our presence. It is a little unsettling
to think he could run into me on this path. He – I call it
he for convenience – snuff les the earth, hesitates but
seems unbothered; badgers rule these woods. And he is
so, so quiet. Now I can see the white stripes on his face,
his open gaze, as curious as I am.
There is something humorous, almost comical about
him. He bows and lifts his head, sniffing the air; badgers
have reasonable night vision but a great sense of smell.
He seems unfazed and comes closer. So close is he
now that I could reach out and touch him from my place
in the shadows.
I stay as still as I can in the hawthorn.
I make a slight noise and give myself away. The badger
stands stock still for a second and then, with a blur of
grey, he hurries off into the night. I sigh, but I’m smiling.
Smiling to myself in the darkness.
Extract from Autumn edited by Melissa Harrison/The
Wildlife Trusts (Elliott & Thompson).“It has rained in the last few
days and badgers will be out
foraging for earthworms”ESCAPE (^) | NATURE