Canal Boat – July 2018

88 July 2018 Canal Boat canalboat.co.uk

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W

hixall Moss can be an

unsettling place. An

expanse of blonde and dun,

fringed with crooked and

ghostly birch woods, empty to the unfocused

eye. It is peculiarly flat and desolate-feeling

in the otherwise rich and undulant farmland

of the Shropshire Plain. It’s a marginal place,

sitting on the Shropshire-Wales border. A

place of neither land or water. The ancient

Britons felt such places to be between

worlds. The discovery of a number of

bog-bodies down the years testify to its

special and ancient significance.

Fenn’s, Whixall & Bettisfield Mosses (to

give its full name) has seen much human

activity down the ages. It’s the third-largest

raised peatbog in the UK, covering an area

of 1,000 hectares, cultivated for centuries to

the point of destruction. 96 percent of such

places are lost forever, due to drainage and

cultivation. But since commercial peat-

cutting ended in 1991, Natural England, the

Countryside Council for Wales, and the

Shropshire Wildlife Trust, have been busy

restoring it to its natural state, and

preserving the rare species that live here.

My wife and I were passing through early

in March so we went for a walk, following a

marked trail over 2.5 miles through the

southern side of the moss. The fresh smells

had just been unlocked after the thaw and

life burgeoned all around. We heard a

woodpecker drilling, and our first blackbird

song of the year. It was cold and bright. Light

and shadow shifted rapidly across the land.

We approached from the main entrance

at the eastern side, walking west up the path.

Straight away it felt spongy and springy

underfoot. Before long we left the trees that

surrounded the approach, into the exposed

landscape. The blue hills of Wales in the

distance were snow-capped. It’s

recommended you stick to the paths.

All around were no-entry signs. It would

be foolish not to heed them.

The moss that covers the bog looks

unnervingly solid. All around were flooded

ditches and it’d be too easy to disappear.

Before us was a pond full of squabbling

black-headed gulls, as we walked south, but

when we came to our turning west, soon

enough the wind was all there was. The path

was lined with heathers and dead ferns, and

was churned in places by tyre tracks. We

had to negotiate puddles of brown-tinged

acidic water that the dog found distasteful to

drink.

The viewing platform looking north

BETWEEN WORLDS

WITH THE ANCIENTS

Walking the UK’s third-largest peatbog put Daniel Parry in touch with a

rich history of human activity and opens up a wonderful wildlife haven