Sunday morning found me bleary eyed and suffering from the dodgy pint of Palmers (one of my favourite beers) the night before.
First job of the day was some washing. Clothes, traps, van, trailer, quad. In that order.
The clothes are easy; into the machine, press a few buttons and let it get on with it. Trap washing has got a lot easier since I got my super dooper pressure washer a couple of years ago. I put on a neoprene apron, some nitrile gloves and hold the traps individually at arms length. A quick blast each side and they're done.
Why am I washing traps you may ask? Well, I don't know if it's just me, but I trap on a wide range of soil types, and I'm convinced that if I shove a trap with chalk deposits into a run through clay soil, there is a chance, a small one I admit, that Mr Mole may realise that something is not quite right. The other reason is to help make traps last a little longer. Mud hides moisture, which corrodes traps.
Anyway, 60 traps to wash from last weeks work, which took about an hour.
Next job was to drag the trailer out, unload the bike, and get washing.
Now don't misunderstand me here; I'm not one of those petrol head types that worships my motors. I wash so that I can disinfect (you can't disinfect dirt) and I disinfect to make sure I'm not carrying any nasties from one farm to another.
As some readers of my infamous cattlekiller blog know, back in 2001 I was involved with Foot and Mouth Disease. I saw it, I saw how easily it spread, and there is no way I ever want to risk spreading it, or anything like it for the sake of a bit of disinfectant.
Anyway, all cleaned and loaded up, the next job was to check through the traps.
My traps are all stored and transported in plastic buckets. Each bucket has 15 traps and 15 marker pins in it; all stacked in a particular way so that I can tell at a glance how many are in each bucket.
With the van fully loaded with traps and tools, it was time to think about my own stuff. Carefully packed (for 'carefully packed' read chucked in a small case and a few carrier bags) I loaded my own needs into the van while little Florence looked on wondering if she was going to be coming along with me. I grabbed a bucket of her food and dug out a lead (she rarely needs one) and we were off.
Usually, at this time of year, spring is a week or even ten days ahead of us in Devon. Not this year. Just like Wiltshire, Somerset and Dorset there was little sign of spring like activity. The grass was non-existent and there was not much sign of blossom anywhere.
I drove on and finally, after a longer than normal (thanks grockles) journey reached my destination. The trailer had to be stowed away, and I decided to unload the van while I was at it.
Some dinner and an early night was called for; and if it hadn't been for the internet would have happened.
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