Ex;orer's guide to Latvia

摘要

Step back in time with a ramble through Lativa's ancient forests, vast peatbogs and flower-rich grasslands. With luck and patience, you may even see a beaver. Janis and I plodded along the forest track, waving at mosquitoes and hoping that the neurotic wood sandpipers would calm down. Every so often, Janis stooped with an open Ziploc bag m collect another wolf scat for analysis. It was a hot May morning, and we were investigating the impact of beavers in a forest in Slitere National Park in northern Latvia. I had come here to learn more about these rodents, whose re-establishment in the UK after an absence of over 400 years looked like it might be about to begin. Latvia's beavers number around 100,000, largely thanks to a programme that began in the 1930s, and they are pretty ubiquitous - one even set up home behind the Biology Faculty of the University of Riga a few years ago. They are responsible for maintaining some of the most diverse and rich wetlands in Europe, offering a helping hand to other species along the way. Cranes are a common sight, and their population rise has coincided with the time in the 1980s when the beaver population expanded. That doesn't necessarily mean beavers are easy m see. On one visit to Latvia, I had to wait seven evenings before I got any decent pictures; on another, while tagging along with a film crew, we went to a well-used beaver channel in Kemeri National Park. As we stopped and unpacked the vehicle, a splash like someone heaving a block of concrete into the water signalled that the beaver knew we were about. As we walked to the bridge and crossed the channel, the same thing happened. That was it, I assured the crew, we'd see no more beavers that morning. Nevertheless, 15 minutes later, with the camera running, a beaver paddled slowly to where we were hidden on the bank. Late evening is often a good time to see them, when they appear silently and without a ripple from their bankside burrows.