By Lesley McLaren
For some years I avoided walking too deep into the orchards, partly because of a kind of natural barrier at a line of tall poplars, but mostly because often there emanated, from somewhere beyond those trees, the sound of an electronic keyboard.
Depending on the time of day and direction of the wind, dreadful plinky-plonky noises would drift across the vineyards - a few bars of this, followed by a pause, then a few bars of that. Almost a tune, but not quite. It annoyed me because it clashed with the birds. One day last autumn, when it started up yet again, I gave in to curiosity and changed direction to track down the source. I imagined a house somewhere close by, where an enthusiastic beginner practised, with the windows open. When no house was visible, I next wondered if someone had transported their keyboard to the middle of the orchards and was playing to the trees - a variation on talking to them. There's no accounting for human behaviour, and people play the piano to elephants, after all.
The sound was getting louder; I was closing in. But what I found was, if anything, even more bizarre than I'd imagined.
A tall white pole with loudspeakers on each side of a box at the top. Solar powered. In fact there was a pole every few hundred metres, over several square kilometres. Mercifully, they weren't all belting out the same random notes at the same time, (although I would one day hear two going at once, with different “tunes”). What on earth was the intention behind them? It couldn't be to entertain the fruit pickers, because harvesting was long since over. Surely it couldn't be to encourage growth?
Depending on the time of day and direction of the wind, dreadful plinky-plonky noises would drift across the vineyards - a few bars of this, followed by a pause, then a few bars of that. Almost a tune, but not quite. It annoyed me because it clashed with the birds. One day last autumn, when it started up yet again, I gave in to curiosity and changed direction to track down the source. I imagined a house somewhere close by, where an enthusiastic beginner practised, with the windows open. When no house was visible, I next wondered if someone had transported their keyboard to the middle of the orchards and was playing to the trees - a variation on talking to them. There's no accounting for human behaviour, and people play the piano to elephants, after all.
The sound was getting louder; I was closing in. But what I found was, if anything, even more bizarre than I'd imagined.
A tall white pole with loudspeakers on each side of a box at the top. Solar powered. In fact there was a pole every few hundred metres, over several square kilometres. Mercifully, they weren't all belting out the same random notes at the same time, (although I would one day hear two going at once, with different “tunes”). What on earth was the intention behind them? It couldn't be to entertain the fruit pickers, because harvesting was long since over. Surely it couldn't be to encourage growth?
Quite a mystery. Although it has continued all through the winter, it's only lasted for about five minutes when I've been over that way, which has encouraged me to walk this section of the orchards more frequently than my regular patch.
My main reason for putting up with the intrusive, if spasmodic noise, is that this area is much further from the busy main road, and most of the time the only people I see are those working the land. Except for Mondays when several large groups of what I presume are U3A members crisscross the plantations at speed, arms pumping, walking poles clickety-clacking.
Most of this January was spring-like. In contrast, February was much colder, with several sharp frosts - more what you’d expect for winter. Nevertheless, while the so-called Beast from the East and Storm Emma struck much of Europe and the UK, down here, we got off lightly. Nighttime temperatures didn't seem to go below -4°C, and the lowest daytime temperature I noted was 6°C. We've been getting frequent, short-lived but violent southerlies, though - more than I remember in past winters. These have kept temperatures up but brought down several of the tall, thin poplars that border many of the fruit plantations.
The terrain in between each plot of trees also offers more variety of habitats than the side I usually explore. It’s more watery for one thing. There are several deep irrigation ditches, which sometimes run with water, and whose steep banks are covered in interesting vegetation. Last autumn there was plenty of frog activity - every few feet one or two leapt into the water as I walked along the track above them. Then there’s the narrow Canal de Palau, which I guess might have been dug by the Romans originally.
Close to the canal, several big old oaks stand like sentinels in a grassy spot between orchards (first photo in this blog). It's lovely to see they have been preserved. One is particularly huge and ancient-looking. It's lost a lot of limbs to gales over the years, but the main trunk looks solid enough still.
My main reason for putting up with the intrusive, if spasmodic noise, is that this area is much further from the busy main road, and most of the time the only people I see are those working the land. Except for Mondays when several large groups of what I presume are U3A members crisscross the plantations at speed, arms pumping, walking poles clickety-clacking.
Most of this January was spring-like. In contrast, February was much colder, with several sharp frosts - more what you’d expect for winter. Nevertheless, while the so-called Beast from the East and Storm Emma struck much of Europe and the UK, down here, we got off lightly. Nighttime temperatures didn't seem to go below -4°C, and the lowest daytime temperature I noted was 6°C. We've been getting frequent, short-lived but violent southerlies, though - more than I remember in past winters. These have kept temperatures up but brought down several of the tall, thin poplars that border many of the fruit plantations.
The terrain in between each plot of trees also offers more variety of habitats than the side I usually explore. It’s more watery for one thing. There are several deep irrigation ditches, which sometimes run with water, and whose steep banks are covered in interesting vegetation. Last autumn there was plenty of frog activity - every few feet one or two leapt into the water as I walked along the track above them. Then there’s the narrow Canal de Palau, which I guess might have been dug by the Romans originally.
Close to the canal, several big old oaks stand like sentinels in a grassy spot between orchards (first photo in this blog). It's lovely to see they have been preserved. One is particularly huge and ancient-looking. It's lost a lot of limbs to gales over the years, but the main trunk looks solid enough still.
Further on, the River Tanyari runs roughly parallel with the canal. That too is relatively narrow. Despite having high, man-made banks either side – flood defence style – it's not deep, but deep enough to cover your boots at a ford, so I haven't ventured across it yet. In any case, I think houses and a lane lie not far beyond. Impenetrable bamboo is the dominant plant on the banks here. Great cover for all sorts of creatures, including Cetti's warblers, which are singing loudly again now. Apart from the ford, you can only see the water where animals have created tracks to it.
I've seen a fox on patrol, and I imagine badgers may also roam. Otters probably visit the river, or perhaps live on it. With the arrival of true spring weather this week, a hare has appeared three times. Yesterday it was on the track ahead, some distance away but ... haring straight for us. Diggers and I stood still (the dog doubtless unable to believe that lunch might be about to run straight into his mouth). With only a few metres to go, it finally veered off, through the nectarine trees. I expected to see something in pursuit, but nothing showed itself. Hares aren't that common in these parts, and I have a feeling we’re encountering the same one. I hope I’m wrong and that’s it’s not alone.
I've seen a fox on patrol, and I imagine badgers may also roam. Otters probably visit the river, or perhaps live on it. With the arrival of true spring weather this week, a hare has appeared three times. Yesterday it was on the track ahead, some distance away but ... haring straight for us. Diggers and I stood still (the dog doubtless unable to believe that lunch might be about to run straight into his mouth). With only a few metres to go, it finally veered off, through the nectarine trees. I expected to see something in pursuit, but nothing showed itself. Hares aren't that common in these parts, and I have a feeling we’re encountering the same one. I hope I’m wrong and that’s it’s not alone.
On a different day, he or she was well camouflaged among the fruit trees
Lizards have been making an appearance for some weeks - the sun is really warming up - and I often hear or catch sight of one scurrying through leaf litter along the northernmost border. Protected by tall poplars and that high river bank, it's the most sheltered stretch. If I haven't already had to take off a layer of clothing by the time I reach it, I'll get down to a T-shirt here. This morning, shorts would have been a good idea.
Nothern boundary - river bank to right of poplars
 Poplar flowers emerging |  |
On another warm, sunny morning a few days ago, I heard significant rustling a few feet in front. My first thought was mouse, and I automatically shortened the dog's lead, in case Diggers lunged. When I homed in on the sound, I was surprised to see a small snake writhing in a knot, at the foot of a tree. Was it injured? After a few seconds it unwound itself and seemed to split in two - the bigger part sliding away fast, up the bank; the smaller part wriggling down towards my feet - whereupon it froze. Not part of the snake, I realised, but a lizard with a very long tail. It didn't look wounded, but only when I touched one of its legs did it race off. Fascinating to have seen the reptilian food chain in action - and the first time I've ever seen a snake with prey. I think it must have been a common grass snake (natrix natrix). Lucky day for the lizard. Unlucky day for its captor, which had probably sensed our approach and decided to sacrifice a meal in order to save itself.
A different predator has also been at work in the same spot. Diggers has sniffed out the decapitated body of a song thrush. I would have expected a sparrowhawk to have eaten its kill, so I suspect the culprit in this case may have been a magpie, or possibly a jay - there's a big, rowdy gang of jays hanging around, and both species seem to enjoy killing for kicks. I was so sad to see this, not least because it was probably the bird I'd been listening to for about a week. I'd wondered why it had stopped singing, and assumed it had moved on to declare a better territory. Its death won't be wasted if something - one of the buzzards perhaps - benefits from the carrion, but as at today its body lies untouched.
All birds are tuning up now of course. Each time I walk here I'm hearing all three kinds of woodpeckers. Often I'll see the green and great spotted, but the lesser spotted remains elusive (living up to an alternative interpretation of its name, perhaps?). There's quite a lot of drumming going on too - plenty of dead trees for them to raise young in. It would be lovely to locate a green woodpecker's nest hole this year.
A different nest I have noticed is close to the top of an oak tree in the copse I've often visited on the south-eastern edge of this area. The big, twiggy construction is visible only because new leaves haven't quite opened yet. I think it's an old one, but its size - though difficult to judge precisely - makes me wonder if it was perhaps made by buzzards. I've often wondered where the resident pair rears its young - and I know they've been successful at least once. But that really is wishful thinking on my part. There are a few corvids around here too, and it may have belonged to crows for all I know.
Two herons are regulars - often flying overhead between the pond, near the main road where I park the car, and the River Tanyari. Once I was surprised to hear what I thought was one of them calling continuously while perched (invisibly) in a tree. Curious behaviour for a heron. I should have guessed - it turned out to be a jay, imitating.
A different predator has also been at work in the same spot. Diggers has sniffed out the decapitated body of a song thrush. I would have expected a sparrowhawk to have eaten its kill, so I suspect the culprit in this case may have been a magpie, or possibly a jay - there's a big, rowdy gang of jays hanging around, and both species seem to enjoy killing for kicks. I was so sad to see this, not least because it was probably the bird I'd been listening to for about a week. I'd wondered why it had stopped singing, and assumed it had moved on to declare a better territory. Its death won't be wasted if something - one of the buzzards perhaps - benefits from the carrion, but as at today its body lies untouched.
All birds are tuning up now of course. Each time I walk here I'm hearing all three kinds of woodpeckers. Often I'll see the green and great spotted, but the lesser spotted remains elusive (living up to an alternative interpretation of its name, perhaps?). There's quite a lot of drumming going on too - plenty of dead trees for them to raise young in. It would be lovely to locate a green woodpecker's nest hole this year.
A different nest I have noticed is close to the top of an oak tree in the copse I've often visited on the south-eastern edge of this area. The big, twiggy construction is visible only because new leaves haven't quite opened yet. I think it's an old one, but its size - though difficult to judge precisely - makes me wonder if it was perhaps made by buzzards. I've often wondered where the resident pair rears its young - and I know they've been successful at least once. But that really is wishful thinking on my part. There are a few corvids around here too, and it may have belonged to crows for all I know.
Two herons are regulars - often flying overhead between the pond, near the main road where I park the car, and the River Tanyari. Once I was surprised to hear what I thought was one of them calling continuously while perched (invisibly) in a tree. Curious behaviour for a heron. I should have guessed - it turned out to be a jay, imitating.
As for those plinky-plonky sounds imitating organ music, I have now solved the mystery, thanks to one of the guys who works for the Villeclare estate. He is rounder and balder than many of the others workers, so I recognise him easily at a distance, and we've often waved at each other. One morning he was taking a breather from ploughing and, seeing me approach, pulled out his ear plugs and walked over for a chat.
This was the first time we'd spoken, and his Catalan accent was so strong that for the first ten minutes I only recognised about three words per sentence; all I could do was nod and laugh at what I hoped were appropriate moments. There was mention of a bad back and retirement in a couple of years, and an awful lot about something else. Gradually I got my ear in and gleaned that the Villeclare estate owns 75 hectares of vineyards and orchards. The land with the loudspeakers belongs to someone else.
He explained, with all seriousness, that a certain tiny insect attacks and kills the fruit trees, and that the music is supposed to deter it. "Mozart and the like," he said, "mais ça ne sert à rien." I'm not surprised it's useless - if that's Mozart, I'm Schubert. Besides, I’d love to know what scientific studies have shown that any kind of music will keep away any insects, never mind this species exclusively. And surely it would have to play continuously from spring to autumn - not just for half an hour a day, which seems to be the current schedule.
As the man said, it certainly doesn't seem to be effective, considering the number of diseased trees that were dug up last autumn; work has been ongoing all winter to replace them.
While I have to award points for tackling one problem in an environmentally friendly (other than noise polluting) way, I'm disappointed to see that the same principle isn't applied to other materials used in plantation maintenance. I'm sure I recently read that environmentally friendly tree protectors exist - but I expect they're harder to come by and more expensive than the usual type. Hundreds of plastic cylinders have just been put round young trees in this musical sector of the orchards. I'm not sure if they'll be removed and disposed of properly once the trees are older, but if not, they will simply turn brittle in the fierce summer heat, break up and be dispersed by the wind. To be fair, I haven't yet seen a lot of evidence of this type of litter from past plantings, but much of it might now be too small to notice with the naked eye, or ploughed into the soil.
This was the first time we'd spoken, and his Catalan accent was so strong that for the first ten minutes I only recognised about three words per sentence; all I could do was nod and laugh at what I hoped were appropriate moments. There was mention of a bad back and retirement in a couple of years, and an awful lot about something else. Gradually I got my ear in and gleaned that the Villeclare estate owns 75 hectares of vineyards and orchards. The land with the loudspeakers belongs to someone else.
He explained, with all seriousness, that a certain tiny insect attacks and kills the fruit trees, and that the music is supposed to deter it. "Mozart and the like," he said, "mais ça ne sert à rien." I'm not surprised it's useless - if that's Mozart, I'm Schubert. Besides, I’d love to know what scientific studies have shown that any kind of music will keep away any insects, never mind this species exclusively. And surely it would have to play continuously from spring to autumn - not just for half an hour a day, which seems to be the current schedule.
As the man said, it certainly doesn't seem to be effective, considering the number of diseased trees that were dug up last autumn; work has been ongoing all winter to replace them.
While I have to award points for tackling one problem in an environmentally friendly (other than noise polluting) way, I'm disappointed to see that the same principle isn't applied to other materials used in plantation maintenance. I'm sure I recently read that environmentally friendly tree protectors exist - but I expect they're harder to come by and more expensive than the usual type. Hundreds of plastic cylinders have just been put round young trees in this musical sector of the orchards. I'm not sure if they'll be removed and disposed of properly once the trees are older, but if not, they will simply turn brittle in the fierce summer heat, break up and be dispersed by the wind. To be fair, I haven't yet seen a lot of evidence of this type of litter from past plantings, but much of it might now be too small to notice with the naked eye, or ploughed into the soil.
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There’s very little general litter – no surprise considering the lack of people – so yesterday, an empty chocolate wrapper beside the track really stood out. I did my bit: picked it up, crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it in a pocket. Only at that point did my fingers register that the paper was slightly wet. The ground, however, was quite dry. Uh-oh. My best hope was that a dog had peed on the wrapper, but my worst fear was realised when a sniff test on my hand revealed the distinctive, pungent pong of fox. So much for good deeds. I managed to extract the wrapper from my pocket and pop it into a dog poo bag. Shame I hadn't thought to pick it up with that! As anticipated, even rinsing my hands in the river made little difference, so that turned into a very smelly walk. Usually, though, despite unmusical interruptions every so often, the varied habitats and views of Canigou and the Albères massif make this a lovely, peaceful place to wander.
Impossible to tire of sights such as this
