Spring’s threads are woven throughout the woodland: clutches of primroses, emerging bluebells and tightly wound fern fronds ready to unfurl. But at the bases of trees, hazel dormice will still be hibernating, curled up among damp mosses and leaves, soft bodies dozing the last of the cold weather away. I meet the licensed ecologist Ellie Smart and trainee Peter Roseveare as they clean out last year’s dormice nest boxes and check for signs of activity. Just over a century ago, hazel dormice were so prevalent that they were often kept in the pockets of Victorian schoolchildren – but populations have dropped 75% since 1996, with local extinctions in 17 counties, primarily caused by the loss of appropriate woods and hedgerows. This particular mixed deciduous woodland is perfect for them: seasonal food sources like hazelnuts, berries and insects are plentiful, nesting material is abundant, and there’s a decent understorey. Regular management is also essential – coppicing brings new growth, but it is declining as a practice, so dormice are becoming increasingly vulnerable. Each box reveals a new secret: some are empty, some have velveteen moss rugs where tits have appropriated the space, others have signs of wood mice, and in one we accidentally disturb a little pygmy shrew, which sits for a few moments before slinking off into the undergrowth. But the seventh box holds the best surprise: an old dormouse nest, a downy bundle that fits in the palm. Breeding nests are typically made from honeysuckle or grass strands, which dormice separate by pulling them between their teeth, making them fine enough to interlace. The strands are rolled up and carried into nest spaces, then woven into a ball shape with a little entrance hole, before the dormice furnish the nests with bracken, tamarisk moss, green leaves and sometimes bark or bluebell leaves. As we continue, hugging the riverside, we keep hoping for a glimpse of onyx eyes, golden-sand fur, or a fat, fluffy tail – but although we uncover three more old nests, none is harbouring a dormouse. Monthly checks will be undertaken until October as the dormice weave and rear. The nest boxes may be empty now, but hopefully they will soon be filled with the squeaks of the next generation. • Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount
Author: Alexandra Pearce-Broomhead