An ancient ecology

Leaving the dance events for camping in the forest, or not quite a forest - a wooded meadow or puisniit. These spaces (for camping and wandering about in my case) are clumps of trees within large areas of grass, alternatively, forested spaces mown for hay, having a parklike feel. The puisniit asks: are humans part of the ecology? The answer to Estonians is yes.

Ever since the ice sheets receded some 10,000 years ago humans have followed the fish and game, the berries and mushrooms, ever further northwards. They walked, skied or boated their way through the wilderness, clothed themselves in animal skins and later fibre, sheltered in caves or structures made of vegetation, and warmed themselves by wood fires.

Camping is not so different, in principle at least. Dinner tonight is boiled eggs and smoked sprats, rounded off with rye bread, salami and sliced cucumbers, and a cup of red. Fireplaces – steel chimineas - are available at every Estonian campsite, however, I am using an MSR gas burner bought in Tallinn. This thing is clearly designed for cooking food in snow; the flame is more like a blow torch. On top of that, the staff at MatkaSport supplied me with matches that turn out to be military-grade fire starters, more like the sparklers that come with fireworks.

We like camping, well, many of us do. It goes with optional fishing or hunting, along with getting stabbed by mosquitoes, and bitten and infected by ticks. When Greg and I were here three years ago, somewhat later in the summer, we collected blueberries where they were present for the next day’s breakfast, and, later, chanterelles and parasol mushrooms. In camping, we are feeding our ancient hunter-gatherer souls, literally and spiritually.

In Estonia, the ecology has evolved over the millennia along with humans, as the climate warmed and technology advanced. The results were not always happy, not for the woolly mammoth in any case. What there is today by way of biodiversity is a co-existence of the species that survived, including humans, sometimes uneasy because of land clearance and industrialisation, sometimes thanks to nature conservation, or a light touch on the environment.

An example of the last is the puisniit, of great interest to Estonian botanists. At Nedrema northwest of Pärnu an interpretation panel boasts 236 species of vascular plant, and the most found within one square metre is 54. The thought is that where people have gently modified the environment, biodiversity increases, a positive and measurable influence on nature.

Oak, silver birch, rowan, wild apple and aspen rub shoulders with juniper, hazel, poplar, alder and sycamore, and near the trees where the mowing machines cannot reach, I identify two species of buttercup, at least two of grass, dock and something like it, dandelions and similar, clover, wild strawberries in flower, blackberry canes, something that could be an orchid past flowering, something that looks like mint but isn’t, and two or three other wildflowers that I can’t name but which are seen everywhere. Baltic pines tend to keep to themselves as do grey willows, and at this location spruce is absent.

These are plants of our childhood fairy tales in New Zealand in times past, a cultural heritage from England, Germany, France, Denmark and more. For those of European origin - despite the plants and animals (including humans) the Brits imported into NZ morphing into catastrophic pests and weeds - they are a reminder of the old countries from which we came.

So, it is gratifying to return to Estonia, to drive around this land of forests and fields, and camp among the trees in a land to which I truly belong. In the last two days on the road I have seen a jackdaw, a blue jay, hawks and buzzards, a white heron half the size of a small plane, storks on their haystack nests atop telephone poles, a solitary magpie (colours reversed to the Australian type), large grey cranes, plovers in ploughed fields, and grey-backed crows stumping about on roadside verges.

Driving past a wildlife park, I spy three European bisons in a field of dandelions, stop the car, and snap them for posterity. The wisent has been rescued from extinction after a remnant were found in a forest in Poland. The trio look at me briefly, then continue munching, their rich brown winter fur coming off in large tufts as their spring coats appear underneath.

At the campsite, cuckoos call, woodpeckers make staccato sounds, songbirds call in the trees, and time for bed, thinking of the joy of camping. Until it wasn’t. A car lurches over tree roots, loud music blaring and a young pair get out, and start a fire. They ignore my packing up; I approach, state what I am doing in English and then Estonian, and I realise they are both quite drunk. After some unfriendly words, we are all pleased with my decision, and I drive off in fading twilight.

A fox stands on a section of gravel between rows of oak trees, and gradually walks out of sight, glowing flame red in the headlights, and returning to Elistvere where I had camped the previous night, two hares, gaunt and leggy, make for a field sown in grain.