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The Hike Turned Disaster Benjie, an eight-year-old hiker, was on a walk with his group in the Mourne mountains, specifically at Hen, Cock and Pigeon Rock, when they noticed smoke in the distance on May 23. Initially, the smoke seemed minimal, and they continued their hike. Escalating Flames and Smoke As they ascended one of the mountains, the extent of the smoke became alarmingly apparent. They soon saw a ring of flames and heard the fire crackling across the valley. The smoke began to obscure the sun, prompting them to change their plans. A Change of Plans Initially planning to walk to Bloody Bridge on the other side of the mountains. Decided to head to Tolleymore Forest Park instead due to the worsening fire situation. Witnessed six more fires and 12 fire engines en route. The Aftermath Benjie later learned that the fires persisted for many days, destroying a vast area. The fires were suspected to have been started deliberately, and it was reported that recovery efforts could take decades. Benjie expressed sadness and anger over the damage caused to wildlife. A Call to Action The Young Country Diary, where Benjie's story was published, continues to share stories about nature and the environment. The submission form will reopen on June 1 for summer articles.

The Cuckoo's Enchanting Song Sheltered from the Irish Sea by the towering white foredunes of Murlough beach, I follow a trail through the heather and scrub. In the distance, the Mourne mountains slip in and out of view, already charred by this year’s wildfires. My attention turns to the season’s happier signs: sand martins chittering overhead; the scratchy cries of a whitethroat deep in the gorse; a meadow pipit stuttering into song flight. And now, the chant that clinches summer’s arrival. Encountering the Cuckoo I follow the cuckoo’s call and find him perched in a stunted sycamore. Through binoculars, I meet his orange eye. As he leans into his song, his jaunty tail and drooping wings make a fin for the long torpedo of his body – the ideal form for a life lived on the move. The Cuckoo's Unique Behavior Despite his hawkish plumage and yellow legs, his bill’s nib betrays that he is no raptor – the cuckoo feeds mainly on invertebrates. Still, he is a source of morbid curiosity for the steady stream of small passerines – pipit, stonechat, linnet, willow warbler – that pass through the twigs to get a good look at him. They sense his threat. The Art of Brood Parasitism In the bird world there are many different kinds of parental care and, depending on the species, either sex, or both, may brood and raise a pair’s young. However, as a brood parasite, the cuckoo takes the “neither” option. This equal opportunity form of parental “selfishness” is a gamble that can be highly productive. The Cuckoo's Reproductive Strategy The female cuckoo “farms” small passerines, like the meadow pipit, by laying up to 20 eggs (one per host nest) across her large territory. If her egg deceives, her chick ejects its “step-siblings” from the nest, so its hapless foster parents devote themselves solely to raising their enormous changeling. Meanwhile, the biological parents skive off back to Africa. A Lasting Fascination Possibly I should feel conflicted about the cuckoo but, as he keeps up the fluting metronome of his song, head bobbing with all the mechanical emphasis of the eponymous clock, I find I’m charmed. Note after note. Year after year. Hatched out of abandonment. Fledged in trust. This story of spring is so well known, but that doesn’t make it any less extraordinary.