Faithful readers of this space will recall that I recently paid a visit to an elephant corridor in Assam. This week I visited a dormouse corridor in Suffolk. Not quite so big, and not quite so dangerous, but just as important —certainly, if you happen to be a dormouse.

These two corridors exist for exactly the same reason: to join up isolated populations and link fragmented habitats. They also help to reduce clashes with the human population, to make things safer for local farmers, and to cut down on the need to scare the creatures off with firecrackers and spears.

That last sentence is only true for the elephants. But there I was, marching about in lovely countryside around Assington, looking at what had been done and what needed to be done. I started out from Assington Mill with Simone Bullion of Suffolk Wildlife Trust, an old friend of this column.

Simone and I walked up the river valley and then up onto the slopes: a fine patchwork landscape with nice pockets of woodland. At a single glance you can see both the problem and the solution.

Dormice are creatures of the trees. They don’t care for the ground at all. They like to be up in the canopy, where they are nimble climbers. They are famous for sleeping, but that’s just what they do in winter. When they want to, they can move with the slithering grace of an ice hockey puck, only vertically: I have seen one climb and vanish in an instant of time. So here, across this fine undulating chunk of Suffolk, were little bits of wood. The answer was staring us in the face.

Touch wood

No dormouse is an island, entire of itself. Every dormouse is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. No elephant is an island, either, but it’s dormice that concern us right now. Dormice are smaller than elephants, it’s true — but the truth that matters is that you can’t think that small in any form of conservation, even the conservation of a creature so small you could hold a dozen of them in your cupped hands.

How big does a wood need to be to hold a long-term viable population of dormice? At least 20 hectares: that’s 50 acres, or 50 football pitches if you prefer. There aren’t many woods that size knocking about these days. But there are plenty of little chunks — if only you could join them up.

Dormice tend to live at low density: five per hectare even in the richest kind of habitat, as few as one per hectare in less perfect places. And they don’t move about much. An established adult is seldom more than 70m from its nest. A young animal might move farther, in the one great adventure of its life: Simone told me about one bold young mouse that was found 700m from its birthplace.

It’s clear, then, that dormice need to be safe and adequately fed every step of the way. The landowners of Assington Mill are thrilled by the idea of dormouse corridors, and have planted up a fine and growing hedgerow, linking up pieces of habitat. Now the dormice can move into areas owned by the Suffolk Wildlife Trust: Spouse’s Vale and Arger Fen.

There is also a patch of arable land — Hullback’s grove — that is being encouraged to regenerate into forest: wonderful to see the brave pioneer trees already lording it over the scrub.

It all represents a crucial series of partnerships: between various different conservation organisations, and between private landowners and conservation. In this way, the best bits of dormouse habitat are being linked up by corridors, like beads along a string.

“The dormice,” said Simone with justifiable satisfaction, “are poised to strike.”

Join the dots

An island population is by definition vulnerable. There are no small disasters for a small and isolated population: a fire, a decision by the planners, a virus, a local food shortage: any of these things can wipe out a population at a stroke. There is also the question of finding mates: an isolated population will eventually succumb to inbreeding depression.

But isolation is precisely what’s happening to all non-flying creatures, in this country and across the world. We are breaking up habitats with roads, with all kinds of developments, leaving all kinds of little pockets that simply can’t support the range and numbers they once did. Isolation is a disaster waiting to happen.

And all around the world, the best answer that we can offer is to join up the dots: to link the habitats, so that each small pocket can function as part of a whole: each island becomes again part of a continent. With the creation of corridors, for elephants and for dormice, we are doing the best job we can do of putting the toothpaste back into the tube.

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