Butterflies on Box Hill, by Frances Jones

After weeks of hot, dry weather, the River Mole meandering gently through its wooded valley looked particularly welcoming. Dogs were splashing about in the water and willows dipped and danced in the breeze at the water’s edge. We took the Stepping Stones across the river and headed up the path through the woods. Meadow Browns and Large Whites were busying themselves on either side and a Speckled Wood sat on a tree root in the shade while walkers passed by. The steep gradient meant we soon had views over Dorking and the surrounding area – I tried to focus on that and not the litter as we reached the viewpoint.

Keen to explore further, we doubled back and found ourselves at the National Trust visitor centre, a ubiquitous complex complete with information posters, Membership stand and union jack bunting strung around its eaves. We turned left down the hill from the Centre and passed Box Hill Fort, a former military fort long disused. The path meandered down the hill in a gulley shaded by trees,  and suddenly we found ourselves on the edge of a hillside with views of woodland in every direction. We scrambled up the bank to look more closely at the meadow flowers.

Seen at a distance, the hillside was a carpet of light brown after weeks without rain, but when we stopped we could see the purple and blues of the flowers attracting the butterflies and bees. Six-spot burnet moths were fluttering around, and bees sat atop Common Knapweed. Field scabious and other purple flowers were providing a haven for the insects and there were lots of them, buzzing industriously with only the chirping of grasshoppers for competition. We stopped to observe a Six-spot burnet moth which was perched on a Common Knapweed, its antennae moving gently back and forth and with little intention of moving.  Close by, another was hanging upside down on a blade of grass, looking for all the world like a dozing sloth. Meadow Browns and Marbled Whites fluttered around us and, having paused to look at the view, I was thrilled to see an Adonis Blue flutter and perch on the ground in front of our feet. This butterfly had chosen the wrong place to stop, however, as the approaching tread of walkers saw him take flight.

A few seconds later, and I noticed a tiny brown butterfly close to the ground. It resembled a Skipper, but, not being able to observe it closely, I couldn’t be sure which one it was. We took the path through the woods which, after a short stretch along the road, led back to the river. In front of us was a steep wooded cliff face, and we realised we had been on the other side in the meadow a short while before. In the riverside meadow Small Whites fluttered across our path and, once again, the cool water was refreshing, even to look at. The green of the trees in the surrounding woodland seemed to defy the current drought, but the cracked ground was a clear sign that rain was needed. This was a lovely walk and it was wonderful to see that the populations of certain butterfly species appeared to be in good shape in this part of the country.

All photos courtesy of Stephanie Bull

New Nature: Issue 19

With Britain half-baked as a result of the recent heatwave, there has never been a better time to hunker down in a shady spot, surround yourself with nature, and flick through the latest edition of New Nature – the youth nature magazine.

July is an exciting month in the naturalist’s calendar: butterflies and dragonflies are at their peak, moths are abundant, fledged birds comb the countryside in rowdy flocks and countryside stands awash with colour as a result of countless blooming wildflowers. It is a diverse month, busy and exciting, reflected perfectly in the pages of this most recent magazine.

From evocative nature writing centred on bumblebees, black darters and Summer orchids, to readers images showcasing the best of British nature, wildlife, in all forms, is well represented this issue. On page 7, Elliot Dowding takes readers through and in-depth account of What to Watch for in July, and in a special feature this month, Jo Cutler extols the virtues of our nations underappreciated Hymenoptera. Articles which compliment nicely regular columnist, Sophie-May Lewis’s, latest Sussex Field Notes column: this time looking at the best of our Summer wildflowers.

Of course, we are not limited to traditional nature writing in this issue, and those with a more far-reaching interest may appreciate Holly Peek’s guide to Orca watching in the UK (page 20) or Jack Wright’s Wildlife Mythbusters (page 18). Those interested in conservation may also wish to read Liam Whitmore’s intriguing piece on the future of our beloved Red Squirrels (Page 28).

The team at New Nature are delighted this month to announce broadcaster, Michaela Strachan as our guest interviewee. Look out for Alice Johnson’s interview on page 30 where the pair discuss wildlife shows, career advice and the phenomenon that is BBC Springwatch.

I hope you enjoy the latest offering from the New Nature team. The latest issue can be downloaded here:http:bit.ly/2J58YX8

As ever, if you would like to showcase your work in New Nature, pitch an article, donate your photography or propose a regular column, please email editorial.newnature@gmail.com or tweet us at @NewNature_Mag.

Chris Packham’s UK Bioblitz comes to Newcastle

Have you heard of Chris Packham’s UK Bioblitz?  If not, it’s essentially a ten-day tour of 50 wildlife sites scattered across Scotland, Northern Ireland, England and Wales, conducted in an effort to highlight the extent to which our nation’s wildlife is under threat. With all data collected on the whirlwind tour being used to create a benchmark that will help measure the rise and fall in numbers of different species in the future.

On Wednesday I had the pleasure of attending one such bioblitz as a representative of the Natural History Society of Northumbria and, after a most enjoyable day in the field, can safely say that I had a blast. Sure, it was lovely to meet Chris himself – he may well be one of the most courteous and knowledgeable media personalities I have ever met – but the real joy was watching myriad people, young and old, wholly engrossed in the natural world.

 

The event itself took place at Havannah and Three Hills Nature Reserve: a remarkable swath of woodland, lowland heath, meadow and wetland located on the fringe of Newcastle. An urban site boasting a spectacular array of wildlife, Havana is both accessible and incredibly diverse and it was delightful to delve a little further into its ecological makeup. With personal highlights including rare Stags-Horn Clubmoss, Willow Tit, Red Squirrel, a glut of Small Heath butterflies and my first Mottled Grasshopper – a common species yet one I have previously overlooked.

Elsewhere at Havana, diligent recorders of all ages sported smiles as they foraged for fungi, ogled Nursery-Web spiders and netted a host of invertebrates ranging from opulent looking froghoppers to familiar Six-spot Burnets. Roe Deer were seen,  buzzards mewed overhead throughout our stay and both clegs and ticks made much less welcome appearances throughout. Including one of the latter found lodged on my knee upon my return home.

Bioblitzes are always good fun; though, beyond that, they serve two incredibly vital purposes: they facilitate the submission of vital ecological records to Environmental Records Committees – used to track natures pulse and advise on decisions likely to impact upon the natural world – and they engage and enthuse the public. This event did both, and while I do not yet know the total species count for the day, I do know that many people had a whale of a time. Learning from experts in a plethora of fields in a wonderful outdoor setting, it doesn’t get much better than that, does it?

 

A paradise of parched grasses

Walking at Weetslade Country Park this past weekend, the rolling grasslands of the former colliery site appeared almost Mediterranean. Parched grasses, sapped by what seems like an eternity of vigorous sunlight, appearing yellowed, dry and lifeless. The vista laid out before me more like a sight from the South of Spain, or Portugal than one from usually tepid, often grey Northumberland.

Where grasses wilt and fall, however, others persevere and all around the site, the matt of drained yellows and browns was streaked by colour. By the countless blooms of wildflowers, themselves undaunted by the Summer heatwave. The pale purple of Creeping thistle interspersed with much more delicate heads of Yellow Rattle and Lady’s Bedstraw, and studded by the vibrant, sickly yellow blooms of ragwort. All of which, alongside the odd, almost alien spikes of Vipers Bugloss, lent an uncharacteristically tropical feel to the morning. Something only amplified by the presence of a huge number of butterflies.

All around Weetslade, energetic Small Skippers darted from bloom to bloom, feeding hungrily but occasionally stopping to bask and preen. Elsewhere, Ringlet and Meadow Brown quartered the rank margins, and many Large White’s, crisp and fresh from the chrysalis, danced as they pursued potential mates. A fantastic sight, plucked straight from a lepidopterists dream, only enhanced by the punchy colours of the occasional Peacock, Small Tortoiseshell and golden Large Skipper.

Despite their numbers, butterflies, however, were not the most numerous winged creature on the wing this weekend: that honour goes to the Six-spot Burnet. A remarkable little moth, clad in a beautiful yet a cautionary mix of black and red and boasting a set of preposterously long antennae.

This day, these moths were everywhere: flying in a typical clumsy manner between the heads of ragwort and thistle and, where flowers shone, gathering and copulating en masse. A true Summer spectacular, and not something you see every day. Indeed, a very rough count of the moths on show revealed well over one-hundred – including twenty in a single riving ball of dotted wings and extraterrestrial-looking appendages.

Six-spot Burnet’s cluster on a thistle-head

Of course, no visit would be complete absent a highlight and, heading back to the car, a definitive one landed right in front of our noses. The sight of a delicate butterfly taking flight between thistle-heads drawing us closer until the identity of the curiosity was revealed: a White-letter Hairstreak. A very scarce butterfly in Northumberland which, spurred on by the pleasant weather, appears to be enjoying somewhat of a resurgence – popping up at various local sites including Prestwick Carr and Gosforth Park, wherever it’s foodplant, Wych Elm, clings on.

All good things must draw to a close and, as the hairstreak took flight, we did too. Pausing briefly, car-door ajar, to savour the song of a Yellowhammer drifting over from a tangle of hawthorns to our right. A little bit of bread and no cheese, never has a birds song had a better mnemonic attached to it.

White-letter Hairstreak, Weetslade Country Park

Large White feasting on Burdock

Hairstreaks in the morning sun

Traversing the dappled woodland of Gosforth Park Nature Reserve earlier today, I had only one thing in mind: hairstreaks. Purple hairstreaks, to be precicse, Neozephyrus quercus, a remarkable, handsome butterfly that spends the majority of its time high in the canopy. Feasting on honeydew in close proximity to the species larval food plant, oak.

Unlike most butterflies, purple hairstreaks seldom descend to ground level, making them altogether difficult to see. Imagine my excitement then, when high in a sunny glade, two petite butterflies took flight from the upper echelons of an oak. Twisting round and around in territorial (or romantic) dispute as they spiralled upwards towards the pinnacle of their makeshift arena. Before that is, action ceased and both butterflies returned to their respective perches –  activity muted again for the time being. A faint flash of purple in my binoculars the only indication that, after years of failed attempts, I had finally caught up with my quarry.

Unique in a local sense, the woodlands of Gosforth Park have a queer effect on the mind: making it not just possible, but also quite easy, to imagine yourself elsewhere. Away from the hustle and bustle of the city located a mere stones through from the reserve and instead, somewhere truly, deeply, wild.  Indeed, the site is a veritable oasis, my short loop through its wooded peripheries this morning revealing some real gems. An Emporer dragonfly hawking a sunny glade; a roe deer, engrossed in the process of pruning an ash sapling; two jays, vocal as they scorned as passing sparrowhawk; and dozens upon dozens of common yet appealing invertebrates. Two of which – the Comma and Common Darter pictured below – posed conveniently for a photo or two.

Comma and Common Darter – Gosforth Park Nature Reserve

One thing I was not expecting, following my success with the dainty purple butterflies and the glut of other wild offerings on show, was a second new experience. An encounter with a species that, before now, had been enjoyed only in fleeting glimpses, absent time to savour. Sure enough, however, as I departed the reserve, my attention was drawn to a small butterfly flitting around the lower branches of a stunted Wych Elm. Adrenaline pulsing as I moved closer, confirming expectations: a White-letter Hairstreak. And a little corker if I may say so myself, exquisite and fresh.

While Purple Hairstreaks are reasonably abundant in the local area, the same cannot be said for their close cousin. Indeed, White-letter Hairstreaks declined markedly following the outbreak of Dutch Elm disease in the 1960’s and still, to this day, find themselves listed as a “high priority” species by Butterfly Conservation. As a species, they are also right on the edge of their range here in the North East; thus today’s encounter was a special one. Both as a result of rarity, and the sheer beauty of the butterfly involved. Indeed, I had not realised just how attractive they are: sporting their radiant orange flash, namesake white ribbons and curious looking, vividly marked ‘tails’.

White-letter Hairstreak – Gosforth Park Nature Reserve

Small Skipper

This year appears to have been a good one for the Small Skipper (Thymelicus sylvestris). All around the local area at present, these energetic, golden, thimble-sized butterflies adorn roadside verges, roundabouts, parkland and wasteland: livening up walks in the city as they flit from bloom to bloom. Appearing to particularly favour the pale-purple flowers of  Creeping Thistle.

We hear an awful lot of doom and gloom centred around our butterflies – rightfully so, with many populations in freefall – thus it lifts spirits to see these small, moth-like butterflies faring well this year. A walk around the small park at the end of my street revealing totals of 65 and 40 on separate visits. Perhaps its the glorious weather?

The Wildlife of Brompton Cemetery, by Frances Jones

Rising particularly early one morning and feeling it was a good time to get outdoors, I set off for Brompton Cemetery in West London.

I have travelled past this cemetery many times on the bus but have only once visited, on a similarly warm summer’s day when I took a book to a stone archway and enjoyed a couple of hours’ quiet. Walking under the fine stone arch of the North Lodge entrance, I took a turning to my left and within seconds a meadow brown fluttered in haste across my path. The gravestones were overgrown with sweet peas which grew in abundance in shades of pink and purple. Also striking was the bright yellow of ragwort, which was growing up between many of the headstones and was supporting lots of stripy black and yellow caterpillars. I bent down to observe one more closely. It was munching a leaf and holding on with its front legs. It had quite a cute face and up close rather resembled an elongated stripy teddy bear. These were caterpillars of the cinnabar moth and brightly marked to discourage predators.

I straightened up and, as I paused to find my sun cream (the sun was bright, even at this time) a marbled white fluttered across my path and stopped on a leaf within full view, obligingly opening its wings so I could see its markings. I had, that morning, been reading an article on brown butterflies by Butterfly Conservation’s Dr Sam Ellis and was delighted to see a marbled white at close range with such relative ease. The overgrown tangle of grasses, bracken and wildflowers was clearly perfect territory as I noticed several more over the next hour. I was reminded of Patrick Barkham’s great search for butterflies in his book, The Butterfly Isles; there’s a lot of joy in seeing butterflies. Meadow browns and gatekeepers fluttered about, sunning themselves and providing me with ample time for observation.

A variety of trees provided habitat for birds, and I watched several great tits darting around in the branches above my head. The pine trees, the Classical architecture of the mausoleums and the bright blue, cloudless sky gave me the feeling of being in Italy and all was calm with only the gentlest of breezes. Every now and then a magpie squawked from within a tree. I wound my way along the narrower paths, out of the way of early morning joggers. A blackbird tripped daintily in front of me whilst pigeons took flight from the undergrowth as I approached. To one side of the catacombs, I passed a yew tree, which was appropriate in this space reserved for the departed. In the Great Circle, an area of gravestones surrounded by the catacombs and marked at the top by the Chapel, the mood changed drastically. The grass had been assiduously mown and with the absence of green – the lack of rain meant the grass was mostly a dull brown –  a sombre mood took over. The buildings are impressive and worth a look. It is also possible to visit the catacombs, on certain days and only with a guide.

Having paused briefly at the Chapel, I headed back towards the entrance. The gravestones on the left-hand side were well-maintained and there was less diversity of wildlife here. I crossed over the main path to finish my visit on the right-hand side, where I had begun, amongst the cheerful colours of sweet peas and foxgloves. Maintaining this space is clearly a big job – I also noticed brambles, thistles and the rampant white flowers of bindweed spreading their way over some of the headstones – but less regular mowing has allowed the wildlife to thrive. I was thankful to visit in the quiet of a Saturday morning, but, even at busy times, I imagine the cemetery is still something of an oasis.

I had reached the entrance; by this time, the traffic was in full flow and the city had woken up.

Broad-bodied Chaser

A quick visit to Gosforth  Park Nature Reserve today came up trumps with my first ever Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa). Now, this is a relatively common species, doubtless familiar to many of you, but as someone only just beginning their journey into the frustrating, complicated but altogether fun realm of dragonflies, this individual gave cause for quite a bit of excitement. Abundant, yes, but beautiful – boasting a superb, smoky blue colouration to its abdomen and whilst posed conveniently on a stick, providing uncharacteristically good views. I even managed some half-decent photos…

Top 10 Facts: House Sparrow

A history of declines. Once one of Britain’s commonest birds, sparrow numbers have crashed in recent years, with London alone losing three-quarters of its sparrows between 1994 and 2000. Declines in rural sparrow populations are thought to be a result of changing farming practices, particularly the loss of Winter stubble, though the exact reasons for the species collapse in urban areas are poorly understood and still, to this day, the subject of research.

Sparrow clubs. Throughout history, house sparrows were commonly viewed as a pest species in Britain. So much so that dedicated “sparrow clubs” were formed with the sole intent of dispatching as many birds as possible. From the mid-18th century, most parishes had sparrow clubs and bounties were paid for dead sparrows until the late 19th century when it was accepted that the control measures did not work. The reasons for these control measures centre on the perceived status of sparrows as a major pest of cereal crops.
Invasive Species. House sparrows have been successfully introduced to numerous countries around the world, including both North and South America, East and South Africa, Australia and New Zealand. The first of these introductions took place in the USA where, in 1852, sparrows brought across from England were released in New York with the intention of controlling the number of damaging Linden moths. The sparrows had other ideas and quickly spread across the continent…

Infidelity. DNA research has shown that 15% of house sparrow offspring are the result of either the cock or hen birds mating with another partner, confirming the sparrow’s reputation for sexual infidelity. A study in 2016, however, hinted that cuckolded male sparrows stopped tending to their chicks – greatly reducing the chances of their rivals young successfully fledging.

Nest theft. Sparrows frequently take over the nests of house martins and swallows and, in a rather grim turn of events, often eject eggs or young birds already present in the nest. With the less dominant hirundines unable to stop them. In many parts of Europe, sparrows also nest in colonies in the base of white storks’ nests. This is thought to be because such nests are well-insulated and safe from predators.

Ringing recoveries. Though rightfully thought of as sedentary, British-ringed house sparrows have been recovered as far away as France and Belgium – showing that, despite reputation, the species does indeed move considerable distances. Anecdotal evidence also suggests that some of the birds seen in Britain may migrate from Scandinavia; although, by large, most sparrows do not move far from their place of birth.

Latin name. The house sparrows latin or ‘scientific’ name and its usual English name have a similar meaning: the Latin word passer, like the English word sparrow, is a term for small active birds, derived from a root word referring to speed. The Latin word domesticus means “belonging to the house”, and, like the species common name, is a reference to its close association with humans.

House Sparrows are capable of swimming underwater! Yes, its true. Even though these birds are not water birds, it has been observed that they can actually swim underwater to move from one place to the other. Apparently, this behaviour was first observed when a sparrow was caught in a trap positioned atop a water dish. The bird, obviously opposed to captivity, proceeding to dive into the water and swim from one part of the trap to another seeking escape. Which sadist would want to trap a sparrow and test this theory, however, is a little beyond me… 

Visual dominance.  Older male sparrows with large black patches on the body are thought to be dominant over males with small patches. The size of the black breast bib – the badge – and the bill colour of male birds change over the course of the year and is thought to relate to the individual’s testosterone levels. Due to the biological cost of producing the pigment necessary to alter their appearance, it is thought that only birds in peak physical condition can afford this – signalling their status as a suitable mate for any passing females.

Call for public support towards a wilder Scotland

Golden eagles, beavers, ospreys and pine martens will take centre stage in a landmark new conservation book aiming to inspire a change in attitudes and a move towards a wilder Scotland.

Scotland: A Rewilding Journey will lay out a vision of how rewilding could transform Scotland and benefit its people and wildlife.  It is being supported by a crowdfunding appeal launched by conservation charity Trees for Life.

The book, to be published this autumn, is written and edited by some of Scotland’s most prominent conservationists – including John Lister-Kaye and Duncan Halley – with stunning images from many of the country’s top nature photographers, who have spent three years capturing the beauty and drama of Scotland’s wild landscapes and wildlife.

Steve Micklewright, Trees for Life’s Chief Executive, writes:

“Despite its raw beauty, the Scottish landscape is today an ecological shadow of its former self. It wasn’t so long ago that vibrant, wild forest stretched across much of Scotland, with beavers and cranes at home in extensive wetlands, salmon and trout filling rivers, and lynx and wild boar roaming in woodlands.

“Yet now our large carnivores are extinct, our woodlands reduced to small fragments, and a degraded landscape supporting little life stretches across millions of acres. But it doesn’t have to be this way. This book will be a major rallying call for rewilding – helping to make Scotland a place where nature works, wildlife flourishes and people prosper.”

Trees for Life is the main sponsor of the book, which is also being supported by Reforesting Scotland, Rewilding Britain, The Borders Forest Trust, and Woodland Trust Scotland.

The book will be published by SCOTLAND: The Big Picture (www.scotlandbigpicture.com), a non-profit social enterprise that includes many leading nature photographers and film-makers, and which promotes the benefits of a wilder Scotland for people and wildlife through stunning visual media.

Trees for Life’s crowdfunding campaign runs from 25 June-23 July 2018, and offers people the opportunity to support publication of the book and its urgent conservation message by helping to raise £20,000. A range of rewards for supporters include a stay in a wilderness cabin, wildlife photography workshops, fine art posters and signed editions of the publication.

Photographer and Director of SCOTLAND: The Big Picture, Peter Cairns – who is editing the book with Susan Wright – writes:

“Scotland: A Rewilding Journey will lay out a powerful vision for a future Scotland, where eagles soar, red squirrels forage and beavers engineer new wetlands.

“It is being published at a tipping point in the history of Scotland’s landscapes, with a growing understanding of the benefits of a wilder environment for people and nature. We want the book to ignite fresh conversations and forge new relationships with the people who shape Scotland’s landscapes – including key landowners, policy makers and rural interest groups.”

Adding: “Worldwide, short-term economics are wrecking nature – sometimes irreversibly. Our climate is changing, species are being lost forever, and vital natural resources such as clean air and water are under threat. Everyone who supports Scotland: A Rewilding Journey will be helping to make the case for a new approach, in which Scotland is a world leader in environmental repair and restoration.”

Trees for Life works to restore Scotland’s ancient Caledonian Forest and its unique wildlife. For over 25 years, the award-winning charity has been pioneering ecological restoration or rewilding. Its long-term vision is to restore natural forests to a vast area of the Scottish Highlands, including its 10,000-acre Dundreggan Estate in Glenmoriston. See www.treesforlife.org.uk.

To support the crowdfunding campaign, visit crowdfunder.co.uk/rewilding.

Red Squirrel © scotlandbigpicture.com

Cover image: Eurasian Beaver © scotlandbigpicture.com

Green space and stormy skies, a guest post by Frances Jones

After a hot and busy day, I decided to take a walk to a nearby patch of green. Clouds were moving in and the breeze became stronger and wonderfully refreshing after the intensity of the June sun. This particular London common is divided in two by a road busy at rush hour with cars and cyclists and the two halves are quite different. The south section adjacent to the church is kept mown and enjoyed by dog walkers, joggers and people who come to sit and, in summer, to sunbathe. Yesterday a game of cricket was taking place, adding to the image of quintessential village life in the midst of the capital. Cross the road and you step into a meadow where the grass is left to grow and the edges are densely lined with trees. To my right was a copse of young oaks and beeches; a dog rose made a splash of soft but sparky pink and a cherry tree was providing a playground for young squirrels.

I decided to do a circuit of the common; a stroll and the sight of green was really what I wanted. A few paces on and I stopped to look more closely at the grasses. The textures varied a lot; one had a silky feel whilst looking like a horse’s mane and another had a purple hue which gave the meadow its mauve tint when seen in this stormy early evening light. Cow parsley stood tall, strikingly silhouetted against the sky. Clover lay close to the ground, its white flowers gleaming brightly in the midst of the green, and a delicate light pink flower entwined itself around the grasses. A tortoiseshell fluttered up in front of me as I stepped off the path to take a closer look. A moment later the sky became darker and I felt a drop of rain but the ground was dry and the wildlife would no doubt welcome the downpour. The mature trees edging the common all made their own shape on the horizon and together created a beautiful backdrop of soft lines and shades of green.

Perhaps it was the recent announcement of Heathrow’s expansion that made me subconsciously more sensitive to air traffic as I strolled out this midsummer evening. The contrast of the aircraft noise with this peaceful space was acute and there was no easy way to ignore it. I choose, for the moment, to live in the capital but to argue that I could move, though valid, is side-stepping the issue. It can be easy to feel despair at decisions taken by those in public office when they are not in agreement with your own views, and, as I headed home, I took care to notice the uplifting; a red rose growing over the railway, the shading branches of a horse chestnut tree. To paraphrase Simon Barnes in his book How to be a Bad Birdwatcher, just seeing and noticing is an act of rebellion. There is much to make the heart sing if we go about with eyes and ears open. Valuing the natural world is the first step to looking after it.

 

The beauty of Bee Orchids

For me, the Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera) has always been somewhat of an enigma: a species I frequently encounter on TV, on social media and on the blogs of other naturalists yet never in the flesh. This petite yet flamboyant bloom, famed for its status as one of nature’s great mimics, eluding me at every turn.

The bee orchid is not a particularly scarce plant, nor is it overly abundant – growing on base-rich soil and disturbed ground, often in the heart of our towns and cities. Flowering in June and July, it beggars belief that they have remained absent from my outings since I first started casting an optimistic eye over verges and meadows a number of years ago.

Thankfully, today, I was able to reverse this trend and, after half an hour on my hands and knees at a site in the heart of urban North East England, I was able to see one (eight, actually) for myself. I was not disappointed, they are just as beautiful as I had expected.

Bee Orchids – Silverlink Biodiversity Area

Though vivid orchids were the intended target of today’s trip, as ever, it was difficult not to get distracted. Particularly by the remarkable array of insects on the wing at the aptly named Silverlink Biodiversity Area. A short watch revealing Common Blue, Small Skipper, Small Copper, Large White and Speckled Wood butterflies, alongside a dapper 5-Spot Burnet and a multitude of vibrant Damselflies. Among them, a number of delicate Blue-tailed and a few freshly emerged Large Reds. Wildflowers continued to feature on the route home with Bloody Cranesbill and, perhaps my favourite bloom of all, Woody Nightshade, adding a pleasant splash of colour to the path-side margins. The latter, in particular, looks sensational with its deep, almost sinister, purple petals.

Woody Nightshade, Bloody Cranesbill, Oxeye Daisy, Common Blue, Speckled Wood & Blue-tailed Damselfly

Cuddy ducks, clowns and stench of guano

Britain’s seabird colonies represent a spectacle like no other: bustling, raucous municipalities where a multitude of species congregate to form a single, far larger, living being. An avian city, cramped and lively, which moves and reacts as one when presented with danger, or opportunity – similar in many ways to the concrete jungles so many of us call home.

Break down the riving mass of feathers and dagger-like bills, however, and one begins to see the individual characters, traits and virtues of the species present. Each occupying a niche somewhat different from the previous, which allows all to live, breed, fight and survive in close proximity, side by side. Our seabird colonies are marvellous things and, truth be told, I love each and every aspect of them: the hustle and bustle, the minidramas unfolding each minute, the deafening sound, and even the smell. Fishy, pungent even; though far from unpleasant.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of once again visiting the Farne Islands. The sight of the bleached cliffs, painted brown by an undulating carpet of breeding Guillemots, inducing a familiar adrenaline rush upon approach to the jetty of Staple Island. The same giddy feeling that accompanies each visit without fail promising no end of drama and delights. I was not disappointed – the first portion of our visit filled to the brim with angelic Kittiwakes, marauding Great Black-backed Gulls and, of course, shags. Some of which now find themselves tending scaly, featherless young. Themselves reminiscent of something from Spielberg’s Jurassic movies – prehistoric and reptilian – and a far-cry from the emerald-eyed beauty of the adult birds.

 

As ever, it was the islands more abundant residents – the auks – which held the most allure. There is something to be said about Razorbills, of course, though the squabbling ranks of Guillemots amassed atop the peaks of their Whin sill stacks are mesmerising. Especially when ranks close as a predator descends: birds ceasing their petty, territorial squabbles as countless piercing bills turn upwards in mutual defence. The colony transforming momentarily from a loose assemblage of bickering neighbours into a coherent wall of spears that only breaks when the shadow above passes. An avian testudo, doubtless unwelcoming to the hungry gulls above.

 

Away from the cliff-tops, Puffins reigned supreme. The burrows of countless clowns nestled amid a blanket of blooming Sea Campion as the adult birds, their bills laden with the catch of the day, braved a course of thieves to make it home. Zipping overhead like glamorous torpedos, determined not to part with their hard-earned and life-giving haul.

No trip to the islands would be complete absent a somewhat stereotypical shot of an adult Puffin triumphant with its bill-full of shimmering sandseels, and thankfully, many were seen. An indicator as to the presence of growing chicks concealed amid the gloom of their burrows. Let us hope that, given the recent, altogether disheartening news regarding the Farnes Puffin populations, this year is one of success.

Departing the islands, a whirlwind boat tour ensued. I am not quite sure how many such ventures I have undertaken over the years past since I first visited; though I never tire of them. The sight of plump Grey Seals hauled out on unyielding shores, the sight of Grace Darlings famous lighthouse rising like an oversized candy cane from the rock, and the airborne antics of Gannets and swallow-tailed Arctic Terns, never boring, nor repetitive.

 

Back on dry land, the harbour at Seahouses, as ever, hosted a good number of Cuddy Ducks – Eiders, for those not familiar with the ins and outs of Northumbrian folklore. Females only on this occasion, cryptic yet beautiful in their mottled brown and black garb, interspersed with a handful of downy young. The victors, by all accounts – those who have successfully completed the voyage from the species breeding grounds on the islands and now, following their nocturnal escape, find themselves in the (relative) safety of the port. Given the size of Eider broods and the poultry number of young present, however, it is safe to assume not all made it. Such is life.

New Nature: Issue 18

This month we celebrate the success of the fantastic young writers who took part in our inaugural writing competition. Entitled ‘the embodiment of Spring’ and judged by reknowned author, Robert Macfarlane, some sensational articles were submitted as part of contest proceedings, and we had an incredibly tough time making anything that vaguely resembled a decision. That said, Arabella Currie was the eventual winner with a fantastic poem entitled Black Cows in a Yellow Field. We offer our congratulations to her and the other featured entries from Conor Gearin and Dara McAnulty specifically – although everyone who submitted should be incredibly proud of their work.

This month, Robert also features as our guest interview (p.28) teaching us some new words and offering advice on how to make it as a nature writer; while continuing with our winning theme, we also speak to Elliot Monteith, a recent winner of the winner of the Cameron Bespolka Trust scholarship, about the scheme and why it’s worth committing to. (p.32)

In our June issue also, Sophie May Lewis tells us about tiger hunting in Sussex (p.16), whilst Emily Jordan provides an insight into the weird and wonderful world of the sand lizard in this month’s species focus (p.20). Great articles which are far from alone this edition as a fleet of young writers discuss everything from marvellous mud snails and earthworms, to Brexit (p.26).

Look out also for AFON member Ben Eagle’s superb review of Tiffany Francis’s new book, Food You Can Forage – a fantastic read and book we on the editorial team cannot help but endorse.

The latest issue of New Nature can be downloaded for free here: http://bit.ly/2sVvvQm 

If you would like to express an opinion on environmental issues or submit your writing, art and photography to the magazine, you can get in touch at editorial.newnature@gmail.com, or contact us on social media.