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.

Why I signed a petition to license driven grouse shooting, a guest post by Edward Grierson

This latest guest blog comes from AMA student, Edward Grierson, and focuses on the subject of Driven Grouse Shooting. Disclaimer: the words below are not those of the blog owner and queries and comments should be directed to the author, as appropriate. If you would like to submit a response for publication on this blog, please get in touch.

There is no topic in modern conservation more polarising than driven grouse shooting. As it stands, the debate on the subject, for the most part, is between two opposites: those who want to ban the sport and those who want to change nothing about the sport. Nor is there a topic which has been the subject of more discussion from both sides, to the point that this article feels like a flogging a dead horse. I’ve even written about this subject several times myself. Unfortunately, the recent disappearance of three hen harriers near grouse moors in the Borders and Cumbria has reminded both sides that wildlife crime is still rife within the sport[1]. With this in mind, now feels like as good a time as any to discuss a possible middle ground in such a schizophrenic debate. I am of course referring to licensing grouse shooting in the UK.

To understand why I support this approach, we have to look at the other two sides in this conflict. Firstly, there are those who oppose a ban, or any form of legislation, being applied to driven grouse shooting. Essentially, this equates to keeping the sport exactly as it is. And therein lies the problem: with grouse shooting as it is, peregrines are declining in the Peak District[2], red kites are as badly persecuted in Scotland as they were 25 years ago[3], and only three pairs of hen harriers bred in England last year[4]. This is despite the decades of negotiations between conservation organisations and shooting estates, which are still being touted as the solution to solving raptor persecution. Put simply, trying to keep the status quo, when the status quo is so clearly flawed, as with driven grouse shooting, makes no sense.

That being said, neither do I side with those who want to see driven grouse shooting banned. Admittedly, I have a history with this side; I proudly signed the first three e-petitions created by Mark Avery, and when the third e-petition earned Parliamentary debate, I wrote to my MP encouraging them to support a ban (they didn’t even turn up to the debate). More recently, however, I’ve begun to have doubts about it. Not only is it unlikely to be effective in the long term, since it would only apply for one part of the UK, but for a lot of our upland wildlife, it could be a major setback. Curlew, lapwing, golden plover, merlin, kestrel, ring ouzel, black grouse…all these would be far worse off if driven grouse shooting was to be banned. Don’t get me wrong, I want to see more of our uplands, including grouse moors, allowed to revert to natural conditions. But I can’t deny the importance that grouse moors have played in keeping a lot of Britain’s rarest species from going extinct. Not to mention that there are a lot of people working on these landscapes with a genuine love of what they are doing, who don’t deserve to be put out of a job if this ban were to be put into effect.

Which is why I favour licensing grouse shooting: it’s a compromise between two extremes. It’s not likely to put people out of a job or lose important species, as a ban would, but it also provides would-be raptor killers with an incentive not to do so. It also allows for prosecutions to take much less time, as a perpetrator of wildlife crime can simply have their license revoked, and if licenses are issued to both the keeper and the shooting party, it would avoid the situation in which one is prosecuted for the actions of the other. It’s also worth noting that the UK is far behind in enforcing this, in comparison to continental Europe: France, Spain, Germany, Latvia, Romania, Poland, Norway, Sweden and Denmark, to name a few, all require shooters to have licenses to kill game[5], and all still have thriving shooting industries.

It goes without saying that licensing is not the be all and end all in combatting wildlife crime. Other measures, such as increased powers for conservation charities to investigate crimes, also common in many European countries, also need to be implemented. But it’s a big step in the right direction. Taking the middle ground in an argument rarely feels desirable, and to me can often feel as if it lacks a sense of conviction. In this case, however, I’m happy to make an exception, so that both people an wildlife can get the best deal. If I’ve convinced you that licensing driven grouse shooting is the way, you can sign the e-petition here[6].

1.https://raptorpersecutionscotland.wordpress.com/2018/05/22/three-more-satellite-tagged-hen-harriers-disappear-in-suspicious-circumstances/

2.http://www.peakdistrict.gov.uk/__data/assets/pdf_file/0005/1055570/Bird-of-Prey-Initiative-2016-17-Report.pdf

3.http://www.snh.org.uk/pdfs/publications/commissioned_reports/904.pdf

4.https://www.birdguides.com/news/hen-harrier-breeding-numbers-in-england-still-at-critical-level/

5.https://raptorpersecutionscotland.files.wordpress.com/2017/02/a-review-of-game-bird-law-licensing-in-selected-european-countries.pdf

6.https://petition.parliament.uk/petitions/207482

Brownsea Island, a guest post by Frances Jones

Frances was brought up in Shropshire. She writes about country walks, urban gardens and the wildness that can be found on the doorstep. A music teacher by training, Frances currently volunteers part-time at Chelsea Physic Garden.

I arrived at Sandbanks in the early evening. Despite it being June the light was fading and there was a chill in the air. Brownsea Island looked more of an ominous cloud than welcoming retreat. Two National Trust wardens appeared, unflappable and cheerful, and took us in their little boat across the water and deposited us on the jetty. Walking through the trees to our hostel there was a curious feeling of being both within the grounds of a stately home and being on an uninhabited island, such as the one camped on by John, Susan, Titty and Roger in Arthur Ransome’s Swallows and Amazons. Brownsea has sandy beaches, and pine trees that are home to the island’s treasured population of red squirrels. That evening we met one of Browsea’s resident peacocks, Benedict, who patrolled the area near the hostel, sometimes with his peahen, and wasn’t averse to climbing on top of the shed roof and uttering a long, loud squawk.

We woke to a beautiful morning. I went down to the sea before breakfast and watched oystercatchers fishing at the water’s edge. The sea was calm, the sun gently rising and it really was the most peaceful setting. A tiny bird darted between the branches of a pine tree and underneath I started to feel the warmth of the sun.

There is a lot of history to Brownsea, formerly known as Branksea, and Patrick Barkham gives an account of it in his book Coastlines. The terrain is varied and, although not a place for long walks because of its size, there is a lot to discover. My first sighting of a red squirrel, running the length of a log pile not far from the hostel was exciting; even better was seeing them up close once we were out exploring the island. Smaller and more delicate than greys, with pointed tufts for ears, they really are the definition of cute.

The island was busy with day trippers throughout our stay and, given the glorious weather, this was hardly surprising. To really notice Brownsea’s wildlife you  have to visit the other part of the island managed as a nature reserve by the Dorset Wildlife Trust. Following a little path bordered by semi-wetland, the cries of people and peacocks melted away and we were in another world. Dragonflies, damselflies and a host of other insects flew about and there were birds we could hear but not see. At the centre of the reserve stands The Old Vicarage, now used to house the DWT’s wardens and a little shop. Nestled at the bottom of the hillside with plants and shrubs growing up around it, the house looked ripe to explore as we came across it in the late afternoon, and, amazingly, it was open, without a soul in sight. A list of birds currently in the island’s waters was written up in the hallway and inside a range of cards and books sat above an honesty box. There was a bird feeder in the front where tits and chaffinches were snacking, and a couple of red squirrels popped down to see what they could find, boldly seeing off a rook who thought he might join in. We left the house and followed the path into an arboretum, planted many years ago and increasing the diversity of tree species on the island. A carpet of beech leaves underfoot, then oaks and a mulberry tree, but there were many more I didn’t identify. Reaching the top of the hill we found ourselves on a cliff overlooking the water. The sun still shone with intensity and the white painted buildings of the mainland and white sails stood out in contrast to the bright blues of the water and sky.

The next morning I returned to visit the bird hides, two of which looked out onto the Lagoon, a stretch of water separated from the sea by a thin piece of land. It was nesting time for the black-headed gulls and we saw crowds of them standing guard and protecting their chicks. Common terns also perched on posts nearby, but their nests were elsewhere and we didn’t notice any tern chicks. Shelduck swam serenely in this stretch of water. A kind volunteer lent me his binoculars and I vowed to do my next bit of bird watching with my own.

Brownsea is a beautiful place to visit. It’s hard to get off the beaten track, unless you are lucky enough to stay overnight, but that, ironically, is not what this island is about. Occupying a unique place nestled in Poole Harbour, it provides a haven for wildlife and gives visitors the chance to share this spot with the natural world whilst keeping a relatively low footprint. There are no cars on Brownsea, except for a couple of land rovers used by the wardens. Without the visitors and the shop and amenities that often come as standard, the National Trust would struggle to finance it and, ultimately, manage it for wildlife. The island is a lovely place to amble, but the DWT’s reserve is an absolute must for visitors wanting to see bird-life

With a train to catch, we opted to take the ferry bound for Poole, rather than Sandbanks. This was an unexpected bonus as the boat took us around Brownsea and its neighbouring islands with a richly entertaining commentary from the captain. A glorious ride with green fields to one side and the pines of Brownsea to the other. Go and explore, and the quieter you are, the more you will discover.

All images included with this post are credited to Stephanie Bull.

The Northumbrian 142: a quick account of my first 24-hour bird race

This weekend past, I had the pleasure of taking part in my first 24-hour bird race. Wherein myself and the rest of the team – consisting of three topnotch local birders – attempted to observe as many birds species as possible within the county limits over the course of a full day. Starting at 11pm on Friday, and getting home at around the same time on Saturday, the day was a roaring success, with no less than 142 species recorded on our venture – the highlights of which you will find mention of below. Of course, with such a wealth of avian odds and ends enjoyed, I couldn’t possibly mention them all in a single post…

Failing to pick-up Nightjar during the hours of darkness at our first port of call was a little disheartening; though things quickly picked up upon hearing the booming call of a male Long-eared Owl at a local site, followed by a superb reedbed chorus of singing Cetti’s, Reed and Sedge Warbler at a favoured wetland location. Our early meanderings also allowing us to catch up with a number of quite easy species early on – Teal, Mallard, Oystercatcher and the like – as well as a cracking Barn Owl, observed by Neil, gracing a fence post near Widdrington. The second owl species of the trip but far from the last.

First light found us enjoying the dawn chorus at Beacon Hill where a Tawny Owl sounded immediately after we departed the car and a Redstart sang high in the branches of a particularly impressive Beech. Our stop-off here also adding Blackcap, Chiffchaff, Willow Warbler, Treecreeper and other familiar woodland species. All of which lessened the blow of missing the Kingfisher – noted by the rest of the team – during a prior stop on the outskirts of Morpeth.  At least I clapped eyes on the fine Grey Wagtail observed at the same site.

Next came a trip Northwards where myriad common species fell during the short drive, and a few pitstops added a pair of Little Ringed Plover – always a treat – as well as singing Garden Warbler, a handful of Goldeneye, two Little Grebes and a riving mass of Swallow, House Martin, Sand Martin and Swift feeding above a particularly busy pond. Our tally increasing further as we gained altitude: adding a few kronking Raven, Dipper and literally hundreds of Red-legged Partridge – they do like to release them in ludicrous, unsustainable numbers up here.

Arriving at the Harthrope Valley – having never visited the site previously – I was delighted to see my first Ring Ouzel and Whinchat of the year; while throughout our stay we found ourselves serenaded by singing Cuckoos and the shrill twittering of Lesser Redpoll. Our prolonged stay here, among the rolling hills and riparian birch woodland, also providing great views of Spotted Flycatcher, Wheatear, Red Grouse, Stonechat and – rather oddly – the days only singing Goldcrest. Embarrassingly, I also managed to confuse a perched Mistle Thrush with a Buzzard at one point here though, of course, I blame the lack of sleep and copious amounts of Red Bull.

From the uplands, a dash to the coast soon ensued. Our first port of call being Lindisfarne where, prior to our arrival, birders had been enjoying a suite of Springtime rarities. We managed to miss most of these, although the sight of a female Red-breasted Flycatcher (only my second ever) softened the blow somewhat. Here too, the mudflats yielded an impressive variety of waders – the best of which including Summer plumaged Grey Plover, a good count of Bar-tailed Godwit and some handsome Knot. Standing in stark contrast, Budle Bay was less than accommodating, although we did eventually get a Buzzard on our drive Southwards – no mistaking it for a thrush on this occasion – and Stag Rocks came up trumps with a smorgasbord of seabirds. Among them: Puffin, Guillemot, Common Scoter, Gannet, Fulmar and Sandwich Tern.

After successful pitstops for Little, Arctic and Roseate Tern, and failed trips for Red-backed Shrike, Pink-footed Goose and Glaucous Gull, the next highlight came at Druridge Pools where a Little Owl provided amazing views on approach and the various floods and fields much resembled that of more sprawling reserves down South. Here, within minutes, we were treated to views of Glossy Ibis, Little Stint, Pectoral Sandpiper, Spoonbill, Ruff, Greenshank and Yellow Wagtail. While two lingering Whooper Swans, a handsome Sanderling and our first Shoveler of the day helped build numbers. It was a shame to miss the long-staying Garganey and the Curlew Sandpiper present the day before but, ultimately, you cannot win them all. And what we did see was more than sufficient to set the heart to racing.

From Druridge, a series of targeted stops yielded a mixed bag. We were successful in picking up Avocet, Ruddy Duck and Sparrowhawk, but less so when it came to Willow Tit and other secretive species. The real highlight of the day, for me at least, coming as we departed for the South of the county where we enjoyed a fantastic show on behalf of a singing Wood Warbler, alongside Pied Flycatcher, a wandering Red Kite, Snipe, Black Grouse and, after their surprising absence over the course of the day, Long-tailed Tit. That really would have been a bad one to miss.

After caching in on the drake American Wigeon at Grindon Lough, we set our sights on Kielder Forest as our final stop and, sure enough, concluded the day with the fantastic sight of an Osprey drifting high above the reservoir. The experience here only amplified by an encounter with a particularly confiding Red Fox and perhaps my best views to date of a Tawny Owl perched out in the open on the outstretched limb of a spruce.

There wasn’t time to bring my camera so, for the purposes of this post, some dodgy iPhone shots of American Wigeon, Fox and Black Grouse will have to suffice…

Of course, we missed a lot of birds over the course of the day – not that it matters, really. Sure, the complete absence of Jay, Nuthatch, Grey Partridge, Red-breasted Merganser and Mandarin was a tad frustrating, though ultimately, what we did see was an incredible variety of life across a number of beautiful sites – who would not be happy with that? Thanks go to Mark, Michael and Neil for having me along on their annual trip – I really enjoyed it, and look forward to taking part again in the future.

A fine sunset at Kielder Forest