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

Rose-coloured Starling

I’ve had very little time this week for my usual outdoor pursuits, largely owing to a growing workload and a multitude of mounting side projects. That said, yesterday I managed an all too brief outing in search of a bird I have wanted to see for many years: a Rose-coloured Starling. A rare vagrant to British shores from Eastern Europe and middle-Asia, where the species breed before migrating South, to India and Pakistan, during the Winter.

This confiding individual – a superb adult – has been gracing the chimney pots, gardens and bird-feeders of Ashington, in Northumberland, for two days now. And while I would much rather have caught up with my quarry amid a more natural and less intimidating setting (Ashington, for those unaware, has a reputation for being somewhat rough), I am thrilled to have enjoyed a good half-hour in the company of this particular bird. It’s delightful mix of faded pink, iridescent blue and intricately marked brown complimented marvellously by the current bout of fine, Spring weather.

Usually in a post such as this, I would go to great lengths to waffle on about the encounter, its significance and story; however, on this occasion, I think I will let pictures do the talking. For once, owing largely to the birds less than timid demeanour, I managed some rather good ones…

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Staying sane in the heart of the city

Growing up in semi-rural Northumberland, I have long been accustomed to residing in scenic and ecologically diverse areas. I am used to the presence of bustling nature reserves a mere stones throw from my front door and green-fringed streets ringing with the chirrup of Tree Sparrows; I am accustomed to having a garden, complete with frogs, visiting squirrels and jampacked bird feeders; and, above all else, am accustomed to my daily life being wholly intertwined with nature. Never, not once in my lifetime, have I taken this for granted, but such things have long been the norm.

Six months ago now, I moved to the city: Newcastle Upon Tyne, to be precise. A city which, despite its merits, is just like any other: complete with traffic, concrete, artificial lighting, pubs, clubs, shops, bustling high-streets and transport links – all the factors that have come to define human dominion over the land. The soundtrack to my days here made up of anthropogenic sounds, as opposed to natural ones: the hum of engines, the screeching of brakes and rumble of passing metros where once, birdsong and swaying leaves reigned supreme. No longer can I nip out and lose myself in fields, wetlands or woodlands – a culture shock, to say the least, which has uprooted all that I have grown pleasantly familiar with.

Like most cities, Newcastle poses a real challenge for those living within its reaches who aim to create a life built around nature. Here, the rhythm of life is more hectic, commutes are more tedious and less scenic, quiet moments are few and far between and nature, as a whole, appears muted – diminished somewhat by myriad distractions thrown up by daily life. So much so that those who seek wilderness and harmony in nature are forced adopt new habits, routes and tendencies so to sate there lust for a wild-life. Or else risk going entirely mad.

While I have lost touch with the wild spaces I encountered daily prior to my move, I have come to realise that wilderness does exist in the city. Albeit scattered and defined by a new set of rules – far from the undulating hills, sprawling woodlands and shimmering wetlands present elsewhere but here and alive, nonetheless. Of these, our parks are the obvious candidate for adventure, though they are not alone. And wilderness, in its modern form, exists all around, ready to be snatched and savoured in the forlorn space separating railway lines from civilisation; in flowerbeds tended less than half as often as they should be; and in the overgrown, tangled grounds of offices, stores and public amenities. Wildland present among the gravestones of cemeteries, between pavement stones, in window boxes, gardens and lone, roadside trees. Places I would have ignored previously which now keep me sane during my time spent living and working in the midst of this churning sea of man and his creations.

Perhaps we celebrate wildlife more when it is obscured or in short supply? Perhaps we notice nature more when expectations are diminished by circumstance and ecological horror stories about the urban realm? Either way, I now find myself able to delight in the simplest of wild sights: in the pioneering Dunnock nesting in the base of an overgrown roadside Fuschia, in the bumblebees which visit the ornamental blooms adjacent to my house; and in the vibrant flowerheads of Oxford Ragwort poking up through cracked pavement slabs and home to countless, vibrant Cinnabar caterpillars. Small snippets of natural beauty in the heart of the cold, grey city, snatched on my daily ventures which now, after the initial upheaval, balm worry and yearning.

Now, while wilderness in its traditional sense is denied to me by daily life, I have been forced to rethink my definition of the wilds and alter the ways in which I seek them. Here, I must look harder and appreciate all life, regardless of scarcity or grandeur, and in doing so, visit places I would have bypassed, ignorant, a few short months ago. The forgotten places, the “wild” places, home to species who deserve respect and admiration for their resilience, if nothing else – etching out a living in spite of the wholesale changes thrust upon the landscape here.

Staying sane in the city is a matter of optimism and observation. And life here is not all that bad when you alter the way in which you view nature. I could, if I wished, venture forth to the empty, beautiful places I yearned for previously during moments of free time but now, after all this, I am not sure I want to. The intrepid Mistle Thrush nesting in the grounds of Newcastle’s Civic Centre and the fox that prowls the streets of Heaton by night are far too entertaining.

Oh, and erecting a few bird feeders certainly helps too…

Advice from a not so Expert Birder, a guest post by Liam Thompson

I don’t know about you, but whenever I talk to a birder with decades of experience I leave the conversation with two feelings. First: admiration, for their ability to confidently identify any species by call or the slightest glimpse. This feeling is surpassed, however, by the disappointment at realising I may never reach their level of expertise. So if you’re just starting out birding here’s some advice from an intermediate birder, someone who’s at a level easily achievable by yourselves. Once you get here that gap to the virtuosos (hopefully) won’t seem such a leap.

1) Focus on families first. If you’re unsure of a bird’s species, be satisfied with narrowing it down as far as you can. I encountered this with waders, ‘Is it a Knot or a Dunlin? Oh, maybe it’s a Sanderling’ I said leafing through the field guide. My frustration eased when I realised that I could at least narrow things down the next time, by starting with these three and eliminating from there. It may sound stupid, but I learned to be satisfied (though not happy) with being able to take one look and say, ‘It’s one of three species’ etc. and so my ID skills had improved however slightly and gave me a challenge to build on the next time. The message here is not to expect too much too soon, just knowing the family of birds your unknown species belongs to eliminates hundreds of other species. Familiarise yourself with bird families and work down from there.

2) Set challenges. Following on from family focussed birding, I set myself challenges. Last year it was to see all British Thrushes, this involved a short new year’s day walk to tick off Blackbird and Song thrush, before a slightly harder (though still fairly easy) search for a Mistle thrush. This was followed up by a short drive to some hedged farmland to see flocks of Redwing and Fieldfare and concluded with a weekend’s remote hiking to tick off Ring Ouzel in the summer. By aiming for just 6 species I learned so much, I had to know when and where to look. Given that some thrush species are resident whilst others are winter visitors and another a summer visitor, I had to gain an intimate knowledge of this bird family.

One of this year’s challenges is all Corvid species in a day. I’m currently planning a route which should see me to tick off all 8. Some being trickier than others. Try picking a family and working out when and where you’d need to be in order to see them all in the shortest possible time period, even if you don’t actually complete or even attempt the challenge, the other species seen, or books read would still be valuable learning.

3) Localised Guides. Don’t be tempted by a book which lists all species in Europe. I found myself looking at 6 identical images and had to eliminate species by reading four pages of information. By the time I’d gotten it down to two species, the bird had vanished. A localised guide is much more concise and less daunting, and hopefully less frustrating. By focussing on being able to ID species you’re likely to encounter, something a little rarer will be much more obvious when it’s around.

4) Get a patch. This is linked with the localised field guide advice. it’s great to be able to trek around the country ticking off as many species as you can but gaining an intimate knowledge of a small patch is just as rewarding. I walk around an area less than 1km2 whenever I’m home in Durham and as far as I’m aware there’s never been a rarity or ‘lifer’, just your usual cast of common birds. This may seem dull but viewing the same patch across the year can tune you into the life cycle of the birds there. You learn when certain migrants arrive and leave, which order they begin to sing in, where you’re most likely to see each species at any point in the year. This intimacy with common species ties in with the points above, when something rare comes along you’ll be able to discount all of your usual species with relative ease.

5) Don’t give up! This is by far the most important tip I can give you. I stopped birding at 13 due to frustration and bullying (from classmates AND teachers) over my hobby. The result, I went to University to start my BSc in Animal Conservation with only limited knowledge of a few common species. I curse the day I packed away my field guide and binoculars and turned to ‘cooler’ hobbies and beg for a chance to see that teacher again!

The overall message here is to enjoy, don’t be too harsh on yourself, one day you’ll be an ‘intermediate’ birder, then becoming a virtuoso won’t seem too daunting!

A cheeky appearance on BBC Countryfile

Now that the show has aired, I thought I would draw attention to the most recent episode of BBC Countryfile where, around halfway through, I pop up in a short segment regarding Northumberland Wildlife Trust’s fantastic Hauxley Nature Reserve. A brief feature slotted nicely in the middle of some truly brilliant works focused on Roseate Terns, farming and the use of drones in mountain rescue operations.

The episode and my own fleeting appearance can be viewed here: https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0b2tgrk/countryfile-northumberland

During the hours spent filming on the reserve (yes, hours – all to make five minutes of telly) I chatted presenter Steve Brown about blogging (a surprising topic for a show such as this but one I am always happy to discuss), my own childhood and Red Squirrels. Filming with the CF crew was nothing short of a pleasure and I am really grateful to Steve, in particular, for encouraging me during bouts of slurred words, mispronunciation and nerves – not all of us are cut out for TV!

Anyways, to say I was surprised to be asked to feature in this short piece regarding the accessibility of nature would be an understatement. The whole thing came quite out of the blue; though I most certainly enjoyed the experience. Both as an opportunity to try something new, and as a chance to talk about many of the things I care about. I started this blog a number of years back as an outlet for my thoughts and views on the natural world – it still fulfils that purpose – but never did I anticipate that blogging would lead me to appear in one of my favourite TV shows. It’s a funny old world!

Great views of the reserves renowned Red Squirrels were just the cherry on top, really…

Red Squirrel from Hauxley a few years back

Glossy Ibis and more

 

Spring has sprung, at long last. And all about my local area, the sapphire blooms of English bluebell mingle with the garish, Simpson-yellow of lesser celandine and the pristine white of flowering wood anemone. The air encompassing them ripe with the stench of ramsons carried on the breeze and nearby waterways – the ponds, streams and ditches that crisscross the landscape here – choked with riving masses of Amphibian spawn, just about ready to hatch. In the hedgerows, myriad insects buzz, spurred on by rising temperatures, and in the woodlands, trees stir as the canopy is painted green once more. A canopy which now, during the heyday of Spring, plays host to countless migrant birds, fresh from their travels and engrossed in the process of attracting a mate.

On the subject of migrant birds, I have enjoyed nearly the full array this week. Hoards of hirundines – swallows and martins – hawking for insects over bustling waterbodies; Blackcaps and Whitethroats uttering erratic bursts of song from within lime-green hawthorns; and even Swifts, that most iconic of May arrivals, screeching as they hunt in whirling arcs above street, field and copse. The occurrence of these resurgent wonders interspersed by other heralds of this most joyous of seasons: by reeling grasshopper warblers, hidden from sight yet conspicuous to the ear; and by common sandpipers, sedge warblers, whimbrel and dazzling yellow wagtails. Familiar species, longed for since they departed, who liven up my rural walks – replacing the redwing, fieldfare and waxwing that reigned supreme previously.

Of course, given the tumultuous nature of the season, the unfamiliar has also featured in my escapades of late. Manifested in the occurrence of birds I am not accustomed to seeing with any degree of frequency. Garganey and Black-necked Grebe, scarce wanderers, dropping in locally on route to their breeding grounds. The latter, a species currently teetering on a knife edge in this country, savoured as it fished, content, adjacent to a local bird hide. This individual just starting moult into its renowned, and rather beautiful, Summer plumage. As for the Garganey, the drakes (of which three were seen) appeared sublime in their alternating shades of brown, white and angelic, sky-blue – far more demure than the vibrant tones some of our more abundant ducks yet, in their own way, perfect.

Black-necked Grebe – Druridge Pools, Northumberland

Despite their allure, both grebe and duck have, this week, found themselves eclipsed. Cast into obscurity by the arrival of a far more unusual visitor: a glossy ibis. A bird I have observed to no end in Spain, yet one I had not, until now,  encountered here, in my slightly cooler homeland. The bird in question – shown below – showing marvellously on a flooded field – catching earthworms in it’s near preposterously long and downcurved bill before tossing them back with gusto, in a jerky motion unique to long-legged wading bird such as this. Engrossing as it went about its business unperturbed by the crowd of admiring apes amassing mere feet away.

It is easy to see where this species gets its name, beautifully iridescent or dull, unassuming brown depending on the light. Ascetics reminiscent of the Ibis’s patron: the Egyptian god Thoth. A deity in the ancient pantheon often depicted with the head of an Ibis and credited as the inventor of writing, and alphabets. Indeed, watching the bird closely, a distinct sense of regality was observed of which I am sure its mythological counterpart would be proud.

 

 

 Glossy Ibis – Druridge Pools, Northumberland

As the calendar advances and the last vestiges of our lastest, stubborn Winter finally dissipate, I find myself drawn increasingly into the avian world. Not because birds, in spite of their beauty and appeal, are somehow grander than other life, but because unlike plants, amphibians and even mammals – whose occurrence and actions one can quite easily, with some research, predict – they are erratic. Unpredictable in their movements to such an extent that one can never really know what will occur next, or what to expect.

Grey Heron – Cresswell Pond, Northumberland

New Nature wins at the UK Blog Awards 2018

Last night, it was revealed that New Nature Magazine has won in the ‘Green and Eco Company Category’ of the UK Blog Awards 2018, beating some seriously tough competition to take home the prestigious prize for virtual work. Hooray!

Born of a conversation between myself and managing editor, Alex Pearce, in late 2016, New Nature aims to provide an outlet for the voices and creative talents of young naturalists, embolden and support early-career conservationists and, ultimately, to hammer home the fact that, despite prevailing stereotypes, young people do in fact care for the natural world. This is something I feel we have achieved over the course of our first year (and a bit) as an e-magazine: publishing work from myriad young writers, featuring advice and guidance from some of the biggest names in conservation and even having a few of our writers selected for bigger, brighter opportunities elsewhere.

From the outset, New Nature has been about encouraging, promoting and supporting Britain’s flourishing community of young conservationists: something that, based upon the kind feedback of readers, we feel we are achieving, step by step. This award, issued in absentia at a rather glam ceremony in London is just the cherry on top. And I know I speak for each and every member of our incredible (voluntary) team when I say that we are thrilled to have been recognised among the ranks of such talented individuals and organisations. I, for one, certainly feel a certain sense of vindication that my baby is receiving such praise on a national scale – as the e-zines Founder and Managing Director, it sort of feels like a child has graduated from college. Or moved into their first house.

I am incredibly grateful to everyone that reads, downloads, shares and enjoys New Nature each month and could not thank more our supporters for their backing over our initial stint. This award has served as a serious wake-up call and an incentive to strive for greater heights in the future – something we hope to achieve by securing full-time promotional sponsors and a small degree of finances to help the magazine grow, prosper and reach more young people than ever before over the coming months and years. Though, for now, such things can wait…

If so inclined, the latest issue of New Nature can be downloaded here: 

 

An update from the birdtable

It won’t have escaped your attention – at least if you follow me on Twitter – that, just over a month ago now, myself and my partner erected a new feeding station in the front ‘garden’ of his home in the centre of Heaton, Newcastle. Big woop, you might say; though please bare in mind that this is not exactly your typical garden. Rather a 2x2m stretch of cold, grey concrete boasting one measly shrub, positioned right next to a busy road and, worse still, outside and adjacent the front doors of multiple student abodes. Indeed, before this, we were yet to see a bird in the garden. Not a single one. Little wonder really given the constant noise and clamour.

It’s not much, really…

Well, after kitting out the towering stand of cast iron with myriad tasty morsels ranging from sunflower hearts and peanuts, to suet balls and mealworms, I have been watching the proceedings daily – spurred on by claims on social media that, no matter the location, if you provide, they will come. Something that now, after countless vigils, I know to be true.

Sure, given our location we were never going to attract the sweeping accumulations of your typical, rural garden; though what I have observed thus far has been promising. A pair of Dunnocks were first to arrive, now present daily and looking as if they are nesting in the lonely Privet pictured above. House Sparrows came next, and though their visits to date have been fleeting, they are growing in regularity – with the same being said for the Blackbirds and Blue Tits sporadically gracing us with there presence. Singles of Goldfinch and Magpie and a pair of gluttonous Woodpiegons complete the set.

Now, these scant avian visitors may do little to excite readers of this blog: those accustomed to busy feeders and great gatherings of scarce or appealing species in their gardens. To me, however, they represent a victory. A little slice of the natural world right in the heart of the city that can be enjoyed daily – though most often with a coffee in the early morning.

I wonder what will arrive next? My money is on a Robin, or perhaps a Starling; though I did observe a Collared Dove inspecting matters from a neighbours roof yesterday…

Pigeon and Pie – our two visiting Woodpigeons

Magnificent Frigatebird – Sabrina Salome

In every way, the Magnificent Frigatebird lives up to its name. This bird does not produce any of the waterproofing oils that other sea-faring birds possess; a submerged frigatebird will drown, and never can it land at sea. Yet the frigatebird enjoys a diet of fish. How?

If you’re a gull, it’s bad news to be pursued by the Magnificent Frigatebird. These aerial acrobats are masters of hairpin turns, dwarf a gull in size, and will gladly grab one on the wing, pulling out feathers or dangling their captive midair, until their prize – the gull’s catch of fish – is dropped. The frigatebird then swoops after the falling fish and snatches it midair, before dinner is lost to the ocean below.

Sabrina Salome is an amateur wildlife photographer with a passion for things with big teeth. She is dedicated to the field of conservation and in her spare time incorporates her love of wildlife into her creative expression, using writing, illustration, and photography to share with the world how she sees them. She holds a B.S. in Zoology from Michigan State University. You can find more of her work on Instagram @sabrina_salomee and contact her at salomesab28@gmail.com for photo or order inquiries.

Top 10 Facts: Long-eared Owl

Communal Roosts. A unique characteristic of the Long-eared Owl is its tendency to roost communally during Winter. Usually solitary, this species has been known to gather in groups of between 2 to 20 individuals, usually in thick cover, but in some locations have been observed gathering in incredibly large numbers. A prime example of one such prominent roost site is the town of Kikinda in Serbia where some observers claim to have counted upwards of 1000 owls in and around the town during colder months.

Lazy nesting. Unusual among owls, the Long-eared Owl nests on a platform as opposed to within cavities. Usually positioned high in the upper branches of conifers. While perfectly capable of constructing their own nests, this species readily utilises those abandoned by other bird species and, in the UK, often opts for disused crow or Magpie nests. Less commonly, birds have also been observed occupying the former nests of a suite of species ranging from Woodpigeons and Sparrowhawks to Grey Herons, and on more than one occasion have been found to occupy disused squirrel dreys.

Global reach. The Long-eared Owl has one of the largest breeding ranges of any owl species, occurring across the Northern Hemisphere from Japan in the East, through China, parts of Pakistan and Mongolia, into Russia, throughout Europe and across large parts of the USA. The species also breeds in smaller numbers in Northern Africa; whereas its Winter range extends to encompass parts of India, Mexico and the Middle-East.

Subspecies. There are presently four separate subspecies of Long-eared Owl recognised around the globe. These are the nominate A. otus, found throughout Europe, North Africa and into parts of East Asia; A. o. canariensis, found on the Canary Islands; A. o. tuftsi, found throughout Western parts of the USA, Canada and Mexico and A. o. wilsonianus found throughout Eastern parts of North America.

Folklore. In Ancient Greece, the Long-Eared Owl was considered rather unintelligent with the term “otus” used frequently to describe simpletons.

The Irish Owl. Long-eared Owls are thought to be the commonest owl in Ireland, with a scattered range throughout the whole country. Contrary to population trends in the UK which show the species to have declined substantially over recent years, the Irish owl population has increased its range by 12% in the Southwest of the country. Possibly as a result of an increase in coniferous woodland (or improved surveying methods).

Long-distance migrant. Like their cousin, the Short-eared Owl, the Long-eared Owls resident in Britain are bolstered by arrivals from the continent during Winter. Typically from Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and Russia. The BTO report that one bird, ringed in Cumbria, was found 8 months later in the Mariy region in western Russia, 3,279km from its ringing site. Whereas most of the ringed birds recorded in the UK appear to arrive from Germany. It is not uncommon to see Long-eared Owls arriving over the sea during Autumn, and they regularly seek respite on Oil-rigs and ships during the perilous North Sea crossing.

Sour relations. Perhaps more so than any other European owl species, the Long-eared Owl often falls prey to other avian predators, including other owl species. Eagle Owls and Goshawks have been shown to regularly predate this species, while Tawny Owls are known to kill the former in an effort to claim dominance over a territory and thus, a food supply. Studies have shown a suite of diurnal raptors, ranging from Sparrowhawks and Peregrines to Red Kites to actively hunt Long-eared Owls and it is safe to say that the species does not have it easy when it comes to competition with rivals. On the reverse, some studies have recorded instances of Long-eared Owls predating Little Owls.

In trouble. Following a boom in the 19th Century, the British Long-eared Owl population declined substantially during the 20th Century. Anecdotal evidence has linked this to the resurgence of the Tawny Owl population following its suppression via persecution in earlier years and it is thought that the recovery of the larger owl may be an attributing factor. The fact that Long-eared Owls are flourishing in Ireland, from which Tawny Owls are absent, lends credence to this theory. It is accepted that Long-eared Owls can coexist with Tawnies when enough natural food is present; thus the decline of this species across Britain likely relates to a change in habitat and a corresponding decline in prey species. It is thought that only 1000 pairs of Long-eared Owl now remain in the UK.

Doting dads and diet description. During the owls breeding cycle, it is the male that does most of the hunting – depositing prey at the nest before egg-laying begins, providing the female with sustenance during incubation and providing the bulk of the prey for the fledgeling birds. Of the various prey items regularly taken by this species, voles, mice, rats and shrews are the most common, making up over 90% of the diet; though the species readily predate small birds when an opportunity presents itself. Bird species taken by Long-eared Owls include Wheatear, Meadow Pipit, Chaffinch, Reed Bunting and House Sparrow; although instances of predation on Pheasant poults have been recorded.