I’ve been making a conscious effort, since January 1st, to notice nature in the grey bleakness of the city in winter. One morning last week, buttoned up against the irrepressible sleet and the bitter cold, I was walking fast through an industrial park in South London, having deposited my car at the mechanic. Following my nose, I headed for a gap between two walls, where, sure enough, there was a footpath that cuts through the buildings and then came out, completely unexpectedly, alongside a river. Three long-tailed tits bobbed from twig to twig in a bush in front of me and a robin manned a post on the footbridge. The red, straight twigs of the dogwood brightened the riverbank and the swish of the water over the little weir was a pleasant sound. By the time I reached the bus stop, the sun had come out and the streets glistened after their cold shower.
The following day was a windy one and I took a walk along the river. On impulse, I turned right through a small gate and into the nature reserve that lies between the Thames path here and the road. There’s a steep incline as you scramble a few paces up the bank to join the footpath that follows the edge of the reservoir. I reached the top and caught my breath. For a moment, I felt as if the entire population of ring-necked parakeets had arranged a party in the branches above my head. They were perched at all levels in a plane tree, holding animated conversations with each other. The squawks weren’t going to stop soon so I walked on, the river to my left and reservoir to my right; I was walking through the water, with the security of knowing I was on dry land. Three herons, sitting on three different bundles of twigs, surveyed the world from their watery look-out posts. Two Egyptian geese flew over my head to settle in a plane tree, from where they produced deep honking squawks to rival those of the parakeets. I came down from my river road and through the gate back onto the path, the greyness not bleak, but beautiful in a subtle way.
On Sunday I visited an exhibition at the William Morris Gallery in East London. It centred on the depiction of the garden, of cultivated nature, in paint and textiles. Light shone from the works, not only in the sun-filled skies of one or two but from the greens of the leaves, the lawns and the vines enveloping the brick walls. A painting by Pissaro epitomised the sense of light oozing from the paintings, in which there was often just as much green as yellow. This was a bright, colourful collection and we left inspired by its cheerful optimism. After a mooch around the rest of the gallery, where nature is a constant inspiration in Morris’ designs, we headed out to the gardens behind the house. Despite the bitter cold, a spontaneous desire to be in nature, however, cultivated, seems to have prevailed; we were now really amongst the green, the birdsong and the floral designs that were yet to appear in the formal beds. The light, in the clear sky of the late afternoon, though faded to sunset by the time we reached the road to go home, had lit up every branch and shrub with its brightness. Nature imitating art, imitating nature.
It has been exactly two years since we published the first issue of New Nature. In that time, we have brought you nature writing, art, photography and myriad environmental stories from those at the heart of the youth nature movement. Truth be told I have loved every minute of my involvement with New Nature and it is fantastic to see the e-zine continuing to deliver under Editor-in-Chief, Alice Johnson. See below for this months introduction courtesy of Alice herself.
The arms of the clock simultaneously point to the sky – a new year has begun. It is the perfect time to step outdoors and appreciate what the natural world has to offer and to start planning your wildlife adventures for the year. Do you imagine watching the glorious flight of swallowtail butterflies on the Norfolk Broads, the mighty dorsal fin of a basking shark escaping the summer ocean, or the clash of antlers during an autumn red deer rut?
Whatever your nature dream for the year, you can start appreciating the wildlife outdoors now – just wrap up warm and you won’t be disappointed. Our resident ‘What to watch for’ author Elliot Chandler suggests searching for black redstarts, or looking for secretive deer (p8), while Sophie Lewis contemplates the glorious goshawk in her enchanting Sussex Field Notes column. This month we also have a special underwater focus – discover all about our curious cover star on p22 from Roisin Maddison. We also urge you to take a walk around the coastline this winter, with Asia Roberts-Yalland inspiring us to visit Norfolk in pursuit of snow buntings and overwintering waterfowl (p10), while Hannah Rudd encourages us to search the shoreline (p14).
The year may be new, but there are many conservation problems that continue to worsen and must continue to be tackled; we speak to the inspiring young conservationist Bella Lack about raising awareness of important issues (p24). We also learn about the difference one person can make for conservation in their local area, as Max Woods shares with us his inspiration behind starting the Sussex Stag Beetle Initiative (p26). New Nature’s Alex Pearce also caught up with Bird Watching editor Matt Merritt to discuss all things feathered, check it out on p38.
We hope you find inspiration is this issue of New Nature as it marks two years since the launch of our first issue! Thank you to everyone who has contributed, shared the magazine and helped us over the years – the team is very grateful for your support.
Moving to the North Norfolk coast from London in 2007, I realised how little I knew about the beautiful countryside I found myself in. Fortunately, this part of the country is not lacking in opportunities to explore and develop a burgeoning passion for conservation and wildlife. I’d also begun a degree in natural sciences with the Open University, and the various projects I took part helped me decide on an environmental focus for the degree, as well as providing lots of practical experience.
In 2010 I was handed a flyer by my step-mother, produced by a group run by the Trust for Conservation Volunteers (or BTCV as it was then). This group, the North Norfolk Workout Project (NNWP), carried out habitat management such as clearing rhododendrons and other invasive species, wildlife surveys and planting trees, all at a number of sites around the county. The group was partly funded by BTCV, the NHS and the local district council, with the aim of improving the physical and mental health of the volunteers taking part, while doing construction work for the environment and the community. The work certainly benefitted me, as the low mood I was suffering from at the time really began to improve.
One of the first sessions I did with the NNWP was clearing bracken some public woodlands outside North Walsham, in an effort to encourage wildflower meadows to develop. This kind of work would be a mainstay of the NNWP over the years I was involved with – the removal of invasive plants to create or improve habitats such as meadows, heathland and woodland. A particular favourite of mine was tree planting at various during the winter to improve biodiversity. It is a nice thought that after an afternoon of this there will be a patch of woodland that will hopefully be around and growing after you are gone.
As rewarding as the work was, I also had the pleasure of working with a good crowd of people, both the two paid members of staff on the project and the volunteers who came from a wide range of backgrounds. We also worked with several different site owners who were knowledgeable and passionate about their particular patches and were glad for our help in realising their goals for the site.
At that first session at North Walsham, I also took part in an OPAL soil and earthworm survey. The results would be added to a national database of soil types and earthworm numbers. We didn’t actually find any earthworms that day, but in science, not getting a result is still a result. The survey did inspire me to carry out a number of different OPAL surveys such as water quality, insect surveys and examining the biodiversity of hedgerows. As with any citizen science project, it is good to know you are contributing actual data to a scientific project.
In the last couple of years, I have begun focusing in species ID and monitoring. Alongside national surveys such as the Wider Countryside Butterfly Survey, I have been taking part in the fairly recently established Norfolk Bat Survey with the British Trust for Ornithology. This involves picking a 1km Ordnance Survey grid square from the survey website and booking a bat detector from one of a number of bat centres around the county (my nearest is National Trust Sheringham Park). You then set up the bat detector overnight, for three consecutive nights at different locations in the kilometre square. Bat calls are recorded on an SD card in the detector, which is then sent back to the BTO headquarters in Thetford for analysis. They are able to determine the number of bat passes recorded as well as the species present. Participants are encouraged to repeat surveys every year to detect any changes in bat numbers. One of the sites I have surveyed – Sustead Common – is run by the Felbeck Trust, a small conservation charity in Aylmerton. This dedicated group has been carrying out habitat restoration at Sustead and a number of other sites. I carried out a survey in May 2017, and 124 bat passes, split between six species, were recorded. A survey at about the same time the following year detected 280 passes (more than double last years’), split between eight species. We hope this is the result of bat boxes put up between the survey dates, and of habitat restoration activities increasing the number of prey insects. It will be interesting to see what further surveys reveal.
A third major project I’m involved in is the Norfolk Ponds Project, part of University College London’s wider pond restoration programme. This project aims to restore ponds, especially in areas of farmland, to provide biodiversity hotspots in otherwise species poor landscapes. In 2017 I joined a small group in Bodham, focusing on four ponds in the farmland there. These marl pits were initially dug to extract the calcium-rich clay (marl) for use in stabilising the surrounding soil to better grow crops. Over time, water levels rose in the pits, and soon well-developed aquatic ecosystems developed. However, trees and other dense undergrowth have grown around the ponds, blocking out the light. Falling leaves have also created thick layers of sediment, reducing the biodiversity there. To begin with, my group were taking readings of the water quality, including pH, alkalinity, conductivity and temperature every two weeks. Any wildlife seen during the surveys were also recorded. Towards the end of 2017, the trees and undergrowth on two sides of two of the ponds were removed by chainsaw teams, helped by my group with loppers. The sediment was also dredged with JCBs, providing some free fertiliser for the nearby patches of farm field. The two other ponds were left as controls. In the spring and summer of 2018, we repeated the water measurements and wildlife recordings over the spring and summer and sent the results to UCL. It will be interesting to see if the restoration will have any effect.
I’ve had the privilege to take part in a (bio)diverse range of environmental projects over the years, and it has been a great experience, and hopefully of benefit to the wider environment.
Andrew is a Natural Sciences graduate with the Open University, and has several years experience in the voluntary sector, in areas as diverse as wildlife conservation, habitat management, heritage and maritime safety with the National Coastwatch Institution.
2018 has been a year of ups and downs; although, thankfully, mostly ups. The year marked by a great deal of personal and professional opportunities, myriad wonderful wild encounters and a whole host of new experiences. As is customary on this blog, I thought I would dedicate some time to knocking up something which vaguely resembles a summary. If you’re not all that interested in ‘personal’ posts, please look away now…
The undisputed highlight of the year has to come from my employment with the Natural History Society of Northumbria. I have aspired towards a job in nature communications for as long as I can remember and, to that end, have dedicated a great deal of time to building a CV deserving of such. In April, I was lucky enough to be appointed as NHSN’s communications officer and, truth be told, I have not looked back since. This is an organisation I have looked up to for years – ever since my first visit to the Hancock museum as a child – and thus far, I have enjoyed every minute of the role. Sure, it has involved a great deal of learning and I would be lying if I said there had not been hiccups; though working with an incredibly knowledgeable, supportive bunch of people for a organisation that supports the issues I care most about – wildlife and conservation in my local area – I can’t help but smile. I am having a blast.
Elsewhere this year, I found myself appointed to the publications committee of the Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland (BSBI). A leap into the dark if I am honest – I have never been all too knowledgeable on plants – but something I hope to embrace. It is also great to observe a blooming relationship – forgive the pun – between BSBI and New Nature Magazine, and I can only thank the Society for their support of our humble e-zine. A publication which I am immensely proud of which now is going from strength to strength under new Editor in Chief, Alice Johnson, and the rest of our gifted team. You may have noticed that we’re now publishing bimonthly – a decision intended to boost the quality of the publication and to give all involved in its design and production time to focus on other endeavours. New Nature is entirely voluntary, after all.
What else has happened in 2018? Well, I found myself coming in at second place in the UK Blog Awards for this blog, no less, while New Nature scooped first place in its category (hurrah). In a bizarre twist, this resulted in a rather terrifying first appearance on TV this summer as I featured in an episode of BBC Countryfile – chatting to the fantastic Steve Brown about blogging, squirrels and the youth nature movement. As someone who finds speaking rather terrifying – I much prefer writing – this was difficult; though I am glad I did it and hope I did not embarrass myself too much.
This year’s recognition and trembling media appearances would not have been possible without those who read this blog and, as ever, I am incredibly grateful to all those who have tuned in and taken note of my waffling over the past year. Though it beggars belief, more people than ever before – 26,500 to be exact – visited Common By Nature in 2018 and while meaningful writing has been scant due to commitments elsewhere, I hope all found at least one article of interest. I will do my best to keep at it over the coming year, although free time appears to be becoming increasingly scarce.
A quick thank you also to everyone who cast a vote for me in both categories of the coming, 2019, UK Blog Awards – I won’t hold my breath but will keep you updated should things progress.
All in all, I have had a grand old time in 2018. I may not have committed to as much as I have done in previous years and indeed, have had to evaluate just how much I can do before the pastimes I love begin to lose their appeal, but all in all, things have been good. Personal reflection aside, however, cutting down on commitments has allowed me to get back to basics and observe and enjoy a remarkable array of wildlife in 2018. As such, I will leave you with some photographic highlights…
A few confiding rare birds, some sensational mammal encounters and my first ever White-letter Hairstreaks and European Hornets certainly helped ensure 2018 was anything but boring.
Dawn broke overhead as I took my first, adrenaline-fueled steps into the reedbeds of Gosforth Park Nature Reserve, the grey-blue sky, a vestige of the previous frigid night, soon yielding to pleasant silver as the day got underway. The only lasting remnant of the darker, colder hours before coming from the veil of fog lingering above the water and creeping over the browned stems of Phragmites like pale milk over cereal; although soon, this too was banished.
From the maze of twisted stems fringing the boardwalk, a Water Rail called. A piercing, unsavoury shriek oft compared to the sound of a pained hog, though too a welcome note of wilderness. Behind, in a riparian thicket, the harsh call of a Willow Tit, a grating cha bem bem bem, burst forth. A scarce sound these days – the species falling silent across the length and breadth of Britain – though thankfully, one that can still be heard, and savoured, here in the North. A surprisingly jarring sound for such a small, seemingly reclusive bird.
The notes of Reed Bunting and Blue Tit and the whistling of Wigeon serenaded me as I made my way to the hide – fresh morning air and the allure of place ensuring that any remnants of the Christmas stupor were dispelled. The vision of tranquillity observed while peeping out from the narrow, wooden windows like something from a card received days earlier: calm, blissful, serene. The water’s surface awash with the scattered forms of Teal, Gadwall, Shoveler and Tufted Duck, as well as the Wigeon, heard earlier, entrancing to such an extent that I almost missed the furtive character breaking cover to my left.
The encounter was over in an instant: the Bittern lifting upwards from the reeds absent sound, the intricate pattern of the bird’s plumage visible momentarily as, wings splayed and stilt-like legs dangling, it passed above the channel before blending seamlessly into the reeds once more. Vanishing completely in a split second as feathers and fronds became one once again. A momentous sight – a first for me here, no less – and a fitting precursor to further encounters to come. Indeed, for half an hour afterwards, I enjoyed tantalising views of some three Bitterns.
Bittern breaking cover – if only I had been quicker off the mark
Departing the cover of the softly quivering blanket of reeds, I opted to follow a muddy trail through the wood. My steps mirroring those of the countless Roe Deer who had trekked this way prior – the evidence of their morning march present in the slot marks crisscrossing the ground, each way I looked. Overhead, in the branches of a denuded oak, a Great Spotted Woodpecker peered down, cautious but unmoving and, as I eventually quit dawdling and departed, another passed overhead in undulating flight – heading like a guided-missile towards the woods makeshift cafe.
Having only chanced upon a handful of people during my morning at Gosforth, the visit certainly made for a pleasant change to the hectic ‘meet and greet’ of the past few, festive days.
Winter visitor. Waxwings are winter visitors to Britain, migrating here from their breeding grounds in the boreal forest belt that stretches from Scandinavia, through Russia and across parts of North America. The numbers that reach the UK depend on the availability of berries on the Continent. In years where berry crops fail, birds are forced to migrate greater distances in search of food, often reaching our shores en masse.
Irruptions. Given that the winter movements of waxwings are dependent on the amount of food available on the continent, the UK can receive anything from a few dozen birds to as many as 12,000 each year. Most years, Britain hosts at least a few birds; though, during irruption years, many more can arrive on our shores. Eastern and northern Britain tend to receive the highest number of waxwings during the winter due to their proximity to the North Sea crossing points.
Mountain Ash connoisseurs. Experts believe Rowan (aka Mountain Ash) to be the favoured food of waxings; though they regularly feast on other native and non-native Sorbus berries in the UK. Among these: hawthorn, cotoneaster and dog rose. With Spindle and Whitebeam are also taken with gusto. Where berries are in short supply, waxwings can often be drawn to an area with apples, either left as windfall or deliberately placed.
Feeding habits. Fruiting plants are incredibly important for waxwings in the winter as they typically eat 800-1000 berries a day, roughly twice their body weight. This changes during the breeding season, however, when the species feeds mainly on midges, mosquitoes and other small insects. It is therefore not unusual to see any waxwings remaining in Britain during the spring feasting on insects.
Selfless Symbolism. Spiritualists believe waxwings to be a symbol of selfless generosity. The symbolism of the waxwing totem is believed to teach selflessness and the practice of giving to others for their benefit, and not your own. Waxwings are traditionally associated with the politeness you should have when you give away to others the thing you have craved for or cherished for so long.
Selfish, not selfless. It is believed that the association of waxwings with selflessness and giving stems from their courtship habits. When a male waxwing sets out in search of a mate, it often carries a berry – passed to a female bird in an effort to impress her. The female waxwing then takes the berry and returns it to the male, with the gifting ritual repeated many times until, eventually, mating takes place. While some may view this as a sign of selflessness, in reality, the male instigates this ritual in order to spread his own genes; thus the process, while touching, is actually rather selfish.
Waxwing separation. Two species of waxwing have occurred in Britain: the commoner Bohemian Waxwing (Bombycilla garrulus) and much scarcer Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum). The separation between the two can often be difficult; though the colour of the bird provides a good indicator. A Bohemian Waxwing has a grey chest and belly while a Cedar Waxwing has a brown chest with a yellow belly. Additionally, if the bird’s undertail is a brownish-orange, it’s a Bohemian Waxwing. If the undertail is white, it’s a Cedar Waxwing.
Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum)
A rare repeat performance. Having visited our shores during winter, individual waxwings seldom return to Britain – demonstrated by the incredibly low number of successful ringing recoveries. That said, in 2010, one particular bird bucked this trend, returning to the village of Kintore, in Aberdeenshire, almost a year to the day it had first been ringed by the Grampian Ringing Group. This represented only the third confirmed record of a waxwing returning to the UK in a subsequent winter from over 4,500 ringed birds successfully banded.
Global Abundance. While we Brits tend to think of waxwings as a seasonal scarcity, they are actually rather abundant. The global population of waxwings has been estimated at more than three million birds, and the breeding range covers about 12.8 million km2. Although this species’ population, as of 2013, appears to be declining, the decrease is not rapid nor large enough to trigger a change to their vulnerability criteria. The waxwing is classified by the International Union for Conservation of Nature as being of ‘least concern’.
If you enjoy reading this blog, I’d really appreciate it if you would cast a vote for Common By Nature at the UK Blog Awards 2019 by clicking here or/and here – all you need do is select the small love heart beside the title of this blog. It only takes a second.
Last week I bought a book. A slim book, with a green and white cover. It was called ‘The Tree’ and was written by John Fowles. I didn’t know anything about it, except that I liked the title and the soft colours on the cover, thereby ignoring the oft-quoted advice on how not to judge a book, or anything else, for that matter. I shamefully haven’t read it yet, but it’s there waiting for me. And I know now it’s about more than a tree.
I mention this because trees seem to be taking an ever more present role in my life. The Japanese maple outside my window provides a riot of colour each autumn and is gradually losing its canopy of bright red leaves, leaves that have carpeted the ground for several weeks. I took a stroll up the lane near my home yesterday, looking up at the yellow leaves, made all the more dazzling by the phenomenal downpour that had just ended. Around me were London planes, a horse chestnut, and the russet red leaves of cherry. Frustration hit me as I tried to identify the tree with bright yellow leaves. (I later identified it as a small-leaved lime, a familiar enough tree but one I hadn’t recognised until now.) Distraction came in the form of a crashing flutter of feathers as a pigeon fell out of a bush. A few minutes later I watched as the pigeon did the tightrope on a thin twig in the midst of the branches; it was intent on harvesting the bright orange berries of the pyracantha. I passed the rusty red of copper beech and walked over another neon-like carpet of lime sheddings. I reached the end of the lane and decided to walk through the trees on the other side of the road. Walking on the pavement and following a path through woodland are two very different experiences. Wet leaves were underfoot and I stopped to look at the different forms, the leaves glistening in the sunshine, their moisture causing them to shine despite the shade of the branches. Starlings sat high in the treetops across the road, filling the air with sound. I turned into my road with the rhythmic clutter of the birds in my ears and my heart filled with the cheerful brightness of the blue sky and the rather cool bite of the autumnal air.
On Saturday I was invited to a meeting to outline plans for the planting of an orchard near my home. The prospect of filling a bare patch of land with trees, condemned for other uses because of toxins from the railway, was wonderful and I listened with full support. Whilst they contaminate roots, the particular toxins concerned here are apparently not passed on to the fruit of the trees, which makes an orchard an ideal outcome for this small urban patch.
At the end of November, all things arboreal will be championed in National Tree Week. There are several tree plantings organised in my local area; look up The Tree Council to see what’s taking part near you, if you’re not already involved. We need trees. Let’s celebrate them.
I’m thrilled to announce that Common By Nature has been nominated for the latest round of the UK Blog Awards!
It is a privilege to find myself competing in a category jam-packed with the best and brightest environmental writers and bloggers in the UK today, and I would like to thank each and every person who reads this blog for making such possible. Without your support of the content published here, I very much doubt I would have made the cut.
This blog has grown extremely quickly in the years since I first hit the big blue ‘publish’ button, and now incorporates a greater range of content than ever before. I aim to provide writing that appeals to a broad cross-section of people and, as such, it is fantastic to have been nominated in both the ‘Green and Eco‘ and ‘Wildlife and Nature‘ blog categories.
I am part of a generation that idolises David Attenborough and, like many younger conservationists, have long extolled the virtues of his breathtaking documentaries for their stark impact on my life. From the Life of Birds to Planet Earth, these are the shows that ignited and then nurtured my passion for the natural world and, truthfully, I owe them a great deal. As do many others, I suspect.
It is little wonder then, that like the vast majority of people on my timeline, I cringed this week when Guardian columnist, George Monbiot, chose to berate Attenborough [and the BBC] in a recent, incendiary article. One claiming that the veteran broadcaster had, through years of inaction on environmental issues, betrayed the living world he loves. A bold claim, and one which takes a great amount of courage to make, I will admit, which also appears to have triggered many people to align themselves one way or the other.
I find this intensely frustrating. For decades, Attenborough has created a false impression of the health of the living world, and repeatedly *failed* to highlight the realities. Now he makes a doctrine of this failure. pic.twitter.com/MbyWSwNKYa
I confess, upon reading this article, my first thought was “you can’t say that, he is David Attenborough“. The precursor to a mental scramble to justify my undying devotion to the man as the worlds most prominent natural history broadcaster, as an inspiration to countless people [young and old] and a purveyor of spectacular, educational documentaries. I fell into the trap of being precious about a “national treasure” absent consideration, as is often the case when criticism falls on one we hold in high regard.
Curiosity peaked, I re-read Monbiot’s article shortly after. More carefully this time and trying, difficult as it may be, to keep an open mind – only to find that by doing this, disagreement surged. What exactly has David Attenborough done for the natural world he holds so dear? Well, that’s easy: he has educated the masses, inspired multiple generations of conservationists, brought nature into the homes and lives of millions and doubtless, triggered further thought in some people previously unconcerned about the fate of biodiversity. He also did a fine job of bringing to light the problem of plastic pollution (Monbiot would disagree here) and has preached, on a number of occasions, the threats posed by a surging human population. Few in this world boast the deeds or moral high ground to cast shade in his direction.
In my opinion, David Attenborough has done more than most in defence of the natural world. Thus, to claim betrayal seems like a frightful exaggeration. Although, when one changes the assertion and asks “has he done enough for nature” the lines begin to blur somewhat.
Attenborough has an almost unprecedented platform from which to express his views. He boasts unimaginable clout and influence and, although he alone is not responsible for the content of his documentaries [the BBC come into play here], has both the support and heft to alter his broadcasts on a whim. With all of this comes power: the power to speak up and make a real difference. Has he used this to whip up a storm about environmental issues? No, he has not. Blue Planet II aside, you seldom see Sir David on the campaign trail and rarely do his documentaries depict the ugly state of nature in the modern-day.
In one sense, Monbiot is right. Attenborough has not done all he could to hammer home the plight of our planet, for reasons he recently discussed. He has not attempted to instigate protests, has shied away from lobbying ministers and never, not once, has attempted to turn public opinion against individual organisations, companies or people. All of this sits fine with me, for Attenborough’s power has been used to great success in a far softer, less abrasive, but no less significant manner: to inform, educate, inspire and yes, entertain. We cannot all do everything and the broadcaster has undoubtedly done a great deal with the talents he possesses, as we all should.
To dismiss the contribution of David Attenborough outright is incredibly ignorant for one simple reason: there is room for both the Attenborough and Monbiot approaches to nature conservation. Both are equally important and each hinges on the success of the other. To reach the stage of direct action, as Monbiot and others advocate, you first need to be interested. You need to boast an affection for nature prior to delving into the serious, technical and often bland ins and outs of environmentalism. To reach the point of action, you need to be inspired, plain and simple, and no one inspires quite like Britain’s most trusted broadcaster.
Absent Attenborough and his efforts to highlight the beauty and diversity of nature, few people would give a hoot about the fate of our planet. Okay, some would – those privileged enough to be exposed to nature from an early again – but not nearly the number required to make any real difference. The conservationists, naturalists and environmentalists who work to achieve great deeds in the field and yes, tirelessly support the causes championed by George Monbiot and others, would be fewer in number absent, Attenborough, as a catalyst for their devotion. Sure, he has not single-handedly brought about the salvation of our planet [no one can do so alone] but he has put boots on the ground in defence of nature.
Once you look past the potshots and sniping generated by this article, you will see that we desperately need both approaches to nature conservation. We need the Attenborough approach to ensnare, captivate and pave the way, and we need the Monbiot approach to bring about the next steps. Both are dependant on one another, and both are equally vital.
It would have been easy to rebut Monbiot’s article, as others have, by asking what difference he and the approach he advocates have made for nature. It would have been easy to give in to the comparison of feats and achievements but, in my opinion, doing so would be reductive. We need both the Monbiot’s and Attenborough’s of this world to make any real difference.
If activists such as George Monbiot are the engine that drives change for the natural world, then educators like David Attenborough are the gasoline – their work and influence the fuel that powers the whole vehicle. No campaign can succeed absent public affection for the natural world and without doubt, no one fosters affection quite like Sir David.
If you liked this post, please consider casting a vote for me in the UK Blog Awards 2019 by following this link. All you need to do is select the ‘love heart’ beside Common By Nature.
So you want to start a blog. A nature blog, no less.
Hats off to you for taking some steps closer to creating one. There is always room on the web for another voice for the natural world.
This article is all about how to blog about nature. What format and style to choose, the structure and word-count that work best, and what to remember in the face of feeling nervous about writing. There’ll also be some help on what to blog about, to spark some ideas, or organise the ones you already have.
Firstly, I want you to shelve those notions of blogging as a passive income or becoming an international celebrity blogger. Not only is this a mostly delusional goal for the majority of bloggers (think dime a dozen travel blogs, for one), in the fields of nature and the environment you have to be really exceptional to grow an enviable audience. Even then, it will be nothing like the success achieved by celeb-bloggers such as Perez Hilton or Darren Prowse of Problogger. Articles about the natural world just aren’t as sexy as those about London Fashion Week or bitcoin investment. Sad but true.
Hopefully, you’ve come here because you want to write a blog for your own noble reasons instead: self-development, sharing opinions, teaching others, spreading awareness. And we could all do with more of that on the world wide web (with some real-world action to follow, of course).
How to write your blog
Whatever your reasons for deciding to write a blog, the most important thing to remember is (cue corny lines) write from the heart. Be yourself. Follow and share your passions. Clichés aside, your blog will be richer, more honest and more relatable if you do this. Being authentic is what will make you more appealing. Why write something that’s a carbon-copy of what others are doing, anyway? There’s no sign of the neoliberal celebration of individualism coming to an end any time soon. Embrace your uniqueness. Be weird and proud of it.
Diary style
A good angle for a nature blog is to write it like a journal.
Remember the old days, when naturalists only had a pencil and paper-based fieldbook to take out into the wilds? Try doing this yourself. Connecting our minds through our hands by using a real pen with real paper helps us to process and articulate information better (scientific fact[1]). Head out on a hike and observe, record and draw. Let nature be your inspiration.
After your wanderings in the wilds, grab your keyboard and transfer your handmade notes to digital format. Type up your observations. Upload the photos. Scan your sketches. And don’t forget to add the location, date, time and weather. Details make a difference. Once the raw data is on your computer, it’s ideal material to add to compilations of stories, thoughts and feelings.
People love reading personal diary-like accounts, especially when they include interesting facts or images from a trip out into the field. It’s worth noting that if it weren’t for the old journals of past-naturalists, much of our knowledge about species (particularly extinct ones) would never have been gathered. You can be a part of the global accumulation of data about our natural world.
Your blog will also serve as a record for you to refer to time and again, whether for research or reminiscence. And you’re sure to have a following of folks who love to have a nosey in other people’s diaries.
Putting it together
What puts off a lot of wannabe bloggers is how to word and structure their posts. Assembling a readable, engaging and enjoyable blog post isn’t as difficult as you’d imagine, however. There are tried-and-tested formulae, as well as structures and styles you can employ to be sure your site visitors stick around and enjoy the show.
Style
Consider the voice you want for your blog. By voice, I mean the way your blog reads in the eyes and minds of your audience. This is the difference between “punchin’ keys like a pro to serve up some flamin’ hot content” and “eloquently crafting prose that produces magnificently alluring subject matter”. Informal vs. formal. Slang-filled casual text or loftier, more lucid wordsmithing.
Who you appeal to can depend on the way you write.
Most folks don’t want to learn stuff while poring over jargon-heavy text that reads like an audit for a law firm. However, if you’re writing among circles of scientists and other academics, your blog posts should include much meatier, more complex vocabulary. Again, the adage “Be yourself” applies here. Use the language you’re most comfortable with, to avoid sounding pretentious (or out of your depth) but don’t be afraid to research and employ new words too – blogging is a voyage of discovery in many ways.
Fortunately for bloggers everywhere, the sweetest read tends to be an informal, conversational tone, like you’re listening to a friend describe their day in a chatty email or diary entry. If you can write in a friendly yet informative way, you’ll be on to a blogging hit. Just don’t create an extreme version of an informal article; a dumbed-down post that sounds more patronising than personable (clickbait articles that have as much substance as a jellyfish fart are prime examples).
Structure
Whenever you create a blog post, the layout and structure of the piece is just as crucial as the content. Conscientiously organising writing on a page is something a lot of bloggers overlook, to the dismay of their readers.
Imagine chancing upon a marvellous title on a topic you’re passionate about, only to find it is written as a single, gapless, wall of words. A huge block of intimidating text. To the reader’s eye, it’s the visual equivalent of a brick in the face. All but the most determined (or possibly dullest) readers will skip it for a lighter read.
By paragraphing your article, you divide the information into bite-sized chunks. Now, instead of trying to force-feed someone a bullion bar of 97% dark chocolate, you’re presenting them with a tray of appealing, cocoa-filled dainties they can pick at one by one.
Adding titles, like the ones in this post, will also make for easier reading. Images inserted between sub-topics also have the same effect, breaking up huge areas of text and leading the reader onwards within the article.
Single, isolated sentences are another device that writers use to maintain engagement.
Like the one above.
Or the one you just read.
They act like a snap of the fingers to grab attention and are especially effective for spurring someone into action or helping them retain some information.
There’s a lot of contention about word count in online content. Some say 200-400 words is ideal because most people only have the opportunity to read something in the time it takes to boil a kettle, or else have as much concentration capability as a cat with ADHD. Others insist that search engines like Google favour articles which are longer than 1000 words because these ample reads contain more value for readers.
In my humble opinion, a blog post written for the joy of writing – not just for increasing eyeballs to your website – can be as long or as short as you bloody well like.
If you want to appeal to an audience of trigger-happy perpetual-surfers whose attention spans are as long as the autoplay timer between YouTube videos, you should keep posts under 400 words and cram in plenty of images to keep ‘em happy.
But if you want a following who desire a hearty meal of a read that’s brimming with information and insights, you can pour out a 2000-word essay without fear of inducing blog-jumping boredom. Incidentally, a blog post of 1700 words constitutes a 7-minute read, which is the optimum length of reading time according to the popular publishing platform Medium. So perhaps reports about creating sizeable articles are true.
If you’ve made an effort, your audience will too.
Professionalism
Writing a blog can be daunting, especially when we have plenty to share and say, but believe we lack the language skills to do it.
If your spelling and punctuation leave a lot to be desired, or your grasp of grammar is tenuous at best, there’s a risk that your readers won’t have faith in what you say. Your facts could be spot on, your stories compelling and inspirational, but if your reader continually stumbles over misplaced commas and blunders into dangling participles (say whaaat?), they’ll be so jarred by the experience they’ll have missed what your post is really about.
That said, in the blogosphere (yes, it’s a real word) most people understand that no one is perfect, and people can be very forgiving if they read material that has clearly come from the heart. What’s more, writing is a skill like any other and improves the more you do it. Perseverance and practice will make perfect.
And with online assistance in the form of spellchecking software, websites and forums on grammar rules, and professional writing coaches for hire, you can develop your penmanship in tandem with your blogging journey.
Before publishing posts, be sure to scan your text for errors and readability. If you’re still in doubt, have it proof-read by another set of eyes. Sometimes, leaving a freshly-written piece for a while, then returning to read it again, can often highlight mistakes you would have otherwise missed.
As a writer, editor and English teacher by trade, I’m biased in opining that a human eye is far more reliable for checking work than a machine. Perhaps the software is advancing faster than I can type this article, but almost all grammar-checking programmes currently on the market still can’t identify word-choice errors, suitability and tone of voice, structure, flow or formatting. Nor can they give constructive feedback about someone’s writing ability.
Rise of the robots…?
Not just yet.
What to write in a nature blog
Many bloggers falter at the thought of what to write about. Again, the rule of thumb here is to draw from what fires your imagination the most; what do you feel most passionate about? Choosing a niche, or a blending of a few niches also brings an interested audience to your blog.
You could focus on places you love to visit, perhaps your local area or a regular twitching haunt. Describe the trips you’ve made and your excursions to areas of natural beauty or sites of special scientific interest. It could be a blog solely dedicated to national parks, river walks or wildlife in the urban jungle. The choice is yours.
Another option is to showcase animals in your blogs, from broad coverage of entire families of animals to a focus on single species. Consider what to include about each creature: scientific information; hilarious, strange or astounding facts; stories inspired by their habits and habitats; tales of your own encounters with the species.
When I was writing for the Dorset Wildlife Trust, I presented several stories that happened to feature facts about the unbelievable genitalia of some marine species. Did you know that a barnacle has the longest penis of any animal in relation to its size?! Fascinating and wonderfully risqué at the same time. What can I say? Sex sells.
Why not write a blog filled with practical advice for naturalists and nature enthusiasts? We all have knowledge and expertise to share – from what equipment to take out into the field, to where to spot corvids in the UK – your blog could be a mine of information for others.
And if you feel you don’t have any tips or advice to share, opt for your opinion instead. Your blog can be a sounding board for your views on conservation, land use, species extinction or pollution… the topics are limitless. Throw in a forum and you could generate a whole new wave of ideas in your very own online community.
Take a journalistic stance and publish posts that report on environmental, ecological and social issues. In a world plagued by greedy corporations, fake news and unscrupulous authorities, independent journalism is a worthy and much-needed field to enter these days.
The marvellous thing about blogging is the sheer variety and scope you have as a self-publishing author. All manner of topics can be covered in the same blog. Your nature writing could include wild foods and foraging tips, places to do rock-climbing, how to photograph invertebrates with a macro lens, plus a report on a silversmithing project you’re undertaking.
Combos and cross-fertilisation of concepts make the most captivating blogs.
So, what are you waiting for?
Grab your pen and fieldbook, do up your boots and start some online literary trail-making of your own. Our natural world needs our voices more than ever before.
If you liked this post, please consider casting a vote for me in the UK Blog Awards 2019 by following this link. All you need to do is select the ‘love heart’ beside Common By Nature.
For some odd reason, the previous blogs I have published highlighting other great environmental bloggers [here, here and here] have been some of the most popular on this site to date.
For this reason, I thought I would put together an even bigger list flagging up the best nature, wildlife and environment blogs on the internet. Sites I read regularly which should be of interest to you too, whether your interests lie in hard-hitting opinion, nature writing or elsewhere, in campaigning or photography…
I will be updating this list constantly as I discover new resources, websites and sources of information.
Eloquent and informed opinion on some of the most divisive environmental issues in Britain today, including rewilding, land management and legislation.
A wonderful blog sharing the flora and fauna of London. Especially useful for anyone interested in plants but with a healthy dose of mammals, birds and everything else.
The first entry by a young blogger on this list and a real corker. This is an account of Zach’s personal experiences in nature and is often simultaneously thought-provoking and uplifting.
An enchanting site with a focus on all areas of natural history. Top-notch photography, interesting facts and lots of lovely nature writing, what’s not to like.
Observations on the natural world from passionate naturalist, Jenny Allan. A wonderful read for anyone who enjoys sharing the magical moments and memorable encounters of others.
Another blog with a focus on wildlife crime and one jampacked with experience-based opinion on some of the most pressing environmental issues in Britain today.
A sticking plaster approach to conservation is failing Scotland’s wildlife – and with species such as red squirrel, wild cat and capercaillie declining or on the edge of extinction, a new era of massive rewilding is needed, says a landmark new book from Trees for Life and SCOTLAND: The Big Picture.
Scotland has space and opportunity to take a fresh approach, with people working with nature, not against it, and allowing ecosystems to restore themselves on a large-scale, say the authors of Scotland: A Rewilding Journey, which is being launched in Inverness this evening.
“Right now, nature is in steep decline – but Scotland is perfectly placed to become a rewilding world-leader. Our wild places can flourish if we allow nature to work in its own way on a big scale, with a helping hand in places. There would be huge benefits for people – from our health and wellbeing to creating sustainable jobs in rural areas,” said Steve Micklewright, Chief Executive of Trees for Life.
Illustrated by world-class images captured by top nature photographers over three years, and with essays from leading commentators, the book lays out an inspiring vision of how rewilding forests, peatlands, rivers, moorlands and the ocean could transform Scotland for the better.
Deforestation, deer and sheep grazing, burning moors for grouse hunting, exotic conifers and denuded seas have left Scotland as one of the world’s most nature-depleted countries, its landscapes supporting fewer people than previously as a result. Climate change now poses a major threat.
Returns or rebounds of species like beavers, sea eagles and pine martens happen slowly. Birds of prey like hen harriers are persecuted. Wolf, crane, wild boar, elk and lynx were all made extinct long ago.
“For decades we’ve been trying to save nature piecemeal – a rare bird or insect here, a fragment of woodland there. But climate change and biodiversity loss now present critical threats to our survival, and saving bits and pieces of nature isn’t enough. As a wealthy country with plenty of space, we can do so much better,” said the book’s co-author Peter Cairns, Director of SCOTLAND: The Big Picture.
Despite superb nature reserves, amazing patches of Caledonian pinewood and new Marine Protected Areas, nature is now hugely fragmented and diminished across Scotland. Its awe-inspiring landscapes are often ecological deserts, stripped of woodlands. Only 1.5 per cent of its land is national nature reserves, while a quarter is ecologically impoverished grouse moors or deer forests.
Scotland’s seas are in trouble too – with wild salmon stocks declining, heavy dredging raking the sea floor, and gannets feeding their chicks plastic waste.
The book’s publication aims to be a watershed moment in the rapidly growing movement for rewilding, and a catalyst for change by shifting attitudes and perceptions, and sparking debate and discussion.
Momentum for rewilding has been highlighted by widespread calls for the return of the lynx, reintroduction of beavers, and initiatives such as Cairngorms Connect – a land manager partnership that is enhancing habitats across a vast stretch of Cairngorms National Park.
There has also been huge public support for Scotland: A Rewilding Journey’s publication. The book was funded by a successful crowdfunding appeal run by Trees for Life, and is supported by an alliance of organisations including Reforesting Scotland, Rewilding Britain, Rewilding Europe, The Borders Forest Trust, The European Nature Trust, and Woodland Trust Scotland.
Bringing back trees would be a good start for major rewilding. Only four per cent of Scotland is native woodland. Rewilded woodlands like Glen Affric could be enjoyed across the country by expanding pinewoods into a grand nationwide network. This would help red squirrels, crested tits and capercaillie, which can’t cross large areas of open ground and are now imprisoned in isolated islands of woodland.
The book aims to encourage conversations and cooperation between different audiences and groups. Rewilding can co-exist well with farming, forestry and recreational activities. It encourages conservationists and landowners to work together with mutual respect. Cooperation between deer managers and conservationists could help resolve over-grazing in the Highlands – which prevents woodlands from regenerating – with sporting traditions enjoyed in more natural settings.
Soaring deer numbers could also be managed by allowing the return of apex predators such as wolf and lynx, when the time is right and when public opinion is prepared to welcome them back. Restoring large areas of wild places could provide employment, especially in the Highlands and Islands. Otters, deer, puffins and sea eagles all support a growing nature tourism economy.
Nature’s benefits also include beavers preventing flooding, trees providing food, and peatlands soaking up carbon dioxide. Studies show how nature boosts people’s health and is good for children.
Scotland: A Rewilding Journey (£25 from www.scotlandbigpicture.com)is published by SCOTLAND: The Big Picture, a non-profit social enterprise that includes leading nature photographers and filmmakers, and promotes the benefits of a wilder Scotland through stunning visual media.
We all have days when everything feels like just a little bit too much: like myriad tasks are mounting up uncontrollably while motivation [and self-worth] are cascading downwards. Slumps and spells of low creativity as we bemoan mounting pressures but do little to combat them due to persistent, nagging and quite frankly, irritating, doubts. Yes, it has been one of those weeks – fine and dandy at work, and in public, but strangely deflated at home.
For some obscure reason, I have found myself demoralised of late. I wouldn’t go as far as to say “down” but definitely lacking the energy and incentive to do the things I usually love: writing, blogging, even birding. All of which has culminated in prolonged spells of sitting and staring vacantly at my laptop screen. Hoping for the miraculous resurgence of inspiration yet getting nowhere fast, until this morning that is, with a prolonged bout of ‘curtain twitching’.
I had chalked my recent slump up to a lack of time in nature, something I suspect many of us need to function properly as human beings. Perhaps I was correct; although gazing outwards from the window, I quickly came to realise I had been ignorant, and that one need not be galavanting in the countryside to enjoy, and seek motivation from the natural world.
For those unaware, my bedroom window looks out directly on to a busy street – the only perk being the bird feeders tactfully positioned outside in our minuscule yard. These attract a good range of species given our position in central Newcastle: house sparrows (over 70 at times), goldfinches, starlings, woodpigeons, doves, dunnocks and the occasional tit and Robin. All of which I fear I have overlooked in my current self-reflective grump.
Today, the feeders thronged with sparrows – around forty of them – jostling for position and making an ungodly mess, all to a persistent soundtrack of high-pitched chirrups. The testosterone-fueled jostling of the male birds, clad in their dark masks of alternating hues – a sign of dominance, I was once told – bemusing, and the boldness of the entire folk in the face of passing dog-walkers and cyclists, outstanding.
Above the sparrows, a pair of visiting Goldfinches raided the Nyger; appearing almost snobbish as they watched the scrum beneath. On the ground, a plump Woodpigeon waddled through the mass of small, brown birds, dispersing them in its wake as it mopped up fallen fragments of sunflower and wheat. From the pot which holds our now decrepit Cotoneaster, a Dunnock tentatively emerged, far too polite to engage in the frenzy and content to pick off stray morsels from the peripheries.
I confess that it took me a while to realise I was feeling better; mood building as I observed the fray until begrudgingly, I returned to my screen. Now, three hours later, I have obliterated my ‘to do’ list: answering emails, writing a reference, drafting a post for a notable NGO, proofreading a magazine and quickly producing a few snippets of overdue copy. Hell, now I even find myself writing this post – the first piece of genuine writing I have submitted to this blog in weeks.
It really is remarkable what a brief spell in nature can do for you. I should take five, sit back and watch more often – even when commitments render me unable to travel further afield.
Hailing from the North East of England, to me, a visit to London is much like a visit to a dystopian future. One where geographical boundaries blur and species which naturally should never have encountered one another, stand cheek by jowl in an odd assemblage of the tropical and tenacious. From squirrels, birds and fish to the very trees that make up the backbone of the city’s parks, wildlife watching in London is a queer old affair.
Killing some time between professional commitments upon a recent trip ‘down south’, it would have been rude of me not to visit at least a few of London’s many sprawling parks. And I did: calling first at St. James’s to enjoy its otherworldly assortment of wildfowl – both captive and wild. Admiring the numerous Egyptian geese, hamstringing passers-by for a free meal in the company of feral Bar-headed Geese – originally from Asia – and the odd free-flying Black Swan. Whether or not the latter were part of the parks extensive collection remains open to speculation. Coupled with the odd Mandarin, these helped set an altogether tropical tone to our stay in the capital.
Egyptian Geese
The collections at St. James’s were interesting too, of course. Paramount to any zoo and providing a great opportunity to brush up on my exotic waterfowl ID – with Ruddy Shelduck, Hooded Merganser, Red-breasted Goose, Fulvous Whistling Duck and Ross’s Goose present to name but a few. Not to mention the world-famous Pelicans doing their utmost to delight the amassed crowds. I confess, I was quite taken by them.
Famous pelicans, with bonus Ruddy Shelduck and Red-breasted Geese
Departing St. James’s, we headed for Hyde Park – brandishing an apple so to [hopefully] gain a closer look at one of the capitals most prolific alien residents: Ring-necked Parakeets. We were not disappointed, and after almost an hour of hearing the characteristic, piercing shrieks of this species from high in the canopy of London Plane – another non-native species – soon found ourselves covered head-to-toe in lurid green birds. The characterful parrots just as confiding as the countless pictures posted to social media had suggested: adorning head and arm alike as they squabbled for prime, fruit-stealing position. With some even going so far as to deliver a short, sharp bite when not immediately pandered to – impatient Southerners.
Up-close and personal with London’s parakeets
While some find themselves conflicted regarding Grey Squirrels [we saw an ungodly amount of these in London too] I, like many others, find myself torn on Ring-necked Parakeets. On one hand, they are potentially damaging invasives: killing bats, extirpating native birds from nest holes and plundering food crops. They are noisy, brazen, disruptive and at the base of things, should not be here. On the other hand, they are rather beautiful, and for many in the city, provide a much-needed link to the natural world. One they are familiar with. Honestly, I could not help but feel charmed by the birds and, with their permanent status in Britain all but assured, see no harm in celebrating them for what they are: adaptive and resilient colonists. Much like ourselves.
Parakeets, waterfowl and invasive squirrels aside, I would like to say that I also noted an abundance of native species in London. I didn’t. By large, most of the species seen and enjoyed were colonists – each impressive in their own way. Something which, if little else, serves to help me understand the difficulties faced when we conservationists openly and fiercely discuss the need to control, limit and destroy non-native species. For some, species such as this – the parakeets, grey squirrels and Egyptian Geese of this world – are all the wildlife they know. Little wonder then that some choose to defend them so vigorously. I might not agree, but I do understand.
