Tag: Nature

In Search of the Exotic – Ross Gardner

 

Aside from being an unlikely location in respect of such an evocative title, Wormwood Scrubs is a name which is familiar for all the wrong reasons.  The infamous prison to which the words are most often associated was built at the end of the 19th century, during a 16 year period up until 1891.  Thanks to such 1970s and 80s TV gems as The Sweeney and Minder ‘The Scrubs’ earned a place in the consciousness of even the most law-abiding of citizens.  Its full title is neither of the above and is officially referred to as ‘HMP Wormwood Scrubs’.  The ‘Wormwood Scrubs’ proper are something quite different and, as I was to discover, rather a pleasant surprise.

I am not much of a city person.  The town where I live, I am very happy to say, has always provided me with bolt-holes where nature still holds sway, be they the ancient woods that resisted the onslaught of suburban development, south-facing slopes of flowery grassland and even some wide-open expanses of coastal marshland beside the estuary of the Thames.  There is something of an irony, therefore, that I should find myself on a beautifully sunny, cold January morning heading off for a day out in London, not to one of the many wonderful galleries, to one the vast museums, or to enjoy the amazing architecture of the city, but to none other than Wormwood Scrubs.  At 67 hectares the Wormwood Scrubs Open Space is the largest such place in the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, which the council website proudly describes as “a tranquil area loved by local residents and visitors.”  Such notions of peace and quiet are, in my experience, often a relative thing.  The tranquillity of a spot in the middle of a large city, although very pleasant, is likely to seem rather different and somewhat busier than which someone like myself might be used to within one of my leafy suburban bolt-holes.  By the same token, someone visiting my neck of the woods from more rural circumstances would probably notice all of the sounds of neighbours and distant traffic that for me fade into the background.  What I have to admit to however, is on finding the place how genuinely surprised I was.  The main incentive for my visit there I shall keep you guessing about for a short while longer.

When travelling on the London Underground it is very easy to forget that there is a huge city going on above your head.  It is a mode of transport that makes it difficult to have a very accurate sense of distance and, for very obvious reasons, changes in the city-scape above ground.  The short walk from Fenchurch Street overground station to Tower Hill tube allows a brief taste of busy central London: the footfall of people between stations; tourists visiting the Tower, St Kathrine Docks and such like; the stream of traffic rumbling across Tower Bridge.  Quite often after your journey underground and when you reach your destination and re-surface, you notice little, if anything at all, by way of the city’s change of character.  There is, however, a substantial difference between the surrounds of Tower Hill in the middle of town and East Acton station half an hour westwards on the Central Line.  I emerged into the unexpected peace and quite of suburban London, complete with the avenues of pollarded London Plane trees, their bare fists clenched to the sky as if to decry this act of butchery wrought upon them (melodrama aside, I’m sure these tough old trees will be good and green, if not rather stumpy, come the spring).

From the station, it is a straight road up to the Scrubs and the location of my unlikely expedition into the exotic.  Directly outside it I could already make out the green fringe of the park from where I stood.  As I approached I was pleased to see a fair amount scrub near the edge – something to afford some shelter and seclusion – but was still not expecting anything more than that pleasant parkland setting, with its scattering of bushes and large trees, typical of large city parks.  I wandered across the mown grass and in between two mounds of thorn and within an instant felt removed further from the city.  What I hadn’t fully appreciated was the extent to which the park has been given over to wildlife.  Ahead of me lay an expense of rough grassland, looking winter-tired, but which I’m sure twitches with the movements of insect life in the summer.  Further away stood the woody fringes of the park and a large, circular copse surrounded by the playing fields.  This wood and grassland comprise more than half of the area of the park which also includes areas designated as a Local Nature Reserve.

It was a cold and clear day, but the sun had a warmth to it.  The sounds of bird life could be heard everywhere – tits twittering in the thorn bushes, blackbirds rummaging in the leaf-litter, wrens ‘tutting’ among the brambles.  I was sure I heard meadow pipits calling, not the most usual of sounds in the middle of London.  They apparently still breed here, but in declining numbers, as explained by a sign asking visitors to avoid certain paths for fear of disturbance to these ground-nesting birds.  And there were stonechat, a male and a female and another bird species not very readily connected with your typical city park.  There is something special about finding wildlife in the city, something uniquely poignant for its resistance to the concrete sprawl and tolerance of the disruptive human animal.

It was indeed a genuinely tranquil place.  Away from the busy road over on the other side of the park it was also very quiet, enough for me to hear the languid swishing of a crows wings as it passed overhead.  I was here for a very specific reason, but had arrived in good time to allow the chance to explore and see the woodpeckers investigating the bone-bare branches of long dead tree, or the sparrowhawk sliding through the shadows of the tree canopy of the woody fringes and hear the song thrush belting out its call of melodiously repeated phrases.  I also came across a pair of ring-necked parakeet, gloriously green in the sunshine amid the denuded winter branches.  The sight of these last two birds had a special significance.

The visage of kestrel-sized green parrots living wild in the UK is a distinctly odd one to many, but an increasingly familiar one to some.  In the space of nearly 50 years, and as a result of escapees and introductions, the feral British population has grown, according to the RSPB, to some 8,600 breeding pairs chiefly centred around London and the Home Counties.  The total, including non-breeders, could be as high as 30,000.  The debate as to the continued viability of their current success, in terms of potential nuisances to fruit growers, the general public and our native hole-nesting avifauna is ongoing.  They are great dividers of opinion.

Outside the breeding season ring-necked parakeet are birds given to communal roosting.  Such gatherings can often be in large numbers and I had heard that one such roost of thousands of birds occurs, or at least did occur at the Scrubs.  I wasn’t certain that the spectacle I had come to see was one that still took place here.  I hadn’t been able to find any mention of it after 2013, which seemed a little surprising given that a roost of 5000 (one figure that I had read of) bright green parakeets in the middle of London you would think is something much talked about.  The birds didn’t feature at all on the council webpage for the park and neither was there any mention of them on the wildlife information boards on site.  Perhaps the local naturalists prefer to draw attention to the native wildlife of the park, or maybe (with my not knowing a great deal about the roosting behaviour of parakeets) the mass-gathering has moved on to another green space in another part of town.  With a distinct paucity of the birds present at the time, there were a few doubts wheedling their way into my mind.

I continued my wanderings in search of Little Wormwood Scrubs, a smaller area (a tenth of the size) just across the road at the eastern edge of The Scrubs proper.  This is another enclave of greenery that must presumably also be much cherished by the city-based naturalists in the district, with a large chunk of it kept as scrubby grassland and on this occasion satisfyingly full of the movements and sounds of small birds.  It was getting on for 3 o’clock and not really knowing how the hoped-for roosting spectacle would proceed and also having no idea exactly where it might occur, I decided to head back to the larger expanse to find myself an adequate vantage from which to view any likely locations.  Better to be early and wait.

It was not long after re-entering The Scrubs before I heard the distinctively shrill call of a parakeet and found a pair of birds in the trees close to where I stood.  One of them called again and this time was answered.  I walked a short way further to where that other bird had called from and found what I presumed to be the two that I had seen in the first instance, still perched in the same tree.  One of them called again and in a few moments the other pair flew up to join them.  Together they took to the wing, four sleekly contoured shapes, slender wings tapering back either side of the long, narrow pointed tail.  Several times they swept round in a tight circle around the tree, the low-angled sun drawing out all of the colour from their brightly pale green plumage, calling raucously to each other before settling again.  Was I witnessing the beginning of the roost?  They continued to call intermittently, perhaps as if to advertise their location to any others arriving in the vicinity.  This seemed like the obvious place to position myself.  I found a park bench close by but a discrete distance away, sat down and began to wait, with my hopes very much raised.  When they flew off and out of sight a quarter of an hour later I did feel a little deflated and somewhat disappointed.  Those embryonic feelings of doubt grew larger.

Continuing to wait I drank some tea, scanning the area for flashes of green and straining my ears for any distant squawking calls.  It was almost 4 o’clock; if the roosting extravaganza was to happen surely the first arrivals should be trickling in by now, with the sun edging towards the horizon.  I walked across some football pitches towards that sizeable island of trees and shrubs rising conspicuously from the flat expanse of the close-cropped sward and with distinct possibilities as the potential sight of a huge bird roost.  I walked around it, optimistically inspecting the bird shapes among the treetops, but found only magpies and the odd woodpigeon.  With sunset fast approaching did I sit tight and wait for something which I was convincing myself was not going to take place or look somewhere else?

I decided to follow the direction that I’d seen the four birds depart to.  They were nowhere to be seen or heard, so I decided to revisit Little Scrubs where I had heard a parakeet calling earlier.  I was rather relieved to see half a dozen birds alight in some trees near the play area close to the entrance and beside the high brick wall running the length of the park’s boundary and separating it from the adjacent road.  I sat and watched them, hopeful of a subsequent gathering.  Perhaps the roost had moved across the road to here?  But dusk was starting to set in and these few birds hardly comprised a mass roost.  With a tinge of disappointment I started off for the other park and my eventual departure for the station.  A larger group of birds swept in to join the other six before I could take more than a few steps.  Not quite the thousands I had hoped for, but to see these 40-odd birds together in their tree was a nice enough sight and not one I had witnessed before.

Back in The Scrubs I had resolved to take a slow walk across the park for the tube station.  It was about 4:30 as I approached the bench where I had sat waiting an hour or so before and heard a few birds, close to the same tree that those four had briefly raised my hopes.  There were more there now, a few dozen.  A few more slightly larger parties sped in low over the ground to join the others.  There were probably about 200 of them now, chattering shrilly to each other in what fancifully seemed like the conversation of re-acquaintance, each having returned from their own patch of London.  Then things really started to happen.

I had wandered towards the shrubby trees that the parakeets had gathered in.  Then, once more, low over the ground and along the thicket of trees that runs the length of the park boundary, another hundred or so dashed past me and into the growing flock.  Then another, this time tearing in from behind me and over my head. In the glow of the setting sun and the failing light they seemed like so many shards of shining green glass shattering out of nowhere to become embedded in the branches.  The noise grew with their number, raised now from a chatter to a cacophonous clamour of shrieks and squawks.  And they kept on coming, wave after wave.  I looked through some low scrub and across the playing fields and the direction of the day’s afterglow and caught sight of dozens of flickering wings.  Then slipping briefly out of sight a hundred birds rose across the tops of the bushes.  Coming towards me, more or less at head height, the group parts either side of me and into the melee.  I looked for more following the same route, but the next flock materialises along the line of trees as they had before.  I caught sight of a few birds arriving from the other side of the trees and realised that of course they must be coming in from all directions, although it did seem that the majority were flying in across the breadth of the park.  And so it went on; for twenty/twenty five minutes the birds kept on coming.  It seems perfectly probable that for 15 of those minutes they were arriving at a rate of 200-300 every minute, which even at the more conservative estimate suggests a total in excess of 3000 birds, all crammed into a stretch of modest, shrubby trees of only some 40 metres in length.  It is easy to appreciate why the collective noun for a group of parrots or parakeets is a ‘pandemonium’.  The noise was immense, quite piercing to my ears as I walked closer, into their midst, that solitary, shrill ‘kyik’ amplified and combined to tumultuous effect.

It was an extraordinary spectacle, especially that it was witnessed in the middle of London.  It was 5 o’clock and the dusk was thickening into night and aware that I had to make my way across the park in the dark reluctantly pulled myself away and made for the station.  Half a kilometre away I could still hear the racket.  Rather that than the drone of the rush hour traffic.

The above post is an extract from an upcoming book by Ross Gardner. For more from the author, you can check out his personal website or read his blog.

Can nature blogging make a difference?

I have written before about the virtues of blogging from a personal perspective and the ample benefits it brings in terms of personal development, networking and general enjoyment. As such, it will come as no surprise to learn that I thoroughly enjoy blogging and, in turn, derive great pleasure from reading the virtual musings of others. Recently, however, I have found myself pondering the value of it all.

I, personally, know many conservationists who also identify as bloggers, and on the reverse, know many bloggers who also call themselves conservationists. It is these people, those who do not necessarily spent numerous hours in the field committing grandiose acts in aid of nature, who are the subject of this post. Can these people, those who spend the majority of their time at a keyboard as opposed to their local nature reserve, call themselves conservationists with a clear conscience? Well, yes, I believe so.

One of the most common questions I receive from individuals curious about my blog is what difference does it make? Well, I do not profess to have the best blog on the internet nor claim to be the purveyor of the most interesting content; though I do believe that blogging can and does make a positive difference. I believe that the webs growing community of eco-bloggers have a huge role to play as we strive to safeguard the natural world, and whatever the particular theme of a blog, believe all forms of virtual commentary are important.

Do nature bloggers make a difference? Well, that depends on the content they produce. Some endeavour to inform the wider public of worrying trends in wildlife populations, highlight practical conservation efforts and generate discussion around pressing environmental issues. All of which help raise vital awareness and may, if done correctly, lead to a shift in reader attitudes, a shift which may itself inspire direct action on behalf of nature. Perhaps readers will feel compelled, upon hearing of the decline of a particular species, to take action on its behalf; or perhaps others, after heeding a particular message, will take the time to rewrite and reword it so to inform their own networks. Thus aiding in the dissemination of vital messages and increasing wider awareness.

The virtues of print in this regard are widely known when it comes to influencing public opinion, but with time progressing towards a distinctly more virtual age, blogging, in my opinion, has become just as important when it comes to getting the message out there. Whatever that message may be. Something which rings equally true for more traditionally dry, educational content. Indeed, the recent surge in #Scicomm bloggers is most welcome as scientific writers begin to make technical content accessible and, more importantly, palatable for the wider online community.

On the other side of the coin, we have those that dedicate their time to highlighting the beauty and allure of nature. These, those blogs that detail personal adventures in the natural world and muse on the appeal of species and wild spaces, are by far the most numerous blogs out there. Just look at the thriving BBC Wildlife Magazine Local Patch Reporters thread. While these people may stay clear of tackling the controversial, they are, in my opinion, of equal importance when it comes to conservation.

By highlighting the beauty to be seen in the countryside and sharing their own experiences in nature, eco-bloggers have the same effect as a well-written book or expertly presented documentary: they foster an appreciation of the natural world. Nature writing in general, online or otherwise, has the power to motivate people to seek out wild intrigue, to visit new places and experience new spectacles. Something which, in turn, gives rise to endless possibility. Perhaps those propelled into the field off the back of an expertly worded article will find their calling and decide to etch out a career in environmental protection? Perhaps they will decide to take with them their kids, their parents, partners or friends, thus sharing the joys of nature with others and instigating a shift to a more sympathetic, appreciative attitude. Is this sense, nature blogging is a vital piece of the puzzle when it comes to combatting nature deficit disorder.

Giving more thought to the matter, the virtues of nature blogging are hard to ignore. Blogs can motivate and inform, just look at the blogs of Mark Avery and RPS, while also generating discussion and bringing underreported issues to the public eye – a prime example of this coming from Thinking Country, managed by Ben Eagle. Blogs can educate, advise and inspire, all while encouraging others to think more, discuss and, more importantly, act on environmental issues. While nature blogging remains, for the time being at least, a niche activity; the possibilities of this particular pastime are limitless.

While my own blog is very a much a hotchpotch of various varieties of writing – nature writing, press releases, reviews, trip reports and much more – I would like to think that in some small way, I slot into the picture described above.

Half-Penny: how things have changed

To those familiar with this blog, you will know that I owe my passion for nature almost entirely to my Grandmother. The lady who first introduced me to the joys of a life outdoors and who, through no end of weekend adventures, provided my first insight into the world of trees, birds, bugs and bees. An insight gained through regular forays into the dappled, imperfect depths of the Half-Penny Wood – located a mere stones throw from where my Gran once lived on the fringes of Bedlington.

It is been a long time since these early visits to the wood; a long time since I gathered conkers and marveled, absent care, at the beauty of fruiting Fly Agaric under the watchful gaze of my childhood walking companion. Despite the passing of time, however, my relationship with the wood remains the same: I still visit Half-Penny, I still enjoy its wildlife throughout the seasons and I still, despite visiting the site near constantly for two decades, find myself continuously surprised by new and unusual finds. My attitude to the wood itself has not changed either, it remains a place of wonder, a retreat of sorts to which I venture whenever time allows; though I cannot say that the wood itself has remained the same. Much has changed over the years.

Since my earliest visits, Half-Penny has changed beyond recognition: a shift reflected not in its general appearance, size nor shape, but in its very foundations – in the cast of creatures that now call the wood their home and together, form the green, beating heart of this special place. Indeed, some prominent fixtures of my early years have been lost entirely from the wood and her surrounds. The song of the Cuckoo, once an eminent fixture of springtime outings, has fallen silent in the wood – the result of the increasing scarcity of cuckoo across the local area. Red Squirrels too have disappeared, for the most part; while in recent years, once reliable Redstarts appear to have vanished. Poof.

Given the absence of the aforementioned species, you would be forgiven for thinking that my visits to the wood now must take on a somewhat mournful tone, though this could not be further from the truth. As for every species lost from the wood, for whatever reason, another one appears to have found a foothold. Little Egrets are now a daily sight on the river where a mere decade ago the sight of the pristine white herons would have been thoroughly out of place. Green Woodpeckers have colonised too, as have Spotted Flycatchers; while other once scare fixtures of life here have risen to such heights as to now be labeled as common and widespread. Tree bumblebees, Comma’s and Willow Tits: all give cause for celebration. As do the otters which can now be seen regularly, but never often, by dusk within the woods more secluded reaches.

Of course, not all new arrivals in the wood are to be cherished, and I have previously covered the growing presence of various invasive species in Half-Penny. These, the balsam, knotweed, snowberry and grey squirrels that now grow and scamper widely across the wood, do give cause for concern and, in some cases, warrant action. Although all can be seen as a clear and apparent sign of the times in which we live.

Taking pause to assess the changes currently rocking the very foundations of Half-Penny, it is easy to draw parallels with the wider changes currently taking place across Britain. Changes born of our own actions as a warming climate spurs range expansion in certain species, and hinders the good fortune of others; and as conservation actions strengthen some wildlife populations at the same time as human ignorance facilitates the spread of non-natives across the landscape. The decline of the Cuckoo and Red Squirrel, the good fortune of Little Egrets and Otters, and the creeping advance of Himalayan Balsam, all indicative of nationwide trends. Half-Penny, to me, stands as a microcosm of wider-Britain: rife with both the highs and lows that come cheek by jowl with a life in nature. As certain species flourish and others fade while we watch, worried and intrigued in equal measure. It’s all very educational.

It’s time to ban balloon releases

A new petition has been launched calling on the government to outlaw the release of ecologically damaging balloons and sky lanterns. The unnecessary practice of releasing both items is widespread in Britain, despite the fact that both cause harm to the environment. Causing death when ingested by both terrestrial and marine species, littering the countryside with plastics and, in the case of the latter, causing fires which threaten both animal and human life. I would urge everyone to take a moment, read the summary below and to sign the petition. It can be found here.

“Balloon releases may look pretty, but they have to end up somewhere. They land in our seas & countryside where birds get tangled up in the ribbons, or the balloons & ribbons are eaten by other wildlife causing slow & painful death. Sky lanterns are even more dangerous. Sometimes landing early before the flame has extinguished, causing fire & damage with the possible risk to life. We wouldn’t accept people littering our streets, so why accept littering our countryside?”

Putting nature back into the Peak District

Wading birds gathered in record numbers at Dove Stone in the Peak District this breeding season, all thanks to an ambitious ongoing bog restoration programme implemented by United Utilities and the RSPB.

Over the summer, RSPB staff and volunteer surveyors recorded 49 pairs of dunlins at the Saddleworth site, up a quarter from the 39 pairs observed in 2014 and up five pairs on last year’s previous record of 44. With the increase in breeding Dunlin mirrored, also, in Dove Stone’s Golden Plover, which increased from 92 pairs in 2014 to 110 this year.

Dunlin, small wading birds that love breeding in wet hilly places, have been gradually increasing at Dove Stone over the past decade after virtually vanishing from the Peak District in the early 2000s. Golden plovers are medium-sized wading birds that also favor nesting on wet bogs and, likewise, their numbers have been steadily growing at Dove Stone in recent years.

The RSPB, which manages Dove Stone in partnership with landowner United Utilities, has discovered a direct correlation between this increase of breeding wading birds and the restoration of blanket bog at the site.

Healthy blanket bogs, which are found on wet hilly plateaus, can provide great benefits both for people and wildlife. As well as provide insect food for birds, they lock up harmful carbon, improve water quality by acting as a natural filtration system and prevent flooding by slowing down the water flow. However, like much of this habitat in the UK, Dove Stone’s had been damaged by past industrial air pollution with the surface vegetation and peat-building sphagnum mosses having almost completely died out, leaving large areas of bare, dried out peat.

Since 2005, United Utilities and the RSPB have been working to restore Dove Stone’s bog by covering the bare, damaged peat with new vegetation, blocking gullies to raise the water table and sowing new sphagnum moss. The increase in breeding waders appears to be rising in direct response to the improving habitat.

Dave O’Hara, RSPB site manager at Dove Stone, said: “It’s no coincidence that numbers of breeding waders at Dove Stone began to increase at the same time we began to restore the blanket bog with our partner United Utilities. It’s gratifying and inspiring to see our continuing restoration work paying off with more and more wading birds nesting here every year. 

“Thanks to generous funding from WREN, we are currently in the middle of Sowing the Moss, a three year project where we are working with volunteers to plant more sphagnum, which will help rebuild the bog. Restoring Dove Stone’s bog is a huge long-term undertaking but it’s such an important habitat that brings so many benefits for wildlife and people that it’s well worth all the effort that everyone has – and continues – to put in.”

Ed Lawrance, Catchment Partnership Officer at United Utilities, said: “The moorland restoration work is a long-term project, originally driven by our approach to improve water quality in a sustainable way, reducing treatment costs for our customers.  It’s wonderful to see the dramatic result it has had for wading birds at Dove Stone. It’s a brilliant example of a win-win partnership and we are very proud of what’s been achieved.”

Follow all the latest Northern England RSPB news on Twitter at @RSPB_N_England

Cover image courtesy of Matt Tillett, licensed via Flickr Creative Commons.

 

Half-Penny: aliens and interlopers

There are many words used to describe species which, through human intervention, have found themselves existing far outside of their historic, natural range. Terms such as invasives, aliens, invasive aliens and nonindigenous species are quite familiar; while a glance at social media often reveals myriad more unflattering phrases: pest, nuisance, menace, vermin – I particularly loathe the latter. Regardless of the terminology applied to them, however, such species have become a figment of daily life in present day Britain: intermingling with and, in some cases, out-competing many of our native creatures. Some are unwelcome, some are accepted and others are ignored entirely; though for many, myself included, aliens and interlopers have quickly become a fact of life around our respective local patches. So much so, in fact, that they appear rooted in the very foundation of the places we know and love. My local patch, Half-Penny, is no different.

Setting out with the express intent of documenting the variety of exotic species thriving, or merely surviving, within the wood, I arrived just before dawn – the bright yet deceivingly cold sunlight just beginning to percolate down to the woodland floor. Bouncing off the palmate leaves of Sycamore and transforming the carpet of native Butterbur and Ground Elder beneath into a mosaic of jaded and rejuvenated greens. Sycamore – a non-native species introduced by either the Romans or the Tudors, depending on the source, so familiar that is often hard to imagine the tree being anything other than a time-honored resident. One alien down.

Further into the wood, an assortment of plump, white berries shone by the side of footpath – a beacon of unfamiliarity, far removed from anything else found within the depths of Half-Penny. I am, of course, referring to the ivory fruits of Snowberry Symphoricarpos albus – a North American species which here, in my wood, has spread like wildfire, now representing the dominant shrub species across at least half of the site. An appealing species, boasting delicate pink flowers earlier in the year that, reluctantly, I have come to accept as a permanent feature of life here. Indeed, it would take a considerable effort to halt its creeping but clearly apparent advance.

Moving forward, the smell of Himalayan Balsam caught my attention long before first glimpse of the the sea of swaying pink blooms that dominates the mid-wood in late Summer. A species familiar to many that needs no introduction: balsam is a blight to native flora yet a handy source of nectar for various pollinators, many of which, today, could be seen hovering deftly around the bell shaped flowers. The internal jury is still out on this one; though less so on the small stand of Japanese Knotweed uncovered further into the tangle. A species which, due to a combination of education and personal experience, I find it hard to look upon with even a hint of appreciation. I doubt said stand will remain small for long, given the tendency of this species to spread like measles. It may have a hard job competing with the already established balsam, however. May the best (or worst) plant win.

Stopping briefly to admire the hulking frame of a Turkey Oak – a much more welcome invader which, year after year, provides a reliable source of delightfully hairy acorns for woodland residents to savor – my attentions soon turned to a yellow bloom protruding conspicuously from amid a riverside depression. Monkeyflower Mimulus guttatus, another invader of American origin which, rather oddly, is the county flower of Tyne and Wear. This species, much like the Turkey Oak, does not appear to be causing much of the problem in the wood; and like the oak with its comical, fuzzy fruit, provides a handy resource for local animals. Demonstrated by the Carder bee buzzing hastily between flowers as I watched, intrigued.

Less conspicuous than the botanical interlopers yet equally as prolific, it was not long before I caught sight of my first Grey Squirrel of the day. An unwelcome arrival which, more so than any other, cuts straight to my heart despite its altogether cute appeal. You see, during childhood visits to the wood, native Red Squirrels were a familiar sight, common even. A trend which lasted right up until 2013, when, to my surprise and distress, I sighted my first grey in the area. An ill omen of things to come later as the latter increased and the former decreased, fading from existence by 2016 – the same time as I began work as a Grey Squirrel control volunteer.

Grey Squirrels are one alien I find it hard to tolerate; not because I see them in a particularly negative light – they are rather endearing, in truth – but because of the damage done to a much-loved local species. I suspect this makes me a frightful hypocrite given my begrudging fondness for balsam and the plants impact upon native flora, though none of us are perfect. Though I wish we didn’t, we all place varying amounts of significance on certain species, often at the expense of others. It’s human nature.

Today I appreciate the squirrel for what it is, a highly adaptive and incredibly successful species. With more evidence of the rodents continued success in Half-Penny uncovered upon my departure. A pile of gnawed hazel shells: a small but stark testament to the changing nature of Half-Penny which, in spite of human interference, appears set to shift further in years to come.

BBC Wildlife Blogger of the Week

This week, I was kindly awarded the honour of Blogger of the Week by BBC Wildlife Magazine for my recent piece regarding my local patch: the Half-Penny Wood. This is the second time I have been lucky enough to be featured by the publication – the last being back in 2015 – and I really am very grateful.

Patch reporting has always been a passion of me, as both a dedicated amateur naturalist and an aspiring writer. It is a great way to relive the joys of seasons past, to keep track of your wildlife sightings and, all in all, to extoll the virtues of your favoured haunts to like-minded individuals. I will certainly be writing a lot more on the subject over the coming weeks; though if you wish to do the same, why not sign-up as a BBC Local Patch Reporter too?

 

 

 

 

Half-Penny: by the riverside

Today I thought I would try something different and, forgoing the urge to travel in search of nature, opted for a more relaxed approach to observation. Choosing to simply sit, watch and wait in a setting that, more so than any other, has enthused me since childhood: the Half-Penny Wood.

It was the river which held my attention this morning: the water, cocoa brown and flecked with uneven patches of creamy foam, washing past at middling pace as I took up position on a nearby rock. Carrying with it a whole manner of oddities: delicate, fairy-like seeds born of dandelion and thistle, blushed leaves already extirpated from the canopy above and, occasionally, a stonefly – latticed wings glinting in the sun as the insect hitched a free ride downstream. The only sounds to be heard here, at first, coming from the quaint bubbling of the water as it snaked its way around the many boulders dotting the channel, and the mew of a Buzzard circling vulturine overhead. A good start.

The sounds of nature descended and disappeared as I waited by the river, unsure of what exactly I was waiting for yet oddly full of hope. The shrill hweet of a Chiffchaff concealed amid the riparian vegetation and the sharp, singular flight call of a passing woodpecker delivering welcome music to my ears. These initial signs of life followed, in turn, by the varied notes of Robin, Nuthatch and Great Tit and, later, the soothing purr of a Woodpigeon watching suspiciously from the twisted upper limbs of a Wych Elm. Wonderful sounds, each indicative of my love of the wood and her verdant reaches yet all forgotten as a piercing whistle found my ears. A familiar precursor to joys to come as, within seconds, a sapphire blur crossed my line of sight. The bird, a Kingfisher, disappearing as soon as it arrived leaving nought but a smile and a vague sense of accomplishment. I would not have seen it had I opted to walk.

Equally as appealing as the blue of the Kingfisher today was the flush of pink engulfing the river bank to the left of where I sat. The combined result of an amalgamation of the countless blooms of Himalayan Balsam and daintier flowers of Herb-Robert. The flushed portion of the bank, rife with bell-shaped and vibrant blooms, eventually instigating my departure as I set about combing through the jungle of brittle stems in search of life. Life that was soon found in the form of myriad bees and wasps painted white by the pollen of the waterside invader.

To my surprise, most of the bees observed today were Honeybees – buzzing too and fro between flowers boasting a conspicuous dusting of what almost looked like icing sugar. The sight of a few Common Wasps was equally welcome, however, given news of recent declines. I know that, as a conservationist, I am supposed to loathe balsam, and to an extent, I do begrudge the damage it causes. To floral communities, to riversides and human interests. Today, however, with more insects seen around this tiny portion of the bank than during the rest of the outing combined, it was hard to scorn it. This alien botanical may be problematic, but the bees certainly like it and I, personally, quite like the sickly-sweet smell of ombrophilous balsam growths too.

Departing the wood in a hurry, only two more sights gave cause to pause. The first, a conspicuous pile of gnawed, green hazelnuts a telltale sign of another, much more damaging, invader thriving in the wood at present – Grey Squirrels – and the second, a sign of illness. Rhytisma acerinum or Tarspot, as it is commonly called, is a fungi which infects the leaves of Sycamore – turning previously chlorophyllin foliage into a mosaic of black-brown lesions, bordered with yellow. It is quite harmless and does not do too much damage to the tree it infects; though it does make for an interesting picture.

Five MORE great apps for modern naturalists

Following my first post on the subject, I thought I would revisit the matter of great mobile applications designed to make life easier for naturalists on the go – there are just so many worthy of a mention and it very, very difficult to choose! With this in mind, featured below are five more educational, fun and all around beneficial apps for you to consider. While they may differ in purpose, all make a worthy edition to home-screen of any iPhone or Android device.

INaturalist

A truly global and incredibly popular app, iNaturalist helps you identify myriad plants and animals at the touch of a button. This incredibly user-friendly application allows you to capture photos in the field and post them online for others to identify – perfect for those lacking the time to flick through extensive field guides or for those lacking knowledge of a specific taxonomic group. Like the apps mentioned in my previous post, iNaturalist is essentially a citizen science application: one that lets you record and upload records of plants and animals on the move. Though, in this case, this app comes complete with an added sense of community – allowing users to follow and interact with like-minded individuals and learn from the extensive experience of others. It is well worth a moment of your time and, perhaps best of all, is entirely free to download and use.

Mammal Tracker

Brought to you by the Mammal Society, Mammal Tracker is the easiest and most efficient way to submit mammal sightings on the go. From small mammals – voles, shrews and mice – to deer and badgers, this app lets you submit records on the spot, complete with important information such as date, location and the number of individuals involved in the sighting. With records feeding directly into the societies database and, ultimately, helping paint a better picture regarding the health of Britain’s mammalian populations. Records submitted via Mammal Tracker are all verified by experts, thus the submission of photos alongside reports of hard to identify species is recommended; though it should be noted that this app is open to everyone, expert and novice alike. Additionally, Mammal Tracker is also incredibly helpful when identifying the species seen on your daily forays, and comes complete with a confusion species gallery to aid in proper identification of troublesome species. I certainly found it useful with regards to voles…

IRecord

I cannot stress the virtues of IRecord enough: this app should be the go-to resource for biological recorders, amateur or otherwise, in the UK. IRecord allows users to submit sightings of myriad different taxa alongside handy GPS acquired coordinates and relevant descriptions. All of which feeds directly into national databases and provides scientists with no end of useful information regarding the health and spread of faunal and floral populations. This application has many advantages: the ability to work offline and record any species, small or large, foremost among them. It also automatically checks sightings in order to highlight potential errors and allows experts to verify sightings deemed accurate. In this regard, photos of hard to identify species are recommended. As with iNaturalist, this app comes with a real sense of community, letting recorders share their sightings with others both locally and nationally; and even comes complete with a slight competitive element for those interested in a bit of sport. With sightings recorded via the app feeding into league tables visible on the IRecord website. Though for most, this will play second fiddle to the importance of recording in the first place; with this easy to use and appealing app making biological recording on the go both incredibly easy and enjoyable. Check it out!

PlantTracker

Born of the combined efforts of the Environment Agency, Scottish Natural Heritage, Nature Resources Wales and others, this is an incredibly important application that fulfils a very significant purpose: recording the spread of invasive botanicals. We all know the perils brought about by invasive species – whether that be Himalayan Balsam or Japanese Knotweed. They displace and out-compete native species, ruin vulnerable habitats and, in some cases, cause extensive damage to human interests. In order to control said species, it is necessary to understand them: which is where Plant Tracker comes in. Letting users submit GPS based photographic records of eighteen particularly problematic species wherever they are encountered. This app is definitely one for those wishing to do something positive for nature.

Roger’s Mushrooms

Available as in both a lite, free version and a more extensive yet affordably priced version, Roger’s Mushrooms is the perfect tool for identifying (and learning about) fungi. This user-friendly app comes complete with over 2,600 photographs of 1,650 fungi species from across Europe and North America and allows users to document their own fungal adventures and share their finds with like-minded recorders. Additional features of the app include an Eat Mushrooms section complete with handy tips and recipes from founder and author, Roger Phillips, and a Learn Mushrooms section which allows users to test their mettle through a series of fun and educational quizzes. Rogers Mushrooms is, without a doubt, an app worthy of a space in the phone of every aspiring mycologist.

An interesting record…

I love moth trapping. I adore the expectant thrill that abounds when venturing into the unknown each morning; as I carefully remove egg boxes and examine the various colourful critters disguised beneath. Mothing, for me, is addictive, exhilarating even – each morning bringing some different; whether in the form of a new species, a record count or a garden rarity. The anticipation that abounds when combing through the contents of a trap paramount to that of fishing, or birding in autumn – the same sense of the unexpected drawing me back time and time again.

Today’s catch looked promising at a glance: two of the first moth’s removed representing overdue firsts for my little urban garden – Broad-bordered Yellow Underwing and Copper Underwing – the latter of which is rather more scarce up North where it’s commoner cousin, the Svensson’s Copper Underwing, reigns supreme. Sure enough, I caught eight Svensson’s this morning which, when coupled with other highlights of Gold Spot, Dark Marbled Carpet and only my second Garden Pebble, left me feeling satisfied. That is until a curious looking, striped moth in the final egg tray caught my attention – a new one for me which, after some advice from various people on Facebook revealed itself to be Hypsopygia glaucinalis or Double-striped Tabby. As seen in the cover photo of this post.

Now, the interesting thing about this species is that there had only been two previous records of it in the county. Making my individual only the third ever recorded in Northumberland. Easily my best garden record to date and right up there in the excitement stakes with the scant few notable records I have obtained in the past. Among these the first Small Dark Yellow Underwing and Black Mountain Moth for Angus since the 1970’s. Yes, today was a good day.

Said Small Dark Yellow Underwing from Angus in 2015

Five great apps for modern naturalists

Times are changing, and whether you welcome the shift towards a more technologically advanced age of wildlife-recording, or not, apps are fast becoming an invaluable addition to the would-be naturalist’s toolkit.  They allow you to expand your knowledge base, submit valuable records and, in some cases, have fun; while most are free and easily downloaded at the touch of a button. Below are six examples of apps that I, personally, use frequently, and ones which I thought may be of use to readers of this blog.

Birdtrack

An incredibly useful app brought to you by the British Trust for Ornithology, Birdtrack allows users to record sightings of the birds they have seen – either in the form of complete lists, or casual observations. With the data recorded feeding directly into the BTO database and providing researchers with useful information on everything from species abundance and migration times to breeding activity. This app also comes with the added bonus of allowing you to view which bird species have been recorded in your local area; while also serving as a notebook, of sorts, condensing your sightings into easily viewable lists to be revisited whenever you see fit. It is also very user-friendly.

Tree ID

Brought to you by the Woodland Trust, this attractive and easy to use app allows users to identify trees by their leaves, fruit and bark, and provides no end of useful information with regards to the species seen on rural (or urban) walks. It comes complete with a handy A-Z for easy identification and presents users with useful information relating to the status of our tree species, the threats they face and, in some cases, the folklore and historical uses associated with our trees. It is free to download on both Apple and Android devices and really is worth considering if, like me, you wish to learn more about our trees and refresh yourself on how to identify them.

Big Butterfly Count

The Big Butterfly Count app brought to you by Butterfly Conservation does exactly what it says on the tin. It allows you to submit valuable records to the annual census of British butterflies in the form of an easy to use recording sheet, complete with simple check boxes to yet the BC team know more about your particular count. This app uses GPS to track your location on the move and, as such, is perfect for recording spontaneous counts on the go, or when time limitations leave you unable to sit down at a computer to enter data. Additionally, this app also allows users to contribute to one of the most exciting and important citizen science projects of our age and is definitely one to consider for those boasting a penchant for Lepidoptera.

Nature Finder

A useful app for those seeking some wild respite, the Wildlife Trust’s Nature Finder application allows users to easily locate WT nature reserves across the length and breadth of the UK. It provides information with regards to the wildlife to be seen at specific sites and highlights upcoming events in your area; while also giving more generic information about myriad species and habitats that exist within the UK. This is the perfect app should you find yourself in need of some time in nature, or for those keen to explore and discover new places, both in your local area or further afield. Like the other apps on this list, Nature Finder is available on both Apple and Android devices.

Collins Bird Guide

The Collins bird guide in its traditional, paper-based form has long provided an indispensable resource for birders, both amateur and experienced alike, to identify the species they see in the field. It is a great book and one which I recommend everyone purchase, though did you know said book has also been transformed into a rather nifty app? The Collins app is easy to use, cheap and provides a whole manner of information with regards to bird identification and distribution, as well as boasting a handy call feature which allows users to ID birds based on sound, as well as sight. It also comes complete with fantastic artwork and in-depth maps and is highly recommended for those with an interest in avian pursuits.

Those mentioned above represent only a handful of the fantastic applications available for nature lovers to use in the field. There are, of course, many more out there and, should time allow, I will cover these in a later blog post. For now, however, why not try something new today and download one of these for yourself?

Seeking Lepidoptera

In need of some respite from dissertation work and keen to spend as much time as possible outside in the glorious weather, yesterday was dedicated, wholly, to surveying Lepidoptera. Daylight hours spent chasing butterflies as I attempted to survey a few new sites for this year’s Big Butterfly Count and night, moth trapping in the garden. Both ventures, thankfully, coming up trumps and producing myriad vibrant and interesting species.

My first butterfly transect found me meandering through an unassuming patch of wasteland near Cambois – a small coastal town not far from my home in Bedlington. Setting out, things looked altogether promising: warm temperatures and masses of blooming Ragwort, Buddleia and Knapweed giving hope that there would at least be a few butterflies on the wing. There was, and within moments of my arrival, the first species began to appear. Among these, a number of Small White, Meadow Brown and Ringlet – common species one would expect to find here – but also a Small Tortoiseshell and a surprise Dark Green Fritillary. The former bringing a rather large smile to my face given their seemingly low numbers this year.

Next came a lone Comma moving frantically about a patch of nettles; while further along the track both Red Admiral and Small Copper were also observed. All of these, lovely though they are, soon found themselves playing second fiddle, however, upon sight of the days first Grayling. The initial individual hunkered down and doing its best to blend into the subsrate soon followed by twelve more. The colony of Grayling at Cambois is well known locally and butterflies can reliably be seen here most years; though, historically, I have only ever seen one or two individuals. The thirteen noted on this day setting a new personal record, and the sight of the intricately marked butterflies themselves, leaving me more than content. Departing the site, four Small Skipper were unearthed and a Speckled Wood was found sunning itself on some roadside brambles. Eleven species in fifteen minutes, not bad at all…

Carrying out a second butterfly count, this time in nearby the sand dunes, another Small Tortoiseshell was noted alongside numerous Meadow Browns and Six-Spot Burnets. Another three Small Skipper here came as an added bonus; while a lone Green-Veined White took the days butterfly tally up to an impressive twelve species. Fourteen if you count the Common Blues and Large Skippers notched at Bedlington earlier in the day.

Grayling
Small Tortoiseshell
Small Tortoiseshell
Grayling
Grayling
Small Skipper

Skipping forward a few hours and nightfall found me positioned in the garden, eager to see which moth species would find their way into my heath trap on this occasion. Truth be told, I was not overly hopeful – I broke yet another bulb a few days past so, on this occasion, was forced to make do with a household UV bulb – of the kind used to find stains and check for fingerprints. Lo and behold, however, this bulb outperformed my previous actinic by quite some way, with 132 moths of 37 species trapped between 11 pm and 1 am, including some nifty garden firsts. The undisputed highlight coming in the form of my first garden Drinker, alongside a duo of Dark Spectacle, two Cloaked Minor and a single Ypsolopha scabrella – an abundant and rather neat little micro. Other goodies included a record count of five Buff Footman and singles of Peach Blossom, Peppered Moth and Early Thorn; while Large-Yellow Underwing again took home the award for most numerous species. No less than 47 individuals were found in the trap this morning, yikes.

Ypsolopha scabrella
Dark Spectacle
Swallow-tailed Moth
Drinker

Wild respite

In dire need of a break from thesis writing, yesterday I set off for Druridge Bay in search of a little wild respite. The proceeding three hours, mercifully, filled with no end of fantastic wildlife – just what the doctor ordered to cure my current mood.

Starting off at Cresswell Pond and the highlight here came in the form of three Spoonbill feeding on the flood just North of the causeway – always a nice species to see in the North.  With these, two Avocets did their best to defend their rather small chicks from a marauding heron and a Grey Partridge wandered across the road in front of a passing car. The best of the rest at the pond coming in the form of two Common Sandpiper, a female Marsh Harrier and a Stock Dove trying and failing to blend in with the farmyard pigeons. A lone Wheatear was observed in the dunes as I made my way elsewhere.

Taking a leisurely wander South along the beach, the first thing that struck me upon arrival was the sheer number of terns feeding in the bay. Mostly Sandwich Tern, as is the norm here; though Common and Arctic were by no means scarce. A single Roseate feeding close in behind the breakers was a tad more surprising – not a bird to be scoffed at and only my second of the year! Also here, a large raft of perhaps eight hundred Common Scoter fed – diving and rising in perfect unison – and a pair of Summer plumage Red-Throated Diver were also seen. Add to these a good haul of Kittiwake, Gannet, Puffin, Guillemot and Shag, and things were looking rather positive by the time I reached Druridge Pools.

Plodding up to the Budge Screen where a cast of familiar local faces had assembled to ogle the visiting Pectoral Sandpiper, it wasn’t long before I laid eyes on the bird itself – namesake markings clearly visible as it fed in the glorious Summer sunshine. Alongside the vagrant, a selection of more regular waders were also seen, including a splendid Ruff, singles of each Wood and Green Sandpiper, one Whimbrel and fifty-eight Black-Tailed Godwit. Most of the latter still clad in their delightful, auburn garb. Waders aside, the rest of my time at Druridge was split between admiring the resident Little Owl perched in the usual spot along the farm wall, and photographing a few of the sites smaller residents: Five-spot Burnets, Blue-Tailed Damselflies and numerous Red Admirals providing a welcome touch of colour to conclude the trip.

Five-spot Burnets 

Back home and another night of garden moth trapping turned up a few pleasant odds and ends. A female Ghost Moth and a dapper Buff Arches the stand our individuals of a catch that also included Purple Clay, Buff Ermine, Straw Dot, Light Emerald, Clay and Bright-line Brown-eye. The only new species for my slowly increasing garden list comprised three Yellow-spot Tortrix and a lone Single-dotted Wave.

 

Buff Ermine, Ghost Moth and Buff Arches

Six months of New Nature

It has been nothing short of a pleasure to work on New Nature magazine over the past six months: to read and publish the work of our marvellous young contributors and labour alongside the various, incredibly diligent, individuals that currently reside on our editorial team. Each of whom, through thick and thin, have given their time voluntarily to create what many feel is both an enjoyable and appealing publication.  This six-month summary providing the perfect opportunity to bid a begrudging farewell to Alysia Schuetzle – our designer – who has done a meticulous job at piecing the magazine together each month; but also to welcome Harriet Gardiner to the team as her replacement. Good luck, Harriet!

It has not been an easy six months, truth be told: the associated workload far surpassing our earlier expectations – leaving many of us scrambling to fit magazine commitments in alongside university, paying work and additional voluntary commitments. Equally, the sporadic flack we have received due to our age limit has been frustrating at times, and outright off-putting at others; though this has not yet proven sufficient to deter us.  Nor, I suspect, will it – we do, after all, believe wholeheartedly that a magazine written solely by young people is much needed in current times. These hiccups aside, however, the publishing process has been delightful: the kind words of readers and organisations boosting morale and providing ample motivation to continue long into the future. Indeed, it is starting to feel like we are achieving some of the things we set out to do from the start.

What exactly have we achieved so far? Well, the obvious one would be that we have brought the thoughts and views of over 100 young naturalists into the public eye – with each issue downloaded and read over 1000 times and our online traffic  – namely, on our blog – growing daily. This, in turn, has lead to a number of our contributors being picked up by publications elsewhere, thus boosting their portfolio and allowing them to develop further in their chosen fields. This was our main motivation for starting the magazine – to promote and embolden young people – and it is wonderful to see those featured getting noticed elsewhere for their hard work and determination. They really do deserve it, and while many outlets may shy away from publishing inexperienced, younger writers, we will continue to do so for as along as we can.

Our other achievements are more difficult to assess, though with a growing readership and increasing social media presence, I, personally, believe that we are doing our bit to promote important environmental topics and instigate discussion among our readers. Something we hope to build upon by launching our first official campaign in the coming weeks. More on this to be revealed shortly, however, though rest assured, it involves a call to action on behalf of our readers and is something that we feel may make a positive, physical difference for wildlife across Britain. Think small-scale rewilding…

Campaign aside, what can you expect from New Nature in the future? Well, we hope that with the aid of some as yet unsourced financial sponsors, that will be able to promote the work of our contributors further than ever before – something that can only be achieved by increasing our readership. We also hope to build upon our recent success to transform New Nature from a simple online publication into more of a community – a hub where young writers can interact, form friendships, share opportunities and, generally, have a blast. A Facebook group for this has recently been established (see here) and we hope to utilise this more in the future. Finally (and again, this depends on our ability to secure relationships with outside bodies), we hope to offer something more than simply publication for our writers. We hope to provision young people prizes, opportunities and, perhaps at some point in the future, funding, as an incentive to keep up their fabulous work. As you can see, we are not short of ideas…

As with any publication, our ability to bring our ambitions to fruition depends greatly on improving our stats, building our following and increasing our general readership. This is unavoidable, and we hope that by continuing our work, these things will happen naturally. With the way things are going at present, and with more passionate individuals joining our team, it is definitely worth watching this space – who knows where we will be in another six months.

 

Once again, I would like to thank everyone who has given their time to write for the magazine. This includes the big names in conservation, writing and media who have generously given their time to be interviewed and offer advice to the next generation. Equally, I would like to thank each of the organisations that regularly share New Nature with their following – we really couldn’t do it without you. Most of all, however, I would like to thank each and every individual that reads, downloads and shares the magazine each month. I, for one, am incredibly grateful for your support. I will leave you with a quick quote from presenter and naturalist, Nick Baker:

“I read your first magazine and I love it, I think what you guys are doing is bloody brilliant and I back it wholeheartedly”