Tag: North-East

Where to watch wildlife in the North East: Silverlink Biodiversity Park

In a new series of articles, we’ll be taking a look at the best places to watch wildlife in  North East England.

By no means comprehensive but hopefully informative, these posts are intended to provide inspiration on where to visit in the North East to observe and enjoy nature, as well as detailing some of the wildlife you can expect to enjoy at these sites.

Based on the reports and sightings of North East naturalists and personal experience, I hope these posts might provide inspiration when choosing the destination of your next wild walk in the region.

Silverlink Biodiversity Park

A hidden gem in the heart of urban Tyneside, Silverlink Biodiversity Park is a fantastic spot at which to enjoy nature in the North East. Created in 1996 on the site of a former rubbish tip, the site was declared a local nature reserve in 2006.

Boasting a diverse array of habitats condensed into a small area of only 18 hectares, Silverlink supports woodland, hedgerow, wetland and grassland habitats. The latter of which being particularly worthy of a visit during the summer months due to an excess of invertebrates and vibrant plant life.

Invertebrates

One of the defining features of this urban oasis is its invertebrate community. The grassland areas here are particularly diverse and, in summer, hold a notable population of Dingy Skipper butterflies. Other butterflies to be seen here include good numbers of Common Blue, Ringlet, Meadow Brown and Large Skipper; while Comma, Small Tortoiseshell, Red Admiral and the three more abundant ‘whites’ are all represented.

On warmer days in June and July, day-flying moths can be very abundant including a thriving colony of Six-spot and Narrow-bordered Five Spot Burnets – the larval casings of which can often be spotted perched atop grass stems throughout the meadow area. Other species seen include Latticed Heath, Mother Shipton and Silver Y.

Silverlink Biodiversity Park is notable locally for Odonata and dragonflies and damselflies on-site include Common Darter, Southern Hawker, Broad-bodied Chaser, Large Red, Common Blue and Azure Damselfly. A Lesser Emperor, marking only the second-ever county record, was found at the site in 2019.

The lesser recorded insect groups at Silverlink Biodiversity are equally worthy of attention. Of these, hoverflies are conspicuous and recent trips have revealed species such as Cheilosia illustrata, Scaeva pyrastri and plenty of the eye-catching and abundant Heliophilus pendulus.

Plant life

Botany at Silverlink Biodiversity Park is a real pleasure. For many, it is the sites Bee Orchids that hold the greatest appeal and in good years, many of these beautiful flowers can be seen throughout the sites grassland areas. In damp spots, Northern Marsh Orchid can also be found; while Common Spotted Orchid may appear anywhere across the site.

The grasslands of Silverlink are particularly interesting during high summer when species such as Viper’s Bugloss, Common Bird’s-foot Trefoil, Kidney Vetch and Common Knapweed are in full bloom. There is also a nice area of Quaking Grass, Zigzag Clover and pockets of the quirky-looking Bladder Campion.

Damper, more verdant areas of the site hold small areas of Ragged Robin, Bittersweet, Marsh Thistle and Water Mint, with species such as Water Figwort popping up occasionally and an expansive area of prehistoric-looking Butterbur also present.

Given its urban location, it is also not unusual to find adventive, non-native species at Silverlink and this year alone, I have encountered Oriental Poppy, Globe Thistle and two unusual forms of ornamental Crane’s-bill.

Birdlife

Silverlink is not particularly notable for birdlife but the site still does hold a good range of species. Typical woodland species such as Great Spotted Woodpecker, Bullfinch, Nuthatch, Treecreeper and Jay can be seen; while Sparrowhawk, Buzzard and Kestrel can be observed on site. Lucky visitors may also spot Long-eared Owl.

The small pools present on-site hold breeding Coot, Moorhen and Mallard and occasionally host Tufted Duck, Grey Heron and Gadwall. Only once have I heard Water Rail on-site; though with some relatively large sections of riparian vegetation, it is likely they can be seen year-round.

These small ponds demonstrated their potential to pull in interesting birdlife in 2017 when a stunning drake Ferruginous Duck was found on site. More on that here.

Ferruginous Duck (Aythya nyroca) at Silverlink Biodiversity Park

Mammals

A nice array of mammals can be seen at Silverlink, including Roe Deer, Hedgehog and Red Fox. The small pockets of woodland hold Grey Squirrel; while small mammals seen here include Common Shrew, Wood Mouse and Bank Vole. Rabbits are less plentiful than they once were but remain, and visitors may encounter Weasel and Stoat across the site.

On the hunt for urban bees

For me, one of the few positive aspects of our current lockdown has been the opportunity to look closer at the wildlife that persists close to home. Doing so has been eye-opening, to say the least, and while of course, I would rather have been venturing into the wider countryside, the diversity of life here has both surprised and delighted me.

One of the most obvious species groups on our street of late has been the bees. Spurred on by the North East Bee Hunt, an ongoing citizen science scheme led by the Natural History Society of Northumbria, I have been paying an increasing amount of attention to these vitally important invertebrates over recent weeks – with great results. As of writing this, we have now recorded 14 species of bee on our street!

Where better to start than with bumblebees? The first queens appeared here in March providing a good opportunity to appreciate the emerging ladies in all of their fluffy, bumbling glory; while now, workers have begun to appear. Of these, Buff-tailed Bumblebee, Tree Bumblebee, and Common Carder Bee have been the most conspicuous, congregating en masse in the weed-filled yards that dominate on our street. More interesting still were sightings of Small Garden Bumblebee and Early Bumblebee – both new species for the ever-growing ‘street list‘.

Topping off our haul of Britain’s larger, more trendy bees, on a few occasions now we have caught sight of striking cuckoo bumblebee patrolling the length of hedge that fringes the nearby railway line. Sporting an eye-catching combination of a black body and white abdomen (okay, bum) this was either a Southern Cuckoo Bumblebee or Gypsy’s Cuckoo Bumblebee. Frustratingly, the pair are almost indistinguishable and I think I’ll have to make do with a question mark next to this record.

I confess that until recently, I had paid little attention to solitary bees, believing them small, difficult to identify, and perhaps, a little less interesting than our bumblebees. Oh, how wrong I was – these little engineers are fascinating to watch and just as vivid as their larger, more rotund kin.

One of the most abundant solitary bees observed of late has been the fox-coloured Tawny Mining Bee. A colony of which appears to be flourishing on the outskirts of the local allotments with the larger, ginger females favouring a patch of Cherry Laurel to bask each day as the sun warms up. One of our most recognisable solitary bees, this species is known to favour gardens, parks, and other artificial habitats thus its little wonder we have found them here.

Female and male Tawny Mining Bee (Andrena fulva)

Slightly less easy to identify, the former species appears to be sharing it’s a particular stretch of hedgerow with another species: the Chocolate Mining Bee. A new species for me, this large bee has a distinct Honeybee vibe about it but boasts characteristic white hairs on the underside of its hind legs. At first glance, this bee looks incredibly similar to another species, the Buffish Mining Bee, although, under scrutiny, the latter species displays an orange-coloured pollen brush on its back lets.

Chocolate Mining Bee (Andrena scotica)

At first glance, Buffish Mining Bees appear somewhat scarcer here and annoyingly, the only one I managed to photograph was covered in pollen, making recognition of those orange pollen brushes impossible.

Buffish Mining Bee (female)

Buffish Mining Bee (Andrena nigroaenea)

Familiar from bee boxes and wall cavities across the nation, the Red Mason Bee is another species we have noticed a lot recently. Boasting a beautiful mix of flame-orange and black, these bees have quickly become a regular fixture of our daily walks with the larger, some may say more appealing, females gathering in good numbers on the muddy shores of our local pond. Here they gather all-important mud used for lining their nest cells as shown in the video below – what a treat.

At the risk of waffling on too long about bees, I will skip over Early Mining Bees. What does warrant a mention however are colourful but confusing Nomada cuckoo bees that have become increasingly prevalent over recent weeks. Like the Cuckoo Bumblebees, these wasp-like bees are nest parasites – they lay their eggs in the nests of solitary bees, with most species of Nomad Bee favouring a particular species.

These blighters are notoriously hard to identify; particularly the tri-coloured individuals shown in the photos below. They could be Panzer’s Nomad Bee but alas, this is another instance where I may well have to settle for appreciating the bee absent delving into identification. We did, however, with some expert help from Charlotte Rankin (aka @bumble_being) manage to identify a single Gooden’s Nomad Bee – a known parasite of Buffish Mining Bee.

An unidentified Nomada sp.

If you cannot tell already, I definitely have bees on the brain at the moment. Little wonder really given how fascinating these important little insects are. I will curtail this blog post there and save a further bee-themed announcement for a future blog post.

If, like me, you live in the North East of England, please consider sharing your bee sightings as part of the North East Bee Hunt. Your records can help plug the gaps in our knowledge and ensure those working to protect bees are equipped with greater knowledge going forward.

A Tale of Two Plant Hunts

The Botanical Society of Britain and Ireland’s (BSBI) New Year Plant Hunt is an annual event in which botanists, experts and amateurs alike, head out to record the plant species bucking the time-honoured trend and blooming in the depths of winter. Now in its ninth year, the four-day survey is both great fun and an important means by which to assess how changing weather patterns are altering the behaviour of our wildflowers. If you would like to take part, tomorrow is your last chance, at least until 2021.

Having enjoyed my attempt in 2019, I was keen to once again take part in the NYPH this year. What I had not anticipated, however, was that I would end up leading a group walk as part of a friendly competition here in the North-East between botanically-minded members of the Natural History Society of Northumbria. A challenge that would see an expert group, led by a former BSBI President, no less, traversing the picturesque dune slacks of Lindisfarne; while a slightly less practised group, led by myself, would take on the parks, roadsides, and front weed-strewn front gardens of Newcastle.

Setting out on New Years Day, it immediately became apparent that non-native species would form a cornerstone of our collective, botanical haul. Indeed, the streets of Heaton, my own district of Newcastle, revealed a kaleidoscopic mix of aliens, each having breached the confines of their garden prisons long ago. Red Valarian, tall and lusciously pink, bright yellow Oxford Ragwort and the star-shaped blue heads of Trailing Bellflower conspicuous against the greys and browns of concrete and brick. Looking closer, other colonists became apparent also: Canadian and Mexican Fleabane, Yellow Corydalis and Snapdragon. Later in the walk, Pru, a member of our group, also pointed out a new species for me, Mock Strawberry, a yellow flowering native of South Asia. Newcastle, it seems, like a great many of our cities represents somewhat of a botanical United Nations, boasting species from almost all corners of the globe.

Of course, native species also featured as part of our foray. Mainly the tenacious ‘weeds’ that are widely known to persevere throughout the winter months: Shepard’s Purse, Groundsel, Hogweed, Feverfew and the omnipresent Annual Meadow Grass. That said, it was surprising to find the delicate white blooms of Wild Strawberry clinging on in the relative shelter of Jesmond Dene, a local woodland, and the minute, octopus-like female flowers of Hazel greatly brightened up our morning.

All in all, our merry band of urban plant-hunters finished on an unseasonally high total of 40 species. As did the team roving on Lindisfarne, it turns out. With a great day had by all, it would be rude to scoff at an amicable draw.

Mock Strawberry, Wild Strawberry, Hazel and Feverfew

Fast forward to Thursday and keen to head out with my newly acquired hand lens and Collin’s guide to British flora, and a jaunt to the coast beckoned. What transpired was a lovely (and uncharacteristically sunny) three hours at Tynemouth, ultimately culminating in a grand total of 43 flowering plants. The highlight of which had to be Alexanders in bloom – a regionally scarce species abundant at this site due, I am led to believe, to the culinary taste of the monks who once inhabited the long-abandoned Tynemouth Priority.

Elsewhere, I chanced upon two new species for me: Seaside Daisy and Buck’s-horn Plantain. The former, a native of California persevering along a small stretch of stonework near the priory, and the second, a pretty cool native species whose leaves (at least in my mind) resemble more the serrated bill of a Sawfish, as opposed to the horns of a buck. I am unsure how I have overlooked this plant until now – it’s pretty distinct.

Left to right: Alexanders, Seaside Daisy & Buck’s-horn Plaintain

All in all, this year’s New Year Plant Hunt provided a great opportunity to get out and about and appreciate the diversity of local flora. While also providing an opportunity to learn from and socialise with a number of local botanists far more knowledgeable than I. A win-win!

If you would like to cast your peepers over the results of this year’s hunt or, like me, keep a watchful eye on what others have seen in your area, you can check out the BSBI results page here: https://nyph.bsbi.org/results.php

A rare record in Newcastle

European Hornets really are fearsome looking beasts: significantly larger than their more abundant cousin, the wasp, and boasting both a menacing set of mandibles – used to great effect to shred insect prey – and a particularly large stinger. They are also rather striking, clad in alternating shades of warm red, yellow and black. A factor which, when coupled with their approachable nature, makes them great fun to observe in the field.

Before today, I had never encountered hornets in North East England. Traditionally, they do not occur here: instead favouring the warmer climes of Southern England where they go about their business in mature woodlands, copses and other tree-strewn areas. The species has been spreading North in recent years, however. They have recently colonised Yorkshire, though records this far North remained absent until earlier this year when a single individual was unearthed at the The Natural History Society of Northumbria‘s Gosforth Park reserve, near Newcastle.

Now, some months later, it is safe to say that this impressive wasp has successfully colonised this particular site, perhaps representing the most Northernly breeding population in the UK? I am unsure. Either way, with multiple workers and emmerging queens now on the wing, I thought I ought pay a visit to appreciate these insects in the flesh. I was not disappointed, with a number of individuals observed making the most of some fermented banana, kindly placed out by the reserve’s warden.

European Hornet, Vespa crabro, Gosforth Park Nature Reserve

Staying sane in the heart of the city

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Northumberland’s Wild Interior

Uncharacteristically, I haven’t managed many far-flung ventures of late – the combined result of some drastic life changes, a busy schedule and the build-up of myriad more menial tasks. This, of course, has frustrated me to no end, boiling over with a snap decision this past Saturday to drop everything and travel outwards: inland to the wild uplands of my home county. Northumberland, for those not in the know…

Truthfully, we could not have wished for better weather on our outing: bright yet chilly sunshine, half-hearted, almost enjoyable showers and, better still, only the faintest whisper of wind making for a pleasant day as we traversed the surrounds of Harwood Forest in search of, well, anything really. The morning beginning with a flurry of excitement as, from a well known local watchpoint, we caught sight of two Goshawk’ drifting in slow circles above a bottle-green stand of Sitka and Norway Spruce. A hell of a bird, to say the least, usually elusive (often infuriatingly so) drawn out into the open due to the pressing need to court and breed. Marvellous, and a first for Matt.

Here too, no less than seven Buzzards rode the thermals – staying clear of the aforementioned hawks as they drifted upwards, casting vulturine shadows on the woodland and heath below. Joined, on this occasion, by a pair of Kestrel – engrossed in similar, amorous behaviour – and, better still, two Raven. The fabled jet-black corvids kronking loudly as they passed overhead en route elsewhere. A fabulous start to the day – the experience and refreshing feel of “proper” wilderness only amplified by the vocal antics of multiple singing Skylark; the repeated alarm calls of a particularly perturbed Red Grouse and the rich, evocative melody of a Song Thrush positioned high in a roadside conifer.

Moving briefly away from the impenetrable margins of Harwood, a female Merlin lifted from the roadside – passing a few meters in front of the car with uncanny grace before proceeding to quarter a heather-clad bank to the East. A bird I enjoyed, to no end, during my time in the Highlands of Scotland but one I see far too little of here: a moorland sprite and a sight to be savoured.

It did not take us long to reverse our earlier decision to head out over the moor: the ground was soaking, rendering our boots useless, and we quickly grew tired of the slow, squelching march. Instead, we decided on a walk through the forest itself, spending two hours or so wandering a variety of well-worn forestry tracks. Hemmed in, at times, by the hulking frames of the assorted confiders – destined for eventual felling – and, at others, liberated by open vistas and extensive woodland clearings. It was the subtle signs of the changing season that held our attention here: frogspawn in temporary forest floods and the song of countless tits, finches and thrushes; the radiant blooms of pioneering Coltsfoot and the sound of chattering squirrels concealed amid the gloom. Each and all an indicator of exciting times still to come as the year progresses.

This being a coniferous plantation – albeit one of impressive magnitude – the wildlife here was typical of such habitat. Species abundant inland yet few and far between in the coastal reaches I call home: Siskin and Lesser Redpoll in impressive numbers, rust-coloured Crossbills perched high in the canopy and a lone Green Woodpecker doing its damndest to frustrate as it called incessantly, yet remained invisible within the thick wall of encroaching trees. It’s pronounced yaffling taking on almost a taunting nature as the bird eluded us for a good quarter-hour – finally giving itself up and permitting a brief glimpse as it dropped down to the roadside a stone’s throw from our parked car.

Heading home, it was the distinct feeling of rejuvenation that defined our journey. Perhaps a result of the gradual shifts observed this day in nature, as Winter finally yields to Spring, or perhaps due to our own relief. Nature has a habit of refreshing the mind and, while they are far from perfect, our uplands boast the uncanny ability to centre the mind: casting out stresses and troubled thoughts and, ultimately, uplifting those who choose to visit.

Winters Gibbet – the site at which William Winter lost his lift for the crime of murder during the year of  1791.

The jewel in the crown

The ‘Newcastle Diaries’ are intended as a new series of blog posts brought to life by a recent move to the city; inspired by a growing frustration at not being able to visit my regular, rural haunts half as often as I would like. While I assumed a move here would greatly decrease the time I spend in nature, quite the opposite has happened. And I find myself growing increasingly fond of the city and her wildlife. Heading back to this blog’s roots as a patch diary, I hope to share my experiences wildlife watching around my new, urban patch (the whole city, to be precise) with regular blog readers.

Diligently maintained by the Natural History Society of Northumbria since 1929, Gosforth Park Nature Reserve is, without a doubt, the jewel in the crown of the scant few wild places remaining in and around Newcastle. Indeed, when walking in the dappled shade cast by the sites many imposing trees, or engulfed in swaying growths of Phragmites, it is quite possible to imagine yourself elsewhen – in a time when nature still reigned supreme across the landscape. The sights and sounds of the city located a mere stone’s throw away drowned out entirely by nature – lost in a chorus of birdsong, creaking trunks and soggy, squelching footsteps. Truth be told, Gosforth is a rather beautiful site and one I was keen to explore in greater depth this week.

Walking the woodland tracks of Gosforth before noon, I was pleased to see that the intermittent bouts of rain tumbling from the heavens had not disturbed the wildlife. Mere moments after arrival, my eyes greeted by sight of a Great Spotted Woodpecker pair cork-screwing around the trunk of a denuded oak, clearly in the midst of some energetic, amorous pursuit. The male – as told by the conspicuous red blaze behind his head – clearly feeling somewhat frisky as the Spring draws ever closer. He was not the only one: a yaffling Green Woodpecker off to the East, a singing Goldcrest and the repetitive chanting of countless Great Tits likewise signalling the forthcoming shift from Winter to Spring.

While the birds of Gosforth gave plenty of hope for things to come, the woodland itself gave few. Trees, with the exception of a few intrepid, Catkin bearing, Hazels, still dormant; with scant botanical offerings on the ground to be seen. Still, the lack of cover appeared to work in my favour on this occasion – the characteristic white-rump of a Roe Deer easily picked out among from amid the trees. It’s owner – a doe – promptly joined by three more of her kin, all of whom preceded to wander, in a most un-deer-like fashion ever closer. Stopping, eventually, to ogle their admirers before ambling, with no sense of haste nor fear, back in the opposite direction. A memorable encounter, to say the least, and one which even gave rise to a few hurried photographs.

Evidently, the parks Roe Deer like to use the same time-honoured pathways utilised by human visitors – slot marks and, in some instances, droppings, visible for a good quarter-mile stretch of our journey. Made visible by the lack of lower-vegetation, and the gradual rot of the assorted leaves which once carpeted the ground.

Here too the tracks of Badgers were visible, rounded with distinct claw-marks, covering some distance and culminating in the familiar sight of broken-ground – doubtless where the mustelids foraged in search of forms sometime before our arrival. Badgers are not a species I expect to see within the city limits anytime soon; thus, for now, relics of their nocturnal activity will suffice.

Having departed the woodland temporarily, only after taking heed of a passing flock of Siskin, I soon found myself casting my eyes over a frigid and very empty lake. Almost beating a retreat after ten-minutes of expectant yet futile scanning. I am glad I did not, however, the sight of a rounded head surfacing on the fringes of the reeds, and the ensuing flick of a meaty tail as the creature dived, heralding the arrival of the Otter. A dog, to be precise, which fished for sometime around the frozen margins, appearing to break the crystalline film of ice as it rose and fell. Never once casting an eye in our direction. I’m sure it saw us, despite the screen – I was not exactly shy in my excitement.

At one point, marking perhaps the most comical yet exciting moment of the trip, the Otter departed the water entirely onto the ice.  Climbing out and showing himself in all his glory. That is before the surface gave way and he plopped head and front-paws first back into the water. Clearly, it was not so cold last night as to warrant a “proper” coating of ice.

I hate to use the same phrase twice – at least knowingly – but the sight of an Otter really was the jewel in the crown of an already enjoyable visit. A crowning glory, seldom seen and definitely an experience to savour.

Following our success at Gosforth, a brief jaunt to Newcastle’s rural fringe ensued leading us quickly to Prestwick Carr. A site I visit often which, once again, yielded superb views of Willow Tit – never to be taken for granted given the state of the wider population of these underrated passerines. Here too, Buzzards mewed overhead, a charming mixed flock of Yellowhammer and Reed Bunting fed among the amassed feet of some local goats, and a squadron of Golden Plover passed overhead, seemingly on route further inland. To their heather-clad breeding grounds, I suspect.

Willow Tit: not half as vibrant yet equally as charming

Living North Awards 2016

Okay, I confess, I have been a little vocal with my excitement over attending the Living North Awards this week, and over my shortlisting in the ‘promise and potential’ category. I have mentioned the awards quite a few times on this blog and now, having attended the ceremony on Saturday, I am going to mention it once again, for the final time.

The ceremony, held in Newcastle’s St. Nicholas Cathedral, was exquisite. Far surpassing anything this humble nature lover has attended before. And it was both dumbfounding and amazingly gratifying to find myself in the company of so many wonderful, accomplished people. From those committing to outstanding feats of charity to those who manage some of regions most iconic tourist attractions. Everyone in attendance had done something wonderful, for other people or the region itself, and to say I felt out of place would be a whopping understatement. Truthfully, the event was phenomenal: flowing drinks, live music, and amazing food. Indeed, two days later and I still find unable to move courtesy of the sheer amount of venison, pheasant, scallops, pate and champagne I wolfed down during the night. Best to make the most of it though, eh?

On a serious note, however, being nominated and, better still, shortlisted in this category has done wonders for my self-esteem. And while I did not win – the winner, Brandon Bailey, deserves every second in the limelight – it was extremely rewarding to find myself in such company due to my passion for the outdoors. Being praised for doing something you love is a real pleasure, and I am very grateful to Living North for a much needed confidence boost at time when I had begun to doubt my myself and my capabilities ever so slightly. I now feel motivated, perhaps more so than ever before, to double my efforts and solider on with my writing and, more importantly, more desire to do something meaningful for British wildlife. It really is amazing what a pat on the back can do for you from time to time.

Congratulations are definitely in order to Northumberland National Park, for taking home the award for ‘Contribution to the North-East’ and to my partner for making regular forays to the gin bar as I sat and fan-girling over the various award winners.