Have you heard of New Nature yet? Given the social media storm surrounding our launch and the positive feedback still appearing regularly on Twitter and Facebook, you may well have. If not, rest assured that there is still plenty of time to familiarise yourself with the magazine and the fabulous young naturalists, writers, scientists and ecologists who have helped bring it to life. And who continue to supply us with intriguing articles to be posted online, for your reading pleasure, each month.
The response to New Nature thus far has been nothing short of humbling. With the kind comments of environmental professionals, conservation organisations and, of course, young people allowing us to build up a modest social media presence and, more importantly, a large (and growing) reader base. From our initial feedback, it would seem that many feel we are living up to our initial aim: to promote, embolden and celebrate the myriad dedicated young people working to protect the natural world. And many more feel we have at least produced something eye-catching and enjoyable. This, of course, has left myself and the rest of the team smiling profusely.
With the magazine now in its fifth issue and more popular than ever, it is clear that we are doing something right. With a number of our young writers recently snapped up by paid publications and interest now filtering in from far larger and more renowned bodies, things are looking rosy; though it has not all been plain sailing and, at times, running the magazine has proven outright difficult. With myself and the rest of the team each squeezing in editing, admin and promotion where we can, between full-jobs, degrees, volunteer work and other pressing personal commitments. It has been difficult to stay on top of things; difficult to maintain the high standard set by our first issue and even more difficult to keep up with the plethora of emails, tweets and Facebook messages from aspiring contributors, supporters and external bodies. We are managing, however, and intend to keep managing for as long as we can.
The fifth issue of New Nature has been one of my favourites to date. Perhaps this is due to the fabulous photography included within – including our cover image by the incredibly talented Oscar Dewhurst – or perhaps this is down to the articles. With this month’s interview, featuring the wonderful Lucy McRobert, certainly one of our more memorable to date. Instead of me waffling about it, however, please take a look for yourselves here: goo.gl/N94fUC
For those (under 30) looking to contribute to New Nature you can contact the editorial team at: editorial.newnature@gmail.com – we would be delighted to hear from you.
After weeks of measured gains and stop-start bouts of action, it finally feels like migration has reached its peak here in Northumberland. With this week alone bringing many and more enjoyable encounters with the vast majority of our more abundant Summer visitors – sometimes in volume, sometimes alone – as breeding sites dotted around the local woodlands, reedbeds and moorland stretches are occupied once more by an eclectic mix of treasures.
There have been some wonderful birds popping up of late: a surprise Pallas’s Warbler on the Farne Islands and a Hoopoe at Derwent reservoir foremost among them. Delightful birds which, unfortunately, I did not see but not the subject of this post anyhow. With this particular account dedicated to the myriad common species now singing and feeding right across the local area. Each and all providing a welcome respite for work, university and other necessary yet tedious tasks occupying so much of my time of late.
Ring Ouzel at St. Mary’s Island on Tuesday
Following the surge of Blackcaps and hirundines a fortnight ago and, before that, the welcome return of our Chiffchaffs and Willow Warblers, two species appear to have exploded into consciousness of late: Grasshopper Warblers and Whitethroats. With the former now reeling from unkempt patches across the length and breadth of the coast – at Druridge Pools, where a particularly showy individual delighted on Thursday, and elsewhere at Cambois, Sleekburn, Bedlington, St. Mary’s. Likewise, with only two separate Whitethroats observed prior to this week, I have now reached double digits with several of these rather lovely warblers now back amid the brambles growths and hedgerows of my local patch. Singing as they ascend into the air during their enthralling song flights, before plummeting back into cover and in a flurry of scratchy but satisfying calls.
The distinct highlight of the past week came in the from an up close and personal encounter with two cracking Ring Ouzels at St. Mary’s – a temporary pause in the sites usually incessant human traffic allowing me to enjoy the birds in quiet solitude as they fed amid the tussocks. The pair providing unparalleled views for a species I am more used to seeing as a brown-black blur disappearing into cover immediately after making landfall. Here too, a female Pied Flycatcher fed in the dabbled shade cast by a fresh looking Hawthorn – a pleasure to behold under any circumstance – and, arguably better still given my track record with the species, a Garden Warbler reared its head temporarily from some nearby brambles. The bird going on, later, to mimic the aforementioned flycatcher – snatching a bluebottle mid-flight before returning, once more, to cover.
Following a few encounters last week, Sedge Warblers now bejewel the vast majority of the local scrubby areas. Singing their distinctive, clamourous song from the tops of saplings, from swaying reeds and the browned stems of last years hogweed. Their vocalisations occasionally interspersed by brief bouts of Reed Warbler song at some of our more wild locations – East Chevington and Druridge Pools. While, on a final warbler-centric note, some favourable winds also brought me my first Lesser Whitethroat of year. The charming little bird, a personal favourite of mine, singing from the margins of a nearby playing field; its characteristic sooty face-markings prominent in the fine sunshine.
Bypassing the numerous swallows, sand and house martins now in residence, the inland reaches of the county currently throng with life. A trip to Beacon Hill – a mid-sized stand of mature woodland not far from the town of Longhorsly – throwing up three radiant male Redstarts. The birds voicing their virility from the tops of a few of the sites unfurling Oaks. With these, a Tree Pipit was also observed – briefly perched amid the twigs of Birch – while a second was heard singing later in the day. Its descending notes providing a pleasant reminder of last summer’s field season in Scotland, where this species provided the accompanying soundtrack to many ornithological surveys. A Cuckoo was also heard singing here, my excitement surging with each repetitive call from the frustrating elusive bird.
Spring has sprung in Northumberland and while I am yet to catch up with a few of our late or more secretive migrants – Spotted Flycatcher, Swift and Wood Warbler – I stand content with this weeks haul. The above posting going without mention of the innumerable Whimbrel observed on their Northbound migration and, for that matter, the Common Sandpipers now bobbing along the margins of many nearby rivers. Winter migrants have departed by the large part, though some remain. This week bringing sightings of European White-Fronted Goose and Whooper Swan, and last week, a pair of Redwing – perhaps my latest ever. Largely, however, such species are a bygone memory and the new season has well and truly dawned, much to my own personal delight.
The haunting call of the Eurasian Curlew (Numenius arquata) is one of the most iconic, and indeed, enjoyable sounds in nature. The rippling trill of Britain’s largest wading bird evoking mist-clad moorlands, windswept coastal estuaries and other exquisite wild places. It is a sound which, once heard, is not soon forgotten; the very embodiment of our islands rugged yet fragile countryside, and a sound which, to me, brings back myriad fond memories. From childhood walks around the Blyth Estuary – my local patch – and from further afield, in the Scottish uplands during my post-university years. Despite this, however, it is a sound which is heard less often in the present day – due to our own ignorance. The species continued and troubling decline recently highlighted in the State of Birds 2016 report.
The factors attributing to the decline of the Curlew are poorly understood; though a number of explanations have been put forward to explain the current state of the British population. Among these, it is thought that climate change, afforestation, changes in farming practice and a resulting increase in generalist predators such as foxes and corvids may be to blame. With the former resulting in a vast decrease in the availability of suitable breeding habitat and the latter, a woefully low rate of reproductive success. With these factors, together, attributing to a 46% decline in Curlew numbers across the UK between 1994 and the present day.
While the causes of the Curlews woeful decline remain open to debate, the importance of the British population stands clear for all to see: our islands hold 28% of the European population, and as such, are of global importance. It is equally clear that more must be done to halt the decline of this endearing wader – and soon, before it is too late.
Thankfully, more is being done. Largely in the form of vital research and monitoring courtesy of the British Trust for Ornithology who are currently working to better our understanding of the species and provide a sound, scientifically valid basis for future conservation efforts. This work – undertaken through an extensive (and costly) program of ringing, GPS tracking and research – surely vital if we are going to bring Britain’s embattled Curlew back from the brink. This, coupled with our own adoration of the species, is why myself and good friends Sacha Elliott and Tiffany Francis have decided to do something positive and actively support the BTO’s Curlew Appeal.
To raise money in defence of the Curlew, the three of us have opted to commit to the Yorkshire Three Peaks Challenge, with our hike due to take place during August 2017. An event we feel will challenge ourselves physically – we are, by our own admission, not the fittest bunch of young naturalists out there – but also allow us to raise vital funds for what we feel is an incredibly important cause.
The challenge takes in the peaks of Pen-y-ghent, Whernside and Ingleborough and involves some 40km of hiking over often challenging ground: accomplish-able in around 12 hours. This is easily the most walking that any of us have done in one go before and will surely prove testing, yet also, we hope, worthwhile.
Prior to undertaking the trip this Summer, we have set up a Just Giving page to raise money for the BTO and have broadcast an open offer for others to join us in our venture. If you too would like to take part, and thus raise both funds and awareness for the Curlew, you can join our fundraising team. While equally, and perhaps more importantly, you can support our campaign both financially – if you can spare the change – or by sharing it with friends, family or anyone else you feel might like to donate. Every little really does help, and if we are to reach our team target of £2000, we will certainly need your help. And would be incredibly grateful if you would consider supporting our venture.
If you would like to donate, or indeed, learn more about the project. You can visit my own Just Giving through the link below. Though Sacha and Tiffany will also be distributing links their own fundraising pages on social media too.
Monday saw me embarking on a lengthy 10-mile stroll along my favourite stretch of coastline. A rare free day allowing for a leisurely saunter between the reserves of Druridge Bay; to engross myself in the various sights and sounds of Spring and rewild myself following an altogether monotonous week of university work. The day marked by pleasant sunshine, returning migrants, seasonal blooms, bees, butterflies and, of course, no end of fascinating birdlife – this is Druridge after all.
The route – not overly long or strenuous but good practice for August’s Curlew walk
The day started at Cresswell Pond: which I found surprisingly devoid of human life upon arrival. No birders, no farmers and, better still, no photographers harrying the local Barn Owls to within an inch of their life – bliss.
Here, as the rising sun painted the poolside Phragmites a pleasing gold, I enjoyed a spectacular dawn chorus. One dominated by the uplifting song of Skylark and the descending tones of Meadow Pipit, both singing en masse from within the surrounding fields. Their calls interspersed, in enjoyable fashion, by the repetitive notes of Chiffchaff, the metallic sound of Lapwings and, occasionally, the familiar song of a nearby Yellowhammer. Indeed, all of these species were observed in abundance as I made my way to the vacant hide, in addition to two Grey Partridge, twelve Tree Sparrow and a confiding pair of Stock Dove making the most of a pile of spilt grain beside the path.
Things remained interesting during my stay in the hide: with no less than ten Avocets observed immediately upon arrival, including six on the foreshore. The birds squabbling, courting and copulating in a flurry of activity as other waders – Redshank, Turnstone, Curlew and Snipe – slept, disinterested nearby. It is hard to believe that only a few years back these pristine, monochrome waders were a relatively scarce sight within the county. Their presence here, and at other local sites, testament to their ongoing recovery in Britain.
Avocets aside, the rest of the lagoon stood relatively quiet by comparison; a pair of Shoveler and a single Little Ringed Plover the only sightings of note. With the latter promptly taking flight, only to be relocated, half an hour later, at Hemscott Hill. Where, in the company of a few gulls, it gave good views on one of the roadside floods. A mixed flock of around twenty Linnet and eight Twite was also nice to see here; though they remained flighty and I soon found myself itching to move on.
Greenfinch also nice to see on route – far from the common bird they used to be
Next stop Druridge Pools and another hour spent languishing in the increasingly warm sun. The shelter belt here proved interesting; with the years first Willow Warblers – four to be precise – noted in full song alongside numerous Chiffchaff, Linnet, Song Thrush and Wren. Two Stonechat were observed here also, watchful yet approachable, as ever, though the real treat came from the floods – where a confused jumble of lingering Winter migrants and fresh new arrivals made for queer viewing. The Great White Egret was easily picked out – despite attempting to conceal itself amid a small tussock – and a Water Pipit fed outside the hide. Giving me my best views of this species to date and allowing for ample notes to be taken so that I may find one of my own in the future (and not misidentify a queer looking Scandinavian Rock Pipit).
Elsewhere on the budge fields, three Pintail made for a pleasant sight amid the massed bodies of Wigeon, Teal, Shoveler and Mallard; while a Eurasian White-Fronted Goose looked rather worse for where as it sat beside the nearest pool. With other highlights including eighteen Snipe, a few Dunlin, a Little Egret and a female Red-Breasted Merganser. Departing via the deeper pool to the North, the resident Great Crested Grebes appeared rather amorous and a lone Sand Martin hawked in solitude above the water.
Tree Sparrow at Cresswell
The short walk between Druridge and Chevington, as ever, proved enjoyable; the ground here, poached and muddied by the incessant footfall of the local cows, always good for a bird or two. Indeed, here, among the bovids, a number of Meadow Pipit, Skylark and Stonechat fed – with closer scrutinty of the cow feeders revealing four Twite and, on a more exciting note, the years first Alba Wagtail. The fields on the alternate side of the foothpath held a pair of Whooper Swans – perhaps the last I will see this Spring.
My time on the Chevington reserve itself started well: with the enigmatic sight of a male Marsh Harrier quartering the path-side scrub. The raptor rising and falling, hovering and diving until, eventually, it emerged with something small and brown clutched within its talons. A vole perhaps? Though it could equally have been a small bird. Also here, a Kestrel hunted around the Southern reedbed and a brief scan of Chibburn Burnmouth revealed a twittering flock of another 20+ Twite alongside the Littoralis (Scandinavian) Rock Pipit which, until that point, had been vexing birders for a number of days. A smart little bird with a definite Water Pipit look about it.
The North pool at Chevington was quiet by recent standards with no Scaup, Pochard and Slavonian Grebe to speak of, and certainly no Pacific Diver. The resident Great Crested Grebes (six of them) did, however, put on a go show; while a few more Sand Martin passed speedily through on route North.
Willow Warbler – my first of the year
Onwards from Chevington and little new was observed for a short while; although various common bits and bobs remained very much apparent. More Willow Warbler, Chiffchaff and Sand Martin; flyby Stock Doves and another pair of Grey Partridge. Things did, however, pick up as I wandered past Hauxley Nature Reserve where the raucous calls of descending geese caught my attention – the precursor to a flock of c200 birds dropping in to visit the pools and nearby fields. Greylags and Canada Geese were, of course, numerous; though thirty Pink-Footed Geese were somewhat suprising by comparison, my first in weeks. With these, eight White-Fronted Geese – looking altogether more fit and healthy than the earlier bird and doubtless just stopping in for a break on route back to their breeding grounds. A nice surprise and an unexpected addition to the day’s tally.
The day ended at Amble, with a brief bout of seawatching and the addition of Puffin to the year list. The sight of a few birds milling about on the sea a fitting precursor to what is to come later in the season; when I depart for the Farne Islands to carry out my MSc dissertation. A project centred entirely around these charismatic little auks.
Winter’s Gibbet, a decrepit relic of a bygone age when the public display of corpses was deemed acceptable, is a rather eerie place to visit. The structure, standing on the site of an ancient boundary stone, marking the spot where, following his execution for the 1791 murder of Margaret Crozier, the body of William Winter was displayed for all to see. It is, however, also a rather beautiful location; overlooking the shady depths of Harwood Forest and surrounded on adjacent sides by rolling expanses of moorland. Perfect for a touch of upland birding.
Today’s visit to the gibbet started well; blazing sun and soft winds providing the prime conditions for raptor watching, and the ever-present chorus of upland passerines lending the day a distinctly atmospheric feel. Indeed, our stay was accompanied start to finish by the singing of Meadow Pipit and Skylark and, from within the wood, the incessant calling of Siskin, Goldcrest and Coal Tit. With the undulating notes of some not too distant Curlew thrown in for good measure – the birds observed later, back on territory alongside many and more Lapwing, Golden Plover and even Snipe.
As mentioned previously, raptors were, of course, the target of our venture; this is, after all, a vantage point known to many as a prime location from which to ogle a great number of our predatory bird species. Our hopes soon rising as more and more Buzzards (I counted nine in total) lifted as if from nowhere to ride the thermals above the bottle-green wood. Lazy wingbeats striking a sharp parallel to the rapid hovering of a nearby Kestrel who hunted the roadside heath for the duration of our stay. The unhurried, almost fatigued, flight of the Buzzards allowing for easy recognition of a male Goshawk when it eventually joined the fray. Showing well, albeit distantly, as it broke cover – circling a few times in the company of the larger birds before dropping, once more, from sight.
A Raven was nice to see here too – gliding across the distant wood on inky wings and marking my first encounter with this species in 2017.
Heading home via the coast; a handsome drake Ring-Necked Duck was at the Northumberland Wildlife Trust’s Hauxley reserve and a Great White Egret was observed at Druridge Pools. With other interesting titbits including Avocet, at Cresswell, Scaup and Slavonian Grebe, at East Chevington, and many more Kestrels and Buzzards enjoying the radiant sun along our route home.
For the select few readers of this blog who also follow me on social media, you may have noticed that I recently volunteered my services as a would-be nature writer to Northumberland Wildlife Trust. With the organisation, following a couple of very friendly and supportive meetings, gladly accepting my offer.
For the foreseeable future, I will be contributing regular blog posts to the NWT website under a self-titled column; one focused entirely on the wonderful sights to be seen around my home county. Hopefully, highlighting the wealth of wildlife to be seen at Wildlife Trust sites around the region – with over 60 to choose from, I may well be busy – but also giving mention to accessibility. All in the hope of encouraging people to get out and about and visit the sites that have enthralled me since childhood. Stay tuned for posts regarding Druridge Pools and East Chevington, sites most regional naturalists know very well, but also writing regarding less publicised sites – hidden gems such as Big Waters, Prestwick Carr and Holywell Pond. My first post, centred on Northumberlandia, can be found here.
While writing for the blog, I will also be contributing articles to the trusts regional magazine: Roebuck. A fantastic document released quarterly to NWT members which touches upon everything from local conservation to seasonal wildlife. I am, of course, very excited to contribute to the magazine, and my posts here will take a similar tone to the above; focussed on the wildlife to be seen on NWT reserves. The only difference, in this case, being a greater focus on more elusive or underappreciated species – butterflies, moths, beetles and botanicals.
I am very grateful to the trust for the chance to better my writing skills and, of course, am delighted at the exposure set to be gained from such. More importantly, however, I am thrilled to find myself actively promoting my own region and its fantastic wildlife. At the very least, I hope that someone, somewhere, will be encouraged to experience a new place or a seek out a new species as a result. Who knows!
There has been an intermediate feel in the air of late; as Winter begins to release its frigid grip on the landscape and the welcome rejuvenation of Spring begins. Birdsong, amorous amphibians, butterflies and bursting buds marking the start of the new season while loitering relics of Winter remain very much apparent. It has all been rather wonderful, and I, for one, very much enjoy this time of the year. The sight and sound of nature as old yields to the new, utterly enthralling, at least for those, like me, beginning to grow weary of the chill.
This week has seen a number of firsts brought about by the tepid weather and advancing calendar; not least the sight of spawning frogs. With a grand total of fourteen descending on my small garden pond – depositing their spawn in a rowdy scrum of flailing legs and hormonal calling. The pond now jampacked with conspicuous globules of eggs – sure to give rise to a bumper crop of tadpoles as the season advances. Testament to the value of such humble places for our embattled amphibians.
Frogs aside, this week also saw my first Peacock butterfly of the year – making the most of the late Winter sun amid the blooms of a nearby garden – while other invertebrates are also on the wing. Wasps, hoverflies, White-Tailed Bumblebees and a number of small, brown, unidentifiable moths all appearing as if from nowhere in the house, in the garden, in the wood and elsewhere around the local area.
Change is clearly afoot in the local avian community too; marked by the resurgence of Goosander and Grey Wagtail on the local river – species too long absent from the confines of my local patch. The resident Dippers are nesting, tucked away beneath the crumbling arch of a nearby bridge; while the wood finds itself positively abuzz with the singing of lustful passerines. Robin, Blackbird and Great tit, the species who have sung since January, now joined by the undulating notes of Goldcrest and the flutey tones of Song Thrush. Five of which were noted in full song during my last foray into the depths of Half-Penny.
A trip into the uplands at the weekend was also characterised by the sights and sounds of change; the most obvious of which coming from the Lapwings. Their shrill calls carrying far and wide over the windswept heath, joined, at times, by the sound of Curlew, fresh in from the coast. With the presence of Golden Plover back on their traditional breeding territories not going unnoticed either, though all of these soon fell into insignificance upon the sight of three Black Grouse – one male and two females – foraging at close quarters in a roadside field. Not a sight particularly representative of Spring but an enjoyable one nevertheless.
As I mentioned in the opening paragraph of this Spring-inspired ramble; species most often associated with Winter remain very much in evidence also. Pochard on a number of local lakes – a rare sight in present day Northumberland – and no end of Pink-Footed Geese, Goldeneye and mergansers. The nearby bay pebble-dashed with the silhouettes of Red-Throated Diver, Common Scoter, Guillemot and Razorbill; all yet to depart for their Summer abodes. Though it cannot be long now and here too, on the sea, the signs of Spring abound. An increase in the number of Gannets a clear sign of things to come, and the return of Lesser Black-Backed Gulls to the surf most welcome.
All in all, this week has been an enjoyable one; characterised by a wave of fresh life and mounting anticipation for the joys to come as the year trundles on. I look forward to warmer days full to the brim with swallows, wheatears and Summer warblers, but, for now, am happy to revel in the fluid, dynamic fortnight before the true Spring begins.
The last few weeks have been manic; jam-packed with university assignments and other, more menial, tasks. All of which, combined, have greatly impacted upon my ability to get outside and enjoy the sort of things I usually do at this time of year. It has all been rather frustrating in truth, and may well have proved somewhat depressing had it not been for a spontaneous outing this weekend past. A scarce free morning finding myself and the significant other darting off to Druridge Bay for a morning of wild respite.
The morning started well, the sounds of Spring filling our ears as we wandered aimlessly about the woodland that fringes Ladyburn lake; robin, great tit, greenfinch and goldfinch in full song from their respective, denuded perches. The experience here amplified by the sharp, chortling, call of a nearby willow tit and, better still, the sight of two kingfisher perched in close proximity amid the branches of a haggard waterside alder. Sapphire tones alive in the late Winter sun and content to watch as we ambled by. A good start.
Moving on to the lake itself and the usual suspects – tufted duck, coot and goldeneye – were starkly apparent; the sight of a small group of pochard amid the flotilla uplifting given their rapid and glaring decline in the county. The red-headed ones taking a backseat, on this occasion, however, as a familiar figure surfaced amid their ranks: the pacific diver. Not the target of todays venture following numerous visits over the past month but nice to see regardless. The close views obtained more than sufficient to highlight the various ID features of the rather delightful bird; one which we enjoyed in solitude for twenty minutes before it flew off South. Only to emerge moments later on East Chevington.
The feeders at the visitor centre were typically busy; with eight tree sparrows the highlight here amid the assembled ranks of the local tits and finches. Our pitstop proceeded by a leisurely stroll to Chevington where a small flock of scaup amused on the North pool. Further scanning later revealing a slavonian grebe – always a pleasure – as well as a further eight pochard. The seasonal feel continuing here too; with eighteen black-tailed godwit passing speedily overhead (on route to their breeding grounds, perhaps) and the near constant passage of pink-footed geese; all heading North with some haste. Our time here accompanied the whole time by the sound of singing reed bunting which, in the weeks to come, will surely be joined by grasshopper warblers, sedgies and cuckoo fresh from Africa. I cannot wait.
Heading home; the beach at the burn mouth thronged with Twite – 95 to be precise – each making use of the grain supplied by some kindly local birders. The shorelarks were present too, albeit a little further out, and a total of eight skylarks ascended from the sand dunes to sing their merry tune above our heads. A sound which evokes warmer days, blooming wildflowers and emergent insects, and one that I hold incredibly close to heart.
Excluding a rather painful (and comical) encounter with some brambles towards the end of our trip, we enjoyed a nice day at Druridge. Now back to those pesky assignments…
The last few days have seen an infuriating surge in the rhetoric of those calling for the control of Britain’s gulls; as campaigners clamour for the lethal action, red-faced MP’s bluster and the national press embarks on yet another misinformed wildlife witch-hunt. It has all been rather depressing, at least for those, like me, rather fond of our gulls. The situation made even worse by the horrendously bias coverage of the issue on television; by shows such as Good Morning Britain who appear content to make light of the situation and further inflame tensions, doubtless to the detriment of our wildlife.
Yes, tuning into ITV this morning – as I do most days – I was left appalled by the incredibly one-sided coverage of the issue by GMB. The relevant segment, presented by Ben Shepard and Susanna Reid (thank the lord Piers was not involved) and including an interview with Oliver Colvile MP, serving little other than to vilify our gulls through the endless use of scaremongering language, incriminating footage and unnecessary exaggeration. With said MP apparently forgetting that all gulls, as opposed to simply the Herring Gull, as stated, are protected to a varying degree by British law; and Susanna painting the natural process of predation – on this occasion between a gull and a sparrow – as some sort of grossly offensive crime. The whole segment was preposterous, in truth,
Given the level of coverage the gull issue has received of late, you would be forgiven for thinking that it represents one of the great wildlife management conflicts of modern times. And for believing the antics of gulls, particularly the larger species contained within the Larus genus, paramount to those of other problem species; to rabbits, rats and badgers that attribute to a significant amount of economic damage each year. Or perhaps to invasive mink or squirrels, both highly detrimental to conservation efforts. They are not, and our grievance with gulls stems from little other than ignorance and mild inconvenience, as opposed to necessity. Our dislike of these birds born of human laziness and a reluctance to coexist with another successful, adaptive species. For this reason, I find the proposed cull of gulls utterly offensive.
There is no doubt in my mind that humans are directly responsible for the gull problem; by providing them with ample opportunity to misbehave. Something we achieve through our tendency to leave rubbish outside or place it in land-fill, providing an irresistible food source for gulls left hungry due to the continued human depletion of natural resources and the erosion of traditional habitats. The same applies when it comes to direct contact with the birds themselves: with many people content to offer titbits to hungry gulls when approached and others going actively out of their way to do so, thus habituating the birds to our usually frightening presence. Is it little wonder then that they return for more? Or that this behaviour has become widespread as more and more animals learn to exploit a new, inexhaustible food source? Surely this is common sense, or perhaps that is just me?
If you have not gathered already, I quite like gulls: big ones, small ones, rare ones, common ones, it matters not. To me, the piercing vocalisation of gulls is the quintessential sound of our seaside, and now, our cites. One I am content to revel in, and seldom annoyed by – a trend not shared by the residents of some urban areas it would seem. Though noise is hardly an appropriate reason to sanction a government lead cull, in my opinion; and those voicing such could easily save themselves the ear-ache by investing in double-glazing, or perhaps some earplugs.
My own, personal love of gulls is not, however, the reason I find myself opposed to the idea of a cull. No, that stems from the nature of Britain’s gull populations – with species such as Herring Gull and Lesser Black-Back, two of the more problematic species, currently declining at an alarming rate. So much so that both species now find themselves of conservation concern; with Herring Gulls removed from governments flawed general license for that very reason. The killing of gulls in our cities, or indeed, the proposed destruction of nests – as advocated by the not so honourable Oliver Colvile – would surely place yet more pressure on these already embattled populations; leading to further declines in the future. This cannot be allowed, and it does not take a genius to see that any such move would be folly.
What is the answer to our gull problem? Well, I do not quite know; though a change in human behaviour would be a step in the right direction. We need to clean up our towns and cities, invest in humane deterrents and, for gods sake, stop the deliberate sharing of food. More importantly, however, we need to adopt a more tolerant mindset – something regularly preached in regards to people but often forgotten when it comes to wildlife. Gulls, much like pigeons, are one of the few, hardy, creatures able to adapt to life in the present day – where natural habitats find themselves replaced by the endless sprawl of concrete and habitation. A fact which should be celebrated; not condemed.
Header Image: Michael Mulqueen licensed under Flickr Creative Commons
Yesterday found me bound for North Yorkshire, for the second time in less than a week. The intended target of this particular jaunt; the rather eye-catching male Pine Bunting that has been thrilling (and frustrating) spectators for quite some time on the outskirts of Dunnington. A bird which, after an uncomfortable four-hour stay, we laid eyes only briefly; for all of thirty seconds before it disappeared, once again, into the stubble of a nearby field. Not exactly fair recompense for a day spent frozen in place, battered by the wind and perpetually frustrated by a number of misidentifications and near-misses, some may say. I would say differently, however.
With a grand total of nine hours spent staring at the same, rather uninspiring, patch of hedgerow, the Pine Bunting twitch was not a comfortable one. Neither was it consistently enjoyable. It did, however, remind me exactly why I dedicate so much time to the pursuit of our feathered friends. The burst of elation upon actually seeing the bird and the ensuing adrenaline rush quickly banishing the negative thoughts accumulated throughout the day. The sight of the bunting attributing to a gratifying sense of victory; a reward bestowed based on patience and previous exertion. The giddy feeling of delight, the kind that bubbles up when you finally track down your long-awaited quarry: that is why I go birding. The ascetics of the bird itself an added bonus, on this occasion, though this is not always the case.
Of course, there is more to the hobby than the birds themselves and, for me, the places play their part too. From idyllic areas of rural wilderness to sites of urban sprawl, each venture brings something new and unfamiliar. I have, of course, been to many beautiful places in search of birds – from the rugged highlands of Scotland to no end of gusty headlands – yet places such as Dunnington, humble and unassuming, appeal equally. Yesterday’s venture complete with no end of additional sightings; from yellowhammers feeding in urban gardens to tree sparrows, stock doves and, on a more exciting note, a good few Corn Bunting. All of which, at times, fed together in one enormous flock on the town’s edge – a new experience for me and an unprecedented delight to see so many red list birds in one place. A place that I would not necessarily venture too absent cause that was discovered and thus, enjoyed, due to one particular bird.
And then there are the people. While many favour birding for the solitude it can bring – there is nothing wrong with this – I am not one of them. I love the people the hobby brings me into contact with: the locals, the birders, the curious onlookers and the one guy who always gets too close to the bird. For me, each new bird presents a new social occasion; one where you may laugh and joke with friends – such was the case yesterday during the prolonged bouts of nothingness – and share experiences with other like-minded individuals. Of course, I dislike the egotistical listing talk that breaks out sporadically at any such event – comparing numbers is not for me – but for every one such person, there are fifty more willing to divulge useful tips and exciting stories. I learn equally as much listening to birders as I do watching birds, and yesterday trip was no exception.
There are, of course, myriad more reasons why I, personally, go birding. Among these; the constant reassurance provided by a post-dip McDonalds stands foremost among them, though this post gives a good idea of my main motivations. Yesterday’s twitch set my mind to thinking it seems; the experience warranting some thought as to why I engage in a hobby that other people think mad. Well, I believe I have answered that internal question.
Header image: Pine Bunting, courtesy of Francesco Vernosl, Flickr Creative Commons.
A busy week in the birding stakes with numerous trips around dear old Northumberland – as I attempt to stay true to my county year list promises – and a few jaunts further afield. This week’s haul of avian goodies taking my “Northumberland 2017” list up to a respectable (I think), 136 species for January – it would seem that I am on track, though I doubt that in the long-run I will be able to keep pace with the others attempting the same. Due to both my complete reliance on public transport and my unwillingness to hold my cards almost selfishly close to my chest. Though it is all for fun in the end and thus far, I am enjoying it.
Where to start? Well, last weekend found me dashing off for another look at the Pacific Diver languishing, at the time, at Druridge Bay Country Park. A short bus journey culminating in fantastic views of the vagrant as it fished, unphased by its admirers, some 10m offshore amid the assembled ranks of the local Tufted Ducks. The views obtained here far better than on my previous two trips and the experience amplified as the grating call of a Willow Tit emanated from the lakes scrubby peripheries. Later, a good sized flock of 80+ Siskin were noted on route home while a second Willow Tit was at Hadston.
The next (and less arduous) bus journey found me heading to Blyth; to a spot not far from my home in Bedlington where, after a few moments of gazing eagerly at some ramshackle farmland ruins, a Little Owl hopped politely into view. The first individual of this species I have seen in some time and a personal favourite to boot, despite their perpetually perturbed appearance. The trip home, after an hour alone with the owl, coming up trumps with a surprise flock of c60 Waxwing at Bedlington. The birds perched in a roadside Sycamore a mere 1/4 mile from my front door. Always nice to see and followed by a dusk jaunt to Northumberlandia where, despite missing my target species, a female Scaup and a few dozen Brambling were seen.
Next, a wander into the murky depths of Newcastle with the significant other in search of what has, for quite some time, been my nemesis species in the region: Ring-Necked Parakeet. Seventeen of which were quickly noted following a kind tip-off. The green-ones showing characteristically well as they jostled for position in their “favourite” tree, occasionally making breif flights over the nearby houses. A delightful sight in truth and always one I look forward too, despite the alien nature of the birds themselves.
Finally, the fourth bus of the week, today, took me to Morpeth; where an enjoyable few hours were spent combing through the various patches of woodland that line the banks of the River Wansbeck as it approaches the town. A dozen Brambling were nice to see here, as ever, and good counts of other common yet endearing species were obtained, with Jay, Nuthatch, Treecreeper, Bullfinch and Siskin present en-masse. Though these soon fell into obscurity when the sneezing call of my target species – Marsh Tit – was finally heard from the gnarled branches of a riverside oak. Followed, in quick succession, by an altogether surprising addition to the day’s haul: a Green Woodpecker. The bird heard on a number of occasions but giving only the briefest of views as it flew between trees. Not an easy bird to come by up here.
Sunny Morpeth this morning
Further afield and I managed a few more prolonged jaunts this week, slotted between university commitments and other more menial tasks. The first taking both myself and Matt to the WWT’s Washington reserve where the adult drake Ferruginous Duck showed particularly well. A charming bird that I have put off going to see for some time whose copper colouring looked simply divine in the low Winter sun. A good rummage around the reserve – it would have been rude not to – turning up Willow Tit, Kestrel, Sparrowhawk, Siskin, Jay and, to my astonishment, 24 Bullfinch. I honestly don’t think I have ever seen so many in one place.
Heading even further South, this time in the company of some friends, yesterday provided another, even more alluring, lifer – White-Billed Diver. A bird that, given my unwillingness to travel to the far extremes of the country, I had accepted I would probably never seen. The quaint Lincolnshire river on which this hulking brute of a bird currently resides on a far cry from its usual abode and the views obtained – down to a matter of feet at times – superb, as opposed to distant and barely discernable. An attempt to end the day on an even higher note resulted in failure as we were outfoxed (twice) by the Yorkshire Pine Bunting; though the sight of 100+ Yellowhammer, c25 Corn Bunting and dozens of Tree Sparrow here was nice. Corn Bunting especially so, given the complete absence of the species in my local area and the woeful state of the UK population.
This week has been a jolly good one; one jam-packed with exquisite encounters, cold fingers, early mornings and, of course, some brilliant birds. Each day taking me somewhere new in the local area as I attempt to get the year list off to a decent start and reacquaint myself with the local wilds from which I have been woefully far removed of late. I blame university and the general tedium of life at present.
Where to start? Well, the obvious highlight of the week has to be the Pacific Diver currently languishing on Ladyburn Lake – a little further up the coast from me. This individual, a juvenile, representing a county first; expertly identified by Alan Curry after a few days spent touring various coastal sites, including my own local patch at Blyth. I won’t live that one down in a hurry.
The diver itself really is a sight to behold: ridiculously obliging, distinctively marked and generally rather lovely. A visit to Druridge Bay earlier today providing the perfect opportunity to scrutinise the bird in greater detail. A welcome occurence given my first encounter with the bird a few days past at East Chevington; where I, along with others viewing it that day, wrongly labelled it as a Black-Throated Diver. Enjoying it and moving on absent much thought. The differences between the two species becoming much clearer today, with better views. My second visit, while conducted solely for educational purposes, also providing opportunity to silence the disparaging Twitter grumblers quick to pick up and comment on my misidentification. An added bonus, though the bird itself was well worth the trip and I even caught sight of the chin-strap! Just look at these pictures.
On a more familiar note, my earlier trip to Chevington also came up trumps with delightful views of the seven Shorelark currently wintering near the burn mouth. A lovely species and always one to be savoured. The experience here made all the better by the appearance of 35 Twite, 19 Pied Wagtail and numerous Sanderling; all of whom seemed equally keen to exploit the festering piles of Bladderwrack here. A scan offshore here, a little later, providing a pleasant surprise in the form of 5 Scaup – four females and a rather dapper drake – as well as 13 Red-Throated Diver and a good haul of other winter goodies. The only “new” bird for the year here consisting of a Water Rail doing its bestsquealingg stuck pig impression from the Southern reedbed.
Shorelark – East Chevington
Further south; Druridge Pools held the usual suspects – Shoveler, Tree Sparrow, Red-Breasted Merganser and some c2100 Pink-Footed Geese the best to be seen here. Though I am 99% sure I had a Tundra Bean Goose at one point too. Cresswell was quiet, the best bit coming in the shape of a female Peregrine harassing Woodpigeons in view of the Drift Cafe. Viewed and enjoyed while sampling some mighty fine carrot cake and a large Latte. A soggy trip around a flooded Stobswood later on producing little: a few Snipe, Fieldfare, Redwing and five Whooper Swans the best to be seen, while the walk home from the country park this morning yielded two separate Willow Tits and a large flock of some 100 Siskin.
Further afield, yesterday found me roaming around inner city Newcastle in the company of the significant other. Attempting to shake off a port-induced hangover with a trip around first, Jesmond Dene – where we failed to unearth the hoped for Parakeets but contented ourselves with nice views of Dipper and Jay, and, later, the housing estates of Heaton. Where perseverance paid off and we found ourselves gazing briefly at a very mobile flock of Waxwings. I do believe I am gradually converting Matt to birds…
Back home on the local patch, the winter continues to provide. Three visits proving incredibly enjoyable despite missing Glaucous Gull, Slavonian Grebe and, of course, the diver. A half hour stint at North Blyth coming up trumps with nice views of the wintering Black Redstart – at long last – in the company of a few Rock Pipit, Grey Wagtail and Linnet. And a seawatch proving enjoyable, despite the biting wind and resulting rosy cheeks. Common Scoter, Red-Throated Diver, Gannet, Eider, Razorbill, Guillemot and others all helping build this years Patchwork Challenge tally. Which reminds me, PWC have a cool new website which is well worth a visit. See here.
The estuary remained busy on Thursday: new species here for 2017 including Wigeon, Knot, Little Egret and Black-Tailed Godwit. A count of 19 Grey Plover representing a personal record, the plover ogled breifly before the birds (alongside everything else for that matter) fled upon the arrival of a male Peregrine. The outskirts of the site, later, providing nice views of Kestrel and Sparrowhawk, in addition to a wealth of common yet no less interesting passerines. The vibrant tones of Yellowhammer, Bullfinch and Greenfinch a welcome balm for eyes wearied by grey onslaught of winter.
A little further back but un-blogged, as of yet, and a trip out with Jack culminated in convincing views of the Goswick Black Scoter – at long last – with a drake Long-Tailed duck also welcome. Our journey home broken up by a trip to Prestwick Carr; where the Great Grey Shrike showed well at the top of a forlorn looking Beech and at least four Willow Tits were seen.
As you can see, I have had a whale of a time of late.
The jaded sun shone, the air felt warm, spring-like even, and a Robin uttered its charactaristic, spritely song from the rusted pinnacle of a nearby fence. It did not feel much like Winter this morning, despite the month. The only tell-tale signs of the season coming in the surf; where the white-horses of the North Sea galloped ever closer to shore before breaking upon the algea clad rocks of the beach.
Here, amid the bubbling white water, purple sandpipers fed. Conspcious yellow feet working two to the dozen as they scurried to-and-fro over the jagged rock, dainty bills pecking and prying incessantly. Their vigour matched only by the black-headed gulls who, further out, danced swallow-like in the surf. Pale wings rising and falling in rapid succession as the birds snatched invisible titbits from the waters surface. Occasionally pausing; their bodies still momentarily, before upending – faded heads obscured as the birds dove deeper in search of food.
The waves kept coming; one after another, their arrival proceeded by a shower of saline spray. The birds did too: turnstones, cryptic colours blending seemlessly with the taupe rock underfoot and, later, ringed plover, masked and petite. The sight before me, one of pleasant coastal familiarity, accompanied by the ever-present chortle of gulls. Herrings and black-backs, the larger members of the Larus genus, far more imposing than the graceful black-heads foraging nearby. Their laughter ringing in my ears as I sat, watched and waited.
Waiting which, eventually, yielded fruit – a pale spectare falling, subtly, into line alongside the silver-grey bodies of its pre-assembled kin. Another gull, yes, but one of alien beauty; of elegance and a softer, much more diminuative appeal. A gull I have not seen here before, nor anywhere else of late: an iceland gull. A scarce visitor to our shores that, like the frost that adorns the ground by night, or the redwings that traverse the hedge in straggly flocks by day, occurs predominately in winter. Pale plumage setting it apart from bodies of its more boistrous cousins positioned nearby – the black-backs – like a lonesome pearl amid dozen shards of jet.
I am rather fond of iceland gulls, and always have been. Birds such as this – white-wingers – adding a touch of the exotic to many a walk in Winter; much as this one, a juvenile, did today. Admired until it lifed, white-primary feathers splayed in the flight, drifting slowly and carelessly from sight. Above the heads of the purple ones, still feeding in the spray, and that of the heron stood motionless in the shallows but a few feet away.
I follow suit, departing my watchpoint. Eyes wandering, breifly, to another winter visitor – a red-throated diver; rising and falling with swift repetition on the more tumultuous expanses further offshore. Far less appealing now than in summer – when its namesake throat flushes a delightful crimson – yet beautiful nonetheless. A sight which, much like the gull, dispels the decitful springlike aura brought about by the sun and the singing songbirds. Reminding me that winter still reigns, and will do for some time now; with the potential for treats such as these set to continue for another few months, at least.
For clarities sake, let us get this out of the way first: I, personally, am a fan of both the Planet Earth series and presenter Martin Hughes-Games. More fond of the former than the latter, in truth, but boasting a positive perception of both. This post is not at all intended as an attack on Martin. Though, with that said…
I was a taken aback somewhat this week when MHG took aim at Planet Earth II; setting social media ablaze as he accused natural history broadcasters of lulling viewers into a false sense of security by glossing over the woes of the natural world in favour of an enjoyable viewing experience. Openly, and rather bravely, lambasting the producers of the wildly popular BBC show for painting a false picture of the natural world and, ultimately, contributing little to the conservation of the embattled species it brings to our screens.
If the purpose of Martin’s piece was to generate debate, it was certainly successful; with many and more environmentalists discussing the Guardian piece over recent days. It was interesting and I enjoyed reading it. If only for the brief period of soul-searching which ensued upon its completion. Searching which, ultimately, did little to alter my stance on such shows; my adoration of Planet Earth and other, similar, documentaries, utterly unphased. I disagree with Martin (and others) most strongly on this matter.
In his article, MHG makes reference to a line commonly touted by broadcasters: that through showcasing the natural world in all its beauty and thus generating interest in wildlife, that more people at home will be inclined to conserve the species seen on their screens. A justification Martin labels as nonsensical yet I buy into hook, line, and sinker. For one reason alone: because of the profound effect shows such as this have had on my own life.
Of course, many things attributed to my current fascination with nature – family members, the beauty of my home county, even books – though I would be lying if I said that the sight of tigers, orca, elephants and other iconic creatures on my TV did not influence me. The beauty of such things, coupled with the unparalleled enthusiasm of Attenborough, Irwin and other childhood favourites, igniting the spark of curiosity for the wonders that lie beyond my front door. For the beauty of nature and the weird and wonderful creatures with whom we share our world. Curiosity which, later, lead me to explore the natural world for myself – propelling outwards to enjoy such things first hand; towards enjoyable encounters with wildlife which, later, attributed to a growing will to protect it. I agree fully with the BBC logic on this and I suspect many other young conservationists will too. At least in part.
That said, and while I boast sincere admiration of such documentaries, I agree with Martin that greater air-time should be dedicated to conservation. That we must present a realistic picture of what is going on in the world beyond our own ignorant bubbles. I would certainly watch shows dedicated solely to the topic of conservation and I suspect many of those reading this blog would too. Most being ecologists, nature writers or others already inspired to take up arms in defense of nature. This willingness to listen and learn does not, however, extend to all. And I suspect the vast majority of people would be turned off when faced with an hours worth of stern-faced preaching courtesy of a troubled TV naturalist.
For the vast majority of people, documentaries must “light” if they are going to have any lasting impact. They must be fun, exhilarating, breath-taking if they are to build curiosity and, almost certainly, must showcase splendor if they are to spark any sort of interest in wildlife. Something which is particularly true for younger viewers seeking thrills and action-packed spectacle – more and more of whom are currently tuning into such shows. I know that, in my youth, had I been presented with drier, less uplifting material, as opposed to the sight of hunting orca or displaying birds of paradise, my enthusiasm would have burnt out rather quickly. In this sense, I find it hard to fault Planet Earth; it provided all of this by the bucket-load, and I cannot begrudge the BBC for favouring such material. Better to inspire through spectacle, in keeping with what I mentioned above, than bore the nation senseless with a prolonged bout of worried grumbling.
Reading Martin’s rather eloquent article, another thing also sprang to mind: centered on his portrayal of Planet Earth as little other than a beautifully filmed soap opera. You would be forgiven, after reading, for believing that the show had given no mention to conservation at all and that it failed, entirely, to mention the myriad problems facing the world’s wildlife. I am pretty sure it did, and recall Sir David, on a number of occasions, highlighting the woes of the species shown during the show. Were we watching the same show Martin? The end of episode segments, in particular, giving mention to climate change, habitat loss and other problems caused by mankind. Something which goes without mentioning the sight of those turtles floundering amid the blights of human dominion over the world. I could be wrong, but surely such things count as an honest portrayal of the threats facing our wildlife?
I feel Planet Earth did dedicate time to conservation – perhaps not enough to satisfy the experts, but more than enough to inform the general public that there is, indeed, a problem. With such information presented in such a way that it did not appear preachy, nor tedious; secreted amid the uplifting sight of majestic creatures in all their glory. In a similar manner to what Springwatch does, no less, when it blends fun and serious discussion – amalgamating talk of declining hen harriers with the sight of a wood mouse deftly navigating a maze. Presenting vital information in a much more palatable manner, rife with fun and appeal. I will, however, resist the urge to point out that Martin himself works on a show that, arguably, does equally as “little for conservation”.
Ultimately, Planet Earth (and similar shows) provide a vital link to the natural world for millions, many of whom lack a great deal of nature in their daily lives. They have the potential to inspire, greatly and on a number of different levels, and remind each and every one of us, through no end of breathtaking sights, just what it is we are fighting for. Alternating between beauty and honestly in such a way to keep viewers hooked and in doing so, maintaining their potential to alter lives. Often motivating people to such an extent that they delve head-first into conservation, or, at the very least, build sympathy for the plight of our wildlife. In this sense, I feel shows such as this are important, vital even, and very much disagree with Martin Hughes-Games’s dismissive and wholly negative stance.
