Last weekend, I had the pleasure of catching up with the long-staying male Black-throated Thrush at Whipsnade Zoo, in Bedfordshire (a long way from home for this Geordie).
Enjoying a scarce bird is always a pleasure but, I confess, the experience of observing just such a lost waif in the company of free-ranging South American Mara and hods of perplexed zoo-goers was certainly something new. The bird in question not at all perturbed by the crowds as it foraged for worms on the lawn by the zoo’s cafe.
Black-throated Thrush (Turdus atrogularis) is a migratory Asian species, breeding from the far East of Europe, through Siberia and down into Northern Mongolia. It is an occasional vagrant to Western Europe with this winter, in particular, seemingly a good once for this eye-catching species.
As butterflies and newts are spotted in December, earlier than nature intended, scientists warn thatspecies are losing their seasonal cues as winters warm and seasons morph.
The latest data from Nature’s Calendar, the UK’s largest study of the seasons, shows that active butterflies and newts and nesting blackbirds have already been spotted, months earlier than normal. This may spell disaster for some species, tempted out of hibernation too soon, as our increasingly erratic weather could yet bring fatal plummeting temperatures. And some birds appear to be breeding too late to capitalise on vital food sources.
Lorienne Whittle, Nature’s Calendar Citizen Science Officer at the Woodland Trust said:
“It seems that last year we almost lost winter as a season – it was much milder and our data shows wildlife is responding, potentially putting many at risk.”
“Our records are showing random events such as frogspawn arriving far earlier than expected, possibly to be wiped out when a late cold snap occurs.’’
The project compiles records of seasonal activity, sent in by thousands of volunteers across the UK, such as the first flowering snowdrop in spring to the first ripe berries of autumn. Final analysis of the 2019 data reveals that all but one, of over 50 Spring events it tracks, were early, but by varying amounts. This adds to our knowledge of how climate change is having a direct and potentially detrimental impact on the survival of UK wildlife.
This is in line with the MET Office’s analysis of the last decade. Earlier this month it revealed that the last decade was the warmest on record, and 2019 was the second warmest year since 1850 when records began.
Some species appear to be falling out of sync with each other because each responds individually and at different rates to rising temperatures.
Lorianne continues:
“It appears that some species are able to adapt to the advancing spring better than others. Oak trees respond by producing their first leaves earlier and caterpillars seem to be keeping pace. But blue tits, great tits and pied flycatchers are struggling to react in time for their chicks to take advantage of the peak amount of caterpillars, the food source on which they depend.’’
Danny Clarke, garden designer and TV presenter, is supporting the Woodland Trust in its call for more recorders. He said: “In recent years I’ve witnessed undeniable changes to our weather patterns. Gone are the times when a freezing snowy winter would be a certainty. Indeed I can count the toes on one foot, how many severe frosts are encountered at this period during recent years.
“Can’t help noticing how many deciduous trees are hanging onto their leaves for longer and on occasions not shedding them. Also, daffodils and tulips show themselves earlier than expected only to be knocked back by a cold spell. The tree and plant world doesn’t know whether to stick or twist at the moment and that’s down to climate change. I know of clients who continue to trim their lawns through the winter period. It’s bonkers mad!”
The project is now in its 20th year and is calling for more recorders to give an even clearer picture of the impact of climate change on our wildlife throughout the next decade. Its database currently contains 2.9 million records, collected since 1736, which are being used by researchers internationally. To get involved, visit naturescalendar.woodlandtrust.org.uk.
Volunteer Valerie Hurst, who has recorded for nearly twenty years, said : “The changes in the constancy of nature give real clues to climate change and are an indicator of climate change that we can all observe. I would say for me the point of real interest is the first snowdrop which seems to come ever earlier in January and the last leaf on the oak which seems to stay even longer into December.”
Some interesting records from the Woodland Trust:
Peacock butterfly. This overwinters as an adult in the UK. We had a record on Christmas eve (Kent) and another on 31/12/19 (Cornwall). In the past 10 years, we’ve only had 2 other December records. We suspect they have woken early due to mild weather in the south of the country.
Red admiral. spotted on a sunny wall on 30/12/19 in the Channel Islands. Only 4 December records in the past 10 years.
Newts. Active newts recorded on 27/12/19 in Cheshire. The recorder comments that they observe the pond every day so we’re confident it’s a good record. We’ve only had 3 other December records in the last 10 years.
Blackbird building a nest. Recorded on 02/01/20 in Wiltshire. The recorder has since commented that the nest is now fully built. In the last 10 years, we’ve only had 1 December record of blackbird nest building in December and only 4 other records that early in January.
On New Year’s Eve, in a cosy cafe over pots of tea, a friend put a question to the group: ‘So what are you going to do to save the planet this year?’ I don’t fly, and have for a long time tried to tread lightly and shop sustainably, although I can always do better. Over the following days, I mulled over the question and decided to rethink some aspects of my teaching. I currently teach music in a West Sussex primary school, which is blessed with a rural setting, planting to inspire the senses and chickens. Wanting to celebrate this in some way, I decided to integrate themes from the natural world into my music curriculum. I have linked the two in previous years but, with some creativity, I thought I could do more. In his wonderful writings on bees, Dave Goulson notes that young children are usually enthralled by nature, but lose interest as they grow up. I hoped that connecting musical learning with the natural environment might emphasis the significance of the latter, inspire the children’s creativity, and promote discussion and curiosity at a time when guardians of the planet are badly needed.
After some thought, my musical projects this term read as follows: singing and writing environmental protest songs with the oldest children; listening to and creating music descriptive of natural landscapes with the middle year groups, and exploring woodland sounds and songs with the youngest. One group will have the option to make percussion instruments at home – an opportunity to reuse and recycle. We’re just at the beginning and I will wait to see how the projects unfold.
I spend a noticeable amount of time, in January, longing for lighter evenings. Each day, when dusk begins to fall and I’m on my way home, I look upwards and will the sky to shed its sobriety and brighten. However, the silhouettes of bare trees against a sunset is a wonderful sight and makes my journey home more of a delight than a chore. Yesterday I decided to head straight out again after arriving home, inspired by the rural wooded landscape through which I had just passed and hastened by the knowledge that any last vestige of light would soon disappear. A stone’s throw from the house is an L shaped pond, bordered on two sides by silver birch. The tall, thin trees looked elegant in this half-light; the branches an intricate patchwork, disturbed here and thereby a great clump of twigs formed into a nest. By the time I reached the other side of the pond, the scene was lit only by a solitary streetlamp and the sky was black. I hadn’t been paying attention to sound, enjoying the relative quiet, but from somewhere above my left ear came the most beautiful of songs. In the dusk, a robin, perched delicately on a branch, sang out for me alone (or so it seemed).
Recently I was looking through the news when an article on tree planting caught my eye. The accompanying picture showed a forest of young trees, which turned out to be Heartwood Forest in Hertfordshire, planted by volunteers nearly ten years ago. What were once spindly bunches of twigs have now flourished into woodland, enjoyed by wildlife and people. I was one of those volunteers and, having forgotten all about it ten years later, this story was wonderful to read. After describing the various heights of trees to rather loosely illustrate the concept of pitch with a class yesterday, I told the children about my tree planting and the resulting forest. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they planted a tree and came back to see it when they were in Year 6, I said. One child already had, and told me all about it. Get planting; it’s never too soon.
The bright sunshine urged me out of doors this Sunday morning, and I pulled on boots and a raincoat in readiness for a walk. Long-standing readers of this blog may recall I previously wrote about experiencing nature in the city. Living in the midst of a built-up area, surrounded by blocks of flats and busy roads, I tried to notice beauty everywhere I went and this would make a routine walk much more interesting, as well as raise my spirits. Earlier this year I left London for the Surrey Hills. It’s wonderful to be here, but I still feel the need to see and celebrate nature. I’d argue many of us do. So here’s what I noticed on my winter stroll.
I walked to the edge of town and found a footpath sign pointing the way. The path wove along the backs of houses, climbing gently through thick mud. I was on the north side of the town, with Denbies Vineyard stretched out on my right and wooded slopes in front. The path was bordered on one side by spindly sticks of hedgerow that silhouetted beautifully against the blue sky. Around the bare twigs curled the soft, silky flowers of old man’s beard, still intact despite the battering they must have had from the rain. Further up, the hedge filled out with evergreens and I noted pyracantha, holly, and brambles still with the odd shrivelled berry. The path now edged round a copse of beech trees. A bullfinch flew across my way, pausing just long enough in the uppermost branches of a silver birch for me to notice its colourful plumage. A blackbird hopped from twig to twig on my left-hand side, and the trees were now leaning towards each other, over the path, to create an arboreal ceiling. The trees in the copse had shed many of their leaves and, after the downpour the previous night, the copper carpet glistened in the sunlight. Over the crest of the hill, th
e path turned into a muddy track that led into the vineyard. Despite not feeling that I’d climbed very high, I had views across to the east, west and north; if I looked due west towards Ranmore I could follow with my eyes the North Downs Way, which came down the hills, around the vineyard, and on across to Box Hill and beyond.
Being outside on this bright winter’s day felt good, and after looking up at the many shapes of the trees covering the hillside to my left, I stomped forward on a path between the vines. The tyres of a tractor had formed troughs in the mud, and these had filled with water, creating a series of similarly shaped puddles that reflected the light. I reached the edge of the vineyard and, as I looked for a way out, was drawn towards a rose that had gone rouge over a wire fence. A stem covered in rose-hips had arched itself over the top wire, and made a beautiful feature of an otherwise purely functional barrier. I hadn’t been feeling very festive, and the bright sunshine and clear sky were almost spring-like, but I was suddenly inspired by what I’d noticed on my walk. Nature’s festive decorations were out here, bringing splashes of beauty in a mixture of shape and seasonal colour. I wouldn’t be bringing any home, of course, and, like others, I still like to light up my window with fairy lights in December. But getting closer to nature had, again, invigorated my spirits and set me up for the week ahead.
It’s shaping up to be a good year for Bohemian Waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus). Sure, the much anticipated ‘waxwing winter’ – an irregular spectacle marked by the mass arrival of these colourful birds to our shores – never quite came to fruition, but there is still a good number around. Hundreds, as opposed to thousands, yet more than enough to delight those, like me, who await their arrival with bated breath each year.
Locally, waxwings are fairly abundant this winter. A few larger flocks of between sixty and one-hundred birds feasting on berries in urban areas, and smaller groups appearing just about everywhere else: in villages, industrial estates, rural areas and city centres. As of last weekend, one such large flock appeared to have taken up semi-residence in a small, Whitebeam-laden park only a few miles down the road from my front door. It would have been rude, therefore, not to make the short journey to North Shields to seek them out.
Arriving at Laurel Park, a small, urban green space marked by an impressive (and somewhat creepy) statue of Stan Laurel, it wasn’t long before the birds descended. Their chiming, merry calls arriving in advance of their physical form. Filling the ears of the amassed observers – the birders, photographers and bemused locals that materialise wherever waxwings touch down – and heralding the arrival of a mid-sized flock of around thirty birds. All of which quickly took to the treetops, casting a wary eye over the kaki-clad, tripod wielding humans below.
It wasn’t long before the niggling urge to feed eclipsed the apparent cautiousness of the birds and, moments later, the flock descended en masse into the branches of a particularly bountiful whitebeam. Each individual doing their best to toss back as many plump, red berries as possible before the alarm sounded, and the birds returned to their swaying vantage point.
I enjoyed the North Shields Waxwings for a good half-hour, keen to make the most of the spectacle while it lasts. Before this particular band of nomads continue on their berry-fuelled journey elsewhere. Further south perhaps, or inland, where hedgerows and parks are yet to be plundered.
Winter wildlife doesn’t come much better than Waxwings.
We’re delighted to bring you yet another edition of New Nature, the youth nature magazine. Covering September and October, the publication is jampacked with content associated with wildlife and wild spaces. You can download the latest edition for free.
For now, I will leave you with an introduction to the latest issue courtesy of outgoing Editor-in-Chief, Alexandra. Enjoy!
Autumn is a time of change; perceptible in the curl of a leaf, the early morning mist and the lingering of the moon in the late morning sky. Here at New Nature, we are undergoing some major changes too.
So it is within this letter that I take the opportunity to announce a few things; firstly we will be switching from bimonthly to quarterly to fit in with the seasons. We are a purely voluntary team and running a magazine is a full-time job, so sometimes we have to make adjustments to fit in with busy schedules. We will also be advertising for some new roles, so please keep an eye on our social media to see if there is something that could suit you – we are a lovely team to join and being a part of the magazine offers some fantastic opportunities. My final announcement is that one of those roles will be my position; Editor in Chief. I am not leaving the New Nature team completely but will be taking a step back into a background supporting role, allowing someone else to take the helm of this fantastic publication.
This is an exciting issue for me to finish on; I always love reading our writing competition entries and can say that the standard of entries has been really high! Even if you haven’t placed, we loved reading every single entry and are impressed with all of them – remember, we are always looking for contributors so if you want to send us an article we would love to hear your suggestions.
As well as selecting our competition winners (p. 20), the fantastic Dominic Couzens also talked to Lucy Hodson (p. 18) about his career in nature writing, we learn about how to take photographs ethically whilst still getting some outstanding shots with Benjamin Harris (p. 32), get some tips and advice from Danielle Conner (p.28) and Sophie May Lewis takes us through the autumnal changes she is seeing in her column about Sussex.
A huge thanks to everyone who has contributed, read or supported us at New Nature, we really appreciate it and are excited about the upcoming changes and hope that you will be too.
A week ago, I begrudgingly returned home from a spur of the moment family holiday in Crete – a part of Europe I had yet to visit which, in retrospect, turned out to be rather beautiful. The week was marked by blissful temperatures, great food, a lively local culture and numerous excursions on foot to investigate the natural history of the rugged, olive-riddled land around Elounda.
As ever, birds formed the basis of most of my forays. The undisputed highlight of my time here comes from the countless Griffon Vultures noted high above the crags to the rear of our apartment. An undeniably awe-inspiring species which I will never tire of, joined on occasion by the odd Buzzard, Kestrel and, as the week drew to a close, a Golden Eagle lazily riding the thermals thrust upwards from the crumbling limestone escarpment. I am led to believe that Golden Eagles are not all that abundant on the island, thus I am quite happy with this one.
Elsewhere, multiple trips into the tightly-packed olive growths carpeting the land around Elounda provided some welcome sightings. A small flock of European Beeater, kaleidoscopic in the midday sun; a pair of Red-backed Shrike, multiple Blue Rock Thrush and a healthy number of both Crested Lark and Sardinian Warbler. Species one would struggle to encounter in the UK. Although, that said, more familiar species were abundant also: the gnarled old trees, rife with succulent purple fruits, teeming with Spotted Flycatcher, Willow Warbler, Great Tit, Goldfinch and House Sparrow – at least some of which turned out the be Italian Sparrow. The persistent kronking of Ravens overhead, a welcome soundtrack to the week’s sweaty wanders.
A further highlight came from the swirling mixed flocks of hirundines and swifts noted early each day in the skies above the resort. Familiar species, House Martin and Barn Swallow, mixed with the less familiar shapes of Crag Martin and Red-rumped Swallow. As for the swifts, it was lovely to finally gain good views of Alpine and Pallid Swift.
Scrutinising the botanical community of the local area, it was interesting (if a little troubling) to note the sheer abundance of invasive species present within what was a relatively small corner of the island. Prickly Pear, Opuntia ficus-indica, and fearsome looking Eve’s-pin Cactus, Austrocylindropuntia subulata, added an element of peril to walks in rocky areas; whilst sprawling drifts of Hottentot Fig, Carpobrotus edulis, carpeted the ground in more shaded locations. Add to these no end of Century Plant, Agave americana, naturalised Hibiscus and Aloe Vera and the problems facing this Mediterranean Island become quite clear. The sheer domination of invasive species here is further emphasised by the presence in a wild setting of three species familiar from my own living room: Jade, Crassula ovata, Mother of Thousands, Bryophyllum daigremontianum, and African Milk Tree, Euphorbia trigona.
I should note that I did also find time to enjoy some native botanicals, albeit those that had not yet withered beyond recognition due to lack of rainfall. A personal favourite coming from the curious looking Exploding Cucumber, Ecballium elaterium.
Exploding Cucumber (Ecballium elaterium)
Moving on to the insect life present in close proximity to our temporary abode and as far as butterflies go, pickings were surprisingly slim. The most abundant species being Painted Lady, closely followed by the stunning Swallowtail. The smaller blues, warmed and energised by the persistent sun, were far too quick to identify, unfortunately. Although, multiple run-ins with Hummingbird Hawk-moth more than made up for this. As did my first encounter with the Cretan Cicada, Cicada cretensis.
Generally speaking, insects were few and far between on Crete. By far the most prevalent, at least in terms of biomass, were the hornets which, despite spreading fear among the ranks of the countless tourists beached around the pool, proved far from intimidating. Initially, I had assumed these were European Hornet; although upon closer inspection, they turned out to be Oriental Hornet, Vespa orientalis. A new species for me and one whose European distribution is limited only to Greece and other nations in the Southeast.
The abundance of hornets in the area was matched only by that of the aptly named Black-and-Red-bug, Lygaeus equestris. A species which managed to find its way everywhere: from inside our room, to inside my glass of Ouzo on more than one occasion. Numbers, however, are not everything and an honourable mention goes to the large, impressive and extremely vivid Socalid Wasp pictured below. I confess that I have not been able to identify this species. Any thoughts?
These are only a few observations from what was a holiday intended not as a ‘nature expedition’ but as an opportunity to relax and catch up with family. As I am sure readers of this blog will testify, however, it is difficult not to at least try to observe wildlife when travelling abroad. I, for one, am quite satisfied with the variety of life unearthed in the vicinity of Elounda, particularly given my inability to travel further afield, and would very much like to revisit the island in the future. This time, with the express intent of observing and enjoying the more iconic species that call Crete home.
The problem with living in any city, whether that be London, Manchester or, like me, Newcastle, is that space is often at a premium. Large expansive gardens and idyllic personal grottos are few and far between and, more often than not, residents are forced to make do with small, confined and often uninspiring spaces.
Living in Heaton, a large urban district of Newcastle, our terraced flat comes with very little land. A small back garden, walled on all sides and entirely covered in concrete the sum of the area we have to work with. Our mundane little plot lacked even a small patch of soil in which to grow something, anything green. Far from ideal for someone who yearns to engross himself in nature whenever possible.
Tired of staring uninspired at bricks, steel and concrete, back in the Spring, and my partner set ourselves a small challenge: to attempt to ‘green up’ our little corner of urban Tyneside. In doing so, aiming to make our space as appealing as possible to as many different species as possible. The sum of our garden wildlife sightings, until this point, consisted of little other than a handful of moths and the odd wandering Magpie.
Starting out…
The cornerstone of any garden the first thing we needed to add in order to make our space wildlife-friendly was, of course, soil. And so we set about buying planters of all shapes and sizes – long and shallow, round and deep, hanging, you name it – collected with the aim of growing as many plant species as possible. Including, we had hoped, at least a few edibles, alongside pollinator-friendly blooms and a few ornamentals. Within a few weeks, these initial pots and troughs had been filled: Honeysuckle, Lavander, Thyme, petunias and Bay Laurel representing the first living organisms to grace our plot.
A few weeks later, and lacking space for any substantial body of water, we opted to add a container pond, planting the admittedly rather unattractive plastic tub with a handful of native water plants – Marsh Marigold, Hemlock Waterdropwort and Flag iris. A mini-project closely followed by another with the addition of two mini-meadows – pots planted with Seedball wildflower mixes – and next, a raised bed suitable for our edible produce. The latter soon filled to bursting with chillis, lettuce, Bok Choi and later, a few more varieties of cabbage. Following this, more plants were added. Taller wildlife-friendly options – Raspberry and Blackcurrant – and a range of low-lying species.
Getting there (I promise Matt did not do ALL of the work)
Fast-forward to the end of Summer and, at the time of writing this, the garden – I finally feel comfortable using this word – looks altogether more pleasant. Looking out of the window this morning, I see pleasant green, not grey. And all in all, our space feels altogether different: uplifting as opposed to depressing. The results of our exploits can be seen below for those interested.
The current state of play…
But what of the all-important wildlife? Did it descent on our humble space en masse, as we had intended? Well, yes. To date, we have recorded no less than 66 new species for the garden. The pollinators arrived first, Tree, White-tailed, Red-tailed and Garden Bumblebees, Honeybee, Common Wasp, Common Carder, Marmalade Hoverfly and Large White butterflies representing a few of the more obvious visitors. Among the more common denizens, a few surprises were to be had too – the unlikely discovery of a small, metallic bee deceased in our new bug hotel heralding the arrival of a species which, before its occurrence here, I had never even heard of: the Bronze Furrow Bee. A species with a patchy national distribution; poorly recorded and not overly abundant.
Next came the Red Mason Bees – now in residence within a crack in our neighbour’s wall – while moth numbers to have increased also. Silver Y, Angle Shades, Setaceous Hebrew Character, Heart and Dart, Light Brown Apple Moth and Large Yellow Underwing respecting just a few of our nocturnal records. A more surprising record coming from a Six-spot Burnet found during the day on our Runner Beans in July – not a species I would often associate with the less than wild streets of Newcastle.
Heart and Dart, Angle Shades, Slug-fest, and a bumble rescue.
Of course, with a range of tasty edible crops planted, it was inevitable that ‘pest’ species would follow at some point. And sure enough, they did: our cabbages were besieged by the larvae of Small White and Diamond-backed Moth; our Honeysuckle fell victim to aphids; we lost an entire crop of Swiss Chard to Cabbage Fly and Yellow Cellar Slugs and Garden Snails were quick to find any seedlings. Interesting species in their own right which, in turn, have sparked an increase in other, much more welcome creatures: 7 and 14 Spot Ladybirds, colourful members of the Ichneumonoidea family, Harvestman, centipedes, beautiful Garden Spiders and fearsome-looking House Spiders. Now, equilibrium has been reached and plants remain relatively damage-free.
For the last few weeks, new additions to our growing ‘garden list’ have followed thick and fast. A fortnight back, we were delighted to discover no less than 9 Painted Lady at roost beneath one of our hanging baskets. This morning, they’re still there; although numbers have dwindled somewhat. Elsewhere, Matt discovered a Buff Ermine caterpillar ravenously consuming our small Buddleia plant and today, a glance in our container pond revealed a few new colonists: water fleas and hoverfly larvae.
Now, I will not go so far as to claim that our little urban garden looks all that nice. Nor does it compare to the micro-rewilding efforts often shared on social media – those wonderful tales of gardens transformed into makeshift nature reserves, gorgeous and incredibly biodiverse. We are definitely proud, however, to have created something beneficial to local wildlife and enjoyable (and useful, taking into account all our veggies) to ourselves. We stand content to watch and enjoy for the remainder of this year and already find ourselves looking forward to amending our space further in the future, so to make more of a difference. Perhaps we will invest in a creeper to cover some of the remaining walls, or just maybe, we’ll expand on our mini-meadows with another of our bargain grow beds. We will see!
On a final note, I must apologise for the quality of the photos used in this article – it seems there has been a problem uploading photos from my phone to the computer. Not that this presents too much of an issue, they still get the point across.
Orchids capture the popular imagination to a far greater extent than any other group of plants. Indeed, birders, entomologists, mammal-watchers – those who would never, under normal circumstances, label themselves a botanist – often find themselves weak and the knees and enraptured by their blooms. Perhaps this is due to visual appeal – orchids are undeniably striking – or perhaps this is due to rarity. Many orchids, after all, require a certain degree of ‘seeking out’ due to their incredibly particular habitat preferences and constrained distributions. Who knows; although I confess, I too am guilty of holding these plants in high regard.
In my free moments over the past fortnight, I opted to set out in search of the orchid species to be found in my local area: both abundant and altogether more scarce. A mini-expedition, of sorts, intended to provide some much needed wild respite and get me looking downward, instead of up for a change.
First on the agenda was the Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera), that family insect-mimicking of base-rich soils, so named due to flowers bee-shaped lip. The aim of the plant’s mimicry being to attract passing male bees and tempt them to mate, thus pollinating the flower in the process. It is worth noting that Bee Orchids in the UK self pollinate, so this deception boasts little practical application on our shores; although it does provide a draw to the would-be orchid watcher.
Prowling the expanses of a reclaimed spoil heap in urban North Tyneside, it wasn’t long until I stumbled across my first orchid. It’s flower spike standing tall amid atop a matt of Creeping Cinquefoil – easily seen and altogether conspicuous. With further scrutiny, another 23 spikes were observed making for a fine start to proceedings.
Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera)
Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera)
Moving on the coast a few days later, I was keen to catch up with another insect-namesake. Albeit an altogether scarcer species which, until now, I had not been lucky enough to observe in the wild. Making a bee-line for Northumberland Wildlife Trust’s fabulous East Chevington reserve, it wasn’t long before I was face-to-flower with a number of altogether less garish Lesser Butterfly Orchids (Platanthera bifolia). During my stay, I counted a healthy number of the delicate, ivory-hued flowerheads – not bad given the precarious state of this threatened species in the wider countryside.
Also at Chevingtin, vast numbers of Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii) were noted, ranging in colour from pristine white to deep purple. Here too, a number of altogether less striking Common Twayblade (Listera ovata) were observed. A green orchid amid a sea of green grasses, hardly awe-inspiring. Instead, the most interesting thing about these plants was their foliage – plump, succulent leaves forming almost a cradle from which the spikes emerged. Quite similar to the ornamental Phalaenopsis orchids many of us possess at home.
Common Twayblade (Listera ovata)
Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii)
Lesser Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera bifolia)
Last but not least and a further two orchid species were observed inadvertently on recent outings. The first, Heath Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza maculata) growing in abundance across a lovely area of heath on Anglesey, enjoyed during a failed hunt for Marsh Fritillary, no less. Closer to home, and an avian-fueled ramble around Rising Sun Country Park in North Tyneside came up trumps with a number of deep purple Northern Marsh Orchid (Dactylorhiza purpurella). Their chubby, rounded flower-stems standing in stark contrast to the greens and yellows that surrounded them.
I hope to hunt out a few more arguably more impressive orchid species in my local area over the coming weeks.
It’s the moment you have all been waiting for – well, some of you at least. The latest edition of New Nature magazine, covering July and August, is out now and can be viewed at your leisure here: http://bit.ly/2XxKp1d
We are well into the summer months now and I hope you are all enjoying your various holidays, taking every opportunity to enjoy this season’s nature offerings.
Spring has always been the season of new beginnings and change – and that is something that I hope we have been seeing in the last few months. Whether you agree or not with Extinction Rebellion’s methods, they have certainly brought the subject of climate change to the forefront of everybody’s minds.
Here at New Nature, climate change is an important subject to us too. Which is why in this issue, we are asking you to send in your thoughts and feelings about climate change and the future of our planet (p46). Another thing which is new this month is some of our team! We have welcomed several new team members, so say hello to Jess Hamilton, Emily Seccombe, Emily Cooper and Hannah Rudd, and check out more about them on our team page. (p4)
As well as that we have lots of fantastic articles for you to enjoy, so kick back on your beach towel and get stuck in! We travel to Northern Ireland for our places to go this issue (p10), then dive down into the depths where we learn about limpets with Elliot Chandler (p20), investigate maerl beds with Harriet Gardiner (p22), learn about the importance of plankton with Sam Street (p36) and get up close to British sharks with Hannah Rudd
(p14).
Thanks so much for joining us for another issue – and as always, we want to hear from you, so please get in touch to share your views, photographs and articles!
Yesterday I joined a walk on Wimbledon Common led by Peter Fiennes, author of an absorbing and beautiful book on trees. Oak, Ash and Thorn sets out the case for Britain’s woodland and I liked the idea of discussing this subject within the woodland itself. We gathered, rather aptly, under an oak, its crown providing a natural awning for the speaker and his audience. Peter told us how the book came into being, a response to the proposed selling of the country’s forests by the government in 2010, and how it led him to spend a year exploring the woodland of Britain.
This late Spring walk followed a rambling route through the oak and chestnut woods of the Common, with Peter pausing to enlighten us on the subject of woodlands and the myths, folk tales and opinion surrounding them. Winding down a footpath, we stopped at the base of a holly tree reaching far above our heads. The trailing fronds of the holly had a sense of mysticism and even awe, and we learnt that a holly leaf in a man’s pocket would bring him luck in love. We paused at an ancient yew and admired a resplendent chestnut, before passing through a small clearing where oak and birch saplings were growing. Free from the grazing of sheep and deer this was rewilding in action, Peter told us. After more than six years walking on the Common, I discovered a pair of lime trees to be growing deep in its depths; bright green, roundish leaves seeming all the brighter against the dark trunks and earthy woodland floor. Inspired by the location, and our guide, the conversation very quickly turned to trees, and we galloped through the merits of woodlands, street trees, and London’s parks and commons with passion. This walk was part of the Urban Tree Festival, promoting awareness of trees in London. There are all sorts of reasons why we benefit from trees, but this afternoon I was particularly conscious of the calm I felt on leaving the woodland. As we returned to our meeting place, drops of rain began to fall and grey skies suggested more was to come. I ambled back along a well-trodden path to my car. The sweet scent of elderflower filled my nostrils and the rampant brambles promised a good gathering of fruit this summer.
Passing the great green mound of Box Hill on my route home, I took a spontaneous decision to stop the car and get out. I scrambled up and within minutes had a vista of trees in every direction. Green overlaid on green, with shades and shapes so different and yet so in harmony with each other that I could look at them for hours. There was no rain here, and I paused to sit on bouncy turf for a moment. This was a wonderful spot, out on the hillside with a sea of green, and a fitting end to a tree-filled day. Go now, walk amongst the trees, and leave with a lighter mind.
We’ve got 12 years to prevent irreversible climate damage.
If we don’t see drastic change by 2030, our children will be immersed in persistent heatwaves, flooding, and increased poverty. By the end of this century, we will most likely lose all rainforests, coral reefs, and 50% of all plant and animal species on this planet.
There may be more electric vehicles on the world’s roads than ever before, but there are also more internal combustion engines. There may be more bicycles, but there are also more planes. It doesn’t matter how many good things we do, we absolutely must cease the bad things entirely if we are to reverse climate damage.
The micro consumer nonsense
We’re led to believe through both the government and the media that the root of the climate change crisis is consumerist, and if we all use reusable coffee cups and switch up our plastic cotton buds we will eventually change the world for the better.
Nice idea, but sadly that’s hugely far fetched.
Don’t get me wrong, some consumer solutions will inevitably make a huge difference – transportation and animal farming for example. Raising livestock for meat, eggs and milk generates 14.5% of global greenhouse gas emissions, the second highest source of emissions and greater than all transportation combined. It also uses about 70% of agricultural land and is one of the leading causes of deforestation, biodiversity loss, and water pollution.
So, you can probably guess that if all of us switched to a plant-based diet, we’d be taking a large step in the right direction.
Easier said than done, however.
A graph from the Guardian demonstrating the significant impact of livestock on our planet
Micro-consumer solutions such as the switch to reusable coffee cups and paper cotton buds is obviously a positive, small step in the right direction, but let’s be honest they themselves won’t get us anywhere in solving the colossal climate crisis.
The solutions
I’m no climate change, expert or scientist. I don’t claim to have the correct solution but I do have a good idea of what I believe the steps are in ensuring we get ourselves out of this mess before it’s too late.
Education
At the forefront, we need to educate our decision makers on the urgency of the climate crisis. Until we do this, we will not see change. Economies are so focused on the power of markets and short term profits that they don’t even recognize longer-term issues like climate change and environmental destruction.
Radical protests like that from extinction rebellion recently is a fantastic way of doing this – it’s sad that people are having to go to the extremes of glueing themselves to the floor and getting arrested to gain climate change the attention it deserves, but it works.
Of course, we also need to educate our young people. The youth of today care far more about climate change than our elders because we have no choice. We will be more radical than our elders because we have no choice. Those before us have left us, and future generations, to deal with a catastrophic future if nothing is done.
Climate education must be on every school curriculum. I’m currently teaching English in Vietnam and Global warming, pollution and bleaching of coral reefs are all topics in their syllabus but this equates to less than 1 page of a 200 book. It just sadly won’t be that memorable.
If we make Climate education a core school subject, our kids will fight for change and take action. But, for this to happen however, we have to educate the decision makers first and foremost.
Scrap GDP as a sensible measurement of human welfare
The current capitalist system of perpetual growth needs to be overthrown.
Traditional ways of economic thinking have been based on the assumption we will continue to have access to cheap and plentiful sources of energy and materials to grow, which we don’t. You don’t have to be Einstein to know that.
Our current measurement of human welfare is GDP, Gross Domestic Product. It’s a measure of the market value of all the final goods and services produced. If we are to climb out of irreversible damage, GDP as a measure of human welfare needs to be put in the bin and incinerated. Currently, all government decisions aim to do is boost GDP. It’s taking precedence time and time again even against a backdrop of fires, floods and hurricanes.
We are at an ecological crunch point and we don’t have the economic tools at present to deal with it. We need a better way of measuring human welfare than perpetual growth and we need to find new ways of thinking about the economy. We should not in any circumstance still be aiming for growth and more consumption – that’s bananas.
We absolutely must aim for liveable environments in the future or there will be no future.
Make the protection of nature a political priority
Destruction to nature accounts for more global emissions than every car and truck on this planet. So long as the rainforests of the Amazon and Sumatra are burning, we will have failed on a solution to prevent irreversible damage.
However, if we make rewilding a priority and let forests recover from deforestation and the sea floor recover from trawling, we could dramatically bring down the carbon dioxide levels we’ve already produced. The world’s vegetation could hold up to 450 billion tonnes of carbon. That’s staggering.
Rewilding would represent 30% of what needs to be done to get us out of this mess. Therefore, we need to include nature in every corporate, state and national climate goal. We need to invest in forests and mangroves the same way we are investing in renewable energy. We need to respect and ensure the rights of indigenous people who make a living out of these habitats.
Time is ticking
We still have time, but we can’t do it by tapping at the micro consumerist stuff, we have to go straight to the heart of the problem.
We need to educate and elect leaders who believe in science.
We need to rethink our current measure of human welfare.
We need to put nature first because if we don’t protect nature, we can’t protect ourselves.
My inspiration for this post came from a) a segment on Frankie Boyle’s New World Order featuring Environmental and Political activist, George Monbiot. b) A speech by Harrison Ford at the 2018 Global Climate Action Summit.
There is rarely any cause for hope in the environmental field. Indeed, everywhere we look, habitats are being erased, ecosystems dismantled and vulnerable species pushed ever closer to the brink of annihilation. It can be grim, at times, and outright depressing at others.
Every once in a while, however, something bucks the trend – the airwaves this week rife with positivity and triumph, as opposed to shock and sorrow. I am of course talking about the successful campaign launched against the damaging bird netting used all too frequently by developers and local councils to spare them the inconvenience of nesting birds.
The uproar centred on this issue has been unprecedented, taking the airwaves and internet by storm in little over a week. In that time, 330,000 people have signed a petition demanding the netting of trees and hedges by developers be made illegal; countless individuals have bombarded the inboxes of MP’s and councillors [to great effect], and others have resorted to direct action – to the tracking, reporting and even removal of nets – in order to spare nature this latest bout of agony. People across the country have rallied together in disgust and concern and, thankfully, it seems to have worked!
All across social media, examples of people power successfully landing a victory for nature have been apparent. First, there were the tweets of numerous MP’s, including the Environment Secretary, keen to hop aboard the bandwagon and support the campaign. Next, there were the developers, leaping into action to spare themselves the wrath of the infuriated public: nets came down, apologies were issued and promises with regards to best practice were abruptly made. Finally, there was the resounding defeat of North Norfolk Council who, after a failed attempt to justify the exclusion of Sand Martin’s from a large expanse of breeding habitat at Bacton, backtracked remarkably and set about removing nets.
All of this may not seem particularly important in the long run – netting is, after all, a relatively small issue in the grand scheme of things, at least when compared to habitat loss, agriculture, pesticides, persecution and the like. However, like these, netting is a symptom of our societies widespread disregard for the natural world – a sorry sign of the low-value we place upon nature and our tendency to bend it to our will whenever it poses the slightest inconvenience. With that in mind, a victory for those at the heart of the #NetsDownForNature campaign is a victory not just over greedy developers and ignorant councils, but over the prevailing attitude towards wildlife.
The recent uproar over netting has displayed people power at its finest and represents a triumph for those seeking to alter the collective mindset with regards to the natural world. All involved should be immensely proud and I, for one, am grateful to those who took a stand.
Common By Nature, the blog you are perusing at this very moment in time, has taken the ‘Highly Commended’ position in the nature and wildlife category of tonights UK Blog Awards, and it looks like I owe readers of this blog a whopping great thank you!
Truth be told, I haven’t published much in the way of content this year. That’s mainly because I now write, tweet and read for a living as a communications officer, and therefore, can’t quite face the prospect of spending yet more hours stuck to my screen upon returning home. That said, what I have published throughout late 2018 and early 2019 has clearly been well received and, as ever, I am incredibly grateful to everyone who stops by this blog from time to time.
This blog has been many things over the years and has focused on many different kinds of content. I have ranted and raved, complained and praised, shared sightings and trip reports and, ultimately, endeavoured to communicate my love of the natural world to anyone who cares enough to listen. Just as I was beginning to doubt that I have the time, energy and motivation to keep doing so, this welcome news has changed my mind. It seems some people like reading this blog; thus I’ll continue to post as often as I can! Promise.
Huge thanks once again to everyone who cast a vote during the earlier stages of the competition, and to the marvellous Kate on Conservation who cast the final vote.
