Ceri's Natural World

Dance of the Adders

2011-03-23T10:27:00.000-07:00

This spring, some of Devon’s snakes will engage in spectacular behaviour known as the ‘dance of the adders’, when two vipers rise up and sway back and forth with entwined bodies. But, this display is not, as it might first appear, a romantic rumba between a courting couple, or, an audition for an animal version of Strictly Come Dancing; in reality, it is something much more violent - a brawl between two guys over a girl.

Adders are unable to function in cold weather and throughout the winter, they have been secreted away, hibernating in rodent burrows and amongst roots, sheltered from harmful frosts. But, as temperatures rise, the snakes begin to stir. Mature males are the first to emerge from their hidey-holes and sometimes appear as early as February. They slither to a sunny spot and bask in the weak spring sunshine to raise their body temperature. If you see them at this time, they may appear a bit shabby, with dull skin and opaque eyes, caused by a layer of oil beneath their scales. They rub themselves against something rough and peel off their old skin, from head to tail. It turns it inside out, like a sock, to reveal a new, brighter, more boldly patterned version. A few weeks later, the females and immature adders rouse themselves from their slumber. And after the female has basked and moulted, the adults’ minds turn to sex.

The female produces a scent from a pair of glands at the base of the tail and wherever she goes, she leaves a trail that males find irresistible, like the ‘Lynx effect’ with role reversal. He follows behind, tasting the air with his forked tongue and drawing scent molecules into the Jacobson’s organ on the roof of his mouth. When he has caught up, he flicks his tongue, in and out, over her body. The pair may quiver their bodies and tails and if the female is receptive, copulation takes place. The male snake’s reproductive organ is a strange thing, divided into two, forked lobes called hemipenes, which are covered in frills and hooks that ensure the couple stay locked together until mating is complete. For hours or days afterwards, the male guards his female, but if another male appears on the scene, things can get heated. The males rear up and wind their bodies around each other, in an attempt to push each other to the ground. This wrestling match between rival males is the famous ‘dance of the adders’. The larger male is likely to win and chases the loser off, before returning to his post, beside the female. Despite his best efforts, fatherhood is not guaranteed, as the female will have multiple partners and may even produce offspring using sperm from previous years.

Once the important business of reproduction is dealt with, the adders are finally free to turn their attention to finding some food, possibly their first meal in six months and all being well, the next generation of adders will be born in August or September, swelling the ranks of one of Devon’s most fascinating creatures.

Over to you
If you want to watch the ‘dance of the adders’, please remember that these beautiful snakes are venomous. Nobody has died from an adder bite since 1975, but it is still wise to treat them with respect. They are shy creatures and will not bite without provocation, but observe from a distance and don’t attempt to pick one up. Adders can be found throughout the county, in a range of different habitats, including heath, forest and scrub. Dartmoor is a refuge for them and a great place to see them. According to local folklore, Wistman’s Wood ‘writhes with adders more venomous than any others on Dartmoor’. I once went blackberrying at Padley Common, Chagford and suddenly found myself surrounded by half a dozen dozing adders, having blundered right into the middle of them and more recently, I came across several adders on a footpath through a forestry plantation close to Tottiford Reservoir, near Christow.

Another local story says that to find adders you need to look for dragonflies, which were supposedly put on the moor to warn of the presence of these venomous snakes, hovering above them to give their location away. A more scientific approach involves checking out habitat edges such as clearings amongst dense bracken, grassy woodland rides … any sunny spot close to dense cover that the snake can dive into, should danger threaten.

The best time to look for snakes is early morning, during warm (but not hot) weather. Take a pair of binoculars and scan the ground ahead, looking for movement and listening for rustling. Tread gently, as adders can feel vibrations. Basking adders are well camouflaged, but where there is one, there are likely to be several and they are creatures of habit, so they often return to the same basking spot again and again.

Lagoon Lookout

2010-11-05T09:02:00.000-07:00

I was a woman with a plan. I was going to treat myself to a couple of hours in a bird hide on the estuary and write a sparkling piece about it for my long-neglected blog. I have always loved estuaries. I am never happier than when I am gazing out at an expanse of rippling water and mud, listening to the otherworldly calls of curlews and oystercatchers. In such a constantly changing environment, there is always something interesting going on. And, apart from that, I have heard that otters are regularly seen from this particular hide.

So, I was not best pleased, when having driven for an hour, I discovered that my hide was under repair and out of use. Grumbling to myself, I stomped across the marsh to the next hide, overlooking a lagoon. At first glance, writing material seemed thin on the ground. I texted my husband to tell him that my plans had changed and I was now sitting in a hide with no birds in sight. He texted back, “Isn’t a hide without birds just a shed?” He had a point.

I picked up my binoculars and scanned the water. The scene was not, as I had first imagined, devoid of bird life. There was an elegant little egret stalking the shallows, a couple of mute swan, half a dozen moorhen and a little grebe, which swam straight towards me. A group of black-headed gulls, with charcoal-smudged winter faces, huddled together by the far bank. I settled down to watch, hoping that something exciting would happen. I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t really mind, as long as it gave me a story.

Time passed. The wind howled around the hide and ruffled the surface of the water. I wondered whether I should move on; try pastures new for my story. Then, I started to notice things that I had not taken the time to notice before – the bright orange of the autumn oak trees, the steely-blue of the water and the crows, hanging in the air like puppets cut loose from their strings. I turned at the sound of a kingfisher and watched it land on a post. A group of teal appeared out of nowhere and quietly dabbled. A pied wagtail hunkered down on an island and the egret stood on the shore to preen, exposing its shocking yellow feet. Suddenly, I realised that my attitude had been all wrong. The natural world does not have to be exciting. It does not have to ‘perform’ for my benefit. Nature documentaries have got a lot to answer for in this respect, raising the bar and our expectations, by showing us only the most interesting behaviour and the best quality close-up portraits. Wildlife watching in the real world is often nothing like that. It is a glimpse of a roe deer, before it melts into the woodland, the scrunch of leaves underfoot and the smell of damp earth. It is about delighting in the first primrose of the year, or discovering that blue tits are nesting in your garden. It is about all those little everyday things that connect you to the natural world and which you see as soon as you take the time to really look.

Mating Molluscs

2010-07-08T13:19:00.000-07:00

The mating snails amongst my vegetable seedlings present me with an ecological and ethical dilemma. When I was a kid, I loved snails. I would don my cagoule and scour my parents’ garden for them in the rain, following their slime trails on the grass and collecting as many as possible into an old icecream tub. I would study my catch, marvelling at the different patterns and colours of their shells. I would gently stroke their tentacles and watch, intrigued, as they retracted back into their moist bodies. I would laugh as they blew bubbles and race them against each other, before releasing them back into the garden.

My love for snails began to wane when I started growing vegetables. At first, unable to bring myself to kill them, I would collect them from my allotment and take them to a public park several miles away. But, the sheer number of snails I found started to make the whole process a bit ridiculous and so, sadly, I realised that if I wanted to ever eat any of the vegetables that I so carefully nurtured from seed, I would have to wage war on the molluscs. So, I started to kill them. Not with slug pellets, which are lethal to so many non-target animals, but with a quick blow from a trowel.

Now though, I was witnessing something very intimate, which I’d never taken the time to notice before. It was the perfect weather for snail love-making – a warm, wet, summer evening and the two snails, both hemaphrodites, had reared up and were entwined in an embrace. I hovered over them, trowel in hand, but they seemed oblivious to my presence. This particular pair were probably responsible for the fact that, out of three packets of seeds, I have only a single carrot plant left; the fact that I have never managed to grow a summer squash to maturity; that my lettuces are more holey than Honiton Lace; and the fact that every sunflower I have ever tried to grow has been cut down before its time by a rasping radula. If I allow them to continue reproducing, their ranks will be swollen by more vegetable-decimating invertebrates. And yet, and yet, I cannot bring myself to bash them, whilst they are so absorbed in what must be one of the most important moments of their lives.

Feeling like a voyeur, I peer a little closer. The two snails are joined by their partially everted genitalia and a calcified ‘love dart’, which is thought to increase the male's chance of siring offspring. My decision made, I pick up the courting pair and take them away from my pots of seedlings, to dump them next to a lane at the back of my garden. It is a token gesture. There is no doubt in my mind that they will quickly find their way back, to each lay their hundred or so eggs amongst my much-loved plants. Then, in two weeks, their progeny will, I'm sure, emerge to grow fat on mangetout and rhubarb that is meant for my plate and I will have to call an end to this temporary ceasefire. At least the song thrushes are on my side.

Now you do it
One of the most bizarre courtships of the animal world could be going on in your back yard. Surprisingly little is known about the mating rituals of the garden snail, one of our most common and familliar of animals. To witness this unusual event, you will probably need to search with a torch on a warm, wet night. Your vegetable patch is a good place to start looking...

Wetland Wildlife

2010-05-25T12:09:00.000-07:00

I am slightly obsessed by my new pond and have been making frequent trips to the bottom of the garden to see how it is developing. Only a month old, it is already home to two large red damselflies, a flotilla of pond skaters and their skinnier look-alikes – water measurers, red water mites, some anaemic-looking nematode worms, mayflies, water boatmen, several different beetle species and thousands of mosquito and midge larvae. So, when I heard about the WWT’s campaign ‘Wildest Hide and Seek’, I couldn’t resist taking part and finding out whether the presence of a pond affects the range of animals that I find in my garden.

Photo by Hans Hillewaert licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license.

I don’t have many places to hide in my garden, but I made myself as inconspicuous as possible under the apple tree and settled down to wait for the wildlife to appear. It was nine in the evening and everything had started to wind down. The summery sound of singing and scolding blackbirds filled the air, as did a dense cloud of flying insects, which fizzed around the pond. I batted them away and crossed my fingers that the bats would soon be out to gobble them up. Swallows and house martins screamed in front of a bulging moon in a sky the colour of stone-washed denim.

In the pond, a large, black beetle broke the surface, whilst smaller golden beetles busied themselves in the mud. The pond skaters were wrapped up in their own little world, mating, bickering over food and lazing around on the surface. Stars started to appear in the darkening sky. The birds became silent. There was a rustling in the hedge. Something large was rooting around and I waited with baited breath for it to appear, suspecting a badger. But then, a dog barked and the mysterious creature went quiet. A bat flew out of nowhere and swooped low over the pond. I whipped out my latest piece of kit – a bat detector - and tried to work out what species I was looking at. It darted around the pond and skimmed the lawn. On the detector, its ultrasonic calls were made audible, buzzes revealing when it was feeding. It was loudest at about 45KHz and was perhaps a pipistrelle, although I couldn’t be sure. The air was chilly now and I stood up, to search for any other animals in my garden. I scanned the the pond with a torch for newts or frogs and looked in the hedgerow for hedgehogs, but there were none to be found. I may not have been able to tick off many of the species on the Wildest Hide and Seek list, but it was a fantastic excuse to simply sit and watch the world go by for a while.

Now all I have to do is upload my results!

Now you do it
The Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust (WWT) ‘Wildest Hide & Seek’ study runs until Monday 31st May, so there are still a few days left to take part. The survey is looking at the effects wetlands may have on the range of wildlife found nearby and marks the International Year of Biodiversity.

In true ‘Hide & Seek’ fashion, participants spend some time hiding quietly in their garden or nearest open space, followed by a few minutes of seeking and recording the wildlife they see.

As a big ‘Thank You’, those who take part will also receive a 2 for 1 voucher for entry to their local WWT centre.

Find out more about how to take part, and download a survey guide (or pick up a copy at your local Wetland centre)

In support of the ‘Wildest Hide & Seek’ survey wildlife enthusiasts have also been submitting their own YouTube videos to the WWT ‘Be Your Favourite TV Presenter’ competition.

My Pond Pledge

2010-04-21T07:22:00.000-07:00

There are a million more urgent things on my ‘to do’ list. For a start, there are great lumps of plaster missing from the walls of my living room, there is a hole in the ceiling of my bedroom and I still have no central heating or hot water. I had to push all of these to the back of my mind to focus on what I felt to be the really important issue – the lack of a pond in my garden. Ever since a lone palmate newt crawled across my patio last autumn and I pledged to create a pond for IYB, it has been weighing on my conscience.

Wanting to get started, but slightly overwhelmed by the task ahead, I did what any sensible person would do – I invited my parents to lunch and then set them to work in the garden. Soon, we had marked out the shape of the pond and removed the topsoil. My dad, experienced creator of many ponds, advised me on the best way to make sure that it was level, so that the liner wouldn’t show. My mum, clearly, disagreed with his method and assured me that there was a better way to check the levels. An argument ensued and continued to rumble on for the rest of the afternoon.

Days after they had gone home, I was still digging, gaining a few extra inches of depth and a larger pile of subsoil, every day. Then, on a bit of a whim, I decided that what I really wanted was a bog garden, or more technically, a marsh garden, so, next to the pond, I dug an area roughly 20cm deep and used up the liner that was left over from my dad’s latest pond. I punctured the black plastic with a fork and back-filled it with the clayey subsoil.

My husband was the next to be enlisted to help and had to completely take over the pond-digging after an unfortunate incident with the wheelbarrow, which twisted and overturned in my hands, leaving me with a bad back and teaching me a valuable lesson about buying the cheapest available tools from B&Q. Progress slowed as he hit a layer of flinty stones. My neighbours on both sides, who I fear watch all of our exploits with raised eyebrows, poked their heads over fences on opposite sides of the garden and made the same joke about digging to Australia.

Eventually, my husband decided that he had dug enough. We spent a small fortune on liner and then ages picking stones out of the bottom of the hole. Next to go in was a protective layer of sand and when that ran out, we improvised with cardboard. Once the liner was in position, we suddenly realised that we had a bit of a problem. Between our new pond and our outside tap, was a back yard, a garage, an access lane and approximately 90 foot of lawn. Realising that I was in for a long slog, I set to work, filling up the watering can. Our neighbours on the left, taking pity on us, offered us the use of their outside tap and hose. Our neighbour on the right, seeing that the hose still didn’t reach, offered us his, so that we could extend it. The water level of the pond rapidly began to rise.

When it was full, we cut the liner to size, wishing that we had listened to the man in the shop who thought that we were buying too much, placed some stones around the edge and rolled back the turfs. Then we stood back to admire our new pond. I felt an immense sense of achievement. Not only had we created something, which looked, amazingly enough, OK, and would give us pleasure for years to come, we had done our little bit for biodiversity.

At that moment, a pond skater arrived out of nowhere. Within half an hour, there were tiny beetles whizzing about in the water and hoverflies buzzing over the surface. The following day, my neighbour on the right told me that he had thrown (although I’m sure he meant to say 'delicately placed'!) a couple of juvenile newts over the hedge, which had been hiding under a sheet of plastic in his garden. They haven’t made an appearance in the pond yet, but it is surely just a matter of time.

Now you do it
Ponds are fantastic for wildlife and a declining habitat type, so creating a new one in your garden is one of the best ways to make your garden a little bit greener. I have just discovered a brilliant step-by-step guide to making a wildlife pond on the Pond Conservation website, which I wish I had found earlier!

Advice on how to make a bog garden seems to vary - with opinion differing as to whether the soil should be nutrient-rich or nutrient-poor. Perhaps it is worth experimenting to find which method gives the best results.

I still haven't quite decided whether to plant up the pond with natives, or leave it to mother nature and see what turns up without my input. I would be fascinated to see what arrives naturally, but I also want my garden to look pretty this summer...dilemma! I would love to hear from anybody who has resisted planting their pond who can tell me how long it might take for mine to look half decent!

Saving Snuffles

2010-03-31T12:19:00.000-07:00

There was an answerphone message to say that the hedgehog I had rescued just after Christmas (see earlier post) was due for release. He had apparently acquired a new name - Snuffles - and a lot of weight. Curious to see how the hedgehog was doing and keen to release him close to the place he was found, I took a shoe box to collect him from the Help a Hedgehog Hospital. Annie, who had cared for him for the previous three months, led me through the garden to a rabbit hutch that had been his temporary home. Snuffles, having feasted for three months, had grown to about 800g, more than twice the size that he had been when we found him, wandering around in the snow. Annie lifted him from his bed of hay and we both eyed my shoe box uncertainly, wondering whether Snuffles was in fact, too fat to fit. Snuffles, too, looked unimpressed, unfurling his football-sized body just long enough to fix his beady, blue-black eyes on us, before rolling back into a ball. I took him, squeezed rather unceremoniously into the box, back to my parent's garden, where a hedgehog house was ready for his arrival. It was wedged under a branch, so that it could not be flipped over by badgers, which would eagerly tuck into a tasty hedgehog, given half a chance. We stuffed some of Snuffle's hay into the box, to provide a familiar scent and then, I lifted the lid to let Snuffles, chuntering and grunting away to himself, slowly make his way through the narrow entrance to the safety of the hedgehog house.

That evening, as dusk fell, I staked out the hedgehog house, hoping to see Snuffles emerge and feed on the plate of dogfood that I had put out for him. I stood in the drizzle, watching a bat, the first I had seen this year, doing laps around the beech tree. I gave it an hour, but I had to get home, so I left, disappointed, without seeing Snuffles take his first steps back into the wild. There is evidence to suggest that hedgehogs kept in captivity for at least a month survive well when released, so Snuffles has every chance of living a normal, healthy life. Maybe I will catch a glimpse of him again one day, foraging in the garden. Perhaps he will bring back a mate and the garden will be filled with hoglets. But, then again, he might just disappear, to live his life out of human view, back where he belongs.

Now you do it

To make your garden hedgehog friendly:

never use pesticides - slug pellets and other pesticides are dangerous to hedgehogs.
create a garden with high biodiversity. This means having a range of different habitats and micro-habitats such as hedgerows, ponds, compost heaps, leaf litter and log piles, and a variety of different plants to attact the invertebrates that hedgehogs eat.
provide additional food, such as tinned or dried dog or cat food, mealworms or chicken.
ensure that hedgehogs are not fenced in or out of your garden. They need to roam over large areas, so leave gaps in boundary fencing to allow them to travel.
make sure that swimming pools and ponds do not become hedgehog death traps and that there is always a way out, such as a ramp, should a hedgehog fall in.
Be careful that any netting used in the garden can not trap a hedgehog.
check for hedgehogs before strimming, mowing, lighting a bonfire etc.
provide either a purpose-built hedgehog house or make your own.

Giving Hedgehogs a Helping Hand

2009-12-31T10:15:00.000-08:00

You would be forgiven for thinking that I had gone into hibernation with my lack of recent blogging activity. But, I haven't, just as the little hedgehog that I found scurrying about in the open air this morning hadn't.

A hedgehog was really the last thing that I was expecting to see a few days after Christmas in the middle of the day and I had to take a closer look before I could quite believe my eyes. I crept up to it, as it snuffled for food over a small triangle of grass. Then, as though suddenly sensing my presence towering above it, it froze and fixed me with a sparkly, black eye. Its long nose twitched, as though it suspected that I was up to something. As I reached down to pick it up, it slowly rolled itself into a ball. I held the spiny bundle gently in my gloved hands and it felt as light as a feather. Knowing that hedgehogs should be tucked up asleep during December days and that there was obviously something wrong with this one, I took it home. Carrying it at arm’s length, I scanned it for the fleas that I was sure it would be crawling with, but could see none. Once home, I placed it in a cardboard box with a towel, a jam jar lid of water and a spoon of dog food, then left it alone in a quiet room. I peered inside a few minutes later to find that it had unfurled and stuck its head into the folds of the towel, leaving just a spiny rump and the tip of a black tail on show.

To give my hedgehog the best chance of survival, I did a quick internet search and found my nearest hedgehog hospital, just a few miles down the road. At the Help the Hedgehog Hospital I was greeted by the founder, Annie Parfitt, who has devoted herself to caring for injured, sick and orphaned hogs. She was currently caring for eleven other hedgehogs, in a variety of sheds, cages and rabbit hutches throughout her house and garden. She took one look at my hedgehog and told me that it was a juvenile from a second brood this autumn. Weighing it in her hands, she estimated that it was about 300g – nowhere near the 600g that it should be if it was to survive the winter in the wild. She told me that climate change was leading to fewer second brood hedgehogs surviving the winter. She placed my hedgehog in a cage and within minutes, it was munching its way through a dish full of meal worms. This hedgehog was the lucky one. Its litter mates, on the other hand, would not make it through the winter in the wild without help. My little hedgehog though, had a good chance of survival. There were no signs of lungworm or other illnesses. It was simply a case of feeding it up and releasing it in the spring, close to where it was found and perhaps with a mate. I left the hedgehog hospital feeling happy. For a declining species like the hedgehog, every individual that can be saved and released to breed is a success story.

Now you do it
Keep your eyes peeled for hedgehogs out and about during the day through the winter. If you find any, their best chance of survival is being looked after by somebody who knows what they are doing. Put the hedgehog in a box with a warm hot water bottle wrapped in a towel, then when it has warmed up (after about an hour), provide it with some water in a saucer and dog or cat food. Then get it to a hedgehog carer as soon as possible - To find your nearest check out The British Hedgehog Preservation Society website.

Conservation Status
The hedgehog has recently been added to the UK BAP as a Priority Species. There are an estimated 1,555,000 hedgehogs in the UK, although this is thought to be decreasing in parts of England and Wales. Possible reasons for a drop in numbers are agricultural intensification, loss of habitat, an increase in the number of badgers, more road traffic, drier summers and changing gardening practices. Climate change has also been highlighted as a potential factor in the decline. Hedgehogs do not need to hibernate and do well in warmer climates, but unpredictable weather is a problem. Mild, wet weather during winter may cause hedgehogs to arouse from hibernation, potentially at a time when there is not enough food to sustain them. For more information on hedgehogs, check out Wildlife Online

Deer drama

2009-10-20T06:35:00.000-07:00

Half past five on a Sunday morning. It is cold and dark and quiet. There is no moon. I climb into the car and drive. A badger dashes across the road and a roe deer’s eyes shine red from the verge. As the sky turns from black to indigo, Exmoor’s hills begin to appear above the mist. I park the car. During the summer, I saw a hind close to this spot and I have returned, on a hunch that it might be a good place to see the red deer rut. As the sun rises, turning the brume pink and the sky forget-me-not blue, I start to walk.

Seconds after leaving the car, I hear a sound, a strange blend of a lion’s roar and a cow’s moo. I recognise it from dozens of wildlife TV programmes; it is the bellow of a red deer stag. Sensing that it must be just the other side of the hedge, I hurry on. From the gate, with the moor rising up behind me and wooded valleys snaking to the distant grey sea below, I see him. He holds his head forwards on an outstretched neck, mouth open, with white froth at his lips and spectacular, multi-tined antlers. The stag momentarily acknowledges my presence, but then returns his attention to another stag, which is standing a few hundred metres away. There isn’t a breath of wind, but tension ripples the air like static. A hind barks. The first stag starts to trot towards the second, which also breaks into a run. I wonder if there will be a fight, which only happens if the males are so evenly matched that victory cannot be determined by any other way. The contest is a serious one, as only the dominant stag will mate and sire offspring, but a fight is the last resort, as it can lead to injury and even death. The pair close in and it looks as though they will meet head-on, but, instead, they run straight past each other and the second stag gallops away down the hill. Perhaps he has seen enough to know that he can’t win.

Lifting his head to the sky, the victorious stag bellows again and the sound echoes around the moor. He is answered by belling from the opposite side of the valley and I lift my binoculars to spot the calling stag. Another stag roars behind me, higher on the hill. In this natural arena, I am surrounded by some of Exmoor’s 3000 red deer and swept up in their drama, which has been played out here since pre-historic times.

The stag rounds up a few hinds and herds them back towards his own waiting females. Then, the whole group melts into the bracken. Eager to see more, I drop down into the woodland edge and conceal myself amongst some pine trees. In a clearing, a hind twitches her huge, grey, furry ears, listening. A stag, bleeding from the mouth, joins her. I wonder if it is the stag that fled earlier, or if it is a different animal. A fox snuffles past, but the deer are more interested in whatever is thrashing around, unseen, in the undergrowth. They scurry away, to hide in the wood and I trek back up the hill, as the sun turns everything to gold and Exmoor becomes quiet once more.

Now you do it

Scotland is the obvious place to head if you would like to watch the red deer rut, but there are smaller populations throughout the UK, including Exmoor and the Quantocks, New Forest, as well as various deer parks. Countryfile provides a list of places to see rutting red (and fallow) deer and the Forestry Commission lists places that red deer can be found.

You can join rangers and safari tours to see red deer, but I think that there is something special about going it alone. There is such a sense of achievement in using your field skills to first find the right place to watch and secondly creeping close without disturbing the deer. At this time of year, red deer are conspicuous at dawn and dusk. For information on how to identify red deer and their field signs, check out the New Forest Gateway and the Environmental Records Centre for Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly websites.

The rut lasts from October to November, so get out there straight away if you want to catch it this year!

House martins at home

2009-10-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

I fear that the house martin flock has slipped away, unseen, whilst my attention was elsewhere. I haven’t seen them for days and now, as I anxiously scan the skies for them, there is only a gaping hole in the ether, where hundreds of birds once were. With their departure, I feel as though a chapter of my life has come to an end. When I moved to my new house, a few months ago, lines of house martins screamed a welcome from the telephone wires and over the past few months I have grown to know and become fond of my new, feathered neighbours. I have never shared my home with house martins before, but this particular Devon village seems to support a huge number of them. I decide that perhaps it is down to the mud. Here, rivers and streams, shouldered by clayey banks the colour of burnt ochre, shred the landscape, providing nesting material to these resourceful builders.

The birds and I co-existed peacefully throughout the summer. As I hung clothes out to dry, they attended their nests amongst the gutters. Whilst I worked at my desk, they entertained me by performing aerial acrobatics, like a squadron of red arrows outside my window. I paused in my gardening to watch the young poke their heads from the nest and beg for food. I marvelled as they clung to vertical walls, finding footholds amongst the render. I worried for them when it was cold and wet, wondering whether they would catch enough insects to feed their chicks. I tried in vain, again and again, to capture their image on my camera, but they were always too quick, too far away, too small. And when there was a rare day of sunshine, I lay on the crunchy lawn and squinted into the sun, hypnotised by their wheeling and diving, as they towered for insects, high above.

And now, I feel, inexplicably, that I have let them down, by not being there to see them off on their long-haul flight to Africa. I wonder how they will find the way? Probably by a mixture of visual and olfactory cues, as well as sun, magnetic and star compasses, although that answer hardly explains the phenomenon adequately. There is still so much that we don’t know about these most familiar of birds. Almost incredibly, we still know hardly anything about where they overwinter in Africa and what they do when they get there. Of 250 000 house martins ringed in Britain and Ireland, only 1, singular bird has ever been recovered from sub-Saharan Africa.

Over the past eight years, I have moved house eight times, but at last I feel settled. Perhaps rather ironically, as house martins are the ultimate nomads, I will forever associate the presence of these birds with the feeling of being at home. Next spring, I will have my fingers crossed for good weather and keep my eye on the sky, hoping for the house martins’ safe return.

Now you do it

The BTO runs a house martin survey. Find out more and join in here.

There are a few simple things that can be done to encourage house martins to nest near you:

Never disturb house martin nests. If you leave them where they have been built, they are likely to be reused the following year, or attract house martins to build their own nests nearby.

Create a pond with muddy banks, or simply a muddy puddle, so that they have something to build their nests from.

There is some evidence that putting up artificial nests helps to attract house martins. They can be bought in several different places, for example from the RSPB shop.

Conservation Status

In the British Isles, house martins have declined by 38% since 1970. They are listed on the Amber list of medium conservation concern.

All nesting birds are legally protected, so it is illegal to damage or destroy the eggs or young, or destroy or damage a nest whilst it is being used.

Discovering Dormice

2009-09-05T12:53:00.000-07:00

I sometimes think that surveying for dormice is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Habitats generally considered to be dormouse-friendly are distinctly not human-friendly. I spend far too many hours of my life fighting through the tangled branches of hedgerows and shrubby woodland undergrowth with a bag of survey equipment, trying to avoid the various armouries of nettles, bramble, blackthorn and gorse. And it is not only plants that seem out to get a dormouse surveyor; hornets are another hazard. They occasionally take up residence in a dormouse nest box and don’t take too kindly to being disturbed. Once, whilst scaling a hedgebank to reach a dormouse nest tube, I put my foot straight through a wasps’ nest. The wasps gave chase, but, as I made my escape, I dropped my rucksack and, luckily, the wasps focussed their attack on that, instead of me. On top of these things, I hardly ever see the animals I seek; dormice are rare and naturally occur at low densities, so I can go months on end without finding one.

I wasn’t raising my hopes, then, as I stuffed an old rag into the entrance hole of a nest box, lifted the lid and peeked inside. But, something stirred up the leaves inside. My heart began to beat a little faster, as I very gently shut the lid and lifted the box from the tree into an oversized plastic bag, so that I could examine it more closely. I remove the lid and a wood mouse peersout, whiskers working. It is always nice to see this delicate little rodent, but it is not the creature I’m looking for, so, I let it go, to scamper over the leaf litter.

The next few nest boxes are empty and I resign myself to the fact that it will probably be yet another dormouse-less survey day. Then, I come across a box filled to the brim with leaves. It is a characteristic dormouse nest, a woven ball of honeysuckle bark and leaves. But, the leaves are brown and the nest is cold. Its dormouse occupant has long gone.

A few boxes later, I find a perfectly formed dormouse nest, clad with fresh green leaves and my spirits lift at the knowledge that dormice must be close by. Dormouse nests are usually made of honeysuckle bark, leaves, grass and moss, but there are records of bluebell stems and bracken being used too. I have even seen strips of waxed paper bag incorporated into a nest. This nest, which includes a large wad of black and white badger hair, is unusual too. There is a badger sett within the woodland, but I wonder how the dormouse collected the hair. It is often stated that dormice are reluctant to descend to the ground, but surely it must have done to collect the badger hair? It has recently been shown that dormice cross open ground (busy dual carriageways in fact), so perhaps further research may show that dormice are more terrestrial than currently believed.

As I approach the next box, a furry ginger streak races up the tree trunk to hang, squirrel-like, in the branches above. It stares at me with big black eyes, gripping one twig with its front feet and one with its back feet, its body swinging between them both. The dormouse must have heard me coming. Still, I take down the box to complete the check and when I lift the lid, I discover a nest with three juvenile dormice in it. They are active and orange-furred, so probably about 4 weeks old. They will stay with their mother for about another four weeks, accompanying her on nocturnal foraging excursions, then returning to the nest with her to sleep during the day.

I return the nest box to the tree and as I remove a thorn from my finger, I realise that getting a glimpse into the secret lives of these creatures might just be worth the scratches after all.

Now you do it

Why not take part in the PTES Great Nut Hunt this autumn (more details on the PTES website). Dormouse-nibbled hazel nuts are easily recognised. Dormice make a very neat circular hole, which almost always includes a part of the nut scar. This hole has a smooth inner edge and oblique tooth marks on the outer surface of the nut. Bank voles and wood mice leave ridges on the inner edge of the hole and squirrels are messier – breaking nuts into large, uneven pieces. Beware though – looking for dormouse nuts can be addictive and a walk in the woods may never be the same again!

Conservation status

Hazel dormouse is a UK BAP Priority Species that is legally protected under UK and European legislation. This means that you need a licence (e.g. from Natural England) if you want to carry out surveys for dormice and their nests. The hazel dormouse has been in a long-term decline, although there are signs that this decline is beginning to slow, which may be due to conservation efforts. However, wet summers are not good news for dormice and it may be that this year’s bad weather has an adverse effect on the UK population.

Roe Deer Rescue?

2009-08-16T13:28:00.000-07:00

The buzz of insects was almost drowned out by the crackle and hum of the overhead lines, yet, in the marshy grassland beneath the pylons' brooding skeletons, wildlife thrived. Small skippers and gatekeepers skittered over the purple haze of angelica, marsh woundwort and mint, as a roe buck rose from behind the rushes.

This was the eighth roe deer that I had seen in the past month, a perhaps unremarkable fact, given that the UK has more roe deer now than it has done for 1000 years - a total of 800 000 individuals. One of the eight deer that I had encountered was unusually coloured - a white doe, but it was another roe buck that made the greatest impression on me...I was in deepest Dorset, surveying far from the beaten track, when I stumbled up ground. Alarmed by my sudden appearance, the deer squealed and tried to escape, but, with its front legsscrabbling helplessly in the dirt, it simply pivoted in a circle around useless back legs.Far from a road, it seemed that the deer had injured itself vaulting the gate that it now lay next to. Breathing heavily, the deer lay still again and regarded me with large, dark eyes.I was close enough to see its moist, black nose twitching and the white of its moustache and chin. Worried that I was adding to the deer's distress, I backed off to phone the RSPCA. I left them detailed instructions where to find it, but was unable to do any more.

We sometimes think of wild animals living a care-free existence, but life in the natural world can be tough and many wild creatures come to a violent end. A roe buck will not normally live for longer than 5 years and every year, over 74 000 deer are hit by cars on UK roads. I hope that the RSPCA were able to save the deer, but the sad truth is that there was probably little that could be done for it, except to prevent it from suffering any further.

Back in the marshy grassland, the roe buck turned its antlered head to stare at me. It was a picture of good health, with a coat that glowed russet in the sunshine and a full set of three tines to its antlers. It took a few delicate steps through the tussocks, turned to have one last look, then slipped away through the fence.

Now you do it

Simon Barnes' recent article about roe deer suggests that they are hard to see - I'm not sure that I agree! You are never far from a roe deer in the UK (Northern Ireland, east Kent, some parts of the Midlands and Wales excepted) and being large, conspicuous and not particularly wary, they are easy enough to find. Dawn and dusk are the best times to watch roe deer, as this is when they are most active although, they are active throughout the day, too. They are generally thought of as woodland species, but they can be seen in all sorts of habitats, including arable fields and urban parks. Marshy grassland bordered by woodland is a great place to see them.

It can sometimes be difficult to tell one deer species from another, especially if all you see is a fleeting glimpse. The roe is a small deer, with a reddish-brown coat in the summer that becomes grey, brown or black in the winter. They have a paler (white to buff) rump patch and no visible tail. The bucks have small antlers in the summer and kids have spotted coats for the first 6 weeks of life.The Forestry Commission website lists places that roe deer can be seen.Martin Noble is leading an organised trip to see deer in the New Forest on 10 October 2009, with the chance to see roe. For more information on roe deer, see The British Deer Society website.

Conservation Status
Roe deer are native to Britain. The species is widespread, relatively abundant and experiencing a growth rate of approximately 2.3%. Roe deer are not subject to specific conservation legislation.

Bringing Beavers Back to Britain

2009-07-17T10:36:00.000-07:00

The beaver appeared out of nowhere. One minute the water surface was as still and smooth as ice and the next minute, a beaver was slicing through it like a torpedo.

Photograph courtesy of Ben Lee

It was summer 2008 and I was watching the beavers at Escot in Devon, where I had been monitoring the effects that they had on their enclosure's habitats. Since their release, they had been hard at work; feeding, building lodges, creating pathways and caching food. Their activities were already changing the woodland and aquatic habitats in which they lived. They had felled and pruned many different species of tree, both native and ornamental, including aspen, alder, bay, cherry laurel and rhododendron. They had also coppiced a large stand of willow, reduced the amount of water lily and bulrush in the ponds and added a huge volume of woody material to the lake (something that proved highly unpopular with the anglers that shared it). Earlier that day, I had come across a beaver dam, probably the first to be built in Britain for 800 years and a story which quickly became headline news.

I settled down amongst the meadow-sweet and angelica to watch the beavers as they swam silent laps of the pond. One of the beavers hauled itself onto the bank and waddled along a well-worn pathway towards the stream, dragging its tail on the ground like the tongue from an old trainer.

Its mate climbed onto the opposite bank, shook droplets from its fur and rested back on its haunches. In a sequence that is followed by all beavers, it started to groom. It ran its forepaws over its face, combed its belly fur, its forelegs and hind legs, and then reached behind to groom its flanks and back. And the end of its grooming regime and as the last of the sun was sucked from the sky, the beaver slipped into the black water and out of sight.

A few weeks ago, I was delighted to hear that the beavers at Escot had raised at least one kit, which was probably born at the end of May 2009. At around the same time, a group of beavers was released in Knapdale, Scotland, as part of a trial reintroduction of the species. If the scheme proves successful, it is likely that beavers will be restored to the rest of Britain and perhaps Escot’s British-born kit will be released, to live wild on our waterways.

Now you do it

See Escot's website to find out more about the beavers. They are fascinating animals to watch, carrying out a huge variety of different behaviours, from tree-felling to canal digging, dam-building to grooming and beaver watching at Escot can be arranged - email info@escot-devon.co.uk.

Beavers are also present at the Lower Mill Estate at the Cotswold Water Park, the WWT reserve in Martin Mere, Lancashire and at KWT's reserve Ham Fen in Kent.

A five-year trial reintroduction is underway at Knapdale in Scotland. As the beavers were only released in May, it is recommended that you visit the site later in the year, when the beavers have settled in and there are more field signs to look out for. You can’t miss beaver signs when you see them – look for felled trees, gnawed bark, cut vegetation such as reedmace, which may be floating on the surface of the water, lodges, food stores, footprints, well-used pathways, canals, dams… the list goes on!

Conservation Status

The European beaver is legally protected under Annex IV and Annex II of the EC Habitats Directive and meets criterion 1b of the Species Action Framework as a species for conservation action. There is some debate about exactly when European beavers became extinct in Britain, although recent research shows that they may have still been present in 1800. As they were once native, Britain has a legal requirement to study the desirability of their reintroduction. Any such reintroduction would need to satisfy IUCN Reintroduction Guidelines.

Happening Upon A Hare

2009-07-11T11:20:00.000-07:00

This brown hare had clearly never read a ‘How to watch wildlife’ guide. It was midday and in my fluorescent yellow vest, laden down with equipment and standing in the middle of an otherwise featureless field, I couldn't have been any more conspicuous. Yet, the hare was apparently oblivious to my presence and lolloped calmly and directly towards me through the furrows of the pasture. I turned the dial of my digital camera to 'video' and pressed record.

As the hare drew closer, I tried to keep the lens focused on it, but, I was too interested in watching it in the flesh to spend much time checking the LED screen. It had grizzled, tatty fur like that of a much loved teddy and black-tipped ears that swivelled at the slightest sound. I was down-wind of it, but even if it was unable to smell me, I couldn't understand why it hadn't seen or heard me. Apparently, hares aren't able to see well directly to the front, a fact that photographers sometimes take advantage of by lying in wait on a tramline within a crop. So, maybe that could explain its apparent disregard of me.

When it was almost at my feet, it sat up on its haunches and fixed me with a stare. I held my breath, expecting it to spin and speed away, but, it didn’t. Instead, it took a few more hops towards me, before turning back the way it had come and ambling off again in an unhurried way. Only when it was nearly out of sight did it pick up the pace and sprint, leaping effortlessly over the tussocky grass and away.

Now You Do It
Although brown hares are still relatively widespread and common, they are easier to find in some parts of the UK than others and are absent from the northwest and western highlands in Scotland. According to the guidebooks, brown hares are nocturnal, so you are most likely to see them at dawn and dusk. The National Trust and Countryfile websites list a few places that they occur and the Slimbridge WWT reserve is also a good place to see them.

Conservation Status
It is thought that brown hares were introduced to Britain by the Romans. In recent years, they have shown one of the most dramatic declines of any British mammal (second only to the water vole), probably as a result of changes in agricultural practice. In comparison to the water vole, they receive relatively little legal protection, but they are a UK BAP Priority Species.

Weird and Wonderful Whirligigs

2009-07-03T10:01:00.000-07:00

In the shadow of enormous white satellite dishes and flickering wind turbines, I am lying on my stomach over a pond, my nose almost touching the muddy water below. Perhaps unsurprisingly, some passing ramblers want to know what on Earth I am doing. What I am meant to be doing is a survey - recording the land cover at a particular GPS referenced point, somewhere in the middle of Goonhilly Downs on the Lizard Peninsula in Cornwall. But, I got distracted.

I couldn’t pass by this tiny pool without stopping. Surrounded by ghostly pale orchids and yellow spikes of bog asphodel, it is brimming with life. Common blue damselflies perch delicately on the scrubby pond-side willow, whilst all around me, their larger, more aggressive relatives, the gold ringed dragonflies and broad-bodied chasers, buzz and collide with a zzzpp. I got down onto the ground in order to photograph a newt - a male palmate, with black, conspicuously webbed back feet – but the camera couldn’t focus on it in the murky water. Once I was down there though, I noticed the water boatmen steadily rowing through the water and became mesmerised by the whirligig beetles, which carved crazed circles on the surface, like cars on a Scalextric track.

These tiny beetles live life on the edge, at the interface between air and water. As I watch, they hunt for small invertebrates trapped on the meniscus, using a form of echo-location to find their way. The waves they create in front of them are reflected from obstacles and sensed by their antennae, allowing them to detect their prey. But, whirligigs aren’t restricted to just the surface. They have a divided eye; the top half allows them to see in the air, and the bottom half allows them to see underwater. This means that they can hunt below the surface too, taking a silvery bubble of air with them when they dive.

The ramblers have become interested in the whirligigs and as I haul myself to my feet, thinking that I should really be getting back to work, they are readying their own cameras and taking my place on the bank of the pond.

Now you do it
Whirligig beetles are common in all types of still water in Britain. There is more than meets the eye to these creatures, so why not temporarily transfer them to a jam jar or tray and study them with a hand lens? See if you can see their orange legs and divided compound eye. ARKive has amazing close-up videos of whirligigs (much better than mine!).

Finding Field Voles

2009-06-27T10:36:00.000-07:00

Under the square of roofing felt, I found a pair of tiny, baby voles. I watched them and worried for their safety, as they stumbled blindly around. They had fur, so they must have been at least 9-10 days old, but their eyes were squeezed shut and they looked incredibly vulnerable. Not wanting to disturb them too much, I took a quick photo and gently replaced the roof of their home.

The rough grassland that they were living in suggested that they were baby field voles, as opposed to bank voles, which look very similar, but prefer more wooded habitats. I wanted to be sure though, so I searched for more clues. I followed one of the well-trodden vole runs through the grass and discovered a feeding station - a pile of neatly cut grass and plantain, nibbled at the ends to form a distinctive 45 degree angle. Next to this was a latrine of fresh, green-brown droppings. All of these signs indicated that the babies were field voles.

The next day, I was eager to see how the little voles were growing and I hurried back to the tile. I peeled back the felt very slowly and gently, but my heart dropped at the sight of one of the baby voles, lying still and lifeless on the bare ground. The other one was nowhere to be seen. Sadly, I laid the tile down again, wondering how the youngsters had died. Did they fall victim to a predator – maybe even a shrew? Or had their mother died, before they were fully weaned and able to fend for themselves? I would never know.

A field vole’s life is fraught with danger and is always short. It has many different predators, including kestrels, owls, foxes and stoats, which all kill huge numbers of voles. However, field voles breed prolifically; the young females are able to mate at 6 weeks old and between March and December, a female may have 4-5 litters, each containing 2-7 young. So, despite being apparently helpless in the face of so much adversity, it is a highly successful species and at a count of about 75 million, it is the only mammal species in Britain to outnumber humans.

Now you do it
Field voles are common and their signs are easy to find, once you know what you are looking for. Search at the base of grass tussocks, or under pieces of corrugated iron for their nests - balls of grass, very loosely woven together. You may also find their feeding stations, which are piles of grass and other plants, cut into similar sized lengths with the ends usually having an angle of 45 degrees. It used to be thought that different vole species cut vegetation at specific lengths, but there is so much overlap between the species, that this is not a reliable method of identification. A more reliable method of identification is by their latrines; field vole latrines contain oval, greenish droppings of approximately 5mm in length and 2-3mm in diameter. Bank vole droppings are blacker and water vole droppings are larger (8-12mm in length and 4-5mm diameter). See the ARKive website for more information on field voles and some fantastic videos.

If you live in Sussex, why not take part in the Sussex Mammal Group’s field vole survey? See the Sussex Biodiversity Records Centre website for more information.

Live trapping, using Longworth traps, is also a good way of getting closer to field voles, but make sure that you know what you are doing first. The Mammal Society has a Longworth trap loaning scheme and runs courses on small mammal survey techniques. If you do carry out trapping, be aware that you are likely to catch shrews and will therefore need a shrew license from the relevant Statutory body (e.g. Natural England).

Ghostly Goatsuckers

2009-06-16T14:14:00.000-07:00

It was once a widely held belief that nightjars sucked milk from the teats of domestic goats. A nasty cattle infection, caused by the warble fly, was also attributed to nightjars, which were thought to attack young calves with their beaks and infect them. As a mysterious bird of the night, equipped with a haunting song, nightjars were often considered with suspicion and bestowed with a host of colloquial names, including goatsucker, scissor-grinder and churr owl. It is these intriguing creatures, so surrounded by folklore, that I set out to find.

It was early evening when I arrived at Aylesbeare Common in East Devon, a known stronghold for this summer visitor, and I strolled around the reserve through a mosaic of dry and wet pebblebed heath, woodland, ponds and grassland. The only sound was the clack of stonechats, singing from the tops of gorse bushes. As the sky darkened and the moon rose, the pale orchids and sheets of cottongrass began to glow and I watched bats circling below planes stacked at Exeter airport. A tawny owl flapped slow and low over the heather.

Then, everything was still for a long time. As the air chilled and I started to wonder whether I should try my luck in a different part of the reserve, or perhaps just give up and go home, I heard a faint churring sound. I turned my head, struggling to identify where the sound had come from and scanning the bushes for some movement that might give the bird's location away. But there were no other clues, so I started to walk aimlessly, deeper into the darkness. Suddenly, a bird with white indicator patches on its wings swooped in front of me and landed on the branch of a dead tree. I stopped in my tracks. A nightjar. The white wing bars and tail spots gave its sex away – it was a male. From its prominent perch it began its moody percussion song, an exotic sound that seemed far more suited to its winter home in Sub-Saharan Africa than southern England. I listened, entranced, to the low, two-tone trill, which reverberated around the heath. Then, out of nowhere, another male nightjar appeared and chased the original bird from its place. With a loud clapping sound, the pair flew off, taking their territorial dispute out of sight.

As I walked back towards my car, I stumbled across another nightjar, which was churring from a tree. The bird’s song was periodically interrupted by noisy, wing-clapping circuits as the bird hawked for moths, slapping its wings together above its body. The nightjar's mouth is adapted to catching insects on the wing, with jaws that can move from side to side, as well as up and down and fringing bristles, which are probably used in food detection and are regularly groomed by the nightjar, using its serrated middle toe. It also has a highly sensitive palate, which means that its jaws snap shut at the slightest touch, rather like a Venus Fly-trap. But, it is the nightjar's large eyes, complete with a tapetum and special cells that are thought to increase the nightjar’s ability to see contrast, which allow it to hunt by night.

Unfortunately, my eyesight was not a patch on the nightjar’s and soon I was unable to make out the bird in the gloom. I tore myself away, knowing that, just like the nightjars, I would definitely be back next year.

Now you do it
Nightjars start to arrive in Britain in April and begin to leave in mid-July, so you still have time to see them this year. Your best bet is to head to an area of heathland or moorland in southern Britain, either just before dawn or at dusk. Choose a nice warm day, as Nightjars are less active in cool, wet weather.

For a list of places to see Nightjar, check out The Forestry Commission website and if you would like to hear the wonderfully unique churr of a Nightjar, visit the RSPB website.

Conservation Status
The nightjar is listed on the RSPB Red List, which means that the species is of high conservation concern and it is a UK BAP Priority Species. The number and range of Nightjar has been declining for much of this century and reasons for the decline include reduction in the amount of suitable habitat (e.g. heathland), disturbance (e.g. recreational activities which can lead to disturbance of nesting and roosting nightjar) and the use of pesticides, which reduces the amount of insect prey available. Climate change may also be playing a part in its decline. The Nightjar is afforded legal protection under Schedule 1 of the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981, which (amongst other things) makes it illegal to disturb a Nightjar or its young at a nest, or whilst it is nest building.