Dear Readers, when I was writing about the hen harrier a few days ago, I mentioned that it would be in the top five of my list of British Birds that I’ve never seen but would love to see. Well, when I started thinking about it, I realised that five was definitely not enough, so here, for comment and debate, is my top ten of UK birds that I’ve never seen, but would love to see, in no particular order. First up would be the athletic and distinctive bearded tit/reedling. There was a rumour of one at the London Wetland Centre a few weeks ago, but alas I didn’t see it.

Next up is the firecrest. One of the UK’s smallest birds, along with the goldcrest, it is an unusual little jewel of a bird. There used to be a tiny population in Abney Cemetery in Stoke Newington of all places, and I suspect that they might be underreported – restless and hard to get a good look at, they are truly stunning birds. I might have to be patient though, as there are only an estimated 2000 territories in the whole of the UK, compared with 55,000 for the goldcrest.

Next up, the nightjar. So beautifully camouflaged, nocturnal, enormous eyes, and a reputation for stealing the milk from goats. I have seen nightjars in other countries, but never in the UK.

Next up is the ruff (Calidris pugnax) but I’m being a bit particular here, as I’d love to see them displaying on a lek: however, they are a Red List species, so I’m not sure whether you can see such a thing in the UK. I shall have to do some research.

And here’s a bird that I really want to hear as much as see – the turtle dove is such an iconic bird, mentioned as ubiquitous in Shakespeare and other writers of the period, but disappearing from our farmlands and woods during our watch. It’s great that places such as Knepp are working to recreate the habitat that they need, and that it seems to be working. As Kevin Costner said in that film about baseball that I can never remember the name of ‘If you build it, they will come’.

Then there’s the crossbill (Loxia curvirostra). Those amazing beaks are designed for extracting the seeds from pinecones. There are a lot of them about, but mainly in conifer forests, so I think I need a trip oop north. They remind me of little parrots.

There has been a noticeable absence of owls on my list so far, so here’s one: the long-eared owl (Asio otus). They aren’t that rare, but like most owls they are difficult to see. The ‘ears’ aren’t ears at all, but ear tufts, and nobody really seems to know what their purpose is, though most biologists suspect that they allow the owl to communicate its emotions and intent.

And while we’re on the subject of carnivorous birds, there are many, many birds of prey that I’ve never seen, but I would love to see this smallish bird, the hobby – it is a specialist in dragonflies and swallows, which means that it is quite the acrobat. It’s a summer migrant, so the window for seeing one is quite short. I may have glimpsed one in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery hawking for dragonflies a few years ago, but it wasn’t clear enough to be sure, so it stays on the list. Also, look at those red ‘trousers’! What a bird…

Two to go (thinking about it, I’m going to make it a list of eleven birds to include the hen harrier that Ive mentioned already).

Number nine is the Great Northern Diver (Gavia immer). This is a bird of isolated lochs and lakes, and is perhaps best known for its evocative cry. It can crop up in practically any coastal area in the UK during the winter, so keep your eyes peeled! Have a listen to the recording by Yoann Blanchon below.

I realise that I could easily have chosen twenty birds, or even thirty, but here’s my last one for now. The Common Crane (Grus grus) breeds in Norfolk, and there is a small re-introduced population in Somerset. Birds can crop up in other places too, but they are vanishingly rare, with only about 30 pairs of birds breeding, and a maximum of 200 spending the winter in the UK. But my goodness, what impressive birds they are! The call is pretty impressive too. Have a listen to this splendid duet, recorded in Sweden by Esperenza Poveda.

And so there we go. Is there a bird that has always eluded you? A species that you’ve always wanted to see? A bird that turned up unexpectedly and took your breath away? Do share!

Dear Readers, of all the UK birds that I want to see and have never seen, the hen harrier is in the top five. A bird of moorlands, bogs, marshes and other wild, open country, it has seen a shocking decline in England and Scotland over the years, though it seems to be doing relatively well in Wales, where there are 40-60 breeding pairs. There are two main reasons for its decline. The first is forestry – many areas of lowland have been, and were, planted with Sitka spruce, destroying the habitat for these birds which, unusually for birds of prey, nest on the ground.

However, the main cause is human persecution. The clue is in the name:  hen harriers largely eat birds (with meadow pipits being a particular favourite), though they will also eat frogs, voles and  insects. Gamekeepers see them as being a danger to the red grouse on driven grouse moors in England and Scotland, and the mere presence of a hen harrier is believed to impact a day’s grouse shooting. Literally hundreds of these birds are illegally killed every year. English moors should provide habitat for more than 300 pairs of the species, but in some years none have bred at all. It appears that in some areas grouse shooting is only viable if the animals that prey on the grouse are killed, which in my view means that it isn’t viable at all. Raptor Persecution UK is keeping track of all the hen harriers and other birds of prey that simply ‘disappear’ close to grouse moors. Their latest report makes for grim reading. 

Hen harriers are elegant birds who hunt by sight and by sound – note the owl-like facial disc in the photo of the female above, which helps to channel the tiny scurrying sounds of mice and voles. During the breeding season, the male will drop food to the brooding female, who will catch it in mid-air. Hen harriers practice polygyny, with the males mating with up to five females. This means that they have to catch an awful lot of meadow pipits and voles, and research in Orkney showed that the more food is available, the more mates a male will have.

In the winter hen harriers will roost communally (if there are enough of them), and birds from Scandinavia and northern Europe may be spotted on salt marshes and other coastal areas right around the UK and Ireland. There is a famous population on the Isle of Man, and, as previously mentioned, on Orkney.

Perhaps most extraordinary of all, though, is the ‘sky dance’ display that the male hen harrier performs to attract a mate. Twisting and tumbling in the air, almost out of control and then regaining control, this unfortunately also makes the male bird extremely obvious and vulnerable to those who would seek to eliminate it. But to watch the display is to see something unforgettable. Have a look at the video below, and you’ll see what I mean.

RSPB on Hen Harriers 

 

Dear Readers, New Scientist had a most fascinating article this week about how a ‘biocrust’ (a mixture of moss, lichen  and cyanobacteria) are helping to protect the Great Wall of China from erosion. This extraordinary structure was started in about 200 BC, and rebuilt many times. Today, less than 6 percent of the original wall is well-preserved, and much of it has vanished altogether.

Much of the wall was built with a mixture of soil and gravel, compacted together to create ‘rammed earth’. Scientist Bo Xiao and his team at the China Agricultural University in Beijing sampled a 600 kilometre section of the remaining wall, and found that more than two-thirds of it was covered in biocrust. Traditionally, such layers are removed (not just in China but in most sites of archaeological/historical interest), but the scientists found that the biocrust actually strengthened the wall, in addition to forming an insulator which helped to reduce the temperature extremes that the structure experiences.

The areas covered in biocrust were also less porous so there was less water-penetration, erosion and salinity. Interestingly, these sections of the Wall also showed increased resistance to mechanical assault. It seems that in some places this mixture of algae, moss and lichen is literally holding the wall together. What a shame that this protective vegetation is so often removed to improve the aesthetic value of a monument!

You can read the whole article here, and very interesting it is too.

Plus, I went for a walk in St Pancras and Islington Cemetery yesterday, and found lots of biocrusts – some kinds of headstones and memorials definitely attract more moss and algae than others, but I was particularly taken  by this little bit of retaining wall. There is clearly a whole mini-community going on here, and I’m very glad that no one has yet found the time to ‘tidy it up’.

There is a lot of scientific study into biocrusts going on at the moment, and many seem to indicate that they improve the drought-resistance of soil, and can help with bioremediation of ex-mining sites and other contaminated areas, and even in Arctic tundra areas where the biological community has been damaged by trampling. I expect we’ll hear a lot more about biocrusts in the future. Watch this space!

Dear Readers, the garden has been visited regularly by house sparrows this winter – this morning I counted a flock of twelve. I couldn’t be happier! I’m not sure where they’re roosting (certainly not in my sparrow nest box, which I suspect is too low and too close to the house) but I’m always happy to see them wherever they turn up. And this week, Facebook reminded me that I’d actually had an article about sparrows in The Londonist  back in 2014, and if you’re inclined, you can  have a read here (titled ‘Where have London’s Sparrows Gone?)

This also reminds me that in February 2024 I’ll have been writing this blog for ten whole years! Surely that calls for some kind of celebration. I shall have to have a think, but do comment if you have any suggestions. I’m also 64 this year, so I’m expecting quite a lot of renditions of That Beatles Song….And because I love you all, here’s a version subtitled in Spanish. You’re welcome.

It’s not just sparrows in the garden, though: there is a very athletic little black and white cat, who is trying to catch either a squirrel or a pigeon but hasn’t cottoned on to the fact that you have to hide first, so everyone is on to her long before she makes her pounce. Let’s hope she doesn’t get wiser quickly.

The collared doves are chasing one another around a bit, almost as if it was spring. I saw a feral pigeon trotting up East Finchley High Road with a twig in its mouth earlier this week – pigeons and doves can breed all year round if there’s food about, which there certainly is. I was accosted on the doorstep by a fox this week too – it had clearly been planning to limbo dance under the door to my side return, where there’s quite a gap, but decided to wait until I’d gone. I love the way that they just sit there patiently, or melt into the undergrowth.

In spite of all your advice (thank you!) I haven’t quite gotten around to getting a squirrel-proof feeder yet, so the little devils are still eating me out of house and home. Maybe after Christmas I’ll get my act together.

And all the usual suspects are popping in – the goldfinches, the starlings, a pair of jackdaws (who have mastered the suet feeder), some occasional chaffinches, a dunnock, a wren, a robin who appears from nowhere when the mealworms come out. All in all it’s a busy time for the birds, and lack of leaves means that I can see them. It’s all about the dreaming and planning now, and the waiting for the bulbs to come up (though my husband did intercept a squirrel either digging something up or planting something in one of the pots in the front garden this morning). The world is turning, slowly but surely.

Dear Readers, what a can of worms has been opened this week on the subject of Giant Rhubarb! Usually known as Gunnera, this plant has been a favourite of stately homes for many years. I briefly considered it for beside my pond, before realising that what I’d actually need was a lake about a hundred times bigger than my relative ‘puddle’. But a few days ago, Giant Rhubarb was declared an invasive species, and it is now forbidden to be sold or cultivated. What’s going on?

It was believed that there were two species of Gunnera in the UK. The first, Gunnera manicata, comes originally from coastal areas of Brazil, was believed to be a benign plant with enormous leaves and an  impressive flower stalk. It was widely sold, and I suspect that there are many, many parks with this plant spreading its mighty leaves beside the goldfish pon.

The second, Gunnera tinctoria, looks similar but is invasive. It’s been banned from sale in the UK since 2017, and has wreaked havoc in New Zealand.

Well, Readers, it appears that ‘the enemy’ has been hiding in plain sight. Scientists now believe that all the plants we’ve been thinking are the lovely Gunnera manicata are in fact hybrids: Gunnera manicata crossbred with Gunnera tinctoria very early on in the history of the plant in this country to produce Gunnera x cryptica. Gunnera x cryptica is extremely invasive (and is already causing problems in wetter areas such as the west of Ireland and Scotland). Furthermore, there are probably very few Gunnera manicata left, as the hybrid has outcompeted its less vigorous sibling.

In ‘Alien Plants’, Clive Stace and Michael Crawley have this to say:

‘On coastal cliffs, the main impacts of colonies of Giant-Rhubarb are the threat of erosion and the loss of maritime species. Apart from the ecological impacts associated with the loss of biodiversity, there are also landscape impacts, including the reduction in the area of land that is suitable for agriculture and amenity purposes. Dense stands of Giant-Rhubarb growth may also lead to the blockage of drainage channels and increased risk of flooding. Due to the size of the plant, access to sites infested with Giant-rhubarb is difficult, making control measures problematic’ (Pages 470-471)

What to do? DEFRA says that any existing plants can be kept, but no more can be planted, so there will be a flurry of activity in nurseries and garden centres up and down the country. For existing plants who have hopped over the fence, it’s probably down to cutting back and blitzing with herbicide, in much the same way as people are trying to deal with Japanese Knotweed. The plant also needs a lot of water, so is likely not to do well in drier areas.

Yet again, it seems that something imported for its dramatic appearance has turned out to be rather too fond of life outside the garden, with the added complication, in this case, of the plant turning out to not be what it seemed. I shall watch with interest to see what happens next.

Dear Readers, one of my splendid commentators alerted me to the fact that dogs were being trained to sniff out Japanese Knotweed when I posted my last piece, so I had to have a closer look, and in ‘Dogs Today‘ magazine there’s an article about Mick and Mack, described as ‘Fox Red Labrador Retrievers’. Who even knew that there was such a thing? Still, I have to say that  the dogs look very eager and ready to go. They can apparently detect Japanese Knotweed even when it’s dormant in the winter, and if they sniff some they will freeze and presumably glare at the offending spot of ground.

Their services are much in demand by buyers seeking to buy homes. According to Environet UK, the company who use the dogs, sellers can be very sneaky in covering up the presence of the plant in their gardens. Sellers are required to disclose if there’s Japanese Knotweed in their garden, but it’s said that some sellers will enter ‘not known’, and then cut everything back and cover it with a membrane.  Enter Mick and Mack, who will soon sniff it out. Presumably if they don’t find anything it’s reassuring for the buyer, and in either case the company has recouped some of its investment in the dogs.

I am also a bit behind the curve here, as Mick and Mack started work in 2020, and were soon joined by Buddy, a rescued black Cocker Spaniel. His great sense of smell was soon noticed by his rescuers, who wondered if he could become a drug or bomb detection dog, but probably didn’t realise immediately that he would end up sniffing out an invasive plant instead.

The nose of a dog is truly something of a miracle – it can sniff out tumours, detect when someone is going to have a seizure, tell the difference between urine samples in the search for particular diseases, and now it’s being used to sniff out invasive plants. What remarkable animals they are! All the more reason to treasure them, train them properly and look after them well. Who knows what else they’ll be capable of doing?

On the other hand, they haven’t yet been trained to wield a fork and spade every week for three or four years in order to dig the blessed Japanese Knotweed out, so perhaps there’s a role for human beings after all.

A series following the 72 British mini-seasons of Nature’s Calendar by Kiera Chapman, Lulah Ellender, Rowan Jaines and Rebecca Warren. 

Dear Readers, this time last year we were under a blanket of snow – I remember heading down to my Friends of Coldfall Wood Christmas dinner over hard-packed ice. This year, it’s rainy and blustery, but what is the same is the shortness of the days, the feeling that we no sooner get up than the light has gone.

In ‘Nature’s Calendar’, Rowan Jaines explains that the period between Samhain (on 31st October/1st November) and the start of the lambing season (Imbolc, usually at the end of January) was known as ‘the black month’ in Celtic languages. Sometimes this was further divided into ‘the Black Month (November), the Black Month before Christmas (December) and the Black Month after Christmas (January). I’m sure you get the general idea.

The Black month was seen as being the opposite of spring. Spring was personified as a noble young knight, who defeats winter and invites everything to wear his livery of green. The Black Month, on the other hand, was seen as the crone’s month. It was a period of waiting rather than doing, of hibernation rather than fecundity. It was the season for the telling of tales, rather than being productive: Jaines suggests that the ‘woman’s work’ of spinning and weaving was culturally taboo during the winter months, and that the ‘hag’ would visit punishment on those who disobeyed. Hence, telling stories was transmogrified into ‘spinning a yarn’, the only kind of yarn that could legitimately be spun.

It may seem strange to many of us, for whom Christmas is one of the busiest times of the year, that the winter has been viewed as a time for being, not doing. Tell that to the poor Mum simultaneously wrapping presents, decorating the tree and organising the Christmas dinner! But actually, my Mother always loved the gap between Christmas and New Year even more than Christmas itself – she would sit on the sofa munching  a turkey sandwich while we all watched a re-run of a James Bond movie, paper hat slightly askew and the prospect of a nap brightening her afternoon. For that strange period from 26th to 31st December, all bets were off – we would read, play Monopoly, listen to music or go for a walk without all the pressure of Christmas Day itself. It was time out of time, a liminal space when the world stood still and work and school still seemed very far away.

From my window I can  see the Christmas tree lights coming on up and down the road. I remember the days when by now I’d be frantically organising  wheelchairs and reclining  chairs and stairlifts for when the parents paid their annual visit. I loved having them with us for Christmas, but there’s no denying the sheer amount of work involved in keeping two frail elderly people happy and in one piece for nearly a week. How I miss it! I would have those days back in a heartbeat, for all that the festive season was the most stressful time of an average year. And yet, I have made my peace with Christmas, five years after my Mum died. I still do some of the things that she loved, but many things have dropped away. It’s more restful now, but no less meaningful. In just over a week, we’ll pass the shortest day, and the year will turn yet again. For now, though, I feel inclined to hunker down  and embrace the darkness.

This pair are Orinoco Geese (Neochen jubata), from South America as the name would imply. Cheekily, the females sometimes lay their eggs in the nests of other Orinoco geese, so one female might end up with as many as 19 goslings to take care of.

And these chaps are Red-crested Pochards (Netta rufina) –  I think they look a little like a 1980s boy band, but maybe that’s just me. They are extremely handsome and are sometimes seen in the wild as escapees from wildfowl collections, though some birds do hop across from the Continent.

And what is this on one of the noticeboards? I’m pretty sure it’s a False Widow Spider (male) (Steatoda nobilis). He was very active considering it’s the middle of winter.

And then we found a pair of these rather handsome birds. These are Cape Barren Geese (Cereopsis novaehollandiae), rare in the wild and also apparently in collections, as they have a reputation for being ‘strong and aggressive to humans’. These two seemed extremely relaxed.

And then, finally, we have some Red-breasted geese (Branta ruficollis), another species that has ‘jumped the fence’ and can occasionally be seen in the wild. They always look to me as if they’ve popped straight out of an Egyptian wall painting, as in fact they have, though if you look closely you’ll see that there are subtle differences in the plumage. Scholars believe this was either down to artistic licence, or to the painting being of a kind of goose that no longer exists. I’m thinking that maybe the latter explanation is sadly closer to the truth, as the greylag goose on the right hand side of the panel is very close in all details to the living bird.

On the way back, we encountered the Wild Walk, which involved a lot of balancing on logs and rope ladders and other unexpected stuff – great fun for little ones and the more athletic amongst us, but a bit tricky when carrying a rucksack, a camera and binoculars. Still, I survived, and was rewarded by this bench with its water voles…

And this children’s playground, which has rides in the shape of a tadpole going through metamorphosis.

I am so pleased to live in a city with such easy access to such a variety of habitats. Walthamstow Wetlands is a bit easier for me to get to, but it isn’t as established as the London Wetland Centre in Barnes, plus Walthamstow is still a working reservoir, with the restrictions that that sometimes imposes. I love them both! Fingers crossed for many more opportunities to explore nearby nature in 2024.

Dear Readers, today I headed south-west for a trip to Barnes and the London Wetland Centre. The centre was established in 2000, after many years of planning, on the site of four redundant reservoirs. Today, it’s one of the best sites for bird watching and nature in general in London. Plus I’d also thought of it as being difficult to get to from here in East Finchley, but actually it takes just about an hour via Waterloo.

First up though, what on earth was this object at Waterloo Station? It was completely wrapped in black plastic when I travelled through en route to Dorset last week, but this week it’s revealed as an enormous advert for Kate Spade, an American fashion designer. A little train whizzes around the bottom, bearing a miniature pile of parcels. I confess myself underwhelmed. I rather like the red and green lights on the iconic Waterloo clock though.

Downstairs a whole new shopping centre is appearing in what used to be the Eurostar terminal, before it was moved to St Pancras. Alas, the toilets upstairs have been closed for refurbishment so us ladies are directed downstairs where there are about half the number of cubicles. Be warned! Though there is a very golden Christmas tree down here, so it’s not a completely wasted detour.

And up at the top level there’s a statue dedicated to the people who arrived on the Windrush. They were invited here to work on the railways and in the National Health Service and received a mixed greeting to say the least. What a cold place London must have seemed.

Anyhow, half an hour later I’m striding up to the entrance of the Wetlands Centre, pausing only to admire the statue of Sir Peter Scott, who did so much for the birds of the UK. What an astonishing man he was! He founded the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust, which has nine reserves, including this one and Slimbridge, which was where Scott started to document the differences between the Bewick’s Swans who appeared every winter.  He was the founder of the World Wildlife Fund, and the originator of the Red Data Books on endangered species in 1962. Truly, he was ahead of his time. He also managed to save the Hawaiian NeNe goose from extinction.

Anyhow, I was at the Wetlands Centre to meet my god daughter, who is a vet. I am as proud as punch! She has a great fondness for otters, so we went to see the Asian Short-Clawed otters being fed. The centre is mostly comprised of wetland habitat for wild birds, but they also have a fine collection of waterfowl and these two mammals.

I wasn’t that surprised when, at 5 minutes to feeding time, a heron turned up.

They seem to have a good sense of time – the otter feeder wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Did the bird notice that the people had gathered, I wonder? I wouldn’t put anything past them.

Anyhow, the keeper came out with what looked like some very nicely filleted trout (I’ve been watching Masterchef The Professionals so I know it’s All About the Detail). The otters seemed less than impressed, but were eventually persuaded to get stuck in.

The heron kept a discreet distance, but missed nothing, and eventually got some fish that the otters had missed.

Mostly, though, it stood around looking elegant, only moving when the otters came within nipping distance.

And then we wandered off to see the rest of the wildfowl. There is one pond completely surrounded by swamp cypress and at this time of year it’s losing its leaves. Just look at the colours!

And here are some goldeneye and some smew, looking very handsome. This is a great time of year to look at ducks, they’re all in tip-top plumage.

 

And what, you may ask, is that Smew doing in a wire basket? This is a very handy way of feeding the diving ducks without the herons/mallards/gulls being able to get at it. The diving ducks just pop underneath and pop up in the feeding area, and then pop up outside again. The poor old mallards can only eat what they can reach with their beaks.The next lake over had some buffleheads and some hooded merganser.

Plus some shoveller ducks who may or may not be wild.

We passed two chaps on our way out of the wildfowl collection and into the ‘wild’ part of the centre. They had been eagerly looking for a bearded tit who had been spotted, but in all these acres of reeds you’d have to be lucky to find one, for sure. How beautiful it is in this low winter light, though!

It was very quiet in the hide, and we spotted wigeon…

Gadwall….

There were great rafts of teal, their rust and green heads shining in the sunshine.

You really get the sense that something magical could appear around the corner at any point here, or, more often, that  you’ve just missed something. If I lived a bit closer, I would definitely pop in regularly to see who was about. There are water voles here too, but usually the most you can spot is the ‘plop’ as they jump into the water and head off to safety. After all, with all these reeds, why would you make yourself too visible?

After all this excitement we were hungry, so we headed back to the cafe for a sandwich, and tomorrow I’ll tell you about the second part of our trip. I was very excited to see this giant dragonfly though 🙂