The montrose basin: A bird-watchers paradise

On Tuesday I was lucky enough to be given a tour of the Montrose Basin, a local nature reserve just an hour and a half away from Aberdeen by car. The reserve itself is enormous, incorporating a plethora of different habitats; saltmarshes, freshwater streams, extensive reedbeds and arable land. The basin is perhaps most famous for the bird species that feed, breed and roost here - most notably migrant waders and wildfowl. This year the reserve had a record breaking number of wintering pink footed geese: over 78, 000 individuals were sighted, which drummed up a wealth of media attention!

So, naturally, I arrived at the basin with my birders head on. I was most excited to see a Kingfisher, a bird I've always wanted to see in the wild. I'd been assured montrose was the place to spot them, and, sure enough, there was one perched with a rather regal air right outside the visitor centre. Conspicuous in his vivid uniform of turquoise and burnt orange, he kindly stayed there long enough for me to grab a quick photo before flitting off to complete the days business.

Other spots included a huge variety of garden birds (great tits, tiny blue tits, and a multitude of sparrows or "spuggies" as they are known back in geordie-town) and Mrs Pheasant, who wandered about rather forlornly until the slightly more flamboyant Mr Pheasant appeared...

One of the most important habitats on the reserve is the reed bed, a great, rippling sea of rushes that provides vital hiding places for many wetland species. A pair of bearded tits have been spotted in this area, and although they didn't show their faces to me, it's greatly hoped that they'll start nesting at the site.

Another key ecosystem is found within the mudflats that border the estuary. Ideal estuarine conditions support an abundance of invertebrate life, namely lugworm, Hydrobia (miniscule marine snails) and Corophium: tiny shrimp-like creatures that belong to the crustacean subphylum. This in turn attracts a great number of shorebirds and waders; spots of the day included oyster-catchers, curlews, widgeons, redshanks and eider ducks. I have long had a soft spot for the latter, since we became well acquainted during the field work for my dissertation on the Ythan estuary (another fantastic site for wildlife). Their call sounds rather like a portly builder cat-calling a passing woman, and has to be one of my favourite bird calls (second only to the African grey 'go-away' bird, whose disdainful and distinctly snobbish call can be heard from nearby trees). 

There was also a grey heron, pictured here stalking the shallows.

One of the most interesting aspects of the reserve for me is that it's existence was brought forward by the wild-fowlers, who regularly use the area for their sport. They enforce strict regulations to ensure the wild-fowl populations are kept healthy, and other wildlife is allowed to thrive. It's a great example of how a reserve can be managed so that both conservation and recreational objectives can operate alongside one another, as long as a mutual respect for nature is withheld. 

Similarly, I was fortunate enough to have a chat with a local farmer, Grant. He offered an alternative perspective on the reserves management, having allowed certain conservation measures to be put in place on his land, often loosing land in the process. Although subsidies have been provided in return, Grant's family have farmed the land for generations and much of it has deep-rooted sentimental value. However, he firmly believed that working alongside wildlife - not removing it - was a necessity, and was an advocate of compromise. 

An unexpected problem came in the form of a group of mute swans. Naively I had no idea of the damage these beautiful creatures can do to crops; how can something so elegant have the same impact as two sheep? But a combination of grazing and tearing up crops with webbed feet has resulted in enormous costs and the employment of a professional 'swan scarer', who apparently is extremely inventive in his methods (one of which was having an imaginary dog called 'Queenie'!)

But perhaps the most rewarding moment of the day came when two brown hares came tumbling out of the undergrowth in the field next to us. Having never seen these animals in the wild, I was surprised at how big they are, and how relatively easy they are to spot with those tall, black-tipped ears to serve as defiant flags admist the grass. As we watched, they even began to box - a fantastic sight. It's not quite boxing season for hares - which mainly occurs in Spring - so these males must have simply been using one another as practice.

The bouts lasted for about 30 seconds before one would chase the other, their bobbing white tails only seeming to taunt the pursuer. It was a brilliant end to a wildlife-filled day. I would certainly recommend the basin to anyone - it's one definite place where the wild things are!

The reliant robin

Given that it's the festive season, the majority of my recent animal spotting has come from my parents home in Whitley Bay, a coastal town on the outskirts of Newcastle. Their humble back garden - however much it may lack in breadth - is a haven for all manner of wildlife, thanks to my Dad's serious green-fingers. In summer, the place blossoms and becomes a hive for a great number of insects. Enormous bumblebees in their stripy bomber jackets blunder their way through the honeysuckle, whilst their smaller and more nimble cousins, the honeybees, zip through the lavender borders; the Buddleja comes alive with a great variety of butterflies and beetles, of all shapes and sizes, scuttle in the midst of the flowerbeds.

But it's this time of year that for me, the garden serves it's true purpose. When the weather is at its harshest, the trees stripped bare and food is scarce, our gardens can provide essential shelter and nutrition for many species, most notably the garden birds. We have always made a point of putting out extra food: crushed nuts, seeds, stale bread. This year we put the inevitable festive excesses to good use, leaving out leftover Christmas pud and cake to provide those much needed calories (and rid us of less needed ones!).

Someone who seemed very happy with our leavings was the resident robin (christened with the appropriately festive name of...'Norman' by my niece) who according to my Mam has been a regular to our Berberis tree for many months. Norman, resplendent with his red breast, often takes place just above the bird feeder and sings his heart out. Obviously our little garden has become 'his' territory for the season.

 Seemingly, his efforts have been ignored by the other birds who have been attracted to our festive free-for-all. We are also frequented by a male coal-tit, aptly named in his dark grey miners cap; several blue-tits, and a pesky crow, who appeared a few days ago to steal the strips of pitta bread (Norman's favourite) from right beneath the robin's beak.

Our plan has worked, though; all the birds look suitably well-fed, having fluffed up their feathers to conserve heat.

Another winter visitor was a field mouse, who endlessly taunted Dad by hanging about the humane trap he had set for him. Wrongly identifying the mouse as a small rat, Dad had spent many hours trying (and failing) to capture the visitor and re-release him onto the back field. After trying chocolate, cheese and dried fruit to lure our cunning friend in with, to no avail, it was the slice of apple that revealed the truth. Somehow, our friend had worked out how to remove the food without setting off the trap. Although we didn't manage to catch the critter, I did manage to capture this photo, which shows a beautifully smug field mouse (not a rat) enjoying his afternoon snack.

It all began with a taxi driver...

Whenever people learnt what I studied at university, I was always astounded by their default response: "So...you must want to work in a zoo, then."

Perhaps it was that misleading word 'zoo' in the title, or maybe I just look the type. But if I had a penny for every time my job prospects were announced in this manner, I'd be a very rich zookeeper indeed. It was this exact sequence of conversation - this time held with a taxi driver shuttling me to Newcastle central for the beginning of another uni term - that ignited a passion for involving myself in science media. 

Mr taxi driver was an incredibly nice man (albeit a little ecologically misinformed) who was very concerned about my future. If, he asked, I was not going to work in a zoo, what on earth would I end up as? I ventured my ambition to become a conservationist, to which he informed me with the utmost certainty that I would have to emigrate as there was "no wildlife in Britain". Horrified by this statement, I spent the remainder of our journey together proving him otherwise. However, the truth of his ignorance simply resided in the fact that he had grown up in India, where 'wildlife' was a term associated with creatures who were either large, poisonous, possessed sharp teeth or all of the above.

Yet even having been born in Britain, we too are guilty of misinterpreting what it means to be 'wild'. The majority of our native fauna are either elusive or relatively small, and therefore easy to forget. If there was a rhino stomping about your back garden, it would be a little harder to ignore - yet we have a plethora of beautiful and exciting wildlife species right on our doorstep. We have territorial stand-offs taking place on your bird table to rival those of the African Serengeti; the hedgerows and railway lines our very own rain forests. People worry about poaching and deforestation that decimates the Amazon, but have no idea that we too are losing our wildlife at such an alarming rate. 

I was always passionate about the natural world; from a very young age I was constantly getting myself into all sorts of trouble, running wild around the fields that backed onto my house searching for animals. Much to my Mam's despair I was forever ruining clothes, coming home exhilarated and muddy with hair resembling the birds' nests I scaled trees to find (the infamous incident the fire brigade were called to rescue me from such exploits is still a touchy subject). I devoured natural history books like they were going out of fashion and painstakingly drew my findings into endless field notebooks. And that passion never subsided. For me, Zoology was a natural choice to study at University and even after four years of intense work, I still love it. But I quickly learned that other people - even some of my course mates - didn't share this view, and like Mr Taxi Driver had no idea what was out there. 

I learnt what I believe to be the most important lesson of conservation: that without public engagement, without education or even just a little bit of inspiration, our efforts will likely fail. If we don't communicate our research in a way that is exciting, accessible and inspires thought, then we have failed as conservationists. Because how can people feel passionate about something they don't know about? If they don't know what to look for?

So that was the drive behind this blog. I want to share my enthusiasm for the jungle that lives within our garden fence, and share my experiences to show that yes, Britain is where the wild things are!