My Vision For Nature - Scotland

Around this time last year, I stood in a stiflingly hot classroom in front of expectant, watchful eyes as I attempted to teach a group of P5 children about the difficulties of conservation.

The revelation that there was a possibility of a wolf reintroduction had been met with great enthusiasm; the question “would you like to see wolves back in the highlands?” was answered with vigorous nods and cries of “it would be SO COOL!”

“But what if one of these wolves gets into your back garden and eats your rabbit?”

A few moments silence, while the cogs turned. Then: “It would still be cool.” “They could eat my wee sister if they liked!”

I then explained that, whilst it would be super awesome to see these majestic predators back in the wilderness where they once roamed free, not everyone would be so happy about one munching on a little sister sandwich. Farmers, for one, risked losing livestock, their livelihoods, and, quite possibly, their safety. The eyes glazed over as little minds digested this information. Then one boy piped up: “Then why don’t we knock down the massive shopping centre and build a reserve there? We don’t need that. But the wolves need a home.”

If only grown-ups had that kind of brutally simple attitude to problem solving. For a 7-year old, the natural world still holds a special lustre that cannot be replaced; the joy of exploring the wilderness, the excitement of the idea of a wolf can bring, can’t be outdone by clothes stores and housing developments. Okay, so farmers have good reason for not wanting a fearsome predator on their land, but the wolves – and other wildlife – are also entitled to a home. At 7, the adult emotions of fear and cynicism haven’t yet set in. It would be so simple to reintroduce wolves. And SO cool.

Realistically, if wolves are to be reintroduced into Scotland, it won’t be for a good while – we aren’t ready. But as the concept of re-wilding continues to gain momentum, something exciting is happening here. The idea of more wilderness and seeing Scotland’s native fauna return to its rightful place is most often met with positivity and excitement. From Caledonian pine forest to beavers, raptors to the Eurasian lynx, the future seems hopeful.

It may have been a sad day for conservation when David Cameron became re-elected; reading the policies of the conservatives is depressing to say the least. But just like many of my fellow AFON members, I am an eternal optimist. I would like to point out that the story in Scotland is very different – opinions and attitudes are changing for the better, with an overwhelming shift to the SNP during the election. The Scottish Governments Climate Change Act is nothing if not ambitious, with targets to reduce carbon emissions by 42% by the 2020, and 80% by 2050. The latter figure is stated in the SNP’s manifesto as being a ‘minimum’, and they are leading the movement to improve this by investing heavily in low carbon transport and renewables. And – although I would love for this not to be the main driving force – the benefits to the economy and tourism from re-wilding means that a lot of support is being offered for related ventures.

Mainly, however, Scotland is fighting for its voice to be heard – just like we, as conservationists, are fighting for nature to be heard. One of SNP’s taglines is ‘Let’s lock out the Tories’ which is a feeling shared by many across the UK, including (judging by my twitter feed following the election) a great deal of my fellow wildlife enthusiasts.

I’m not saying we’ve got it covered: there’s a lot of work to do. Conservation conflict is just as – if not more – rife in Scotland. Groups of people – politicians, ecologists, estate owners – can become polarised as a result of different points of view that become embedded within society over time, and as a result we constantly bump heads. Instead, we need to work alongside gamekeepers and stakeholders, not to tell them that their opinions are wrong, but to understand why they think the way they do. I’ve actually found a lot of gamekeepers to be very amicable and often open to change; it’s that initial prejudice and mistrust that we must overcome in order for nature to have a future.

For me, that’s my vision: to work together and find shared solutions towards mutual goals. To not see a parties’ manifesto as wrong or a gamekeepers attitude as incorrect, but to use them as a means to finding a long-term strategy that benefits all. Somewhere within us all is a 7-year-old who thinks simply, without prejudice or old grudges, and still treats nature with the respect and awe it deserves. My vision for nature is that one day, we all learn to listen to them.

The Ythan Estuary gets the seal of approval

Seals seem to have played a large part in my zoological career. I spent a very enjoyable two year stint as a marine zoologist for an aquarium, which involved caring for and training four fully grown grey seals, and these irresistibly lovable animals were at the centre of my dissertation. Perhaps it has something to do with my attachment to dogs – to whom our pinniped friends are so undeniably similar in character – but I formed an instant fondness for the soulful eyes, rolls of blubber and happy-go-lucky nature of these creatures.

My dissertation was based at the Ythan estuary, about a thirty minute drive north of Aberdeen. It is part of Forvie Sands Nature reserve and is an incredibly important ecosystem, supporting a diverse network of estuarine life. The mudflats in particular are species rich, boasting populations of Hydrobia and Euphausiids, amongst a variety of others. These in turn attract a stunning array of shorebirds, from redshanks to terns. Four species of tern utilise the Ythan’s bounty, most commonly the sandwich tern, the population of which amounts to just over 1000 pairs. During the breeding season Forvie Sands is closed to the public to allow the colonies of rare terns a chance to settle down in private. During my dissertation I was lucky enough to be allowed access to these colonies by the ranger, Annabel Drysdale. After an incredibly bumpy ride across the sand dunes in her rusty old Land Rover, we were richly rewarded by the spectacular sight of a busy tern colony containing not only sandwich and common terns, but also the much rarer little tern.

 And of course, my absolute favourite the eider duck – who, as I have mentioned before, have my favourite call of any bird, sounding somewhat akin to a pervy builder eyeing up the local talent – reside at the estuary in vast numbers. In fact, the reserve boasts the largest breeding colony of these birds in the UK.

On top of this, Forvie Sands also contains one of the largest populations of seals in the British Isles. Although accurate counts are difficult to come by, the last estimate stated a number exceeding 1000. When you first encounter this vast, sprawling mass of pinniped bulk, your brain almost can’t compute it. Rounding a corner through the dunes, a wall of mottled grey greets you accompanied by a chorus of grunts, groans and howls (you could almost be forgiven for imagining a pig farm would be waiting for you). And for every ten seals you can see on land, one will be bobbing about in the water – quite difficult to spot at first as they blend in perfectly with the steely grey of the seawater. But once you've spotted one, it’s a bit like Where’s Wally; suddenly lots of little dome shaped heads pop up out of the water, eyeing you with a calm indifference.

The majority of the population is made up of grey seals. There are two species of seal commonly found in Britain – grey and harbour. Grey seals are generally larger in size, with a flat, ‘roman-shaped’ nose and v-shaped nostrils. Harbour seals have the classic, perhaps ‘cuter’ Labrador face we associate with seals and tend to be smaller and lighter in colour. I did notice a small population of around 10-15 harbour seals who always seemed to remain separate from the bustling mass nearer the estuary mouth. There isn’t much evidence to say that grey seals bully their canine-like counterparts, but perhaps the fact they don’t intermix is the reason why.

My dissertation largely involved myself and two of my zoology course mates sitting on the beach with some binoculars observing the seals’ movements everyday for a month straight. You may think that chilling on the beach in summer sounds like a fantastic way to spend a month, but clearly you do not live in North East Scotland. In the rare moments it was not a torrential downpour, it was gale-force winds or bitingly cold. And on top of this, we’d only had enough money to buy a two-man tent, which meant taking it in turns sitting outside wrapped in a bin bag to protect our notebooks (and who said being an ecologist wasn’t glamourous?). But we grew to love watching the behavioural antics of our subjects, who lounged and lazed to their hearts content despite the weather. Seals have a wonderful relaxed attitude to life, and will move only to have a leisurely stretch, curling up their back flippers and leaning back the head in a characteristic display of incredibly slow gymnastics. Occasionally, one or two would make the cumbersome journey of hobbling across to a new spot or perhaps (a very exciting event to us as we froze in our tent or bin bag) a few of the enormous males would become locked in battle. However, these fights would only last for a few minutes before the lesser male would give in, yawn, and return back for a well-deserved nap. Seals on land even blink slowly.

Seals in the water are a different story. Anyone who has witnessed the clumsy, awkward struggle of a seal moving on land can relate to the surprise of the smoothness and grace of their aquatic acrobatics. Seals are also notoriously inquisitive and individuals at the Ythan can be observed following dog walkers up the beach, sometimes coming within a few feet of people standing in the shallows. This curiosity has unfortunately got the seals into trouble a few times, especially with the angling community. Recreational salmon fishing is a big past-time at the Ythan and therefore conflict as emerged between the angling society and the vast seal population, a topic which was the concern of my dissertation. I spent a lot of time talking with fishermen, who strongly believed the seals were feasting on salmon and posted a threat to anglers in boats. Data on salmon stocks for the Ythan showed salmon numbers were actually on the rise, however many individuals would come very close to the boat, sometimes even swimming underneath. A male gray seal can grow up to 7m in length; it is easy to see why some anglers might be intimidated by a wild animal of substantial size showing a keen (if albeit harmless) interest in their distinctly small fishing boat. A cull is forever being proposed but, thankfully, has never been allowed.

I, for one, cross my fingers that it never will. I naively hope for the day that the fishermen accept they are in the seals’ territory, stealing the seals’ food from underneath their noses, and realise the seals themselves don’t bear a grudge. In fact, they’ll just shrug, sigh and relax onto a comfortable spot on the beach. Maybe we should all take a leaf out of their book…