Back in January I dug a few pitfall traps in my garden. These are simply plastic cups set flush with the ground and covered with a lid to keep rain out. The lid also serves to block larger animals – vertebrates like mice or frogs – for what I’m interested in catching here is ground-dwelling invertebrates. The traps can be filled with preserving fluid, but in my garden I’ve kept them dry so I can retain any specimens I particularly want to look at whilst letting anything else go.
Beetles are the most common target of a pitfall trap. So far, all three traps have added species of beetle to my garden inventory. On the one occasion the trap set in the middle of the lawn* flooded, an individual of the mostly subterranean ground beetle Clivina fossor was floating in the top. It’s a curious looking mole-legged creature that twists around what almost looks like a ball-and-socket joint between abdomen and thorax, all the better to contort through small gaps in the soil.
Ocypus aeneocephalus, one of the rove beetles
My latest trap round turned up no beetles whatsoever, but when I tipped out the contents of the raspberry bed trap I immediately noticed something pinging about like a rubber ball, much too large to be one of the usual springtails. Flattened from side to side and with a variety of legs and other appendages sticking off seemingly at all angles, this was an amphipod crustacean. Wait: a shrimp, in the garden?!
It turns out there is one species of terrestrial amphipod in Britain, Arcitalitrus dorrieni. It’s an introduction from the forests of New South Wales that was first found in this country back in 1924 on the Isles of Scilly. Common names include landhopper, woodhopper and (my favourite) lawn shrimp. They’ve been well established in the south and west for some years now, mostly on the coast, but seem to be spreading. I first discovered the existence of this creature when I found them under flowerpots in our garden in Twyford, just to the east of Reading. They’re established in the London area, and have clearly made their way along the Thames valley as far as Newbury. Of course this latest leap may have been made in one go by hiding out in a plant pot in our removal van! Perhaps that’s a clue to how this species gets moved around.
The British Myriapod and Isopod group are collating records of this species and also published an informative paper last year updating the landhopper’s U.K. distribution and providing information on how to separate it from other (less common) introduced terrestrial amphipods. Dave Hubble also provides more detail on his blog. I presume it is fairly under-recorded, so why not go pick up some pots in the garden and search for this rather entertaining skipping shrimp?
*Or what I will hopefully be calling the meadow later in the year.
Coffee update (see previous entry):
Somebody at Waitrose customer service replied to say they’ve passed on my enquiry to a colleague for a full response. Nothing for a week or so. In the meantime we’ve discovered that Riverford, from whom we order a weekly vegetable box as well as milk and other bits and bobs, have just started selling a shade-grown Fairtrade coffee produced by Equal Exchange. We’ll order a bag and give it a go!
This week I’ve been thinking about coffee. Our household coffee consumption has rocketed in recent years: I’m drinking more of it and Rebecca has joined me since a conversion experience in Italy a couple of years back. As with many of the exotic imported foods we consider staples, it can be hard to remember that coffee beans are grown in real places by real people. We try to do our best for the latter by choosing Fairtrade, or at the very least brands with comparable established relationships with their growers. What about the places the beans are grown and the wildlife which inhabits them? A nicely made video dropped into my inbox from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology this week, reminding me of the benefits of shade-grown coffee in the Americas, especially for new world warbler species (I was going to embed the video here but it’s a private link and I can’t get it to work – try clicking here).
When we’re in the States I see the phrase shade grown on labels fairly often, but a quick survey of the labels in our local Waitrose suggests it is rarely if ever used here. In fact I think I’ve only seen shade grown used by the RSPB. Do other UK suppliers source fewer beans from the Americas? That doesn’t seem likely, and there are plenty of single origin varieties on offer from Colombia, Peru, Mexico, etc which make no mention of growing method. Or perhaps because the warblers in question are not ‘our’ warblers are we simply less bothered about them? That would seem a shame.
Our standard coffee purchase is a Waitrose own-brand. There’s some information on provenance on the Waitrose website, but most of it is unhelpfully vague, for example ‘we receive assurances over the methods used and quality produced’. But since they also say ‘we are proud that our own-label coffee beans come from defined sources’ Waitrose should be able to tell me exactly where in the world the beans we buy come from, and give us some more information about the estates on which they are grown. I’ll write to them and see what happens. In the meantime I’d also like to find out:
Where genuinely shade grown coffee is sold in the UK. I’ll report back here.
Whether growing style (shade vs full sun) is as much of an issue for birds and other wildlife in other parts of the world, e.g. central Africa. I would guess not so much where coffee plantations have not replaced rainforest, but I don’t know.
I’ve just found this helpful blog by Derek Thomas (always google your questions before writing a speculative blog post!) from a few years back which gives some answers, but it will nonetheless be interesting to see whether anybody at Waitrose has encountered the bird friendly coffee concept since that time, and figure out which new brands on sale in the UK are supporting this. For now, here’s an American warbler. Not a long-range migrant and so not a species likely to turn up in a coffee plantation – but it is the only one I’ve managed to get a few seconds footage of!
This year my New Year’s resolution has been not to have any. January is a terrible time for fresh starts. It’s gloomy, cold and spring feels an age away. Attempting to hold myself to impossible standards would be doomed to failure. That’s not strictly true; I do have a few resolutions. Such as: drink more beer and eat more cheese. Countless wonderful examples of each foodstuff are produced just in this small country, and whilst I may still be relatively young I haven’t got forever to try them all.
I suppose I did also have one or two more noble aims. Instead of interminably thinking things over or chewing on problems for a long time, I will endeavour to just get on with it wherever possible. I’ll let you know how that one goes…when I get round to it! Another is to do more of what I enjoy. Sounds simple, but you wouldn’t believe how many of us find this a difficult thing to act on.
Now, given that this is ostensibly a nature blog I should probably come up with something more natural history oriented. Over the weekend I reviewed my pan species list and updated my tallies on the PSL website. Remembering that participants can view their rank for each different taxonomic group, as well as overall rank, I thought I’d use my relative position on each list as a handy guide to which groups I have catching up on to do, and which ones I’m ahead of myself with (i.e. I’ve seen more than I thought I had relative to my interest).
What follows may be of little interest to anybody other than me, so I’m not offended if you stop reading at this point. Thanks for stopping by, and have a nice year!
For the brave among you, I begin this breakdown with a list of PSL taxa for which I have not recorded ANY species:
In these groups of organisms I have, therefore, raw untarnished potential. Flatworms are extremely cool but I’ve never handled many for long enough to identify them. We may possibly have an ID for one seen on the Solent coast last November, so I need to check an old notebook and photographs for that. I’ve also potentially got a sea spider to add, for which, again, I need to do some more sleuthing. I’ve certainly seen sponges, but whether any were correctly identified I can’t be 100% sure. As for slime mould, time to go find some dog’s vomit!
So what have I seen?
For the following groups, I make the top 50 recorders (50 being as far down as the group rankings go). My species total is in brackets.
Algae, cnidarians (mostly sea anemones on my list), molluscs (a fair few marine snails etc.), crustaceans and tunicates (sea squirts) I put down to having made quite a few visits to the coast with knowledgeable guides or enthusiastic friends, a good field guide and a camera. Sometimes that’s all it takes. The next step is to try and absorb some of the species on my list and ‘earn’ them, by which I mean if I saw them again I’d recognise them straight away or know quickly how to determine which species it was.
I was fairly interested in springtails for, ooh, about two weeks in February 2013. That’s probably enough to have ‘charted’ in the top 50 given their general obscurity, and I did learn enough that I can still ID one or two species in the field. A long way to go, but at least I’ve made a start: springtails are one of those groups which I feel I ought to know something about given how ubiquitous they are.
The presence of coleoptera (beetles) and hemiptera (bugs) reflects, I think, a genuine interest. In each case there’s a long way to go before I’d call myself an expert (that dreaded word) but I am fairly comfortable identifying most beetles or bugs I come across to family without resorting to a key. A few species I know well enough to greet like old friends. It’s a satisfying feeling. I think – whisper it – I have become an entomologist!
Reptiles are the only group of vertebrates for which I chart, more by accident than design. There are only six native species in the UK, of which the only one I haven’t seen is sand lizard. If you want to see more species you’re into the realm of exotic escapes and introductions. I do think lizards are rather nice. I should go and seek out a sand lizard!
There remains quite a long list of taxa for which my ranking is outside the top 50, and in many cases probably below my current overall ranking (82).
For all of the above I would say I’ve made no particularly strong effort. I have some reasonable totals simply by virtue of being out there, exploring the world as a mildly curious naturalist. That’s why plants are one of my highest scoring groups; step outside and you can’t help but fall over them. It is, however, a group I’ve still not quite cracked, relying for the most part on other people’s knowledge. So I wouldn’t describe myself as a botanist just yet, though given how fundamental plants are to habitat assessment and often to invertebrate identification I’m working on it. I probably know more than I think I do, at least in terms of common species.
I’ve put some genuine effort into seeing species in these groups; I just have quite a way to go! If pressed I would tell people moths are among my favourite, but next to the 2500 or so moth species in Britain my current total of 302 is pretty low.
Birds started this whole thing for me but I’ve seen comparatively few species in the UK, especially compared with the big list twitchers. Birds remain my first love, but what I enjoy most is knowing and caring for the bird life of the local area. Of course if a new species turns up somewhere convenient or whilst I’m on holiday elsewhere in the country I’m not likely to turn it down! I’d travel for a bee eater, though probably not too far, and I’d need a few days’ notice. What I would really like to do is catch up on a few ‘bogey’ species among those that do breed in the UK. Seeing a honey buzzard, twite, ptarmigan or golden eagle in breeding habitat would be much more satisfying than a half-dead vagrant. I loved seeing some new birds on a trip round central Europe last summer and it didn’t really bother me that much that they weren’t in the ‘right’ country for the purposes of my UK list.
Right, where was I going with this? Resolutions! I didn’t sift through the rankings to compare myself with other listers; it was more a way to measure my relative progress with the different parts of the natural world. With all that in mind, here’s what I’ll be aiming to do in 2017:
Get off the starting line with as many of my blank groups as possible
Learn to recognise a decent handful of common species in those groups where my list is currently very small
Consolidate and expand my knowledge for those groups I’d like to get good at (beetles, bugs and moths in particular)
Be confident enough with plants to allow myself the title botanist
Be a better local birder. I won’t add any species to my list, but I will enjoy myself!
And isn’t enjoying ourselves the main point of this listing lark, in the end? That and becoming better natural historians, to the eventual benefit of the wildlife we love. I wish all of you an exciting, surprising, wildlife-rich year ahead.
Since moving to a new house in Newbury we are the proud custodians of two sheds. The one nearest the house is ridiculously posh as sheds go: dry, clean and spacious with a glass-walled summer house section at one end. That part in particular is serving us well as a reading den or comfortable moth-trap hut. At the far end of our garden is a second, more dilapidated shed. When we first moved in, we noticed wasps entering and exiting at the edge of the ill-fitting doors. In the hot August sunshine they appeared as rows of glowing yellow dots, each following an identical track in and out as though slung along a wire. An active nest for sure: we let them be.
Whilst comings and goings from the shed have since tailed off, today Rebecca pointed out shallow scrapes in the wood all over the doors. Soon afterwards we caught one of the culprits in the act; wasps have been scraping the surface with their mandibles to harvest wood pulp for nest building. Elsewhere in the garden where ivy is flowering, wasps have been ever-present of late, plundering a rich bounty of nectar. The sheer mass of social wasps active in autumn makes it hard to believe that in a few weeks they’ll mostly be gone, leaving it to a handful of queens to see out the winter and found new citadels next year.
Yesterday I was leading nature walks on the Reading University campus, an official part of the Open Day. A genuine highlight was finding the entrance to two separate wasp nests, both small holes in the ground from which a constant stream of workers was emerging. I hope that seeing wasps as part of a dynamic colony (that didn’t threaten us!) helped our guests to appreciate them as interesting animals worthy of our attention and admiration. These were easy-to-reach people, however, who voluntarily decided to go on a nature walk. Figuring out how to win friends for wasps among ‘ordinary’ people who see them as a seasonal nuisance, at best, is a trickier proposition.
From the outside, the David Attenborough building – home of the Cambridge Conservation Initiative – is unpromising. Not so much an ivory tower as a concrete one. But the building has a quite literal green heart, for a four-storey living wall takes centre stage in the building’s atrium. Sir David himself abseiled down it at the centre’s official opening earlier this year: not bad for a 90-year-old. The CCI incorporates staff from RSPB, Birdlife, Fauna & Flora International and the IUCN, as well as Cambridge University scientists, so perhaps the true green heart of the building is provided by its human occupants. The reason for my visit was the 2016 Nature Matters conference, hosted in Cambridge this year to add another node to the CCI network.
Arriving early for the second day, I was struck by the irony of the Attenborough building’s surroundings. From the multi-storey car park across the road to the impressively extensive cycle storage facility out the back, there was not a plant to be seen. Not much space for nature, but still, wildlife is often surprisingly resilient. Surely I could find something of interest lurking even here?
I had a short poke around. On the east side of the building, fronds of spiderweb dangled from gaps in the Fibonacci-spiral-themed slate wall. They appeared to be gathering no flies, only a thick grey dust reminiscent of volcanic ash. These spiders must have been early colonising pioneers, but by their current absence had perhaps not been rewarded for their optimism. On a ledge across from the west side, a pair of feral pigeons flapped and jostled. One maintained the higher ground and kept dislodging the other, which would regain a perch further along each time only to be knocked right off again. High wildlife drama? Perhaps not.
So, I think I can safely say that the most engaging vision of nature present during Nature Matters was not the real thing, but that running through the minds and hearts of the conference participants. Through one evening and two days of main sessions and workshops we listened, we watched, we debated, we laughed, we ate, drank and socialised, maybe one or two of us shed a tear or two.
Perhaps it was the presence of the great Sir David himself, but the atmosphere was electric in the final session. Our theme was hope. Contributions from the panel on stage were kept brief, leaving plenty of time for conference delegates to offer their own positive stories from the floor. Attenborough rose to offer some closing remarks, and when he finished, he received a standing ovation. It wasn’t so much for the address he had just given – though it was a fine one – but for the fact of who he was, for his life’s work. And perhaps it was for ourselves too, for each other. A needed fillip, a defiant statement that yes, nature does matter, and what is more, it is within our grasp to secure its future.
I notice a team of researchers have announced in the journal Sciencethat a population of Greenland sharks contains individuals as old as around 400 years. A few people have raised questions (not explored in the paper) about the potential for old sources of the carbon-14 used in the process to have hung around a long time in the stable Arctic environment, making the sharks appear older than they are. Nonetheless, the ages quoted are pretty incredible if true and even if it’s an overestimate these are likely to be the oldest known vertebrates alive.
The good news for would-be explorers of the natural world marooned in rainy-ol’ Britain is that there are plenty of similar mysteries on our doorstep. We simply need to think a bit smaller! Try about 3mm long, for example. That’s the size of the beetle in the right of the picture below, taken in the University of Reading’s ‘Wilderness’ on the 2nd of August. A few more of its kind, Anaspis costai, were hanging out on the same small cluster of fading hogweed flowers.
I walk past the flowers in question twice a day, once in the morning between 8 and 8:30 and again between 5 and 6:30 in the evening. The following day, a few more A. costai had joined the party – about 8 – and a similar number remained present through the rest of the week. I wondered if they’d remain over the weekend. Sure enough, there they were on Monday morning. And Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday! I say they: how do I know they were the same beetles?! For so many species of insect we don’t even have this kind of basic information. How long do they live, how far will they travel in a day, how far do they disperse over the course of a lifetime?
What I needed to have done was marked as many of them as I could on day 1, perhaps with a tiny blob of enamel paint on the tip of a wing case. That’s what my PhD supervisor Graham Holloway did back in 1987, just around the corner on the same site, with a population of Eristalis pertinax hoverflies. These beetles would make trickier subjects – they’re small and very susceptible to disturbance – so I’d struggle to match the impressive total of 1223 insects marked in the hoverfly study. It would give me some satisfaction just to mark a few, though, and get anywhere towards knowing whether my beetle friends are the same individuals day after day, feeding on the same flower head, or if they represent turnover of newly emerged adults dropping out of the scraggly oak just above. There really are mysteries wherever we look, as insignificant as they may seem in the general scheme of things.
Not long after the turn of the century, one landowner in Sussex made a startling decision: to take an entire 1400 hectare estate out of production and turn it over almost entirely to wildlife. The results have been so good that more and more people are talking about the Knepp estate, and a couple of weeks back I was fortunate enough to go, one of a group of young and youngish (that’s me!) people from the A Focus On Nature network attending a wildlife-packed weekend of walks and workshops. Ostensibly I was there to help run an invertebrate session, but mostly I just felt like an eager participant. I’ve seldom enjoyed the company of such a keen, knowledgeable group of young people and on the whole it was not so much about some teaching others as us all learning from each other.
So what is Knepp like, on first impression? It’s not immediately mind-blowing in terms of wildlife, although the quietness may have had more to do with it being mid-July, in what has been a poor summer for many kinds of insect. I’ve seen more spectacular displays in some British nature reserves. But a fairer comparison would be to any other arable farm in southern England. Compared even to a sympathetically managed farm with plenty of wildlife-rich habitat in the field margins and hedgerows, Knepp abounds with life. Look closely, and some of it is pretty astounding: for example, where else can you see so many purple emperors in a single day?* The abundance of small flies swarming to my head torch after dark ran a close second in the impressiveness stakes, McCarthy-esque insect snowstorms being all too rare a phenomenon, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen so many young frogs and toads.
The feel of the place is unique too. Even our nature reserves are, for the most part, held static. They have to be: the rare habitats and species they protect have nowhere else to go. At Knepp, scrub comes and goes at will, or rather at the behest of Knepp’s driving force, the free roaming old-breed livestock and deer herds. It’s that ‘free-range’ scrub that has catalyzed the purple emperor explosion, this supposedly woodland-loving butterfly finding its ideal home in vast expanses of sallow (food plant of the emperor caterpillar). It has also proved beneficial for nightingales and turtle doves, species bucking the national trend by increasing at Knepp. Rare plants, invertebrates and fungi are starting to appear too, the varying fates of each part of this vast area of self-willed land facilitating colonisation into a cornucopia of otherwise scarce niches. The Pan-species listers among us were pretty impressed to see a bracket fungus on oak that only occurs in a handful of locations in Europe.
Perhaps the most important thing about the Knepp experiment is that it seems to be finding favour across diverse parts of the U.K. wildlife scene. A few days after our visit a group of staff from the Game and Wildlife Conservation Trust were there to look around, and were very positive about the estate afterwards in blogs and tweets (worth a read here for more detail on how the project works). It’s a place of pleasing contradictions where everybody can find something to like. Knepp is rewilded (whatever we happen to mean by that), but still a profitable food-producing estate; native wildlife has priority, but pheasants are allowed to persist and are still shot on a small (non driven) scale. Finding common ground between everyday nature lovers and landowning (usually shooting) constituencies has never been more important, for the more these ‘sides’ are at loggerheads the more wildlife will suffer. It challenges assumptions too. I had been cynical about the rewilding movement, perhaps due to a grumpy inclination to distrust anything promoted with evangelical fervour and certainty. At Knepp I saw a form of rewilding translated into the real world – and it works.
So, is Knepp the future model for UK conservation? Well, it couldn’t happen everywhere and nor do I think it should. As estate owner Sir Charles Burrell noted in his introduction to the weekend, we need our nature reserves to go on acting as reservoirs for rare species. Elsewhere we need to retain plenty of land for farming in the more traditional sense of the word, for arable crops, fruit and vegetables. Man cannot live on expensive, free-range organic meat alone, although those of us who are still carnivores could probably afford to eat much less meat and stick to the good stuff. It would be instructive to have a whole series of Knepp-like experiments running: some bigger, some smaller, on different soil types, in different parts of the country, some introducing a variety of grazers and some relying on what’s already naturally present. I’d be particularly interested to see it done with a dairy farming estate in the West Country, since thinking and research around farmland wildlife seem to focus overwhelmingly on arable and the east.
I confess I feel uneasy that the only way to achieve this is to rely on the largesse of big landowners. It’s fantastic that Charles Burrell found himself with the land to pursue this vision, but how many others would be willing to follow? One can hardly blame a man for the circumstances of his birth, though, and I should stress that whilst Knepp is private land it is very much open to visitors. It’s very accommodating to ecologists who want to come and study; you can wander across the estate freely on public footpaths and whilst the safaris seem costly they’re really not bad value considering how many hours’ adventure in the company of a knowledgeable guide they represent. The estate was extremely generous to AFON in facilitating our visit. Nonetheless, it would be great to see similar projects on community- – a ‘co-op Knepp’, if you like – or publicly-owned land. In the meantime I would urge everyone with an interest in the future of wild Britain to go and see what’s happening at Knepp for themselves.
*That’s not actually a rhetorical question: Knepp now has the biggest population of purple emperors in the UK, achieved in about 15 years from a starting position of 0.
With thanks to all the organisers of the weekend, in particular Simon Phelps (AFON), Tony Davis (Butterfly Conservation) and Penny Green (Knepp).
White-legged damselfly female
Pupal case of Raymonda, the famous Knepp purple Empress