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Life Through A Lens - Musings from the RSPB’s Roseland Team
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December 2011 - Over and out! - A sad Bon Voyage to Nick Tomalin
I sit here, dear reader, at the end of a damp Monday, with the light already fading, unsure of what to write for this month’s ‘Life Thru A Lens’. I’m torn because I have to deliver some bad news. I will be leaving the Roseland, and indeed Cornwall, at Christmas, and translocating myself up to new, larger but not necessarily richer pastures in Wiltshire. This may not be bad news from your perspectives, but it is a sad thing for me to have to leave a place after half a decade spent indulging in it. (It is also, no doubt, bad news for whoever has to continue writing these articles in my absence!). Fear not though: the cirl bunting project will go on in my absence, and the birds are in capable hands and continuing to thrive. No doubt more news on their progress will appear on the site in due course.
So I am not sure what a fitting subject for departure should be. And though I’m sorry to be leaving the Roseland behind, I do not wish to part on sad terms. In fact now more than ever I am aware of the wonderful places and fantastic sights I have been fortunate enough to experience over those years. I shall drag myself from any self-pity or morose nostalgia, and instead give you some of my personal highlights, in no particular order. With each I have suggested something for your ‘to do’ list, and hope you will manage to share these experiences over the coming year. I offer them in the hope that they will remind you all of what a truly charming part of the world we live in, so that you too can seek them, and in simple celebration of the Roseland.
1. Cirl Buntings!
These have to be a highlight! These stunning little creatures are the reason I came here, and have delighted me with their company ever since. And more and more of them seem determined to share residency with us on the Roseland. It would be easy to get bored of one species, but the cirls always have something unexpected to offer: usually the fact that they do exactly the opposite of what they’re supposed to! I’m glad I am leaving them at a time when things are looking good for the population. I hope that I can look back years from now at the established population and know that you and I played a part in it.
To do: walk the footpaths around Gerrans and Portscatho in spring and listen out for singing male cirl buntings on wires, trees and houses.
2. Seawatching
What is it about the sea that is so captivating? I have never lived by the sea until I came here, and yet I know I will miss it. Its not as if I even visit the sea each day, but it is somehow comforting to know that it is nearby. And though it rarely affects my day to day existence, I am always vaguely aware of the state of the tides. I often head down to the beach for 15 minutes just to see it. Though it is such a vast expanse of nothing, the chance of seeing something draws me to it again and again. Distant shearwaters and skuas, plunging gannets, bobbing seals, shark fins, breaching dolphins, odd-shaped boats, tall ships, submarines, sunrises and sunsets – all of this available if you simply spend long enough watching and waiting.
To do: wait for a dry autumn day with a strong onshore wind and find a sheltered spot to sit on Nare Head, Pednvadan or Killigeran. Take binoculars, warm clothing and a hot drink, and spend two hours watching gannets, kittiwakes, shearwaters and skuas passing.
3. Fieldwork mishaps
Working outdoors is guaranteed to present you with a whole range of bizarre and amusing experiences. On many occasions I have found myself, apparently alone in the field, talking to myself, singing or maybe even attempting a spot of dancing, when suddenly you realise you are not the only one present. I have often wondered; if a fieldworker falls over and no-one is around to see it, does it make it any less funny? I think not, and have frequently chuckled to myself when I picture the absurdity of my situation. When you accidently lean on the electric fence, pull a stupid face as the current kicks in, and then look around to see if anybody noticed, you’ll know what I mean!
To do: laugh at yourself from time to time!
4. Community
I thought about writing ‘People’ for this one, but it’s more than that. I have met a lot of people since being here, and will miss many of them, but what I’ve really enjoyed since being down here is the sense of local pride I’ve encountered. To a newcomer that can seem quite daunting, as everybody seems to know everyone else, but it amazes me how quickly people become familiar and make you feel welcome. Mostly I like that fact that random encounters in the field tend to prompt a smile or a chat, instead of the impersonal crowds you see in towns and cities. The same faces crop up day in day out, month by month and, in some cases, year to year, to that extent that you can tell the seasons by the people you see.
To do: stop to talk to those you meet out walking; ask them what they’ve seen or share your knowledge with them.
5. Seasons
To anyone who spends time in the field, especially watching wildlife, the seasons are very evident. This is especially prominent on the Roseland, where the birdwatching calendar brings certain highlights at certain times, as we wait for the arrival or departure of our avian comrades. The sea and rivers are particularly interesting in autumn and winter, when passing seabirds and wintering wildfowl and waders can be found. The land has more to see summer, with the arrival of smaller migrants from the south. I feel sorry for our summer visitors (people, not birds that is) as they never encounter the wonderful mix of species and sights you get here in winter. Few things beat a crisp winter’s morning on the beach at sunrise, and you need to spend a full year here to experience the full range of highlights.
To do: record the first and last dates you see a swallow, or more species if you can identify them.
6. Transport
Luckily we have a car provided for our work. I did once try to cycle to a farm I was visiting, and managed to turn a 5 minute drive into a 45 minute slog. I also turned my legs to jelly. Whilst driving less is commendable from an environmental perspective, the practicalities of using public transport or muscle power to get around have had comical outcomes. Thankfully walking is a necessary part of what we do. On one or two occasions we have found ourselves trapped at home when work on the single track road to St Anthony has caused a blockage. In another instance ice got the better of us. But my favourite transport problem is the state of the roads. I once heard a Roselander who, when asked to name the deepest lake in the world, responded that it was a pot-hole just outside Portscatho. And I couldn’t help but chuckle at the ‘Temporary Road Surface’ sign near Trewince to which someone had added ‘Permanent Sign’.
To do: take a bus!
7. Scenery
This has to be a highlight. I have had the privilege of visiting a number of areas on the Roseland beyond the reach of public rights of way. And though I don’t advocate you all trespassing your way into new areas, there are so many beautiful locations that are publicly accessible that you should all be able to enjoy the landscape we live in. Seascapes are equally as dramatic, with the imposing headlands to the east and Falmouth to the west. And the winding tidal rivers mean the same view can look v ery different throughout the day. Many times I have walked a new path, turned a corner and discovered a vista that required a pause and time to take it all in.
To do: find a footpath you haven’t walked before and go exploring!
8. Pasties
Another obvious highlight. I always enjoyed Cornish pasties before coming here, but had not experienced the near fanatical devotion to them that many residents seem to have. I can not deny that they are objects of affection for me, and I have especially noted the improvement in the local pasty provisions over the time I have been here. I do now have to be careful quite how many pasties I indulge in, since I am no longer doing as much field work as before. At one point I tried to work out what was an appropriate length of time between pasties. Is one a week too many or two few? I’ve also trialled assorted flavours – chicken, bacon, cheese, vegetable, and even chocolate and banana – but I’ve always drawn the conclusion that a traditional steak pasty is the best.
To do: if you’ve not had a Ralph’s pasty, try one. If you have, try another one!
9. Wildlife
In some respects the Roseland is not necessarily the place you would come to see wildlife. There are more dramatic wildlife spectacles to be had elsewhere in the county and on an altogether different scale if you travel around the UK or beyond. But what makes the Roseland’s wildlife all the more special is that it is hidden away, sometimes known only to a select few, and often relies on your own luck to find it. I’m fortunate that there is a seal colony just minutes from my house, and in spring I can watch two diligent peregrine falcons rearing young just down the road. I have bumped into glow-worms, adders and slow-worms on the coast path, and from there I have seen dolphins and basking sharks. Convolvulus hawkmoths have appeared in the garden, along with gold ringed dragonflies, commas and a friendly pheasant. And from the comfort of my office I have seen black redstart, firecrest, great spotted woodpeckers and sparrowhawk. I have become familiar with many bird species I had not seen previously, like the divers and grebes in the bay and the seabirds that pass our shores. Swifts scream through the village in summer and on one occasion a hummingbird hawkmoth flew between my legs. I’ve even learned a few more plant species than I knew when I arrived. There is a never ending list of things to see – birds, plants, reptiles, mammals, invertebrates – and I’m sure there is so much more out there waiting to be discovered.
To do: give yourself an identification challenge! Learn a new species and where to find it.
10. Coast Path
This is not strictly a Roseland highlight, but applies throughout Cornwall. Since living here I have been trying to walk as much of the coast path as possible, and have now covered over 250 of the nearly 300 miles of Cornish coast path on offer. In doing so, I have met some interesting characters, spent time with friends, encountered a range of wildlife, seen some cultural history and so many stunning landscapes. Plus its a great excuse to get some exercise. And with about 630 miles of coast path in all, it should keep me busy for some years to come!
To do: walk from St Anthony to Nare Head along the coast path.
So there you go. All you have to do is walk the local coast path, find a cirl bunting, grab a pasty, chat to those you meet, sit for two hours, fall over, watch the swallows, and get a bus back! Job done! Or should I say proper job done?!
Best of luck, Nick, and thanks for all you've done for us all over the past few years. Ed.
November 2011 - From Caithness to Cornwall – by Tom and Jo
Hello! We (Tom and Jo) are the new(ish) RSPB residential volunteers. No doubt you will see us with binoculars, wandering around a field near you soon!
Like many species of bird, this year we decided to migrate north for the spring/summer season and then migrate back south again to escape the worst of the winter weather. We thought moving from one end of the UK mainland to the other was quite a journey at 778 miles but, considering the incredible distances flown by many migratory species, it soon puts the length of our “migration” into perspective!
We were fortunate enough to spend the spring and early summer in the wide open spaces of the Flow Country spanning Sutherland and Caithness – based at the RSPB’s Forsinard Flows Nature Reserve, a large blanket bog.
The sheer scale of the bog was breathtaking, and it felt s uch a privilege to be out working in what must be as close to wilderness as you can find in the UK. We were enlisted to assist with the reserve’s comprehensive survey season which ranged from surveying breeding waders, locating hen harrier territories, to dissecting mammal scats in order to identify what they had been eating!
Throughout May and June the skies were filled with the eerie cry of golden plover and divers, the harsh call of harriers and greenshank, and the almost comical and distinctive dunlin. Spending a day out on the bog also made it hard to believe species such as skylark and meadow pipit are in decline, such were their numbers on many of our survey plots. We were also lucky enough to come into contact with extremely rare species such as Wood Sandpiper.
A considerable amount of time in Forsinard was spent squinting down the telescope observing scoter behaviour as part of a research project, but we have now swapped the scoter for something a bit more challenging to spot – cirl buntings! Rather than observing the amount of time spent underwater by our subjects, we are trying to record the colour rings: certainly a challenge, but an interesting and enjoyable one.
The Roseland has proved to be a nice contrast in scenery and associated habitats – the landscape has an almost cosy, self-contained feel to it compared to the seemingly endless Flow Country. Having said this, it certainly felt pretty wild and windswept at the start of the week with the onshore winds bringing waves crashing onto Towan be ach, watching the arctic skua and kittiwake.
There may be many differences, but an interesting similarity (for us, at least!) has been the crossover in species. For example the greenshank we’ve seen along the creek, and the flock of golden plover recently sighted north of Trewithian - we can’t help but wonder whether any of these are the same birds we spent so much time watching up north! Granted – there is now little chance of spotting a hen harrier from the house, but the firecrest we saw from a window at the weekend more than made up for it!
From it still being light at 11pm and being woken up by the sun at 3:30am most mornings, the long dark evenings here are taking some getting used to! On the plus side, we are no longer under attack from midges on still afternoons and evenings. And after walking up to 20km a day over very boggy ground, it is a change to be back on terra firma, as it were!
Our “migration” has emphasised the shifting seasons, as the air is now filled with the sounds of flocks of finches and redwing rather than breeding waders. But despite the nights getting longer, we are greatly looking forward to the next few months of cirl-spotting on the Roseland.
October 2011 - Grey’s Anatomy - by Lucy Tozer
Did you know there’s a seal colony in the Roseland? When a friend told me of their whereabouts three summers ago, I had little clue how great an impact this nugget of information would have. From ignorant beginnings, my curiosity for the seals grew. When I first started visiting the cove the seals looked so similar to one another; I became keen to learn how to identify them. I thought how lovely it would be if I could visit the cove the following season and recognise some of them! And so the journey began.
After talking with Debs Wallis about the seals, I was put in touch with Sue Sayer, Cornwall’s seal guru and founder of Cornwall Seal Group. This opened a new world to me, of a large group of individuals, each deeply passionate about seals, some monitoring seal movements, others rescuing and rehabilitating them at Gweek’s Seal Sanctuary, whilst some collected data from seal strandings.
Roseland’s grey seals instantly sparked Sue’s interest, for I had photographed a grey seal she was very familiar with. His name is ‘Old Railway Arch’. It’s a rather odd name, but when you’ve been to a Seal Group meeting and been shown ID photographs of seals, you’ll discover Sue has a variety of far more peculiar names for them! Each is a reference to part of a seal’s unique markings. Old Railway Arch was a for mer beachmaster. For years he’d governed a major seal colony on the north coast, but now past his peak, he’d disappeared off Sue’s radar. Imagine her delight to find him alive and well, basking on a beach in the Roseland! This fuelled my curiosity, and I was generously loaned a camera to photograph the Roseland’s seals and create an ID database for our region.
It took me quite some time to get to grips with sexing the seals. Simply speaking, the males look more masculine (and by consequence less sleek and attractive!) and the females have a more appealing face and colouration. To put it in clearer terms, females are generally much paler, and have clearer black splodges of patterns, particularly on their neck and tummy. On the whole, males are dark and plain. Both of their faces are doglike, but the mature males develop a “Roman nose”.
Sexing seals is a tricky business and even the most seasoned seal-watchers have crises of confidence! To be absolutely certain of a seal’s sex, a polite peek at their abdomen will tell you what you need to know; males have a slit-like opening three-quarters of the way down their bellies. If you see a seal with a ginger coat, it’s a juvenile, and you can be certain it’s younger than 18 months. A mature male is noticeably larger than a mature female.
Males or bulls live into their mid 20s, whereas females live for considerably longer, into their mid 30s. This could be because a male has worn himself out from the task of being a beachmaster, or trying to be! Like the red stag ruts, it is a tale of extreme endurance. Each beachmaster patrols the shore, seeing off rivals, whilst keeping a keen eye on the females rearing their young. Once their pups have moulted their white-coat and are weaned, the female is ready to mate again. Throughout the pupping/breeding season, a beachmaster doesn’t have time to eat or even properly rest! In contrast, the female or cow grey seal is able to look after herself, and will delay the implantation of the fertilised embryo. After weaning, she is very skinny, having lost a quarter of her body weight. She’ll need to eat plenty of food to prepare for the winter ahead.
In Cornwall, the pupping season starts in late summer and continues through to the spring, though it is possible to see a pup at any time. I’m yet to see a whitecoat pup in the Roseland, but have narrowly missed some opportunities. Weaners are very energetic and eagerly explore their watery world, travelling for many miles. They’re able to do this because they have plenty of fat reserves. Young seals have several years in which to just play and investigate the coastline. Females don’t breed until they are 4 years old, and males tend to be over 6, although you might see them practicing from age 4 – and not always with the other sex! I’ve witnessed some strange goings on at the Roseland colony, all of which have fed my fascination.
The Roseland doesn’t have the huge numbers of seals found on the north coast, but from my point of view, this allows me to identify, track and gain a genuine interest in each visiting grey seal. If you pop down to the cove between October and April, you could see anywhere between 0 and 20 seals. This unpredictability makes arriving at the cove a moment of intense anticipation, and helps me to not take them for granted. Some of our seals are just hauled out that day, some hang around for up to 2 weeks, and others drop in from time to time. The most striking behaviour, which is echoed at other Cornish sites, is their remarkable ability to turn up on precisely the same date a year later! This evidence suggests grey seals have habitual routes along our coasts. Cornish seals are also sighted in Wales, and it is thought they travel to Ireland and even France!
Identifying the seals at the Roseland haul-out has been a time-consuming, but an incredibly rewarding undertaking. Whilst some seals are practically impossible to record (due to the moulting process which takes place annually and obscures their pelage pattern), others are striking, making them easy to match up the following year. So far the Roseland’s ID database amounts to about 100 seals, which have been added to Cornwall Seal Group’s database of over 700 Cornish seals. It is thought there are 300,000 grey seals in the world, the majority of which live off Scotland. 500-1000 spend most of their time in Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly. We’re incredibly fortunate to have these seals off our shores, and even luckier to have a haul-out in our little peninsula.
The data collected in the Roseland helps the Cornwall Seal Group track the movements of grey seals and get a better idea of what they’re getting up to. One of this year’s most exciting findings here was the sighting of a common seal named Elisa, who has also been photographed near Looe Island. The Roseland has a little team of volunteers who help to count and photograph the seals, and search for those elusive white-coats! If you would like to lend a hand, learn more about our seals, or if you ever see a Roseland seal, please get in touch. Even the smallest piece of information adds to the whole, helping us to build a more complete picture of the lives of grey seals.
On Tuesday 4 October the Harbour Club in Portscatho are holding a series of talks about wildlife in the Roseland. The National Trust and RSPB will be presenting, and I shall be giving a short presentation on the subject of grey seals, so please come along if you’d like to hear more about them! The talks start at 8pm and are informal so you can come and go as you please.
What to do if you find a live stranded marine mammal:
Please note the place, the state of the tide and any injuries you can see without getting close and call 01825 765546. British Divers Marine Life Rescue has lots of trained medics on call 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, and they will get to the site as soon as possible.
September 2011 - Teacher's Pet – by Nick Tomalin
Last week I was persuaded to spend a morning discussing the finer points of birdwatching with a group of twenty or so 10-13 year old girl guides. They were on a week long camp and a friend of mine who leads guide groups asked if I would walk them up the river to point out the assorted avifauna. Never was the term ‘guided walk’ more appropriate! So, off we went, armed with a checklist of ten birds that I suspected we would encounter. I even offered prizes (fluffy albatross toys that make real albatross sounds!) as an incentive, and in an effort to add some form of education and learning, I asked them to link six different foods to the birds that ate them.
In my head I envisaged groups of enthralled youngsters whooping for delight as we spotted our first redshank. I foresaw the straining of raised hands querying the foraging habits of the curlew. I even dared to hope that some of them would point out birds not on our list and flick through the guide book in the hopes of discovering something new. OK, so I was too optimistic, but at least the promise of prizes lured virtually all of them into spotting everything on the list. I may be fooling myself into thinking that they learned something from the experience, but let us not forget that from small acorns mighty oak trees grow!

Formal education is not a frequent part of our work programme, but that does not mean to say it has little value or significance. When you consider that every talk, walk, or event that we do will involve, for some period at least, communicating with other people, the opportunities for ‘education’ in its widest sense are enormous. This very article seeks to inform, question and indeed provoke a response to test and further the knowledge and opinions of your good selves.
Now that all sounds very grand, but if you weren’t slightly interested, you wouldn’t be reading it. I once heard someone say that there is no such thing as an uninteresting subject, just an uninterested person. How very true, though there are times when those of us with more ‘specialist’ hobbies wonder whether some things are inherently more interesting than others. Or perhaps they are simply marketed more effectively. Few will dispute that the traditional image of the ornithologist (the very word does nothing to inspire!) is not immediately associated with trendy youthfulness, though I believe the days of bearded men with raincoats may be coming to an end (I do have a raincoat, but am yet to inflict a beard on the nation).
So whilst I may have been a little disappointed that none of the guide group instantly rushed off to buy binoculars and take out a life membership of the RSPB, I like to think that I may have made a small difference. And if just one or two of the girls have picked up some new piece of i nformation, or some extra sense of enjoyment of the environment, then I consider that a success. When I think back to my own fledgling interest, I am sure that it grew slowly and developed over many years, although I do recall one particular moment of epiphany when I saw my first kingfisher. If all seven year olds could share that experience I am convinced that my job would be a lot easier.
We hear a lot about the next generation, the youth of today, and how they are disillusioned, disenfranchised, and various other words starting with ‘dis-‘. But they really are our greatest hope for saving our species and protecting our planet. This is why education in its most literal sense is so important. The army of teachers, parents, guide leaders, and volunteers trying to achieve this are to be commended on their efforts, but reminded why it is more important now than ever to redouble those efforts. That’s not to say that the rest of us can’t play our part, but I do find it more difficult to assimilate new information as readily as when I was younger.
Starting out as a pre-teen I lapped up facts and figures and they stuck. Now I feel like I’m close to capacity, and remembering that a bar-tailed godwit has an upturned bill but a black-tailed godwit does not may push out some vital piece of knowledge like how to tie my shoelaces. I certainly have plenty left to learn, but I struggle to retain it in the way I used to.
So I feel that those of us with some little knowledge to impart have a duty to do so, regardless of whether it fits our job descriptions or not. I recently heard a lady thank a colleague of mine for introducing her and her family to the RSPB, claiming that it had ‘changed their lives’, as the kids were now begging to be taken out for walks every day instead of playing computer games. Who knows what influence these children will have as they pursue this interest into their adult lives? I hope they end up as mighty oaks.
August 2011 - What's In a Name? – by Nick Tomalin
Turdus merula. Meaningless to many of you, I suspect, but not unfamiliar. Turdus merula is, after all, the blackbird. How many of us, whilst participating in the RSPB’s ‘Big Garden Birdwatch’ in January, yelled ‘merula’ as our friendliest thrush appeared? Why risk the socially inappropriate announcement that you’ve correctly identified a ‘Turdus’ in your garden? For many of us, the scientific name is, and always will be, fairly redundant. But in some respects, this classification is even more important than the common (and often English) name. So what use is the Latin, or scientific, name to us these days?
This classification was popularised in the 18th Century by Carl Linnaeus, a Swedish botanist, who saw sense in using a system known as ‘binomial nomenclature’ to describe species. This was based on using a genus name (the first of the two names) to identify the family from which the organism came, and then adding a specific name, or epithet, to determine the species.
This is one of the reasons that this system is so useful. It allows taxonomist s to identify closely related species and group them together. For example, all of the British thrushes (song and mistle thrush, redwing, fieldfare, blackbird and ring ouzel) share the family name Turdus. The English names give no indication of how closely related a blackbird and a ring ouzel are, but this is made clear when using binomial nomenclature. Equally, the inappropriately named American robin is also a Turdus, but would have us believe it shared more in common with our native red-breasts.
A more obvious use of the scientific names is that it provides a standard baseline for naming species that can be shared regardless of language. This was brilliantly exemplified to me recently when working alongside a Romanian conservationist who knew only the Latin names. I was mystified as to which species she was referring to, and she was equally dumbfounded by my use of common names, until we discovered that we had in fact been discussing the same species! There is a constant debate about which common names should be used (who’d be a loon instead of a diver?!) but considerably less regarding scientific names.
Another feature of this system is that the literal translations of names into English can provide useful identification hints to look for, although this can also cause confusion. As I’ve mentioned before on this very site, the Latin name for the Mediterranean gull is Larus melanocephalus, which translates as ‘black-headed gull’ – correct in that it does indeed display a black head (in summer!) but also allowing confusion with another species commonly known as ‘black-headed gull’ (which, incidentally, has a brown head in summer, and has a Latin name that translates as something else entirely!). In Cornwall we have the majestically named Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax – the chough. The common name potentially hints at the sound made by these birds, but may be a derivative of an old name for another relation, the jackdaw. The Latin name provides much more mystery, as it translates as ‘fire raven’, due to a slightly inexplicable belief that these birds have pyromaniac tendencies.
Another story surrounds that most genteel sporting pursuit, Subbuteo. As a child I loved doing battles on the green canvas, often claiming magnificent and unlikely FA Cup Final victories for Swindon Town FC against the might of Man Utd or Arsenal. The inventor if this glorious pastime originally wanted to call it ‘The Hobby’. But the name was unavailable and he instead resorted to using the Latin name for the falcon, Subbuteo. Incidentally, since the Latin name for buzzard is buteo, it is not an unreasonable assumption that a hobby is reminiscent of a small buzzard.
Helpfully, many of them, like chough, are repetitive phrases, and it is certainly easier to remember Bubo bubo (eagle owl) than Haematopus ostralegus (oystercatcher). Most of the names that I can recall are either repetitive, are species that I’ve worked with, or are beautiful or memorable in their own right. Some of my personal favourites for you to look up include Troglodytes troglodytes (a cave dweller indeed!), Recurvirostra avosetta (obvious when you see its bill), Gallinago gallinago (imperiously named wader) and Puffinus puffinus (go on, have a guess! Its guaranteed to come up in quizzes).
There’s no denying that the vast majority of us will cope just fine without knowing a Hippolais from an Acrocephalus, but for those with a specialist interest, it may just be worth that game of ‘know your scientific names’. You never know when learning your Latin vocabulary will pay off!
July 2011 - Home Sweet Home – by Nick Tomalin
What makes a house a home? Does it take more than the ‘welcome’ door mat to make us feel like we belong? What is the first thing we unpack to give a new place, or even a room, a sense that we live there? When I think of the places I’ve inhabited, I struggle to come up with a common thread for each of them. Whether it was a shared flat at University, a family house where I grew up, or my Cornish cottage, the only concept of ‘home’ I can allocate to them was the fact that they provided a roof over my head! Perhaps the need for home to be a shelter is the most primitive but obvious need of all, and the most fundamental requirement for our feathered friends at this time of year. A search of the avian estate agents reveals a bewildering display of various options available.
The biggest properties tend to belong to our larger species, with osprey and other large raptors building massive ‘eyries’ high up on tree tops. I once had to build one of these vast structures as part of a ‘Generation Game’ style competition where brave members of the public had to emulate the demonstrations of the ‘experts’, of which I was apparently one. I’m not sure what qualified me for such a title in this instance, as this was my first and only experience of building an eyrie. Herons are also fans of sizeable apartments, nesting communally in the forks of tall trees. These birds have no need to hide their nests as their size makes them much less vulnerable to other airborne predators. Perhaps this is a more important aspect of shelter: not just protection from the great British weather, but also from predators and competitors.
Many birds try to hide themselves away in holes and crevices – a fact that we fully exploit by hanging nest boxes for them. Woodpeckers will drill themselves a nest in a tree trunk, but will also enlarge entrance holes in other birds’ nests in order to eat the young, which is why some nestboxes come with a metal panel surrounding the entrance hole. Tawny owls use hollow tree trunks and can be vigorous in their defence of nest sites. The famous 20th century photographer, Eric Hosking, was dive bombed by a defensive tawny owl which struck his face with its claws, costing him the sight in one eye. He later wrote his autobiography and titled it ‘An Eye for a Bird’.
Many seabirds combat the issue of predation by nesting high on cliff faces, often in vast colonies, where some don’t even bother building a nest. These cramped tenements can feature millions of residents jostling for position. And though they put little energy into decoration, some species like Guillemots have a wedge shaped egg that prevents it from rolling off the narrow ledge. Other seabirds will spend the day at sea and only return at night in order to avoid predators awaiting their arrival. Most of these birds nest in burrows so that their chicks remain out of harms way. If you’ve not been to see a seabird colony during the height of the breeding season, I strongly recommend you do. This may require travelling north in the UK, where the largest aggregations can be found, but the sight, sound and especially the smell of so many birds is unforgettable.

The majority of our more familiar songbirds will build a simple cup shaped nest, although even here there is variation. Some prefer to line it with moss, others with downy feathers, and in some cases spiders’ webs will cushion the sitting bird. The cup is perfectly proportioned to accommodate the incubating parent, who will often use camouflage and stay motionless to remain undetected. Since females tend to be responsible for incubation duties, they also tend to be the more cryptic of the sexes, allowing them to stay hidden when danger threatens. Many of these nests you will have found when tending the shrubs in your garden, or perhaps in winter when the leaves have exposed the delicate structures beneath.
These structures really are works of industry and art. The effort required to build, manage and maintain these residences can be considerable. I acknowledge that ledge-nesting seabirds are perhaps less house-proud than most birds, and that woodpigeons’ nests would not confirm to any current health and safety regulations, but many birds go to extreme lengths to house their young.
Some males build several nests so that the female can select her favourite! This feat is undertaken by one of our smallest and most charismatic species, the wren. One particular individual was known to build 40 nests over four years, just to please his property loving partner. The long-tailed tit builds an exquisite dome structure of moss and wool, bound with spiders webs. This is covered in thousands of lichen flakes to camouflage it, and lined with, on average, 1500 feathers! And anyone who has seen (probably accompanied by the dulcet tones of Sir David) the theatres built by bower birds can have no doubt that the males of these species have gained qualifications in design, construction and fastidiousness. (Though these are not strictly nests so much as palaces of temptation! The female actually constructs a nest elsewhere and raises the young alone).
So the next time you consider a move, or look in despair at falling (or indeed rising) house prices, spare a thought for those who must find a suitable plot, build their house from scratch, rear a family and move out only to start over again. They may not need to worry about a mortgage, but having your children eaten may be a more pressing concern!
June 2011 - Plucky Peregrines by Lucy Tozer
The peregrine falcon is one of the most remarkable wonders of evolution. It has acute eyesight, powerful wings, astonishing speed and a formidable beak. To watch these birds in action turns my mind to the engineering innovation of a Harrier jet.
Built to perfection, the peregrine is able to fly effortlessly within the dramatically varied altitudes it lives in. But to do this, requires not only two sets of wings, but specifically designed feathers to cope with such demands. Added to this, its eyesight is eight times sharper than a human’s, enabling it to pinpoint prey from two to six miles away. It’s hard to imagine what it would be like if your vision of the world was as focused as the object you can see in front of you, but for a peregrine it’s just that. Unlike us, the peregrine has two areas of densely packed receptor cells (foveae) in their eyes, whereas we’ve evolved with only the one. This allows for excellent judgement of speed and distance and acts like a telephoto lens. The peregrine is not alone in this visual feat. Other birds such as hawks, eagles, terns, swallows and doves see the world in this way.
Once the peregrine has spied its prey it becomes the fastest creature in the world, clocking speeds of over 200mph as it dives. To withstand the force of the air its feathers are tremendously hard. When we freefall from a plane we have to wear goggles to see, but the peregrine has an extra, translucent eyelid soaked in tears that don’t evaporate. In order to breathe the falcon’s nostril has a central cone, which encourages air to swirl in. The unsuspecting prey is struck with such an incredible impact that it is often killed outright. The peregrine swoops effortlessly out of its dive, unaware of the immense G-forces its body is designed to cope with. If its prey is still alive, the peregrine’s bill is equipped to swiftly dispatch it; a tooth on either side allows it to snap the vertebrae of its prey’s neck.
Surely then, this bird is of ultimate design. Yet even with its extraordinary armoury, it is thought that only one in six hunts are successful. Peregrines will take pigeon, songbirds, pheasant, duck, rook and even rabbit. Not many people are fortunate enough to witness a peregrine hunting and striking its prey. A friend of mine, Stuart Croft, recalls watching one at St Anthony capture a pigeon in flight, and then feasting, legs and all! I have only glimpsed one of our local peregrines hunting, across the flat rocks between Greeb Point and Towan. Its prey resorted to almost diving into the sea to escape. It was a successful tactic, as the peregrine decided it would rather avoid a dunking.

We are lucky to have a resident pair here in the Roseland. A trip to the bird hide at St Anthony will, I can almost guarantee, reap rewards, although they do have a habit of appearing just as I am preparing to leave! Last year I placed a log book in the hide, hoping to learn more about them. The amount of entries from visitors and locals exceeded all expectations and I’ve since had to replace the book several times, and include a bird book to help people identify other birds sighted from the hide. From the entries, I discovered that the peregrines were mainly hunting in the mornings and evenings, and that their prey tended to be pigeons, blackbirds and rooks. Lots of interesting data has been collected, so thank you to those who noted down their observations.
In 2010, the peregrines incubated their eggs for over thirty days and three hatched on the 19th May. At birth, peregrine chicks weigh 42g and astoundingly, usually double that weight in just six days. In three weeks they can grow to be ten times their original size. Many people watched the St Anthony peregrine chicks’ progress with interest, mingled with trepidation. I had been warned by former National Trust Warden, Julian Crewes, that these peregrines did not have a promising track record. It had been some years since they’d succeeded in rearing young; more often than not the eggs failed to hatch or were taken by a predator.
I visited the falcons as frequently as I could and tried to remain cautiously optimistic. As the weeks passed, the chicks grew, under the watchful eye of local wildlife enthusiasts. One of the chicks regularly gave us a fright by hunkering down in the crevice at the back of the ledge, and was nicknamed Houdini.
I went away for the weekend in June, at the time when they were getting close to fledging. Just before boarding the train back to Cornwall, I received the news that I still wish had never come. Something had occurred the previous evening and by the morning, two of the chicks were dead and one was missing.
The two remaining chicks were collected and sent by the RSPB for post mortem, but sadly, the results did not confirm why the chicks had died. What they did discover was that the chicks were a healthy weight, and in my mind, on track to succeed. What occurred that night is anyone’s guess.
But it’s not all bad news. Thankfully, the peregrine falcon is no longer a severely threatened species and Devon and Cornwall are amongst the best areas to see them. Many people spend hours of their free time monitoring peregrines nationwide. Through their efforts, it’s been discovered that some peregrines travel enormous distances between breeding seasons, and before they are of breeding age, which is three or four years old.
And now, on an even happier note, the St Anthony peregrines are breeding once more, close by to last year’s nesting spot. Two eggs hatched last month and so far both parents are doing a sterling job. In the future I hope to help secure funding to set-up a webcam at the cliff rather than relying on a telescope. For now, I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this season’s chicks will take flight. You can help by visiting the hide and noting down anything you see. There is plenty of other wildlife to watch if the falcons aren’t in the mood to entertain.
In the roof of the hide is a pair of swallows’ nests. Last summer I turned to look at them and an adult swallow swapped from one nest to the other. Colonial nesting in this country is highly unusual, so we need to get to the bottom of that particular mystery! Another bird that you’re likely to see is the brightly coloured yellowhammer, which looks like it would be more at home in a tropical clime. Then of course, there are the quirky shags, primeval cormorants, stiff-winged fulmars and the occasional grey seal wallowing in the shallows.
If all goes well, the Roseland will soon be home to more than two adult peregrines. Then we’ll have the opportunity to see even more of the skills and grace of these amazing birds.
May 2011 - Birdsong: A Serious Business - by Sarah Vandome (Pics by Nick Tomalin)
I was struck, one early spring morning, by the sheer volume and variety of birdsong all around, hinting at the beginning of breeding activity now that the coldest weather seems finally to have left us. It prompted me to clear out nest boxes, applying an appropriate parasite treatment to ensure they are ready to receive prospecting occupants. The sooner birds can begin reproductive activities in a safe environment, the longer fledged young will have to mature before next winter.
Among our smaller songbirds, nest-building and egg production are preceded by several weeks of hormone-induced preparation, the result of the lengthening days and slowly rising temperature. Among the passerine (or perching) birds, the males are starting to sing, which is a signal to advertise their breeding status and readiness to compete for mates.
A Singing Competition
Competition in nature leads to the proliferation of individuals best suited (fitted) for occupation of the environment in which they must survive. Such competition is a fundamental driver and developer of birdsong, just as it is of the development of bright plumages or complex courtship behaviours. Competitive birdsong is multifunctional, designed to signal ownership of territory and repel rivals, or to attract a mate with information about the songster’s fitness. It is an unambiguous signal across distance to often unseen members of the same species in potentially dense habitats. Each species has its own distinct song type, within which variations exist.

Vocal communication requires a great deal of energy supported by locally abundant food reserves. If an individual is vocalising impressively, then he clearly thrives within his territory and this information is of great importance both to potential mates as well as potential rivals. The degree to which a female is impressed will tell her about the suitability of the male to pass on his genes to the next generation. The degree to which a rival male is impressed will signal whether or not a fight for dominance is likely or can be avoided. There are many examples of vocal breeding behaviour in nature: lions and deer that roar, frogs and toads that call, whales and birds that sing, to name but a few.
Since singing is costly in terms of energy use, once a mate has been secured the males of many species sing less often. This is no act of complacence on the part of the male, who may need to redirect his energy reserves towards parenting activities. Birds also stop singing during the post breeding moult, as this might attract predators at a time when flight efficiency is reduced.
On the whole, only male birds sing, with occasional exception. This is because it is usually the female who makes the mate choice and the male who must stand up to her considered scrutiny. For this reason the repertoire, or sheer variety of song, can be a significant factor in expressing the resourcefulness of the male to a female. Birds expand their repertoire by listening to others around them. Some readily mimic other species and inspiring environmental sounds. Great tits and especially starlings are known for this ability. On the cirl bunting project here in the Roseland we have known one of our males to mimic the call of a chaffinch.
Identifying birds by their songs and calls is a useful skill in conservation work. Moreover, birdsong is also an important yet still developing scientific study. Analysis of digital recordings of individual birds can tell us a great deal of information and help to explain particular behaviours associated with vocalisation. For example, birdsong is known to reveal the personality of an often unseen individual. Studies have shown that birdsknow not only who their neighbours are but also what kind of personality each one possesses through its song. Individuals may change the character of their song depending on the intended receiver. A male great tit may, for example, sing one kind of song towards a female neighbour but another to a rival male. Rival males can discern dominance between themselves. Song interruption, for example, is a competitive behaviour that can be attractive to females deciding on mate choice. Thus dominant males in some species will aggressively interrupt the singing of rivals, rather than listen and wait, in order to assert their dominance but avoid an actual fight.
Humans with an experienced ear can also sometimes tell the difference between individual birds. On the cirl bunting project it is possible to learn the difference, for example, between experienced adult songsters and the newest juveniles, whose songs lack refinement. This can be a useful skill to develop for the survey work that we carry out here in the Roseland.
The Dawn Chorus
Birdsong activity naturally reaches its peak during the main part of the breeding season. However, within the annual cycle occurs that daily songburst which many of you know as the Dawn Chorus. It follows a regular pattern:
Early rising species start singing about an hour before sunrise. As other species join in, the chorus reaches full volume about a half hour before sunrise, lasting for around an hour. It then gradually fades in the hour after the sun has risen. There are a number of theories for the occurrence of the Dawn Chorus phenomenon, some or all of which may be relevant to a greater or lesser degree, depending on the species and habitat. Some examples of these are that:
- In the pre-dawn darkness food resources are difficult to locate, especially live prey, therefore energy is better spent declaring ownership of territory, physical fitness and advertising for mates. The earliest risers are usually ro
bins, thrushes and blackbirds that typically feed on organisms constantly active at or near the surface of the soil. Species that join in the chorus later – starlings, warblers such as chiffchaffs and others - may do so because their prey becomes more easily detected later in the day
- Singing may attract unwanted attention from predators and the darkness helps to conceal the songster
- At this time, unclaimed territories may be more easily detected if no-one else is singing in them
- Air turbulence tends to be minimised in the darker hours, which permits song soundwaves to travel many times further without distortion, reaching those potential mates and territorial rivals.
The best time of the year to hear the full range of Dawn Chorus species in the UK is during May and June, when the migrants have returned to join in the singing with our permanent residents.
Many bird species will in fact sing at different times throughout the day and some even prefer to sing towards dusk, rather than in early morning.
If you want to listen out for the songs of different species, here are a number of links you might wish to try:
British Garden Birds tutorials: http://www.garden-birds.co.uk/information/tutorials/
RSPB – Alpha bird identifier, with clips of songs and calls: http://www.rspb.org.uk/wildlife/birdguide/name/a/
BTO – 6 songs to listen out for: http://www.bto.org/news-events/e-newsletter/e-newsletter-library/story-archive/early-breeders
April 2011 – One good turnstone deserves another - By Will Hayward, RSPB residential volunteer.
A visit to Portscatho isn’t complete without a quick check of the birds using the beach and rocks. A range of waders can often be seen and in recent weeks some fairly scarce visitors to the site, such as grey plover and purple sandpiper, have been present. The most numerous wader though, is usually the turnstone and this species may well be the most charismatic. With patience they often allow close views, and whilst watching them feed busily just a few metres away it’s amazing to think that in the spring they leave the area and travel vast distances to remote breeding grounds in high Arctic tundra.
Much of our knowledge of wader migration has come from bird ringing. A metal ring bearing a unique number will identify the individual bird for the rest of its life. In order to gain information of the migration of a ringed bird, it would normally have to be re-trapped at another location so the ring can be re-read. An alternative method that has proved to be highly successful with waders is attaching a combination of coloured rings or ‘flags’ to the bird’s legs. The individual can then be re-sighted by anyone at any point on its migration route without the need to re-trap it. The usefulness of this method is demonstrated by the example of the black-tailed godwit. Before a colour-ringing programme was introduced on the species, only 2.5% of ringed birds were ever recovered, but following the scheme more than 80% of marked birds were subsequently re-sighted. This method still has limitations, with a major drawback being that re-sightings will obviously be limited to areas where there are observers. As migratory wader species are likely to spend a lot of time in remote areas (when breeding, wintering or on passage), many important locations they use will escape detection.

A real breakthrough in this aspect of migration studies has occurred as a result of the use of satellite transmitters. These give regular readings of the bird’s location as it moves, providing incredibly useful information on migration routes (in both spring and autumn), the location and length of stays at stopover sites as well as the location of both breeding and wintering areas. The transmitters are usually attached to the bird with a harness (which will biodegrade and fall off over time), rather like a small backpack. One current limitation with this method is that the size and weight of the transmitter restricts its use to larger-bodied birds. However, this will change in future, as more miniature versions of the technology develop. Even in the twenty years or so that these transmitters have been used on birds, their dimensions have decreased to such a degree that the lightest models now weigh around 5 grams and can be used on relatively small species such as hobby and bar-tailed godwit.
Even so, this technology is still too large and heavy for a species the size of turnstone, but a sensor known as a geolocator can provide similar information. Geolocators store information on light levels at set times, allowing estimates of sunrise and sunset to be made, which can be converted into latitude and longitude readings, enabling the geographical position of the bird to be calculated. The main drawback is that in order to retrieve the information from the geolocater, the bird must be recaptured. However, as the technology develops it is likely that the data could be accessed remotely in future (and the tags will become lighter and smaller).
Geolocators were recently used on turnstones wintering in south-east Australia and provided fascinating information on their migration routes and timings to and from their breeding grounds in eastern Siberia. Six birds were fitted with geolocators (attached to leg flags rather than backpack harnesses to enable the birds to gain weight more freely in the build up to their migration) and the sensors (weighing just 1 gram) were subsequently retrieved from four birds in the following winter. All four turnstones were found to start their migration with a massive non-stop northward flight of 7,600 km to Taiwan. Understandably, they then spent time feeding up, both in this area and in parts of northern China, before flying a further 5,000 km to their Siberian breeding grounds. In the autumn, returning birds were found to take varying routes, mostly through Asia, although one individual took a completely different and unexpected flight path across the Pacific Ocean. This involved a non-stop flight southwards from the Aleutian Islands covering 7,800 km to Kiribati, before a further 5,000km flight to Australia. In the following winter, a geolocator was used on the same turnstone again and it took a similarly spectacular route across the Pacific as it returned from its breeding grounds (though this time it stopped off at a different set of remote islands to refuel).

The turnstones wintering in south-west Britain have not yet been subject to such a detailed study, but bird ringing has provided information on their breeding areas and stopover sites. This suggests that most turnstones, especially those wintering in western Britain, fly to Iceland in the spring where they stay and feed up before crossing southern Greenland to reach their breeding grounds in northern Greenland and north-east Canada. It may be that some birds wintering in south-west Britain first move through passage sites in the north of the country before crossing to Iceland and it’s even possible that some individuals could skip that stage altogether, making the direct flight of around 4,000 km straight to their breeding sites.
Interestingly, it has been found that turnstones that spend the winter together will not necessarily breed at the same site. Birds breeding on Ellesmere Island in Canada were found to have wintered in France, Portugal, Wales and The Netherlands. Wherever their breeding sites may be, it has been shown through colour-ringing studies that turnstones tend to be highly faithful to their wintering sites. Individuals will typically occupy the same areas of shoreline in flocks of stable membership for their whole life (about nine years on average). Fingers crossed that they will continue to be a common sight on the Portscatho shoreline for winters to come, and hopefully, technological developments will reveal further details about their amazing migrations.
March 2011 - Gulls and Gullibility By Nick Tomalin
A series of events occurred yesterday which, upon reflection, demonstrate how far my birdwatching career has come. These events indicate to me a progressive evolution of my knowledge and enthusiasm for birds, but at the same time will no doubt render me even more nerdish in your collective esteem than I already was. You may mock me, brand me a fool or an outcast, or even take umbrage with my opinions, but as I recently told a friend, we need to embrace our inner geek, and not shy away from embarrassing tendencies. So to prove a point, and because I felt guilty for not doing so yesterday, I now lay myself bare at the altar of ridicule.
And the reason for such self-dissection? Gulls. Sea gulls if you must, though there is actually no such thing. There is instead a plethora of different species, myriad sizes and types, a menagerie of form and function. But we insist on lumping them all under one broad, usually derisory, all-encompassing name, and dismissing them as vermin, bullies and boring. These things they can occasionally be, but a better description would be opportunists, predators and hugely varied. So why do I leap to their defence?
It started during the afternoon. I was indulging my passion for chocolate hobnobs and ‘Countdown’ simultaneously, when there was a knock at the door. Our residential volunteer, Will, leant in and informed my colleague, Stuart, and I that there were a lot of gulls on the beach. Within five minutes Stuart had gone, and when I’d failed to get the conundrum (‘gleefully’ – I should have known), I went to join them both. And so it was that passers by would have found three chilly spectators sitting on the damp ground on the cliff top in a gale, peering down at the masses below. Sure enough, there were a lot of gulls. We counted perhaps 200 in all from six species. When my numb hands could bear no more, I retreated to the safety of home, passing on my way a known wildlife enthusiast (who shall remain nameless in this instance), who enquired if there was anything interesting around. I mentioned the spectacle we had just witnessed, which was greeted with less than 100% enthusiasm. ‘Nothing interesting, then’ was the reply.
I should have told him about the downward trends in many gull species, including herring gulls, which are often maligned as pests. I should have described the subtle differences between black-headed and Mediterranean gulls, and how the black-headed actually has a brown head and the Latin name for Mediterranean gull actually means black-headed. I should have explained that some of the small gulls take two years to reach maturity, but the larger gulls can take four years. And I should have poured over the variation in plumage between the different seasons and ages of gulls, so that phrases like ‘2nd winter lesser black-back’ become meaningful! Instead I kept quiet, thereby condemning gulls to a lifetime of anonymity and misrepresentation. If you don’t believe me, think how many among you were tempted to stop reading at the title!
In an attempt to ease my conscience, I now present to you a guide to gulls. I am by no means an expert, but this is a family that requires considerable patience and dedication to come to terms with. All I ask is that you read on with an open mind, and maybe you’ll discover something new.
Black-Headed Gull
The black-headed gull (above) is a common winter bird on the Roseland’s coasts, rivers and fields, but breeds further north and west in the UK. Our resident birds are joined by 2.5 million more from the continent which over-winter in the UK. At this time of year, it lacks the dark hood that gives it its name (falsely, since the hood is chocolate brown), but retains a small dark spot behind the eye. Adults have bright red legs and a red bill with a black tip, and have black in the wing tips as well. First-winter birds may have yellowish-pink legs and have darker patterning in the wing, until they reach maturity at two years old – described as having two age groups. In flight the adults have a white leading edge to the outer greyish wings, which makes them easy to identify, although it can be confused with the Mediterranean gull. Black-headed gulls and their eggs used to be a reliable food source, with one London market handling 300,000 eggs a year in the 1930s, and ‘gulleries’ kept to provide live birds for the cooking pot. Sometimes the eggs were traded as lapwing eggs, which look very similar, and fetched a much higher price!
Mediterranean Gull
Mediterranean gulls, or ‘Med’ gulls, are superfic ially similar to black-headed gulls, but have a deeper red bill and legs (blood red) and, as adults, no black in the wings. They appear much whiter in flight than black-heads, and are ever so slightly larger. Personally I think they have a slightly ‘meaner’ look about them. Although they are comparable to the black-heads, they have three age groups, with birds breeding at three years old. They are becoming increasingly common on the south coast of England, and more are more are breeding here, though not on the Roseland. We get large numbers (our counts have reached up to 60!) in winter, often associating with black-heads. Bearing in mind there were only a dozen records in the whole of the UK before 1940, this is an exceptional place to see this species. The oldest recorded Med gull is ‘Paddy’, who was at least 23 and wintered in Teesside at the same spot every year between 1982 and 2002.
Common Gull
Perversely, this is probably the least common of these six species on the Roseland. It is larger than a black-head but smaller than a herring gull – the middle child if you will! It has three age groups, and at first glance could be confused with herring gull. If you can not separate them on size alone, the adults have a large white mark within the black wing tip (known as a ‘mirror’) which is bigger than on herring gulls. On common gulls this patch is obvious in flight. These are also birds of the winter, although we only get a handful on the Roseland during this season. The traditional name is ‘mew’ gull, relating to the wailing sound of the birds’ call.
Herring Gull
The herring gull is the one you will all be familiar with from our villages. This is an opportunistic bird that has made its home among us, using safe roof tops as nest sites, and feeding from the scraps we leave behind. It is actually declining in the UK, as we lose more birds from their natural habitat at sea. It has four age-groups, which means that there is wide variation in plumage. Young birds are virtually brown, but progressively lose the dark colouration until they reach maturity. By this time, they have grey backs and black wing tips, with some white at the tips similar to common gull but not as striking. The legs are pink, and the yellow bill has a red spot on th e lower side. These will be visible all year round, and you won’t need to look far to find one. Indeed you will hear them on many TV and radio soundtracks, as theirs is the archetypal call universally favoured by sound technicians to signify ‘the coast’. They have learned to drop mussels and whelks on hard surfaces to reach the tasty insides, and have discovered an optimum height for doing so: too high and they will lose the snack to other scavengers, too low and the shells won’t break! At various times we have tried to prevent them from nesting in our urban environs, and measures deployed have apparently included pricking the eggs, using birds of prey to scare them off, feeding them contraceptive sandwiches, and tying fireworks to broom handles and firing them at the birds.
Lesser Black-Backed Gull
This is a species that looks like a half-way house between herring gull and great black backed gull. Lesser black-backs are smaller than herring and great black-backs, and have a darker grey top to the wing than herring, but lighter than great black-backs. I find the easiest way to tell them apart is the legs and feet. Lessers have yellow legs, but both others have pink legs. Of course if you see them sitting on the water this may not be of much use! Like herring gulls, the younger age groups have a much darker plumage which they lose as they develop. The UK holds 40% of the European breeding population, and the numbers resident on the Isles of Scilly are of international significance. These too have taken to nesting on roof tops, with over 2000 pairs breeding above the houses of Gloucester.
Great Black-Backed Gull
This is the largest of all our gull species, and indeed the largest gull on the planet, with a wingspan of up to five feet. It breeds at four years old, and is often seen further out to sea than other species. They have pink legs, a heavy looking bill, and very dark black tops to the wings. Young great black-backs have a mottled appearance, and appear less brown than young herring or lesser black-back gulls. They are voracious predators, taking a wide range of prey including other sea birds, migrating land birds which they knock into the water, and even mammals which they sometimes drop into the sea to drown. I even heard a rumour that they can swallow a puffin whole.
Other Gulls
The six species listed above will make up 99% of gull sightings on the Roseland, but that does not mean they are the only ones! Several other species have been recorded locally: little gull, which is even smaller than a black-headed gull; ring-billed gull, which looks similar to common gull; Iceland and glaucous gull, which are herring gull sized birds with white wings; and kittiwake, which prefers open sea but can be seen flying past offshore. Picking one of these out from the crowd can be tough, and the challenge of doing so is what draws some birders to gull flocks. A lot of rare gulls turn up at landfill sites!
There are several spots locally where you can fine-tune your new-found gull identification skills. Portscatho is a good starting point. From the post office you should be able to see black-headed and Mediterranean gulls through winter, with occasional common gulls. Out to sea you can spot the huge great-black backed gulls, and herring gulls will be present all year round, many breeding on roof-tops in the village. Towan beach can hold large aggregations, especially when easterly winds have blown a lot of debris onto the beach. Here you will find all six species, though lesser black-backs are the least common species. The best site to see all of the gulls side by side, and allow your self time to compare them, is the estuary at Ruan Lanihorne. The shallow waters are an ideal site for gulls to preen in safety, and large numbers will be found here through winter, especially at high tide. The down side is they can be quite a long way off, so a good pair of binoculars or a telescope is necessary.
Still with me? For those who are, I hope you to can reflect on your continued development as amateur avian enthusiasts. In days of old I doubt whether the offer of a gull gathering (apparently known as a screech of gulls!) would have raised me from my chair. Indeed I’m not sure people would even have bothered mentioning it to me in the past, as I too was one of the unenlightened. But now I see the error of my ways. My inner geek is now an outer geek, and I consider it fully embraced!
February 2011 - What’s in a name? By RSPB volunteer, Eleanor Reast
Moths. They're just grey, drab things that eat your clothes, right?
It's true that some of them can only be described as drab and grey, and this is reflected in their names: Chimney Sweeper, Northern Drab, Plain Clay and Dingy Mocha. They don't exactly inspire one to buy a moth trap and find out more. A closer look, however, reveals others so exquisite that you don't believe they exist until you see one in the flesh.
Many are named for obvious aesthetic reasons: the Blood Vein has a characteristic red vein-like line running across its wings, the Spectacle when viewed head on appears to be wearing goggles; and the Silver Y, Figure of Eighty, and Dog's Tooth all reflect diagnostic markings or patterns on the wings. The terrifyingly named Death's Head Hawkmoth has the image of a human skull on its back and was used on the posters of the horror film Silence of the Lambs. Often it is not until you see the larvae that the names become clear - Tussock moths have tufts of lengthy bristles protruding from their backs, and the Lobster rese mbles, you guessed it, a lobster. The moth that first captures most people’s attention is the Elephant Hawkmoth. It is large, furry, and gaudy pink in colour, and so named because the caterpillar resembles an elephant's trunk.
Sometimes it is the behaviour that gives the moth its name. The caterpillar of the Goat moth exudes a disgusting smell similar to that of a billy goat, while the male of the Ghost moth performs an eerie mating dance to attract the female, and the Drinker was named after the adult’s habit of lapping up dew from plants. Some are simply named after the adult’s dominant colour, such as the Cream-Bordered Green Pea, Ruby Tiger, Speckled Yellow and Burnished Brass. Some, like the Thyme Pug, Pine Beauty, Turnip moth, Sycamore and Cabbage moth, betray their host’s food plant.
My favourites are those that evoke a different era, a romantic age of poetry and high culture, as in the True Lover's Knot, Maiden's Blush, Feathered Gothic, Green-Brindled Crescent and Scarce Vapourer. Footman moths are so named because of their stiff, erect shape similar to the footmen on duty in Georgian times. Then there are those that without a little explaining seem ridiculous. The Lettuce Shark has an elongated streamlined appearance similar to a shark and this particular species feeds on lettuce. Mother Shipton depicts on each wing the hideous crooked nose and warty chin of the Yorkshire soothsayer of that name from the 16th century.
Then there are some that make you wonder if they just ran out of ideas; as with for example the Unknown, the Uncertain and the Suspected.

If you are keen to learn more about moths then you may wish to buy, or even make your own moth trap. Electrical components can be bought for under £100, whilst traps ready to go vary between approximately £150 and £400 depending on design. The simplest and cheapest traps use low wattage actinic bulbs, whereas the more expensive ones use far brighter, mercury vapour bulbs that attract many more moths. One of the best books to help identify moths is the ‘Field Guide to the Moths of Great Britain and Ireland’ by Waring, Townsend and Lewington. There are also several very good web sites devoted to moths – www.ukmoths.org.uk being particularly helpful. Atropos (www.atropos.info) is the society for those with an interest in moths, butterflies and dragonflies. Subscribers receive its journal three times a year which is packed with very useful information for beginner and experienced lepidopterist alike.
So the next time you see a moth take more care to study its appearance, you might be surprised by what is lurking behind those curtains.
January 2011. In the grip of the big freeze, RSPB residential volunteer Lee Dark looks at some of the evidence for climate change and how it affects our wildlife.
Responses to a warming world
There is now credible evidence of the ecological impacts of climate change, from polar terrestrial to tropical marine environments. The responses of both flora and fauna span an array of ecosystems from the species to community levels. Many studies have shown that global climate change has extended growing seasons, changed distribution patterns and altered the ‘phenology’ of flowering, breeding and migration. Phenology, until recently a new term to me, is the study of plant and animal life cycle events and how these are influenced by seasonal variations in climate. Recently compiled evidence indicating advances in the phenology of insects, birds, amphibians and plants, provide the most compelling evidence yet of human induced climate change. However, although scientists claim that these studies provide unequivocal evidence of recent changes to species phenology, many people are sceptical that these changes are a consequence of human activity.
Overview
Dramatic variations in the Earths global climate patterns have been detected throughout its history, with a wide range of factors including light, temperature and atmospheric gases potentially accountable. During the past century, the Earth’s climate has warmed by approximately 0.6 oC, with two main periods of warming between 1910 and 1945 and from 1976 onwards. Furthermore, regional differences have been detected during the past 65-70yr years exclusively in the northern Hemisphere. This major source of variability known as the North Atlantic Oscillation (NAO), has contributed significantly to the recent wintertime warmth across Europe and also to cold conditions in the Northwest Atlantic.
However, it is the El Nino Southern Oscillation (ENSO) phenomenon that is responsible for the strongest climatic fluctuations. This phenomenon is characterized by variations in the temperature of the surface of the eastern Pacific Ocean - warming or cooling known as El Niño and La Niña respectively. The two variations are coupled: the warm oceanic phase El Niño, accompanies high air surface pressure in the west Pacific, while the cold phase, La Niña, accompanies low air surface pressure in the west Pacific. In popular usage, El Niño is Spanish for "the boy" and refers to the Christ child, because the periodic warming in the Pacific near South America is usually noticed around Christmas. This causes extreme weather such as floods, droughts and other weather disturbances in many regions of the world on average every five years.
Even so, it is the greenhouse effect that is at the centre of climate change debate. Personally, I think it is therefore important to understand how it affects our planets ecosystem. The term Greenhouse Effect is commonly used to describe the increase in the earth’s average temperature over the past 100 years. The sun heats up the earth by sending solar rays towards us. Some of these rays don’t get through, but those that do, warm the earth up. This causes the earth to radiate its own heat in the form of infra-red waves. Those which don’t escape past our atmosphere are absorbed by greenhouse gases. These gases warm the earth up to the temperatures we have today (yes, but its freezing I hear you say). Without this process, the earth would be some 3000C cooler and life on the planet would be very different.
Mankind however is producing too many greenhouse gases, meaning that they are absorbing more heat and warming the earth too much. One of the main greenhouse gases is carbon dioxide, which can be created by de-forestation, the use of fossil fuels such as coal and gas; and the daily use of fuel in our cars. All of the emissions increase the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere and contributes to an increase in global warming (so the scientists advocate). The other side of the argument is that the earth has historical variations in climatic patterns, which is a consequence of natural variation, rather than the adverse effects of homo sapiens.
Climate change: The impact on birds in the UK
So, how do all these changes affect our wildlife and in particular our feathered friends in the UK? Well, flowers such as snowdrops are blooming earlier, and as many as 18 butterfly species have been emerging on average 3 days earlier due to the premature onset of spring. Birds have also been breeding consistently earlier over the past two to three decades, with laying dates becoming markedly earlier in the 1980’s and 90’s. For example, the Great tit has started breeding earlier by as much as nine days, because their laying date is strongly correlated with the appearance of the caterpillars of the winter moth Operophtera brumata. Thus, breeding is timed so that the young are in the nest, when the principle food of the nestlings is at its peak.
For some species, migration patterns are changing as well as timing. Arrival of summer migrants has become earlier and short-distance migrants may have delayed their departure to the wintering grounds. Indeed, an increasing number of short-distance (intra-European) migrants from continental breeding populations, such as blackcaps, are now spending the winter in the UK rather than moving to their more traditional wintering grounds in the Mediterranean.
Little egret
An archetypal example of the effect of climatic change on the distribution of species, is the little egret. The little egret is a very elegant wading bird, with white plumage, a long, dagger-like bill for catching prey, and yellow feet which look as though they have been dipped in paint. I expect many of you would have seen them in increasing numbers on your local estuary. I was very lucky in that respect. As a student at Plymouth University in 2004, I conducted research on the ecology of little egrets on six tributaries of the Tamar estuary. The egret is a widespread species, occurring throughout the temperate and tropical latitudes in the Palearctic, African and Oriental regions and also in Australia. It is thought that winter mortality is an important factor affecting egret populations; therefore the majority of European little egrets move beyond southern Europe to winter in North Africa to avoid harsh conditions. However, since the 1950s an increasing number (approximately 10 % of the population) overwinters on the European side of the Mediterranean. Changes in their wintering behaviour have culminated in the egrets radiating northwards along the Atlantic coast of Europe, establishing populations in Spain and France throughout the 1960s. During the 80s, breeding little egrets colonised a 600 km section of coast in Brittany, establishing 16 colonies and a population of approximately 400 pairs.
In Britain, little egrets have undergone of the most dramatic changes in status of any avian species. In a little over four decades, their status has changed from a vagrant, to widespread and locally numerous non-breeding visitor. Following a large influx in 1989, the species has continued to be recorded in increasing numbers in Britain throughout the 1990s. Since then, an early-autumn invasion with a high proportion overwintering has become the norm. Whilst in 1996, the first successfully breeding pairs were recorded in Dorset and Cornwall respectively. Hence, the little egret demonstrates that adaptable, mobile species can readily shift their range and distribution: the greater dispersal ability of birds compared with most other flora and fauna, may allow them to track climate more rapidly, enabling them to colonise suitable habitats many kilometres from their previous range margins.
Regardless of all these factors, I am sure you will agree that climate change is a fascinating phenomenon that will affect all wildlife including ourselves in the future. However, the impacts of climate change are not just for the future. We're already picking up a wide range of signals across the natural world that change is already with us. Spring is coming around 11 days earlier than 30 years ago. The RSPB has seen appalling breeding failures in some seabirds, due to food shortages caused by the changing ecology of warmer UK seas. We're seeing early examples of range shifts, with the spread of little egrets and Dartford warblers helped by warmer average temperatures in southern England. As such, egrets may currently be occupying a vacant niche, but as numbers increase they may begin to compete for resources with native waders. Not just food for these majestic birds then, but food for thought about the impacts and actual cause of climate change for us all.
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