2019 Wrapped Up

December 24, 2019May 3, 2022 | Rebecca Gibson

Christmas is here again, which means it’s time to reflect on what I’ve achieved in 2019. I still have a long way to go before I can really call myself a freelance writer, but I’m so proud of the progress I’ve made this year.

A particularly significant event was the Grant Arms Wildlife Book Festival in April, where I travelled to the beautiful Cairngorms National Park to stay in what is undoubtedly the coolest hotel in the UK for wildlife lovers like me. I attended some fascinating talks, met many established writers and was thrilled to see my first pine marten. However, perhaps the most influential moment was meeting author Stephen Moss, who runs the MA in Travel and Nature Writing at Bath Spa University. We sat down for a chat and spoke about my work so far, and after our talk I began to think seriously about doing a masters. I was sad to leave the beautiful wilderness of Grantown-on-Spey behind, but I was also intrigued by the possibility of further study and what it could do for me.

In the summer I visited Madrid – my first solo trip to a non-English speaking country. I don’t think it occurred to me how daunting that prospect could be until I arrived and realised that my A Level Spanish was a lot rustier than I had anticipated. Nonetheless, despite the language barrier and the most intense heat I have ever experienced, I really enjoyed my stay and learnt a lot about my resilience when travelling alone. Madrid is a beautiful city that I would love to return to some day, just in a slightly cooler season! The highlight was undoubtedly the flamenco show on my last night – that experience will stay with me for a very long time.

Not long after Madrid it was time to drive up to Rutland Water nature reserve for Birdfair, which has now become a yearly tradition. I caught up with good friends from uni, met the lovely Lucy McRobert and finally christened my new tent in the campsite. As always, Birdfair was a fantastic networking opportunity and I met some lovely authors and conservationists who were keen to share their advice. I also saw Stephen Moss again and bought rather too much wildlife art…

September saw some more networking at the AFON conference – I’d never seen so many young naturalists in one place and I felt proud to be part of that community. During the weekend I introduced myself to author and illustrator Tiffany Francis, who is one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met. I swapped Instagrams with lots of inspiring writers and conservationists, many of whom I’ve stayed in contact with since. Events like the AFON conference are such a great way of reaching out to like-minded people and I was so happy to build my network further.

In October there was a very big change: beginning the MA. The week-long residential in Corsham was a chance to meet my fellow students and be introduced to the way the degree was run. I’m sharing the year with a diverse and enthusiastic group of people and I already feel close to them after so little time. An unexpected achievement has been my rekindled love for drawing and painting, which has proven to be a great tool for inspiration. So far I have submitted two assignments for the course and have been really pleased with my results. The second term will begin in the new year and I can’t wait to tackle the next module – a trip completely organised and funded by me where I need to try and get writing commissions from professional publications. Naturally I’m apprehensive about it, but I’ve done this before with the Isles of Scilly so I know once I begin my research I’ll be away.

Finally, the end of 2019 saw my first official commissions – two for Blue Sky Wildlife, two in Hertfordshire Life magazine and the completed annual report for SEZARC. The team in Florida loved what I’d done and have now asked me to make the next report for 2019, which I can’t wait to get started on. In fact, I’m excited to announce that I shall be visiting Florida again in 2020. Not only will it be a chance to see my friends and work colleagues, but also a fantastic opportunity to gather new images to use in the next report. I don’t know when it will be yet, but I’m so excited to get the details in place.

Hertfordshire Life Magazine

I began this year feeling a little shaky and unsure of exactly where I planned to go. I still don’t have everything figured out, but the commissions have given me a real boost of confidence. It has been great meeting other naturalists including young women like Tiffany Francis and Lucy McRobert, as well as everyone on my course who are all making amazing contributions to wildlife writing. I have a great feeling about 2020, and I can’t wait to see where I am this time next year.

The British Wildlife Centre

November 14, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

The British Wildlife Centre (BWC) is a little pocket of countryside that combines wetland, woodland and marsh to create the ideal natural environment for around forty species native to the UK. The centre is home to birds, mammals and reptiles, some of which have been rehabilitated because of permanent injury or too much contact with humans. They range in size from harvest mice to red deer with all sorts in between. It’s a particular treat to be able to see animals native to Scotland such as the pine marten and the Scottish wildcat, the latter of which is now critically endangered.

Five years ago, I attended one of the BWC’s photography days, which was a fantastic opportunity to practise using my new telephoto lens and get to grips with wildlife photography. Taking part in the photography day enables guests to visit the centre out of hours and get even closer to the animals. Recently I decided to return to the BWC and see what I could capture.

A lot of wildlife writers I know don’t post about captive wildlife. I can understand why – regardless of the facility it is the concept of animals in cages that they don’t agree with. However, the BWC isn’t cramming elephants into its enclosures. Conservation of British wildlife is at the forefront of their objectives and this is done primarily through education. When the centre is closed to the public, the BWC welcomes school groups and those in higher education to provide “a real natural history experience”. What I love most about the BWC is that it aims to promote greater involvement in British wildlife by giving children and students an opportunity to study native wildlife in a natural setting.

A particular favourite of mine was Flo the red fox. She rested with her eyelids drooping, her fur glistening fiery orange in the bright sun. She is one of the animals that has become too habituated with humans to be released, so she enjoys unlimited cuddles from the keepers. I sat down beside the fence and she got to her feet, stepping through the grass to lie down close to me. I took the chance to admire the stunning brush tail that swept around her back legs, her wet black nose and long whiskers. It was impossible to see how anyone could hate such a stunning animal. I sat with Flo for a while, the two of us basking in unnaturally hot November weather until a family with children approached and she trotted over to say hello.

Escape to the Wilds

November 1, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

Recently I travelled up to Northumberland to visit friends from university. They are two of the busiest people I know, so I was pleased to be able to steal a few days in October to catch up and visit their local patch.

The first thing I experienced was severe house envy. Wildlife art adorned every wall; the sort of beautiful paintings and drawings that I planned to splash all over my own home some day. However, it was the bookshelf that really caught my attention. Sprawled across an entire wall and almost reaching the ceiling, it was crammed with every book on natural history you could want. Not just modern paperbacks but antiquarian hardbacks with leather bound covers and swirling gold titles. In front of every row of books was an envious selection of treasures: pinecones, gannet eggshells, roe deer antlers, pin badges, lino prints, Wade Whimsies, fossils, gemstones, lichens, miniature animal wood carvings and a beautifully preserved badger skull with its lower jaw intact. I spent ages studying everything in turn, gravitating first to the roe antlers. I have a roe buck skull of my own – one of my most prized possessions – but I still long to find dropped antlers too. It was an impressive collection of everything nature, framed by dozens of books from my wish list.

I stayed with my friends for a long weekend and managed to cram quite a lot into those few days. Heather and I visited a fantastic patch of woodland, which was home to not only red squirrels but also pine martens! I knew we probably wouldn’t catch a glimpse of one during the day, but it was still exciting to walk among trees that might be housing a sleeping marten. It was so peaceful and quiet with only faint birdsong punctuating the air. As we searched for fungi to photograph, I found a gorgeous caterpillar making its way along the fence. Later, we discovered it was a buff tip moth caterpillar.

The next day I helped Heather with a “Mini Wildlife Adventure” that she was running for a child’s birthday party. The boy was intrigued by nature and so he and his friends spent the morning pond dipping, searching for bugs, finding badger prints and birdwatching in a hide. It was such a fantastic idea for a birthday party, and it was particularly refreshing to see that the boys had good wildlife knowledge and were genuinely excited by what they saw. Educating children about nature at a young age is the key to ensuring they continue to care about it when they grow up. Those boys would have spent hours pond dipping if we’d had the time, and it was so lovely to see.

That evening Heather, Cain and I spent a peaceful last evening watching Sherlock with the fire cracking and snapping in the grate. It had been a pretty jam-packed weekend but as always, I felt inspired with a rejuvenated love for nature that always comes after a trip to northern England or Scotland. I sometimes struggle to feel that same passion at home in the south, where there are more people and noise and far fewer pine martens. I love escaping to the wilder parts of the UK and look forward to another wildlife adventure very soon.

A Prickly Afternoon

September 22, 2019September 24, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

I arrived at the Hornbeam Wood Hedgehog Sanctuary half an hour early just in case I got lost. They purposely don’t advertise their exact location online, as is often the way with small wildlife charities. Luckily, just as I was cruising along a rather featureless country lane and beginning to think I was in completely the wrong place, I saw a man in a van with “Hornbeam Wood Hedgehog Sanctuary” plastered on the side.

Hedgehogs are one of those creatures that have slipped through my radar for some reason. I’ve only seen a handful of live ones my whole life, and as they’re nocturnal and not particularly attention seeking, I didn’t know a great deal about them. So, when I saw an advert on the Hertfordshire Wildlife Trust website about learning more about hedgehogs at a sanctuary only a few miles from where I lived, I was keen for the opportunity.

Martin, the man in the van, is the only permanent person working at the sanctuary, and all as a volunteer. At peak times during the year, there can be as many as 80 hedgehogs at the site with six new patients a day, but usually there are around 40 animals, which is still a huge commitment. In the intensive care barn, where the hoglets and “pinkies” (hogs only a few days old) are kept, there are feedings every two hours. The majority of hedgehogs that arrive are dehydrated or injured by foxes, dogs or traps. If a back leg is injured, or even amputated, the animal can still be released. Equally, a hog that is blind in one eye can also return to the wild, but a completely blind animal requires an enclosed garden to keep them safe from predation.

Temperature is vitally important for hedgehogs. Hoglets cannot generate their own heat so will die if abandoned by or separated from their mother. Hibernation among adults is dependent on temperature and so the timing can vary year on year. Usually if the temperature falls to around 5°C they will find a secluded space, slow their breathing right down and curl up into their signature ball. A hedgehog’s quills, sometimes reaching as many as 7000 in number, are primarily used as defence, but they also provide a helping hand in ensnaring tangled leaves and wild materials around the hog as added insulation.

P1000552 — Martin showing us around “Hog Hotel”

Sadly, hedgehog numbers have declined rapidly in recent years, down 50% in rural areas and a third in towns and cities. There are now thought to be fewer than one million hedgehogs left in the UK. That may sound like a lot, but in the 1950s there were rough estimates of around 30 million individuals. The reasons for such a drastic drop are numerous, ranging from intensive farming methods that rotate fields more often, reduced hedgerows, pesticides and fewer water sources. That’s just in the countryside. In urban environments, hedgehogs are threatened by the use of slug pellets, abandoned plastic and an increase in impregnable fences and walls that prevent wandering hogs from passing through.

Of course, there are ways we can help. Providing jelly-based cat and dog food or dried food specifically for hedgehogs provides much-needed nutrition. Contrary to the once popular belief, hedgehogs should never be fed bread or milk as they are lactose intolerant and this would seriously harm them. Another important garden addition is access to water, especially as most of the rescue hogs Martin receives are dehydrated.

For more indirect help, make your garden a haven for insects by planting wildflowers and fruit trees, and the insectivorous hogs will have a more plentiful food supply. To prevent any casualties, install ramps in ponds to help a soggy hog clamber out – although they can float and swim well, they sometimes drown from exhaustion after getting stuck in the water. And finally, make sure to always check for hedgehogs in compost heaps and bonfires before using them. A simple nudge with a broomstick will stir a hedgehog and give them sufficient warning to leave, although with bonfires it is always best to rebuild them elsewhere before lighting.

As a wonderful end to a thoroughly informative talk, Martin showed us Hog Hotel where a lot of his patients were kept. We were allowed to meet one, Rock, up close and personal. Not quite adult size, Rock fit snugly in the cup of Martin’s gloved hand and pointed his twitching nose up at us.

As hedgehogs are naturally wary of exposing their vulnerable undersides, it’s difficult to sex them. Martin explained that the best way was to find a small dimple amongst their fur. If it is around halfway up the stomach, it is a male. If it is further back towards the rear, it is a female.

Rock explored his surroundings for a while, while Martin stood poised ready in case the hog made a mad dash across the table. Getting to see a live hedgehog so closely was such a privilege. As I watched Rock, I realised I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen one in the wild. Like many of our native British species, hedgehogs are in trouble and it’s so important that we help them in any way we can. People like Martin give up full days of their time. I know I can definitely give up five minutes to put trays of water and cat food in the garden.

If you find a sick or injured hedgehog, the first thing to do before intervening is to contact the British Hedgehog Preservation Society to get expert advice.

This fantastic event was hosted by the Herts and Middlesex Wildlife Trust. To find out about future events, visit their website.

Who Am I?

September 9, 2019September 9, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

I was so excited for last weekend’s A Focus On Nature’s “Now For Nature” conference at London’s Natural History Museum. Specifically aimed at 16-30 year olds, AFON is all about young people in conservation. Wildlife isn’t often popular among young people, so having the chance to meet like-minded individuals my age was a brilliant opportunity. From talks by big names such as Chris Packham and Stephen Moss to productive workshops from successful conservationists, the event was an inspiring weekend full of Conservation Optimism.

I was particularly pleased to meet Tiffany Francis. At just 27 years old, she has three books published, which is an incredible and inspiring achievement. Her big break came from AFON itself, where she wrote an article on wild foraging that was picked up by Bloomsbury and turned into a book. Tiffany went on to write her second about British goats – taken from her time working on a farm – and her latest book Dark Skies, released only last week, is about our relationship with darkness and wildlife at night. As well as writing the book, Tiffany also produced all the illustrations including the book’s front cover.

Speaking to Tiffany afterwards, I discovered how approachable and open she was. We chatted like we knew each other; in fact, when I gave her business card she said, “Oh you’re rebeccaonthewing!” which was a fantastic feeling.

I told her about the trouble I’ve had finding a specific identity in my writing and establishing a niche without cutting myself off from other readers. I also suffer from overthinking, which ends up being a real obstacle that stops me from writing. One thing I’d like to try is free writing, where I just sit and let thoughts pour onto the page. I’m hoping that not only will this lessen the inhibiting effect of overthinking but it will also generate new ideas. I’ve learnt that getting hung up about writing means you don’t write.

Tiffany’s reply was that I should just write what I enjoy writing. For a while she had conflicting ideas about her own professional identity. Was she a writer or illustrator? At the time she felt she couldn’t be both, which made filling out social media bios a real trial.

She later realised that she didn’t have to label herself as anything. She was a “creative”, which could mean writer, artist, public speaker and a whole range of other things. I’ve experienced this too, deliberating over “writer” and “photographer”, and although they’re not my greatest strengths, I also love painting and drawing which ties in nicely with nature writing as Tiffany has proven. I’ve come to realise that all these skills come together to form my identity as a “creative” and it is constantly changing and adapting. It doesn’t need to fit in a bio box. Tiffany said all that’s important about your work is it pays the bills, makes you happy and makes a difference. While the first may take a while, I can continue with the second and strive for the third.

A Bird in the Hand

August 28, 2019August 19, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

On the last day of Birdfair, I was keen to escape the bustle and crowds of the marquees and explore the surrounding reserve. On my way out to one of Rutland Water’s many hides, I was drawn to a small crowd gathered around the BTO bird ringing tent, where a demonstration was in full swing. As I got closer, I saw two chiffchaffs poking their tiny heads out of the ringers’ gentle hands. One was a mature adult with smart plumage; the other was a scruffy juvenile, two thirds of the size of its companion. The ringers held out the birds’ wings, displaying a delicate and powerful fan of primary feathers. Both chiffchaffs sat still and quiet in the hand – if it hadn’t been for their blinking beady eyes they could have easily been mistaken for taxidermy specimens.

After all the measurements had been taken, the ringers asked for two volunteers to release the birds. To my surprise only two hands went up, one of which was mine, so I followed the ringer to an open spot away from the marquee. He told me to hold my hand in a loose claw then he gently placed the juvenile chiffchaff into my palm, its tiny head nestled between my index and middle finger. I closed my hand slowly and the bird wriggled. I couldn’t believe I was holding something alive and yet so small. Its body was warm and unbelievably soft. Carefully, I put the hand holding the chiffchaff down onto my other open palm and slowly released. For a moment the bird rested there and then launched itself into the air, disappearing almost immediately over the trees.

I felt what could only be described as a surge of pure joy as I released the chiffchaff back into the wild. It was a real Snow White moment and in that fraction of time I felt exceptionally close to nature. Getting to hold such a tiny and wild thing in my hand was such a privilege. As I made my way to the hide I noticed there was a minuscule downy feather stuck to the tip of my finger and I quickly stashed it in my phone case. Wherever that chiffchaff wandered now, I had a small piece of it with me.

365 Days Wild

August 23, 2019August 23, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

Lucy McRobert lost her mother to cancer when she was sixteen. Although it wasn’t as easily recognised at the time, she feels she suffered from some form of anxiety or depression, which she unconsciously suppressed until university when she rediscovered her love of nature. It was this passion for wildlife that helped her overcome the grief she had kept concealed for all those years.

It’s been proven that spending time outside and connecting with nature improves mental state and wellbeing. “Just like eating a balanced diet and exercising helps our minds and bodies”, Lucy writes, “Wildlife and wild places help us to get active, encourage us to be more social, improve our confidence and creativity and help us cope with stressful life events”. It’s true that nature is free therapy, but it’s also true that with hectic schedules and mundane commitments it can be difficult to get outside, or sometimes even find the motivation to do so.

That’s where 30 Days Wild came in. During her time working for the Wildlife Trusts, Lucy set up the 30 Days Wild campaign to encourage people to do “random acts of wildness” for every day in June. Involvement has grown exponentially since the campaign began five years ago and encourages everyone to take part in wildlife-based activities, whether that’s noticing something new, sharing experiences with others or taking a more practical approach and making positive changes to the environment.

The campaign led to Lucy expanding 30 days into 365 and so came her beautiful new book, published earlier this year. The concept isn’t to climb a mountain or build a pond each day, but instead encourages us to take part in ways as simple as making a daisy chain or buying a reusable coffee cup. When broken down into small steps and prompted by useful hints and ideas, Lucy’s book shows that it’s easy to stay wild even in a technological world.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I signed up for 30 Days Wild a few years ago and abandoned ship within the first week. Now I see that I’d had my sights set too high. Sometimes it’s impossible to walk outside every day, so Lucy recommends stashing back-up plans up your sleeve, such as buying a new field guide or queuing up a Netflix documentary when you’re feeling lacklustre or just lacking the time.

Inspired by Lucy’s passion and eager to give the project another go, I purchased something I’d seen earlier at Birdfair but couldn’t think of anything to use it for. I’d spotted a beautiful hardback sketchbook with stunning artwork from Mandi Baykaa-Murray AKA “The Feather Lady” on the front, who paints extraordinarily detailed bird portraits onto feathers (side note: check out Mandi’s art it’s truly incredible!) Now I had the perfect reason to buy it. Day one: Start a wild diary.

Birdfair Begins!

August 19, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

Once I’d pushed my belongings through the campsite in a wheelbarrow, I began the head-scratching task of setting up my tent. I didn’t have much camping experience, but after a practice in the garden earlier in the week I was feeling confident. There was a brief tussle with a stiff breeze, but soon I had everything pegged down and in location. I was in business.

I straightened up to admire my handiwork and locked eyes with a cow twenty feet away, separated from me by a wire-thin fence. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with my neighbour for the weekend and eyed her suspiciously. I’d always been a little wary around cows – a few years ago I’d been crossing a field full of them, which had unfortunately been unavoidable, and when I was halfway across the herd started lumbering towards me at full speed. They say you shouldn’t run from cows, but I had vaulted over that fence with the steely determination of a long jumper. Luckily, this one didn’t seem like she had it in for me, and only stopped long enough to urinate before plodding back towards the herd.

Once everything was in order, I sat in my camping chair and admired the view. The setting sun cast a pink blush over Rutland Water. Although this campsite was slightly further away from Birdfair than the main site, this one had far superior views, not to mention it was blissfully quiet. House martins were out in force, plucking insects from the air and plunging in graceful loops. A little further away a kestrel was hunting, body suspended motionless between two rapidly beating wings. In the stillness, a gaggle of chattering geese passed overhead, but they were too far up for me to recognise the species.

I couldn’t wait for Birdfair to begin. This year would be my third, and I loved being a part of such a prestigious and important event in the wildlife calendar. It’s wonderfully indulgent for bird nerds like me – an impressive gathering of thousands of naturalists, conservationists, photographers and more, not to mention a dizzying range of things to see and do.

Once the sun had set, leaving behind an evening chill, I retreated to the warmth of my tent, snuggling up in my sleeping bag to get a good night’s shut eye in preparation for the first day of the fair.

The Scourge of the Glen

April 28, 2019April 30, 2019 | Rebecca Gibson

Our meeting point was a narrow track just outside Aviemore. The light was beginning to fade and the moon shone in a clear sky, fringed by a sprinkling of stars. We threaded our way up the track, keeping an eye out for roe deer in the surrounding fields, and eventually reached the hide: an impressive building with large windows running along each side. The interior was luxurious; carpeted flooring, posters adorning the walls and above all, heating! It was indulgence that I hadn’t had the fortune of experiencing in a lot of hides. This one was positively posh.

Once inside, there was the habitual jostling for the best space as politely as possible. The guide always says that the animals may come from any direction, but we all know some spots are usually better than others. After we were all settled, our guide James left the hide to distribute the food. He explained the importance of only providing a supplement to the animals’ diet to make sure they didn’t become reliant on human assistance. On the menu tonight was a selection of peanuts, raisins, dollops of peanut butter and the ultimate prize: an egg.

So what were we hoping to see at this time of night? To Victorian gamekeepers, they were the “scourge of the glen”, known for stealing the eggs and chicks of ground-nesting birds. In my opinion, they were on par with the unicorn – a creature so stealthy and elusive that although they’re relatively common in Scotland and doing well there, they are very rarely seen. Coming to a hide dedicated to seeing them is your only semi-reliable chance, but of course nothing about wildlife is ever guaranteed. I’m talking about the pine marten.

A member of the mustelid family with otters, stoats and weasels, pine martens are cat-like and forest-dwelling. Their coats are a rich, chocolate-brown and each animal has a unique pattern on their bib ranging in colour from yolky yellow to almost white. Pine martens are adept at dispatching grey squirrels, which are slower and less agile than reds. The latter have evolved alongside martens and know how to evade them, which is why there are no grey squirrels in the Highlands and plenty of reds. It’s interesting to think that if pine martens had been abundant across the whole of the UK when grey squirrels were introduced in the 1870s, would we have such a drastic problem with this invasive rodent today?

Once the food was in place, the wait began. Not only were we hoping for martens but also badgers, owls, a deer perhaps. It was a complete lottery, which made the whole thing incredibly exciting. The light was fading fast and my camera struggled to cope. Cranking up the ISO caused a sandstorm of grain to fill the screen, but I wasn’t planning on prize-winning photos on this occasion. This was one of those times when, more than anything, I wanted to watch.

After a short while we had our first visitor. Out of a knot of tree roots came a wood mouse. It appeared as though time had been sped up – the mouse zoomed out into the open, seized a peanut and retreated into its shelter within what seemed to be the blink of an eye. He or she entertained us for a while but before long it was quiet again.

Gazing outside into the dark clearing roused a slight feeling of unease. The longer I looked, the more my eyes played tricks on me. Shadows took on the appearance of strange shapes appearing to move on their own. Coupled with the expectant silence in the hide, the scene was close to eerie.

My eyes kept flicking to a shadowy patch just out of reach of the yellow spotlights. Beyond it the ground dipped into a shallow hill that plunged into complete darkness. I kept picturing a marten cresting the hill and trotting along the track for the tempting egg. I thought if I imagined this hard enough, it just might happen. I appreciated this fantasy had an undeniable whiff of desperation about it.

Suddenly, a flash of pale wings caught my eye. I glanced up and watched a scene unfold in slow motion. A bird catapulted through the air, wheeled tightly around the mouse’s tree and swept straight past the window. A blink-and-miss-it moment. For a few seconds I was stunned. I’d never seen a tawny owl before, and couldn’t believe how small they seemed! Small, yet incredibly skilled hunters. It really was a privilege to get nocturnal wildlife encounters, especially scenes as dramatic as a high-speed fly-by from a tawny.

After that exciting moment, there was a distinct lack of life for quite some time. It was still early days, I reminded myself, eyes flicking once more to the shadowy patch, there was time yet. I leant forwards on my stool, peering so close to the window that my breath fogged up the glass. Martens could approach from anywhere, and being so dark they would be completely concealed apart from their trademark bib.

The other visitors coughed, switched seats, paced up and down and chatted in hushed whispers. Meanwhile, I was glued to my stool. Far from blessed with social prowess at the best of times, I refrained from making conversation and kept my eyes planted firmly outside – there was no way I was missing anything.

There was a sudden, hushed commotion in the hide and I peered to the side to see a badger had appeared. Badgers have terrible eyesight but an exceptional nose, and mainly use smell to discern their surroundings. The animal picked her way across the grass, fanning her snout over the ground like a metal detector. Tragically, my previous badger experience consisted of road kill and one that I had nearly killed myself when it ran out in front of my car, so to watch a real, live badger going about her nightly business mere feet away was such a treat.

After she’d polished off most of the nuts, the female was joined by a male. He was the same size, suggesting he was also the same age if not younger. Adult male badgers typically weigh a kilo more than females and are noticeably more muscular. The two animals completely ignored each other so there was no doubt that they belonged to the same clan. If they hadn’t, there would have been a serious standoff. The male cleared up what the female hadn’t found and one by one they left the way they’d come. The only evidence of their visit was a distinct lack of peanuts.

An hour and a half later, my enduring optimism was beginning to turn. I was conscious of the time and that our evening would eventually come to a close, marten or no marten. I started seeing more and more phantom animals out in the gloom. The moon was radiant and my eyes were drawn to its pure white hue. A lone bat darted over the roof of the hide, silhouetted briefly against the lighter sky before disappearing. How anyone got a decent photograph of a bat eluded me. To capture such erratic and rapid flight was seriously impressive.

I glanced over at the shadowy patch again and saw a pine marten staring back at me, beady eyes glinting in the light. My insides jolted and as quietly as could I exclaimed, “There’s one!” Everyone knew exactly what I meant and came hurrying in my direction with barely restrained urgency. I couldn’t quite believe what I was watching on the other side of a pane of glass.

James told us the marten was a female. Similar to badgers, males were larger and typically had broader faces. Many people underestimate a marten’s size when they see one, imagining something along the lines of a weasel or stoat. I was quite the opposite; the marten was smaller than I’d expected, smaller than most house cats. What couldn’t be disputed was how beautiful she was with her long bushy tail, sleek mocha fur, tiny button nose and white-rimmed ears. I fell instantly in love.

The marten crossed to the other window and we swiftly followed suit. She climbed up onto the table and munched through the peanuts. As stunning as she was, she certainly wasn’t the most ladylike when it came to eating. She took the egg in her mouth and, despite her sharp teeth, carried it delicately down the table onto the grass. After a quick readjustment, she lolloped out of sight.

We’d spent two hours in darkness and experienced less than a minute of what we’d travelled here to see, but the atmosphere in the hide could only be described as barely contained hysteria, in my corner at least. We made the unanimous decision to end our evening on a fantastic high. Not only had I had my first proper badger sighting, but I’d also seen a Scottish icon. I couldn’t have hoped for better.