Life in the Forest

January 12, 2018January 11, 2018 | Rebecca Gibson

For my latest university project, I explored the concept of forests and what people have to say about them. By creating a survey, I gathered a range of intimate stories that reveal just how important the forest habitat is to us all, for many different reasons.

Peaceful. Majestic. Timeless. Forests are a vast and highly diverse habitat with a different meaning for everyone, and provide the perfect opportunity to get time and space away from regular life. To find out just how significant forests can be, a recent survey was conducted, uncovering some varied and intimate stories.

“Forests remind me of home. While standing in any other habitat you surround yourself with nature, but the forest is the only one that swallows you.”

Despite our love for woodland, Britain and Ireland are some of the least wooded countries in Europe, even with the presence of approximately 13,000 ancient trees. Some of these have been standing for over a millennium. This, when compared to the human lifespan, seems an eternity.

“Woodland is a much-loved feature of the landscape,” writes Sophie Lake, author of ‘A Guide to the Wildlife Habitats of Britain and Ireland’, “Stepping inside an ancient wood can be a welcome escape from the monotony of the abrasive, urban environment.” For lots of us, forests are holders of secrets and memories, paving the way for personal reflection and relaxation that cannot always be achieved in the bustle and noise of our everyday existence. Forests enable us to lose ourselves, literally and figuratively.

We admire forests for their natural beauty. Most noticeable of all the seasons is undoubtedly autumn, when frost, crunching leaves and a flurry of excitement in preparation for winter really brings them alive. The forest is not just important for the survival of hundreds of forest-dwelling species but also for ourselves. We are nemophilists – that is, we have a deep fondness for forests and woodland – and have childhood stories to tell of long days spent climbing trees, collecting conkers or watching birds.

“I went on aimless walks as a child – my mum and I used to collect pretty sticks and stones. I’ve always been surrounded by forests and even if I wasn’t in them physically, their presence was always there.”

Forests are a place of play, where children dream up kingdoms and magical lands. There is an undeniable magic to forests that we first discover during childhood, but this stays long into adulthood whether or not we care to admit it. We ask ourselves what exactly it is about a forest that makes us shed our deep-set cynicism and embrace childlike wonder again. Perhaps it is the seclusion that the trees provide that prompts a split from the real world and allows our minds to wander, creating a barricade that shields us from reality. There is also the enchanting way that many wild, forested places muffle our connection to technology, rendering our phones useless. We are cut off from the outside world so we must embrace wilderness, and that is when we realise what we’ve been missing.

“I was convinced I was Mowgli and went running off – ducking to make sure I wasn’t seen by any creatures that might be lurking in the woods. I wanted to stay there forever.”

As children we see and savour so much more, with no limits to our imagination. The rumble in the bushes is a prowling tiger, so we pick up a stick and have a sword. By spending time in the forest as adults, we see nature with fresh eyes. Senses that have been dulled by noise and brightness are now reinvigorated to appreciate new marvels – the sound of birdsong, the smell of conifers, the sight of leaves coated in frozen, silver crystals. It is not until we return to a forest that we remember what a surreal place it is, full to bursting with secrets.

After a recent trip to Kidland Forest in the Northumberland National Park, with over five thousand acres to explore, all these feelings came flooding back to me. The forest was silent; listening while others threw sounds into the air. An abandoned tyre swing creaked, a tawny owl called, but the trees stayed hushed. Each one has survived bleak winters, dry summers and overseen a thousand births and deaths. Seeing such colossal larch trees stretching into the sky put into perspective how powerful and significant the forest landscape is.

“A favourite memory of mine is an enormous old oak that I used to play on. Its limbs went on forever – the sheer size was incredible and it’s amazing to think of the memories it might have held.”

Our love for forests must surely be from the respect we hold for these vast, natural structures that have been standing for centuries while generations have come and gone. These unmoving, unspeaking elephants with trunks of bark and thick, deep-set roots have a majesty that is easy to overlook. They begin life as a seed we can hide in our hands, but will eventually, and inevitably, dwarf adults and children alike.

“Spring is fresh and green, summer is full of birdsong, autumn brings the golden colours and in winter it is a stark place, with all the tree branches exposed scratching lines across the sky.”

Forests in November are patchwork blankets of green, orange and brown, where the trees shine like fiery beacons. It is autumn at its finest: an explosion of colour with just the right amount of chill in the air. Arranged in rows like ornately dressed soldiers, trees stand in silence, the sort of hush that comes just before something long-anticipated. The sun shines in slanted shards, illuminating certain branches and leaving others in chilled shadows. The forest is a drug – beautifully addictive. Its costumes are always changing throughout the year. This season: orange is well and truly in.

The forest is particularly wonderful because it never dies. Whatever the season, there is something happening. Come September, the temperatures drop and the rain persists, but new life is always arriving. Leaves fall and curl up into dry husks, but from amongst them sprout fungi, mushrooms of every colour that decorate and cloak the tree roots like nature’s Persian rug. Soon the nights will be cold enough to freeze, and come morning when the weak sunlight breaks through, millions of miniscule ice sculptures cling to every surface, each one unique. The forest is a menagerie of sights, smells and sounds; even with the wind and rain, the last few months of the year bring breathtaking beauty.

“Every Christmas morning my mum and I have breakfast in the forest. The whole place is frozen and beautiful. I remember how big it was and that I’d never see all of it. That just made what I did see more special.”

Christmas is undoubtedly a time of magic, and forests can be the perfect place for festive celebrations. Businesses are using this to their advantage and hosting holidays in wood cabins and yurts deep in picturesque forest locations; with ever advancing technology it is becoming even easier to find the perfect wild spot. If done sustainably, encouraging a greater participation in the forest can only be beneficial. Being surrounded by the winter chill with perhaps a sprinkling of snow is idyllic – the presence of such an enchanted habitat accentuates the beauty of winter.

“It is the ability to put to one side the complexities of modern life and modern living and to escape into a world seemingly untouched by the industrial intervention of man.”

Forests are vast, varied and can accommodate everyone. They offer the freedom to forget the modern world for a while and spend time in true wilderness. Walking through a forest feels like stepping back in time, where nothing is artificial. The forest is vast, yet its size and range never seem ominous. Barren and haunting depictions of woodland always resurface around Halloween, painting a rather commercial picture of a scary place, but a forest in autumn and winter is as enchanting as one in midsummer, perhaps with even more wonder.

“I think forests are irreplaceable and I need to go there regularly to remind myself of what’s important.”

Many people surveyed for this feature revealed that they spend time in forests for meditation, thinking and to enhance creativity. The fact that being surrounded by trees encourages this self-care is truly humbling. In our otherwise hectic existence, minds preoccupied with material wealth, a brief moment spent surrounded by peaceful, green silence allows us to step back and put all of these worries into perspective. And that is worth more than anything money can buy.

Chesters: Day Two

October 13, 2017October 13, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

As I peeked out the window this morning, the sun was just beginning to shine. It looked like a promising day and I was glad, as we would be walking ten miles around the Breamish Valley.

First things first though: check the Longworth trap for any visitors. Heather retrieved the trap and carefully emptied it into a paper bag. Along with the hay and leftover oats and apple chunks was a bank vole, gazing up at us with its beady black eyes.

If we were carrying out a proper small mammal survey we would attempt to sex the vole and perhaps snip a small section of fur from its back. The purpose of this is for re-trapping, so we’d know if the same vole came back. However, we were just trapping to see what mammals were in the area, so these procedures weren’t necessary. We observed the vole for a little while longer before Heather released it back into the dry stone wall alongside the bothy, where it slipped out of sight in seconds. We also left the remaining food for the vole to feast on – it was only polite.

After eating a hearty bowl of porridge and making sure we had everything packed for the day ahead, we set off across the fields and down to the first plantation. Heather told us the habitat had been classed as “felled”, but there was nothing felled about it now. Trees loomed above us, and with foliage on all sides it felt like we’d wandered into an enclosure at Jurassic Park. My overactive imagination thought the grating screeches we heard were those of Velociraptors, but sadly were just squabbling jays.

I led the group down the hill, taking care over crooked roots and dislodged rocks. I was just negotiating a particularly steep section when Cain called us back. I knew he’d seen something so I rummaged for my telephoto lens while scrambling back up to where the others had binoculars trained at the very top of a large conifer. There was a loud chirruping, and among siskins and chaffinches was a larger finch with a forked tail and an unmistakable bill that had the upper mandible overlapping the lower: common crossbills. There were several up in the tree, and as I zoomed in I saw that a male was being pestered by a begging juvenile, its pale wings flapping ten to the dozen in an attempt to catch its parent’s attention. The male, and another a few branches away, were plucking cones from the tree and holding them aloft like they weren’t quite sure where to put them. It was fascinating to watch such a strangely designed bird negotiate its food.

We wandered on, breaking out of the trees and beginning the first ascent of the day. The trail wound through an ocean of bracken, and I soon found myself chest-deep. When I glanced behind me I could only see everyone’s heads and shoulders as they waded through. The resident skylarks joined us, as well as a distant buzzard that I’m sure the skylarks were keeping a close eye on.

The sun sunk in and out of the clouds as we made our way through the valley, stopping every once in a while to photograph a mysterious fungus or watch a bird through binoculars. By lunchtime, just as my stomach was rumbling for my sandwiches, we arrived at Branton Nature Reserve. The first sound that greeted us was the noisy gabble of greylag geese as they fought for space to sit down on the crowded island. There were dozens of birds here; groups of lapwing, snipe, goosander and moorhen. There was minimal mingling between the species, reminding me of a school canteen full of cliques. Suddenly there was a commotion and many birds took to the air. The source of the panic was a heron, gliding in with broad wings and a curled neck. As he landed with spindly legs dangling, the geese gabbled uncertainly and gave him plenty of space.

We slunk as inconspicuously as we could into the hide and tucked into lunch while keeping one eye on the lake’s activity. A cormorant surfaced a few feet from the window, and paused long enough for a few breaths before diving back down, emerging moments later in a completely different place and with a wriggling fish in its bill, which was swallowed up in the blink of an eye.

Soon it was time to start heading back. It was trying to rain, and as we were making our way back past the village of Ingram it succeeded, so I hastily packed away my camera and bins. Later, once Cain had got a fire going, we’d rested our aching feet and eaten dinner, we pottered into the garden with the bat detector, to see if any bats were passing through. Before we heard any clicks though, there was a flash of white wings and a barn owl swooped out into the open. Shortly after, a second owl appeared some distance from the first, which was even more exciting. We ventured a little further up the hill and the detector started clicking. That evening we heard both common and soprano pipistrelles, and although we were leaving the wilderness behind and heading back home tomorrow, just these two days have been enough to remind me once again how important it is to spend time in nature.

Species Seen: Adder (Vipera berus) Bank Vole (Myodes glareolus) Black-Headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus) Buzzard (Buteo buteo) Chaffinch (Fringilla coelebs) Common Crossbill (Loxia curvirostra) Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo) Coot (Fulica atra) Eurasian Rabbit (Oryctolagus cuniculus) Eurasian Siskin (Spinus spinus) Goldcrest (Regulus regulus) Goosander (Mergus merganser) Greylag Goose (Anser anser) House Sparrow (Passer domesticus) Jackdaw (Corvus monedula) Jay (Garrulus glandarius) Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) Lapwing (Vanellus vanellus) Lesser Black-Backed Gull (Larus fuscus) Lesser Redpoll (Acanthis cabaret) Little Grebe (Tachybaptus ruficollis) Magpie (Pica pica) Moorhen (Gallinula chloropus) Mute Swan (Cygnus olor) Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) Red-Legged Partridge (Alectoris rufa) Reed Bunting (Emberiza schoeniclus) Robin (Erithacus rubecula) Rook (Corvus frugilegus) Skylark (Alauda arvensis) Snipe (Gallinago gallinago) Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus) Starling (Sturnus vulgaris) Teal (Anas crecca) Tufted Duck (Aythya fuligula) Wigeon (Anas penelope)

Chesters: Day One

October 6, 2017October 5, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

The rain was lashing on the windscreen as we made our bumpy way up the hill to Chesters. Sheep shook their sodden wool and watched the car with quizzical expressions as it grumbled over rocky grass. Before long the bothy came into view, nestled amongst the rolling bracken hills. I was just scanning the ground for darting pheasants when a pair of beady brown eyes made me call out for Cain to stop the car. Slowly reversing, we just caught a glimpse of the hare’s face before it turned tail and scarpered back through the bracken. I saw this as a very good wildlife omen for the rest of the weekend.

After settling in and enjoying some lunch, we headed through the Breamish Valley to meet the expeditioneers. I had a scan with the binoculars and spotted a kestrel hovering, drifting and hovering again. Heather told me she’d seen a pair of ravens swooping around yesterday, so it would be fantastic to hear some ‘kronking’ this weekend.

The weather couldn’t seem to make up its mind. Rain drummed on our heads one minute, then the sun was shining and turning the hills gold. Skylarks zoomed above, filling the air with their high-pitched chirruping, while pheasants screamed down in the valley, darting in and out of view like a Scooby Doo villain chase.

Once the expeditioneers had unpacked, we headed out for a wander. A breeze whistled in the grass but the sun still fought with the clouds for a good view. We ducked into the nearest conifer plantation to see if there were any good spots to set a camera trap. After following a trodden track that trailed through the trees – a sure sign that there were creatures using this route, perhaps a group of roe deer or even a badger – we positioned the trap with a good vantage point down the trail.

Further on through the plantation was a Scots pine peppered with deep, spherical holes. The tree was dead, and had become the perfect sculpting project for great-spotted woodpeckers, who had transformed it into a wooden honeycomb. It was extraordinary to see tough, dead bark being carved and moulded so easily by blackbird-sized creatures. Although we did hear their sharp ‘kik’ call somewhere in the plantation, we didn’t meet any possible culprits, so couldn’t be sure if it was the work of a single bird or perhaps multiple competing for such a valuable pecking post.

The sun was slowly setting. As the light faded, a hazy glow settled over the Cheviot Hills, illuminating the uppermost branches. Every colour was intensified; russet orange, army green, lime green, all blending together and criss-crossed with conifer needles. Spots of bright light broke through gaps in the canopy, playing tricks on my eyes when I thought a hyper-lit brown leaf was a luminous orange mushroom.

After a while we broke out of the plantation and wandered along the Chesters Burn as it bubbled downstream. The water was a vivid blue, frothing white as it crashed over rocks. A piercing ‘zrik!’ cut through the rush of the river and we all turned to spot the white-breasted bullet speeding down the watercourse. Sure enough, a dipper zoomed into view, wings a frantic blur. Perhaps less regally dressed than its neighbour the kingfisher, but still a charismatic and highly specialised little fisherman.

By now the sun had sunk out of view and the landscape dulled in colour, the familiar dusky haze settling over our surroundings. Heather told us about an expression that perfectly described this time of day: entre chien et loup, meaning “between dog and wolf”. In dim twilight, our eyes have to work harder to distinguish shapes, perhaps mistaking a harmless dog for a slightly more intimidating canine! Up in the Cheviots though, there were no monsters hiding, so it was enlightening to see what was venturing out at this time of day.

Once we’d made the ascent back up the hill to the bothy, the moon and stars had dominance of the sky. There were a few wispy clouds, but mostly the horizon was clear, so we all retrieved hats and gloves and set up tripods in the garden for some star photography. I hadn’t had a lot of practice shooting at night, so was pleased to capture some shots of the bothy backed by the entire night sky. Getting such good views of stars was a breathtaking end to our first day in the wilderness.

Species Seen:

Brown Hare (Lepus europaeus) Buzzard (Buteo buteo) Carrion Crow (Corvus corone) Dipper (Cinclus cinclus) Coal Tit (Periparus ater) European Rabbit (Oryctolagus cuniculus) Goldcrest (Regulus regulus) Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major) Great Tit (Parus major) Grey Heron (Ardea cinerea) Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus) Long-Tailed Tit (Aegithalos caudatus) Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos) Meadow Pipit (Anthus pratensis) Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) Skylark (Alauda arvensis) Woodpigeon (Columba palumbus)

Burghead: Day Three

September 8, 2017September 4, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

On our last day, we drove out of Burghead into Hopeman, a nearby seaside village. Once again, the sun was shining and the sky was almost cloudless, coating the sand in a shimmering golden glow. Jas couldn’t contain herself, and pulled eagerly on the lead to get down to the seafront.

I began snapping immediately. The beach was a patchwork of fine, flat sand and weed-coated rocks where puddles of seawater were trapped from returning to the ocean until the tide swelled again. Kerr and I began to wander – rock pooling is one of those timeless summer activities that nobody is ever too old for. We stepped slowly from one rock to the next. A combination of slick seaweed and soft moss made me take extra care; although it was a beautifully warm day, I feared a dip in this water would still be a chilly one.

Another reason to watch your feet was the abundance of common limpets (Patella vulgata) clamped firmly to the rocks. We kept an eye out for any crabs lurking in the shadows, but perhaps the day was too hot for them. However, there were plenty of hollowed-out crab shells and discarded legs; remains of somebody’s breakfast no doubt.

There were also several rusty red spherical bodies with tiny tentacles tucked up tight. After a little research I discovered that they were beadlet anemones (Actinia equina), an extremely territorial anemone that nudges and attacks rivals with stinging cells that act like harpoons, injecting the unfortunate neighbour with venom to clear them off their patch. Baby beadlet anemones are kept in the parents’ body cavity – which conveniently serves as both mouth and anus – and when they are ready to be born, the parents eject them through the water, where they find a rock to make their home.

After a long time spent gazing into the pools and wondering what else could be lurking just out of sight, we joined the frantic game of fetch that was in full swing back on the beach. I couldn’t resist an opportunity to test my reflexes and see if I could photograph the fluffy torpedo in any mighty poses. I captured some absolute corkers but this was by far the best. Never has a dog loved the beach more than at this moment.

Birdfair 2017

August 25, 2017August 25, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

Zahrah and I only managed to attend the third and final day of Birdfair 2016. This year, we were set on squeezing everything we could out of this incredible event. Kerr decided to join us too, so last Thursday the three of us set off for Rutland Water Nature Reserve.

Due to a slight train mishap from Zahrah, it was nearly dark by the time we arrived at the campsite. We met the very charismatic steward and his wife, who cruised around the site on a rather fetching golf buggy and led us to our pitch. Perhaps ashamedly, I’d only been camping twice before, once ten years ago and once last month, so I was excited to get the tent up and spend our first night in the reserve.

In the morning I woke from a genuinely good tent’s sleep. After eating pots of porridge around the stove we headed over to the fair. As usual, I was overwhelmed by just how much there was to see: eight long marquees, three lecture theatres, the main events marquee and a large cluster of food stalls, merchandise stands and of course, the reserve itself.

After a scan of the programme, we threaded our way through the first marquee. We met a lovely lady from the West Cumbria Swift Group, and I soon realised how little I knew about swifts. Due to house renovations, swifts are losing their nesting sites and should now be red-listed. The fastest bird in level flight, swifts shut down half their brain at a time to enable them to sleep on the wing and endure such long journeys overseas.

In the afternoon I attended a talk on the successes and challenges of conservation. As I listened to comeback stories of black-winged stilts, spoonbills and Manx shearwaters, it struck me how much we all dwell on the ‘doom and gloom’ of wildlife. Of course, it’s appalling how many of our planet’s species are now threatened, but invaluable work is being carried out all over the world and it should be celebrated. The talk inspired me to concentrate on conservation success, not failure, and it’s something I reckon I’ll be turning into a third year project.

Day two of Birdfair began with some more networking in the marquees. I chatted to lots of lovely people, from the BBC Wildlife team to photographers to those offering amazing wildlife holidays (I lost count how many competitions I entered – bring on the promotional emails). After a delicious pulled pork roll with applesauce, my ultimate favourite, Zahrah and I caught Simon King’s talk. He really is a great speaker. Although it’s often the case at these events that the speakers are merely preaching to the choir, it’s always so good to be reminded just how important nature is. He included a quote from Anaïs Nin that drove his message home: “We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” Mankind has done extraordinary things, some of them terrible, and it’s important not to lose focus on what really matters: preserving this planet. It’s a message I really hope can endure the test of time.

I was a little sad to wake up on Sunday and realise Birdfair was nearly over. Zahrah and I anticipated long queues for Steve Backshall so we hurried to the fair earlier than usual. The marquee was filled to capacity, with people lining the walls and stuffing themselves into every space. I suppose it’s the nostalgia talking, but I think Steve Backshall is an inspiration. Deadly 60 was perfect, combining boisterous adventure with important messages about wildlife to capture every child’s imagination. In his talk, Steve showed various images of shark species, to which the children sat cross-legged at the front shouted out the names of without a moment’s hesitation. It gave me a fuzzy feeling: these kids absolutely loved wildlife. It’s true that engaging younger generations is undoubtedly the long-term solution for the natural world, and Steve Backshall was doing just that. I couldn’t help but put my hand up for a question. I asked him what species was next on his wish list, to which he replied the snow leopard.

Before long it was time to go. Kerr had bought the Sony camera he’d been eyeing up for months and at a considerably lower price, so he was happy as Larry. I treated myself to a poster of the ‘Orders and Families of Birds of the World’, which is now hanging proudly alongside my others. Birdfair is one of those rare events where us wildies gather in our thousands to celebrate not only birds, but all wildlife. I know from previous experience that an interest in nature is not a common one, so to meet people from all over the world with the same passions as me is something really quite special. I’m already looking forward to next year.

Sun in the Woods

May 13, 2017March 10, 2020 | Rebecca Gibson

After discovering Eskrigg and how fantastic a reserve it is, I really wanted to take Zahrah as she’d never seen a red squirrel before. After my success last time, I was sure we’d have some luck. I also wanted to give the Manager, Jim Rae, a copy of the film I made on the reserve for my assignment.

We arrived at lunchtime, so headed straight for the Eskrigg Centre to set up tripods and tuck into our Sainsbury’s meal deals. The feeders were busy as usual. I kept an eye out for reds, but in the meantime we watched siskins, a nuthatch, a woodpecker and plenty of chaffinches snatching a quick snack before zooming back into the trees. It looked like the visiting female mandarin had moved on – it was a shame not to see a male, but still exciting to be able to tick off a new species.

On my last visit, prime squirrel time was about 3pm, so after finishing up lunch and having our fill of the birds on the pond, we headed to the squirrel hide, joining a group of fellow photographers and twitchers. Coal tits swept across the clearing while robins hopped about on the ground. A lone male blackbird darted about with the species’ usual uncoordinated urgency, clutching a feast of flies and worms in his beak for a lucky brood.

An hour and a half passed with no fluffy red visitors. I was a little embarrassed, having shown Zahrah my photos from last time and taken her with me today with perhaps blasé confidence that we’d be overrun with squirrels again today.

The heat of the day was fading and under the cover of the trees it was getting cool quickly. The group of photographers shouldered their cameras and left, and soon we began to consider abandoning ship and coming back next week. Zahrah suggested we stay half an hour longer, and in the next ten minutes my eye caught on a bright orange tuft twitching behind a nearby tree. As I hurried to focus I breathed an enormous but hushed sigh of relief.

The squirrel approached slowly, sniffing the ground but pausing every so often to stand on its hind legs to look at us. I tried with all my might to catch these meerkat moments, but these animals are unbelievably nippy.

Soon, the squirrel was out in the open, collecting the hazelnuts that Jim had cracked and I’d sprinkled about. Pauses to eat were the best times to snatch some photos, when the animal’s only movement was a twitch of the tail. The way it clutched the nut in almost human hands and strategically nibbled was enough to make the coldest heart melt. As our cameras clicked I couldn’t help but gasp and squeal with excitement. Despite my interruptions the squirrel carried on feasting, scooping up all the nuts I’d left one by one.

Before long, a second squirrel joined the first, skirting down a tree to find any nuts that the first had left, a third soon joining them. One of these individuals had somehow lost an ear tuft, looking adorably wonky as it paused to nibble, tail curled over its back in the iconic position.

My memory card was filling up fast – I couldn’t help but keep snapping as the squirrels explored and foraged. For me it was a combination of their distinct personalities, lovable curiosity and cute outfits that had me obsessed. They ventured close, peering up at us with beady eyes and tiny parted lips.

I forgot to notice the growing chill but the slowly setting sun was beginning to make photography a challenge, especially when the squirrels’ rapid movement made a slow shutter speed impossible. We were about to finally pack up and leave when three more arrived, this time of the darker variety. So we stayed a little longer and kept taking photos. I had a sudden thought – if photography was still dominated by medium format film, I would have spent my entire student loan. The habit of only pressing the shutter for the perfect moment was admirable, but I don’t think everyone’s had the opportunity to photograph red squirrels.

When we eventually did get home, I uploaded the shots and assessed the damage. Six hundred and sixty photos, not bad at all.

Filming Red Squirrels

May 3, 2017March 10, 2020 | Rebecca Gibson

It’s been a mad couple of weeks, with my second year at uni finishing this week: three deadlines in four days. The last – and for me the most challenging – is a five minute documentary on anything we can think of. The vagueness could seem like a blessing, but when you have the whole world as your subject matter, it seems impossible to think of anything to fill five short minutes.

After the racking of brains and chewing of fingernails, I decided to combine my project with my first visit to Eskrigg Reserve in Lockerbie. It was infamously known among Wildlife Media students for its resident red squirrels; I’d been meaning to go for the whole two years I’ve been living in Cumbria, and only now with a deadline looming did I decide to visit. I headed up the road mid morning and by late afternoon I was perched in front of the hide, sharing a small open clearing with four foraging red squirrels!

Jim Rae, the Reserve Manager, is one of the nicest people I’ve met, and incredibly passionate about wildlife. Upon arrival he welcomed me like an old friend, giving me the tour of the reserve before settling down in the hide for the interview. He had prepared four typed pages of notes, and when I sat outside later to film the squirrels he brought me a nutcracker and a box of hazelnuts for me to feed them. I couldn’t believe, after only just seeing a wild red squirrel for the first time in Chesters two months ago, I was now spoilt for choice of animals to film.

It is not difficult to see why people get so attached to these creatures. A lot smaller than the greys and with delightful little ear tufts, they bound across the grass like furry chestnut bullets – trying to keep them in frame was a nightmare. I’d get one in perfect focus as it paused to claim a nut, then it was off and I was filming empty grass again. I’d never been so challenged as a photographer, but their nippiness provided an excellent opportunity to test my reflexes.

I could have stayed for hours, but I had a film to edit and countless clips to go through, 90% of which were squirrels. As of today I’m just making the finishing touches ready for the deadline on Friday. Eskrigg is a gem of a reserve, and somewhere I will definitely be revisiting over summer!

Have a watch of the finished documentary here:

Exped in Miniature

April 11, 2017May 3, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

Last week Heather and Cain dropped into uni for a mini exped around the local area. I welcomed any chance to learn more fieldcraft from them and it was also good to spend time with Zoology and other Wildlife Media students – there are fewer and fewer of us wildlies out there so it’s great to meet up every once in a while!

We began following the river through the park, spotting the first sand martins of the year swooping over the water. A jay darted into the small wooded copse in front of us and cormorants zoomed up the river, wings flapping furiously.

As cities go, Carlisle is one of the few that still has many pockets of wilderness nestled amongst the urban landscape features. It’s that combination of having everything I need close by but still being able to escape to a new wild place is what attracted me to studying here. I never thought I could see roe deer with a Virgin train zooming past in the background, but I’ve been proved wrong by wildlife encounters like these all year.

We carried on, walking along the Eden as it snaked through the golf course and reached the suspension bridge. Here we went off-road and found some truly amazing discoveries. On a sand bank tucked away from the heavy footfalls of regular dogs and their owners, we found a wildlife metropolis. There in the sand, perfectly imprinted, were dozens of tracks, bird and mammal alike. There were the broad irregular squares of mallards, tiny pin lines of grey wagtails, even tinier fingers of brown rats and the very dog-ish prints of otters! I practically jumped down into the sand to photograph them – not only were there prints but also a lonely otter spraint, deposited in full display of every visitor as an indication that this territory was claimed. It was fascinating to see just how many species had paid this relatively small sand bank a visit. I vowed to return very soon with a camera trap and see if I could get better acquainted with them!

Chesters – Day Four

April 1, 2017April 3, 2017 | Rebecca Gibson

Sadly the day began with no visitors to the Longworth trap we’d set out, but on a positive note the Cheviots were shining under the sun again. I walked up towards the conifer plantation where we saw the red squirrels and drank in the views. Northumberland National Park was beautiful even on a grey day, but when the sun was bright and the clouds’ shadows were drifting across the hills, it was truly stunning. Despite the river gurgling many metres below, I could hear it as clear as if I was standing on the shingle bank. With no disturbance and very few voices on the air, sounds sliced straight through the landscape. It was one of the most tranquil places I’d ever been to.

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After gathering our bags together ready to leave Chesters, we went on a final walk to a new plantation close to the bothy. As we scanned the horizon, we spotted three buzzards circling. Heather told us it was a courtship display, where the males soared high into the sky then dropped down in a dramatic feat of bravery to impress would-be partners. It was fascinating to watch – I only hope the watching females were as impressed as I was!

The plantation we visited was dominated by larch trees, and despite fragmentation of woodland in the Cheviots it was a very old habitat. We could tell this by the presence of tummocks; moss growing over the rocks. This kind of succession would take many years to take place, meaning the habitat had become established a long time ago.

Throughout the plantation, there were many holes in the grassy bank of many different shapes and sizes. Commonly, a fox hole will be oval-shaped, while the sett of a badger will have a sideways oval opening. Meanwhile, a rabbit warren will be made up of many holes of similar size. There were also a lot of droppings, including the dimpled pellets of roe deer, fox and what Heather suspected to be pine marten, which was a really exciting find with a pine marten never having been seen at Chesters. Both of the scats belonging to predators had been deposited right outside the opening of a rabbit warren; a sign to other predators that the poor rabbits within were claimed prey. It was a sinister sign, especially for emerging rabbits!

In fact, the plantation had a likeness to a graveyard. Mammal and bird bones littered the forest floor, from woodpigeon and pheasant to ram skulls. I found a pheasant’s pelvis, which was beautifully intricate and incredibly fragile. However, bones weren’t the only treasure. After nearly stubbing my toe on it, I found an open orb of white quartz within an ordinary rock. The crystals in the crevice were tiny, but reflected the sun in dazzling fragments.

Shortly after, we found an even more peculiar discovery. Hawk-eyed Heather spotted a patch of bright red up in the tree canopy. There, lying in a nest on the end of a bough was a dead red squirrel. Although it was a sad sight, it was also a fascinating one, certainly something I’d never seen before. We debated whether the nest belonged to the predator, or perhaps the squirrel had simply been stored there, or the nest was being used as a plucking post, as is often the case with birds of prey. We walked around the tree looking for feathers or pellets that would tell us the culprit, but there were no tell-tale signs. It was a real mystery that we unfortunately never got to uncover!

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Soon we returned to the bothy, carefully carrying the treasures we’d found including the quartz and animal bones, as well as an array of feathers and owl pellets. We spent the rest of the day packing to leave and reflecting on the experiences we’d had over the weekend. As a final send-off, we had a rabbit visit the garden and put extensive time and effort into digging perhaps the beginning of a warren not two metres from the front door. I tested my luck and crept outside to watch him, and was amazed to find him so calm in my presence. Every few seconds he would stop and peer at me, dry earth sprinkled on his head like brownie crumbs, but each time he was convinced I was no threat and continued his work. It was the closest I’d ever been to a wild rabbit and a real privilege to be able to film it digging and moving twigs aside with its long lagomorph teeth. It was perhaps my favourite wildlife encounter of my time at Chesters, and happened right on the bothy doorstep.

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Species seen/heard:

Buzzard Buteo buteo Chaffinch Fringilla coelebs European rabbit Oryctolagus cuniculus Fieldfare Turdus pilaris Great tit Parus major Grey wagtail Motacilla cinerea Mistle thrush Turdus viscivorus Oystercatcher Haematopus ostralegus Pheasant Phasianus colchicus Pied wagtail Motacilla alba Skylark Alauda arvensis