Dormouse Hunt

Im going to stick with the woodland theme again this week as I have had a recent opportunity to contribute to the management and ecology of one of our Trust’s woodland reserves. We are very fortunate at the Trust to get some great sponsorship from the Peoples Post Code Lottery that enables use to do many varied and vital elements of conservation work we would not easily be able to do otherwise.



Dormouse asleep with hazel nut cache

Briarwood banks is an excellent example of relic ancient semi natural woodland, this woodland along with its neighbours along the river Allen host one of the countries smallest, rarest and most enigmatic creatures present in the northeast of England, the quite ironically called, Common or Hazel dormouse.

There is only one native species of dormouse in Britain, whose basic biology is very different from that of ordinary ‘mice’. The hazel dormouse is a distinctive native mammal that is infrequently seen owing to its rarity and nocturnal habits. It is rarely caught in traps or by predators such as cats and owls, so it is easily overlooked even where present.

Dormouse with another favourite food, Blackberries, that are now flourishing now the canopy has been reduced in Briarwood

Moreover, it spends most of its active time high off the ground and passes at least a third of the year in profound hibernation, again making it unlikely to be seen by the casual observer. Dormice hibernate on or under the ground from about October until March or April. Formerly it was also found by woodland workers during coppicing and hedge laying operations, who would often take these attractive animals home to show to their children. The dormouse is therefore a familiar species, despite being rarely encountered in the wild.


The most northerly populations are in and around our site near Hexham which begs the question why? Well again it is down to lack of traditional woodland practices, inappropriate woodland practices, reduction in and poor management of hedgerows plus a general paucity of woodland in the north. They were however more widespread just over a hundred years ago with records from the main Wansbeck valley and river Font valleys.



Good hazel coppice for dormice

 We only know of their presence in Briarwood Banks because we have found their characteristic feeding signs as the last live one to be seen was over two years ago on neighbouring land. Through grants by the Forestry Commission we have been able to increase our woodland management to favour dormouse and with the assistance of the Post Code Lottery funding I was able with some very helpful volunteers to erect 25 dormouse nest boxes on site to assist our monitoring programme.



Dormouse box secured to a tree in Briarwood Banks

 It got me thinking though, of the past locations dormouse had been recorded in and would they still be there. The main reason dormouse survived in the present location was because the woodland survived, even after WW1 there was still substantial areas left because of they difficulty of getting the timber out. Very much why the woodlands along the Wansbeck still survive today too?


So if the woodlands are the same why are no dormouse still present, well that answer is simple we really don’t know because of the difficulties outlined in finding the species. Another reason is the woodlands of Briarwood along with adjacent lands have been in conservation management for x amount of years so they have been monitored and surveyed specifically more than other woodlands might be. They may well still be in existence along the river Font as there are plenty of hazel and honeysuckle plants, two of the dormouse’s favourites, but this truly is an enigmatic creature and without really looking very hard for signs we really will not know.

Hazel nut opened by a dormouse

So here is a challenge for all you budding wildlife detectives, go looking for gnawed hazel nuts, or stripped honeysuckle fronds. The hole left by a dormouse in a hazel nut is very characteristic it has a very smooth circular hole without teeth mark on the outside of the shell. If anyone also has a record of a dormouse, no matter how old that would be useful too, drop me a line because you just never know they may still be out there.

Wild Boar

Squeal like a pig boy!!

Last week I mentioned woodlands and how little we have, well this week I'm going to have a go at the management of woodland or lack of it. The valleys of the lower river Blyth and most of the Wansbeck catchment Northumberland have got some excellent woodland’s along their length which greatly aids the quality of this environment but there are certain elements missing from these woods that make them completely functioning ecosystems. They are not alone throughout the entire region and indeed the whole country there is a paucity of good favourably conditioned woodlands.

The last real remnants destroyed to service the Royal Navy and the industrial revolution, the final realisation coming with timber shortages for the Great War 1914/18. The formation of the Forestry Commission in 1919 led to mass afforestation with commercial conifer plantations. The remaining relics, clinging to steep valley sides have remained largely un-managed and in neglect as mechanisation and changing needs have reduced the need to coppice, pollard and other woodland crafts. Only in very recent times has there been a drive to plant more woodlands of the deciduous type; but again that mangement element is missing after woods establish.



Boar recycling un-recycleable beech litter

Having visited many forested areas across mainland Europe the diversity of species is far greater than ours; it can be explained in some part by the UK’s geographic isolation but also in many more ways by the effects of man. I watched a documentary recently about the forest of Dean and the views expressed by foresters etc. as to the presence of certain species in the woods especially wild boar were very depressing. I was very surprised to note how negative the majority were about their presence yet these same people were much less ambivalent about the presence of destructive non native fallow deer. It struck me as a bit of a contradiction on how to achieve the degree of naturalness they were trying to create. In a sense it showed how much we have become divorced from nature and how little many people know about what is natural, native or right.


Who's afraid of the big bad pig!

Less than 10 years ago there was a fledging population in Chopwell woods but the FC in all their wisdom shoot them. There reasoning, they were in a public woodland and may have posed a threat, these creatures live side by side humans all across Europe in many public forests with very little consequence save for those deliquent enough to let there dogs run out of control.

Now I don’t mean to alienate the fluffy bunny, tree hugging immigary so many have of trees and things 'natural' but the knowledge that outside a commercial plantation the nature of woodland is one of growth and death, change, structure, regrowth and not all about trees is sadly lacking. Don’t get me wrong trees are great but they are not the be all and end all of everything they need to be managed either directly or by natures own engineers, who lets face it have far more years experience than we do. We often get calls from the public over the felling of trees, displaying their outrage at felling trees, some of which are worthy but more often than not they are commercial crops reaching harvestable age and their loss is not great ecologically.

Some trees are ecological deserts whilst others veritable oasis’s on their own. Some are grown purely as a commercial crop whilst others for their recreational and environmental benefits. More often than not they are however left alone, unmanaged in their clinically lined planting orders clearly seen in the preponderance of plantations about the region. These then become dense, single storey, low diversity rubbish dumps without any form of management save some ad hoc vandalism.


The ferocious be-hackled wild boar, tusks gleaming, warning signsin the FoD

Having visited the forest of Dean many times post and pre wild boar the differences in such a short time are clear. If you can get past the hysteria that often accompanies these quiet inconspicious forest dwellers; what looks like destruction of the forest and up rooting of sapling trees is actually a huge benefit to the forest and it flora and fauna. Smothering bracken's and brambles are reduced, stale ground is uprooted beneath beech trees to allow plants to grow, the canopy is reduced over time as glades and clearing are created which allows light in creating more space for plants and invertebrates. Dead wood is created and the recycling of nutrients is completed as fungi proliferate. The uprooting activity creates feeding opportunities for life’s opportunists like birds such as the robin that will flick behind a rooting boar for any displaced insects, all told the cycle of death and rebirth is virtually complete.

A woodland is not meant to be packed with trees and trees alone there needs to be a range of tree heights and a range of tree density from thick to none at all allowing light to the forest floor and space for grazers and browsers. It is the actions of these creatures that make a woodland and wild boar are the principle architects. Stick in a few larger herbivores and may be a larger predator and you have architypal olde world forest.


Lynx anyone??

Without any major predators like wolves, which our health and safety conscious public would never allow, the next best thing would be the odd lynx or a sustainable harvest from the boar themselves via sporting rights. Now I don’t condone the source of these wild boar, I believe species', if re-introduced, need to be done legally and above board, but they are natives and they are here now so let’s make the most of them.

Now I'm not saying re-introduce them up here, right now, although I can’t hide my support for such things but think more broadly. As a tool on a grand scale as we seek to re-naturalise our landscapes and diversify our management of the land, wild boar are a successful element of any landscape and great tourism draw. Many local tour operators now exploit their presence in the forest of Dean and elsewhere.

Just think what would your rather come across in Ashington community woodlands or their like, a 'sounder' of wild boar or the sound of a Suzuki 125, and besides wild boar sausages, what more could you ask for, magnificent.


Yummmmmy wild boar sausages

Our woodlands and landscapes are special places but they don’t manage themselves and dont get me going on to beaver again.

Private Fishing



Pied wagtail waiting for insects at the waters edge

Spring has arrived with a vengeance this past week as fine weather has prevailed and migrant birds start to arrive in force. Chiff chaff’s are blasting out from every copse and the first martins and swallows are here, another week or so and the dawn chorus will be in full swing.


Spring is a great time of the year for other reasons too especially in the valley woodlands of the rivers Wansbeck and Blyth the spring flowers can be quite a treat. However, a quiet stroll or other activity along either of these rivers may give you more than an aromatic treat.

Both valleys are blessed with some very good stretches of semi natural ancient woodland. Get up early and brave the mists and the woods can be a noisy place first thing with little or no traffic noise the dawn chorus is startling loud, scatter a roe deer and the air will be filled with unearthly barks as they prong off indignantly.

On the woodland floor some of the real beauties lie tucked away beneath the hazel coppice; wood anemones and dog violets sway and as the season continues the air is filled will the sometimes over powering aroma of ransoms or wild garlic. In May of course you will be treated to blue bells that add an azure blend to the new spring greens.



Wood anenomes on a woodland floor

Keep going down to the waters edge and the water crowfoots will come into view and within the tumbling waters the first stoneflies and mayflies will be dancing over the waters surface where the trout will be crashing into their half submerged bodies taking their fill while the bounty lasts.
Spring woodlands are magical places but we have so few in the UK, we have the lowest percentage woodland cover in Europe, most of ours is dominated by commercial conifer plantations so the woodland of the Wansbeck and Blyth valleys are extremely valuable resources. They still contain our native red squirrel and in the rivers one of the best if not the best populations of the endangered white clawed crayfish in the world on the Wansbeck catchment.

I like to do a bit of fly fishing in the true J R Hartley sense of the word, imaginary! As most of my fishing involves standing motionless in the river whilst the trout completely ignore every feathered offering I present to them. That ability to blend and stand motionless within the background though has its advantages as much that is about doesn’t notice you pretending to be a rock.

Over the years I have had roe deer come down to drink next to me and a memorable shrew train around my wellie tops, six or seven water shrews all in tow behind the mother, like a miniature Benny Hill cameo. Some however, can be quite un-nerving especially in the low light of dusk when the eyes play tricks.

Fishing late one evening on the river Blyth the hairs on the back of my neck quite literally stood up. I have seen many otter whilst fishing, they usually pay you little attention as they get about their business but on this night one was more than interested in my apparel.

thats 'Mr Otter' to you

I noticed him coming down the pool as I pushed myself into deeper water to get at a rather difficult fish under some over hanging trees and thought he had just moved on downstream. But as I started to re cast I felt something brush my legs under water (JAWS came straight to mind), then without a sound or hardly a ripple he surfaced like U29 right beside me no more than a foot away. Not having good eyesight I thought Jurassic Park style if I don’t move he can’t see me.

Wrong! This really was the closest encounter I have ever had with a wild otter he came right up to me and breathed his fishy breath on me, tugged on my shoulder straps, nudged me; he coughed like a heavy smoker and vanished.

The message was quite clear “private fishing here mate”, I never caught a thing! a quick check of the family jewels, a sigh of relief but what a moment, despite his bad breath.

'Fish breath'

The Poppy by Francis Thompson

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,
And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.


With burnt mouth, red like a lion's, it drank
The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank,
And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine
When the Eastern conduits ran with wine.


Till it grew lethargied with fierce bliss,
And hot as a swinked gipsy is,
And drowsed in sleepy savageries,
With mouth wide a-pout for a sultry kiss.


A child and man paced side by side,
Treading the skirts of eventide;
But between the clasp of his hand and hers
Lay, felt not, twenty withered years.


She turned, with the rout of her dusk South hair,
And saw the sleeping gipsy there:
And snatched and snapped it in swift child's whim,
With-- "Keep it, long as you live!" -- to him.


And his smile, as nymphs from their laving meres,
Trembled up from a bath of tears;
And joy, like a mew sea-rocked apart,
Tossed on the wave of his troubled heart.


For he saw what she did not see,
That -- as kindled by its own fervency --
The verge shrivelled inward smoulderingly:
And suddenly 'twixt his hand and hers

He knew the twenty withered years --

No flower, but thirty shrivelled years.


"Was never such thing until this hour,"
Low to his heart he said; "the flower
Of sleep brings wakening to me,
And of oblivion, memory."



"Was never this thing to me," he said,
"Though with bruisèd poppies my feet are red!"
And again to his own heart very low:
"O child! I love, for I love and know;


"But you, who love nor know at all
The diverse chambers in Love's guest-hall,
Where some rise early, few sit long:
In how differing accents hear the throng
His great Pentecostal tongue;


"Who know not love from amity,
Nor my reported self from me;
A fair fit gift is this, meseems,
You give -- this withering flower of dreams.


"O frankly fickle, and fickly true,
Do you know what the days will do to you?
To your love and you what the days will do,
O frankly fickle, and fickly true?


"You have loved me, Fair, three lives -- or days:
'Twill pass with the passing of my face.
But where I go, your face goes too,
To watch lest I play false to you.


"I am but, my sweet, your foster-lover,
Knowing well when certain years are over
You vanish from me to another;
Yet I know, and love, like the foster-mother.


"So, frankly fickle, and fickly true!
For my brief life while I take from you
This token, fair and fit, meseems,
For me -- this withering flower of dreams."


The sleep-flower sways in the wheat its head,
Heavy with dreams, as that with bread:
The goodly grain and the sun-flushed sleeper
The reaper reaps, and Time the reaper.


I hang 'mid men my needless head,
And my fruit is dreams, as theirs is bread:
The goodly men and the sun-hazed sleeper
Time shall reap, but after the reaper
The world shall glean of me, me the sleeper.


Love, love! your flower of withered dream
In leavèd rhyme lies safe, I deem,
Sheltered and shut in a nook of rhyme,
From the reaper man, and his reaper Time.


Love! I fall into the claws of Time:
But lasts within a leavèd rhyme
All that the world of me esteems --
My withered dreams, my withered dreams.


I love poppies me cant wait for the summer and the burnished red of the poppy fields:-)

Some people

A winter stoat or ermine with hard earned prey

 More often than not seen adorning the collars of royalty, this years early winter has seen a massive increase in the number of white stoats or ermine on view. I put a call out at work after we had a few calls from members of the public about their presence just to see how widespread they were at this time of the year. I was quite surprised as to the frequency; we received over 70 reports from as far afield as Berwick upon Tweed to Teesdale.

Largely they travel around unnoticed in their chestnut livery but now decked in white they stick out like a saw thumb, its surprising they manage to survive at all. Winter has all but ended now and so has the stoats white winter coat. My two local ones are now well on the change one looks very bizarre in a half and half look whilst the other has gone grey.

I have had some excellent views but too few with a camera in hand however I have managed to nick one or two. The best spectacle however that I encountered was up on the Northumberland coast. This little chancer who on failing to find any rabbits willing to play ball on the mainland decided to swim to one of the islands where the rabbits being blasé had grown fat and nonchalant. As he stormed ashore like the marines, after quite a lengthy swim for such a little fellow, the panic was clearly visible, with no where to go but underground or run in circles.


Stoat in partial ermine killing a rabbit

 The stoat’s first attempts failed as I guess he was still feeling the effects of his cross channel swim. But after a quick rest at the waters edge he was at it again this time successfully bringing a large rabbit to bay where he set about administering the coup de grace with fine aplomb.

The reaction from some who witnessed it was, well let’s just say silly if truth be told it was embarrassing, feeling more affinity to the plight of the rabbit rather than that of the stoat, there was anger from some that the stoat had succeeded. I will never come around to or understand these feelings as much as the so called birders who constantly harangue us about sparrowhawk and garden birds. This was brought up in the midst of the shenanigans as one of the rabbit friends declared all predators should be shot especially sparrowhawks.

I sometimes personally will the prey on in typical human, support for the underdog fashion but when predator succeeds I feel no malice toward it the feelings are soon replaced by ones of relief that nature has run its course.

Sparrowhawk and prey

The misplaced feelings toward sparrowhawk predation in and around the bird table are as a result of over sentimentalising our relationships with nature which is so common as result of the post ‘Life on Earth’ world of wildlife documentaries. If you feed birds then you create a honey pot which eventually attracts the attentions of predators, if you don’t want it to happen don’t feed the birds!! If you do then except it all 'red in tooth and claw' that something’s eat other things to survive it called nature, get over it.

Some of the reactions from ‘well meaning’ members of the public bordered on the hysterical and ridiculous, screaming with disgust instead of marvelling at the ingenuity and fortitude of this fantastic little predator.

The PC world and soap culture we live in has now invaded the world of nature and the documentaries that portray it. We anthropomorphise everything, we have made nature sanitised beyond belief. As another extreme example my brother was in Kenya last year on safari and could not believe what he witnessed, people (UK citizens mainly though three Yanks joined in) trying, indeed begging the guide to intervene in a lion kill that they had paid to hopefully witness. Saying things like, “why do they have to do that”, “its cruel!!”, “you should get rid of the lions”, “it’s disgusting and inhuman” and much more. The guides were mystified and did not understand the outrage that is increasingly common.

The Spring/autumn watch culture now delves increasingly closer into the lives of wildlife as they seek to continue the annual events and have an ‘edge’, some of it is intuitive and interesting footage but most of it is lost with inane drivel with ill informed commentary speculating and offering subjective views from the same old faces oohing and arrghing over natures perils and pit falls.

Fat as butter and very much alive a Farne Isle seal pup in December

A few years back I had to recover a situation on the media after one of their once widely respected presenters was nearly in tears with the situation on our Farne Isles, as the population of grey seals teetered on the brink of oblivion as a natural disaster in the form a ‘a storm’, in the ‘north sea’, ‘in winter’ threatened the entire grey seal population. His pathetic performance for cameras had everyone thinking this was a cataclysmic one off and there would be no more grey seals. When I was asked for comment on the news later after they had picked up on the 'tragedy' of the story, the shear disappointment in the newsreaders voice, when I said this was totally natural and happened every year and it is a way of dispersing and regulating pup numbers, was palatable, oh he said a complete no storey then, yep I said I reckon so.

Wildlife and nature is truly amazing but its cruel in the coldest sense it does not feel as we do the loss of a loved ones passing it ponders for a while, confused then gets on with life, only we see in their actions the way we want to see them. The reality is stark but simple the next time you see a sparrowhawk snatch cock robin from the bird table, instead of lambasting him think just for a second if those talons hadn't sunk home its very likely that sparrowhawk would not see the light of another day such is the finite line between survival and death in the natural world.

Anyway I digress suffice to say it gets on my nebulous ends and does nature no favours in our often polarised society as the real star of the show was the number of stoat in ermine around the region, a creature that never ceases to amaze me, all I can say is I'm glad I'm not a rabbit or that I am even more happy that stoats are so small any bigger and humans (I wish) would be on the menu.

A swimming stoat




Aerial acrobats are back

These are exciting times for our twitching friends as a new round of migrants are on their way dowitchers will be mingling with yellowlegs and phalaropes as we bid a fond farewell to the whooper swans, the fieldfares and the redwings and welcome to the warblers, martins and swallows.

I saw my first butterflies and a bumble bee last week as the temperatures became almost tropical but as the temperatures rise it is the swallows, swifts and martins that make the summer months for me.


Sand martin will often use man made structures to nest in this is in the bridge walls in Dumfries over the river Nith

First to arrive will be the sand martins - industrious little birds that are never stray far from water. They usually turn up around mid to late March. Sand martins, as their name suggests, enjoy nesting in exposed sand banks, these are somewhat of a premium in many places these days but im lucky in that quarries quite close to me offer excellent opportunites for cliff nesting. I will be making a point of taking the camera along on some fine spring day in the near future.

An artificial sand martin wall on the Montrose basin, Scotland

Next to arrive are the swallows and the house martins, the former being one of my all-time favourites (oh to have the pleasure of a barn with swallows in it). The last but by no means least to arrive and with the shortest stay are the swifts, the greatest of aerial acrobats.

All these birds, that are so familiar with most of us and locked in our folklore, are under immense threat. Threats which are just as apparent on our home soil as overseas. Let’s not forget that some swallows fly as far south as the Cape in South Africa, which is pretty long way requiring many stop over points on the way. Their winter feeding grounds are becoming sterile waste grounds where pesticides long since banned in the developed world are used to eradicate insect pests and boost production - the vital oasis across the deserts are drying up and turning to dust compounds. If that wasn’t enough, facing dehydration and starvation many get shot and trapped as they cross the Mediterranean.


A swallow on the barn roof

The first time you see a chattering mixed group of swallows and martins pass over-head or better still, lining abreast along a telephone wire, you know the summer is here; but still the threats continue on reaching their breeding areas. I remember watching columns of swallows, martins and swifts rising above the roof tops as high as you could see, hawking for insects way into the sky. Years of pesticide abuse mean we just don’t have the insect populations anymore, likewise, the culprit lies in a lack of nesting opportunities.


Like the declines in our house sparrow and starling populations, there is a definite correlation to be made in modern housing and the refurbishment of older housing with plastic soffits and sealed guttering. even traditional sites such as barns and old farm buildings now have their doors closed or are turned in second homes.

All the houses where I lived when I was young offered a place for starlings and house sparrows - where the eaves over-hung, house martins too in their replacement cliff ledges - now there aren’t any or very few. I still see where people have knocked martin nests from under their eves or from outside public places like the loos at Kielder water, sighting the mess they make or the pathetic repeated attempts by swifts, starlings or sparrows to gain entry to a past nest site in the new guttering. For the sake of a few months inconvenience, or putting out a bird box, or better still just turning a blind eye and enjoying the spectacle. It is of course illegal to do these things but it happens every year and it never ceases to amaze me how frequently it ocurrs.

There is nothing better than a warm late spring evening witnessing the chasing throng of screaming swifts at top speed around the roof tops, or just the chatter of sparrows from the gabble end.

The humble house sparrow

These are the sights and sounds of what summer is all about. There are still places where you can see these spectacles and a spectacle is what it is, you don’t need to see herds of wildebeast tramping across the Serengeti to make a spectacle, a walk by many a farm yard in summer will give you views of swallows darting in and out of the byres with the aerial precision that would make the Red Arrows envious but for most of us like so many things it has disappeared from common view.

Last summer I waited and waited for these birds to appear over my roof top but slow they were in appearing and few in number too, very depressing indeed because after all one swallow does not make a summer and what sad place this would be without them.

One swallow does not make a summer

Brock's back

Brock's back

Just a quickie, walking the dogs today it would appear that badger have finally returned to my area after nearly 30yrs absence.

Nice and fresh badger poop

Although there has always been one or two loners about occupying safe rock setts they have never really appeared to be doing well merely just existing. Today however, I am heartened by the evidence on display. Plenty of tracks, latrines, well worn trails, fresh digging and bedding and some classic hair samples trapped on the barb wire fences.



Badger hairs on the fence lines where trails intersected

This despite years of abuse, in the last two years there has even been some digging into the cliffs with machinery but fingers crossed they are back and they will stay and spread as there are still the remnants of nearly ten setts in the locally all dug out by largely bored miners during the pit strike.

On a sour note there was a dead vixen where I watched cubs last year, doesnt look suspicious just strange and somehow un-necessary I must be getting old and soft I just felt really sad looking at her, still there may be some badger cubs to look forward to.

Dead vixen, the location bares the scars of many years interference