birds of prey, British folklore, conservation, environment, history, leisure, tourism, UK, wildlife

Peregrine-spotting at Norwich Cathedral

My Beloved’s favourite birds are peregrines – and for a man who loves raptors of all descriptions as much as he does, that’s quite a statement.

 

So he was delighted when we got to see a couple of them in all their unadulterated glory the other weekend. While these lovely, majestic birds once nested predominantly on mountains and coastal cliff ledges, they can now also be found dwelling in urban edifices of all kinds – including cathedrals such as Norwich, which is where we spotted them on our little jaunt there.

 

In fact, for a few weeks now, we’ve actually been watching a pair of chicks grow, develop and get fluffier via a webcam strategically placed by the Hawk and Owl Trust, which is based in nearby Fakenham of thoroughbred horseracing fame. The chicks belong to a couple of peregrines, which incidentally mate for life, but first took up residence in 2011 on the Cathedral spire using a special platform put up by the Trust a knee-wobbling 75 metres above the ground.

 

Peregrine roosting spot at Norwich Cathedral
Peregrine roosting spot at Norwich Cathedral

And like similar breeding programmes elsewhere, the move seems to have been very successful. Which is just as well really seeing as last century, peregrines actually became an endangered species, with numbers falling to only 400 or so breeding pairs.

 

The population had initially started declining about 100 years ago during World War I when lots were killed off to stop them attacking carrier pigeons bringing home important intelligence from the front. Despite the fact that they don’t tend to munch on game birds such as pheasant or grouse much, preferring more medium-sized prey such pigeons and doves, peregrines were also a favourite target of gamekeepers too.

 

But the worst offenders of all were farmers using organo-chlorine pesticides, and especially the now infamous DDT, from the 1950s until it was banned in the 1980s. The problem was that the chemicals caused the shells of the birds’ eggs to thin, which meant that fewer survived through to the hatching stage. And when you have a situation where between 70% and 80% of all fledged youngsters die in their first year anyway, it’s not hard to see how disastrous such environmental pollution was to the peregrines’ wellbeing.

 

But populations have now recovered to such an extent that there are a much healthier 1,500 pairs across the UK, a scenario helped at least in part by the birds’ highly protected status. And so they should be – not only are these magnificent creatures our largest native falcon, but they are also intimately tied into our history due to their important role in the art of falconry.

 

Bird of choice

 

Although falconry is believed to have begun in Mesopotamia, with the earliest accounts dating the activity to approximately 2000 BC, it was apparently introduced to Europe around AD400 when the Huns and Alans invaded from the East. By 875AD, falconry was widely practised in Saxon England, but following the Norman conquest in 1066 it was restricted to the upper classes, and peasants could find themselves hanged for keeping hawks, which does seem a bit harsh.

 

While yeomen were assigned the privilege of using short-winged birds such as goshawks and sparrowhawks to hunt for food, it was only the King and his nobles who were allowed to own long-winged falcons such as peregrines and merlins.

 

But it wasn’t until the Middle Ages that falconry really took off as a sport, becoming a veritable status symbol among the nobility. They trained their raptors to hunt small prey such as rabbits and other birds and, as the activity did not involve face-to-face encounters with potentially dangerous creatures such as boar and stags, women were allowed to play too.

 

Interestingly though, it was peregrines with their keen intellect that became their birds of choice. Being relatively small, they are also relatively light to hold on the fist and particularly graceful in the air. They are also the fastest bird on the planet.

Peregine diving
Peregine diving

Attacking their prey by making spectacularly accurate dives of more than 200 miles per hour, peregrines opt to break its bones and knock it out of the sky rather than sully their talons in a bloody fight to the death, thus sanitising the whole macabre process.

 

What all of this means in a symbolic sense though is that falcons in general, and peregrines in particular, are all about focus. So if you believe in auguries and a peregrine comes into your sights, they are apparently reminding you to concentrate on your desires and goals, and do whatever it takes to realise them. To do so successfully, however, you’ll need to act in as methodical and strategic a fashion as any self-respecting peregrine would when out on a hunting trip.

 

But these beautiful birds also represent a visionary power that, if tuned into, can help you solve on-going dilemmas, or even discover your life’s purpose. And as such, their appearance implies a time of transition and change and the need to rise above your current situation.

 

So next time you happen to spot a peregrine, it might repay you to ponder on just what it is they’re trying to tell you. It certainly can’t do any harm anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

conservation, countryside, environment, food, food and drink, leisure, lifestyle, plants, Uncategorized

Urban foraging: Food that’s wild and free

Being a bit of a hippy at heart, I’ve really quite fancied the idea of doing some proper foraging for a while now.

 

On the one hand, if Armageddon were to strike, I’m sure being able to identify which plants are edible and which are likely to kill us off would be a fairly useful skill to have.

 

But on the other, it’s just a lovely, satisfying thing to do – to roam around in nature and truly know what it is you’re communing with at every level. In other words, being familiar with the culinary use of your chosen shrub or flower, its medicinal purpose and even its spiritual meaning, as they all have one. So it’s about getting to know the beautiful, green world around you and truly being at home and feeling part of it.

 

The most amazing foragers I’ve come across, it must be said though, are the Iban, a tribal people who live in the rainforest in Sarawak in the Malaysian part of Borneo. My Beloved and I went on holiday there a dozen or so years ago before the destruction of the forests by loggers and palm oil producers really started taking hold.

Iban longhouse
Iban longhouse

Sarawak at that time was known to be one of the six most biodiverse regions in the world and, amazingly, a hectare of rainforest there traditionally had more tree species in it than all of the European countries put together – until they started being ripped up to plant palm oil monocultures, that is, in order to feed the developed world’s apparently insatiable lust for the stuff.

 

Palm oil, it turns out, is a key ingredient in nearly half of all our mass-produced goods, ranging from cosmetics and toothpaste to cakes and sweets and we seem just as dependent on it as we are on black gold – and at a similar cost to the environment too.

 

Anyway, while we were in Borneo, we were lucky enough to spend a couple of nights in a longhouse with the Iban people in order to find out a bit more about where and how they lived. One fascinating morning, we went out on a rainforest walk with a guide who showed us plants to cure every kind of ailment, including one thought to have potential in the fight against AIDS.

 

But even more amazing was a canoe trip upstream into the rainforest. On stopping the boat at some apparently random spot, an Iban man threw a jala (throw-net) into the river and ended up with an impressive enough catch of pretty silver fish to feed our little party for both lunch and dinner.

 

Then on disembarking, our hosts started poking around in the fecund undergrowth and began pulling up what I would have sworn was a bunch of weeds, but which turned out to be the most delicious savoury accompaniment to our meal. This was cooked together with the fish in long bamboo poles buried in a hastily dug out pit by the water’s edge. It was gorgeous – and all the better for being devoured outdoors.

 

So suitably inspired on returning to the UK, I bought myself a “Food For Free” guidebook and dragged my Beloved out for a couple of Sundays on the trot to see what we could find.

 

To forage or not to forage?

 

I even did a foraging course in deepest Essex in a bid to get up close and personal with the help of a guide rather than simply try to work things out from a book. Sadly though, I could barely hear a word of what was said, let alone get near enough to spot the various plants under scrutiny as there were just too many people in the group. The only thing I gained from the experience, in fact, was a rather nice nettle soup at the end.

 

And so it all kind of fizzled out – until the end of last year, that is, when my parents asked what I’d like for Christmas. And it struck me that what I’d really like to do was go foraging with an expert again as a way of sparking a somewhat more sustained interest.

 

So one short Google search later and I’d unearthed Robin Harford, who seemed to come highly recommended – and with good reason. His enthusiasm and obvious passion for his subject proved infectious – despite the bitingly cold wind gusting through the somewhat desolate and deprived environs of Westbourne Park where our adventure took place.

 

Although Robin offers foraging courses up and down the country in plenty of rural hotspots, I’d been intrigued by the thought of what he might be able to conjure up in the great metropolis of London and so had signed up for a morning’s session there instead.

Westbourne Park
Westbourne Park

And I wasn’t disappointed. Although somewhat less than prepossessing at first glance, the Park proved to offer a veritable cornucopia of wild food that most of us, bar a few dogs, would simply pass by and not even notice. Traversing from one end to the other, we uncovered everything from chickweed (salad greens) and ransoms (wild garlic) to the flowers of Japanese ornamental quince (for salads and decoration).

 

It was just a pity that some of the residents of the dreary and alienating high-rise tower blocks didn’t get a chance to join us too as such nutritious free-of-charge additions to their diet might have proved welcome. One for Jamie Oliver’s Ministry of Food healthy cooking gang to think about maybe.

 

Or maybe not, if the likes of Bristol City Council has its way. Because the Council is proposing a series of 34 new by-laws to cover the 212 parks and green spaces around the town that, it is feared, would effectively put paid to foraging in the area – and possibly elsewhere if other local authorities follow suit.

 

The by-laws, which were put out to a consultation that ended on 20 March this year, include a ban on removing “the whole or any part of any plant, shrub or tree”, a stricture that could mean traditional activities such as blackberry-picking, scrumping apples and even pulling mushrooms are effectively outlawed.

 

Although the Council insisted that it was not trying to do any such thing, it also pointed out that it had received more than 3,000 complaints about “nuisance in parks” between 2011 and 2013 and so was trying to protect plants from damage as a result.

 

The problem is that, while it undoubtedly means well, a failure to think through the implications of its proposals in a thorough and careful fashion could have serious ramifications for us all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

conservation, countryside, wildlife

Keeping Britain wild and free

It does strike you that human beings can be a contrary bunch sometimes.

 

On the one hand, you’ve got the whole re-wilding movement currently going on in the UK. Its aim is to try and restore and protect key wilderness areas and return various habitats and species to the British countryside after they disappeared years ago, mainly through our own fault.

 

On the other hand, we’re now also trying to eradicate loads of other things that we’ve introduced from elsewhere over the years either by accident or design, but which we no longer like. Surprise, surprise, just like the scenes we’ve witnessed so often in horror movies, we’ve found that, once out of their own natural habitats, such immigrants have a habit of becoming dysfunctional, getting all invasive and starting to kill off the locals.

 

Prime examples here include the infamous Japanese knotweed , which can grow up to 20cm per day and apparently costs the UK economy £166 million per year both in terms of getting rid it and in house price devaluations as a result of it.

Japanese knotweed
Japanese knotweed

Another nightmare is the North American signal crayfish, which is killing off its native white-clawed cousins in our streams, rivers and lakes by being bigger and more aggressive, and grabbing most of the food supply for itself. To make matters worse, it’s also spreading some awful disease that’s proving deadly to its smaller and more genteel relations.

 

Anyway, to get back to the notion of re-wilding for a moment: although creating and conserving green spaces full of indigenous flora and fauna for everyone to enjoy might not seem a particularly controversial idea, in practice, it’s caused a firestorm.

 

One of the problems is that the term itself seems to mean different things to different people, a situation that’s led to lots of heated debate among conservationists and wildlife lovers alike, some of it rather ill-natured.

 

The launch of a charity called Rewilding Britain, which claims George Monbiot, environmental activist and Guardian newspaper columnist as its unofficial figurehead, for instance, seems to have been particularly divisive. It launched itself onto the national stage in July by making a headline-grabbing call for the reintroduction into Scotland of Britain’s former apex predators – lynx, wild boar and wolves – which had previously been hunted to extinction.

 

In fact, its aim is to see three core areas of 100,000 hectares of infertile land across the UK rewilded by 2030. About one million or so more would then follow by the end of the century to be given over to these predators and the natural ecological processes that support them.

 

The apex predator debate

 

The charity’s argument is that, as important keystone species, they would help to make the country’s natural ecosystems stronger, not least as a result of hunting overpopulated species such as deer, which are causing massive damage to forests and woodland across the country.

 

The farmers, on the other hand, have been up in arms about it all, protesting that wolves, in particular, would kill too many sheep. They have also refused to be pacified by protestations that most European states acting as home to such predators have compensation schemes in place.

 

A passionate supporter of the rewilding viewpoint, meanwhile, is Paul Lister, a multimillionaire, heir to the MFI fortune and founder of The European Nature Trust. He bought the Alladale Estate in Sutherland, Scotland, about 10 years ago in order to turn it into a wilderness reserve, which he has been in the process of doing ever since.

 

To that end, he’s planted 800,000 trees, restored 224 hectares of degraded peat-land and, happily, reintroduced our native red squirrels. But for him, such progress is still not enough. The vision will not be complete until he introduces large predators in the shape of lynx, wolves and bears, not only to control the rampant, resident deer, but also to create an ecotourism attraction and generate local employment.

Wolf
Wolf

But the idea hasn’t gone down too well in some quarters, to say the least. Ramblers who have a legal right to wander on Lister’s land, are unhappy at the thought of it being fenced off to create a so-called “giant zoo”. A few locals are also fearful that the animals will break out and end up snaffling livestock – or even people.

 

Some conservationists are just as concerned about the potential impact on the animals themselves of being released into territory now unfamiliar to them.

 

Anyway, the upshot of the outcry has been that Lister now plans to conduct a six-month study into the socio-economic impact of his proposed move – a scenario that means it’s probably unlikely to happen any time soon.

 

But not everyone in the conservation movement is convinced that rewilding advocates should be placing quite so much focus on reintroducing big beasts. Instead some believe it should be much more about expanding natural habitats, increasing biodiversity and helping communities reconnect with nature.

 

Andrew Bachell, Scottish Natural Heritage’s director of policy and advice, for one, told farmers’ publication FG Insight: “Rewilding isn’t just about releasing large animals. It’s also about regenerating natural woodland or allowing areas of coast that flood naturally to flood again, and creating wildlife corridors.”

 

Different angles

 

Moreover, Rob Bushby, UK manager of conservation and rewilding charity the John Muir Trust’s environmental award scheme points out in a blog that to put so much focus on the predator message is potentially damaging to the entire movement by making it “overly focused, niche and confusing”.

 

It has, he believes, resulted in the term ‘rewilding’ being “associated with ‘conservation nut jobs’, slaughter of livestock, and even absconding of babies (Scotland on Sunday). It’s alienated and antagonised many that would be our natural allies”.

 

As a result, says Busby: “By focusing on one dimension and one or two species, ‘rewilding’ is in danger of becoming a tarnished brand associated with polarised and rancorous debate.” Which would be a shame really as its intentions are good and its aims actually relatively modest.

 

Another set of people with equally good intentions but coming at things from quite a different angle are the invasivores. A movement born in the US, it involves people going around eating invasive species in a bid to control burgeoning populations.

Signal crayfish
Signal crayfish

A pioneer of, and cheerleader for, this novel approach is Joe Roman, a conservation biologist who works at the University of Vermont and set up his own website called ‘Eat the Invaders (Fighting invasive species one bite at a time!) in 2003 to spread the word. It is packed not only full of information about individual species, but also about their nutritional value and possible recipes that can be used to cook them.

 

Although Roman acknowledges that dining out on invasive species alone won’t solve the problem, he believes that it’s a useful, and also enjoyable, entry point into the issues involved.

 

As he told US news broadcaster CNN: “I spent my career trying to control people’s appetites, to manage native species so we don’t deplete them. Here is a case where voracious appetites do the environment a favour. You want it not to be a chore, to be fun, and tasty!”

 

And you can see his point – according to the GB Non-Native Species Secretariat, non-native invasive species actually cost the UK economy about £1.7 billion each year in damage and clearing up the mess. A fact making it surprising perhaps that we haven’t seen more invasivore restaurants springing up here a la US.

 

In fact, the nearest thing we’ve got to it so far that I’ve been able to discover anyway, is environmental campaign Crayaway’s Crayfish Bob pop-up restaurants. They travel up and down the country dishing out signal crayfish for people to feast on at festivals such as Glastonbury.

 

Which certainly puts a whole new spin on the phrase, “Eat and drink for tomorrow you may die”.