WhaleFest 2015

Since crossing the Bay of Biscay my attention, energy and focus has been for WhaleFest 2015. This annual festival held in Brighton is the world’s biggest celebration of wild whales and dolphins. Since its beginnings in 2011 I have been involved with the virtual whale watch. There are not too many opportunities to go whale watching off Brighton, with perhaps the odd harbour porpoise to be encountered. But what is a whale and dolphin festival without whale watching? So each year we have set up boats, used some clever props and a screen and taken people responsible whale watching from the comfort of the venue. 

So once again I found myself sitting in a small inflatable boat with a group of kids and adults dressed in bright orange life jackets, bouncing on our new banana-type boat, cast in a blue glow. Only this time there is not one massive screen ahead of us. Around the boat stand up waves are positioned behind which a team of volunteers crouched, hidden from view. Above birds swoop from the ceiling, suspended in this magical blue light. Ahead are positioned two screens, not just one. The trip starts with me again requesting the life jacket whistles not be blown, and for people to remain on board our boat. We run through the responsible whale watching guidelines we will be sticking to should we be lucky enough to see whales and dolphins. Then we are leaving harbour and the calls of gulls and general background noise disappears as the engines gear up. A lighthouse just ahead moves away as we head out to sea. For the next 10 minutes or so whales and dolphins and even a beautiful turtle, appear not just from up ahead but from all sides. The massive dorsal fins of a pod of orca, a head as one spy hops, a stunning turtle swims past (it’s the most amazing turtle I have ever seen anyone make!), a giant sperm whale’s tail gloriously lifts up from behind one of those waves, while yet more whale backs are seen surfacing amongst the waves. The spray of their blow catches the blue light, swirling briefly before disappearing, catching the nearby passengers and making them call out in delighted surprise. 

The Virtual Whale Watch set up

We remove netting from over the side of the boat, before putting down not only a hydrophone to listen to the clicks of sperm whales, but also, its seems everyone’s latest toy, a GoPro. On one of the screens ahead a sperm whale appears out of the blue abyss, swimming upside down and then disappearing again. The kids love yelling every time something appears, screaming out what they reckon it could be, taking in the whole adventure and for the most part accepting the odd appearance of an arm or top of a head from behind a wave. As the trip nears its end, the setting sun appears behind the larger screen before the shadows of dolphins begin breaching against its orange glow. Out of nowhere more dolphins appear from behind the waves, the kid’s head whipping round as groups of three or four dolphins appear simultaneously from all angles. Then, seamlessly, footage of dolphins appears on the bow at the front of the boats, they are riding the pressure wave a boat creates, effortlessly keeping up. They are so close, seeming to peer up at us as we gaze down at them. As the trip ends the lighthouse reappears and there is one last chance to say thank you before the passengers pile off the boats and make their way out. We may in reality have never left the room, but it’s amazing what a little bit of imagination and one rather excitable guide can do to get kids and adults alike inspired by our truly breath taking ocean world. 

The Virtual Whale Watch at WhaleFest 2015

Once again WhaleFest has reached out to thousands. It was so easy to forget the thousands of people passing through outside the doors to our blue watery world of the virtual whale watch. There were sea shanties being sung, a shark zone with life sized inflatable sharks and a cave experience, hundreds of stands of whale watch companies and charities, campaigners and researchers giving inspirational talks on their work, people dressed as sharks and orca, life sized inflatable whales and dolphins surrounding a main stage where people like Steve Backshall, Monty Halls, Micheala Strachan, Gordon Buchananan, John Hargove, Ric O’ Barry and Will Travers talked to audiences of hundreds about their experiences with whales and dolphins. There was an auction of amazing experiences, kindly donated by World Cetacean Alliance partners, and 52 whale tails representing the wild soul of each of the orca currently in captivity. All raising money for the Wild and Free Campaign run by the WCA and Born Free Foundation. Out on the beach there was an emotionally charged arts installation of a mother and calf orca, made up of over 5000 crosses each representing f a whale or dolphin that has died in captivity. Through social media and by live streaming interviews with celebs, researchers and campaigners from the whale and dolphin world, the festival reached out to thousands more around the world who could not attend in person. Not only that, the Whale Graveyard on Brighton beach was seen by thousands, not just those who attended the festival itself, making passers-by stop and think about what we are doing to these sentient emotional beings locking them in tiny bath tubs and making them perform. 

The WCA Whale Graveyard on Brighton Beach

The power, passion and inspiration of WhaleFest, the ripple effect of what a few dedicated volunteers are doing and the difference we are making across the world never ceases to amaze me, and I am so proud to be involved. 

To find out more about WhaleFest please go to the website. To find out more about the WCA and the Wild and Free campaign please click here. 

A Winter's Bay

The sun rose blood red over an ocean that was silvery blue. Despite the saying red sky in the morning sailor take warning the waves were calm and the swell low. The conditions were good for sighting those often elusive whales and dolphins. With the breaking dawn spreading light over the rolling water a couple of figures stood on the back deck of the ferry eagerly scanning out to sea. Having never crossed the Bay of Biscay in February I was not sure entirely what to expect. I know that some species are present in these deep waters year round, but for others like sperm whale and fin whale it felt a little early in the season. There are sightings of these giants at this time of year but they are fewer than later in the spring and summer. Still ever the optimist and always of the mind you just never know, I was one of those figures standing in the cool morning light, watching the blood red sun rise and then disappear behind a bank of cloud, scanning the silver waves. 

As morning progressed still no dorsal fin or blow split the waves. The clouds soon vanished leaving a brilliant blue sky and azure ocean. Even though it was February the sunglasses and sun cream both came out. 

Then mid-morning and an almost squeal of delight from one of the others gave away our first sighting. Three Cuvier’s beaked whales broke the surface right alongside the ferry, their brown scarred backs rolling and then disappearing again amongst the waves. Four or five times we watched, with each surface met by accompanying squeals that for me only a whale or dolphin could produce in someone.

Cuvier's beaked whale

As the ferry continued its journey south the snow covered mountains of the Picos appeared almost like billowing clouds on the horizon, growing ever more distinct. More sightings followed; two groups of striped dolphins almost sneaked past, only to leap clear of the blue water once beyond the stern; more beaked whales were picked up at distance, their size and position of the dorsal fin giving away their identity but the distance not allowing certain identification to species level.

Striped dolphins

As more of the Spanish coastline came into view, the wind dropped further until the water was smooth and oily. A small group of bottlenose dolphins broke the surface, mother and calf clearly defined even from this distance and height.

The turnaround in Santander brought more sun and ice cream, it felt more like early summer than February. The return journey started with only an hour or so of light left. Once again the group was back on deck, willing the ferry to get out of the harbour and into the open sea once more. Although light was failing as mist and cloud gathered blocking our setting sun, perseverance was rewarded with a distant group of dolphins, silhouetted against the setting sun, and then a group of long-finned pilot whale, also dark but distinct with their bulbous, round heads and broad swept back dorsal fins. 

A wonderful end to a winters day in the Bay of Biscay.

Cold enough for snow

The sand was frozen solid. The usual shifting and sinking associated with walking on sand gone, replaced by a cold hard mass with frozen tufts of maram grass and silvery white patches of frost. It was a very cold, blue dawn. As the light brought definition to the sand dunes, the beach and the pale blue ocean, just one cloud became tinged with pink. On the sand and pebbles of the beach below the dunes the light also revealed our whoosh net, set under the cover of darkness. With the dawn birds started moving around the beach, a wave of small passerines moving as one, settling on one patch of sand before lifting, dashing off, turning sharply and landing on another. Small waders woke from their roost on the angular rocks of sea defences and started the same process, settling down in one area, running with legs working overtime before lifting off again. Large gulls and cormorants streamed by, ignoring the dance being played out on the beach. The team of ringers waited patiently for birds to settle in the catching area. When one or two came in, it was then a mind game of when to catch. Wait for one more and risk the whole flock lifting off at the last moment? 

Waiting patiently among the sand dunes

Finally the moment arrived and the net fired. It was then a dash down the beach to stop any birds wriggling out from under the net and to get them out. It is a small group of snow buntings that we have caught. A scare breeder in Scotland, large numbers from Iceland and Scandinavia come to Britain in winter where their flocks and often confiding nature brightens any winter’s day along the cold coast. 

Most of the birds caught today were already ringed. While many may see that as a disappointment this is the most important part of ringing. Re-trapping ringed birds provides us with the detail on movements, longevity, survival – all the answers to why we ring. It can also help with the process of ageing and sexing birds. With snow buntings however the process is not just about ageing and sexing, it is also about identifying the race the bird belongs to. There are four races of snow bunting, with those wintering in Britain falling into one of two; the nominate nivalis which breeds in Arctic Europe, North America, North West Russia, Greenland and Scotland tends to be much whiter than insulae which are darker and breed in Iceland. 

Adult female nivalis

Juvenile female insulae

Race identified the next job was to check whether it is male or female. One might assume straight off that the whiter individuals are all male, but with females of nivalis showing extensive white amongst the mottled sandy brown wash of their winter plumage it is not always that clear cut. It is under the wing that the secret is revealed, with males having a clear inky black along on the primaries, almost like they have been dipped in paint. While in females it is much more washed out. Today’s catch, in keeping with the past few, are mostly female, throwing up interesting questions about the sex ratio of wintering flocks. Ageing is not as easy and a question of looking at feather quality, shape of patterning and wear of the feathers.

The only male caught, an adult insulae

Ultimately it was a privilege to be standing under a bright winter’s blue sky, the sand slowly defrosting beneath our feet, discussing and learning about these beautiful little buntings.

The Early Bird Catches... The Bird!

‘Pray for rain’, it’s not what you usually hear from bird ringers. When mist netting we usually want calm, dry, overcast conditions. Not rain. But this morning we were not aiming to catch birds with a mist net. This morning we were joining Tony Cross, a mid-Wales based ringer, who is a dab hand at catching birds using a method called 'dazzle and net'. It was also the first time in a very very long time, that my alarm was set with a two in it! Even New Year celebrations saw me hopping into bed at just after midnight. But with a nearly full moon, and recently clear skies, our best chances were to be had in the early morning and to take advantage of that forecast for wet weather. 

Once again in the pitch dark, and climbing higher into the hills, the forecast rain certainly made an appearance. Only as we climbed suddenly it switched, through the headlight beam the rain drops turned to snow flakes, soon it was snowing heavily and the view ahead looked more like hyper-drive on the Millennium Falcon. On arriving at the site it was off into the wind, snow, the ground sodden and crunchy all at the same time. In places it sucked at your feet, creating loud squelching noises, not good for a stealthy approach to birds!

It was not until the third field, and having flushed a fair few Snipe and Golden Plover, that our luck finally came in and Tony landed a Woodcock.  The first bird for Tony in 2015 and by the light of the torch it was clear the bird was already ringed. Closer inspection however revealed that this was not a British BTO ring, it was a ring from the Latvian ringing scheme! In five years of catching Woodcock, and ringing over 2000 different birds unbelievably this was the first one to be caught with a foreign ring on it! Cue delighted whoops from Tony! What a privilege to be there on this morning.

Star of the Show - the Latvian ringed Woodcock

As we explored more fields, we managed to catch a few more birds. A couple more Woodcock, both unringed this time, a Snipe (have had a lot of practice ageing those recently!), a Fieldfare, and an absolutely cracking Golden Plover. Only the Latvian ringed Woodcock could top that bird for me!

Stunning Golden Plover

As dawn approached the snow eased, to be replaced by misty, drizzly fog. The seeping blue light of dawn revealed a still snowy landscape, with trees and the edges of fields hidden by mist, and a trio of rather soggy, cold but very happy ringers.

Read more about the Latvian Woodcock at Tony's blog Ruffled Feathers. 

A Tale of Two Snipes

Winter had finally arrived. After months of mild, wet weather with the feeling of October rather than December, things had finally turned cold, crisp and frosty. It was still pitch black, the rather dim light of the head torch swept the bramble hedges and grassy banks, the frost glittering briefly in the torches beam. The grass beneath brand new Christmas wellies crunched, the ice breaking at the edges of puddles. The sky above was clear, stars sparkled in the inky black, while a hint of orange glowed on the horizon hinting at the lights of the nearby city. Slowly the inky black began changing through shades of deepest blue, cancelling out the orange glow, as dawn began to break. With enough light now to see, we walk the frozen grassy and muddy tracks between raised banks beyond which the ground dips into pools. The reeds and grass within which have been strimmed, maintained and managed for birds. Stretching across two such pools is a series of strategically placed nets. We climb the bank and look out over the pools, we walk down the slope and step down into the frozen water. It is not deep, the ice cracks as we slowly walk across, skirting piles of reed and grass, purposely left for birds to roost on just above the waters surface. Reaching the first set of nets we find they have done their job well! 

The set of nets and habitat managed for Snipe

As we approach the second set, which skirts a slightly deeper pool, walking through taller, dried grass that rustles as we pass, we flush more birds. They rise up out of the long grass, calling as they dash zig zagging away; only some of them encounter the nets. Our catch increases and is a good one; the birds are small mottled brown above, with pale, buff stripes down the back and on the head, a straight long bill and comparatively big dark eyes. They are Common Snipe. But some are smaller still, with a shorter bill. Those are Jack Snipe! In total there seven Jack Snipe and 12 Common Snipe, a cracking total even when you were aiming to catch them! But it just goes to show what maintaining and creating habitat specifically for such species can do. 

Common Snipe (right) and Jack Snipe (left)

Both are listed as Amber due to declines in numbers. Common Snipe breed and winter in the UK and numbers have dropped especially in lowland wet grassland. Jack Snipe winter in the UK, but are a Species of European Concern. To have even seven Jack Snipe on site means it is Nationally Important. 

Jack Snipe

Beyond the tall trees at the edge of the site the brilliant golden sun breaks the horizon, casting its yellow rays across the glittering greens, browns and dun yellows of the pools. In the beautiful winter sunlight we ring and process, learning about these wonderful, cryptic waders. It is brilliant to be able to compare both species at the same time. When complete we release each one, the Common Snipe zoom off quickly, not hanging around. The Jack Snipe however tends to rely more on its camouflage, crouching down until the last moment, flying low and then dropping down again. So when set down carefully after processing, for a moment that is where they stay. 

Lee releasing the fourth of our seven Jack Snipe

A huge thank you to Matt Prior and Graham Deacon of North Wiltshire Ringing Group for taking us out and letting us join them. Why not check out their blog to see what they are up to ringing wise. 

Dipping In

It was dark, the steep slopes, rising either side of the road, a denser, deeper black shadow against the night sky. A cloudy sky that hid the stars, with only a few twinkling lights from nearby houses and the flashing amber of a sign on the road warning of ice as it wound higher into the mountains, a black snake through a black landscape.  The water rushing below was a muted roar against the muffled night. In the light of a torch the water tumbled over itself and the submerged rocks, before disappearing from view, swallowed by the night. The torch swept past ledges and holes, searching. It only took a second to see what we are looking for. The torch light sweeps past again, the far side then assessing the rushing water in between.

Slowly he crosses the water, the white water pushing and swirling against the rubber wellies, reaching the top and then plunging down the gap between leg and welly. It is cold, enough to take the breath away, but not cold enough to put him off.

It is a short distance to cross to reach the roosting site of a small bird synonymous with the rushing streams of upland areas. With the bird safely ensconced in a bag it is a short wade back across the river.

Back on the road, and having emptied the wellies of what seems like half the stream, it is safe to ring and process the bird. Removing it from the bag, the torch light reveals the short-tailed, plump, stocky little brown bird, the feathers on its dark brown back fringed with silvery blue, its brilliant white throat and chest contrasting starkly with a deep chestnut band across the midrift that quickly becomes the deep brown again. Its grip is strong. It needs to be. The bird is the Dipper, and that grip will hold it under rushing water as it searches for food.

The Dipper, ready to be released

That night the bird is roosted in our house, safe and quiet until the morning when returning to the same bridge we release it into the grey drizzle of a winter morning. 

Of course all of this was done with a licence to approach and handle wild birds. 

Scrub Bashing and Bird Ringing

The day was spent managing the habitat at Cranwich. Our lovely reed bed and gravel pits were slowly being over taken by trees such as willow and alder. While stands of such trees do provide habitat for a range of wildlife, it is not so good for the species were are trying to promote here, namely our reed warblers but also a number of other specific species. The spindly alders and willows simply have to go. And so throughout a rather murky day we chopped and cut and removed. Piling up the branches to be burned, clearing the grassy areas up to the edges of the pools. 

Making a start!

While we cleared the winter wildlife of the reserve proceeded with its daily routine. Flocks of duck and geese collected on the larger pools. Little grebes ducked and dived, creating ripples on the calm, dark surface of the water. Fieldfare and redwing streamed over head, and small passerines like bullfinch and robin called from the surrounding woods. Amongst the vegetation we removed there were the signs of summer use, an abandoned nest of a small mammal (a tiny knot of grass at the base of the brush) and even an old Reed Bunting nest (much to the disgruntlement of the Chief Nest Recorder, Dave who had spent many an hour watching that pair disappear into that thicket over the summer but never successfully located the nest!). We even saw a water shrew legging it for some new cover. And while we may be removing seemingly good habitat each of these creatures will find new places to sleep and nest with plenty of excellent habitat remaining. 

Lee and the old Reed Bunting nest

But what would a trip to Cranwich be without an attempt at ringing. As dusk approached, into the reed bed where already the water levels are rising, a net was set. The aim, to catch Starlings coming into roost. The result? Two Starlings and two Redwings, and one very wet pair of legs (teach me to turn up to a reed bed with no waders). 

Clad in a fresh pair of warm socks and a fortunate pair of coveralls, and now in pitch darkness, there was only one thing left to do…. Put a net up and try to catch the Tawny Owls of course! The result? One beautiful, adult male Tawny Owl, caught ringed and released, oh and one very sore hand from getting the bird out of the net (teach Lee to let an owl grab his hand). 

The Owl