Natural world

Monkey business at Yorkshire Wildlife Park

Posted on by Platypus Man

Yorkshire Wildlife Park opened in 2009 on the site of a former riding school and petting zoo, and has grown steadily ever since. We aim to visit several times each year, to check up on old friends and to look out for new kids on the block. And I’m delighted to report that thanks to a couple of old friends getting it together there is indeed a new kid on the block, in the form of Carlos, a beautiful young Venezuelan Red Howler Monkey.

Carlos was born on 29 April 2023. He was exactly 5 months old when this photo was taken.

This species of howler monkey is native to the western Amazon basin, in parts of Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Brazil, where they live in the tree canopy. Their diet consists largely of leaves, supplemented with a mixture of nuts, fruits, seeds, flowers and small animals. Howlers are named for the ear-splitting guttural roar that males produce to mark their territory and warn off potential intruders.

Venezuelan Red Howlers can live up to 20 years in the wild, but have become increasingly rare due to hunting and habitat destruction. Collections in zoos and conservation centres are therefore an important insurance policy helping to support the long-term future of the species. Yorkshire Wildlife Park is home to England’s only Venezuelan Red Howlers, and the good news is that the adult monkeys who live there have been doing their bit to boost numbers.

Carlos was born at the end of April 2023, the second child of mum Tila and dad Geronimo. Their first offspring was born in October 2021, and Yorkshire Wildlife Park was understandably proud that this ground-breaking birth of a Venezuelan Red Howler Monkey had taken place on their turf. Within a few days the Park was sharing Tila and Geronimo’s news with the world, telling anyone who cared to listen that their son was to be named Pablo.

Interestingly, Pablo is now called Pabla and is referred to as Carlos’s big sister. Oops! Media releases in the days following the birth of baby Carlos were quick to point out that “It’s still too early to tell the sex of the baby”, implying that keepers may have been a bit too eager to do just that when the first youngster was born. It wasn’t until nearly three months after his birth that Carlos’s gender and name were revealed on Facebook, accompanied by a piece of video footage clearly showing him to be a very well endowed young man – no mistakes this time!

The top left and middle left photos were taken on 6 July 2023, when Carlos was just 68 days old! He was almost 12 months old when he was pictured hanging upside down (top right). In the remaining two photos he is 5 months old.

The name Carlos was apparently chosen to reflect the monkey’s Hispanic heritage, while at the same time marking the fact he was born just a few days before the UK’s new king was crowned. But whether King Charles III is amused to have a red-haired, prehensile-tailed, ballsy baby monkey named after him must forever remain a mystery.

Mrs P and I first encountered Carlos in early July 2023, just a few days before his gender and name were announced to the world. Although he clearly wanted to remain close to his mum most of the time, he was already demonstrating an adventurous spirit when he set off to explore the trees growing in his enclosure. His agility was plain to see, as was his burgeoning manhood – check it out by following the link to my short video on YouTube.

When we visited Yorkshire Wildlife Park again two weeks ago Carlos had clearly grown in both size and confidence. As my video shows, he strutted arrogantly about the place like a teenager of our own species, fearlessly challenging himself to scuttle along – and dangle precariously from – ropes that are strung across the Red Howlers’ enclosure. What a great guy he’s become.

Watching Carlos’s performance, as well as the antics of his parents and sister, is a real joy. I wonder what new monkey business they’ll be up to when we next pay them a visit?

The LBJ, the app, and the frustrations of birdwatching

Posted on by Platypus Man

Mrs P and I have been birdwatching for nearly 40 years. It’s a great way to pass the time, one that allows us to escape temporarily from the pressures of modern living and instead get up close and personal with nature. But it’s not without its frustrations, of which the most frustrating thing of all is the LBJ. And in case any Americans reading this are wondering, that has nothing at all to do with Lyndon Baines Johnson – aka LBJ – the 36th president of the US!

For the uninitiated, in the British birding community LBJ stands for “little brown job”, which Wikipedia tells us is “an informal name used by birdwatchers for any of the large number of species of small brown passerine birds, many of which are notoriously difficult to distinguish.” The problem is compounded by the fact that your average LBJ never sits still for long, instead flitting hither and thither between bushes, briars and other forms of cover. As a rule, you only get a fleeting glimpse of an LBJ before it goes back into hiding. LBJs are a birder’s worst nightmare.

IMAGE CREDIT: “Cetti’s Warbler” by Mike Prince is licensed under CC BY 2.0. Sourced via Openverse

An alternative approach to identifying LBJs is via their songs. Unfortunately Mrs P and I haven’t been listening carefully enough over the last four decades, with the result that the number of species we can identify by their song alone can be counted on the fingers of one hand. But – much to my amazement – modern technology has come to the rescue, in the form of an app on my mobile phone.

A casual discussion with a bird enthusiast last year first brought the Merlin Bird ID app to our attention. It’s dead simple, which is fortunate as mobile phones aren’t my thing. When a bird is singing just fire up the app, which will analyse the song against its database and tell you which bird you’re (most probably) listening to. Simple but effective, as we discovered last week, when it led us to identify our first ever Cetti’s Warbler.

The Cetti’s was heard – and briefly seen – just a few metres from this spot. Unfortunately Mrs P was unable photograph it, and I’m grateful to Mike Prince for the image of the illusive LBJ at the top of this post

Mrs P and I were at Straw’s Bridge – aka Swan Lake – a local nature reserve that I first wrote about nearly three years ago. We go there mainly to enjoy the wildfowl, but were intrigued this time by glimpses of an LBJ that we couldn’t identify, moving between a series of bushes by the edge of the lake. It proved typically illusive, but just when we were about to give up and move on the bird started to sing in short, loud bursts. I whipped out my phone, and in a just a few seconds we learned its identity.

For confirmation I cross-checked with other information provided by the app. Its photo of the Cetti’s clearly matched the brief glimpses we’d had of the bird, and the textual description of its appearance and behaviour was bang on: a “dumpy and broad-tailed warbler, warm brown above and pale grayish below, with a narrow eyebrow…favours tangled vegetation near water, including reedy marshes with bushes and scrub. Often heard but rarely seen. Explosive, rich staccato song often draws attention.” Follow the link below to hear the song of the Cetti’s Warbler’s.

I found this recording of a singing Cetti’s Warbler on YouTube, courtesy of Birdfun.

The species is a new arrival in the UK, first breeding here – in the south-eastern county of Kent – in the early 1970s. Since then its range has slowly expanded northwards, but until our LBJ encounter last week we’d no idea the Cetti’s warbler had reached our home county of Derbyshire. Without the help of the bird identification app we would probably never have known.

In principle, I would rather leave the modern world behind when I’m out in nature. Mobile phones have their place, but a birdwatching trip isn’t one of them…or so I thought until Merlin Bird ID helped us identify our first Cetti’s Warbler. Having seen that 21st century technology can help us vanquish one of birdwatching’s biggest frustrations – the LBJ – I guess I might need to revise my opinion.

Let’s all celebrate International Polar Bear Day!

Posted on by Platypus Man

Today, 27 February, is International Polar Bear Day. Established by Polar Bears International, the day seeks to increase awareness of the plight of these iconic creatures and to raise funds to help with their conservation. The organisation was born in 1994, the brainchild of a group of wildlife enthusiasts who’d enjoyed great views of polar bears near Churchill in the far north of the Canadian province of Manitoba. Coincidentally, Churchill is also the place where Mrs P and I were thrilled by views of wild polar bears over a decade ago.

Churchill has been described as the Polar Bear Capital of the World. OK, it’s true that the ones saying it mostly have a vested interest in that they sell wildlife viewing tours to people like me and Mrs P, but they’ve got a point. If you’re determined to see a polar bear in the wild, the Churchill Wildlife Management Area is the place to go during “bear season,” which lasts for a period of five to six weeks each year. Polar Bears are big business in Churchill!

The signage leaves you in no doubt what to expect – or at least hope for – on a trip to the Churchill Wildlife Management Area.

The little town of Churchill, which has a resident population of fewer than 900, lies on the shores of Hudson Bay. To put it politely the place is bloody remote, being more than 1,000 miles north of the provincial capital of Winnipeg. Churchill is inaccessible by road; to get there you must travel by air or rail.

Its primary source of income is tourism, with thousands of visitors making the journey north every year to view the polar bears (in October and November), beluga whales on the Churchill River (in June and July) and the Northern Lights throughout the winter months.

During bear season the occasional polar bear will make it past the security cordon and end up wandering through downtown. For this reason, residents are said to leave their doors and cars unlocked at all times in case someone urgently needs to retreat to a place of safety. But for guaranteed – and safe – sightings, tourists take trips outside town on tundra buggies. These are big, bespoke vehicles with huge tyres, vehicles specially designed to cope with the challenging terrain of the Wildlife Management Area.

Our buggy was remarkably comfortable, bordering on luxurious. The cabin was heated, had an onboard loo (for any North Americans reading this, that’s a restroom!) and, most importantly of all, was totally bear proof.

To the rear of our tundra buggy was an open-air viewing platform, enabling great photographic opportunities without any windows to get in the way. The platform had a corrugated steel mesh floor through which we could watch bears as they passed beneath. One bear even stood on its hind legs to sniff curiously at the feet of the awe-struck passengers, with just a couple of inches / centimetres of perforated metal separating the two parties. That, my dear friends, is why there’s onboard loo!

The person standing on the rear viewing platform gives an indication of the size of this tundra buggy.

The views we enjoyed of polar bears during our tundra buggy rides were truly extraordinary, particularly when two of the bears were sparring with one another. These were, without doubt, some of the best – and closest – wildlife encounters of my life. We also took a helicopter trip out over the Wildlife Management Area one day, and saw several bears from an entirely different angle. In addition, helicopter vision helped give us a better appreciation of the bleak terrain that the polar bears inhabit.

Yes, the four white blobs are indeed polar bears, all chilling out in a bleak tundra landscape!

There was a range of other wildlife to be seen, but polar bears were the undoubted stars of the show. It was an absolute privilege to see them, and hopefully – if we, as a species, can get climate change control – similar opportunities will be available to future generations of wildlife enthusiasts.

Some of the other wildlife that we saw on the tundra around Churchill. Clockwise from top left: Red Fox; Snowy Owl; Arctic Hare: Rock Ptarmigan

Polar bears are magnificent, iconic creatures, and to lose them would be a tragedy. All power to the good folk at Polar Bears International for fighting the good fight on their behalf. Here’s wishing them, and anyone reading this, a wonderfully happy International Polar Bear Day.

The Big Garden Birdwatch breaks my heart

Posted on by Platypus Man

It’s that time of year again, the time when the UK’s dedicated nature lovers take part in the RSPB’s (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds) Big Garden Birdwatch, a national survey that has been running annually in one form or another since 1979. It is also, sadly, the time when I have to confess that once again Mrs P and I have failed miserably in our attempt to attract a wealth of birdlife to our modest suburban back garden.

The Woodpigeon was one of just two species to visit our garden over the Birdwatch long weekend

The first event, in 1979, was aimed at children and was a good deal more popular than anticipated. For over two decades the Big Garden Birdwatch continued in this form. Eventually the RSPB must have realised that the buzz created by the Birdwatch every year would be even bigger if anyone could take part, so in 2001 participation was opened up to adults as well. It worked: last year over half a million people took part in the Big Garden Birdwatch, and between them they recorded a massive 9.1 million birds!

The RSPB is understandably very proud of its Big Garden Birdwatch, which it claims is “the world’s largest garden wildlife survey”.  The benefits are wide-ranging: media coverage helps raise the profile of birds,- and environmental issues more generally – with a wider audience; those taking part get to focus their attention on nature for a while and enjoy consequential benefits for their mental health, and the RSPB collects a wealth of data on which species are thriving and which are struggling.

We were also visited by two male Blackbirds

Unhappily, the picture painted by the Big Garden Birdwatch is not encouraging, with the number of birds plummeting over the decades since it began. For example, House Sparrows are down 57% since 1979, while the number of Song Thrushes has collapsed by 80%.

Our own experience echoes these dismal findings: the results of this year’s count at Platypus Towers were, as expected, absolutely abysmal. The Big Garden Birdwatch 2024 ran over a period of three days, during which participants had to record the birds landing in their garden in a one hour period of their choice. In our garden, the number of birds seen throughout the whole three days – not just one hour! – was four. 

NOT SEEN! – Robin
NOT SEEN! – House Sparrow

Yes that’s right, we saw a measly four birds in our garden during the entire Birdwatch long weekend! OK, I admit that we weren’t watching every daylight minute of all three days, but the room where I work on my laptop overlooks the garden. In addition we spend every tea break in our “garden room”, watching what’s going on out there (and remember, we’re Brits so we have LOTS OF TEA BREAKS!) Not much passes us by, meaning the count of four birds is sure to be fairly accurate.

I’d been topping up the bird table for weeks to get the local birds in the mood for food, and on the first morning of the Birdwatch it was groaning under the weight of the goodies we’d provided. But they went largely ignored. The birds simply stayed away.

NOT SEEN! – Long-tailed Tit
NOT SEEN! – Wren

It wasn’t always like this. We’ve lived in this house nearly 40 years, and back in the day we welcomed a variety of avian visitors. Starlings, House Sparrows, Blue Tits, Long-tailed Tits, Robins, Wrens, Goldfinches and Dunnocks have all been seen. Memorably, for a few days one winter, a Pied Wagtail and a Grey Wagtail called our garden home. Once we spotted a Sparrowhawk sitting on the roof of the garden shed. A little later we found the remains of what we reckoned to be a Collared Dove on the path, and without doubt the Sparrowhawk was the guilty party. Even a Pheasant, hopelessly lost of course, once dropped in to say hi.

But in recent years, the number and variety of birds in our garden has fallen drastically. I last blogged about the Big Garden Birdwatch in 2020, under the title Birds Don’t Come Here Any More. That year, we saw just one male Blackbird! This year, between 26 and 28 January, the only birds to visit our garden were two woodpigeons and two male blackbirds. 

OK, we did better in 2024 than in 2020, but there’s nothing here to celebrate. I wish I could believe it’s simply because all the local birds got a better offer, a garden with tastier food (Mrs P’s theory) and fewer visiting cats, but I fear it’s worse than that. All the evidence suggests that bird numbers are declining right across the country. It breaks my heart.

NOT SEEN! – Pied Wagtail
NOT SEEN! – Grey Wagtail

Next year, of course, we’ll do the Big Garden Birdwatch again. Maybe we’ll do better than this time. We could hardly do much worse.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Update, 5 February 2024

A week has passed since I wrote this post at the end of the Big Garden Birdwatch, and as expected the birds are back in numbers. As well as the Blackbirds and Woodpigeons, over the last seven days we’ve been visited by a Starling and a Dunnock, and three (yes, that’s right, THREE) Robins. It’s almost as if they know and are taunting us. Huh!

Updating the update!

No more than 20 minutes after writing the above update two Blue Tits arrived and started inspecting the nest box we’ve put up on the side of the shed. They seemed interested. Things are definitely looking up, and my broken heart is beginning to mend…for now at least.

Magpie mythology and internet lies

Posted on by Platypus Man

Magpies are unmistakeable. Members of the crow family, seen from a distance they are long-tailed birds with distinctive black and white plumage. Up close, however, the colouration is more subtle. In the right light a Eurasian magpie’s wing feathers take on a purplish-blue iridescent sheen, while the tail bears hints of a subtle glossy green. It’s a handsome bird, and also – in some circles – a controversial one.

Some people dislike magpies because they are noisy, raucous birds that posture and strut around gardens, parkland and fields, apparently believing themselves to be top bird. Others object to their omnivorous lifestyle, which can include raiding the nests of smaller birds and carrying off their eggs and chicks. And their reputation for stealing jewellery and other bright, shiny objects wins magpies few friends amongst their human neighbours.

However, while their fondness for scavenging and their bully-boy tendencies on the bird table make them unpopular with squeamish bird lovers, it is their alleged association with Satan that upsets others. Yes, that’s right, folklore tells us that magpies are in league with the Devil. According to this tradition, magpies refused to join the other birds in mourning at Christ’s crucifixion, thus marking themselves out as the Devil’s own.

The magpie’s supposed indifference to Jesus’ crucifixion is just one of a huge number of tales and superstitions that surround this striking bird. In the UK, one of the first nursery rhymes many children hear is about magpies. The rhyme references the birds’ association with prophecy, and is found in countless variations up and down the country. Here is just one of them:

One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for a girl 
Four for a boy 
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a secret never to be told

So, according to this piece of folklore, the future that awaits you is indicated by the number of magpies you see. It’s a compelling part of our oral tradition, and I must confess that one day a little over a year ago – when a new baby was expected in our family – Mrs P and I happily counted the number of magpies we could see in order to predict the gender of the new-born. On the day in question we spotted three together in a field, and the baby, when born, was indeed a girl. Spooky!

The same nursery rhyme indicates that spotting a single magpie is a harbinger of bad luck. Again, this belief is deeply embedded within our culture. I clearly remember a former work colleague revealing that, when out for a drive in the countryside, he and his wife would wave vigorously to any lone magpies they spotted, because in so doing they were bidding farewell to ill-luck. 

Alternatively, to dissipate the impending misfortune associated with seeing a single magpie, you should point it out to someone else, presumably on the basis that bad luck shared is bad luck halved. And if there’s nobody else around to take on the burden, the best course of action is to salute the magpie with a cheery ‘’Good morning Mr Magpie, how is your lady wife today?’ in the hope that he will take pity on you!

How did a single magpie become associated with bad luck? One theory is that, as magpies mate for life, seeing one by itself may suggest that its partner has perished. The surviving magpie has therefore suffered bad luck, and associating with it may cause its bad luck to transfer to the observer. However, by asking after the welfare of the lone magpie’s wife you demonstrate your belief that his partner is alive and well, which, if true, means no bad luck awaits you.

As well as waving to a lone magpie, or asking after the health of his wife, there are other ways in which the bad luck might be avoided. These include raising your hat to the bird, spitting three times over your shoulder, blinking rapidly to fool yourself into thinking you’ve seen two magpies rather than one, and flapping your arms about wildly and cawing loudly to mimic the magpie’s missing mate. But be warned: most of these activities, if undertaken in public, are likely to result in ridicule, arrest or an enforced appointment with a psychiatrist.

This post barely scratches the surface of the superstitions surrounding magpies. Variations on the theme include the following:

  • In Scotland, a single magpie seen near a window warns of an impending death. However, in the county of Sussex a magpie perched on a house roof is a good sign, indicating that the roof isn’t about to cave in.
  • In Wales, if you see a magpie moving from left to right when you set off on a journey, that journey will be hazardous.
  • Yorkshire folk associate magpies with witchcraft, and when seeing one (a magpie that is, not a native of Yorkshire!) you should make the sign of the cross to ward off evil spirits.
  • According to tradition in the county of Dorset, if a fisherman sees a magpie before he sets sail he won’t catch any fish that day.
  • In Somerset it is advised that you carry an onion with you at all times to protect you from the bad luck a magpie may bring. (As an aside, while I cannot testify as to the veracity of this advice I will readily admit that during my working life I sometimes kept a bulb of garlic in my office to ward off the accountants. I’m pleased to say it seemed to work!)

Regular readers of my blog will know I have a passion for folk music, and it’s therefore a pleasure to share with you below a link to a song about magpies. The harmonies may be challenging, but the story told is highly relevant to this post. It was written around 50 years ago by a guy called Davey Dodds. The story goes that one day Davey gave an old lady a lift in his new car. Davey was bemused, and probably a little horrified, when the lady insisted on shrieking “Devil, devil, I defy thee”, and spitting on the floor of his Jaguar every time she saw a magpie. 

Intrigued, Davey looked into the mythology of magpies, and this song is the result. Its lyrics* reference some of the magpie superstitions I’ve written about in this post, and others that I haven’t had space to include. This version on YouTube was recorded in 2014 by a trio of singers called the BlueBirds.

At first glance, magpie mythology is totally out of place in our rational, comfortable, well ordered 21st century lives. I mean, it’s all a load of nonsense, isn’t it? Of course it is! But on the other hand, the mere fact that humans embraced these stories for millennia tells us a lot about our species. Our ancestors believed that magpies were the Devil’s disciples. Gullible, weren’t they?

Today, large sections of society enthusiastically embrace the conspiracy theories and other vile lies peddled relentlessly on the internet. Their need to feel good about themselves, their quest for certainty and their desperate desire for simple answers to complex questions leads them to believe stuff that is patently ridiculous, often downright dangerous and occasionally evil. Gullible, aren’t we?

* * * * * * *

* The complete lyrics to Davey Dodds’ song are as follows

Chorus (after every other verse)
One for sorrow, two for joy,
Three for a girl and for for a boy,
Five for silver, six for gold,
Seven for a secret never told,
Devil, devil, I defy thee.
Devil, devil, I defy thee.
Devil, devil, I defy thee.

Oh, the magpie brings us tidings
Of news both fair and foul;
She's more cunning than the raven,
More wise than any owl.

For she brings us news of the harvest
Of the barley, wheat and corn.
And she knows when we'll go to our graves
And how we shall be born.

She brings us joy when from the right,
Grief when from the left.
Of all the news that's in the air
We know to trust her best.

For she sees us at our labour,
And mocks us at our work.
And she steals the egg from out of the nest,
And she can mob the hawk.

The priest, he says we're wicked
To worship the devil's bird.
Ah, but we respect the old ways
And we disregard his word.

For we know they rest uneasy
As we slumber in the night.
And we'll always leave a little bit of meat
For the bird that's black and white.

Fat Bear Week starts tomorrow!

Posted on by Platypus Man

You’ve probably never even heard of Fat Bear Week, which starts tomorrow, 5 October 2023! Neither had we until we stumbled across a reference to it on a television nature programme about the wildlife of Alaska. Based in Alaska’s Katmai National Park, Fat Bear Week looks at how well the Park’s brown (a.k.a. grizzly) bears are preparing for the coming winter by putting on loads of weight. It’s a competition in which the fattest bear – as voted for by the general public – is the winner.

To prepare for hibernation Katmai’s grizzlies have to add a huge amount of weight, which they achieve by catching and eating vast quantities of salmon. Adult males can put on up to 500 pounds (230 kg) during the salmon run, which they achieve by wolfing down 30 to 40 fish in a single day, for week after week. Extraordinary!

In no way can Fat Bear Week be called serious science, but beneath the surface lurks a noble purpose – to encourage ordinary people to engage with the natural world, and to understand more about the challenges wildlife faces when the seasons change.

Bear country! Even if you can’t see them, they’re probably just hidden from view, so you are advised to shout “Hey bear” loudly to warn them of your presence.

The competition began in 2014 as Fat Bear Tuesday, organised by a park ranger who got visitors to the park to vote – based on “before” and “after” photos – for the bear that had put on the most weight during the season.

Such was the level of interest that the following year the competition was extended to a whole week. The photos and voting were also made available online, together with video footage of the contenders, thus enabling the whole world – including bloggers in the UK! – to take part.

When I log on to the Fat Bear Week website tomorrow to check out the candidates and cast my vote, it will also be an opportunity to wallow in nostalgia for a while. Mrs P and I spent three fabulous weeks in Alaska in 2009, and one of the most memorable parts of our visit was a trip to Brooks Falls in Katmai National Park.

Brooks Falls is world-famous as the place to watch brown bears attempting to catch salmon that are moving upriver to their spawning grounds. It’s an iconic sight that has featured in countless television nature programmes, and experiencing it for myself has been one the highlights of my life spent watching wildlife.

Brown bears are potentially dangerous to humans, so it’s important to take care around them.  Unsurprisingly, therefore, the first thing you’re told when you arrive at Brooks Falls is that you’re now in bear country.  Bears rule at Brooks Falls, and tourists have to fit in.

One of the worst things any tourist can do is catch a bear by surprise, and to avoid this visitors are advised to yell out “Hey bear!” at regular intervals when following the trail to and from the falls.  We did so, very loudly, and although we had many good sightings of bears – in the woods, in the river, and in and around our camp – uncomfortably close encounters were successfully avoided.  Mrs P’s photos, which I’ve used to illustrate this post, give a good indication of the fun we had.

But sometimes things don’t go quite to plan. On the day we were due to fly out to continue our Alaska adventure elsewhere, I clearly remember exiting a small restroom close to where we were due to board our light plane, to be confronted, just a few metres away, by a bear emerging from the woods. We looked at one another in mutual shock and dismay! I made a hasty return to the restroom, and the bear – equally alarmed, I’m sure – retreated into the woods, never to be seen again. Wildlife encounters don’t get much better than that.

Viewed on the internet from several thousand miles away, Fat Bear Week promises to be less of a high adrenaline experience. Which is not to say that it will necessarily be without drama. In 2022, the competition was marred by attempted election fraud, with more than 7,000 fake votes being cast for a bear called Holly!

When the scam was discovered a recount was ordered, and in the end Bear 747 was declared the winner and became the official Fat Bear champion of 2022. Bear 747 was first identified as a sub-adult in 2004, meaning that he’s now in his mid-20s and clearly an outstanding representative of his species.

Hopefully Bear 747, Holly and numerous other magnificent brown bears will put on a show for me, and other followers of Fat Bear Week, in the days to come.

__ __ __ __ __ __ __

UPDATE – 11 OCTOBER 2023 – The results are in, and I’m delighted to announce we have a new Fat Bear champion. The final of this year’s Fat Bear competition was between bear #32, a.k.a. “Chunk”, and bear #128, a.k.a. Grazer. Their photos show both of them to be truly enormous, but the winner with 108,321 votes (including mine!) was Grazer, comfortably beating Chunk’s 23,124 votes. Happily there has been no suggestion of electoral fraud this year, and Grazer is without doubt a worthy winner. (photos below have been sourced with grateful thanks from the Explore.org website. )

The Explore.org website also provides biographical details of Grazer, as follows

Grazer was introduced to Brooks River as a young cub in 2005. Since then, she’s become one of the best anglers at Brooks River. She can fish successfully in many locations including the lip, far pool, and plunge pools of Brooks Falls. She can chase down fleeing salmon in many parts of the river or patiently scavenge dead and dying salmon after they spawn. Grazer will also fish overnight at Brooks Falls.

Grazer is a particularly defensive mother bear who has successfully raised two litters of cubs. She often preemptively confronts and attacks much larger bears —even large and dominant adult males—in order to ensure her cubs are safe. Her behavior produced benefits beyond the protection of her cubs. In summer 2023, many other bears remembered her reputation and Grazer maintained a high level of dominance even though she was single. For example, a large adult male, 151 Walker, regularly avoided her approach. Grazer’s combination of skill and toughness makes her one of Brooks River’s most formidable, successful, and adaptable bears.

Source: Explore.org website, retrieved 11 October 2023

So Grazer was around in 2009, when Mrs P and I visited Katmai. Maybe we’ve already met her?

Highland Wildlife Park

Posted on by Platypus Man

For many years we had planned – but failed – to call in at the Highland Wildlife Park while driving north through Scotland on our way to visit the Orkney Islands, our favourite place in the whole world. At last, earlier this year, we finally got our act together and visited the Park for a few hours. And what a treat it turned out to be!

Red deer in the foreground, dwarfed by the landscape of the Cairngorms National Park

Highland Wildlife Park is located outside the town of Kincraig, in the Cairngorms National Park around 120 miles (193 km) north of Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city. It was the brainchild of land-agent Neil Macpherson (1933-2017), who wanted to share the wildlife he encountered every working day in the north of Scotland with a wider audience.

The Scottish Wildcat (aka the “Highland Tiger”) is a unique sub-population of the European wildcat, on the brink of extinction after hundreds of years of persecution and habitat loss, followed by hybridisation with domestic cats. The Wildlife Park participates in a major captive breeding project.

Neil’s dream came to fruition in 1972, when the 260 acres (105 hectares) Park opened its gates to the paying public for the first time. It was a source of great pride and pleasure to him, but perhaps not as successful as he had hoped. In 1986 the ownership and operation of the Park passed to the Royal Zoological Society of Scotland, which also runs Edinburgh Zoo.

Przewalski’s Wild Horse is the only living true wild horse. It was once totally extinct in the wild, but captive breeding projects have enabled successful reintroduction programmes.

Controversially, in 2007 the Park’s theme was expanded from Scottish wildlife to focus instead on species from tundra and mountainous habitats around the world. So today, as well as animals from the local area – including Red Deer and the critically endangered Scottish Wildcat – visitors can enjoy views of a variety of more exotic fauna including Snow Leopards, Turkmenian Markhor, Przewalkski’s Horse and Vicuna.

There are estimated to be less than 2,500 Turkmenian Markhor remaining in the wild. Conservation initiatives in Pakistan are showing some signs of success.

The Royal Zoological Society of Scotland is a wildlife conservation charity whose vision is “a world where nature is protected, valued and loved.” Unsurprisingly, therefore, Highland Wildlife Park places a strong emphasis on education, as well as the captive breeding of endangered species.

Vicuna were hunted almost to extinction for their wool and meat until the 1960s, when Chile and Peru created protected national parks and stopped trade in vicuna wool. Since then, the population has steadily increased.

When we visited we were particularly pleased to get good views of the Park’s five Snow Leopards, parents Animesh and Koshi, and their cubs – born in May 2022 – Maya, Padme and Yashin. Being almost exactly 12 months old when we saw them, the cubs had lost much of their kittenish “cuteness”, having matured into impressive animals with exceptional appetites!

Several factors – including conflict with farmers, reduction in the population of prey species and the demands of traditional medicine – threaten the survival of Snow Leopard in the wild. Various conservation initiatives are being enacted to help reverse the decline.

In an ideal world the Highland Wildlife Park would be unnecessary. But our world is far from ideal, and it’s good to know that places like this exist to help protect species and spread positive messages about wildlife conservation. I’m sure we will call in again, next time we are on our way up to Orkney.

World Oystercatcher Day?

Posted on by Platypus Man

Today is NOT World Oystercatcher Day! Why not, I wonder? Just about every other worthy cause – and a few other causes too – have a day set aside to celebrate them. World Elephant Day, International Day for the Abolition of Slavery, World Breast Cancer Research Day, International Red Panda Day and International Talk Like a Pirate Day, to name just a few. So why not a World Oystercatcher Day?

OK, it’s confession time. I’ve been a keen birder for nearly 40 years, and the oystercatcher is my all time favourite bird. Now, not a lot of birdwatchers would ever admit that. Most would select as their favourite either a species that is exquisitely beautiful, or one that is vanishingly rare. Oystercatchers are neither of these things, but what the hell, I love ’em anyway.

Part of the attraction is that they’re unmistakeable. When you first take up birdwatching as a hobby, it can be very daunting to identify what’s right in front of you. Warblers in the UK, for example, are a bit of a nightmare – they all look pretty much the same unless you get up close and very personal with them – and US birders will know only too well the misery that is inherent in trying to distinguish between North America’s multiple species of sparrows. It’s all very confusing.

Not so with oystercatchers. It’s impossible to confuse a Eurasian Oystercatcher (aka the Common Pied Oystercatcher, or the Palaearctic Oystercatcher) with any other UK bird. A large, stocky, black and white wader with a long, orange-red bill and reddish-pink legs, its identity is beyond doubt.

But what I like most about these handsome birds is that they are unashamedly loud and proud. Oystercatchers boast an eardrum shattering ‘peep-ing’ call that is impossible to ignore. “Shy” and “self-effacing” are adjectives never used to describe an oystercatcher.

Of course, such vocal boisterousness isn’t popular with everyone. Mrs P doesn’t much like oystercatchers, and probably believes they should all be jailed for disturbing the peace. One day earlier this year, when we were birding in Orkney, I excitedly told her that in the small bay we were staking out I had just counted no fewer than 38 oystercatchers foraging for shellfish along the strandline. Mrs P observed dryly that, in her view, this was at least 37 too many. Huh!

New Zealand’s South Island Pied Oystercatcher looks remarkably similar to our own Eurasian Oystercatcher

In all, there are 12 separate species of oystercatcher across the world. They all look very similar, being either pied or plain black, with a red bill and pink legs. We’ve been lucky to see a few of these species over the years, and every encounter felt like a real privilege. New Zealand was particularly productive, enabling us to enjoy both the South Island Pied Oystercatcher, and the aptly named Variable Oystercatcher. What great birds they are (sorry Mrs P, but you’ve got to admit it, I’m right for once!)

New Zealand’s Variable Oystercatcher may be black all over, but may also have some white feathers too. Its plumage is indeed variable!

In my view, every day should be World Oystercatcher Day!

Marwick Head – Orkney’s seabird city

Posted on by Platypus Man

Two of the features that have drawn us back to the Orkney islands again and again are the picturesque coastal scenery, and the magnificent birdlife. Marwick Head Nature Reserve, which comprises rugged sea cliffs 87m (285 ft) high, ticks both these boxes. And there is no better time to visit them than in spring, when the seabirds are nesting on the cliffs and the narrow fringe of coastal grassland is ablaze with flowers.

Marwick Head, with carpets of sea thrift in the foreground and the Kitchener Memorial to the rear

We returned to Marwick Head a few weeks ago, full of trepidation. Last year avian flu wreaked havoc on bird populations across the country, and we were anxious that its impact would still be apparent. As it happens, the number of birds on the cliffs remains high, although the seabird city was perhaps not quite as spectacular as we remember it. Avian flu could be responsible for the change, but perhaps climate change is also an issue?

One of the most common breeding birds at Marwick Head is the guillemot. They’re also known as murres in North America because of the murmuring sounds they make when nesting together.

Guillemots (aka murres in North America)

Guillemots belong to the auk family, and lay their eggs on bare rock ledges. Millennia of evolution has rendered these eggs pear-shaped to minimise the likelihood of them rolling off into the sea! Both male and female birds take turns incubating the eggs, and about three weeks after hatching, the chick takes the plunge into the sea. It won’t return to dry land until it’s ready to raise its own chick.

Another common bird at Marwick Head during the breeding season is the fulmar. It was not always so. Just 250 years ago this species was absent from the whole of the UK, but since then its distribution has expanded enormously. Once the season is over, however, fulmars make their way out to sea and will not return until the following spring. This is common amongst seabirds, which is why we prefer to visit Orkney some time between early May and late June.

Fulmar, also sometimes know (for obvious reasons) as the tubenose

The name “fulmar” comes from two Old Norse words – fúll meaning “foul” and már which means “gull.” This refers to a kind of stinking stomach oil, a defensive weapon that fulmars spit out to gum up the wings of predatory birds, causing them to plunge to their deaths. Perhaps it is for this reason that wild fulmars have an average life expectancy of at least 40 years. The lesson is clear: never, ever annoy a fulmar!

Razorbills are superficially similar in appearance to guillemots and breed alongside them, but – at Marwick Head, anyway – in much smaller numbers. They can be distinguished from guillemots by the thick black beak with a white stripe, which contrasts clearly with the thinner bill of the guillemot.

Razorbill, like the guillemot a member of the auk family

It was no great surprise to see a few razorbills at Marwick Head, but the close view of some gannets gliding past the headland was unexpected. Although gannets are not uncommon around Orkney we normally only spot them with binoculars, patrolling far out to sea.

The Northern Gannet may soon be breeding at Marwick Head?

This time we were treated to much better views, and one of the birds appeared to be carrying nesting material in its bill. Maybe a new breeding colony is establishing itself on Marwick Head? We’ll have to check it out when we return, as we surely will, in a couple of years time.

Man and moustache – Kitchener’s iconic recruitment poster *

If watching birds is your thing, Marwick Head is a fabulous place to visit. For students of 20th century British history it has an additional significance, as the location of the Kitchener Memorial. Field Marshall Lord Kitchener was once a national hero in England (but hated by many in Ireland, Sudan and South Africa), boasting a military career that extended far beyond his image in an iconic WW1 recruiting poster. In 1916 Kitchener – then a minister of war – was a passenger on the HMS Hampshire when she sank in mysterious circumstances off Marwick Head.

The tower visible in the central and right-hand images is the Kitchener Memorial

The Kitchener Memorial, an unremarkable stone tower on the clifftop at Marwick Head, was erected in 1926. It commemorates those who died after the Hampshire sank, including Kitchener himself. The Memorial is without doubt the most recognisable single feature on Marwick Head, but for me it is the wonderful seabirds that make this a must-visit destination whenever we are in Orkney.

* Lord Kitchener image credit: Alfred Leete, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Orkney – It’s good to be back

Posted on by Platypus Man

At last, after a gap of six years, we’re on our way back to Orkney for our 11th visit over a period of around 30 years. We were due to come here in 2020 but the pandemic got in the way, so it’s a relief finally to be back on the ferry for the 90 minutes long crossing from Scrabster on the Scottish mainland to the Orcadian port of Stromness. As the ferry passes the iconic Old Man of Hoy, we know we’re nearly there. It’s good to be back!

The Old Man of Hoy, a 137m (449ft) high sea stack, formed from Old Red Sandstone.

For the uninitiated, Orkney is an archipelago around 16km (10 miles) off the north east tip of mainland Scotland. There are around 70 islands, of which some 20 are inhabited. Orkney’s total population is around 22,000, meaning there are more sheep than people, and many more birds than sheep – both signs of the perfect place to spend time, in my view!

Orkney’s attractions include some magical coastal scenery and a wealth of wildlife, particularly seabirds. It also boasts numerous important archaeological sites, including stone circles, standing stones and Skara Brae, the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.

More recently, beginning in the late 8th century, the islands were invaded and colonised by Norse raiders. For several centuries they were ruled by Denmark and Norway, and did not come under Scottish control until 1472. The Norsemen thus left an indelible mark on Orkney, and today’s Orcadians remain intensely proud of their Viking heritage.

The Ring of Brodgar is a prehistoric stone circle dating back to the 3rd century BC.

Unsurprisingly tourism plays a big part in the local economy, alongside the more traditional pursuits of agriculture and fishing. A growing number of cruise ships visit during the season, something that is regarded as a mixed blessing by locals and “regular” tourists alike. But it’s easy to see why they come: Orkney simply has so much to offer.

For many years Mrs P and I harboured a secret dream of relocating to Orkney and building a new life here in this wonderful sea of tranquillity, which is light years away from the stresses and strains of our 21st century suburban lives. Sadly this was not to be, due to our family responsibilities back home. So, for as long as we are able (and always assuming the world is not struck by another pandemic!) we will continue to visit this great place regularly.

Meanwhile, over the next few months, I will publish several more posts about Orkney, sharing some of its many highlights and demonstrating why this is, without doubt, our favourite place in the whole world.