Wetland

Celebrating World Wetlands Day with the heron family

Posted on by Platypus Man

Last Monday, 2 February, was World Wetlands Day. A wetland is a transitional area between land and water, an area where water covers the soil – or is present at or near the surface – either permanently or seasonally. Mrs P and I love a good wetland: it’s a distinct ecosystem that is a great place for a spot of birdwatching, and is notable as the favoured habitat of the handsome heron family

Grey Herons were my Mum’s favourite bird. This one has just caught itself a tasty snack.

When my father died over 30 years ago we bought my mother a set of binoculars and started taking her out on our birdwatching expeditions. She soon declared the heron to be her favourite bird, attracted I suspect by its large size and a distinctive appearance that includes a dagger-like bill, long spindly legs and an improbably bendy neck. I imagine she was also intrigued by the birds’ hunting style, in which they stand motionless for lengthy periods before stabbing explosively at any prey item foolish enough to venture too close to them. Spotting a heron quickly became Mum’s ambition whenever we took her out, and because we chose our birdwatching sites carefully she was rarely disappointed.

The Grey Heron is the UK’s most common species of heron. As these images show, Mrs P’s been photographing them for many years.

The species that Mum got to know and love is the Grey Heron, by a long way the most common member of the heron family in the UK, with over 60,000 birds overwintering here. Standing nearly 1m high and with a wingspan approaching 2m, it is an impressive bird. It feeds primarily on fish, but also eats amphibians, ducklings and other small birds, and tiny mammals such as voles. Interestingly, Grey Herons sometimes temporarily leave their wetland habitats in favour of nearby agricultural fields which they scour for rodents in the immediate aftermath of the harvest.

Little Egret.

The UK boasts several other members of the heron family, although none is very common. The Bittern is vanishingly rare; Mrs P and I have rarely seen one, and have never got a decent photograph. Little Egrets were once common here, but were wiped out over 100 years ago thanks to the insatiable demand of the fashion industry for the birds’ elegant feathers. I wrote about the decline and fall of the Little Egret, and the important consequences this had on bird conservation in the UK, in a post I wrote in 2024.

Great White Egret.

Little Egrets began recolonising the UK in the late 20th century, and these days we see them quite often. Sadly their return came too late for my Mum, as did the more recent arrival of the Great White Egret. She would have been thrilled, I’m sure, to see both egret species, though I suspect neither would have supplanted the Grey Heron in her affections.

Clockwise from Top Left: Green Heron (seen on Tobago in 2006); Great Blue Heron (Canada, 2014); Little Blue Heron (Costa Rica, 2008); White-Faced Heron (Tasmania, 2016); Galapagos Heron (Galapagos Islands, 1989); Bare-Throated Tiger Heron (Costa Rica, 2008); Great Blue Heron (Canada, 2015).

Across the whole world there are reckoned to be 75 separate species within the heron family, although some go under the names of egret or bittern. Herons’ solitary nature and their motionless hunting style have captured the imagination of cultures everywhere, often making them figures of mystery and deep spiritual significance as well as symbols of patience and wisdom. Every continent except Antarctica boasts resident species of heron, and as Mrs P’s photos show we’ve been privileged to see a number of these during our travels.

Clockwise from Top Left: Bare-Throated Tiger Heron (Costa Rica, 2008); Green Heron (Costa Rica, 2008); Bare-Throated Tiger Heron (Costa Rica, 2008); Indian Pond Heron (India, 2013); Little Blue Heron (USA, 2012); Great Blue Heron (Canada, 2012).

Almost all species of heron are closely associated with water, living and feeding as they mostly do on the margins of lakes, rivers, and swamps. They need wetlands, as do so many other species of birds, mammal and invertebrate, and it has been a pleasure to celebrate World Wetlands Day by featuring these magnificent birds here. My Mum, a heron lover until the very end, would definitely have approved!

Boat-billed Heron, Costa Rica 2008

A long way from home

Posted on by Platypus Man

At last, as the weather starts to improve, we take out first tentative steps back into nature. Poolsbrook Country Park, just a few miles from where we live, is a good place to start. Created on the site of a colliery that closed down in 1986, today Poolsbrook boasts a mosaic of habitats including lakes, wet grassland, wildflower hay meadows, woodland and hedgerows, all carefully managed for the benefit of wildlife. I have written previously about the Country Park’s history and key features.

We go to Poolsbrook quite often, and know what to expect. Our first visit of 2025 does not disappoint. All the usual suspects are on show, including Coot, Mallard, Great Crested Grebe and the inevitable Canada Geese. There are no rarities, but who cares – it’s just good to be out watching birds again after a long, miserable winter.

But what’s that? Cruising on the lake alongside a flotilla of Mallards is a duck we’ve never seen before. The head and neck are an iridescent blue-green colour, while the cheeks are white and the bill is bluish grey with a black tip. The breast is barred white and black, the flanks are orange-brown and the back is dark grey with white streaks.

We spend a lot of time watching birds in wetland habitats, and can readily identify most that we encounter. But this guy is a total mystery. Somehow it looks like a mixture of several other species, and we debate whether it’s some sort of weird hybrid. More research is clearly required, so as soon as we get back home we consult Professor Google.

The good professor reveals the truth. Our mystery bird is neither a natural hybrid nor the result of an unfortunate accident in a bio-lab. Instead, our investigation reveals it to be a Chiloé Wigeon. We learn that it is a very long way from home. Also known as the Southern Wigeon, the Chiloé Wigeon is native to southern parts of South America, its name coming from an archipelago lying off the coast of Chile.

Being relatively easy to care for, it appears that the Chiloé Wigeon is a popular bird in exotic wildfowl collections. The bird at Poolsbrook must be an escapee from one of these collections – it plainly has not arrived in this country naturally.

Further research reveals that the Poolsbrook bird has been in residence for well over a year. How did we miss it during all our previous visits, we wonder?

On reflection, I don’t know how I feel about seeing this unexpected bird on one of our local reserves. On the one hand, it is of course exciting to encounter a species that we will never see on its home territory, particularly as it is clearly thriving at the Country Park.

On the other hand, I can’t help thinking the bird might be better off back in South America, where it would be amongst its own kind and have the opportunity to breed. That, sadly, will not happen here and our Chiloé Wigeon will be unable to pass on its genes. Hopefully, however, it will continue to do well alongside its Mallard cousins at Poolsbrook. We’ll be sure to look out for it next time we visit.

Exotic no longer – the Great White Egret

Posted on by Platypus Man

Watching wildlife is addictive. Over several decades Mrs P and I have travelled the world to get our fix of animals and birds that we had no hope of ever seeing in the UK. Take Great White Egrets, for example. When we started our quest, they were impossible to find here. We encountered them first in the USA and India, and were well pleased with our achievement. And yet today we see them regularly in wetland habitats across the UK. The Great White Egret is exotic no longer.

At Nalsarovar Bird Sanctuary, Gujarat, India, 2013

The Great White Egret is a large, white heron. It is easy to distinguish from the Grey Heron, a species familiar to birders throughout this country, but can be confused with Little Egrets. The Little Egret is, as its name suggests, a good deal smaller than the Great White Egret, and has yellow feet and a black bill – the Great White, meanwhile, has black feet and a yellow bill. Confused? Me too! Numbers of Little Egrets have surged in recent years, something I wrote about in this post from 2021.

Seen in Texas, USA, 2012

Until around 15 years ago, Great White Egrets were impossibly rare visitors to these shores, and few birders ever got to see them. All that has now changed. The bird had been slowly expanding its range northwards and westwards in Continental Europe for some time, and around 2010 finally began to make the flight across the English Channel to see what the British Isles had to offer.

Great White Egret alongside the more familiar Grey Heron, at RSPB Blacktoft Sands Nature Reserve, East Yorkshire, 2024

The key drivers behind the expansion in Continental Europe are unclear. Possible explanations include improvements to habitat, reduced persecution, and – inevitably – climate change.

At Attenborough Nature Reserve, Nottinghamshire, 2021

Whatever the reason, British birders are clearly beneficiaries. Accurate, up-to-date population data is difficult to track down, but it appears that overwintering Great White Egrets now number at least 100 individuals. They are most frequently found in south-east England and East Anglia, but are moving steadily northwards and can now also be seen in Scotland too.

At RSPB Welney Nature Reserve, Cambridgeshire, 2022

The species first bred in the UK in 2012, and there could now be more than 20 breeding pairs spread across the country. There is every likelihood that numbers will continue to grow for years to come, meaning that Mrs P and won’t be returning to the US or India when we feel the need to re-acquaint ourselves with this handsome heron!

My surprising discovery about Tufted Ducks

Posted on by Platypus Man

Tufted Ducks are a familiar sight at wetland habitats in our part of the UK. Although less plentiful than Mallards and Canada Geese, they are nevertheless a bird that I would expect to see whenever we visit local reservoirs, lakes and ponds. For me they are a fixture in our birding landscape. But, as I recently discovered to my surprise, that’s not quite true: Tufted Ducks, or “Tufties” as Mrs P and I prefer to call them, first arrived in this country less than 200 years ago.

Records suggest that Tufties started to colonise the UK in 1849. A few decades earlier the Zebra Mussel Dreissena polymorpha had been accidentally introduced into the country, and as this invasive species began to thrive Tufted Ducks followed in pursuit of a much-favoured source of food.

The number of resident Tufted Ducks in the UK grew steadily until at least the early 2000s, and it now breeds in most of England, as well as parts of lowland Scotland and localised areas of Wales and Ireland. The breeding population is around 18,000 pairs. In winter, numbers swell with the arrival of around 100,000 migrant birds from as far away as central Russia.

Male
Female

Male Tufties are handsome black-and-white birds, with a characteristic tuft and bright yellow eyes – totally memorable. Although the females also sport a tuft and yellow eyes, their drab buff-brown plumage renders them somewhat forgettable. Scouring Mrs P’s vast photographic archive, I discovered that nearly every photo that she’s ever taken of this species features the male. That, I think, tells you all you need to know about the differing visual appeal of male and female Tufted Ducks!

Tufties are fun to watch, busy little ducks that paddle swiftly across open stretches of water, before diving in pursuit of aquatic invertebrates and bivalve molluscs. It seems like they belong in this landscape and must therefore have been here forever, which makes it difficult to believe that British nature lovers at the start of Queen Victoria’s reign would have been denied the pleasure of their company.

The lesson to draw from this, I guess, is to remember that what we see today is just a snapshot in time. Species come and species go; it’s a natural process, although human activity speeds it up and can cause major instability. I wonder which birds species are entirely absent from the UK today, but will be taken for granted by British birders in the 22nd century?

A remarkable woman, Little Egrets and birth of the RSPB

Posted on by Platypus Man

Our birdwatching has been limited this year, as a result of the Covid restrictions and our continuing caution in the face of this frightening pandemic. We’ve seen no rarities during our occasional birding forays, but one bird we have been pleased to meet up with is the Little Egret. When we started birdwatching over three decades ago these elegant members of the heron family were almost entirely absent from the UK, but they can now routinely be seen in many parts of the country. Their return is a conservation success story.

* * *

Little Egrets were once present here in large numbers, but were wiped out by mankind’s greed. In 1465, for example, 1,000 egrets were served up at a banquet held to celebrate the enthronement of a new Archbishop of York. A century later they were becoming scarce and by the 19th century they’d all but disappeared.

Egrets in continental Europe fared little better, although here it was fashion rather than food that drove the decline. They had been a major component of the plume trade since at least the 17th century, but in the 19th century demand exploded for feathers, and other bird parts, to decorate the hats of wealthy upper- and middle-class women. We know, for example, that in the first three months of 1885, 750,000 egret skins were sold in London, while in 1887 one London dealer sold 2 million egret skins.

Seen from a modern perspective the wanton slaughter of any species to feed the vanity of shallow fashionistas is appalling. Fortunately, however, it also appalled some of the women at whom the plume trade was notionally directed, initiating a chain of events that led to the formation of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB). Today the RSPB is the UK’s largest nature conservation charity.

One of the women determined to stop the slaughter was Emily Williamson (1855-1936). At first she appealed to the all-male British Ornithologists’ Union to take a stand, but when they ignored her letters she realised this was a problem that women themselves could solve.

In 1889 Emily invited a group of like-minded women to her home in Didsbury on the outskirts of Manchester, to discuss how to the stop the vile plumage trade. The meeting established the Plumage League. Its rules were simple, and to the point:

  • ‘That members shall discourage the wanton destruction of Birds, and interest themselves generally in their protection.’
  •  ‘That Lady-Members shall refrain from wearing the feathers of any bird not killed for the purposes of food.‘

Two years later, in 1891, the Plumage League joined forces with the Fur and Feather League. This was also an all-female group and had been set up in the south of England by Eliza Phillips (1823-1916), who shared Emily’s values and aspirations.

Their new organisation was called the Society for the Protection Birds. Led by Emily Williamson, Eliza Phillips and Etta Lemon (1860-1953), and with the Duchess of Portland Winifred Cavendish-Bentinck (1863-1954) as president, the Society grew rapidly. By 1893 it boasted 10,000 members. In 1904, just 13 years after it was founded, the Society received a Royal Charter from Edward VII, making it the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB).

One hundred years ago, on 1 July 1921, after nearly 30 years of campaigning by the Society, Parliament finally passed the Importation of Plumage (Prohibition) Act. The Act banned the importation of exotic feathers, and thereby helped save many species from extinction.

Since then the RSPB has gone from strength to strength, campaigning to protect habitats and species both in the UK and across the globe. The RSPB’s nature reserves are also a valued resource for British birdwatchers, and Mrs P and I are proud supporters (Life Fellows, in fact) of this brilliant conservation organisation.

From small acorns do might oak trees grow, and Emily Williamson can never have imagined that her humble initiative in a Manchester suburb would have such profound consequences. She and her fellow founders of the Society were remarkable individuals, all the more so when we reflect on the degree to which women were marginalised in Victorian society.

Thankfully, Emily Williamson is finally starting to receive the recognition she deserves. In April 2023 a statue of Emily will be unveiled in Didsbury’s Fletcher Moss Park, close to her former home.

* * *

Needless to say, Emily Williamson was not at the forefront of our minds when we spotted our Little Egrets a few weeks ago. I’m sure, however, that she would have been thrilled to see them back in the UK and fully protected under the Wildlife and Countryside Act, 1981.

Little Egrets first returned to the UK in significant numbers in 1989. They arrived here naturally, following an expansion of their range into western and northern France during the previous decades. They first bred in 1996, in Dorset, and continue to thrive. There are now thought to be around 700 breeding pairs in the UK, while the over-wintering population is around 4,500 birds.

Little Egrets are handsome birds, and a welcome addition to any wetland habitat. It’s great to have them back here, where they belong.

* * *

Postscript: This essay on The History Press website provides further details on women’s role in the foundation of the RSPB

A touch of the exotic: the Mandarin Duck

Posted on by Platypus Man

As the UK’s first Covid lockdown began to ease last June, one of our earliest trips out was to Straws Bridge nature reserve close to the small Derbyshire town of Ilkeston. It’s known to locals as Swan Lake because … well, because it’s a lake that boasts several handsome swans amongst its residents. The swans were out in force when we visited, but were overshadowed in our eyes by the unexpected sight of a family of mandarin ducks.

Mandarins favour small wooded ponds and avoid large expanses of open water, so the Straws Bridge reserve is ideal for them. Comprising three modest bodies of water set in a landscape of mixed woodland and meadows, it’s one of those habitats that shows how nature can bounce back when man lends a helping hand. In the 1970s and 1980s the area was scarred by open cast coal mining, but when the company concerned got into financial difficulties the local council took it on and restored the site as a wildlife habitat and local amenity. 

We’ve visited this reserve many times over the years and have always found it busy with families out for a stroll, often with a loaf of bread in hand to feed the swans and ducks and – inadvertently – sustain the burgeoning rat population at the same time.

In June last year the place was heaving with visitors, all grateful to get into the open air after the relaxation of the government’s stay-at-home Covid restrictions. None of them, other than Mrs P and I, appeared to have a clue that they were in the presence of a bird that’s regarded by many as the world’s most beautiful duck.

Mandarin ducks look far too exotic to be native British birds, and that’s absolutely right. They hail from East Asia – China, Japan and eastern Russia. The male sports a bright red bill, a reddish face with a large white crescent above the eye, a purple breast with two vertical white bars, and ruddy flanks. It also has two orange “sails” at the back. These comprise large feathers that stick up like the sails of a boat, and are perhaps the most eye-catching feature of what is a very elaborate bird.

The female, however, is drab, with a grey head, brown back and mottled flanks. Her white eye-ring and stripe can’t disguise the fact that, in common with the females of most duck species, she’s unremarkable.

Although the disparity in their looks might suggest otherwise, eastern folklore tells us that a pair of mandarins make the perfect couple. The birds are said to mate for life. In traditional Chinese and Japanese culture, mandarin ducks are therefore regarded as symbols of marital faithfulness. They are a favourite of artists, and also feature in Buddhist legends where they are said to represent compassion.

Male and female. No prizes for guessing which is which!

The supposed everlasting bond between mandarins is captured in a Japanese folktale, which begins with a great lord capturing a male bird so he can forever enjoy its beautiful plumage. Separated from its mate, the male is desperately lonely and begins to pine away. Seeing that the bird will soon die of a broken heart, the lord’s maidservant and her samurai lover decide to do the decent thing and reunite the lovelorn pair. However they get caught in the act and the furious lord condemns them to death for their treachery, proving beyond all doubt that for mankind and birdlife alike the course of true love does not always run smoothly!

* * *

It was in the mid-18th century when mandarins were first brought to Britain, with the intention of adding a bit of oriental glamour to the ornamental waterfowl collections of the idle rich. They escaped with monotonous regularity, and sometimes were deliberately released, but it wasn’t until the 1930s that a significant self-sustaining population of feral birds became established.

Juvenile mandarin

Since then numbers have grown rapidly, and there are now reckoned to be close to 8,000 mandarin ducks scattered widely throughout England. There are also feral populations in parts of continental Europe, as well as California and North Carolina in the US.

Spotting a lucrative gap in the market, China exported tens – or perhaps hundreds – of thousands of mandarins over several decades. Although the trade was banned in 1975 its impact, combined with widespread habitat loss, has resulted in a big fall in the wild Chinese population. Luckily mandarin ducks are reputed not to taste very good, otherwise pressures on the wild population would have been even greater in a country with over a billion mouths to feed.

Mandarins are notable for perching in trees, and the female invariably chooses a hole or cavity in a tree trunk in which to lay her eggs. After hatching, the ducklings jump to the ground and avoid injury thanks to the cushioning of their fluffy down. The mother swiftly gathers her brood together, and leads them to water. At Straws Bridge the female had plainly done a good job, and we got clear – although distant – views of some juveniles.

However, without doubt the male is the star of the mandarin show. What a looker!