Getting to know you

 One of the highlights of the past few years was getting to know a female Roe Deer and her offspring. I saw them regularly, and she became quite used to my presence. Last summer, although pregnant, she disappeared from the area, leaving last year's does to take over her territory. In addition, the formerly dominant Buck, an impressive specimen with antlers sporting three tines, has also disappeared. Antlers are not always indicative of individuality, as they shed each year and may not regrow in the same way.

Over the past few months, two new bucks appeared, both with single-horn antlers, although one of them has only one. In the last couple of weeks, two does have been regularly seen in the company of a buck with antlers in velvet, essentially fur-covered bumps from where the antlers will grow. This new little group are certainly not sure of me, and most of my views are of their white rumps bounding away from me.

Back in 2023, I wrote a post on habituation, and I realised today that I may need to employ these techniques to better watch these amazing animals in the future. Enjoying the winter sunshine, I popped down to my patch to see if the bad weather of Storm Goretti had blown in any interesting birds. It hadn't, I was hoping for Goosander, Teal, Wigeon, maybe some Tufted Ducks, but the snowmelt had swelled the river and flooded much of my patch. As I waded through the water, I flushed the deer. Roe Deer I find will often run off and then pause to look back at you, whereas Muntjac just tear off and disappear.

Rather than just freeze, I decided to show that I was one of them. I stood stock-still and then reacted the same way they did. I tried to look panicked, and I dashed into the undergrowth, stopping and then looking back. I found the deer staring back, bemused. I made my actions fearfully responding to any bird song around me. I avoided direct eye contact and continued to look about as if looking for a predator. Within moments, one of the does and the buck started grazing comfortably, and I was able to remove my camera. I took a few shots so that they could see me with the camera, and it was nothing to be feared and then pretended not to be interested in them at all, looking around me and pawing at the earth as if looking for food.

This tactic seemed to work; all three visibly relaxed, and so I waited until they moved off at their own pace, happy and comfortable. I did not want to push my luck or stress them further, so I left them to it and carried on with my walk. 

That two-minute interaction helped build trust with them. They will never fully accept me, but over time, they won't bolt at the sight of me and will let me sit openly. It takes time and patience, and I do not want them to completely lose their fear of humans. Fear is built into prey species like Roe Deer. It is innate. Roe Deer haven't had a natural predator other than us for hundreds of years, and to breed out such fear will take possibly thousands.

When watching wildlife, always do so on their terms, never sacrifice their comfort for your pleasure or to just get the perfect picture Do not dominate nature, be part of it.

Saxon Mill Birding

 As of tomorrow, I will have been conducting weekly surveys of the Saxon Mill since 2004. That's 22 years! Longer than most prison sentences, and I have no intention of stopping yet. The turn of the year is a time to look back at what I have seen over the year and what it means in the context of larger changes.

So, let's start with some basic information. Over the last 12 months, I made 49 survey visits to the site and conducted my standard figure-of-8 surveys along the river and fields. Each visit lasted on average 80 minutes.

That's a total of 55.79 hours across the year spent birdwatching on my patch, a full 2.32 days of my life this year. In that time, I recorded 2065 individual birds of 49 different species.

The Saxon Mill is a site that just keeps giving, and I added two more species to the site list this year. The first was the identification of a Stock Dove during a survey, although I suspect they have been present in the past and were just dismissed as a pigeon. The second species to be added was a Yellow Wagtail, a lifer for me. I was lucky with this one; this species, along with Gadwall, Shoveller and Bar-tailed Godwit, were present on flooded land adjacent to my patch. I try to be rigorous in my scientific approach. Although these species, never before recorded on my patch, were about 100-200m from the site, they were outside my established visual envelope. They could not be counted! Luckily, the Yellow Wagtail popped over the river into the cornfield for a happy tick.

Now that I have aggregated and inputed the data for the year, what can I tell you about the species and conditions?

On the whole, the year was on average cooler than 2024 but still part of a trend of warmer years since 2019. The hottest day was in June at 25 °C and the coldest in January at 5.1 °C. This warmer weather, especially towards the end of the year, led to fewer winter visitors, such as Teal, Fieldfare and Redwing.

Compared to 2024 Crows, Long-tailed Tits, Mallard, Robins, Siskin and Swallows all increased in abundance, whilst Black-headed Gulls, Woodpigeon and Jackdaws were a lot less abundant.

Species List

Christmas Encounter

 

I have stated in my blog before that I am a lazy wildlife watcher. I find it hard to get up at the crack of dawn, and I would rather be tucked up in the warmth when it is dark. I am easily distracted by every living creature, and so staking out a particular species is always a challenge. In the past, I have tried to sit patiently at the bankside for Kingfishers, but this always failed; a buzzard behind me or a fox on the other bank would me draw my attention away from the Kingfisher, which would appear the minute I moved from my spotting spot.

I rely primarily on luck, providence and divine intervention when watching wildlife. I go out with no real intentions other than just a destination in mind, and let the wind take me and see what turns up.

On this Christmas Eve, I was not particularly inspired; the weather had taken a turn for the colder, and I was in a somewhat melancholic mood. My usual survey day is a Sunday; then I walk my standard route, recording all birds and animals seen or heard. Part of this walk includes the patch of land I manage, where I swap out the memory cards on my trail cameras. This Sunday, I was unable to collect the card from Otter Cam because the flood waters were too high for me to reach the camera.

With this in mind and knowing that a bracing walk is always a mood booster, I opted to pop down and collect that memory card. Despite the winter sunshine, there was a cold wind, and I decided to just take the most direct route to the camera and then head home.

As soon as I arrived, I spotted a Little Egret on the mill pond island and then a Cormorant on the river. By the camera, I spotted a buzzard and then spooked a deer in the undergrowth. At the feeding station, I saw a Great Tit and Robin. Each of these encounters lifted my mood so that by the time I reached the path, I was ready to stay out a little longer. I did not feel like walking downriver and instead opted for something I rarely ever do. I chose to carry straight on and walk by the mill pond on the peninsula managed by Saxon Mill Fishery.

It was this very whim that created a magical moment. As I neared the riverbank, I spotted a Kingfisher on a nearby branch. It was spooked by my approach and took flight, but my attention was drawn to something in the water, a dark flash of something moving behind a tree. I had a hunch, but I did wonder if it was a duck. I peered around the tree expecting to see the mallard, but there was nothing. Whatever it was had dived – a little grebe perhaps? I then noticed the telltale sign of small bubbles; my heart leapt. Otters often leave a trail of little bubbles when they swim underwater. I tried to follow the trail through the surging, muddy water, but soon lost it. I scoured both banks with my binoculars and caught a fleeting glimpse of a small otter emerging and then submerging by the far bank. I spent the next ten minutes tracking up and down the bank trying to spot it, rewarded only with the glimpse of a tail or the loud splash as it dived. Fairly soon thereafter, all went quiet, and I decided to head round to the mill and home.

At the mill, I peered across the mill pond, and in the distance, I spotted the distinct wake of something swimming in the water. Zooming in, I was treated to the sight of not one but two otters crossing. I quickly set up my camera and settled in to watch.

The pair of otters was known to me as an adult female and her cub. I see them quite regularly on the trail camera. This late in the year, the cub was nearly the same size as the mother, distinguished only by a smaller face and lighter throat markings. The pair swam together across the mill pond, diving frequently.

Interestingly, as they dove, you could see their arched backs, which looked a lot like the serpentine movement of a monster. Some suggest that this is what people see when they think they have seen the Loch Ness monster, and I believe that this has some merit—trying to spot the otters in the wind-swept muddy waters.

It was obvious that the pair were foraging. The dives were deep, and there was no evidence of play behaviour. The river is full of fish but with the water still high it is heavily silt laden reducing visibility considerably. It is in these conditions that the otters’ strong whiskers come in useful, which they use to sense prey. Despite their skills they did not appear to catch any sizeable fish. I did see them eating something, but it was small and unidentifiable. Other than crossing the mill pond they tended to keep to the banksides, foraging along the edges and around the driftwood. I watched them from a comfortable distance for 20 minutes until they drifted off downriver and disappeared.

This encounter is proof that you never know what you are going to find when out in the great British countryside. Were it not for that split-second whim to try the other path, I would never have seen these two otters, my fourth-ever live sighting of Otters in the UK. Be it Lady Luck or the lord himself, providence definitely shone on me today.

Reflecting on a Year of Birding and Looking Ahead

As the year draws to a close, I find it’s the perfect moment to reflect on what I’ve experienced and set my sights on new goals for the coming year. This year, I made greater use of BirdTrack to log my sightings and took a deeper dive into analysing my data and what it reveals.

The local birding group, which I’d join more often if I weren’t such a solo soul, follows the “Warwick 100”—an annual quest to spot 100 species. Bird Watching magazine sets the bar even higher with their “#My200Bird” challenge. My own efforts, focused solely on Warwick and its surroundings, reached a respectable 72 species as of December 12th—just one shy of last year’s total.

A highlight of the year was spotting a ‘lifer’: my first-ever Yellow Wagtail, which appeared in July in a cornfield. Other memorable sightings included Bar-tailed Godwit and Gadwall. I also noticed an increase in sightings of Stonechat, Little Egret, Peregrine, and Red Kite.

Yellow Wagtail

Looking ahead to 2026, I have a few targets in mind. I hope to capture good photographs of a Yellowhammer, Water Rail, and Peregrine, and to finally spot a Cetti’s Warbler at Kingfisher Pools, where they’re known to frequent in summer. On my own land, I’d love to see the return of Willow Tit, Bullfinch, and Lesser Spotted Woodpecker.

My “holy grail” challenge is to photograph a Snipe. Thanks to conservation work at Warwick Racecourse, wintering Snipe numbers are improving—five individuals were seen this year, up from previous years. It would be incredible if they could be encouraged to stay into spring and summer, with the long-term hope of successful breeding.

Writing and publishing my book took up much of my time this year, so in 2026, I want to refocus on the patch of land I manage, especially my goal to create a series of scrapes beside the river. After meeting with Warwickshire Wildlife Trust for advice, I’m eager to put their ideas into action and move the project forward.

Of course, I can’t neglect my beloved camera traps. By the end of this month, I’ll have collected five years of data from Otter Cam. I plan to spend time analyzing this data, comparing the diversity along the river to that in the hedgerow.

Challenges and goals keep life interesting and give us direction, but it’s essential not to be beholden to them. Set some fun targets to help you get the most out of the next 12 months, decide how many species you want to see or perhaps focus on that one bird that has eluded you.

Here’s to another year of discovery and growth, both for the wildlife and for myself.

Camera Trapping - A Practical Handbook for Wildlife Researchers and Enthusiasts is Published!

 Following a year of hard work, my handbook is now complete and available to buy.

This has been a labour of love, and given its niche nature, I have chosen to self-publish via the website Lulu. This is an excellent website for producing written materials.

I have taken my time over this book and toyed with the idea of providing the material free of charge via a website. I went back and forth on this and opted for a paperback because that's how I like to work. I like printed matter, and when I am studying or learning new things, I find nothing better than having a text to thumb through rather than flipping between windows on a laptop. Call me old-fashioned.

This is not my first self-published book, but this time I approached it more professionally. I had it professionally reviewed by a science editor and had an artist design a front cover, both contracted via Reedsy. I rigorously checked my maths, which was tough given my difficulties with the subject. I enjoy maths, but only when it works!

The book was published this week and is currently only available on Lulu from this link:

Camera Trapping - A Practical Handbook for Wildlife Researchers and Enthusiasts

The book is priced at £19.99, which I hope people feel is a suitable price given the content. I have not written this book to make a pile of money; in fact, I will be happy to just break even. This is about sharing my experience and, hopefully, encouraging people to take up a fantastic hobby.

Eventually, it will be available via Amazon and Barnes and Noble, but may be priced higher due to their pricing structures.

Blog Update - New book on the way

You may have noticed that there haven’t been any new blog posts for a few months, so I thought I should explain why.

Like everyone, I juggle a busy life, and there are only so many hours in a day. This year has been particularly full. Alongside work and the usual demands of life, I’ve been focused on two major projects: processing and analysing ten years of camera-trapping data from my long-running project, and writing a practical handbook on camera trapping.

The camera-trapping project report was completed and published in July. It’s a project that continues to run, and it was this work that ultimately inspired my latest nature conservation book.

Running a trail camera 24/7 for a decade has taught me an enormous amount — not just about how to use the devices effectively for fun and research, but also about what not to do. I’ve had setbacks along the way: poor images, two cameras stolen, and five more damaged by floodwaters.

But most importantly, I’ve made some truly remarkable discoveries. I’ve confirmed the return of otters to this stretch of the River Avon. I’ve watched a single Roe Deer doe grow into a small group of up to four does and three bucks. I’ve recorded several fox families with cubs. I’ve also, sadly, documented the decline of badgers on the site. Among the countless images, some stand out: otters rolling in the snow, a fox hunting a pheasant, tawny owls catching mice, and even a fleeting glimpse of a polecat.

All this experience led me to start compiling a list of instructions and tips for using trail cameras. That list grew longer as I continued researching ways to analyse the data, and I realised that while there are several excellent books by experts such as Paul Meek and others, there are relatively few aimed at true beginners. And so, the idea for a book began to take shape.

Camera Trapping – A Practical Handbook for Wildlife Researchers and Enthusiasts is the culmination of this work and experience. My hope is that it provides a useful, entry-level resource to help people get the most out of their trail cameras. The book is divided into two parts: the first explores what a trail camera is, how it works, the ethics of using one, and the best ways to deploy it. The second part looks at how to work with the data you collect, including worked examples to help explain some of the mathematics involved.

This isn’t a book for experts; there are far more advanced texts available for those working at a doctoral level, but I hope it fills an important niche for amateur conservationists, students, and anyone curious about wildlife. I want it to give readers the confidence to deploy their own cameras and gain unique insights into what animals do when people aren’t around. I hope it becomes a tool for citizen scientists and local groups looking to better understand the ecology of their area and contribute meaningfully to conservation efforts.

The book has been self-published, like most of my books, through Lulu.com. I am reviewing the final proof copy now, and I hope to have it released for sale within the next 2 weeks. Keep your eye on this blog, my new publications website and my social feeds for updates.

My friend Robin?

 There are few birds as fixed in the national psyche than the Robin in the United Kingdom. It is a ubiquitous species with 7.4 million pairs across the country. The folklore is rich surrounding Robins, and they are inextricably linked to Christmas, although this is more to do with the old uniform of the postman rather than the bird itself.

I am sitting writing this in the garden with a Robin perched on the chair next to me and another pottering about on the lawn. They come down each time I am out. They are, I think most would agree, the friendliest birds. They are easily spotted and very recognizable. They are also one of the easiest to tame and with some small effort can be encouraged to feed from the hand. This is a trick that I take great pleasure in teaching students in my eco-schools club, many of whom have had very little connection to nature.

Robins have a long association with man. and especially the gardener. Any gardener can tell you that whist digging the flower beds and turning the soil that they will be quickly joined by a Robin who follows them about feasting on the worms and insects revealed by the spade or fork. How Robins are faring in the new era of no-dig is anyone’s guess. This particular behaviour is a holdover from pre-agricultural times when Robins would follow wild boar herds, feasting on the food disturbed as they rooted around the forest floor

This kind of behaviour is a form of mutualism, where two species benefit from a relationship. The Robin gains access to invertebrates the boars naturally expose as they root through the soil looking for roots and tubers and the boars get an extra pair of eyes to watch out for predators.

Over the past few years, I have struck up a friendship with a pair of robins. This year they paired up early in the season and have stuck around ever since. Each time I sit outside one or both will fly down to sit on the table beside me or perch in the nearby tree watching me attentively. Inevitably I feed then, putting out a few pieces of suet. They soon established a nest next door and each day I noticed how much more ragged their appearance became as they struggled to feed both themselves and their young chicks. They still came down for the suet but instead of gorging only on this they now hopped about the lawn pulling out small worms or flitting around the patio furniture catching spiders to feed their young. Suet is a high energy food very much appreciated by many birds. The high fat content is especially welcome during the winter, but in the breeding season it ensures that the adults have enough energy to spend more time foraging for their offspring.

The pair, Bob and Roberta, as I coined them successfully raised three young that once they had fledged were brought to our garden, where upon I was able to watch the adults feed them in the undergrowth. These juvenile birds have now left, dispersed to new territories of their own and Bob and Roberta have started to squabble, a sure sign that autumn is approaching.

 If I don’t put out some suet out, they will sit in plain site until I do so, very much in the same way our Cocker Spaniel would sit in front of the TV we were watching at 5pm each night to ensure we didn’t forget to get him his dinner. If I'm sitting in the conservatory they will come stand on the step or even an occasion entering the conservatory and perch on the seat beside me, their demeanour one of quiet impatience, almost as if they were stood cross armed one foot tapping, ‘come on human, you know what I want’.

Yesterday I was sat reading when the Robin came down once more and in a pavlovian response I got up, got the suet pot and put some out on the table. It struck me at that moment that there was more nuance to this relationship than I thought. I loved this pair of Robins, I fed then, watched them, cared for then. I worried when I didn't see them. I considered them my friends but was that friendship reciprocated? The more I thought about it the more I doubted it. I was demonstrating altruism to this Robin, I fed it out of my own goodwill and whilst the Robin no doubt appreciated this easy meal several times a day, would the Robin do the same? If I were hungry, would it fly down and cook my tea, would it even offer one of its tiny worms to satiate my need? I very much doubt it. Our friendship is one-sided and very much to the benefit of the Robin. There are stories of animals being altruistic to humans, dolphins that have helped injured surfers, but these tend to be the exception rather than the rule and almost always involve animals considered to have higher levels of intelligence.

Animal intelligence is a complex topic in and of itself and one that I have only just dipped my toes into; part of this year’s summer reading includes ‘The Emotional Lives of Animals’ by Marc Bekoff and I have only just finished the introduction. The way sciences view animals inner lives is changing and is much more nuanced than my university days when even then anthropomorphism was viewed with deep skepticism.

I get that, anthropomorphism is in many ways the wrong way to view animal consciousness and emotions but its not wholly wrong. Anthropomorphism presupposes that man is distinct from animals, that we are above them, and there is no way they can have the same emotional range. This of course misses the point that we are animals, we are part of that ecosystem, maybe we are more complex, have a greater degree of social interactions but we are just a smart ape, the current leader in evolutions intelligence race (although that’s a whole other debate, there are ‘lower intelligence’ animals that have remained unchanged for millennia and existed long before todays human evolved, arent they winners in the evolution game?).

 

So how much of the Robins ‘friendship’ with me is genuine, is it  just  purely transactional? It trusts me it will sit beside me to take the suet, but does that only illustrate that its desire for food outweigh the risk it perceives I am to it? On the scale of animal life on the planet I think we can infer that the Robin has a complex social structure and a cognitive understanding that outweighs many species, its brain, although structurally different is close enough to ours that they too could have evolved  similar patterns of thought and emotion at a different level. However their lived experiences are so very different from my own that how could we have similar priorities or understanding. Their perspective is no doubt essentially alien to me but still based on the same principles that we are constructed on, the drive to find shelter, food and a suitable mate to reproduce, the latter of which the Robin is doing far better at than me.

Bob and Roberta have highlighted to me the complexities of animal intelligence and my personal interaction with nature. As I mull these ideas over I can also recall other relationships I have had, my dog Henry, we definitely shared a bond, the first pair of swans I monitored, ZTG and ZOT, Half tail the Fox on my patch as well as the Roe Deer family which became habituated to me. With all these individuals of species very different to me I made a connection. A connection that I realised wasn’t one sided. Far from it, the gain I received from them was a deep pleasure for being allowed to be within their world.

The robins are the same, they are never going to cook me dinner but they make me happy. I viscerally enjoy watching them. I can appreciate their beauty and trusting nature, the scientist in me is intrigued by their activities and they are excellent prompts for deeper thinking. We both get something out of the relationship, their benefit maybe food and an increased chance of survival and mine is a sense of wellbeing and peace. A fair trade in my books.