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By louise Gray, author of The Ethical Carnivore
For the last two years, I have been only eating animals I killed myself. It seems an extreme position. But really it was all about compassion. The idea was to find out how meat is sourced and educate people about where their food comes from.
Mostly, I was vegetarian except for a small number of mammals including rabbit, deer and a pig. Overall I ate far less meat than your average British omnivore.
I also ate a lot of fish.
The fish I ate most in my year was mackerel. The ‘tigers of the sea’ are plentiful around the coast of Britain in the summer months and even a complete amateur can catch one. I hauled up 24 in one afternoon off Arbroath in North East Scotland.
Below is the recipe, for more Ethical Carnivore adventures please look out the book.
4 x smoked mackerel fillets (equivalent to two whole fish)
1 tsp grated horseradish or 2 tsp horseradish sauce
2 tsp Dijon mustard
2 tbsp crème fraiche
½ lemon juiced
100g unsalted butter
salt and pepper to taste
Take the skin off the mackerel and mix with the horseradish, mustard, lemon and crème fraiche. Blend in a food processor or with a hand blender. Add the butter and blend to a paste.
Serve on oatcakes with a parsley garnish to a literary crowd.
An article by Marianne Taylor, author of Birds: Myth, Lore and Legend
For those of us lucky enough to live and work in sturdy, heated buildings, finding out what the weather is going to do is merely a matter of interest. But for our ancestors, and for plenty of modern cultures as well, accurate weather prediction could mean the difference between life and death. Humanity has a very long tradition of using natural phenomena, including bird behavior, to try to forecast the weather, and this is reflected in folklore from around the world.
Fishermen and merchants risking their lives at sea to deliver goods or bring home a catch have a particularly pressing need to understand the weather. Who better to help them than the seabirds that spend virtually their whole lives out over the waters, coping with whatever the elements throw at them? The European Storm-petrel is one of the smallest of all seabirds but one of the toughest too, able to ride the wildest seas. Its English name reflects a widespread British belief that its arrival predicts – or perhaps even causes – sea storms. Another old British name for the species, ‘Mother Carey’s Chicken’, references mater cara, the Virgin Mary, to whom sailors pray for safety at sea. The storm-petrels’ big brothers, the albatrosses, are also said to bring bad weather if they linger too long close to a boat, but a brief sighting means good luck and fair weather for seafarers.
Singing in the rain
Several Britsh birds are said to call or sing in advance of a rainstorm. One is the Green Woodpecker, also nicknamed ‘yaffle’ because of its laughing voice, and ‘rain bird’ because that laughter supposedly heralds rain (the bird is laughing at the sun). The Red-throated Diver has the local name ‘rain goose’ in Orkney and Shetland where it breeds, because its drawn-out wailing call means imminent rain – while a different, more witches’-cackle version of the call is a sign of that the clouds will clear. In Africa, the mighty Southern Ground Hornbill’s booming call is another predictor of precipitation, as are the yells of black cockatoos in Australia.
Its laughing call is said to herald rain, but the Green Woodpecker enjoys sunshine as much as anyone else.
Fact or fable?
Gulls turning up inland is often cited as a warning of bad weather at sea, but in truth many species of gulls have long nested and foraged inland.
Common Gulls are (probably) so called because they often feed on ‘common-land’, and can be seen inland regardless of the weather.
The idea that Rooks nest higher in treetops in years that are to have long sunny summers is also misguided, as Rooks habitually use the same nests year after year. In fact, the idea that birds can predict long-term weather patterns is rather suspect all round. When many Waxwings turn up in Britain in autumn, this is often considered to be a sign that the winter to follow will be severe, but in fact is related to past rather than future events. If it was a bad summer for berry-bearing trees and shrubs in Russia and Scandinavia, more Waxwings will be forced to move south and west to find food.
It is a shortage of food rather than a premonition of freezing weather that sends Waxwings from north-east Europe to Britain.
However, birds really do have some ability to predict weather in the short-term. A structure in the avian inner ear (the Vitali or paratympanic organ) is highly sensitive to changes in air pressure, which as all budding meteorologists know is the key to changes in the weather. This can give birds a day or more’s warning of advancing bad weather, triggering them to indulge in feeding frenzies (as noted in Blue Jays and other species in the Blue Ridge mountains, USA), or even brief migrations to safer areas (observed in Golden-winged Warblers in Florida). Snow Geese in North America seem to be able to dodge extratropical storms on their southbound migration, by varying their route and timing of departure.
It is very tempting to ascribe mystical powers to wild creatures. And birds certainly have more natural, innate ability to predict weather changes than we humans do. But of much more importance is their ability, honed by millennia of natural selection, to contend with bad weather, by sheltering or fleeing or simply enduring it. Or, in some cases, embracing it. It’s worth going outside on a wild-weather day to watch Ravens soaring and tumbling like windblown ashes on a blustery day, or pigeons rain-bathing with all the apparent delight of actors in power-shower commercials. Such sights are part of the joy of wildlife-watching and a joy that inspired our ancestors just as much as it does us today.
For confident fliers like this Raven and Carrion Crow, windy days mean aerial playtime.
Read more about how historical accounts, scientific literature and superstitions have shaped our understanding of bird behaviour in Birds: Myth, Lore and Legend by Marianne Taylor.
This month the RSPB are encouraging us all to swap our comfortable homes for nature’s home for a night and discover a secret world of wildlife by taking part in their Big Wild Sleepout between 29th and 31st July. By venturing outside to kip under the stars, you’ll get to know more about wildlife at night, spotting nocturnal animals going about their lives under cover of darkness.
To help you make the most of the evening, we’ve put together some fantastic ideas from Hattie Garlick’s Born to be Wild about how to have fun under the stars
MAKE SHADOW PUPPETS
- Draw the basic outlines of some nocturnal creatures onto a piece of card. Before it gets dark, or else by torchlight, cut them out.
- Find some sticks and Sellotape them to the backs of the animals.
- Hold them up against a tree trunk, wall, fence or the ground, and shine a torch on them to project shadows onto the surface.
- Make the puppets hop around, play together, fight, adventure, nibble on leaves… whatever theatrics your imagination dictates.
TELL A STORY BY TORCHLIGHT
Clearly this is more authentically and cosily undertaken by firelight. You can’t, after all, toast marshmallows on a battery-operated torch. If you are good at building fires and have, to hand, the space in which to do so and the materials with which to do so, I applaud you. If you’re like me, use a torch and eat chocolate instead. Reading aloud in the outdoors is pretty magical whatever the light source.
- Find a sheltered space in which to make yourself comfortable. This could be a bench, a fallen tree, a log, some garden chairs or a cushion on a balcony.
- Sit down with friends or family, warm clothes, sustenance, a torch and either a book or a story in someone’s head.
- Nominate someone to tell the story. They get the torch, of course, with which to read and gesture.
Note You can also pass a book around the circle, so that everybody reads a page, or make up a story together, so that each person adds a sentence in turn.
LOOK FOR NOCTURNAL ANIMALS
There is a whole other world, right under our noses, whose inhabitants walk the same streets, sniff around the bins we use every day, and stretch out and play in the same gardens and parks in which we stretch and play ourselves. All you have to do to access this universe is come out after dark. Keep quiet, keep still and keep warm, and you’ll see this other world come alive around you.
Don’t use a torch or make lots of noise. You’ll scare them off.
Do wrap up really warmly and listen carefully – you might well hear animals that you can’t see.
Note You don’t even, necessarily, need to go outside. If you turn off the lights in your sitting room and sit still you might get lucky.
What to look for
- Deer (yep, even in some urban and
- suburban areas)
Ideally, you need a clear, dark sky, somewhere far away from street lights, strip-lit shop fronts and office buildings that beam brutally into the nightscape. But for the small astronauts who dream of rocket trips from the fifteenth floor of a concrete jungle or the safety of their suburban semi, there is still plenty of hope. In the winter, when it gets dark earlier than in the summer, the possibilities to explore the night sky are endless. All you need is a clear night, this book, an outside space (a garden, park or even a balcony will do), warm clothes, hot drinks, imagination and sparkling eyes. Done? Okay, now can you spot any of the following?
- The Plough (or Big Dipper)
- the Pole Star n Venus
Note The night sky looks different depending on where you are in the world, but you can always find guides online. Wherever you stargaze, don’t forget to look for shooting stars and other planets, too, and notice what phase the moon is in.
Discover more nocturnal activities in the rest of the book – Born to be Wild by Hattie Garlick
Our gorgeous RSPB Spotlight series of paperbacks introduces readers to Britain’s best-loved animals. This month we’re very excited to add two new titles to our growing list of Spotlight subjects: RSPB Spotlight: Badgers , and RSPB Spotlight: Eagles.
To celebrate, we’ve collected together a few favourite facts gleaned from our RSPB Spotlight books released so far, covering badgers, eagles, robins, foxes, otters and puffins!
We’re also offering you the chance to win the whole series. Simply respond on Twitter @chiffchat telling us which RSPB Spotlight animal is your favourite, and why.
Did You Know…?
Despite their reputation as being ‘the strong and silent type’, Badgers do communicate… through their droppings! Badgers use latrines − which comprise collections of shallow hollows called dung pits − as message boards. Many latrines lie beneath trees, perhaps to protect the contents (and their ‘press release’) from being washed away by rain. Most latrines are located either close to the main sett, along the territory boundary or where Badger paths cross. This indicates that one purpose of poo clues is to emphasise ownership of the territory. Strikingly, however, neighbouring Badgers share latrines along territory borders. This suggests that Badgers use latrines to exchange information about who is in their gang, rather than to simply erect a ‘no entry’ sign.
A flying Golden Eagle can reach speeds of up to 190km/h (118 mph), and when accelerating into a dive can even pick up speeds of 240-320 km/h (150-200mph)! The sudden braking of the bird by spreading its wings at the point of impact can create a tearing sound audible for some distance. ‘Like a thunderbolt it falls’ said Tennyson, and he was not far wrong.
Robins might hold the key to understanding a mysterious ‘sixth sense’ observed in many birds – Magnetoreception, the ability to sense magnetic fields. This skill is down to the presence of crystals of the iron oxide magnetite within receptor cells in the skin of their bills. These cells send messages to a particular part of the brain in response to magnetic fields, but this ‘compass’ system also requires a certain level of light to work properly. The combination of seasonal changes to light levels and the Robin’s ability to detect the Earth’s magnetic field, allows it to orient itself correctly for migration.
Foxes have an incredibly varied diet and differing hunting techniques adapted to this. When hunting worms, for example, a fox will grip the slithery morsel in its incisors, but instead of tugging violently, which would break the worm, it pauses until the worm relaxes, then pulls gently and steadily so as to extract the whole animal, unbroken, from the ground. Parents teach their cubs this technique by example.
Have you ever wondered what Otters keep in their pockets? The Sea Otter is one of few mammals that have learned to use tools to access food. It will search for and pick up a rock from the ocean floor, along with hard-shelled sea species such as clams and mussels, and pop these into its pockets- deep rolls of skin that form pouches under each foreleg. On surfacing, the Sea Otter places the rock on its stomach and, holding the hard-shelled morsel between its forepaws, will smash it against the rock until it can get to the soft meat inside. Particularly good rocks are then often put back in its pockets, for use another time!
While the general rule in birds is that smaller birds have a shorter life expectancy, and larger birds longer ones, the Puffin seems to be an exception to this. The oldest puffin ever found in Europe was 41 years old, on the Norwegian Island of RØst. Long-term studies of Puffins in the UK have revealed survivors not far behind the Norwegian bird, with a 39 year-old bird- ringed in 1974- spotted again in 2008. Were it not for the evidence of ringing, it would be impossible to pick out the senior citizens in a Puffin colony as- unlike us humans- Puffins show no outward signs of old age.
By Michael Scott, author of Mountain Flowers
One of the earliest decisions I took in writing my Mountain Flowers book (to be published by Bloomsbury in August) was that I would have to omit Ireland from its scope. This was mostly because I was worried about keeping the length to the required 416 pages with so much ground to cover, but I was also conscious that I had never properly botanised on the island. I was particularly ashamed never to have visited The Burren, one of the most special botanical sites in the whole of the British Isles. What better way, therefore, to celebrate finally sending the book to the printers than to head across to The Burren in early May this year?
Spring Gentian flowers as abundantly on The Burren as anywhere I’ve seen it in the Alps.
© Michael Scott/Bloomsbury
I wasn’t disappointed. The Burren, on the west coast of Ireland in County Clare, is a wonderful site for botanising with an intriguing mix of arctic-alpine species that we would normally expect to find in mountains and southern species more typical of Mediterranean climates. On the limestone pavement at Poulsallagh, I found the vivid blue flowers of Spring Gentian (Gentiana verna) more abundantly than I have seen it anywhere else, even in its heartland in the Alps, alongside displays of Mountain Avens (Dryas octopetala) to rival any I have seen in the Arctic. The pale yellow flowers of Hoary Rockrose (Helianthemum oelandicum), a species I know otherwise only in Upper Teesdale, were everywhere – and much else besides. I’m still glad I excluded The Burren from the book. It would have merited a long chapter to itself, even without the other Irish sites, and what would I have had to omit from my coverage of England, Wales and Scotland to find this space? However, it reminded me again of the resilience and adaptability of the flowering plants we associate with the mountains; the arctic-alpine species in The Burren were telling me this was a mountain, yet I had climbed no higher than 150 metres above sea-level.
Irish Saxifrage in magnificent flower on Inis Oírr (or Inisheer) island.
© Michael Scott/Bloomsbury
There was one plant I especially wanted to see. Irish Saxifrage (Saxifraga rosacea) features briefly in the book, but is a species I had never seen. I searched hard for it at Poulsallagh but failed. There was one more opportunity: I knew it was recorded at the eastern end of Inis Oírr, so we took the ferry across to the island with several hours to explore. We stopped at one scenic spot and noticed white flowers on a grassy bank. I scrambled up to them and immediately recognised how similar the plant looked to the more widespread montane species Mossy Saxifrage (S. hypnoides). However, its flowers had broader petals and its leaves were much more densely tufted, with subtle differences in their shape. It was Irish Saxifrage, and I had almost forgotten the exhilarating thrill of seeing a ‘new’ species for the first time. We continued onto a large expanse of limestone pavement, just beyond, and it seemed to be covered with large tussocks of the saxifrage in wonderfully abundant, showy flower. In fact, it reminded me of flowery plants sold in garden centres as Mossy Saxifrage which I have always dismissed as much too showy to be that species!
Irish Saxifrage in its limestone pavement habitat amidst the distinctive landscape of Inis Oírr.
© Michael Scott/Bloomsbury
The Burren is well known as a site for Irish Saxifrage, which is also found in central Germany, the Jura mountains and elsewhere in central Europe. However, as with so many mountain plants I discuss in the book, there is a mystery about it too. Irish Saxifrage was recorded as growing in Cwm Idwal in Snowdonia in 1796, although it has not been seen there since 1978. There are herbarium specimens of it from elsewhere in Snowdonia too, and one labelled from Glen Dole, presumably Glen Doll in Angus, another classic site that I write about in the book. I always assumed that Irish and Mossy saxifrages were so similar that these records might have arisen from confusion, but the overall ‘jizz’ of the plants I saw on Inis Oírr was very different from the Mossy Saxifrage I know in the British mountains. So does Irish Saxifrage still lurk, unrecognised and overlooked, somewhere in Snowdonia, Angus or elsewhere in the mountains of Britain? That is precisely why I wanted to write my Mountain Flowers book: to encourage more botanists to take to the hills, and more hillwalkers to look at the wild flowers beside their boots, in the hope that we can answer this and many other botanical mysteries that still persist, even in the well-tramped mountains of Britain.
Michael Scott, 18th May 2016