Hen Harriers in England: are their Skydancing days really done?

I usually enjoy writing blog posts for Glengorm. But today, the words seem heavy and reluctant.

The news broke this morning that in England, Hen Harriers have completely failed to breed this year. The birds now face the very real prospect of extinction as a breeding species, and the titanic media battle between conservation bodies and the shooting fraternity has reached fever-pitch.

Hen Harrier male [image credit – Robin Newlin]

I do not profess to be any kind of expert on this subject: my perspective is that of an outside observer, not privy to the detailed facts and figures.

What I can express with certainty is my great sadness and anger that the future looks so bleak for the harrier. A blank year, they have called it. A year where, to the best of our knowledge, not one chick has been successfully raised on English soil.

It is clear that we have reached a seminal point in the history of our Hen Harrier population.

In Britain, it is possible to completely detach one’s self from rural life. The pace and pressures of modern living encourage us to become insular; absorbed in fighting day-to-day battles that scream for our attention and our energy.

Though many of us cherish time in “the great outdoors” – there will be countless others who have never learned to love the countryside, or who feel ill equipped to comment on rural affairs. The distance between rural and urban communities seems to yawn ever wider, and this is fertile ground for prejudice to seed.

A Hen Harrier food-pass [image credit – Max Law]

Take shooting, for example. I’m sure most people reading this have very strong views on the subject. In fact, I could go as far as to say that many dismiss it as an unsavory pursuit for the wealthy alone.

I myself do not fully understand the intricacies of this sport. I must admit that on the face of it, it isn’t really to my taste. However, that does not prevent me from seeing the benefits that well managed grouse moors can bring, both in terms of the environment and the economy.

Driven grouse moors have been heavily implicated in the decline of the harrier [and other birds of prey], but does endlessly pointing the finger in the media really help our cause?

To me, it serves only to further alienate the shooting industry from those who have no contact with it; fueling preconception without understanding – or even worse, apathy and indifference.

I believe wholeheartedly that there are many who manage their land in a sympathetic and responsible manner. I hate to see these people tarred with the same brush as those who are willfully breaking the law. Better to shout about good management, and encourage the public to engage with upland life, than to isolate those who most need our support and from whom we stand to gain so much.

Aside from media stone throwing – what action can be taken, physically, to help our Harriers? Not a great deal, in truth.

The birds are tirelessly monitored, especially during the nesting season, but they are vulnerable to attacks at winter roost sites and whilst foraging in remote areas. Birds killed illegally are usually discovered by chance; often by people visiting the uplands for recreational purposes. This suggests that many incidents go unreported, and therefore unrecorded: the scale of the problem is likely to be larger than our data can confirm.

A hen harrier (circus cyaneus) diving to its nest site on the Glen Tanar Estate, Grampian, Scotland.

Female Hen Harrier with nesting material [image credit – Daily Mail online 22/8/12]

Legislation has been tentatively brought in to enforce vicarious liability, whereby landowners are held financially responsible for illegal activity on their property [-rather than just the individual perpetrator]. There has also been considerable support for a grouse moor licencing system to be put in place. I would like to think that licences would be issued based on the biodiversity and habitat quality maintained by each property, and that this would be more of a badge of honour than a shackle.

Good management could be crucial in the future: Hen Harriers are at risk not only from illegal persecution, but also from overgrazing and poorly-controlled heather burning.

As grazing pressure by deer and domestic sheep increases, mature heather stands are replaced by grass-dominated habitat. This is unsuitable for nesting Hen Harriers. The structure of prey species changes, with fewer grouse being present; though in some situations the abundance of small birds and mammals will actually rise. This can form part of harrier foraging habitat – but it is essential that grassland remains part of a matrix, rather than being too dominant. The burning of moorland to improve grazing also destroys tall stands of heather, and again reduces an areas potential as a nesting site.

Conversely, forest and woodland habitat is extremely important for breeding harriers; particularly when there are open areas close by to provide good hunting opportunities. Grazing intensity is usually low here, as is the frequency of burning [for obvious reasons…]

It would be prudent to remember that the shooting sector is a pool of skilled people with the knowledge, practical ability and manpower to implement better habitat management. They are people of the countryside, who understand the land and the wildlife that they work with. They operate in areas that are key to the survival of birds of prey, and control some substantial acreage. It is within their interest to promote good conditions for prey species such as the grouse [and therefore the Hen Harrier] rather than allowing land to become overgrazed and impoverished. Tapping into this resource could be of enormous benefit, if the correct exchange of information, support and recognition was put in place.

Hen Harrier eggs hatching [image credit – Natural England, used by Wildlife Extra online 15/7/12]

However, improved habitat management can only be beneficial if there is still a population of birds to exploit it. Without first taking illegal persecution into hand, we could be shutting the barn door long after the horse has bolted.

Scotland is still a stronghold for the Hen Harrier – yet even here, there are dark patches in the east for our birds to disappear into. Fortunately, Glengorm provides hunting territory for several pairs and the population on Mull is thriving.

You may not feel that this crisis affects you. You might never have seen a Hen Harrier, or have any particular desire to.

But rest assured: you are being robbed of your heritage.

I urge all of you to keep an open mind and back positive action – even if you have strong feelings about the shooting industry. With the best will in the world, there can be no denying that illegal persecution on grouse moors has been instrumental to the decline of the Hen Harrier. But, redemption could be at hand if we actively encourage and support good practice.

This we can do together as the public, even if we know but little of the countryside. Do not turn away from the shooting industry in distaste; rather, try to see how we can make it work for conservation, and help to preserve our rural heritage.

It is not the right of any person to deny others the sight of the Hen Harrier.

Speaking from my own experience on Glengorm, it is one of the most marvelous and lifting encounters anybody could hope to have.

Hen Harrier ringtail [image credit – Mark Hamblin, used in the Telegraph Online 22/4/13]

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Thumb image credit – The Guardian Online

Over the Sound of Mull

To compliment Steph’s fantastic write up, here’s some behind the scenes shots of what the humans were up to during the our trip to Sanna! Many thanks to Tom and the team for making this such a great day.

Heading out from Tobermory we arrived at Sanna Bay for an afternoon on the beach. There were 40 of us on board and this stretch of sand seemed the perfect size for our party.
We threw down the anchor and the boarding parties were shuttled in to shore.

Heading in to shore

Some made their own way in…
JumpersJumpers

And once on shore each person instinctively selected their activity.
Jumpers
Teenage frisbee
Jumpers
Junior dam building
Jumpers
And Sumo Wrestling for the adults.

Sea Life Surveys do trips daily for Whale watching and charter cruises from Tobermory.

Cuckoo

Suddenly, the brown vegetation of winter gives way to fresh life and colour.

The grass has sprung into action – coating our dusty fields in a cool green cloak. Orchids glow between the tussocks like purple jewels, and Thrift blooms in delicate clumps among the rocks.

Thrift in bloom close to Flat Rock – last night, an Otter crept up behind us as we watched the sunset there!

The slopes around our shore have a diffuse mauve coating. Though they have been slow to open this year, the sweet fragrance of Bluebells mingles pleasantly with the salty air. Wood anemones and Wood sorrel glitter like a carpet of stars under the trees, and tiny birds forage in the branches for insects to feed their young.

The first Bluebell of the year… it doesn’t look too perky in this picture, but they soon livened up!

Many summer migrants are back to breed: Whitethroat, Blackcap, Willow and Garden warblers drench the shady paths in song. Cuckoos in the Pheasent Wood provide a soothing bass, but are best seen in the fields near Lephin Cottage. Driving along the track yesterday, I saw at least four individuals either wobbling gamely on telephone wires, or watching intently from fence posts. Incredible to think that they’ve traveled all the way from Sub-Saharan Africa! Seeing these birds again reminded me just how intriguing they are…

One of my favourite migrants: the Spotted Flycatcher – photographed just opposite The Lodge. These charming birds flutter through the trees after insects.  

Cuckoos are sometimes villainized for their parasitic lifestyle, with many people accusing them of being “lazy” or “poor parents”. In fact, female cuckoos invest some considerable effort in securing good foster homes for their young.

Think about it: in order to judge at what time she must deposit her egg into a nest, the female cuckoo must watch her targets carefully. Birds have a set incubation period (usually about 12 – 14 days for a small species). If the cuckoo mistimes her approach, she risks the host chicks hatching before her own, and damaging or destroying her egg.

One of the Swallows nesting in the Castle – very difficult to photograph in flight?! 

In some instances female cuckoos are known to eat clutches that are too close to hatching, in order to force the host parents to start laying again so that she can add her egg in. Her strategy relies on her egg hatching first, so that the cuckoo chick can eject the host eggs and be the sole occupant of the nest. This all sounds horrible, but when you consider that a female cuckoo can parasitise up to 50 nests a year… she certainly has her work cut out keeping track of them all!

A female cuckoo will only parasitise nests belonging to the same species as her own foster parents. This seems to ensure that her egg looks similar the eggs of her prospective foster family. If her egg looks dissimilar to other eggs in the nest (for example, if the colour pattern is different) it will be rejected and destroyed.

Her plumage helps to temporarily scare away the adult birds as she approaches; even I have mistaken Cuckoos for Sparrowhawks on occasion! Her blue-grey back, long tail and barred chest have evolved because of the benefits they confer. It takes her around 10 seconds to remove one host egg and replace it with her own – a remarkably quick process. Interestingly, if another cuckoo has already parasitised the nest, she seems unable to differentiate between the host eggs and other interlopers.

One of Glengorm’s Irish [mountain] hares in its summer pelt. Note that they are smaller than Brown hares. 

Once the cuckoo chick hatches, it assumes a murderous squatting stance. Using a special cupped area on its naked back, it shoves the other unhatched eggs over the side of the nest with gritty determination. This done, it plops cheerfully back into the middle and looks forward to being the sole recipient of all food brought by the adults.

You might think that the cuckoo chick would struggle here, as they are often much bigger than the natural chicks of their hosts. How could a cuckoo possibly grow on the slim-line diet of a tiny Dunnock?

Well, with an enormous brightly coloured gape (the inside of the mouth – seen when chicks beg) and a plaintive call that mimics a whole nest-full of hungry babies, the foster parents are driven to provide enormous quantities of food. Though able to spot foreign eggs on occasion, the adult birds have no mechanism for identifying foreign chicks. So long as the cuckoo keeps begging, the caterpillars keep coming…

Cuckoos of various kinds are known to target approximately 100 species of bird worldwide – in Britain these are usually species like Dunnock, Meadow pipit and Reed warbler.  The genetic processes linked to the colour of each bird’s eggs are still unclear. Originally thought to be determined by the female genes alone, it is interesting that in over 90% of studied cases, the chosen host also turns out to be the same species that fostered the male cuckoo.

Sadly, cuckoos are declining badly. Whatever you might think of their morals, their trademark song is surely one of Britain’s most evocative sounds. The British trust for Ornithology – BTO – began a program of tracking cuckoo migration in 2011 to try and discover why mortality is so high. For information about the results so far, see:

http://www.bto.org/science/migration/tracking-studies/cuckoo-tracking/what-have-we-learnt

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward

Get to the Point

The beautiful weather of the last three weeks has finally broken.

Although the herby smell of warm, dry grass was delicious the smell of smoke rising from the resultant wildfires was much less so.

The distillery in Tobermory had to pause production because of the drought (a tragedy!) and Mull was officially – if briefly – the driest place in the country.

Rather than being the bright and verdant pasture for which Glengorm was named, the fields remain stunted and dull. This has been a bit of a worry for calving and lambing; things have been slow to start on the farm this year. However, if you visit us for a walk, you’ll see that the trickle is starting to swell to a flood. Little lambs are tottering after the ewes on over-sized feet, and within a week or two, I’m sure we’ll start to see gangs of them racing around and playing King of the Castle. This seems to be a universally enjoyed game for all lambs, in which they compete for a position on the highest piece of ground they can find (within shouting distance of mum, that is!)

The Skylarks and Meadow pipits are in full display mode; watch out for their lovely courtship flights as you walk through our fields. The Wheatears are back from their migration, and males can be seen singing boldly from prominent tussocks or boulders. The Hen harriers have been a bit quiet of late, so I can only assume that they are busy preparing to breed. Males have been seen “Skydancing” elsewhere on the island, so I’m keen to find out what our birds are up to. I did catch a very brief glimpse of a female yesterday, but she was off over the heather before I could see what she was doing.

In other news, Alex and I have re-homed a beautiful dog (if you were on the ferry last Sunday, you might have seen him!) “Big-George” as he is fondly known, seems to be settling in well. He’s a large black and white Pointer – perfect for keeping me company on those long upland walks. He was both well-loved and well looked after at his previous home, so we feel very privileged to have him.

Now, George is a bit of a foodie, so if you see him pottering around outside the Coffee Shop… you’d better watch your sarnies. There was a mildly embarrassing incident involving a wheelchair and a tuna sandwich in Oban, from which I have only just recovered. He also thinks my small parrot is a treat, and sits expectantly whenever Quito perches on my hand. Despite Quito’s desire to remain un-eaten, and George’s ambitions to the contrary, it really does feel like he’s completed our household.

I had secret hopes that George might engage in a bit of Pointing from time to time – we have lots of game species on Glengorm, and keeping track of them can be tricky. As it stands, the only thing George has pointed out so far was a particularly fetid deer carcass. Delighted with his find, he then embarked on a series of enthusiastic rolls. As far as George was concerned, I could keep my Grouse and Woodcock. He also eats deer-poo like Smarties, so if he offers you a kiss…

You might have heard about the Sperm Whale sighted in Oban Bay at Easter. This young male spent nearly nine days circling the harbour area – right where the ferries dock. He was estimated to be between 11-14 years of age, and roughly 11m in length. A group of these whales had been photographed off the coast of Sky shortly before his arrival, which was unusual enough in itself.

The Sperm Whale is the largest toothed animal on earth, and also the deepest-diving mammal species. They are usually found in waters reaching depths of several thousand meters. Here, they journey into yawning ocean trenches to feed on Giant squid and Octopus. They have the largest brain of any creature, living or extinct, and produce some of the loudest vocalizations known to science.

For this 20 tonne individual, Oban Bay – maximum depth 40m – must have been quite an experience. Save a few battered calamari rings from the local chippie, Oban isn’t famed for its abundant supply of Giant squid. People were both amazed and concerned.

For me, the whale might as well have arrived from outer space. Never in my wildest dreams had I hoped for a chance to see such an enigmatic creature. After two days of restlessly checking Twitter, I coughed up my seven-quid and galloped onto the ferry.

I kept imagining it – perhaps resting on the bottom. Feeling the warm fuel-oiled waters swilling around it. Hearing the apocalyptic thunder of CalMacs overhead. A frightened, alien presence in the bay.

I waited with other hopefuls on the pier. After about 30 minutes, a hump of greyish-black gently broke the surface, followed by a long stretch of crinkled skin. The look of it was odd: pinched but firm. It didn’t give the impression of being loose, but rather betrayed the powerful flexing muscles hidden underneath. This, of course, was the Sperm Whale’s distinctive flank. The dorsal fin was small and hardly more prominent than the breathing apparatus. The whale moved slowly, blowing out plumes of spent breath and water droplets as it circled the north section of the bay. 

I must admit, a sense of absolute dread filled me when I saw it. The curiosity and awe that had drawn me there was replaced with a kind of guilty sadness.  The photographs always seem to be the same: the whale lies stricken and canted on the shore. It is generally raining. Tiny people in jackets stand before it, desperate to help a creature they cannot understand but somehow feel connected to. As I made my way back to the ferry hours later I didn’t hold out much hope.

Nevertheless: the Oban Whale proved to be made of sterner stuff, and confounded the fairly gloomy expectations for its fate. After spending 9-days in the bay (and engaging in altercations with several boats), he left.

No drama, no big rescue operation – it literally just swam off. I couldn’t have been more pleased.

Stephanie Cope

Glengorm Wildlife Steward