Seal of Disapproval

The arrival of a harbour seal in Maidstone shows people want to connect with nature, but don’t know how.

Over the last week, something has been stirring the waters of the River Medway and emerging onto the slipways of Maidstone in Kent. And that something is a harbour seal, also known as a common seal. It entered the town’s section of the river at Allington lock, slipping over the sluice gate during a high tide on April 1st. As a result, early reports of its arrival were dismissed as a practical joke.

However, once captured on film, people accepted it was here. And since then, the canal and footpaths have been perpetually busy, as keen onlookers sought out a glimpse of their own.

After spending some time at Allington, the seal has moved up river and has been regularly seen around the Tovil area. This is one of the few places between Allington and East Farleigh locks where the animal can comfortably haul out and rest. If it gets the chance…but we’ll come to that later.

Pinnipeds (the official family name for seals, sea lions and walruses), have been in the news a lot lately. A young walrus has been spotted lounging on a lifeboat ramp in Pembrokeshire, after first touring remoter parts of the Irish coast. And tragically, another young harbour seal was attacked by a dog on the banks of the River Thames in London, resulting in the well-known animal having to be put to sleep.

It is ironic, that, despite having spent most of my week walking up to Allington and back, the seal is now regularly sleeping approximately 40 feet from my house. It has been amazing to see such a special animal and enjoy its antics. But, unfortunately, I have also been witnessing a complete lack of respect for the animal’s space and wellbeing from the general public. But again, we’ll come to that later.

Let’s get a few facts out of the way first though. A lot of people have raised concerns about the seal being “out of place”, along with worries about it being able to feed. More than one person has talked about trying to get the animal captured and returned to the estuary. I’d like to reassure anyone reading this that the animal is being monitored, and that the RSPCA and other organisations are aware. It is exhibiting completely natural behaviour, is currently in good condition, and is no doubt loving its currently private fishing arrangements. It is feeding well. Anglers also have no basis for claims it will devastate fish stocks – predators are better at managing their resources than we are. Compared to the stress the animal would endure being captured, I feel it is best left to its own devices (I know some disagree – and I don’t discount their concerns). But, it is likely that it will return down river when the opportunity presents itself. Seals also spend a great deal of time out of the water, sunbathing or resting. “Our” seal is doing the same, exhibiting the delightful banana shape pose when it does. And, although the seal has been christened ‘Bradley’, I’m pretty sure based on size and what I’ve seen of the belly that the animal is female.

Harbour seals have made their way into Maidstone before, having been spotted in 2020, 2019, and 2017. They are also seen much more regularly in the section of the Medway between Rochester and North Halling. There are established colonies in Sandwich and Pegwell Bay, The Swale, and a few other places along the Kent coast – including Deal. So, it’s not completely out of place – and we should be encouraged by the fact that our river is healthy enough to support such an impressive and powerful predator. Of course, seals are not usually found in rivers – and the sea is their natural habitat. But, it’s not unheard of if they are moulting or trying to rid themselves of parasites that favour salt water to venture into quieter, fresher haunts.

However, it has unfortunately become very clear that the general public do not know how to respectfully observe the seal. I have watched with dismay as people have trespassed onto private moorings and land to get as close as they can to the seal. One family stayed for nearly half an hour, and phoned their friends to come and join them. And more people than I can count have walked down the full length of a slip way to get within a few feet of the animal.

Our wildlife is amazing – and I get that this isn’t an everyday experience. But please can we show some common sense and respect around this animal?!

This is a wild animal – and it is therefore unpredictable. They are serious carnivores, with the weaponry to prove it. A bite from an animal that can grow to 1.85m and weight up to 160kg is no laughing matter. Although, if it did chomp a moronic Maidstoner who got too close, I for one would be smiling. It beggars belief the stupidity I have witnessed over the last few days, so please forgive the wishing of the munching of my fellow man.

Today was probably the worst, where the banks of the river were lined with onlookers on both sides. The slipway was also crowded, meaning the seal couldn’t haul out to rest. I’ve put up a polite notice trying to inform people about the animal and how to observe it from a distance, but it didn’t seem to have much impact today. So, here’s hoping an online rant will reach more ears.

I don’t want to spoil anyone’s fun, or stop anyone from experiencing our wildlife up close and personal. But, wild animals should not be approached. The seal can be seen perfectly well from Tovil bridge or the top of the slipway – which is dangerous and slippy at the best of times anyway. You do not need to be within biting distance, or even a few car lengths for a decent photo op.

Please also, do not gather in large numbers – 2 or 3 is more than enough to spook the seal and make it feel uncomfortable about getting out of the water, or to slip back in. If you are in a residential area or a mooring, please respect people’s property and private access. And don’t linger – it’s not fair on the seal, or on other people.

DO NOT FEED the seal. First off, it doesn’t need white bread anymore than we do (I saw this yesterday). And secondly, bad things happen when carnivores begin to associate people with food.

Finally, if you are walking your dog – keep it on a lead. Your dog is unlikely to have ever encountered a seal before, and how it reacts will be completely unpredictable. This is no judgement or reflection on how your dog behaves – just a precaution.

If you want to see the seal, why not bring binoculars (if you have them). You’ll get a much better, detailed view, and it will behave much more naturally. Just don’t get too close. And don’t harass the animal by trying to move along the path with it in the water. The best way to observe a seal in the water is to note which direction it is going and get ahead of it. Today, I watched the seal stick to the middle of the river and become hesitant due to so many people taking an interest in it.

If you are in a boat, a kayak, or a paddle boarder – again, please use your common sense, give the animal plenty of space, and don’t linger too long.

The good thing is, seals are naturally curious and this particular one does seem tolerant and relatively relaxed. But let’s not abuse that. Please show some respect, and please don’t get too close.

World Mental Health Day 2020

Today is World Mental Health Day, and if there was ever a year that focus on mental health was needed, 2020 is it! I mean, if a year could resign, 2020 should have decided to spend more time with its family back in August and handed the reins to 2021 to allow for a good run up to Christmas. That would have been the decent thing to do.

But, joking aside, 2020 has been an incredibly tough year on many. For some, it proved too much. Male suicide has reached a two-decade high. The most recent figures indicate that suicide accounts for 11 deaths per 100,000. The current Covid-19 figures (which are based on two-week intervals, rather than the full year) are 1 per 100,000. Whereas Covid-19 might take the title overall when finally compared year on year, suicide was the leading cause of death in men up until August. It’s also the second leading cause of death worldwide in 15-29-year olds, regardless of gender. And, although suicide isn’t a male-only problem, over ¾ of suicides are male. 

Globally, a suicide takes place every 40 seconds. And for every adult suicide, it is estimated more than 20 others will have been attempted. The problem is very real, and very severe. And it’s just one of the reasons we should take mental health as seriously, if not more seriously, than Covid-19 or any other life-threatening illness. Because that’s what it is. One in four people suffer from mental health issues, making it one of the leading causes of illness and disability worldwide. It requires our attention, our understanding, and our action.

2020 has seen our lives impacted and changed in unprecedented ways, and for a significantly extended period of time, due to Covid-19. There are restrictions on how many people we see and spend time with. Marriages, funerals, birthdays and many other gatherings have either been postponed or compromised. Jobs have been lost, reduced, or put on hold as we wait for it all to be over. And holidays abroad and a true time out have become wishful thinking for most of us.

Even simple hugs (which are hugely important by the way – a 20 second hug can lower blood pressure, slow your heart rate, and improve your mood by releasing oxytocin; they can even reduce the risk of heart disease!), are under scrutiny. My advice – keep hugging your select few, just turn your head when you do so and be sensible. I’m a big hugger, and I’m really missing the physical contact. It’s another factor that is really important in safeguarding mental health that we are being denied, or having to restrict.

We need to keep this and other aspects in mind when trying to understand why this year is harder on us than we might think. Constantly being exposed to bad news, or to reduce it to its bare components – trauma, takes a huge toll on our mental health. Our body naturally responds to trauma by preparing us for “flight, fight, or freeze” activity by stimulating the adrenal glands. Under normal circumstances, we then go into a recovery period as our body chemistry goes back to normal. But, if our bodies are undergoing this process far more frequently, we risk interrupting that recovery, and our adrenal glands become fatigued.

Symptoms of adrenal fatigue include feeling tired in the morning, a lack of restful sleep, anxiety and depression. Further physical manifestations include headaches, muscle tension, and stomach problems.

If this all sounds familiar, don’t be surprised. Many of us have been struggling with the constant barrage of bad news, confusing guidelines, and uncertainty. If the goal is to stay calm and stable, it has been made extremely difficult for us. This is month seven, and we’re potentially looking at another five to go, through what is often a challenging time of year for many.

Seasonal Affective Disorder, or “winter depression” as it is also known, is something we should all be aware of. This is partly because I believe that this “season” of prolonged difficulty imposed on us by Covid-19 is producing very similar symptoms in many. Seasonal Affective Disorder is brought on by the changes in daylight hours, drops in temperature, and the “closing down” of nature around us. But I think many of us could draw parallels with what we’ve experienced in 2020. There have been some really dark days for us. We have felt isolated, just as we do on rainy days. And as the news has regularly told us, our natural world is under threat at unprecedented levels.

Incidentally, symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder include a persistent low mood; a loss of pleasure or interest in normal, everyday activities; irritability; feelings of despair, guilt, and worthlessness; feeling lethargic, finding it hard to sleep – or sleeping longer than usual; and craving carbs and gaining weight. Again, I think many will find these side-effects familiar.

I have battled depression on and off since my early twenties. Anxiety dropped into the mix a few years ago, but seems less of an issue for me recently. I’m aware of the changes in my personality – I’ve basically gone from being the life of the party, and a very confident “Paul the Wine Guy” type to someone much more considered. I still have some of my extrovert characteristics, but also some more introverted behaviours. I’m officially an “ambivert”, and I’m okay with that. And, of course, it’s not just depression that has led to that. Age is a factor, as is perspective and outlook. I only mention these things because I spent a long time in my recovery wanting to be “the old me”, but it’s important to realise, and be comfortable with the fact that’s no longer who I am. Looking forward rather than back is much more beneficial.

The toll on my mental health has been taken by many things. I’ve experienced bullying as both a child and adult. I’ve worked in highly toxic work environments. I’ve lost friends and family. I’ve had bad days and things just haven’t worked out. The breaking point in each of us is different, and it resets each time we find it. When you are struggling, it’s important to understand that nothing you are facing is little or insignificant. Just cutting your fingernails and washing your hair can take as much preparation and effort as climbing Mount Everest. The important thing is to acknowledge that it, whatever it is, is challenging for us. 

I’ve worked hard in 2020 to not let my depression get a serious grip, and in the words of Steve McQueen in The Magnificent Seven, “so far, so good”. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been impacted, or had an easy time of it. But I have managed to stave off a prolonged period of depression. I’m going to share what has worked for me, but, if you are struggling with feelings of depression, anxiety, angst, or fatigue, please remember that it is okay to not be okay. There is no cure all, and how you feel is valid to you. The important thing is to own those feelings and be open about them. Talk to someone – your GP, or a charity like MIND or The Samaritans, might be easier than friends and family to start. But I would encourage you to seek advice and help. And, if you are okay – take the time to check on someone you think might not be. That’s what awareness days like World Mental Health day are all about.

It’s probably important to note a 2020-specific trend that we need to dismiss. We’ve probably all been aware of friends or those we follow who have used this period to build a new business, smash an exercise goal, start a new hobby, or create incredible art in whatever form that may be. Treating a global pandemic and lockdown like a productivity or creativity contest is a first-world problem you have my full permission to kick in to touch. Just getting through is enough.

For me, my connection to the natural world has been vital in keeping me grounded. In March, when daily exercise became rationed, I started taking walks. I discovered a local woodland, and two nearby nature reserves I didn’t know were there. I also became much more familiar with my area, finding trails, alleys, and footpaths that often linked up. I love wildlife, and spent Spring getting to know some of my wild neighbours – grey wagtails, kingfishers, geese, ducks and swans on the river, and a flurry of furry and not so furry critters elsewhere. Spending time in nature and green spaces has been shown to reduce feelings of stress and anger, help people feel more relaxed, and improve physical health. Being in natural light also has been shown to combat mild to severe depression, as well as Seasonal Affective Disorder. In fact, spending time in nature as a way of coping with mental health issues has an official title – ecotherapy. So, I would strongly recommend a course of regular ecotherapy if you are finding things difficult.

Exercise is also an important aspect of battling mental health issues. But, its role and its impact have been abused by personal trainers and gyms. The thought of strenuous exercise to anyone suffering from depression or anxiety has the same impact as doing strenuous exercise – it is stressful, difficult, causes huge self-doubt, and generally delivers none of the benefits we want to see. We need to take baby steps, and we need to get genuine joy from what we are doing.

For instance, it has taken three “Couch to 5K” courses, two seasons of running, and two fairly severe periods of injury for me to realise that I don’t enjoy running. Those endorphins everyone talks about don’t ever seem to kick in, no matter how fast or far I go. But, they do kick in when I take a long hike with a good ascent or two, and I really enjoy them. The same goes for bouldering, trail biking, kayaking, and (wild) swimming. Walking is exercise, and so are lots of things that are free or low cost. You don’t have to be a pro athlete or set goals that will kill you, or your mood. You just need to find something you enjoy doing and can do regularly.

My third piece of advice is to find an outlet, a way of expressing how you feel and working it through. For me, it’s writing. I journal daily at the moment, and use the time to reflect on where I am, how I’m feeling, what I’ve had to face the day before, and so forth. I tend to do this first thing whilst I’m still in my PJs. For you, it could be dancing, or painting, or a regular call and coffee with a friend. Whatever it is, find it and do it.

There are lots of other things you can do. A break from social media or putting limits on screen time can be huge. Reading an actual book (Bird Therapy by Joe Harkness covers many of the things I’ve mentioned today), is also something I find very soothing. Again, charities like MIND and your local GP will have lots of information they can make available to you.

I hope that you are coping and well this World Mental Health Day, and that if not, knowing that you are not alone in the fight will encourage you to get through another day and reach out. I promise help will come if you seek it out. For all of us, keeping going is more important than ever – so do just that!

Wild June

A few months ago, I found myself reading Simon Barnes’ “On the Marsh”. This lovely book tells how Simon and his family connected to a piece of marshland they purchased and took on to manage together. One of the activities he takes part in with his son, Eddie – who has Downs Syndrome – is “Wild June”. Wild June is organised by the Wildlife Trusts, and challenges participants to do something wild each day throughout the month. The book, just as Wild June aims to be, is about getting closer to the natural wonders on our doorstep, and discovering the power of nature to transform us all.

The impact of the covid-19 pandemic has been felt by us all. It has left tragedy, despair, grief, anger, and an uncertain future in its wake. And it’s not over yet. Like many, the restriction of an hour’s daily exercise in my local area became a lifeline. I was furloughed from my day job, and as someone who has suffered from depression in the past, I was very aware of the potential threat to my mental health. Luckily, just as it has been for so many of us, nature was there for me. From discovering a beautiful patch of woodland close to my home, to the dawn chorus and a multitude of new life in the hedgerows and skies, I had a daily escape into a world filled with life, wonder, and beauty. With an entire month of potential blues-beating benefits beckoning, I couldn’t wait to take part in my first Wild June.

As it approached, I downloaded the free pack from the Wildlife Trusts’ website. It included a print-out calendar and a workbook of suggestions; most of which were quickly dismissed and replaced with more ambitious plans of my own. And, some were a little tamer, just for balance!

Today is day 26 of Wild June, and it’s also National Writing Day, so a blog summing up the experience and what has meant the most to me seemed very fitting. You can find everything I’ve got up to on my Instagram account. But, here’s some highlights and reflections for now.

I was a few days in when I dusted off my expensive box of charcoals and colouring pencils and attempted to draw one of my favourite birds – a black redstart. I’m not sure how long I spent – first softly creating the outline, then adding some detail, and finally smudging eagerly – but by the end, something incredible had happened. The time I had spent concentrating on the shape of the slender, sharp-tipped beak of an insectivore had helped me understand this bird better. Its svelte, curved wings gave the fast flight it needed to snatch midges from the air. And those volcanic-coloured tail feathers and gradated black chest reminded me of the striking male I had seen in a coastal Spanish woodland many years ago – and to this date remains my one sighting of this stunner in the wild.

In short, this free-of-charge activity had freed me of all pandemic-related pessimism and panic. I had become reacquainted with a hobby I used to love, and from the confines of my desk, had re-visited Spain. My mind was cleared and calm. And this was to become a recurring theme. A greater and better narrative on how connecting with nature can positively impact mental health is Bird Therapy, by Joe Harkness – a wild read that has also been part of my Wild June journey.

A simple experience that delivered actual and immediate connection, was grounding. This is the easy-to-do activity of walking barefoot. For this, I chose Marden Meadow, a local Kent Wildlife Trust reserve that represents one of the finest, unimproved hay meadows in the country – sporting rare orchids and a medley of other wild flowers as a result. I walked the perimeter of all three meadows sans shoes, and I’m not kidding when I say it was euphoric. I felt invigorated. I could feel the warmth of the earth, the caress of the grass, and gentle vibrations that a few millimetres of rubber of leather would have cancelled out. Some of the instant physiological benefits grounding can deliver include sleeping better, pain relief, and decreased muscle tension. But my visit also reminded that you never know what you’ll encounter when spending time in nature. As I headed back through the meadow, I was treated to a splendid male yellowhammer singing its signature song of “a little bit of bread and no cheese”. This in turn reminded me of early, self-taught lessons in birdsong, and the habit of adding lyrics and using mnemonics to remember them. Favourites include “please, please, please to meet’cha” – of the chestnut-sided warbler (which I’m unlikely to encounter in the UK); the aforementioned yellowhammer; and the brilliant “who me? I’m Cetti, and if you don’t like it, f**k off”, invented by Simon Barnes for the Cetti’s warbler.

It was another case of not merely connection – but reconnection. Something I used to do and enjoy, but had perhaps lost the knack as adulting took over. But I think it’s more than that. Nature is something that we all used to be familiar with, and know well. And, as I read news stories and social media posts about how nature has brought comfort to many in lockdown, I think this is being experienced on a wider (or wilder) scale. We are being reminded that we used to be closer to our wild neighbours – and that the harmony we enjoyed was good for us.

But sadly, the song of the yellowhammer is, for the main part, missing from our fields these days. But, more positively, although you never know what you’re going to get with nature – you will always get something.

Yesterday was one of the hottest days recorded in June, and it made for a great day to rekindle another lost love – wild swimming! For this activity, I picked England’s smallest town – Fordwich, and the beautiful, crystal clear waters of the River Stour. Right now, just 24 hours later, it might be the best thing I’ve done so far. Plunging into the water after a short, running jump from the footpath, brought instant relief to the sweltering heat. And I immediately entered a different world. One of swaying river grass, and alarmed yet curious bands of roach – silver-sided fish whose scales glistened in the sun in sharp contrast to their jet-black fins and tails. I also glimpsed the tiger stripes of a solitary, predatory perch deeper down. But also, it pushed me to be adventurous. The current of the Stour is strong, and demands confidence. Following it, underneath the bridge and into unknown territory, demanded courage. But, I found it – and floated effortlessly downstream to eventually haul myself out at the local canoe club, leaving a dripping, yet satisfying walk back along the river, and eventually to the car. A change of t-shirt, and a towel on the driving seat spared me a full change somewhere along the way. It was only a 500-metre swim, but I felt like I’d conquered Mount Everest.

There are still a few days of Wild June to go, and I have rock-pooling, pond-dipping, and finding a reptile to look forward to. But also, with the arrival of “365 Days Wild” by Lucy McRobert, I will also end my month with a pledge to fill my year with even more wild connection, activism, conservation, and adventure. For the last three months, nature really has been there for so many of us. It has brought us unrelenting comfort, joy, and escape in unprecedented and difficult times. As a sense of normality begins to creep back into our lives, let’s try to remember to return the favour. Nature needs us. In the last few days, over 41 tonnes of rubbish has been removed from Bournemouth beach. Imagine how much plastic – including faeces-filled fast food containers, made it into the ocean. Before we rush back to normal, let’s use this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to consider what is worth rushing back to…what’s important to us when things really get bad…and what’s important for our future, and the future of the planet.

A letter to the future.

I have been taking part in a #instaearthchallenge – and Day 7 is to write a letter. Mine is to our future selves.

Dear self and others.

There will come a time soon, when the sky will not be so blue. The sound of birdsong will be drowned out by engines and industry. The waters will not be so clear. And the fumes will begin to fog the atmosphere again.

The world is reflecting. And for the first time in our lifetime, the most sophisticated, advanced, educated human society there has ever been is realising there are consequences to our actions. We will never have this opportunity again. The time to make a stand, to make changes….is now.

First, you need to realise something important. This isn’t our planet. We don’t own it. It’s a shared living space. And we share it with others. Other people. Other animals. Other living things. We’re not the most numerous species on the planet. We’re not the strongest. We claim to be the most intelligent, but the evidence is to the contrary. Offended by that? Let’s back the claim up.

We need oxygen to survive – and around 70% of the oxygen in the atmosphere is produced by marine plants. Yet we’ve dumped five trillion pieces of plastic waste into this environment. As for trees, another oxygen producing life form – we destroy 7 million hectares of forest each year. Covid-19 has frightened everyone with the thought of our respiratory systems being compromised and not being able to breathe. My advice, maybe get used to it.

We create 1.3 billion tonnes of food waste each year, whilst 815 million people face starvation. We allow corporations to decree in court that access to running water isn’t a basic human right. And we allow other corporations to get away with poisoning and polluting it. 82% of our global wealth is controlled by 1% of the population, whilst 10% of us live in poverty. We’ve barely touched the surface of the contradictory, self-destructive nature we are showing as a species.

During these difficult times, we are being given the opportunity to make some changes. We all laughed at the meme that said climate change needed Covid-19’s publicist. We thought that the cartoon saying “if trees produced WiFi instead of just the oxygen we breathed, we’d save them all”, was clever. Before, our rush to get back to consumerism and consumption would have distracted us. But now, we have no excuse not to pay attention.

We’re learning what we can do without – big offices, corporate lifestyles, junk food, unnecessary travel to name but a few. We’re learning what we can make do with – getting creative in the kitchen with leftovers, fewer shopping trips. Less, it turns out, really is more. And we’re learning what we need – to rest, to go slower, to experience nature. To hug each other. To tell someone you love them in case you don’t get another chance.

We’re also learning to rely on smaller, more local producers. As supermarkets struggle, many have discovered the artisan producers in their communities. We’ve balked at the prices before now. But maybe it’s time to ask if the average price of milk – 49p per litre – is fair to real farmers. Maybe it’s time to do away with a culture that mass produces and takes advantage of their buying power. Industries that tear calves away from mothers, or produce chickens that can’t walk and will die if exposed to sunlight. The contrary statements are endless. We claim to be a nation of animal lovers: yet we kill greyhounds that can’t run, still allow eggs to come from caged hens, hunt numerous species with dogs, and allow fur from starving, often diseased and injured animals to be sold as a luxury.

We are blind to corruption. We champion bullies. We trade ethics, pride, and principles for consumerism and convenience. We’ve become numb to it.

There are 1001 issues. But only one answer. Change. And they don’t have to big big. Everything I’m going to suggest gets big results with relatively small and easy changes.

Going meat-free one day a week will save water and energy resources. Reducing food miles by going to a farm shop will give you greener food that tastes better, and when it comes to meat, has been cared for much more ethically. Treat meat…like a treat! And the same with dairy too.

We’ve now gone an extensive period without relying on our cars as much. Let’s continue to do that. Working from home has huge benefits for our productivity and mental health – but also for the environment. Let’s do it when we can. And walk or cycle more.

Re-use and recycle. Avoid plastic-wrapped food, don’t use single-use plastic bags, and use your own lunch and water containers. Simples. Put food scraps out for birds and wildlife – or better, start composting. Spend more time in the garden, and again, get the dual benefit of improved mental health. Borrow or fix rather than buy. Make do and mend is back in fashion!

Sign petitions. Tell our leaders “not in our name”. Use social media for good. Give to charities, not to corporations. And let’s remember that just a month or so ago, we rallied behind the thought “be kind”. Let’s keep that going rather than going back to normal.

The Taking of Takaya.

 

In a world and time where connection with the wild and freedom is being coveted more than ever, the loss of something that symbolised that, hurts our hearts and souls in a way we may not have understood just mere weeks ago. This is the story of Takaya, a wolf that was taken from us this week by fear and indifference.

It makes sense. After all, the wolf is an animal we have been taught to fear. It stalks our fairy stories, gobbling up grandmother. It is the epitome of horror, representing the basal, animalistic predator in man as the lycanthrope – or werewolf. And, it is the scapegoat. The often named but rarely proven killer of livestock, pets, and the game that hunters would rather have to themselves.

The truth is somewhat different. The wolf is a highly sociable animal, forming complex relationships in family packs. They are curious and intelligent. They are protective of their families, and they play a vital role in enabling ecosystems to flourish. And, they are the animal that eons ago chose to come close to our fires and form an alliance. They protected us from the real threats that were out there in the dark. But unfortunately, as Takaya’s tale proves, they could never protect us from our own nature.

In 2012, the city of Victoria in British Columbia gained a new, albeit temporary resident. A large, shaggy, bluish grey wolf with burning yellow eyes padded through the back yards and lots. He was seen by a few, startling them as he in turn observed them casually. Animals and livestock often drew attention to his presence, their agitation stirred by instinct. But, he passed through peacefully, as this this was not his home. Somewhere along the coast, the lone wolf slipped into the cold waters and he began to swim. He next appeared on a tiny strip of islands over two miles out – a land that he would claim as his own over the next eight years.

The islands were an important place to the local First Nation communities. It was where they had gathered medicines and food for centuries. The Songhees named the newcomer “Takaya”, – a Lekwungen word for wolf. But, the residents of Victoria were reminded of their wild neighbour from time to time, when his howls reached them in calm weather.

Takaya was different. He was a coastal or “sea wolf” – a very rare animal and one that we are only beginning to understand. It is thought by some specialists that we are witnessing the potential evolution of this particular canine into a true marine mammal. Some of Takaya’s behaviour would support that. He hunted seals, otters, and mink, and fished for salmon rather than typical wolf prey he may have found in the island forests – such as rodents or deer. Despite being a lone animal, he often howled – which elsewhere would have drawn his attention to rival packs. And, he showed incredible ingenuity. During the dry summers, he would dig wells for fresh water for instance. He pushed our understanding of wolves beyond what was traditionally accepted.

Whether it was his calm curiosity around people, or how he took on these huge challenges alone – many began to identify with Takaya and felt drawn to him. Small flotillas would venture out to the islands hoping to gain a glimpse of him. One conservationist in particular became especially close to him, eventually making a documentary that aired in Canada and on the BBC. At one point, she found herself sitting within three feet of him, after gaining Songhee permission, and Takaya’s trust as she roamed his island home.

Others weren’t quite so respectful or appreciative of culture or nature. In 2016, a group ignored the explicit exemption on bringing pets to the islands. They panicked when their two dogs were joined by a third canine. They holed up and called the coastguard, who were dispatched and were equipped with rifles to take a fatal shot if required.

Takaya, who showed no aggression during the incident, was under the threat of death because a small group of BC residents didn’t think the rules applied to them. No fines were issued, and nobody would have thought of shooting their dogs for being somewhere they shouldn’t (try that with a farmer, I urge you). But the wolf was immediately designated a danger. In fact, authorities feared his popularity and reputation made an aggressive encounter almost inevitable. Baited traps were set, and he avoided them, sticking to his seafood diet instead. And, in response, the Songhee Nation strongly opposed the wolf’s threatened relocation. The sea wolf was inherently important to their culture, and its return was welcome and significant. The archipelago remained his home.

In late January of this year though, something went wrong. We don’t know why, but Takaya left the islands. Some cite he was looking for a mate. Others food. But neither of these claims make sense. Takaya was nearly eleven years old, and if the search for a female hadn’t led him off the islands in the last eight years, it was unlikely to have done so now. As for food, the last trail cam photos of him revealed a healthy, alert animal that seemed happy in his environment. In the end, it was likely a freak current, or the presence of reported poachers shooting winter wildfowl that may have set things in motion.

Whatever drove Takaya away led him back to Victoria. And just as eight years before, his presence didn’t go unnoticed. Panicked calls for action quickly erupted. And this time, he was caught. Those that knew him, like the Songhee who had granted him sanctuary, or Cheryl Alexander who had made the documentary, were not allowed near him, nor a say in his relocation. Instead, the British Columbia Conservation Service decided to move him over a hundred miles inland, to a forest.

Nothing here would have been familiar to Takaya. He would have been truly vulnerable to any wolf pack in the area. He would have had little or no experience in hunting the prey species in the forest. So, it is probably no surprise that he began to be seen by those who he had always shown a curiosity and trust for – people. A dog walker encountered Takaya and reported it, making it clear that he showed no interest and certainly no aggression towards her dog.

Then, on Tuesday of this week, Takaya approached a hunter and his dogs. Alarmed by his presence, the hunter shot him. And just like that, this symbol of the wild, of freedom, of overcoming the odds…was gone.

As I write this, I cannot visit the wild places that I long for due to the covid-19 pandemic. Government recommendations here in the UK recommend I only leave the house for one form of exercise a day, or for essential food and medicines. My passion for wildlife and being outside has been put on hold for the sake of others. So, whereas I realise this hunter would have had no idea of the importance of the animal he was shooting, I am pained by the fact that he was out at all, pursuing a hobby, when maybe he could or even should have, stayed at home that day. I know naturalists in British Columbia taking the same precautions, so this isn’t out of context.

The irony is, that hunter longed for the outdoors. They felt the need to be outside, in the open air, in the wild, in nature. It was so important to them that they ignored what many others are doing and practicing battling the pandemic. But, ultimately, they also decided that longing and right did not extend to the wild animal they encountered that symbolised all of those things.

The small archipelago that Takaya called home has lost their king. His absence is felt there as well as by those who connected to the wild again through him. Why the British Columbia Conservation Service decided not to return Takaya to his domain, and instead transported a sea wolf to an inland forest is not clear. Rather than see if his venture into Victoria was a one-off, I suspect human fear of the big bad wolf dictated events, from his relocation to his death.

What I see is a wolf that, for whatever reason, connected with humans more than his own kind. Some of us recognised that in him. Others saw the villain of the fairy tale. He encountered humans who were no threat to him, and he had no reason to suspect others would be different. Takaya placed a distant trust in us. His behaviour around those with dogs, both on his own island and in his relocation, show tolerance and acceptance, if not indifference. Takaya represented a turn in the road for a species, one we hardly know and have so much to discover about. The opportunity to observe the emergence of something new, to experience evolution, is rare – as rare as a sea wolf. And I am beginning to question if we have earned the privilege to do so.

Yet again, it seems our absence, rather than our presence, is what nature requires. Ultimately, we, the so-called noble savage, the heralded pinnacle of evolution, has not yet learned to trust the wolf or let go of our most primal fears, even when the wolf at our door has.

The Boy and the Gorilla

Harambe, a western lowland gorilla and resident of the Cincinnati Zoological and Botanical Gardens, was shot and killed on Saturday after a four year old boy entered his enclosure. Disturbing video footage has been in circulation and eye witness accounts are varied. Exactly what happened in the final few minutes are only known by the first responders, who by then had cleared the exhibit.

Harambe was born in captivity and raised by Jerry Stones of the Gladys Porter zoo in Texas. Jerry has since described the gorilla as a “sharp character” who was “very, very intelligent”. Harambe was moved to Cincinnati from Texas in 2014 as part of a breeding programme. He had just turned 17 on May 27th.

I am going to try and comment objectively and without bias, but it is hard not to feel the same anger and outrage many have already expressed through social media.

First, let’s look at how a small child was able to enter the enclosure of what Cincinnati Zoological and Botanical Gardens has since categorised as a dangerous animal. Of course, it shouldn’t be easy, nor should we kid ourselves that it was. First, signs prohibiting going any further, as well as the directions of parents and other adults need to be completely and utterly ignored, as does common sense. Secondly, you need to put enough space between you and a responsible adult so that you cannot be caught or retrieved before you scale a significant barrier, explore the foliage and plunge fifteen feet into a moat in order, to quote the boy, “play with the gorillas in the water”.

Several eyewitnesses have now come forward to describe how the child highly vocalised his intentions, as well as the half-hearted, distracted response of his mother. Perhaps they, like we, could hardly believe he would attempt it.

What I’m trying to say is, this wasn’t an accident. He didn’t just haphazardly trip and blunder into the enclosure. This was a pre-meditated action by a determined child, and that shouldn’t be underestimated. Nothing was going to stop him getting into the water, and apparently nothing did, least of all his parents. He ended up being exactly where he had intended to be, and had the time and freedom he needed to pull it off.

And just in case it needs to be pointed out, zoo enclosures and compounds are typically designed to prevent the escape of the animals, for the safety of visitors. To a certain extent, it is presumed you will not try to get in with them. As was proven recently by a man who attempted suicide by entering the lion enclosure of a zoo in Chile, it is possible to enter even the most secure enclosures of the most dangerous animals if you have the will and desire. We are after all an intelligent, problem-solving primate.

Harambe’s response to the new arrival in his territory cannot be described as easy to watch. His first reaction seems to be one of investigation, even guarding the boy it seems at first. He approaches on all fours and touches the boy, relatively gently. It is at this point that shouts and screams erupt from a large group of watching zoo guests directly above. Harambe grabs the boy by the ankle, and drags him through the foot-deep water of the moat with a speed that is alarming and frightening. He then stops further along, unfolds the crumpled legs of the boy and, it has to be said, very gently helps him up whilst supporting him from underneath. Harambe exhibits a sense of curiosity as he shows interest in the boy’s clothing as well.

Nothing about Harambe’s behaviour suggests aggression. He remains on all fours, does not vocalise or show his teeth, doesn’t beat his chest and when he does touch the boy with his hands, he is extremely gentle. At 450lbs, and with the strength of approximately twenty average human beings, the devastation this animal is capable of wasn’t even hinted at. The dragging of the boy through the water does look violent, but I believe it has purpose. He moves the boy away from the perceived threat of the highly vocal (and therefore from a primate’s point of view aggressive) people watching.

The screams are very similar to a typical primate call of excitement and aggression. Harambe’s response on each occasion the screams reach fever pitch is to again grab the boy and drag him further along the moat, away from the noise and disturbance. He again helps the boy stand, and appears to gently touch him with the back of his knuckles.

All we know is that shortly after that the exhibit was cleared, and the zoo’s Dangerous Animal Response Team and the Cincinnati Fire Department entered the enclosure, and the decision to shoot Harambe was made. Apparently the boy was sitting between the gorilla’s legs when the shot was taken.

It should be stated that the boy suffered only minor injuries (he fell fifteen feet into a moat as I may have mentioned), and was treated at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Centre before being discharged. He is reported to be doing fine.

Thane Maynard, Director of the Cincinnati Zoological & Botanical gardens, declared the shooting necessary, but he himself points out that the gorilla was not attacking the boy. The decision to kill was based on the potential for the situation to go, as Maynard stated, “very, very bad.”

But notice nobody from the primate department, or even the zoo’s gorilla specialist was called upon in the time of need. The main reason for this is simple, they don’t really have one. When you’re job is cleaning up, delivering food and interacting with visitors, what you really are is a theme park attendant. The attractions just happen to be animals. Very few experts in animal behaviour can be found working in zoos unfortunately. It just isn’t their natural habitat.

As many people have already recalled, a similar incident in Jersey ended very differently in 1986. I would ask people to compare the body language and facial expressions of Jambo as he guarded Levan Merrit to what you first see in the footage above with Harambe. It starts off almost identical.

For me, the difference lies in the hysteria of the crowd and the culture of fear that America harbours. In a country where primary school ‘gun drills’ are the norm, where small children take cover and hide underneath kevlar blankets coloured red to hide the potential blood, the induced fear of what ‘might’ happen is an all too powerful emotive force. No zoo keeper or paramedic was ever going to enter that enclosure because fear told them what would happen. Harambe could only be seen as a threat from there on in, and that meant only one course of action was ever going to be considered.

Many have suggested tranquillising should have been considered. Unfortunately in reality, it takes several long minutes for the drugs to take affect and Harambe had already been harangued into an agitated state. Harambe’s likely response to being tranquillised was unpredictable at best. I personally though don’t understand why it couldn’t have been attempted, with the backup of the ‘kill’ shot as a protective measure.

The issue there again though is the potential of the situation. From a PR point of view, the lesser of the two evils is to kill the gorilla rather than have the gorilla kill the boy in a botched attempt to tranquillise the animal. At some point, damage control likely became an overwhelming influence on the decision.

From King Kong to Caesar, and in the tales of Tarzan and even at the basis of ‘the killer ape’ theory of evolution, we have always feared the primal nature and power of primates. Interestingly enough, at least in terms of evolution, it is much more likely that fear was the driving factor that ensured our survival. It certainly seems to have been the case here.

 

 

 

Tilikum’s Troubles

Tilikum has been the subject of posts on this blog before, but this one, apart from the perhaps inevitable yet to come conclusion, is the saddest. It has been announced that the world’s most notorious killer whale has been diagnosed with an untreatable and likely fatal bacterial infection in his lungs.

Sea World made the announcement on Tuesday, describing his deteriorating health and increasing lethargy. “It has been our duty and passion to make sure we give him the utmost care we possibly can,” said Daniel Richardville, Animal Training Supervisor.

In the past, that duty and passion has included the controversial and secretive practice of regular pulpotomy treatments on the whales, the drilling and boring of teeth without an anaesthetic. Male killer whales in captivity are prone to tooth breakage from frustration and dominance behaviour where they bite the steel gates separating them. The make-shift root canals and thrice daily bacterial flushes that follow are a result of the utmost care the whale’s are clearly afforded.

“The whales are conditioned to “accept” the noise, heat, vibration and obvious pain associated with drilling vertically through the tooth column and into the fleshy pulp below. Success is measured by blood spilling out of the hole, in which case it’s apparent the bore is complete.”  – Former SeaWorld trainer.

It’s worth mentioning that in February 2010, at the time he was associated with the death of trainer Dawn Brancheau, Tilikum was also ill then too, being treated with antibiotics and anti-fungal drugs for an undisclosed inflammatory issue.

In the documentary Blackfish, Ken Balcomb of the Center for Whale Research suggests that Tilikum’s time in captivity has also had a seriously detrimental impact on the whale’s mental health. He sees the bullying Tilikum experienced as a young animal and the isolation forced on him due to his size being the key components to what he describes as the orca’s psychosis. It is clear that captivity and Tilikum’s health have been far from compatible.

Tilikum is estimated to be 35 years of age. Whilst this is roughly within the top end of the spectrum for male orca in terms of life expectancy, they can live as long as 60 or 70 years. But no whale in captivity has ever gotten close to that.

Born wild and in Icelandic waters, Tilikum has been captive for the vast majority of his life. He is famous not only for being the largest orca in captivity, but also for being associated with the death of three people, two of whom were trainers.

Following the documentary Blackfish, Tilikum became the poster-whale for the anti-captivity lobby. It is utterly tragic that despite calls for his retirement to a sea-pen, and the announcement that the killer whale shows Sea World is famous for will come to an end in late 2016, Tilikum is unlikely to see either come to pass. He will likely die alone, in a Sea World medical pool.

If he does so, he will join the 62 others as reported by The Dodo in June 2014 to have died in Sea World’s care. Three whales died at Sea World San Diego in 2015 alone. So lets call it 65. Tragically, despite that all important duty and passion to their care, no whale at Sea World has ever died of old age.

It looks like Tilikum’s troubled life may soon be coming to an end. But for the Sea Circus, even six years after the death of Dawn Brancheau and three years after Blackfish, it seems that the real trouble will come in the wake of their largest whale, and the anti-captivity lobby’s greatest martyr.

Westlin’ Winds

In celebration of Burns Night, I’m sharing one of my favourite of his poems, Westlin’ Winds. It never fails to whisk me away to the Highlands when I read it, and it is full of references to Scottish wildlife and landscape – if you know what to look for! A gorcock is a male red or black grouse, a paitrick is the partridge, the hern is a heron and cushat is a dove or pigeon.

Now westlin’ winds and slaught’ring guns
Bring autumn’s pleasant weather
The gorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heather
Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain
Delights the weary farmer
The moon shines bright, as I rove by night
To muse upon my charmer

The paitrick lo’es the fruitfu’ fells
The plover lo’es the mountains
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells
The soaring hern the fountains
Through lofty groves the cushat roves
The path o’ man to shun it
The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush
The spreading thorn the linnet

Thus every kind their pleasure find
The savage and the tender
Some social join, and leagues combine
Some solitary wander
Avaunt, away, the cruel sway
Tyrannic man’s dominion!
The sportsman’s joy, the murdering cry
The fluttering gory pinion!

But, Peggy dear, the evening’s clear
Thick flies the skimming swallow
The sky is blue, the fields in view
All fading green and yellow
Come let us stray our gladsome way
And view the joys of nature
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
And ilka happy creature

We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk
While the silent moon shines clearly
I’ll clasp thy waist, and, fondly prest
Swear how I love thee dearly
Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs
Not autumn to the farmer
So dear can be as thou to me
My fair my lovely charmer

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,100 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 18 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

If A Tree Falls

My Saturday morning started with the ear-splitting rip of a chainsaw and a dull thud. I sat bolt upright and charged over to my bedroom window, dreading what I would discover as I glimpsed through the blind. Unfortunately, my fears were well founded. The trees were coming down.

I live in the leafy town of Sevenoaks. I picked my property for its location not far from the Sevenoaks Wildlife Reserve and partly because unlike other flats along the same stretch of road, it looked out onto a tree lined car park. But alas no more.

The property next door, a local wine and spirits distributor, is in the middle of a refit, and apparently part of this is the construction of a back office and improved storage space, whereas the shop at the front is being made ready for the arrival of yet another take away enterprise. Because the one thing Bat & Ball needs, with its existing kebab shop, Chinese take away, two pizza delivery services, two Indian restaurants, two cafes and a chippy, is another take away. We just don’t have enough, no really. The town nearly blew a blood vessel when the 99p Store and Lidl opened up, but at this end, all are welcome, as long as they’re a take-away. That should deal with the loitering gangs of youths that assemble after dark nicely.

It seems deeply ironic that Sevenoaks District Council’s answer for calls to redevelop and invest in the area is to provide yet more of the same. I did make my objections via the planning permission hearing, but my voice clearly wasn’t loud enough. I would have shouted myself hoarse had I known they were planning to take ‘my’ trees too.

I have come to grow and love the two ivy and holly clad grey poplar trees that stood at the back of the lot. They provided me with an almost endless peek into the lives of the neighbours, and by that I don’t mean the nice couple who live upstairs. I mean the wild ones.

Since the day I moved in, the nearest tree has been the home to a pair of wood pigeons. Over the last four years, I have watched them come and go. Most years they have managed to produce two broods, no doubt aided by their raids of my window feeder. It has been dislodged more than once by their lumberous advances. Last year though, the bad weather lost them the nest. They didn’t try again. Watching the pair take shelter, nestling up to each other in careful and tender seclusion during the storm that had destroyed their efforts, made me question what they could possibly be experiencing. It seemed a great deal like grief to me. Now, next year I will not know how they’ll fare.

I will also miss out on the visiting throngs of redwings and fieldfares who have visited every winter, feverishly working their way through the branches, which they used as a motorway service station. Now I will have to listen for their night time passes high overhead as they seek new sites for sustenance and shelter.

The trees were also a day and night roost site for those red-list regulars the house sparrows. When the magpies and jays would come searching through the boughs and dropped material that had fallen onto the storage shed roof, little gangs of tits, robins, sparrows and finches would form and chase them away with savage scolding. And on cold winter’s nights like the ones approaching, a male tawny owl would sing to his mate, who sang back from the other side of the St Johns Hill car park. Sometimes, just sometimes, on a misty morning, he would still be there, eyeing me from his post cocooned and camouflaged against the bark. Perhaps I will still hear him as he makes his rounds, albeit from afar.

So other than these somewhat sentimental losses, what else will I really be missing out on with the simple removal of two trees you may ask?

A single tree can absorb nearly 50 lbs of carbon dioxide per year, and can sequester up to a ton of the stuff by the time its 40 years old. I’m guessing these trees were both seen a century. One tree can effectively provide enough oxygen for two people for life.

Trees properly placed around buildings can reduce energy costs. The net cooling effect of a young healthy tree is the equivalent of ten room-size fans operating 20 hours a day. They offer similar insulating savings too.

The trees would have been home for hundreds of different species of insects, lichens and other small animals and organisms. What pains me so much is that this isn’t the loss of two trees, its the loss of two massive and interconnected ecosystems. Now gone forever, apparently because on some diagram somewhere, they appeared on someone’s land and ‘belonged’ to them. But they really, really didn’t.

I watched their destruction, amazed at how fast it happened. By the time I had washed and dressed, eager to at get downstairs and count the rings to verify their age at least, all that was left of tree number one was sawdust. The two tree ‘surgeons’ took a vague interest in my dismay and queries, but soon went back to work on tree number two, which I was warned not to approach in case they dropped the chainsaw. Whilst their work may have been certainly surgical and precise, they weren’t surgeons. They were executioners. Death took a day, with limbs and protuberances removed first, then the body sliced into sections and shredded. Finally, the still fighting arteries and neural pathways were severed and prized apart, torn from each other as they were the ground. It was impossible to feel anything but a great well of sadness.

I now look out onto an industrial unit and another beyond, as well as an uncluttered vista of the St Johns Hill car park. When water run-off washes down the hill as it always does in winter, it will no longer be collected by the roots of these trees and will instead flood the already heaving drains of Bat & Ball.

When Sevenoaks lost all but one of its namesake trees in the storm of 1987, the town mourned and vowed to made good. Everyone knew the town would not be the same without its trees. It seems only I will mourn the loss of its latest two. If Sevenoaks District Council really want to regenerate this area, it isn’t more shops we need, or more industrial units, or fresh coats of paint on shops that will never open. Its simple. We need more trees. Two please.