February 2026 – A Bundle of Winter Wrens

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

Someone once told me if you think you’ve seen a mouse it’s probably a Wren. These diminutive brown birds make a habit of hopping about the undergrowth in stop-motion fashion, feeding on insects, spiders, and occasionally berries and seeds. Despite being the UK’s most numerous breeding bird, they can be inconspicuous.

The similarity promptly ends when they open their mouth. Though weighing under 10g, the Wren’s voice is bold and loud; a long, high-pitched whistle and trill, cutting through crisp morning air and reaching above that of larger songsters. If you watch a Wren singing, you’ll notice the effort on its small body – beak wide and tail upturned.

Woodland understory is an ideal nesting habitat for Wrens, and males establish clear territories in early spring, using that powerful voice. They build five or even six nests to try and attract a female and will aggressively deter other males that dare approach.

However, when the chill of winter comes around, the male changes his tune. A balmy summer of successful shouting may have shown that a tiny body is no barrier to being heard, but it won’t help with heat loss on cold nights.

So, the male starts collecting bedfellows. Flitting out on short trips, he again utilises his song, letting females and other males know they are welcome to join him for a platonic sleepover, starting after dusk and ending before dawn.

“Oh, that stuff I said in spring? Water under the bridge.”

They gratefully accept, bundling into moss and leaf-lined woven grass, squidging tiny wings and bellies together to make room for just one more. Beaks in, bums out. Most consist of small gatherings, but records of dozens have been logged, and one count in the 1960s numbered 61 Wrens.

Not just super cute, the warmth-sharing of these communal roosts might be lifesaving. Although as anyone who shares a bed will know, there can be a waste of energy caused by the wriggling of others. Shuffling for space, preening, defecating in the roost; entirely unacceptable sleepover etiquette.

When warmer days thankfully return it’s back to spring rules, and the male begins to banish other males from the roost, cosy winter cuddles forgotten until the cold starts to nip around tiny feet once more.

Next time you hear a winter Wren having a good yell, be sympathetic. It’s survived the night, thank goodness, but it’s had a terrible night’s sleep.

January 2026 – The ‘No’ Year Resolution

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

Happy New Year! However you choose to celebrate, I hope your festive season was full of peace, joy, and mega loads of cheese. I always have a new year’s resolution and try to make them positive. Apologise less. Dance more. Wear the shoes. Before you stop reading for fear of me going full ‘live, laugh, love’ don’t worry, I’m heading somewhere.

2026 is going to be the year of boundaries. As well-meaning humans, and especially in the UK, we can be a little too agreeable, put up with stuff, get on with it. But as nature illustrates, it doesn’t have to be this way.

There are not many better boundary-setting role models than those species who ward off others as standard. Camouflage antithesis, these creatures make themselves obvious to warn incomers that they’re not to be messed with. It’s called aposematism, a defence mechanism utilised by certain species across the board; invertebrates, plants, mammals, birds, fish and fungi. Told you I had a point.

There are a few different types of aposematism.

Aposematic colouration: deliberately bright colours to visually warn of a toxic taste to others (whether this is true or not). Think ladybirds, wasps and Cinnabar moth caterpillars, who are bright yellow to mirror the toxic traits taken on by their favourite food plant – Ragwort. Then there are Cuttlefish, whose colour-changing skills give them the option of disguise or bold vibrant attack.

Olfactory aposematism: repelling predators by producing a smell or foul-smelling substance. This dirty card is played by several species of shield bug, sometimes harshly but accurately known as stink bugs. Many plants are notable for this feature, including the strong-smelling Wild Garlic.

Auditory aposematism: sound as a deterrent. Many species make alarm calls to expose a nearby predator, like a Robin tick-ticking at the sight of a cat. But auditory aposematism is making a sound to directly warn of one’s own danger or distaste to others. A famous example is the Rattlesnake, which clatters its tail to give the heads up – “it’s not worth it mate”. Closer to home, the Garden Tiger moth rubs its wings together to make a rasping noise to the same effect.

Symbolic or tenuous, there’s no doubt these creatures have mastered the art of communicating their boundaries. In nature there’s no awkwardness, no deeper meaning, no overthink – imagine! So, in nature’s honour, this year I’ll be saying a lot more ‘no’. Hopefully with no need for any olfactory assistance.

An Ocean Oversight                                                               December 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

December has a real indoors vibe. Short days, finishing work in the dark and inconsistent weather doesn’t exactly motivate us to get out, even if we know it’s good for us. This poses a challenge for connecting with wildlife, which we know can increase people’s desire to protect the natural world. Despite many species hibernating or migrating, there is still so much to see. To throw yourself in at the deep end, I encourage you this winter to explore our beautiful Sussex coast.

That said, in reviewing my parish magazine articles of this year, I realise I’ve not included any marine species. This is awkward. If our marine team find out they’ll be livid. But also, we work hard to connect people with blue spaces, promote the value and wonder of the ocean and fight for its protection, so how could I have overlooked it?

The marine environment has long since suffered from a lack of attention in the conservation world and beyond. At the risk of sounding like I’m defending myself, in a way it’s understandable. We’re terrestrial mammals, desperately under-resourced for the aquatic. We seek warmth, dryness, a firm foundation underfoot, and can align more easily with perils of the warm-blooded – and things with a face.

Many of us value coastal connections; beach trips, swimming, travel to warmer waters. But our oceans are not a luxury. They are a lifeline. A critical feature of our ecosystem, which we and all other life on earth could not survive without. Our disconnect with the ocean environment is contributing to its demise, and we must turn it around.

There is something fascinating about the unknown of the big blue, and once you start to investigate, you realise how truly epic it is. Although much is out of sight from land, the diversity of healthy UK waters has such colour and vibrancy, from royal blue Lobsters to 90s-neon Corkwing Wrasse, and other-wordly nudibranchs.

In winter it’s wild. The drama of furious waters, crashing waves and freezing sea-spray. Watching, huddled in layers, a freezing cold nose and the promise of an after winter-walk’s too-hot-yet chips. Heading to the water’s edge for stone-sprinkled sand and shell treasure discoveries. And there’s nothing like a stomp along a windswept beach to galvanise a slumped after-Christmas-dinner bunch.

So, this December, why not skip a shopping trip, dodge the odd social occasion, push that deadline. Instead, head to the sea. And I’ll submit many a marine article in 2026. Promise.

False Accusations                                                                                   November, 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

From Halloween bunting to sensationalised stories, spiders have an unfair creepy-crawly-villain reputation. The shift into autumn often reignites a focus on indoor spider sightings, and with it a renewed batch of clickbait fearmongering. Some of those getting the worst of it are the false widows.

Among six species of false widow spider in the UK, three are most common. The smaller of the two are native; the Rabbit Hutch Spider and the Cupboard Spider. The largest of the three, at 10-14mm body length, is the Noble False Widow. Although technically non-native, this species is pretty much part of the furniture, having arrived in the 1800s. They are mostly brown in colour with varying pale shades and patterns on the abdomen, which sometimes look ‘skull-shaped’; an awkward addition to the PR nightmare.

The latter two species have been known to deliver a bite to humans. However, like most spiders, they are not typically aggressive, sometimes biting in defence when handled. As ever, medical advice should be sought if you are concerned or vulnerable, but the bite is said to be comparable to a wasp sting.

Despite the clue in the name, false widows are often aligned with Black Widow Spiders. These non-UK species have a more potent bite, which can cause illness in humans, though to continue the arachno-advocacy, they are similarly passive in behaviour.

As with many vilified creatures, alarmism can lead to misidentification and incorrect reporting. One confusion species for the Noble False Widow is the Missing Sector Orb Web Spider. One way to differentiate them is by the webs; the latter produces the famous concentric circle style (often with one sector missing!) whereas Noble False Widows create criss-crossing, messy looking ‘tangle’ webs.

Contrary to the aspersions, spiders make excellent house guests. They are private, tidy and keep unwanted flying insects to a minimum, which is especially helpful if you have houseplants. If you have a spider in your home this autumn, at best, leave them be and observe their fascinating habits. If it’s necessary to move them do so gently, using a glass and piece of card, and carefully pop them outside, preferably in a similarly protective building, such as a shed, or nearby vegetation.

Tolerance and coexistence are vital for effective conservation, whether in our wider ecosystem, or in our own gardens and homes. With our urban environment expanding, we must continue to make space for nature, especially those who, like the false widows, are so wrongly maligned.

A Red Kite Tale                                                                                          October 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

On holiday in the late 90s, my family and I made a visit to a working Mid-Wales farm. As we watched from purpose-built hides, a group of magnificent wild birds of prey started to gather in the surrounding trees, eventually descending to pick up scraps of meat from the ground; a flurry of auburn feathers and forked tails. I remember being stunned by the sheer number; I was used to spotting a lone Kestrel or Buzzard but had never seen so many birds of prey at once.

The farm is famed for their supplementary Red Kite feeding, held there daily since advised by the RSPB in 1992 to support efforts to encourage the preservation of the species. The UK Red Kite population had been decimated due to long-term persecution, driven by an incorrect belief that they threatened game birds. Red Kites will hunt small mammals, such as Rabbits, but are mostly scavengers, preferring to take carrion rather than live prey. By the late 1980s numbers were drastically low, and with only a handful of breeding pairs in Wales, the species was nearly extinct in the UK.

But change was in the air. Following a release of several birds in the Chilterns in 1990, efforts by many conservation organisations and committed individuals to support and resettle the species have made the Red Kite reintroduction one of the most successful and renowned conservation stories in the UK. The species now soars in many areas of the British Isles, which is home to an estimated 4,500 breeding pairs. Whereas during my Welsh farm visit we perhaps saw 80 birds, they now welcome up to 500.

We know that memorable interactions for children and young people with our natural world can create lasting connections; vital to the continued conservation of our precious wildlife and habitats. Even though they are now abundant in places, I am still overjoyed to see a Red Kite, perched in a bare branch or hovering over a motorway. When I do, I am often put in mind of that experience at the farm 25 years ago. I had no idea I was witnessing part of such an incredible story.

Woodlice and Dead Wood                                                       September 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

A minibeast staple of childhood bug hunts, and comprising of 30 UK species, woodlice can be found in gardens all year round.

Not lice at all, but terrestrial crustaceans, meaning they have hard exoskeletons, woodlice are related to crabs and shrimp. Favouring damp habitats to avoid drying out, these helpful critters can be found under rocks, logs and in compost heaps, doing what they do best; recycling. Nothing is off the menu, as woodlice will consume dead plant and animal matter, fungi, lichen, and with full zero-waste commitment, even their own faeces.

Woodlice have an extraordinary series of common and nicknames, with a survey once collecting 250 regional variations; chuckypig, slater, pillbug, monkeypea and woodpig, to name a few. It’s not known why woodlice have so many alternative names, but a lovely theory is that it’s due to their accessibility to children playing in gardens, who come up with imaginative names which stick over time.

A critical habitat for woodlice is dead wood, whether fallen or dead trees, rotting stumps, logs or stick piles. A sometimes-overlooked environment, dead wood is often a microcosm bursting with life.

Fungi are a hugely important partner in the dead wood cycle, by both contributing to the decay process and feeding on the dead wood itself. Many insects rely on this habitat, including Saproxylic Beetles, which burrow into the softer surfaces to avoid predators, their grubs feeding on the decaying wood. Insectivorous birds, such as woodpeckers, then benefit from this. Bats utilise holes in standing dead wood to roost, and feed on flying insects attracted to the damp environment it can create. And the decaying wood itself recycles nutrients back into the soil.

With such an impressive ecosystem to support, it is important to leave dead wood and resist any temptation to clear it away. On a large scale, it can contribute to a diversity of woodland understory, creating different angles and textures as you peer through the forest, increasing not only the ecological value, but the mystical aesthetic of our ancient Ebernoe reserve, for example. On a smaller garden scale, it can provide a bug-hotel-style feature and a vital home for the important wildlife we don’t always notice; a chuckypig paradise.

Our Elusive Water Voles                                                           August 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation

If you’re on a reedbed ramble and hear a ‘plop’, you might have just missed one. Although active during the day, Water Voles are extremely shy and quiet. Given their rarity and secrecy, it’s a wonder how anyone even knows they are there. So, here’s a few tips.

Voles vs. Rats

As a semi-aquatic rodent, Water Voles are often referred to as ‘water rats’. You could mistake one for a Brown Rat, but they are quite different. Water Voles have a blunt nose, a furry tail and small ears. Rats have pointier faces, long hairless tails, and rounded ears. And although I have nothing against Rats, Water Voles are super cute.

Food caches

A cache of riverside nibbled grass stems can be a give-away. These often lie outside a discrete riverbank burrow. Continuing the ratty-confusion-theme, Brown Rats exhibit similar nibbly behaviours. However, Water Voles munch grasses at a neat 45-degree angle, whereas Rat teeth marks are a bit more erratic.

Latrines

Collections of rounded, tic-tac shaped droppings, known as latrines, are what to look for along the water’s edge. These tidy deposits are a calling card for territory marking. Although the droppings are scentless, the Voles rub their hind legs on their scent glands and stamp on the droppings to leave a scent. A glamorous task.

But it’s not all idyllic grass-nibbling and poop-stamping; our Water Voles are at risk. Threatened by pollution, climate change, habitat loss, and predation by invasive non-native American Mink, our Water Voles are up against it. Once found in nearly every waterway in England, this protected species has declined by a staggering 90% since the early 1970s and are now listed as Endangered on the Great Britain and England Red List.

It sounds bleak, but there is good news ahead. Conservation organisations are protecting the species by monitoring and managing the population of American Mink. And there’s things you can do. By keeping pets out of waterways, you can prevent pollution of our precious rivers by pet flea treatments. By taking your litter home, you can prevent bins over-flowing into vital Water Vole habitat. To help monitor the population, you can record sightings on iRecord, via the website or app, which are shared with the Sussex Biodiversity Records Centre.

By taking action to support healthy rivers, balanced ecosystems, and robust monitoring we can contribute to bringing our Water Voles back from the brink of extinction to their rightful place in our flourishing waterways.

Of Owls, Larks and Hedgehogs

By Kerry Williams,  Communications Officer – Conservation, Sussex Wildlife Trust

I’ve always been a night owl. I’m writing this as my creativity kicks in; unhelpfully that’s usually around 9pm. I spent my childhood howling in resistance at those who dared tell me it was bedtime. I would read until 3am and be virtually dragged from my bed for school in the morning.

Despite what my mother says, it’s a real thing. We are genetically predisposed to different chronotypes associated with our circadian rhythm. There are owls (those who wake and sleep later), larks (those who wake and sleep earlier) and ambivalent (those who are more adaptable to sleep pattern changes). I used to long to wake up earlier and make the best of the day. Especially as a keen birder it would be advantageous. If I ever do it’s glorious. The air is different in early morning. There’s so much light, so much time. But there are perks to the night too. It’s quiet; everyone else is asleep. It’s peaceful and less distracting. And the best bit, of course, is watching nocturnal animals.

I live with another owl. Together, we slink about the local nature reserve at dusk. Hushed tones to fit in. Eyes adjusting to the perceived blackness. There is rarely anyone else around. The damp smell of the reedbeds seems stronger than in the day. The gravel and parched grass crunch louder underfoot. The world feels bigger somehow, yet more tranquil. We detect dancing bats who whizz past our faces, saving us from nibbling evening midges. We walk directly past Rabbits on meadow buffets, who barely look up to note us. We take in pre-roosting bird calls; Reed Warbler, Song Thrush, Blackbird, Robin, and skyward silhouettes of those returning for the night; gulls, corvids, a Peregrine. A Fox on patrol stops to watch us with an air of disdain; ‘It’s my turn now’.

Once we’re out of the reserve we stop at the usual spot, at the usual time, and wait. Then we see it. Squat legs, busy snout and about 5,000 spines scuttle across the car park and along the kerbside dandelions. The Hedgehog crosses the road; it’s not busy but it’s still a risky game, and I once flagged down a startled mini-bus driver to allow for safe hog passage. The Hedgehog continues along a footpath, and through a fence hole cut by kind urban wildlife heroes.

These sightings feel like treats to which few of us are party. I’ve not only accepted my night-time owl form; I completely embrace it. Just don’t ask me to make plans before midday.

SWARD WARDENS: the incredible role of dung beetles                                June 2025

By Kerry Williams: Communications Officer – Conservation

There’s a subject we’re not great at talking about in the UK; poo. However, there’s a group of creatures that are far more celebratory of the topic, with their diet testament to their appreciation. Aptly named, dung beetles eat poo. And they are amazing.

You are likely to conjure the image of Heliocopris, giant dung beetle species which reside in Africa and Asia, manoeuvring huge droppings kindly deposited by some of the Earths spectacular megafauna. Although these beetles don’t match the size of the one that rolled a football into the 2010 World Cup opening ceremony, they are hefty for a beetle, reaching lengths of up to 7cm.

Our dung beetles are more diminutive, but no less vital. The UK is home to around 60 species, which are split into three groups: Aphodiines, or the ‘dwellers’, sized 3-13mm who live directly in dung, Onthophagus, at 4-11mm; ‘tunnellers’ who tunnel up to a metre below the dung, pulling down small amounts to lay their eggs in, and the largest ‘tunnellers’ at 8-26mm, the Geotrupes.

Mostly, they consume dung of herbivores and omnivores. The ultimate recyclers, dung beetles are ecosystem engineers, meaning they modify their environment to provide services to other species with whom they share the ecosystem. In the case of dung beetles, this is a poop removal service.

Not only do they improve grazing pasture by clearing grasslands of waste, but they also recycle vital nutrients, keeping soil healthy. Tunnelling aerates the soil and prevents compaction, which in turn mitigates against flooding. Whilst this waste processing keeps down the population of flies, the beetles also remove parasites living in the dung. The beetles are, in turn, prey to others, such as birds, bats and Hedgehogs. It’s all rather harmonious and, as nature does best, it’s a perfectly symbiotic relationship.

Yet, like most of our native wildlife, dung beetles are in trouble. Largely this is due to modifications in agricultural practices; changes in land-use and an increase of pesticides, whether this be directly onto fields or via livestock ingested worming medicines. These chemicals disrupt the brilliantly balanced natural process, especially when used large scale and preventatively. Landowners can support dung beetle populations by reducing pesticides; more dung beetles mean fewer parasites, so by protecting these species a free service is being retained.

We owe a lot to our dung beetles and must protect them. They’re a critical part of our ecosystem, yet many of us don’t know they exist here or appreciate their unglamorous and thankless work. To be frank, without them we would be up to our knees in poo. Metaphorically and literally.

Cuckoo: sound of spring                                                                             May 2025              

By Kerry Williams – Communications Officer: Conservation

It’s become a tradition of mine to go camping locally for a few nights in May. Being emersed in nature, spending evenings by firelight, and absorbing the abundant buzz of wildlife; it’s a good-for-the-soul time to be outdoors in Sussex.

Hawthorn, or the May tree, is flowering in fragrant blooms. Bats are flitting enmasse from maternity roosts at dusk to forage. Badgers are on the trundle and Foxes on the trot. And yes, there are loads of lovely baby bunnies. In Sussex, we are lucky to retain a population of visiting Nightingales, and on uninterrupted May nights the males are in full rattling, palpitating symphony. Tawny Owls ke-wik and Barn Owls shriek. Woodlands burst into carpets of indigo as Bluebell scent fills the understory.

Amidst this, an undulating ‘beep-boop’ can be heard, a natural metronome. It is one of our most recognisable bird calls, and the onomatopoeic sound of spring and summer; the Cuckoo.

Arriving from Africa in March, Cuckoos infamously lay their eggs in other birds’ nests, sneakily replacing an egg of an unsuspecting parent for them to incubate, feed and fledge. The not-so-little Cuckoo nestling shunts other eggs, and even youngsters, out of the nest, outcompeting any remaining for resources, becoming the last chonky chick standing. Regularly hoodwinked are Reed Warblers, Dunnocks and Meadow Pipits.

Mostly insectivorous, with a penchant for Hairy Caterpillars, adult Cuckoos spend their days feeding prior to their homeward migration. Having not had chicks to rear and fledge, they leave around June, with the new generation following later in summer.

Overall, it sounds like Cuckoos are having a pretty easy time of it. However, as is the story of so many of our native species, they are under threat. Cuckoos have declined by 65% since the 1980s and are now on the UK conservation Red List. The usual suspects are at play of habitat loss, climate change, and pesticide use resulting in food scarcity. Additionally, these issues have befallen many of their host species, leading to similar population declines, or, at the least, Cuckoo-bewildering behaviour changes such as earlier breeding.

Despite their size and familiarity, these elusive birds are not an easy spot. In a second act of mistaken identity, their barred chest can often resemble that of a Sparrowhawk. Although their calming calls have accompanied many a spring sundowner for me, I’m still yet to see one myself. Perhaps this year could be my year. Maybe.