One of the few personal joys of these recent challenging months is that I’ve had the time to read many nature books. Some of which have been thrilling reads, and today I thought I would share my thoughts on one of the most revolutionary nature publications in recent times, Rebirding. Rebirding explores how humans have shaped British ecosystems since the end of the last ice age, and how recent farming methods have led to impoverished ecosystems and serious declines in many of our native species. Undeterred however, author Benedict Macdonald presents us with bold new solutions that could bring our threatened wildlife back from the brink. Until the release of Rebirding, Benedict Macdonald was a relatively unknown writer and naturalist, though many would have been aware of his contributions over the years to wildlife magazines such as Birdwatching and Nature’s Home. He also co-produced the Netflix series Our Planet, helping with the script with his knowledge of natural history. Rebirding is his book debut, and I was very much looking forward to reading what visions he has for restoring Britain’s wildlife. Interest in the subject of restoration ecology - or rewilding - has exploded in recent years, with multiple books, such as Feral and Wilding, winning several awards, so I was also wondering whether this book would be as compelling as some of the others. He didn’t disappoint. Rebirding, for the most part, is a fantastic read. What Macdonald has produced here is a gloriously ambitious yet theoretically achievable manifesto to save Britain's wildlife, and he’s done so in a very readable way. The book is extremely thorough, with hundreds of references cited throughout the book, though it doesn’t read like an academic journal. It’s very easy to follow, and I think this will be a fascinating read even to those with just a casual interest in saving nature. The first half of the book focuses more on how Britain once looked in its natural state, and what species it has lost over the last few thousand years. Such species include those that are globally extinct, like mammoths, rhinos and aurochs, and species that exist elsewhere, such as bears, wolves and lynx. For me, reading such passages caused some mixed emotions. On the one hand, sadness that we’ve lost these species, but on the other, the thought of these animals walking around together in the same area made me feel quite tranquil. Macdonald encourages such imagination by often starting chapters with a description of walking around a wildlife-rich landscape which could be in our grasps if we conserve our wildlife properly. Although it does feel a little repetitive, often they make you want to jump into the pages themselves to see such a world yourself. The book is compelling as it is beautiful, and one of the main reasons for this is that Macdonald tells us that much of what we think is right for wildlife, is in fact wrong. I’m sure many of us have a picture of pre-human Britain as being one dense forest, but Macdonald wastes no time in telling us that was simply never the case, and instead, Britain once contained a dynamic mixture of many habitats, such as grasslands, scrub, and open woodlands that were kept in balance by mammalian herbivores. These are the landscapes we should be attempting to restore, and we should not be content with simply planting a load of trees (which often form wildlife deserts). Another example is that, while most of us would think that national parks are havens for wildlife, in reality, a lot are poorly managed for wildlife to thrive. This is also the case for many of our protected sites and nature reserves, which are often over-managed to accommodate only a few species. Yet in such passages he never descends too much into bitter pessimism, and he keeps such chapters light and optimistic by offering slight improvements that could enhance their biodiversity. When talking about what we can do to rescue our wildlife from the brink - which is the main focus of the second half of the book - what repeatedly emerges is that there are many economic incentives to rewilding. A key fact to remember is that only 6% of Britain's surface is built upon, so there is huge scope to change our countryside in ways that could create employment and economic prosperity, and several examples are explored in this book. Such ideas quash the opinion that conservation is an economic burden that hampers progress, and what makes these suggestions so interesting is that a lot of them are based on models and case studies that currently exist elsewhere in Europe in countries with much higher levels of biodiversity. Sometimes it makes you wonder why we haven’t adopted them all this time. The book will of course be a better read for those who are already familiar with the birds found in Britain, but not massively so, as the ecology of a few species that appear repeatedly throughout the book are described in its earlier chapters. Despite its title, this is not solely a book that will appeal to birders. Birds of course are mentioned throughout, but the types of ecosystems that Macdonald is hoping to restore will also be those with higher diversity of other animal groups, such as insects and mammals and reptiles. Birds of course have co-evolved with other faunal groups for millions of years, so naturally optimum habitats for bird communities will also be the optimum habitats for these other groups. For a book of under 300 pages, Rebirding is unusual in having multiple subheadings throughout its chapters. Some of these are better placed than others, but I eventually grew to like them, because one thing that you will struggle to do with this book is to binge-read it. Many of the chapters reveal such bold and thought-provoking ideas that at times you just want to stop at certain points and let them wash over you for a while. That’s how powerful this book is at times. The book isn’t perfect however. Occasionally, I felt that some case studies could have been fleshed out a bit more, especially the Netherlands Oostavaardersplassen project, which is one of the first case studies he talks about in this book. I also felt that Chapter 2, which goes through the changes that Britain has undergone over the past few centuries, felt a bit disjointed, with it not knowing whether to focus on landscape changes over time or on the fortunes of particular species. But these are just small gripes in what is an amazing writing debut. I don’t often comment about the cover of a book, but I think this one deserves some attention. Looking at the habitat in the background, it’s hard to define what sort of landscape you’re in, as you can see wetland species as well as those of woodland and grasslands. But of course, this mosaic of different habitats in one area is exactly what Macdonald is hoping for us to achieve as that’s how it looked before human intervention. But this isn’t a hypothetical landscape; In the background you can see the Burrow Mump, which is a famous landmark of the Somerset levels, so you can see that this is his vision for the region. In the foreground is a transparent ‘ghost’ of a Dalmation Pelican, reminding us that this species was once breeding in Britain, and I think having this famous and charismatic species as the main focus point of the cover was a very good idea. The colours are also impressive. I think the orange and yellow background colour gives an impression of dawn, which is fitting, as the reintroduction of species back into Britain will itself be a new dawn for how we treat our wildlife and landscapes in a sustainable way. Overall, Rebirding is a fantastic book that will likely inspire you to get actively involved in saving Britain's wildlife. This is a read you won’t regret.

To understand the distribution of our birds it very much helps if we know the preferred habitats of each species. For example, Knot winter on mudflats, Dartford Warblers live on lowland heaths and Dotterel nest on mountain tops. But habitats are messy things. We all have an idea of what we mean by a woodland, but how many types of woodland are there, and how do they differ? This book will help you get at the details, and details can prove to be important. This authoritative guide lists 66 distinct habitats of Britain (and Ireland, contrary to the book’s name) and divides them into 10 broad groups: Woodlands, Scrub, Heathlands, Grasslands, Mountains, Rocky Habitats, Wetlands, Freshwaters, Coastal Habitats and ‘Other’ Habitats. The meat of the book is taken up with detailed descriptions of particular habitats. Each has a map showing: its extent in Britain and Ireland; a discussion of its origins and development; relationships to other habitats; particular conservation issues; and key species to look out for. There are notes on how to recognise each habitat type, and each account is lavishly illustrated with many excellent photos of both examples of the habitat and a few relevant species. The accounts are preceded by a good introduction setting out factors influencing habitats. For the more technical user, there is a particularly useful table at the end of the book comparing different habitat classification systems currently in use. It is worth noting that this is the second edition of this guide, but it has been extensively revamped in terms of format and content. It is now an even more useful and attractive book than in its previous incarnation. Highly recommended.

Award-winning documentary film-maker James Aldred spent the spring and summer of 2020 filming Goshawks in the New Forest, his childhood home. This book, presented in an extended diary form, catalogues the author’s time with the Goshawks and many of the Forest’s other inhabitants. The text is punchy, with short, sometimes staccato sentences and delivers a very personal take on these magnificent birds, and much else besides. The diary format means that the text jumps around a bit, presenting the reader with short accounts of other encounters – a swan on the A36, an active Buzzard nest down the slope from where he is filming – so don’t expect a developing central narrative. Having said that, this is still an interesting read, full of closely observed detail of Goshawk behaviour and the world of the wildlife film-maker. This detail reveals an intimacy, formed between the photographer and his subject, which comes across in the text and transports the reader to the hide and the unfolding drama of this Goshawk breeding attempt. This intimacy is perhaps most evident in a passage describing how the author exits the hide at the end of a filming session. Aided by a colleague who walks in below, he has to judge the sitting bird’s response and you can feel the tension growing as he plans his exit under the bird’s fierce glare. It is a wonderful moment, and one of many throughout this engaging book.

If you firmly believe that no fox should ever be shot or equally firmly believe that foxes should always be controlled then you may think that this is not a book for you. This is a book full of nuance. Mary Colwell explores predation by talking to people who are actively involved in land management and conservation. She encourages the reader to learn from people trying to face complex conservation challenges which don’t have simple solutions. Beak, Tooth & Claw starts with our cave-dwelling ancestors. This seems strange but it’s the only way of getting back to a time when our ancestors lived with predators – some of which could eat them – and did not have the tools to control their numbers. ‘Civilisation’ has lifted us above the animals and conferred an ability to try to be both masters and stewards of all that we survey. As one might expect of a maker of documentaries, Mary researches her material thoroughly, by talking to witnesses and exploring the evidence that they present. Like a war correspondent, she joins a marksman attempting to deal with a fox insurgency and accompanies a gamekeeper as he checks his Larsen traps and shoots decoyed crows. There are some stranger encounters too, as with a man who has tried to live like a badger and a couple who train corvids for film roles. Alongside these interviews, she describes the recovery of the UK badger population and the control of 3,000 Ravens in Scotland over a four-year period. It’s an interesting mix. I came out of the book feeling that we humans are the problem, as we farm intensively and leave little space for nature to function naturally, feed Red Kites in our gardens, rear an excess of pheasant poults and espouse views of individual species based on characters created by Beatrix Potter. Beak, Tooth & Claw made me question what I thought that I knew about species ranging from seals to wolves. One thing that is clear is that we need to talk more about predation and to be upfront when control is the only way to meet conservation goals. As it says in a BTO report that is quoted in the book, "A polarised and adversarial approach to our understanding of predation only serves to perpetuate the problems".

This is a beautifully illustrated and very enjoyable book by well-known author and naturalist Dominic Couzens. The title says it all - the book goes through a calendar year showcasing 366 (it accounts for a Leap Year) species of birds from all across the world representing a dazzling array of birds from a similar range of habitats. Birds are featured at a relevant time of year - Snowy Owls are discussed in the depths of January, perhaps more familiar species like Great-crested Grebes and their courtship rituals feature in late March, and on the very day the book arrived I opened it to that date to find an account about the Redwing - birds I could see on the holly berries in the garden! I found this mix of the familiar and the exotic a nice touch. It’s always nice to get to know your local bird life a little better but also to think, as I sit looking out at a dark November evening, that on the other side of the world King Penguins are just settling down to breed. There are cultural references galore - the year starts discussing the mythology surrounding Red-crowned Cranes in Japan and approaching the year end the book celebrates that most festive of birds - the European Robin on Christmas Day. The illustrations are eye-catching and a really nice mix of razor sharp photos, beautiful illustrations from centuries-old books, images of nests or eggs, and even some amusing modern day references to ‘Woody Woodpecker’ (Acorn Woodpecker) and of course the Greater Roadrunner (meep meep!). It’s not all whimsical and pleasant though - modern conservation concerns are covered and dealt with, as is Man’s exploitation of birds. Just look to 9th September and the account of Ortolan Bunting. The image used says it all… Species account are short, but for me this adds to the appeal. This is a book you’ll find yourself dipping in and out of, rather than necessarily sitting down and reading. As such it is a perfect book to have close to hand somewhere about the house, so you could grab it and find out about the current day’s bird and almost certainly be drawn into a couple of other accounts. This is a book that will appeal to birders and non-birders alike, and I’ve really enjoyed leafing through it, getting to know a little bit more about birds from sub-Saharan Africa, soaring over high Andean peaks, or lurking in the bottom of the garden. I’m hoping I’ll find this in my stocking on Christmas (or European Robin?) Day.

This book sets out an approach for successfully combining a viable farming business with increasing biodiversity and other public goods. It draws on scientific research and demonstration projects from across Europe and outlines habitat measures designed to benefit the Grey Partridge. The reason the Grey Partridge is the focus of this book is because it is an indicator species for a healthy farmed habitat. As such, there are several sections about other species that will benefit from the Grey Partridge conservation such as Skylarks, Harvest Mice and Butterflies, which is most relevant in modern conservation. This book is aimed for famers, habitat managers and policy makers who wish to encourage partridge conservation. Therefore, it talks a lot about case examples and how specifically to encourage this bird on the ground, such as which specific plants to grow for food and shelter in winter. Therefore, this book is perhaps less relevant for anyone who is interested in general information about partridges and their natural history. The book is full of photographs, illustrations and figures and is very short, so can be read in just an hour or two, making it a good 'go-to' book for those who don't have time to pour over endless papers. Because of this, it is a good reference book, easy to flick through to the relevant pages if you are using it to draw a habitat management plan.

The vivid plumage used on the hat on the cover of this book is a reminder of the main reason birds are featured in a book on hats. Covering the history of hats from their earliest evidence at the end of the Stone Age through the peak of the fur and feather trade to modern hat styles, this book cleverly introduces us to the consequences of extravagant tastes in materials and fashions. I picked up this book intrigued as to what facts I might glean from its pages and found myself both fascinated and horrified by the scale of the feather trade that boomed in the 'Western world' that drove many species to be hunted to extinction. I knew this had happened but reading the numbers and weights of plumage and pelts auctioned in the major cities really put things into scale and made me wonder if it might be possible to examine the former population numbers of different species back before such trades put them into endangered numbers. The chapters follow a wide set of topics to take you through this journey, from the earliest hats and the fur trade to specifics of the European and North American markets and fashions ending with 20th Century outcomes. One chapter that might have information that is new to most readers is that called 'Ladies with influence'. This recounts the usually untold histories of how woman founded both the RSPB and Audubon Society with the aim to prevent the mass persecution of birds (and mammals) for the hat trade. Modern conservation efforts are then neatly discussed in the penultimate chapter pointing out where some species have been able to revive their population numbers but that fragmentation of populations means there are still many that have a long way to go. Modern fashions and principles may mean that fewer hats are made with real plumage and furs but there is still a long way to go to recover from the historic damages done. This book is perfect for both the budding historian of either conservation ecology or fashion history, providing many insights into the conflicting natures of the fashion trade and the superiority of natural feathers and fur over artificial substitutes.

This is a book for anyone curious about the lives of our woodland plants, and the processes and pressures that affect them. Keith Kirby’s career as a woodland ecologist gave him vast experience of woods and their conservation throughout Britain. This is the eighth title in the British Wildlife Collection series that already has a reputation for finely produced, informative, readable books. Keith Kirby’s book is a thought provoking, personal and richly illustrated contribution to it. The breadth of the book is somewhat greater than the title might imply. It is far more than a natural history of flowering plants. Although it focuses on plants of the woodland floor and climbers, there is much information about the trees themselves. Two chapters describe types of British woodland and their characteristic plants including the trees. The book is essentially a grand tour through the many ideas and issues relevant to understanding why, in Britain, we have the woods and woodland flora that we do. To give an indication of the scope, there are chapters dealing with the history of woodland botanising, past woodland management, what goes on below the ground, impacts of storms, grazing animals, the nature of primeval forests, the European context, newly created woodland, and human recreation. I liked the frequent use of concise illustrated essays focusing on a carefully selected plants that inform the reader about a particular concept or idea. Perhaps surprisingly, no single chapter is devoted to climate change though it features strongly in a chapter primarily devoted to atmospheric pollution. Keith Kirby points out that there is little evidence that the distributions of woodland plants, unlike those of birds, have started to change. Perhaps this is because the microclimates are more stable inside woodland than in more open habitats, or that many plants are relatively long-lived and have the reserves to tide them over unfavourable periods. Nonetheless, in the longer term, changes are to be expected. We could see species that are currently restricted to southern England expanding northwards, and non-native species of southern climates escaping from gardens into woodland. There is a discussion of ‘nativeness’ in an earlier chapter. Given the high probability of many introductions by humans of plants in past millennia, and the fact that garden escapes can obscure natural distributions, this topic is far more complex for plants than it is for birds. Whilst recognising that many woods have undergone damaging changes in recent decades, including the replacement of broadleaves by conifers and massive increases in grazing pressure, an optimistic outlook is adopted. Woodland flowers have fared much better than those of farmland over the last 60 years and Keith Kirby is hopeful that recent plantings will eventually give new opportunities.

In my career as a field ornithologist, I would rate one of the best projects I ever worked on as the season I spent assisting on the long-running Ring Ouzel (Turdus torquatus) monitoring project at Glen Clunie in Aberdeenshire. That project initiated my passion for the mountain blackbird and having the opportunity to spend hours among the heather and crags peering into the intricacies of Ring Ouzel life taught me so much about interpreting the behaviour of individual birds. From being a part of that project, I was able to join the Ring Ouzel Study Group; a motley band of dedicated fieldworkers and conservationists from all over the UK that meet once a year (in normal times) to talk about all things related to the moon-chested beauties, one of our least-studied Red-listed species. It was at the last group meeting that I met the authors of this new book, Vic Fairbrother and Ken Hutchinson, and since getting a taster of their remarkable fieldwork achievements in their update at the group’s meeting, I have been waiting in anticipation for their book to be published. First and foremost, The Ring Ouzel: A view from the North York Moors is a thorough compendium of two decades worth of careful field study of a single species. But it is also a love letter to the landscapes and wildlife of Yorkshire, and the authors’ affection for these shines through. The book consists of 19 chapters, starting with a general introduction to Ring Ouzels and the current knowledge base we have about their status in the UK, and a summary of the main Ring Ouzel study areas. The major focus of the book is the authors’ study site at Rosedale in the North York Moors, and each chapter is devoted to one aspect of the Ring Ouzel annual cycle. Starting with their arrival in spring from their wintering grounds, through to breeding history at particular locations through Rosedale, and their breeding behaviour through egg, chick and fledging stages, detailed descriptions of each of these life stages are compared and contrasted with what is known about Ring Ouzel ecology elsewhere using field notes and observations from the Rosedale study site. The book also includes a very interesting chapter on Ring Ouzel communication and song which will be useful for upland ecologists in an age where sound recording is becoming more commonplace. Chapters on predation and shared habitats neatly show the interactions Ring Ouzels have with other species in the moorland ecosystem. The final chapter discusses the multitude of conservation issues that Ring Ouzels face and work that is ongoing to further study and protect them. I really enjoyed the use of transcribed field notes and diary accounts throughout the text, as they allow the reader to be there in the field with the authors to experience the finding of a nest, a particular quirk of behaviour of one of the birds, or a change in the weather. If nothing else the book shows the value in taking brief but detailed notes in the field. A real highlight is the use of evocative watercolour plates of Ring Ouzels; a difficult subject to photograph, the paintings really show the subtleties of their character and behaviour, and they complement the photographs used in the book beautifully. A criticism though, is the use of website addresses in the main text. These work well as handy links to further reading and references when used in a digital format like a PDF, but in a book they are jarring, and would have been better consigned simply to a references section or as footnotes. In all this is a beautifully presented book, a treasure trove of knowledge and a great examination of Ring Ouzel ecology. It is a comprehensive endorsement of single-species studies and will be a useful touchstone for the future monitoring and conservation of one of our most vulnerable thrushes.