{"id":154,"date":"2022-01-03T10:00:27","date_gmt":"2022-01-03T09:00:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.discoverwildlife.com\/?p=29473"},"modified":"2022-01-05T16:42:19","modified_gmt":"2022-01-05T15:42:19","slug":"british-wildlife-in-february","status":"publish","type":"rss_feed","link":"https:\/\/c01.purpledshub.com\/bbcwildlife\/rss_feed\/british-wildlife-in-february\/","title":{"rendered":"British wildlife in February"},"content":{"rendered":"

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By Ben Hoare\n \t\t<\/p>

Published: Monday, 03 January 2022 at 12:00 am<\/p>

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There\u2019s a frost on the ground and the trees are still bare, but nature\u2019s hinting that spring isn\u2019t too far away. Fall in love with nature all over again, with our guide to unmissable wildlife events.<\/p>\n

Snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Snowdrops emerging through snow, in Roxburghshire, Scottish Borders, Scotland. \u00a9 Laurie Campbell<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

\u2019Tis the season to be a galanthophile, otherwise known as a lover of snowdrops. These flowers are native to mainland Europe but have been naturalised in British woods for several centuries. According to Plantlife<\/a>, they were first recorded in the wild in 1778, though are likely to have been growing here before that.<\/p>\n

Snowdrops are adapted to midwinter flowering: a sheath protects their flower stem as it pushes up through the hard, frosty ground. This is a kind of modified leaf, and its botanical name is a spathe. The structure gives snowdrops their alternative name of \u2018snow-piercer.\u2019<\/p>\n

Compared to other woodland plants flowering this month and next, such as primroses and violets, snowdrops are not particularly valuable for wildlife. They do attract the year\u2019s first queen bumblebees, but rarely buzz with pollinating insects. So they usually spread by bulb division, which sidesteps the need for seeds.<\/p>\n

European badger (Meles meles<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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European badger cubs under bracken in oak woods, Ashdown Forest, Sussex, England. \u00a9 James Warwick<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Female badgers, known as sows, birth very early in the year, often in January or February. Though this may sound counterintuitive, it makes sense. Cubs born now will take their first wobbly steps above ground, blinking in the moonlight, in roughly 8-10 weeks\u2019 time \u2013 during the full flush of spring.<\/p>\n

Earthworms, insects and a plethora of plant foods will be easy to find. These cubs will have the longest possible run-up to the autumn, when they must fatten up enough to tide them over the coming winter.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not the case, however, that a badger clan is one big happy family, cooing over the tiny, blind, wispily furred babies in its midst (cubs don\u2019t open their eyes until five weeks old). If the new mother is low-ranking, she may lose her litter in an outbreak of interclan violence.<\/p>\n

The helpless young are most at risk from the sett\u2019s dominant, highest-ranking sow: infanticide removes the threat of rivals to her own offspring. The cubs might also be killed by an adult male, if he\u2019s not sure of their paternity.<\/p>\n

The European badgers\u2019s scientific name, Meles meles<\/em>, is an example of a tautonym<\/a>, where the genus and specific name are the same.<\/p>\n

Goat willow (Salix caprea<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Goat willow flowers in spring, in Midlothian, Scotland. \u00a9 Laurie Campbell<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

The goat willow, pussy willow or great sallow is a tree that delivers in every season. In spring and summer, it is perhaps best-known as a food-plant for caterpillars of the majestic purple emperor butterfly. But for now, in late winter, it gives a much-needed boost to the first emerging insects.<\/p>\n

So much so, a flowering goat willow on a fine February day is often audibly alive, as it hums like static electricity \u2013 the sound of grateful swarms of hoverflies, flies, bumblebees and solitary bees feeding among its branches.<\/p>\n

Goat willow is dioecious (male and female flowers grow on separate trees) and blooms before it is even in leaf. The flowers are furry catkins \u2013 grey on male trees, later turning yellow with the heavy load of pollen; greenish on female trees. Both are popular with insects. After dark, the catkins continue to lure pollinators, this time moths such as the clouded drab and Hebrew character.<\/p>\n

European robin (Erithacus rubecula<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Robin. \u00a9 Steve Round<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Most robins see out only one winter, or perhaps two, so the familiar robins in your garden are a frequently changing cast. Unusually for garden birds, they defend a feeding territory all winter. Some will simply stay put after breeding. Others, especially females, migrate to find their winter territory, either locally within the British Isles or further afield.<\/p>\n

Great grey shrike (Lanius excubitor<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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A great grey shrike at Kelling Heath in Norfolk, UK. \u00a9 David Tipling<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Fewer than 100 great grey shrikes visit Britain from Scandinavia each winter. The rarity of these pocket predators only adds to their allure. They also haunt some pretty bleak and evocative places: wind-blasted commons, heaths and areas of clear-fell in conifer plantations, where their pale plumage and fondness of perching on the topmost twigs of small trees makes them stand out.<\/p>\n

Great grey shrikes are surprisingly capable hunters \u2013 their raptorial bill is able to despatch and tear into rodents and small birds such as finches and pipits. From their elevated perch, they scan the open ground around them patiently, waiting for the chance to strike. But after a kill, they won\u2019t always feed straight away. Like other shrikes, these smart birds have the gruesome habit of impaling dead prey on the thorns of gorse bushes or hawthorn trees to eat later.<\/p>\n

Stinking hellebore (Helleborus foetidus<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Stinking hellebore in Suffolk, UK. \u00a9 Robin Chittenden<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Stinking hellebore: What a name! You can see why horticulturalists often prefer \u2018winter rose\u2019. The \u2018stinking\u2019 epithet references the fact that the crushed leaves smell unpleasantly meaty to some people.<\/p>\n

While many other hellebore varieties are grown in gardens, this one happens to be wholly native. You can find it growing wild in woods, mainly in limestone areas in the southern half of Britain, although it\u2019s hard to tell these from garden escapes.<\/p>\n

Stinking hellebore has unusual greenish flowers, but neither those nor the leaves\u2019 smell is the most interesting thing about this plant. It actually deploys heat to attract pollinators.<\/p>\n

The secret was discovered only 10 years ago, and the warmth is generated by another organism entirely, a yeast that lives in the hellebore nectar. Floral warming, as it is known, may be a way of offering an extra reward, as well as nectar, to visiting pollinators in cool conditions.<\/p>\n

Fieldfare<\/a> (Turdus pilaris<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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An adult fieldfare perched in a snow-covered hedgerow in New Holkham, Norfolk, UK. \u00a9 Oliver Smart<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Each winter, fieldfares descend on Britain and Ireland from northern and eastern Europe to scour the countryside for earthworms<\/a> and berries. The nomadic thrushes make \u201cmilitary-style gleanings\u00a0of fields\u2026 all moving the same way,\u201d notes Nicola Chester in her book On Gallows Down<\/em>. Research by the BTO<\/a> found that thrush flocks indicate a field has plentiful earthworms and thus good soil health.<\/p>\n

Rook\u00a0(Corvus frugilegus<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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A flock of rooks assembled at dusk in trees before roosting for the night in Berwickshire, Scotland. \u00a9\u00a0Laurie Campbell<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Long before winter is out, new life stirs in still-bare treetops. Come February, mistle thrushes<\/a> are whistling their mournful, far-carrying song over and over from the loftiest twigs, great spotted woodpeckers<\/a> are drumming on resonant dead wood to announce their territory and, safe in their dreys, female grey squirrels are nursing their first young of the year.<\/p>\n

Rooks, too, begin breeding remarkably early. Their rookeries in the crowns of tall oak and ash (once, elm was the tree of choice) are already a hive of activity in February, as established pairs bring sticks to patch up their tatty nests or try to pinch them from neighbours. Rooks mate for life \u2013 rare among British birds, but the norm among our corvids<\/a> \u2013 and devoted partners will sit beside their nest to groom one another affectionately. Known for their social intelligence, they are able to recognise individual birds in their colony.<\/p>\n

We can\u2019t manage that, but it is possible to tell rooks from carrion crows, even at long range, by the former\u2019s freer wing beats and longer \u2018fingers\u2019 at the wingtips. On the ground, identification becomes much easier \u2013 a rook looks rather tousled, with a rakish forehead and feathering on the legs that gives the impression of baggy shorts. The bare grey skin around the pointed bill is also unmistakable.<\/p>\n

Learn more about corvids and roosting birds:<\/h4>\n