{"id":70,"date":"2021-11-02T11:00:04","date_gmt":"2021-11-02T10:00:04","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.discoverwildlife.com\/?p=38681"},"modified":"2021-11-02T11:28:19","modified_gmt":"2021-11-02T10:28:19","slug":"british-wildlife-in-november","status":"publish","type":"rss_feed","link":"https:\/\/c01.purpledshub.com\/bbcwildlife\/rss_feed\/british-wildlife-in-november\/","title":{"rendered":"British wildlife in November"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

Published: Tuesday, 02 November 2021 at 12:00 am<\/p>

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Milder winters mean there\u2019s more wildlife out and about in November than you might think.<\/p>\n

Ring-necked parakeet (Psittacula krameri<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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A ring-necked parakeet perched in a tree. \u00a9 Paula French\/Getty<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Originally from the Indian subcontinent, these brash birds are highly social, a habit they have retained wherever they have escaped from captivity and spread. They roost communally in tall trees such as poplars in UK cities from London to Edinburgh and Glasgow, now home to some of the northernmost free-flying parakeets in the world.<\/p>\n

The parakeets return to the same location each evening, and over the years have favoured parks and cemeteries, rugby clubs and railway sides. There\u2019s no mistaking these noisy treetop meetings. As Lev Parikian observes in his nature diary Light Rains Sometimes Fall<\/em>: \u201cParakeets don\u2019t do calm. There\u2019s always something going on.\u201d<\/p>\n

The colourful gatherings are largest between September and November, after the breeding season. From November onwards, pairs begin to peel off from the main roost to choose a nest site in a hollow tree, which they sleep near. As early as January, some will be on eggs.<\/p>\n

European spindle (Euonymus europaeus<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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European spindle berries. \u00a9 David Chapman<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

For most of the year, this small native tree is not much to look at. It is easily overlooked in hedges and scrubby woodland, unnoticed among the more obvious and straightforwardly identified trees such as hawthorn, blackthorn, field maple and ash. In autumn, however, spindle comes into its own. Its foliage turns a deep red, but the real attraction is its beautiful fruit.<\/p>\n

Spindle berries are bubblegum-pink, a lipstick shade that seems almost shockingly bright in an autumnal British hedgerow. Each berry has four lobes, which when ripe burst open to reveal an orange \u2018seed\u2019. Strictly speaking, the real seed is hidden inside: the orange part is a soft covering known as an aril. Botanical technicalities aside, the orange-pink colour clash is spectacular. A few birds, such as blackbirds and robins, adore eating the berries, but they take care to reject or bring up the poisonous seeds.<\/p>\n

Barnacle goose (Branta leucopsis<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Six flying barnacle geese. \u00a9 Andyworks\/Getty<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Vast numbers of barnacle geese flock to the mild coasts of Ireland, Scotland and north-west England for the winter. Twice a day until April, their great skeins commute between grazing areas inland and fox-free roost sites on coastal mud flats or shallows. The wild hubbub of their terrier-like yaps sends shivers down the spine of anyone lucky enough to be there.<\/p>\n

Fly agaric (Amanita muscaria<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Fly agaric fungi in a woodland in Leicestershire, UK. \u00a9 Ashley Cooper\/Getty<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

\u201cThe difference between animals and fungi is simple,\u201d says mycologist Merlin Sheldrake in his book Entangled Life<\/em>. \u201cAnimals put food in their bodies, whereas fungi put their bodies in the food.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fly agaric merges with pine and silver birch trees underground, extracting sugars from their roots via its fungal threads called hyphae. In return, it delivers nutrients from the earth. A perfect partnership.<\/p>\n

Hibernating bats<\/h3>\n
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Daubenton\u2019s bat. \u00a9 Robin Chittenden<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Insect-eating bats can\u2019t cope with the lack of prey in temperate regions in winter, so feed intensively then hibernate, surviving off their fat reserves. In the British Isles, they fall into a deep sleep, or torpor, as early as October, with hibernation proper starting in November and December. A hibernating bat feels cold to the touch, because its body temperature has fallen as low as 7\u20138\u00b0C, from a normal resting level only a few degrees below that of humans.<\/p>\n

Bats don\u2019t usually breed and hibernate in the same place. Hibernation roosts, called hibernacula, need to be cool and dry, with a stable environment, and in autumn bats travel to find a suitably reliable site. This may be a short way away, but there is growing interest in bat migration. There\u2019s evidence that some noctules and soprano and Nathusius\u2019 pipistrelles move longer distances and perhaps overseas to continental Europe.<\/p>\n

Purple sandpiper (Calidris maritima<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Purple sandpiper standing on rocks at Penzance Beach, Cornwall, UK. \u00a9 Oliver Smart<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Clinging to seaweedy rocks just centimetres from the spume, as pounding waves crash around them, purple sandpipers have a good claim to be some of the toughest of all shorebirds. They spend the autumn and winter on Britain and Ireland\u2019s most exposed coasts, braving whatever storms throw at them. Breakwaters, piers and jetties suit them too, but you\u2019ll never see them on more sheltered mudflats and salt-marshes where most other wading birds are. They\u2019re in their element amid the foam and spray.<\/p>\n

Purple sandpipers are really warm grey, at least in non-breeding plumage. Any purplish sheen to their plumage is subtle, and most noticeable in spring and summer, which they spend on tundra and mountains in Iceland, Scandinavia and across the Arctic. Look for small groups of these tough cookies hunting marine snails and other invertebrates among the wet seaweed, flicking over the fronds to find their prey.<\/p>\n

Red fox (Vulpes vulpes<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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A red fox in an autumnal grassland. \u00a9 JMrocek\/Getty<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Breaking up is hard to do, but autumn signals a big change in fox family life, as the full-grown cubs leave the comforting surroundings of the vixen\u2019s earth. Since birth they have been protected and fed by their parents, and in many cases, one or more adults known as subordinates help too. However, for a couple of months the youngsters have been exploring further afield.<\/p>\n

Now comes the final break, when they wander off in search of their own territories and partners. Mammal ecologist Adele Brand explains in The Hidden World of the Fox<\/em>: \u201cAs the shorter nights arrive, so do vulpine hormones.\u201d<\/p>\n

Brand cites a US study which found that young foxes disperse further and earlier the heavier they are, perhaps because they have more fat reserves and come off better in scraps. Males also tend to travel more, driven by the urge to mate. But the foxes do not necessarily go far, Brand says, particularly in places with lots of foxes. Some will never have a territory or young of their own: instead, they become subordinates and help a dominant pair.<\/p>\n

Atlantic salmon (Salmo salar<\/em>)<\/h3>\n
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Leaping Atlantic salmon. \u00a9 James Shooter<\/em><\/span><\/figcaption><\/div>\n

Surging rivers in northern Britain, Wales and Ireland, swollen with autumn rain, witness one of our greatest wildlife dramas. Rising water levels are a cue for Atlantic salmon to move upstream \u2013 traditionally between September and December \u2013 the penultimate stage in an odyssey whose climax is spawning.<\/p>\n

These fish are the handful of survivors that dodged bigger mouths and fishing fleets to grow strong in cold Arctic waters, as far north as Greenland and the Barents Sea, a fabulously rich region, which writer Charles Rangeley-Wilson has called the \u201cHarrod\u2019s food hall of the oceans\u201d.<\/p>\n

After several years here, many salmon return to their natal river catchment, even the same part of it. Maybe they are guided by magnetic particles in the \u2018lateral line\u2019 along each flank, which might serve as a compass.<\/p>\n

The famous salmon\u2019s leap isn\u2019t easy to observe. The fish may move after dark, lying low in shady parts of the river until conditions are just right, and salmon numbers in the British Isles have crashed in recent decades. But with repeat visits, a smidgen of luck and armed with local knowledge \u2013 ask anglers or river wardens, if you see them, or try one of the salmon viewing centres in Scotland \u2013 you\u2019re in for a treat.<\/p>\n

Learn more about salmon in the UK:<\/h4>\n