Editor Interview with Christina Stanley: The Social Lives of Bats

In this ground-breaking book, a group of scientists bring together their wide-ranging experiences of researching bats to tell the story of these animals’ fascinating social lives. Each chapter focuses on a particular aspect of sociality, written by a specialist in the area, giving readers an engaging account of the current state of knowledge and an insight into the people behind the research.

The book is edited by Christina R. Stanley, an Associate Professor in Animal Behaviour and Welfare at the University of Chester with a passion for communicating scientific research to the general public. ­Ahead of publication, we had the pleasure of talking to Christina about the process of bringing the book to life, and unanswered questions on the social lives of bats.

As a behavioural ecologist, what drew you to study bats in particular? 

As I detail in the introduction to this book, it was my work experience at Chester Zoo (UK), aged 18, that introduced me to the world of bats. Visitors to the zoo enter the enclosure in the darkness, slowly seeing the bats (both Rodrigues Fruit Bats Pteropus rodricensis, and Seba’s Short-tailed Bats Carollia perspicillata) flying around them and hanging from nearby branches as their eyes adjust to the low light levels. However, as a member of staff, I had the opportunity to watch the bats when the lights were turned on, before the visitors arrived, as they experience their daytime during our night. This allowed me to clearly see many of the intricate social interactions that are described in this book. I was amazed that they seemed to show highly complex social behaviour, yet as a taxon, they only rarely featured in the behavioural ecology books and journals I later read at university and beyond. I vowed to explore and share their social lives with the world, showing there is much more to bats than their reputation might suggest. 

Every chapter in this book starts with a section on how its author(s) came to love and research bats. I hope this will both inspire others to become behavioural researchers and help them get to know the scientists that bring stories of bats’ fascinating lives to their homes. 

 

The book includes contributions from multiple scientists. How did you decide which aspects of bat sociality to focus on, and what was the collaborative process like? 

The choice of people to include was just as important as the focal areas of their research. Sharing scientific research with a general audience can be a difficult skill to master; those that do it successfully must be both passionate about their field and able to communicate that passion in an accessible and entertaining manner. I also wanted to include both scientists and bat species from a range of countries and continents, so a great place to start was at an international conference. 

At the International Society for Behavioural Ecology (ISBE) meeting in Melbourne, Australia, in October 2024, I mentioned the idea to fellow bat researchers, including Jenna Kohles and Hannah Tilley, who became early recruits to write chapters for the book. I then reached out to others in the field whose research and communication style I admired, including Daniel Hargreaves, a research collaborator in the Vincent Wildlife Trust who is also a well-known bat photographer, as I knew his breath-taking images would bring a magical element to this book. I also wanted to give opportunities to early career researchers, so invited my research group’s current PhD student Lucy Morison and post-doctoral researcher Camilla Soravia to co-author a chapter with me. After a process of further recommendations, this led to a team of 12 authors, living in six countries.  

We have never all met in real life; conversations were mostly via emails and video calls throughout the writing process. We each chose topics in bat sociality that fit our specialisms, avoiding overlap and including more applied chapters on the practicalities of bat conservation and research. I then chose to include an “And finally…” chapter where we share entertaining or emotional moments experienced in our research, from the process of training bats for photography to the perils of wearing fake eyelashes when entering bat roosts. 

Which social behaviour in bats did you find most surprising or fascinating during your research? 

Social complexity has always been an area that fascinates me, in particular the occurrence of strong friendships between non-relatives. If animals are programmed to behave in a way that enhances the propagation of their genes, what are the benefits some gain from spending time with and helping non-kin, and why do these friendships seem to mostly be found in species such as primates and cetaceans? During my PhD work, I showed that female semi-feral horses had associations with presumed non-relatives that persisted over time. We also demonstrated that captive Livingstone’s Fruit Bats Pteropus livingstonii maintained preferred associations in a more recent research project (covered in Chapter 10). I therefore find the work on Common Vampire Bats Desmodus rotundus, led by Gerald Wilkinson and more recently Gerry Carter, absolutely fascinating. Find out in Chapter 7 from Imran Razik, who carried out his PhD research in this group, how vampire bats not only have close friendships with non-relatives, but even choose to donate life-saving blood meals to them at considerable costs to themselves.  

In your view, what are some of the most intriguing mysteries about bats that remain unsolved and that you’d like to see explained? 

This is a difficult question, as bats are considerably understudied compared to other social mammals. There is so much we have yet to learn. However, for me, their languages and communication are super interesting. We know that bats can share information when they swarm together near roosts after feeding. But what do they communicate with each other, and how? Will we ever be able to find out? In this book, you can learn from Mirjam Knörnschild about the development of social behaviour such as language in pups and juveniles (Chapter 5), and Gloriana Chaverri shares how Spix’s Disc-winged Bats Thyroptera tricolor tell other members of their group where they are going to sleep that day (Chapter 4). However, we highlight in Chapter 13 how much more there is left to discover, and how we as scientists go about doing this. 

 

What do you consider the most important points for readers to take away from your book? 

After reading this book, readers will have a deep understanding of the diversity of social behaviour that is found in bats. There are over 1,500 extant species, adapted to a huge range of niches, so that should not in itself be a surprise. But if you consider that only relatively few of these species have been studied in detail, and what exciting behaviours we’ve already discovered, doesn’t that tickle your imagination?  

I also hope the message that much more needs to be done to help conserve bats worldwide is one that readers will take away. This is a focus of Chapters 11 (written by Emma Stone, focusing on anthropogenic impacts on bats) and 12 (written by Helen Taylor-Boyd, giving hope that humans and bats can happily coexist). Some of the book’s profits will be donated to organisations represented by co-authors (the Vincent Wildlife Trust and Bats Without Borders), but there are other brilliant organisations doing some amazing work that are also mentioned in the book (e.g. the Bat Conservation Trust and African Bat Conservation) and that I hope readers might support. 

I’d really like to hear readers’ own take-home messages, and how reading this book has influenced their opinions and behaviour. For that reason, I’ve set up an Instagram account (@sociallivesofbats) where I’d love people to share their thoughts, or they can use #sociallivesofbats in other social media platforms. I’ve really enjoyed bringing together colleagues to write this book, but the real joy will come from learning how it’s been received by its readers. 

 

Book review – The Savage Landscape: How We Made the Wilderness

 

***** Boiling over with thought-provoking observations

In The Savage Landscape, writer Cal Flyn travels to wild areas around the world and thoughtfully examines how our efforts to conserve the wild are shot through with tensions and contradictions. By blending it with equal parts travel reportage and nature writing, she helps the reader to digest what is frequently discomfiting and confrontational subject matter.

Flyn blew me away with her previous book, Islands of Abandonment, in which she roamed areas abandoned by humans. She has become worried that it could be misread as endorsing the idea that removing humans from landscapes is a good thing, a “seductive mode of misanthropic thinking [that] has oozed through the environmental movement for decades” (p. 8). Here she thus reexamines the concept of wilderness. Where Islands of Abandonment had an often otherworldly quality by examining landscapes that, by definition, very few people have seen, The Savage Landscape takes the inverse approach and steps with two feet into the very human mess that results when different ideologies clash.

Readers who wish to be spellbound again need not worry, though: there are excursions here into unforgettable landscapes, and her poetic writing frequently gave me goosebumps. She examines wilderness as site of spiritual revelation when visiting Mount Sinai. This might well be its oldest function as hermits, shamans, and other truth-seekers have retreated here since time immemorial in search of “an uncluttered connection with the divine” (p. 37). Most powerful is her visit to an erupting volcano in Iceland to experience first-hand how people go into the wild seeking the sublime. Against her better judgment trekking all the way to the erupting crater, she is confronted with a “storm-lashed ocean trapped in a tiny cup. […] it was like a god; after that first glimpse I found I could not look it in the face in all its glory, its terrifying beauty” (p. 182).

However, Flyn has a more important mission this time around. She fearlessly confronts the contradictions inherent in modern nature conservation. Three examples will have to suffice.

First is the myth of pristine nature. Flyn mentions the post-colonial critics who argue that there is no true wilderness anymore: “there is only land occupied by misunderstood and disregarded peoples; land that creates an *impression* of untouched nature, the *perception* of wilderness” (p. 7). To this she adds that virtually everywhere, land has been managed, modified, or inhabited: “one man’s wilderness has almost invariably turned out to be another man’s garden” (p. 7).

This logically leads to the second example: the tension between conservation and social justice. National parks from the get-go involved the eviction of native people from their ancestral lands. This still happens, as Flyn witnesses when she meets the Batwa, the no-longer-forest people in Uganda. A lot of wilderness protection has morphed into fortress conservation: a hard-line, militant form of environmental defence that is shot through with racism. This is easily one of the more uncomfortable topics, as it is hard to square the brutalities we inflict on each other with the perceived morality driving environmental conservation. At its core, this is a conflict between how we value the lives of humans versus those of other animals. Asks Flyn: “When push comes to shove, who gets elbowed off the ark?” (p. 236).

The third example is that conservation, for all its talk of letting nature take its course, is frequently a hands-on affair. When visiting Transylvania, she sees firsthand the conflict between humans and large predators, and the lethal and non-lethal methods used to manage it. Trophy hunting similarly involves active management, sacrificing a few to finance the greater good. Even rewilding often involves active intervention. Though she is sympathetic to rewilding, she cautions that: “In sculpting the landscape into a vision of what we call ‘wild’ we risk adding only one more layer of artifice” (p. 374). Thus her challenge to rewilders: “What do we risk through interference, and what might we gain from restraint?” (p. 374).

There is a thoughtfulness and open-mindedness that underlies much of her writing. She has witnessed unsettling things and met people she does not always agree with. However, she will hear them out before giving in to emotional responses. Similarly, she will not tell her readers what to think, instead showing how many topics are more complicated than they first appear. While she is ill at ease with trophy hunting, she cannot deny it succeeds in protecting species and understands its utilitarian economics. Plus, where governments cannot or will not support conservation, game parks are often the only thing standing between wildlife and powerful poaching cartels. A second example is the role of wilderness as sacred land. Though she admits to being constrained by her own scientific training, she earnestly explores the value of taboos and superstitions in wildlife protection when visiting Nepal: “The terror of wrathful gods, of course, being far more daunting than any fence could ever be” (p. 336).

I was pleased to see she even considers the corrosive role of capitalism in all this, writing how uncharted wilderness, here the deep sea, invites exploration, so often a prelude to exploitation. Much to the distress of marine biologists, mining companies want to extract the polymetallic nodules that litter the seabed, sponsoring the very expeditions that describe these ecosystems. This is nothing short of “corporate espionage against the natural world: trusted insiders, gathering data, […] feeding sensitive information back to its greatest adversaries” (p. 309). That does not mean that ‘science is evil’, but to view it as “a moral force is to misunderstand it entirely” (p. 313). She sharply observes that it is no coincidence that the first national parks were established in hard-to-access areas, the only inhabitants being “those who had values other than capitalistic gain” (p. 312). What this tells me is that the problem is not the presence of people on the land, but the presence of *certain* people on the land, except that they are not the ones being evicted. As with climate change, the great travesty of conservation is that those who contributed the least to today’s problems pay the highest price.

There is much more I could say about The Savage Landscape, and there is not a chapter here that does not upend comfortably held assumptions and beliefs. This is a book that boils over with thought-provoking observations, and one that excels at clarifying why these provocations are urgently needed. Rather than cynical polemic, Flyn relies on the power of poetic language to deliver the message, and some of it resonated long after I finished reading.

Interview with Amy Chernasky & Lauren Heinz – Handbook of the Reptiles of the World, Volume 1: Turtles and Crocodiles

The Lynx handbooks have broken new ground, achieving the unprecedented task of describing and illustrating – in stunning detail – every species in selected vertebrate groups, starting with the 17-volume Handbook of the Birds of the World, and more recently the Handbook of the Mammals of the World, completed in 2019.

Following huge anticipation, the next subject for the handbook series was revealed last year, with the first volume due in autumn 2026. Handbook of the Reptiles of the World is a landmark multi-volume reference that will cover every currently recognised reptile family and species worldwide. Conceived as the definitive resource on reptile diversity, it brings together an international network of leading specialists to provide authoritative texts, standardised species treatments, and up-to-date conservation assessments. With hundreds of original plates and thousands of photographs, the series offers an unparalleled synthesis of the biology, ecology, and conservation of reptiles across the globe.

As we look forward to the arrival of the first volume, we were delighted to have the chance to ask Amy Chernasky, Project Manager, and Lauren Heinz, Editor, about the work that goes into these monumental projects, and what readers can expect from the latest series.

Let’s start with the background to this series. How did you end up choosing reptiles as the next subject for your multi-volume handbooks?
After completing the Handbook of the Birds of the World and the Handbook of the Mammals of the World, reptiles felt like a natural next step. Those series had shown the value of bringing together specialist knowledge, scientific illustration, high-quality wildlife photography and conservation information in a single global reference work, and we felt that reptiles deserved the same treatment. A reptile handbook seemed especially worthwhile because of the group’s extraordinary diversity, rapidly changing taxonomy, the many gaps that still remain in our knowledge and the serious conservation pressures facing so many species.
The idea of the Handbook of the Reptiles of the World had been building over time, with Josep del Hoyo and the Lynx team working towards it for years and readers repeatedly asking when we would produce a reptile handbook. Given the scale of such an undertaking, there was understandably some scepticism about taking it on, but when we began discussing the idea more widely with the herpetological community, the positive response helped convince us that the time was right.
How has work on this project compared to your previous series on birds and mammals? Are reptiles more or less of a challenge?
It is probably more accurate to say that reptiles present different challenges. The bird and mammal series gave us a great deal of experience in coordinating international teams of experts and working with large quantities of scientific data. But reptiles bring some specific complications. Taxonomy is one of the biggest, with new species continuing to be described and molecular studies regularly reshaping our understanding of relationships between taxa. Another challenge is that some species remain remarkably poorly known, with limited information on their distribution, ecology, behaviour or even basic life history.
Meeting these challenges has meant drawing on the knowledge of our authors, editors and collaborators. The Reptile Database is a major taxonomic reference for the series, while for this first volume, the Turtle Taxonomy Working Group’s Turtles of the World checklist was an essential reference for turtle taxonomy and other important data. We are also grateful for the support of the wider herpetological community, including researchers, database curators and contributors to citizen science platforms, who have generously shared their time, records and knowledge to help us resolve difficult questions and address gaps in the available information. We hope that, in turn, the series can help draw more attention and resources to reptile research.
The first volume alone covers 17 families varying greatly in their global distribution and species richness. How do you set about compiling a team of authors to cover such a diverse group?
We start by bringing together leading herpetologists who can help us understand the particular needs of each volume and advise us on the specialists best placed to cover its families. For this first volume, there was also an important link from the Handbook of the Mammals of the World (HMW) to the Handbook of the Reptiles of the World (HRW). Russell Mittermeier, a leading primatologist and conservationist, played an important role in the creation of HMW and was one of its Chief Editors. He is also a herpetologist with a long-standing interest in turtles and crocodilians. We were therefore delighted when he enthusiastically supported HRW, agreed to become a Series Editor for the first volume and helped us connect with additional specialists to complete the team of Series Editors and family authors.
For each family, we look for authors with first-hand knowledge of the taxa concerned, sometimes bringing together several contributors for larger or more complex families. Their contribution also goes well beyond writing the family overview. It includes verifying photograph identifications and captions, providing up-to-date species data for the species plates, supplying the artists with reference material and guidance, and refining range maps and distribution summaries. It is a considerable commitment from professionals who are already deeply engaged in their own herpetological work, and we are enormously grateful for the time and expertise they give to the project. It is a privilege to work with specialists of this calibre. Throughout the first volume, we repeatedly encountered species that had been described by our authors or Series Editors, or even named in their honour.
The new volume is packed with stunning photography and beautiful artwork, continuing the high standards set by the previous series. How do you source images? Is it difficult to find good reference material given how poorly documented some species are?
The photographs come from many sources, including wildlife photographers, specialist photo agencies, authors, researchers, conservation organisations and a range of online resources, including databases and citizen science platforms. A dedicated Photographic Editor coordinates this work, with support from research volunteers who help track down suitable images and sources. As always, we look for photographs that are both compelling and scientifically informative, capturing aspects of behaviour, habitat, morphology, reproduction, threats and conservation. On one occasion, an author sent us a photograph straight from the field showing a rarely documented behaviour, exactly the kind of image that can add something special to the book.
Alongside the photography, every extant species in the volume is illustrated specifically for HRW by an international team of professional scientific illustrators. We are continually impressed by the skill and attention to detail their work requires. They assemble the reference material for each illustration using photographs, museum specimens, published literature and input from the authors. For poorly known species, finding enough reliable material for an accurate illustration requires a surprising amount of detective work, but so far our collaborators have helped us track down the material we need.
Can you tell us anything about how the rest of the series is shaping up? Are the other volumes under way, or are you taking it one book at a time?
The series is currently planned as seven volumes, and, as with our previous handbooks, we work on subsequent volumes in parallel. We can happily report that we are already well under way with the second volume: Geckos, Blind Lizards and Tuatara.
At the same time, we know the series needs room to evolve. Given the rapid developments in reptile systematics, species totals and the precise shape of later volumes may change as the work progresses. The overall plan is clear, but we expect some details to shift as we go, which is inevitable in such a fast-moving field.
We are very grateful for the support the series has received so far, and we hope that interest continues to grow as further volumes are published.

Author Interview with Thomas John and Paul Brock: Insects of Britain & Europe

Part of the supremely popular WILDGuides series, the groundbreaking Insects of Britain & Europe covers more than 3,000 species, carefully chosen to represent the diversity of Europe’s insect fauna and show the most common and conspicuous species in the region. With innovative photographic plates and clear information on identification and life history, this comprehensive guide is set to become the essential reference for any insect enthusiast and general naturalist living or holidaying in Europe.

­Ahead of publication, we had the pleasure of talking to two of the book’s authors, Thomas John and Paul Brock, about what readers can expect from the new guide: read our conversation below.

Can you tell us a bit about the history and development of the book? Where did the idea come from for a guide to the whole of Europe?

Thomas says: ­Today, nature enthusiasts use apps. These include a comprehensive insect app that Peter oversaw the development of – the ‘ID UK Insects’ app – and on which he and I collaborated. Nevertheless, there is a return to analogue, tangible products, such as books. Peter and I were actually influenced by the famous ‘Chinery Guide’ (A Field Guide to The Insects of Britain and Northern Europe by Michael Chinery), which was originally published in 1973. It is an absolute standard work of popular-science identification literature, and while it has been printed in several editions, there never was a true successor. This led to the idea of creating a new, even more comprehensive identification guide for European insects, targeted at a huge potential user base, building on concepts and content that we had already partly developed for the app. Our book is intended to be very accessible, also to readers who are new to the subject of insects. That we were able to get Paul excited about our project was a tremendous asset, given that he has, of course, already authored extensive literature on the subject of entomology. Robert Kirk, Andy Swash and Jacqui Sayers from Princeton Nature PUP were all very enthusiastic about our idea. Their comprehensive support was indispensable for the realisation of this project.

Paul says: Insects were an obvious subject to expand the range of books on European nature and Robert Kirk (head of Princeton Nature at PUP) was always keen to see a user-friendly guide to insects in the well-known WILDGuides series; after all, some naturalists obtain few books and this would meet the need of many naturalists, rather than having to purchase a number of books on different insect orders. Andy Swash was enthusiastic from the outset. Thomas John and Peter Mullen took on the challenge of producing the book and I came on board initially as consultant. I ‘met’ the authors during regular online meetings from August 2023. I saw my role as ensuring the complex task met the expectations and needs of the book’s purchasers, resulting in a visually exciting book – it turned out to be an unexpectedly huge amount of work including much writing, research, supply of certain images and review/correction of the work throughout the project, always aiming for the best quality possible.

Many readers will be familiar with the WILDGuides series, including the excellent Britain’s Insects. Does this book follow a similar format, or has the greater area of coverage required a different approach?

Paul says: I must admit that Britain’s Insects (2021) is one of my favourite books, but attempting to cover some 105,000 species in Europe (some poorly studied), vs 25,000 in Britain is challenging! A similar number of pages has to include an index, extended by many more species in the European book, with layout in a different style to Britain’s Insects, mostly with classic field guide text on the left and images on the right. In many cases, the more colourful European fauna stands out! But with more species, this can mean that there are additional similar-looking species somewhere in Europe, which have been mentioned where possible. Sadly, not all families could be included, it is even difficult to achieve this in just a book on one insect order. But I will leave Thomas to elaborate on how the book coverage was achieved.

Thomas says: Of course, with a book like this, we always face a conflict of targets: we have so much to tell and want to showcase so many species, yet the book needs to be compact and handy – something you can easily slip into your bag or backpack for nature excursions, for example. Even 3,000 species represent only a tiny fraction of the total biodiversity in Europe. I think this is maybe the biggest difference to other WILDGuide projects – that we intend to cover the by far largest animal group in Europe (in terms of species count) in such a confined space. Consequently, we had to come up with a new concept for the book that allowed us to condense information significantly and depict it very clearly. This involves presenting the insects in isolation against a white background – a practice that has been basically followed for centuries, allowing us to best display individual details while also saving a great deal of space when compared to traditional photographs. Rather than use illustrations, we decided to use actual photographs, as they capture the animals’ colours and general appearance most naturally. Our layout was also carefully developed. We wanted all our layout elements to visually remain in the background, allowing the shapes and colours of the insects on our panels to stand out clearly.

With insects being such an incredibly diverse group, what was your process for deciding which species to include?

Thomas says: Together with Paul, Peter and I spent countless sessions compiling and consolidating species lists – based on Paul’s British books as well as our insect app that had been published in several European countries already. In some cases, we also collaborated with other specialised entomologists who provided valuable support, particularly regarding some more obscure groups like thrips. Many insect species are extremely tiny and inconspicuous, and most likely will only ever be encountered by specialists researching them. Yet, the insects that nature observers and enthusiasts in Europe are likely to encounter will generally be found in our book – even if it often isn’t the exact species, you will at least find closely related species from the same family. We felt that the species count of 3,000 worked out very well – it allowed us to adequately consider all relevant insect groups while still keeping the overall format of the book manageable.

Paul says: Our initial species lists were obtained from multiple sources, including popular online recording websites, to ensure that common species featured from the geographical range covered. As usual with a vast project of this nature, there is always concern over what is left out and the content of some small, minor orders was to some extent dictated by the availability of photos. Selected rarer species are included to show the range of colour, beauty and form in our insect fauna.

The book contains more than 5,500 photographs – a truly remarkable collection. How did you go about sourcing images? Was it a challenge finding photographs of all species you wanted to include?

Thomas says: It was a large undertaking, yes. Anyone who has ever photographed insects knows how difficult it can be to get a good, sharp image of certain species. There are several species that hardly anyone notices, let alone photographs! We also wanted images that– much like illustrated plates – depict every detail as clearly and neutrally as possible. As a result, many images (despite actually being quite beautiful) had to be discarded. Fortunately, thanks to our work on insect apps, we had already started building up a collection of such images, so we didn’t have to start from scratch. We also already had extensive experience in editing and optimising all those photographs for our specific needs. The team at Sunbird Images – who are normally responsible for creating the graphics for the apps – provided us with invaluable assistance in this regard. I think that every illustration became a small work of art thanks to that huge collaborative effort. In the end, more than 1,000 individual photographers contributed to the illustrations in our book. This also demonstrates the great significance of the community of naturalists and nature photographers – and the importance of each individual among them.

Finally, what are your hopes for the book in terms of encouraging interest in and study of Europe’s insects?

Paul says: The authors hope that the stunning content in this book inspires budding entomologists or general naturalists to learn about and take more interest in insects, including neglected insect orders. Perhaps even to make lifetime studies, send records to relevant recording schemes and go on to specialise in certain orders. There is much to learn and some of our fauna is badly in need of conserving, but more data are needed, hence the need for records. There have been a number of issues and threats affecting the numbers of insects in recent decades, mostly resulting in population declines. However, it is fair to say that climate change is having a huge effect on our insect life in 2026. This issue is very much with us and highlighted by this year’s devastating fires in Europe, with significant loss of habitat for all wildlife, including insects. Is there still time to change course? Some insects will be winners, adapting to changes; many others face a steep decline.

Thomas says: Like Paul, I believe that our perspective on nature’s needs in 2026 differs significantly from how we saw it maybe twenty years ago. When I was young, for instance, a major threat to many insect species was the pollution of bodies of water – particularly rivers. Today, that is no longer a major issue in most parts of Europe; a great deal has changed for the better in this regard, and yes, you can see a rise in certain insect species (for example dragonflies or damselflies) thanks to this. However, we currently face a multitude of other threats – such as the loss of habitats due to increasingly intensive agriculture, or climate change. Anyone engaging with nature today, anyone heading outdoors to observe or photograph insects, will inevitably witness the consequences of these threats and changes in one form or another. You will notice how certain species that used to be common in southern Europe only are spreading more and more to the north. Yet, the primary focus of our publication is not on discussing threats or changes. It is simply to spark enthusiasm, curiosity, and interest. We showcase the magnificent diversity of British and European insects and what amazing creatures they are. Some may appear bizarre, others beautiful at first glance – but even bizarre insects possess their own kind of beauty! We hope that our enthusiasm for the subject will rub off on the reader. Because, once a passion for nature is ignited, understanding and support also grows regarding what is required to protect and preserve it.

Author interview with Stephen Moss – The Puffin: A Biography

Stephen Moss is a lifelong birder, broadcaster and bestselling author, whose books have been published in over twenty different countries. The Puffin, due in October, is the seventh volume in his celebrated ‘Bird Biographies’ series, following the Robin, Wren, Swallow, Swan, Owl and Starling – as well as The Twelve Birds of Christmas, which featured the dozen species in the famous festive carol. In total these have sold well over 120,000 copies, and been translated into Dutch, German and Chinese.

Ahead of publication of The Puffin, we had the pleasure of speaking to Stephen about the history and development of Bird Biographies and his future plans for the series.

Firstly, could you give us some background on the origins of Bird Biographies – when The Robin was published back in 2017, did you know it would be the beginning of a series?

I don’t think so, no – the idea had originally come to me on my regular early-morning bike ride around the lanes near my Somerset home, as I loved David Lack’s classic Life of the Robin (published during the Second World War), and following my friend David Lindo’s poll to find Britain’s Favourite Bird, I thought that the winner (surprise, surprise – the Robin) deserved its own book. It was only when it sold over 35,000 copies in the two months from publication and leading up to Christmas that I thought it might be worth doing a second volume. I chose the Wren because it was – and still is – Britain’s commonest bird! I then only had a short time to write that book, so it could come out in time for the following Christmas. The Wren was also very popular – to date it is the second highest seller of the series with over 25,000 copies sold (The Robin has now topped 50,000).

How has the series developed in comparison to your early expectations? Has it taken any surprise turns?

My original plan was to separate the scientific and cultural aspects of the Robin, so that the literary, social and cultural material would all come after the biology and ecology. It was my wonderful agent, Broo Doherty, who suggested combining the two. That then led to the realisation – about halfway through writing that first book – that the folklore and cultural aspects of the bird – in the case of the Robin, its association with Christmas – come directly from its behaviour. For example, Robins feed on the ground and, in the days when I was growing up when we still had snowy winters, this meant that they would starve unless people fed them; so they became tame and ‘friendly’. Likewise, Robins follow gardeners as they turn over the soil because until recently, wild boars had gone extinct in Britain, so we became the substitute for them! Astonishingly, the same link between the biology and the cultural side of the bird – the behaviour leading to the folklore – also applies to all the other six species in the series. That helped create a real sense that these are ‘biographies’ of each bird.

To date the biographies have covered a wonderfully varied selection of subjects. How do you go about choosing your species?

By far the most important thing is that every species I choose must have both fascinating (and sometimes unique) behaviour and also a major human connection through history, folklore and culture. All of the seven species so far have both aspects of these; but for instance other very popular and well-loved birds, such as the Blue Tit and Blackbird, simply do not. Also each time I write a new one, I want to be surprised, and to find something different from the species that I wrote about before. Although the Robin and the Wren are both common, resident garden birds, it turns out that their behaviour and culture are very different from one another. For the third volume I really wanted to write about a migrant, and the Swallow was the obvious choice, as they are such a global traveller. Then I wanted to do a waterbird, and the Swan was also the clear frontrunner; followed by a group of birds – a choice between Owls and Crows, and the Owls won! The Starling is such a quirky bird, withy its unique murmurations and our love-hate relationship with the species; while the Puffin was the clear frontrunner as a seabird, and also because people absolutely love them.

Do you start with a particular structure for the books, or do you find that different species demand different approaches?

Having decided to blend the science and the culture, a month-by-month structure from January through to December was the obvious choice for the Robin, and also for the Wren. Then, when I wrote the Swallow, it made far more sense to do it seasonally, starting with their return in spring, and then covering their breeding, migration and overwintering in South Africa. I say ‘wintering’, but of course Swallows never experience winter – when they arrive there in our autumn, they enjoy a second spring and summer. I went to see the world’s biggest Swallow roost near Durban airport, with three million birds, which was truly mind-boggling! The Swan, Starling and Puffin are also seasonal, while for the Owl, I covered all seven UK species and so the format reflected this.

What’s your process for researching your subjects? Do you end up discovering new things about each bird?

I always discover new things – and even when I think I know about the bird, as with the Robin, I soon discover many more aspects of their biological and cultural lives. I start by reading about the species in my collection of old and new bird books, typing out quotes and interesting nuggets of information to use later on. I then draw up a draft list of contents and topics. For some recent volumes I have had the help of a researcher: I brief them with a series of topics and questions, and then they dig up facts and figures, stories and anecdotes, and so on. That really helps me get a new and different perspective on the bird. I then incorporate their findings into my original plan, before finally starting to write. Unlike articles, doing a book is a very iterative process: after writing, I edit each chapter before bringing them all together. My commissioning editor Molly Slight, and my copyeditor, an old friend and colleague Graham Coster, an experienced publisher and writer himself, read the text and send me their detailed feedback – after which I rewrite some sections and hone the book into its final draft. Then the publishers typeset it, and add the illustrations, so that I see the text as it will appear to the reader. We make any final corrections, and the book goes off to be printed!

Finally, the obvious question: can you tell us anything about what’s next for the series? Do you already have other subjects in mind?

As I am officially semi-retired, I now write one volume every two years, rather than one, so we’ll decide the next species sometime early next year for publication in autumn 2028. Given the need for the bird to have that crucial combination of special behaviour and cultural stories, there are a number of frontrunners: Skylark, Kingfisher and House Sparrow are the top three. Of those, I really want to write about the House Sparrow – a bird I grew up with, and which has a fascinating story to tell!

Author interview with David M Wilkinson: Microworlds

The latest addition to the New Naturalist Library casts light on a hidden side to soils and freshwaters, inviting readers into the alien world of life at the microscopic level. In Microworlds, David M. Wilkinson introduces the bewildering array of organisms in these vast, near-invisible communities, and shares the extraordinary strategies they have developed to survive the challenges of micro-life. 

 

 

Ahead of publication, David kindly spoke to us about the story behind the book and the fascination of microscopic life in general. 

Firstly, for those unfamiliar with life at the microscopic level, could you give us a taste of the diversity of organisms covered in the book?

This book is number 151 in the New Naturalist series, and yet it covers more biological diversity than most of the other books added together. This is because almost all of biodiversity today is microbial, and for most of the history of the planet all life was microbial. As I wrote in the book’s foreword; ‘A realistic TV documentary on ‘Life on Earth’ would be totally dominated by microbes’. If the New Naturalist series mirrored this diversity almost all of the first 150 volumes would have been on microbes, and number 151 might well have been the first book on animals! To constrain this diversity to something manageable, the book concentrates on the free-living microbes in soils and freshwaters – so excluding parasitic microbes. It mainly describes eukaryotic microbes (i.e. those with the same cell structure as animals, plants and fungi) – that is the organisms sometimes called protozoa and algae. So most bacteria are excluded, except for photosynthetic cyanobacteria which are included because they are ecologically similar to eukaryotic algae, hence their old name of ‘blue green algae’. 

The common plasmodial slime mould?Fuligo?septica. David M. Wilkinson

What first drew you to study microscopic life and how has your interest developed over the years?

I became interested in microbial ecology while an undergraduate at Coventry Polytechnic in the early 1980s – doing a final year research project on testate amoebae biogeography supervised by Humphrey Smith (who was an expert on Antarctic protozoa). Testate amoebae seemed to me an ideal group for an ecologist interested in microbes. They could be identified and counted relatively straightforwardly with fairly basic microscopes (DNA based molecular methods barely existed in microbial ecology at that time), and also their shells can preserve in peat and lake sediment cores allowing you to use them to reconstruct environmental changes over time. Diatoms also share these features, and both testates and diatoms feature prominently in the book. Since the 1980s I have maintained an interest in microbial ecology in general, and especially in testate amoebae, alongside research on many other topics. Much of my research on testates has been on large scale patterns in their diversity, and also more recently in their role in ecosystem function. For example, I am currently one of an international group of around 70 people working on a major analysis of global testate amoebae diversity. The idea that there would be 70+ scientists actively interested in testates would have seemed most unlikely when I was a student in the 1980s. 

And when and how did the idea for Microworlds first emerge?

A volume on microbes has been an obvious gap in the New Naturalist series for many years, a gap that the editors have struggled to find an author to fill. My previous New Naturalist, Ecology and Natural History (2021), had a chapter on microbial ecology, however I think it was the article on testate amoebae that I wrote for British Wildlife in 2022 that convinced some of the editors that I might be the person to try and fill the gap.

How much attention have these lifeforms attracted over the years? Did you have much historical research to draw on when writing the book?

By definition you need a microscope to see microorganisms. Microscopes are a 17th century invention, and had to wait for the first half of the 19th century before their quality really started to improve. Once good microscopes became available a whole new world opened up, for amateurs as well as professionals. Indeed microscopes seem much more common in late 19th and early 20th century natural history than they are today. However, on occasions when they gather together in mass, microbes become visible to the field naturalist even without the aid of a microscope. For example, algal blooms turning water bodies green, spheres and sheets of the cyanobacteria Nostoc (Gilbert White saw these in his garden and wasn’t sure what to make of them), or amoebae gathering together as slime moulds. I have given such examples particular emphasis in the book as they can be seen by a general naturalist, who has no more than, at most, a hand lens to magnify them. Indeed, something that sounds very like the common yellow slime mould Fuligo septica was described from China in a Tang Dynasty medical text from 739. 

Algal bloom in Trafalgar square. David M. Wilkinson

What tips would you give someone looking to start exploring the world of microscopic organisms for themselves?

Look down, not up. If you already have an interest in mosses or lichens you are already looking in some of the right places. A hand lens helps (e.g. with slime moulds), and a low power stereo microscope of the type many naturalists have, if they are into smaller organisms, magnifies enough to see borderline microscopic animals (such as tardigrades or Hydra) or true microbes such as the larger testate amoebae. With a basic compound microscope able to magnify at least 200 times many more things start to come into view. The books appendix is a brief guide to how to start to find things if you have access to a microscope – using the sort of ‘lab’ equipment found in a kitchen, or, at most, simple cheap equipment, such as disposable pipettes or petri dishes, which can be found on the NHBS website. 

Amoeba proteus?- from Joseph Leidy’s beautifully illustrated1879 monograph on the North America amoebae. David M. Wilkinson

Perhaps a tricky question to finish, but could you share a favourite example of the remarkable and bizarre lifestyles some of these organisms lead? 

So much of our understanding of life is based on a few groups of atypical organisms, such as mammals and birds. Microbial natural history forces us to rethink the basics. For example, how do you define death? Many microbes can sit out hostile conditions for many years in an inactive state with no measurable metabolism. In the case of some bacteria they seem able to survive in such a state for millions of years. We normally associated ‘no metabolism’ with death, but for these microbes (and some lichens and mosses too) just add water and they are living again! Have they come back from the dead?  Questions like this have caused several philosophers to start to take an interest in microbial natural history in recent years. Microbes challenge our mammal–centric thinking on life and death, competition and cooperation, or sex and sexuality.  

 

Author interview with Sophie Pavelle: To Have or To Hold

In To Have or To Hold, Sophie Pavelle dives into the dazzling world of symbiotic relationships – the good, the grotesque, and the downright bizarre. Through eight chapters, the book celebrates some of the UK’s lesser known species and the remarkable ways in which they have come to support, or exploit, their fellow organisms. Engaging and entertaining throughout, To Have or To Hold is a masterpiece in communicating complex scientific concepts in a personable, accessible manner. 

Ahead of the paperback release in late July, we were delighted to talk to Sophie about the process behind the book, its key messages, and the intrigue of symbiosis itself.

Firstly, could you tell us about what drew you to the subject of symbiosis?

During my second year studying Zoology at the University of Bristol, a deceptively simple module titled ‘Parasites’ changed everything. Taught by leading experts, I became enthralled by the way parasites stitch the living world together; binding species, ecosystems and evolutionary histories in intricate, often astonishing symbioses. To Have or To Hold emerged at a moment when ‘nature connectedness’ and Britain’s fragile relationship with the living world were making headlines. As I delved into nature’s hidden alliances, I felt something rare: excitement, and genuine hope. Symbiosis, to me, reveals Earth in its truest form: complex, authentic and endlessly at work.

One significant figure in the book is the late Lynn Margulis, evolutionary biologist. Could you tell our readers a bit about her contributions to the understanding of symbiosis?

Lynn was my guiding light throughout the creation of To Have or To Hold. A remarkable American evolutionary biologist who came of age in the 1950s, she possessed a rare blend of intellectual ferocity and deep tenderness; as formidable as wildfire, yet endlessly curious about the secrets of the small. For decades, her insights into symbiosis lay obscured beneath Darwin’s towering emphasis on competition. At 28 – the same age I was while writing this book – she published her groundbreaking 1967 paper, ‘On the Origin of Mitosing Cells’, proposing that complex life could arise through the merging of species’ lives. Her legacy now underpins modern evolutionary biology, illuminating how life truly comes together.

You’ve ended up with an amazingly varied rollcall of subjects, from parasitic barnacles to lungwort lichens. How did you whittle down potential candidates to get your final list?

I set a few clear criteria to guide my choices which proved essential. Because once you start viewing the world through the lens of symbiosis, its abundance becomes overwhelming! I wanted species that would lead me across a range of British habitats, showcasing how varied and singular our archipelago is in supporting life and assemblages of species found nowhere else. Accessibility mattered too. Each location needed to be reachable by public transport, so readers might feel encouraged to follow these journeys themselves.

I also prioritised species whose relationships were supported by solid, peer?reviewed research, allowing each chapter to rest on firm scientific ground. Some organisms were so under?studied that a rigorous 12,000?word chapter simply wasn’t possible. Finally, I wanted to weave in climate research and represent a broad sweep of taxonomic groups, reflecting the full complexity of nature’s interconnectedness; from micro to macro in scale.

To Have or To Hold is refreshing for presenting and celebrating biodiversity in its entirety, not just the ‘nice’ parts. Did writing and researching the book change your outlook on parasites and other groups that get a bad rap?

I came to this book already biased toward parasites. I love the challenge of using story, science and language to shift a reader’s view of a species they might find ugly, violent or simply dreadful – to turn revulsion or apathy into curiosity and awe. As I descended into the hidden worlds of the Sacculina barnacle, the hairworm, even the early spider orchid, their sophistication astonished me. Each one responds to the universal urgency of survival with extraordinary precision. Far from diminishing them, these strategies only deepened my fascination and respect for their place in the living world.

Each chapter centres on your journeys around the country seeking out the various symbiotic relationships you describe. How important was it for you to go out and try and experience these firsthand?

Travelling to the habitats these species occupy was essential, just as it was when writing Forget Me Not. I’m a keen cyclist, and whenever the weather allowed, I rode. There’s something about pushing yourself through a landscape – heart racing, mind clearing, meeting the elements head?on – that deepens my connection to the species I’m writing about. If I can experience even a fraction of the challenges they endure, I hope I can bring them to life more vividly on the page.

And because this book weaves in the climate story, it felt important to witness the changing conditions myself. Over a year marked by named storms, marine heatwaves and drought, I travelled through the same extremes reshaping these relationships. It grounded the writing and reminded me that I’m not just observing these shifts, but living through them too.

Finally, what do you think symbiosis can teach us about our relationship with the planet and tackling the crises affecting the natural world?

That relationships are not always pretty. They require graft, ingenuity, give and take. They are complex, shapeshifting and spectacularly beneficial. Collaborations offer wildly more prosperous and exciting outcomes, and it’s in our DNA to gather and assemble – especially when there are problems to solve and decisions to make.

Book review – The Story of Birds: An Evolutionary History of the Dinosaurs That Live Among Us

***** Another captivatingly told chapter of life’s evolutionary history

After writing two bestsellers on the evolution of dinosaurs and mammals, palaeontologist Steve Brusatte here provides the missing piece of the puzzle by turning to the evolution of birds. You might even ask why this book was not immediately written after The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs. How so? If this book has one take-home message, it is that birds are, quite literally, dinosaurs. The Story of Birds sees Brusatte, by now comfortable in his science communication skills, combining captivating episodes of evolution with accessible explanations, while giving plenty of attention to the people behind the findings.

Until I started this book, I had a large gap in my understanding of bird evolution. Sure, I was familiar with the ongoing discussion as to which group of theropod dinosaurs was the ancestor of birds. I had admired first-hand the famous Berlin specimen of Archaeopteryx, a genus that has become, through sheer history, “a conceptual anchor point for discussing bird origins” (p. 91). And I knew that this was followed by something-something-evolution and, oh look, now we have more than ten thousand bird species. But what happened in between?

To tell the story of birds, Brusatte takes a two-pronged approach. The first few chapters discuss how certain dinosaurs evolved the anatomical, physiological, and behavioural features that we all associate with birds: feathers, wings, beaks, endothermy, flight, song, etc. The remainder of the book then examines how birds evolved and diversified to become the creatures we recognise today. This involves a cast of increasingly bird-like creatures, some of which are on the direct line to modern birds, others of which are sister groups that left no descendants. It also involves all sorts of delightful evolutionary experiments, notably the repeated loss of flight leading to all sorts of giant land birds.

 

I was impressed with how Brusatte casually introduces important concepts in ecology and evolutionary biology. Take exaptation; or, how evolutionary innovations, such as feathers, often come about by repurposing existing structures. Or take the ecological niche: how modern birds diversified extremely rapidly after the extinction of the (non-avian) dinosaurs into now-vacant positions in ecosystems, and since then have been tinkering around the edges. Another concept is biogeography, and how it has been shaped by plate tectonics. The “tectonic handshake” (p. 285) between North and South America when the Panama Isthmus formed some 2.7 million years (Ma) ago led to the extinction of terror birds, while the island corridor forming close to Australia some 27 Ma ago blessed the world with bird song as passerines started migrating around the globe. And then there is the incredible story of ratites and how DNA research completely overturned long-held ideas about their evolution. I will leave that one for readers to explore.

What keeps these forays into biological concepts accessible to a wider readership are Brusatte’s sometimes amusing analogies. He clarifies that saying that birds are dinosaurs is not some sort of “rhetorical sleight of hand—academic scientists harping on a technicality” (p. 7). Species classification is about ancestry: “Family trees are like a set of nested Russian dolls—groups within groups” (p. 33). The fact that birds look so different is irrelevant: “Scientific classification follows the same rules as the mafia: If you’re born into the family, you can’t get out” (p. 33). When explaining how many bird traits did not evolve for the purpose of flight, another nice analogy follows: “The Wright brothers, after all, did not invent the wheel or the propeller. But they put them together and got them working in a new way—as an airplane” (p. 38).

Brusatte has lost none of his humility, something already on display in his previous two books. Thus, he is not shy to admit where his work stands on the shoulders of giants and explicitly acknowledges where he has collaborated with specialists on subjects he is not an expert on, such as flight and biomechanics. More broadly, there is a sense of professional humility. There are competing scenarios for how bird flight began. The problem is that we only have Archaeopteryx to draw on. “I have learned to be comfortable with the uncertainty: We can’t be totally sure how the bird flight stroke began” (p. 101). Similarly, current consensus favours the idea that modern birds evolved from waterbirds, with Vegavis and Asteriornis key fossils, but Brusatte is quick to add that “again we must be humble in the face of the fossil record. These are simply two species, the only ones currently known from decent skeletons” (p. 135). Another aspect of his writing that makes a return here, closely allied to this attitude of humility, is his respectful portrayal of other people. He goes beyond the journalistic trope of describing their appearance and dress, exploring what motivates and interests them. It helps that, as a scientist, he understands their work intimately. Additionally, he will read up on biographical sketches of past figures. And even where he disagrees with others, he will recognise their other achievements.

 

Two final features of the book I want to call out are the reference section and the illustrations. As in the previous two books, rather than a simple reference list, you get a chatty 53-page literature review in which Brusatte expands on his thinking processes, gives reading recommendations, and adds further detail. This is something few other authors do, and I continue to enjoy it. No fewer than four illustrators are credited. As before, the dust jacket has been drawn by Andrew Davidson, so this trilogy looks great on your bookshelves. I am not sure that Todd Marshall has actually contributed anything to the UK version. In an Instagram post, Brusatte mentioned having to call on Cordula Mark Venters at the last minute, who provides equally lovely chapter openings and species montages. The useful infographics are again by Sarah Shelley. Finally, Daniel Field is credited with several galleries of bird photos. Overall, the black-and-white reproduction of all photos in this book is middling, and given that it is already topping bestseller lists, some colour plates would not have been out of place.

The praise and accolades that this book rapidly gathered towards its release have been well-deserved. If you read his previous books, picking this one up is a no-brainer; if you have not, you are missing out! Brusatte has written another phenomenally interesting work of popular science. Confidently told while always deferring to the provisional nature of palaeontological knowledge, and with plenty of attention to the people behind the research, this is scientific storytelling at its best.

Guest blog from Billy Heaney: Watching the Wild

This spring, zoologist Billy Heaney has been keeping viewers entertained and enthralled with his ‘Watching the Wild’ series, documenting the lives of the wild animals in his local woods. We were delighted to send a couple of our trail cameras to support his efforts, and recently heard back about how he’s been getting on with them. In this blog, Billy talks about the series and shares the excitement of camera-trapping, withs some useful tips for getting started.    

There’s something irresistibly magical about seeing wildlife when no one – except for your camera – is watching. Whether it’s a badger trundling past under the cover of darkness or a vixen suckling her pups, camera trapping opens a secret window into the natural world. It’s wildlife documentary-making on your doorstep, minus the film crew, bulky tripods, and David Attenborough narration (though feel free to add your own).

From seals to setts

Badger. Image by Billy Heaney

My love affair with camera traps started during my Masters research. Armed with an old Bushnell camera, I set about documenting a grey seal haul-out site on the north coast of Cornwall. The mission was simple: capture a photo every five minutes during daylight hours.

Now, it sounds exciting, and it was, at first. The site itself was spectacular, as were the post camera check surfs. But after a while, the resulting gallery of what can only be described as ‘furry slugs on a beach’ began to blur into monotony. Seals, it turns out, are not always the most dynamic of subjects when viewed in still frames at five-minute intervals.

Still, something stuck. The idea that a camera could quietly observe wildlife, completely undisturbed by human presence, was fascinating. It wasn’t just about what I saw, it was about what animals did when no one else was around.

Backyard espionage

Fast forward a few years, and camera trapping has become a full-blown obsession, and a way for me to connect with the nature on my doorstep here in the Cotswolds.

My favourites? My resident badgers. There’s something about them; the steady rhythm of their nightly routines, the unmistakable shuffle of their movements, cubs play fighting by a sett entrance, and some good old bum pressing (yep, it’s a thing).

One of the joys of camera trapping is that you never quite know what you’re going to get. Over time, the footage builds up into a kind of soap opera of the wild. Regular characters appear, drama unfolds, and every now and then, you get a plot twist you never saw coming.

Wildlife adventures further afield

While my local patch keeps me busy, I’ve also had the chance to take camera traps further afield. In the Forest of Dean, I’ve used them to help monitor the elusive and recently reintroduced pine martens, an animal that feels almost mythical until you see it bounding across a fallen tree on camera.

Trips to Scotland have brought encounters with red squirrels, their fiery coats lighting up the forest, and the occasional glimpse of an otter slipping through loch or river. Let me tell you: seeing an otter appear on your camera trap playback after a few weeks is one of the most satisfying moments in wildlife observation.

Patience is the name of the game. Camera trapping is not for the instantly gratified. You can leave a camera out for days and retrieve nothing but windblown leaves, someone’s cat, and the occasional overly curious robin. But when it pays off, it really pays off.

The thrill of the unexpected

What keeps me hooked is the unpredictability, and the honesty, of what you capture. Camera traps don’t stage scenes or edit reality. They simply record what happens, and sometimes that’s extraordinary.

I’ve captured otters scent marking, foxes tending to their cubs, and tiny badger cubs emerging above ground for the very first time.

These glimpses into behaviour are fascinating because they’re completely unfiltered. You’re witnessing moments that would otherwise go unseen. Natural, intimate, and often fleeting. In many ways, camera traps strip wildlife filmmaking back to its purest form.

Testing the tech

This spring, I’ve been teaming up with NHBS to put a few modern camera traps through their paces, specifically the Reconyx Hyperfire 4K Ultra HD, and the Browning Recon Force Elite HP5 Ultra. It’s been a brilliant way to expand my setup, filming my local wildlife in greater detail and creating some, admittedly, rather daft social media content along the way.

Browning Recon Force Elite HP5 Ultra. Image by Billy Heaney

Springtime surprises

Spring is one of the most rewarding times to have cameras out. It’s when new life begins to emerge, quite literally in the case of badger cubs.

There’s nothing quite like reviewing your footage and spotting the first tentative appearances of cubs above ground, which this spring I captured on the Browning Recon Force Elite HP5 Ultra – see footage below. Their movements are clumsy, their curiosity obvious, and their high-pitched chirps unmistakable. This year, my local clan has produced two cubs and checking the cameras each week has become a highlight of my routine. Particularly now that the daylight is getting longer, and the cameras are now filming the cubs playing in full colour. It’s like opening a weekly episode of your favourite TV show, except the stars are far cuter.

Top tips for getting started

If you’re tempted to give camera trapping a go, and I highly recommend it, here are a few tips to help get you started.

  1. Follow the signs.

Wildlife leaves clues everywhere. Look for well-worn animal trails, deer footprints, or gaps in vegetation. These natural corridors are highways for wildlife and your best bet for capturing activity. If you’re setting one up in your garden, focus it on your pond, by a hole in the fence to see who’s sneaking through the flower beds, or even underneath any bird feeders you have up – you never know who might creep through at night to scoff any fallen seeds.

  1. Get the angle and distance right

Propping your camera at a slight angle can make all the difference between a perfect shot or chopping off the head of your subject. I often place a stick between the top of my camera and the tree it’s attached to so that I can reposition it ever so slightly. Test the focal distance of your camera too: each model will be slightly different. I’ve found that with the Reconyx, I don’t need to worry about that at all, but with the Browning the best results come by positioning the camera at least 5ft away from the subject.

Reconyx HyperFire 4K Ultra HD. Image by Billy Heaney
  1. Move things around

Don’t be afraid to experiment. I like to reposition my cameras every few weeks. This not only keeps things fresh but also helps build a full picture of animal behaviour across the same, but wider area. This lets you piece together sequences and start to tell more complete stories.

A window into the wild

At its heart, camera trapping is about curiosity. It’s about asking, ‘What happens here when I’m not looking?’, and then quietly letting nature answer.

Whether you’re documenting wildlife for research, conservation, or just your own enjoyment, camera traps offer a unique and endlessly fascinating perspective. They remind us that even in the most familiar places – our gardens, local woodland or nearby waterways – there’s a hidden world carrying on regardless.

And once you’ve seen it, it’s very hard to stop watching.

Browse our full range of trail cameras, including the one’s used by Billy here.

Book review: The Princeton Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs is a comprehensive three-volume resource for anyone who is fascinated by dinosaurs. Packed with engaging dinosaur facts and original, full-colour reconstructions, drawings, and graphics, this one-of-a-kind encyclopedia strikes a perfect balance between depth and accessibility – detailed enough to captivate professionals yet clear and exciting enough for beginners eager to dive into the amazing lost world of the dinosaurs. The three volumes are Theropods, Sauropods, and Ornithischians. Organised for easy reference, these books are perfect for casual browsing or in-depth study. Together, this encyclopedia invites dinosaur lovers of all ages to walk among the wondrous beasts of the Mesozoic era.

***** The most comprehensive popular dinosaur encyclopaedia I have yet encountered

This is the most comprehensive popular dinosaur encyclopaedia I have yet encountered, describing well over 1100 species and covering mountains of primary literature. Combining a pleasingly uncluttered visual presentation with entries that strike a fine balance between the accessible and the scholarly, this is a reference I can see myself returning to regularly for a pithy overview of almost every dinosaur under the sun. Interestingly, the authors are new to me, and I could find little information about them online. Jones, a science writer and educator, is a self-professed “lifelong dinosaur enthusiast” (p. 9/10). Viola is a chemist who, for the last decade, has dedicated his spare time to illustrating over 2500 extinct animals on DeviantArt.

This set consists of three A4 hardbacks, totalling around 6 kg and over 1300 pages worth of dinosaurs. They are standalone volumes that can be read in no particular order. Each opens with the same eight pages (preface, FAQ, glossary, timeline, deep time, palaeogeography, instructions on usage), which is mercifully brief and minimises repetition between the different books. Each book is then divided into 14 to 21 sections to different families, opening with a detailed family tree and a one-page introduction to the various hypotheses regarding internal relationships and overall organisation of each family. Jones is upfront about the fact that there is no universal agreement amongst palaeontologists on these matters, and has here tried to compile different versions and different interpretations. None of this is presented, nor intended to be taken, as gospel. Nevertheless, I think they admirably condense complex information without dumbing it down.

The bulk of the encyclopaedia is the species profiles, and I think this is where the books shine. Most profiles take up a full page. They show Viola’s life reconstruction and basic stats across the top third, the presentation borrowing heavily from the 2020 Dinosaur Facts and Figures books, except using greyscale iconography in standardised positions. It makes for a far cleaner and less cluttered presentation. The bottom-third shows an indented classification list, two maps of fossil localities (one modern, one palaeo, which is a nifty feature), and a small skeletal diagram. This combines all the described specimens to indicate how much of the skeleton we have found. Jones adds that these diagrams are not intended to be anatomically exact; the work of Paul and others remains unsurpassed in that respect.

These infographics sandwich the text. Jones has set himself the challenge of explicitly answering three questions in each profile. 1) What makes each species unique? 2) How are species related to each other? 3) How many fossils do we have of each dinosaur? As he explains, all are surprisingly tricky to answer because 1) You have to trawl through “mountains of highly technical, ultradetailed anatomical descriptions” (p. 9/10); 2) there is virtually no species for which there is universal agreement about relationships, and a lot of ink is spilt on discussing different viewpoints and scenarios and how they have shifted over time; 3) there are large gaps in our knowledge. Many papers, especially older ones, do not illustrate or describe all bones. Elsewhere, information technically exists, but it can be decades before a professional has the time and resources to prepare and describe.

Finally, each volume ends with lists of nomina dubia, informally named species, and tables of museum specimens. Bibliographies are available online and consist of three PDF files spanning 446 pages, though they are double-spaced and include duplicates. They show Jones has consulted a vast body of mostly journal papers (in multiple languages), books, conference abstracts, and PhD theses up to May 2025, by my reckoning.

So much for the description; what of my opinion? Simply put, I think this is an awesome beast. Many popular encyclopaedias claim to be the ultimate one, but this has to be the most exhaustive one, covering well over 1100 species, including many for which we have only bone fragments. This might divide readers, and Paul’s decision to limit his field guide to the ~800 better-known might be considered more meaningful. My complaint was that his book left my curiosity about many others unsatisfied, so Jones delivers on this front.

The species profiles neatly address all three questions in a short narrative that retains an impressive amount of nuance and circumspection about how firm or questionable certain findings are. However, what about authority and reliability, given that Jones is not a professional palaeontologist? Comparisons with more technical encyclopedias show him giving fair summaries. This is not surprising, as he references these books and draws on the same primary literature. Similarly, his summaries compare favourably to recent works on specific groups that I have reviewed, though he mostly cites primary literature rather than popular books.

Probably the most divisive aspect of the books is Viola’s reconstructions, specifically his decision to make a full life reconstruction of *every*, *single*, *species*, no matter how fragmentary and incomplete their remains. Paul has a strict policy in that regard, only reconstructing those species where he is convinced that further discoveries will not significantly alter our understanding. Though Jones is upfront about their approach in the introduction and uses several indicators in each profile, I worry that—such is the power of imagery—a casual perusal of these books might leave you with the impression that we know exactly what all these animals looked like. Keep in mind that many of the life reconstructions here range from fairly to very speculative.

Though I noticed a few editorial errors beyond the occasional typos, I thought there were surprisingly few given the scale of this project. Recent developments (e.g. Nanotyrannus) have outpaced the book, but to blame it for that is to misunderstand the time frames involved in completing a large book project.

Finally, who is the intended audience? For young readers, the numerous discussions about phylogenetics and group membership might be too abstruse, but I think that for the large audience of adult dinosaur enthusiasts, this book scratches a serious itch. The combination of an uncluttered visual presentation, the compact but informative descriptions, and the extensive coverage that leaves no museum drawer unopened makes this the most comprehensive popular dinosaur encyclopaedia currently on the market. I really enjoyed Jones’s potted descriptions and can see myself returning to these books in the future to get me started on any one species, especially as he references an impressive amount of literature.