Hoopoe – A blog by nhbs – The NHBS Conservation Hub

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

Part of the supremely popular WILDGuides series, the groundbreaking Insects of Britain and 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

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.

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.

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

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.

Book review – In Search of Sea Dragons: A Fossil Hunter’s Odyssey

***** An engrossing tale of fossils and obsession

In In Search of Sea Dragons, civil engineer and fossil hunter Matthew Myerscough vividly tells his personal tale of hunting for fossils on the more remote beaches of Wales and South West England, as hobby transforms into obsession.

The author’s pivot from mountaineering to fossil collecting was rather traumatic. After surviving being buried alive by an avalanche on Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon) in Wales, he is psychologically scarred and can no longer find solace in the mountains: “I felt like I had lost my sanctuary” (p. 34). Instead, he turns to the seashore to go fossil hunting. The memoir that follows documents a years-long personal journey from novice to experienced collector. Though he remains vague on the dates, a few touchstones (the avalanche’s tenth anniversary in 2024, storm Eunice, which happened in 2022) place this story in the decade after 2014. As he scours beaches in South Wales, Somerset, and North Yorkshire, and his skills and obsession grow, the stakes keep being raised. Soon, nothing less than his very own complete ichthyosaur skeleton will do.

I found Myerscough’s descriptions of the landscapes and rock formations particularly vivid, perhaps because I live in South Devon, only an hour’s drive away from some of these beaches, and am familiar with the local scenery. Whatever it may be, his writing transported me there, standing under wide open skies on the beach, sharing in his excitement, and vicariously enjoying some adventuring of my own. This literal situation of the reader is aided by three colour plate sections with photos of some of his remarkable discoveries, while maps show the different beaches where he made key finds (though the greyscale reproduction is poor in places).

With time, he finds some exceptional and rare fossils, including parts of a rhomaleosaur (an early pliosaurid), an articulated plesiosaur flipper (which are rarer still than those of ichthyosaurs), and substantial parts of an ichthyosaur skeleton. Though snippets about the biology of these extinct marine reptiles crop up here and there, they are not the focus of this book. Neither is this a practical guide to fossil hunting, though some tips, codes of conduct, and hard-won experience are sprinkled throughout.

In Search of Sea Dragons is foremost a memoir, and it is as much an internal as an external odyssey. Not that I wish to psycho-analyse the author, but he wears his heart on his sleeve and prominently writes about his feelings and emotions. Perhaps unintentionally, the book provides a revealing glimpse of the darker side of becoming obsessed with one’s hobby. Below, I will elaborate on the aspects that led me to this conclusion, to which I add that this is not intended as a personal judgement of Myerscough’s character.

The author is remarkably candid about the feelings he is working through and the new ones he encounters. While he continues to be plagued by guilt and insecurity over the avalanche, the beach becomes a new sanctuary: a place to unwind, release stress, slow down, and commune with nature. And yet, you do not even have to read between the lines to notice it brings with it a whole new suite of anxieties. Though there is the excitement of finding new fossils and forging new friendships, there is also self-doubt (“Was this really how I wanted to spend my precious time”, p. 55) and jealousy at others’ fossil discoveries (“This had happened on my turf and I felt sick with envy thinking about this missed opportunity”, p. 53). As his skills increase and his spectacular finds win him the admiration of other fossil hunters, there is an undercurrent of dissatisfaction that surfaces most clearly towards the end. Despite finally finding large parts of an articulated ichthyosaur skeleton, possibly preserving stomach contents and skin fragments (!), he writes that “None of it was quite what I had hoped for” (p. 174).

His hobby turning into an obsession is something he admits to himself. A large boulder stuffed with plesiosaur bones “began my obsession with the huge bone blocks, the sort that most people would assume impossible to move” (p. 136). In one passage that is as comical as it is absurd, he almost turns into Gollum as he entertains the idea of shouting and hurling objects at two approaching fossil hunters to distract them from his “treasure” (p. 131): a promising boulder he has just discovered. As the fossils pile up faster than his friend Mike can prepare them, first the sheds and then the house start filling up with rocks. You have to wonder, as a visiting plumber seems to do, what his partner makes of this. She is notably absent after the first few chapters and, clearly, this is a hobby they do not share.

What really raised my eyebrows is his continued risk-taking behaviour. Despite his earlier brush with death, he purposefully ventures out on wet and wintry days, seeking out remote beaches where other people are as absent as is mobile phone coverage. When rooting around in a distant cove in the predawn darkness one morning, trying to relocate a particular rock, he worries about having an accident: “was my obsession with these bones leading me to take unnecessary risks?” (p. 134). And there are accidents, with slips and falls resulting in bruised legs and broken ribs. “Perhaps I am foolish or just stubborn, but I love what I do and I won’t stop, despite these risks” (p. 117). The most extreme example of this is the chapter where, together with another experienced local fossil hunter, he abseils from the cliffs at Whitby (famous for both Bram Stoker’s Dracula *and* fossils). Using rotten ropes and rickety steps left behind by fishermen, they descend hundreds of feet onto angular, car-sized boulders. Any slip here would be lethal. Though he finds something truly spectacular, the chapter opens with a sternly worded warning about the extremely dangerous setting, even for experienced fossil hunters. He advises against going here, has kept the location anonymous, and especially warns against using ropes to descend cliff faces… to then promptly do so himself.

I will be honest that I felt a certain sense of relief for him when reaching the epilogue, where we now find the author living in Cumbria, spending far less time collecting fossils. The way this tale was headed, death, injury, or the disintegration of his relationship under the literal weight of fossils only seemed a matter of time. The honest and open exposition of his inner odyssey, together with his vivid descriptions of landscapes, make for an engrossing memoir. I devoured the book in a few sittings and expect that it will strongly appeal to fellow fossil hunters and, more broadly, to readers interested in palaeontological exploration.

The NHBS Guide to Hedgehog Houses

How to choose, site and maintain a hedgehog house, covering materials, placement, bedding and cleaning, with product picks from NHBS.

A hedgehog house gives one of Britain’s most loved garden visitors somewhere safe to nest in summer and hibernate through the winter. This guide covers what to look for when choosing one, where to site it in your garden, what to put inside, and how to look after it year after year. Whether you’ve just spotted a hedgehog in the garden or you’re putting a box in ahead of autumn, everything you need to get it right is below.

Why hedgehogs need a place to shelter

Hedgehog numbers in the UK have fallen sharply over the last few decades, with the State of Britain’s Hedgehogs report in 2022 from PTES and BHPS showing steep long-term declines in both rural and urban populations. The gardens they once passed through have become harder to live in. Fences with concrete footings, tidier borders, less leaf litter and fewer hedges all mean fewer safe places to rest during the day, raise young in summer, or hibernate through winter. A hedgehog house gives them back one of those missing pieces.

What a hedgehog house does that a garden alone cannot

A well-sited box provides a dry, predator-resistant space with a stable temperature. Wild nests built in leaf piles or under sheds are vulnerable to flooding, disturbance from dogs and foxes, and collapse during strimming or autumn clear-ups. A proper hedgehog house is designed to survive all of that and still be there next year.

When hedgehogs use a nest box

Hedgehogs use nest boxes across all four seasons, not just for winter hibernation. Females use them as maternity nests in June and July. Males and non-breeding females use them as day nests through spring and summer. From October onwards, hedgehogs look for a hibernaculum, which is the nest they will stay in from around November until March or April depending on the weather.

Next, the features that separate a good box from a bad one.

What makes a good hedgehog house

Not all hedgehog houses are built equally well, and the differences matter more than the price tag suggests. Four things decide whether a box will actually be used and whether it will keep its occupant safe.

The entrance tunnel and why its length matters

The entrance tunnel is the single most important feature on a hedgehog house. A straight hole in the front of a box is not enough. Badgers are a natural predator of hedgehogs and can reach through short openings with a paw and pull a hedgehog out. A proper tunnel should be at least 11cm long and ideally closer to 15cm, with an internal right-angle turn or offset chamber so a badger cannot reach the nest directly.

The British Hedgehog Preservation Society lists badger-proofing as a core requirement for any hedgehog house they recommend. If the box you’re looking at has a short, straight entrance, it’s not doing the job it’s meant to do.

Ventilation and drainage

A sealed box traps moisture, and damp bedding is worse for hedgehogs than no box at all. Look for small ventilation holes near the top of the box, away from the nest chamber, along with either a raised base or drainage holes in the floor. Woodcrete boxes handle this differently to wooden ones because the material is breathable to begin with.

Internal chamber size

The nest chamber needs to be big enough for a hedgehog to turn around and curl up, which usually means around 30cm square as a minimum. Anything smaller is uncomfortable and may be rejected. Anything much larger wastes space and makes it harder for the hedgehog to warm the nest with its own body heat during hibernation.

Ease of cleaning

You will need to clean the box once a year, so a removable or hinged lid

matters more than people realise. Boxes that have to be taken apart or tipped on their side to empty are a chore, and a chore that gets skipped is a chore that leads to parasite build-up and mould. Check how the lid opens before you buy.

With those four features in mind, the next decision is what the box is made of.

Wood or woodcrete, which is better

This is the most common question we get about hedgehog houses at NHBS, and the answer depends on how long you want the box to last and where you’re putting it. Both materials work. Neither is wrong. They suit different gardens and different budgets.

Wooden hedgehog houses

Wooden boxes are the traditional choice and by far the most widely available. They look natural in a garden border, they’re lighter to move around, and they tend to be cheaper. The downside is lifespan. Even good-quality timber boxes made from FSC pine or cedar will usually need replacing or refurbishing after five to ten years of outdoor use, depending on how exposed the site is. Softwood boxes with thin walls degrade much faster than that.

Woodcrete and woodstone hedgehog houses

Woodcrete is a mix of cement and graded wood chip that’s poured into moulds like concrete. The result is a heavy, breathable, rot-proof material that lasts for decades. We wrote a full material guide to woodcrete covering how it’s made and where it’s used. For hedgehog houses specifically, woodcrete holds a more stable internal temperature than wood, resists damp, and will not be chewed through by predators. The trade-off is cost and weight. Woodcrete boxes are two or three times the price of a wooden equivalent and need siting in a permanent spot because they’re awkward to move.

A quick comparison

Feature	Wooden hedgehog house	Woodcrete hedgehog house
Lifespan	5 to 10 years outdoors	25 years or more
Weight	Light, easy to reposition	Heavy, awkward to move
Thermal stability	Good, better with bedding	Very good, stable year round
Cost	Lower	Higher
Predator resistance	Depends on entrance design	Very strong
Look in the garden	Natural, blends easily	Solid, needs camouflage

If you’re buying your first hedgehog house and want to try a spot in the garden before committing to a permanent location, start with wood. If you know exactly where the box is going and you want to set it and forget it, woodcrete is the better long-term investment.

Wherever you land on materials, placement is what actually decides whether the box gets used.

Hedgehog house placement in the garden

You can buy the best hedgehog house on the market and it will sit empty for years if it’s in the wrong spot. Placement matters more than product choice. Hedgehogs are selective about where they nest and will ignore boxes that feel exposed, too warm in summer, or too wet in winter. Open our helpful infographic so see what the best places are:

Which direction should the entrance face

Point the entrance away from the prevailing wind and rain. In most of the UK that means avoiding a south-westerly aspect for the opening. North, north-east or east-facing entrances work well. This keeps driving rain out of the tunnel and stops the box overheating in full summer sun, which can make a nest unusable on hot afternoons.

How close to the house or shed

A box tucked against the base of a shed, garage or garden wall gets extra insulation from the structure behind it and sits in a naturally quieter part of the garden. Keep it away from patio doors, bin stores, and anywhere pets regularly go. Hedgehogs will abandon a nest site if they’re disturbed repeatedly in the first few days.

Cover, camouflage and insulation

Cover the box with leaves, twigs and loose branches once it’s in place. This does three things at once. It insulates the box against temperature swings, it camouflages it from foxes and domestic predators, and it makes the site feel hidden, which is what a hedgehog is looking for. A bare hedgehog house sitting in the open is far less likely to be used than a partially buried one under a hedge.

Places to avoid

Skip anywhere that floods, anywhere with a compost heap being turned regularly, anywhere a strimmer is used, and anywhere dogs have free access. Also avoid placing the box directly under a bird feeder, because spilled food attracts rodents and the traffic will put a hedgehog off.

Once you’ve picked the spot, the next question is when to put the box out.

Any time of year works, though hedgehogs are most actively looking for a nest in late summer to early autumn (scouting hibernation sites) and again from April onwards (maternity nests for the breeding season). Installing a few weeks ahead of either window gives the box time to weather in and lose its new smell, which makes it more likely to be adopted.

What to put inside a hedgehog house

This is where advice splits. Some sources say stuff the box with hay or dry leaves. Others say leave it empty and let the hedgehog build its own nest. Both approaches have merit.

Bedding materials that work

If you do add bedding, dry leaves are the best choice because they’re what hedgehogs use in the wild. Oak, beech and hornbeam leaves all work well. Barley straw or meadow hay from a pet shop is a reasonable second option. Put a loose handful in the nest chamber rather than packing it tight, because the hedgehog will rearrange whatever you give them.

Should you add bedding at all

The argument for leaving a box empty is that hedgehogs are fussy about nest material and will reject or reshape anything you put in anyway. The argument for adding bedding is that a box with some material in it already reads as a ready-made nest site and gets investigated faster. Our view is to add a small starter handful of dry leaves, no more, and let the hedgehog do the rest. You’re signalling that the box is usable without forcing a nest shape on them.

Materials to avoid

Keep cotton wool, shredded newspaper, wood shavings with strong scent, and anything treated with chemicals out of the box. Shavings from cedar or pine in particular can irritate a hedgehog’s respiratory system. Synthetic fibres tangle around legs and can cause injury.

Once the box is in and set up, it mostly looks after itself. Mostly.

Looking after your hedgehog house

A hedgehog house is low maintenance, but it does need one proper clean a year to stay useful. Skip this step and the box can build up parasites, old food debris, and compacted bedding that makes it less attractive over time.

When to clean it out

Clean the box once a year in April or early May. By then any hibernating hedgehog will have left, and the summer breeding season has not yet started. Cleaning outside this window carries real risk. Disturbing a box in winter can kill a hibernating hedgehog, and opening one in June or July can cause a mother to abandon her young.

How to clean it safely

Before you open the box, tap the side gently and wait a minute. If there is no movement or rustling, lift the lid carefully. Remove all old bedding and debris. Brush out the chamber with a stiff brush. Rinse with boiling water from a kettle if the box is wooden, or with a garden hose and scrub if it’s woodcrete. Let it dry fully before closing it back up and adding a fresh small handful of dry leaves.

Wear gloves. Hedgehog nests can carry fleas, ticks and salmonella, none of which are serious for a careful adult but all of which are reasons to wash your hands after.

Checking for occupants

If you tap the box and hear movement, close it and walk away. Come back in a few weeks. A box you can’t clean this year is still worth having. The clean can wait until next spring.

Knowing if a hedgehog is using the box

You don’t need to open the box to find out whether it’s occupied, and you probably shouldn’t. There are better ways to check.

Signs of use without disturbing the box

Look for droppings near the entrance, which are dark, shiny and usually have visible insect fragments in them. Hedgehog Street has a useful identification guide if you want to be sure of what you’re looking at. Look for a flattened path through nearby leaf litter. Check whether the leaves covering the box have been disturbed around the tunnel opening. All of these are reliable signs without any need to lift the lid.

Using a trail camera or nest box camera

A trail camera set up a few metres from the box, pointing at the entrance, is the best way to see what’s using it without any disturbance at all. Night footage will show the animal coming and going. We cover trail cameras in more detail in our Buyers’ Guide: Trail Cameras.

With the box sorted and monitored, there are a few common slip-ups worth flagging.

Hedgehog houses from NHBS

We stock hedgehog houses covering different materials, budgets and installation types. Here are the options worth knowing about.

Wooden options

Wooden hedgehog houses are the best starting point for most gardens. We stock two: a straightforward nest box, and a larger house with an integrated feeding shelter for gardens where you want to put food out as well. Both suit anyone trying hedgehog support for the first time.

Woodcrete options

The Schwegler Hedgehog Dome is the woodcrete option in our range, and the one to pick if you want a box that will outlast the garden around it. Woodcrete is the material we recommend for ecologists, wildlife gardens, and anyone wanting a permanent installation. The higher up-front cost is offset by decades of use without degradation.

Integrated options for new builds

For construction projects and garden redesigns, integrated hedgehog domes can be built into walls, hedging or new garden structures. These are popular with ecological consultants working on biodiversity net gain requirements and with homeowners planning ground-up garden builds. They’re not the right choice for retrofitting into an existing garden, but for new projects they offer a level of permanence a standalone box can’t match.

You can browse the full hedgehog house range on the NHBS site, along with hedgehog highway fence plates, feeding stations and related wildlife products.

Final thoughts

A hedgehog house is one of the most useful things you can add to a garden if you want to support one of the UK’s most threatened mammals. Get the four basics right, which are a proper entrance tunnel, a sensible chamber size, a good siting spot, and an annual clean, and the box will do its job for years. Buy the best one your budget allows, put it somewhere quiet and sheltered, cover it with leaves and branches, and leave it alone.

Browse the full hedgehog house range on NHBS, or look at the wider wildlife gardening category for feeding stations, fence plates and other hedgehog-friendly additions.

30 Days Wild 2026

30 Days Wild is the UK’s biggest nature challenge. Run by the Wildlife Trusts, this annual event takes place throughout June, returning on 1st June 2026 for its 12th year. It is suitable for people of all ages and backgrounds and aims to connect people with nature by asking them to do one wild thing a day for the whole month. The idea is simple: small, daily ‘random acts of wildness’ that fit around everyday life, wherever you live.

The challenge has grown enormously since it began. From 12,000 participants in its first year, it now reaches over half a million people annually, and more than three million people have taken part since 2015. Popular activities include wildlife-watching or doing something to help the plants and animals in your garden.

How it works in 2026

The weekly themes for this year’s event are:

Week 1 – Help wildlife where I live

Week 2 – Discover wildlife with my senses

Week 3 – Learn about wildlife

Week 4 – Get creative with nature and celebrate

Easy ways to get involved
There are plenty of simple ways to take part. Some of the most popular activities include listening to birdsong, identifying wildflowers, wildlife gardening, going on a bug hunt, making a wildlife home such as a bird box or bee hotel and sketching or painting nature. Other ideas include reading a nature book, exploring a reserve, having a plastic or waste-free day, watching a sunrise or sunset, switching to a more sustainable household product, litter picking, or taking a wildlife photo.

If you are looking for inspiration for activities during 30 Days Wild, why not check out some of our guides below:

Bat Walk – The kit you need and the best times and places to catch a glimpse of bats in June.

Moth Trapping – When and where to set your trap to discover the moths visiting your garden (and see our guest blog from the BS3 Moth Club for some further tips).

Pond Dipping – What you need, when and where to go, and what to look for. Great for all ages.

Rockpooling – How to plan a trip, the kit and methods to use, common rockpool species, and recommended reading.

Hedgehog Watch – How to make your garden hedgehog friendly, tips for watching them, and books for further reading.

Wildlife gardening (part 2 here) – A two-part series on attracting pollinators, feeding birds and mammals, and creating habitats.

Get your free pack!
You can sign up for 30 Days Wild on the Wildlife Trusts website, where you will receive a free downloadable or postal pack full of activities, games and a calendar to help you plan your month. There are packs for individuals and families, as well as for businesses, schools and care homes.

Let us know in the comments what you plan to do for 30 Days Wild!