No Blues, But Plenty Two's

It was on a warm, indeed very warm May Day when I found myself wandering a precipitous hillside in north Dorset. This spring has been most interesting weather wise. Following an unexceptional if mild winter, in southern England at least, we have had a long spell of dry weather, which recently moved up a gear and became quite warm. Anecdotally the average emergent signs of spring are showing around a week ahead. The house martins arrived early April, along with willow warbler, days later I had my first cuckoo and pied flycatcher and I heard my first swift over the house on April 29th  - usually they arrive around the 5th of May. And so, despite it only being May 1st I had already noticed reports of mid-May emerging butterflies on the wing. I got into the car.

An hour and a half after leaving home I arrived at my chosen site near Shaftesbury. It was 10.30am and 19oC on the car thermometer. During the drive over I mulled over the two butterfly species I especially wished to see, marsh fritillary (Euphydryas aurinia) and Glanville fritillary (Melitaea cinxia). Having been to this site before I knew where to look, but knowing where to look is a different proposition to actually finding what I'd be looking for. However I needn't have worried. The walk down the track immediately provided lepidopteran interest, accompanied by an incessant skylark song soundscape.

There were a number of brimstone pairs on the wing, close bonding flights with the male following the female as close as could be. I noticed at least half a dozen during my three hours on the hill. Small heath were everywhere, and in unexpected places. Even along the track dingy and less numerous grizzled skipper were patrolling along with spotted wood and small white flitting in and out of the hedge line, though only one red admiral today. I'd only walked a couple of hundred metres along the track, but now I needed to get onto the chalk hill proper.

Emerging through the hedge the view which always takes my breath away awaited me. Here on the bottom of the slope is a small, but functioning marsh fritillary population. I had the hill to myself other than the skylark song, now joined by a blackcap. 

A cinnabar was a nice find however it was while unsuccessfully trying to take a photograph of a small heath that a marsh fritillary flew slowly by. By flying what I really mean is wafting by, wings horizontal as they glide and flap low over the hill. I find this mesmerising. They are simply patrolling their territory, seeing off any intruders (small heath were given a serious telling off), but somehow that slow lazy flight reminds me of a jazz performer, super cool, unflustered and captivating, but like the words within a jazz lyric, the marsh fritillary means business. As I made my way along the slope a number of fights developed both with other marsh fritillary and other intruders. Spiralling up the pair, sometimes a trio, would twist and turn in rapid flight until it was over when the jazzlike victor would return to his super cool glide and flap quartering of the chalk grassland accompanied by the blackcap backing vocals. I was intruding.

It was getting very warm now so I decided to sit for a while at an area I'd found successful in previous years. This area looks no different to other parts of the hill, a few stunted hawthorn and a sizeable sheltered grassy area, but it is where marsh fritillary have, in the past, stopped and positioned themselves on a prominent plant. As they did on cue.

On this visit plantain and birds-foot trefoil seemed to be the preferred perching plant. I'd not been sitting for long when they appeared and offered a perfect pose for a few images. I don't own one of those huge lenses everyone seems to carry these days. When I'm out I travel light, water, a sandwich, binoculars and my trusty Canon SX50 bridge camera with a very good x 100 optical lens. At ten years old, like me, it is getting on now but it still produces the images I need. Binoculars are also a must while butterfly watching. Putting my camera away I watched the antics of the marsh fritillary through the power of a 12 x 42. So much more can be seen through binoculars, allowing a really in-depth visualisation of the butterfly and it's behaviour. Being this exposed on a chalk hillside however was warming me up a little too well. Time to move, back along the slope to the track where the Glanville awaited I hoped.

I just stumbled down onto the track (it is steep coming down the rickety steps) when I noticed  this pristine newly emerged marsh fritillary. So motionless was it that I thought it had died. The faintest flicker of its wings confirmed all was well. Clinging to the leaf, pumping its wings with blood it allowed me to really focus on the underwing. It all made me think, why so intricate a pattern, which while variable is unique to each species? Underwings are works of art, the combination of light and dark, spots and lines a clever use of the lepidopteran palette to attract a mate.

Interestingly while this marsh fritillary was on the bankside of the track, where the Glanville fritillary are, on the hill earlier I'd noticed a couple of Glanville's floating about. There is a tall raggedy hedge between these two areas, butterfly passage between this boundary is occurring, though the Glanville has somewhat exacting needs.

Initially I didn't see any Glanville's on the wing (actually they were a couple at the base of the hedge). I did however notice a copulating pair. I've never seen this before, not least as Glanville's are rare and not really meant to be here, being an un-licenced introduction it is believed around ten years ago. The most recent Butterfly Conservation report, 2024, states 'the introduced colony appears to be flourishing with several seen including a pair copulating'. Well in 2025 they're definitely copulating. 

Male and female Glanville look the same, however from my own observation the male is subtly 'sharper'. By that I mean the colour is a little brighter. boundary lines a little darker. Thus, if I'm correct, in these images the male is on the right. And of course there's another give away....

Settling down I spent some quality time with this pair. They were reasonably active, circling this hawthorn sapling, slowly it has to be said. Copulation wasn't continuous either. They'd separate and reorganise position before starting again, the male following the female nearly always in a clockwise direction. This pair had already been in embrace when I first saw them and for the next fifteen minutes or so they continued allowing me to really watch what was happening and take a few, well rather a lot of images.

Female left, male right

Male above

Male above

Female with wings open

Suddenly it was all over. One final embrace and then the female dropped to the ground, followed a few seconds later by the male. Which was when the fascinating behaviour occurred. The female clumsily wandered through the vegetation, followed a hairs breadth away by the male. As I watched the female came up to ribwort plantain and (I think, as she was partly obscured) began egg laying with the male watching on. This activity was on a very steep slope and I didn't want to disturb them, or damage the habitat by scrambling up to be closer, I was watching as close as I dared. Maybe I should have checked the underside of the leaf later for confirmation of egg laying, but I didn't as I'm one who prefers to stand back a little to let nature do it's thing unmolested. It is also why I find it frustrating when people wander through habitats, flattening the vegetation, in order to get that perfect image. The needs of the species we are observing should always come first.

Given though this pair were mating, then presumably egg laying on their host plant, ribwort plantain, I can give a good guess as to the outcome. This population of Glanville fritillaries in Dorset may be an un-licenced release, but it seems they're very much flourishing and on this precipitous bankside by a track, with plantains everywhere the future looks bright.

I met a trio of butterfly watchers coming down the track as I headed back to the car. They were interested to know if I'd seen any 'blues' today. They made me think, no not a single blue butterfly. This site is host to holly, small, common and Adonis blue. Despite the warm spring then it is still a little too early for the blues, but the twos are most definitely out in force.

Chasing Dartford Warblers

 

I believe every naturalist must have a modicum of madness running through their veins. If like me you began in short trousers simply observing what is close to home, before too long you now find yourself wearing long trousers venturing far and wide indulging in a sheer obsession. If this strikes a chord then you'll understand what follows. 

While half an hours drive from home, I now consider the Quantock Hills (or Natural Landscape to give it its new and now correct title) one of my local patches. Visiting two or three times a month throughout the year I've got to know this special landscape well. There is however, to be truthful, an awful lot more to learn about this magical area. 

Last summer at around midnight I met a chap out walking his dog. I'd been watching nightjars with my wife and we were just thinking of heading home, when this chap emerged out of the darkness with his labrador. He was from nearby Williton.  We chatted about the nightjar routes, he mentioned where the males lek, which valleys they move between at different times of the night and then just casually threw into the conversation, "come earlier in the day and you can watch the Dartford warblers just over there before heading off to view the nightjar at dusk." With those words he and his dog disappeared into the night, leaving me in a thoughtful mood.

I'd wandered this landscape for years but had never seen a Dartford warbler, and to confirm my ignorance had not realised they were here. I'd seen Dartford warblers many times in Dorset, but never here. A mental note was lodged in my mind and returning to the car we drove home.

Moving the story on by a few months, having retired in March this year I have what can be described as a need to focus on regular activity to maintain my identity and self worth. In other words I've a lot of time to fill so don't waste it. As any lifelong naturalist will tell you, we rarely do.

The sun was up, I had an empty day, and recalling the area pointed out to me last summer, what better then than popping to the Quantocks and look for a Dartford warbler. 

This was at the end of March. On that first visit I saw, absolutely nothing. Plenty of other birds, skylark were everywhere, linnet, wren, meadow pipit, and stonechats and dunnock seemingly performing on every gorse bush. Which proved a problem. These latter two species while not sounding or looking like a Dartford warbler, were providing me with a lot of distant activity to check as they flitted between gorse bushes or sang a sub song which made me think "What's that?" After three hours walking nearly five miles in ever decreasing circles I gave up. It had been a brilliant day, but one tinged with an empty feeling.

The following week I returned. In the mean times some internet research had revealed that after suffering a bit in the 2010, 2011 winters and the Beast from the East in 2018, the recent mild winters have bolstered the population to 68 pairs in 2024. Given the Quantocks only covers about 100 square kilometres, they'll be easy to find. Won't they? On this second visit I headed to a more mature stand of gorse I'd seen the previous week thinking it looked a likely habitat. The sun was hidden, and the wind was up, both added to the sense of isolation up there, a feeling heightened as after spending nearly four hours on the hill I saw no-one. I didn't see a Dartford warbler either. This was proving difficult. Actually this exemplifies what a lot of nature watching is like, hard slog if you don't have local up-to-date knowledge. But in many ways that's half the fun, the quest.

By now the sun was emerging so I sat for a while on a fallen tree with a mug of tea from my flask. My mind cannoned thoughts across its now retiree neurological network. I know the Dartford warblers are here, the habitat is right, the landscape is perfect, the other indicator species, stonechat, linnet even wren are here in good numbers, but no Dartford warblers. Plan B - and an option I don't normally use. I came home and scoured social media. One account I have followed for a long while popped up "my best ever Dartford warbler image last weekend on the Quantocks". In one of the replies to that posting a specific location was mentioned. I knew exactly where it was. If you read this, thank you Carl Bovis.

Three days later I found myself on the hills again, this time with my secret weapon, Mrs Wessex Reiver, who is very good at spotting things. We tramped up hill and down dale, criss-crossing this area mentioned in the Instagram post. A malady and depression was beginning to grip me when Mrs Wessex Reiver shouted, "Is that it?" Bingo! A dark miniature lollipop sped away from me in an undulating flight and into a dense stand of gorse. No mistaking that outline, no mistaking that flight. And then it called. 

Collins Bird Guide describes the call as 'distinctive' - a drawn out harsh chaihhrr sometimes with an extra note chaihhrr-chr. Which is tremendous. I agree it is distinctive but has for me the quality of someone quickly scratching their fingernails down a chalkboard whilst dancing a tango. Once my ear hears it I remember it, but to attempt to describe the call is fraught with interpretation misdemeanours especially alongside the aforementioned stonechat song, linnet song and now the whitethroat are also back. The calling ceased and that was it. However I'd seen one for all of two seconds, thanks to Mrs Wessex Reiver, who while chatting to a local on the way back, had it confirmed to both of us we were in the right place, but they were flighty at the moment. 

My fourth visit occurred three days later. The sun was up and a strong wind was carrying sound across the landscape. In those intervening three days many trees had greened up and hawthorn blossom was beginning to bud up. Once again I was up here on my own in my own world. Two kestrel flew along a ridge, a pair of buzzard spiralled in the wind. Everywhere stonechat and wren called and I heard the rustling of dry grass. It seemed to be coming from just meters away from me, until I realised on the other side of a combe a large herd of red deer were slowly moving through last years vegetation. Mostly hinds and young there were a couple of young stags, one with an antler missing making his head lopsided. It made for a magical sight and I counted over thirty while watching them head down the combe and over onto the next hill. So engrossed was I that I'd forgotten about the Dartford warblers.

Eventually the deer disappeared and I resumed by quest and only moments into walking along a ridge path I heard what I'd come to see. Initially I couldn't locate it until it flew off into the distance before perching on a mature gorse. Through the binoculars I had the most glorious view, for at least two seconds before it flew back and down over the ridge. I could hear it calling but to see it was impossible. I was in the right place yet again. 

Yesterday I had my fifth, and in many ways, my most successful day. Mrs Wessex Reiver was with me but went for a walk, leaving me to my birdwatching.  In all I spent eight hours on the hill, and saw some amazing wildlife as I sat for hours observing. Merlin and peregrine hunting over the moor, my first cuckoo of the year. Two common lizards fighting next to me. The whitethroats had now arrived in numbers, their calls were everywhere. Skylark, stonechat, linnet, meadow pipit, wren and dunnock. A red kite drifted over, still a fairly uncommon sight in Somerset. And three Dartford warblers.

One Dartford warbler flew right in front of me, perched then disappeared over the hill. In another location a pair flew between gorse and out of sight, only their calling revealing they were still in the area. I did a little mental arithmetic, with the three today and those seen earlier in the month I'd seen five individuals, possibly six. However none of them stayed still long enough to allow for an image.

I'll leave you then with a terrible photograph of a whitethroat, in the same habitat the Dartford warblers were. I wonder if I'll ever photograph a Dartford warbler?  Does it matter if I never do? Probably not, but in this world of social media imagery, a picture counts for more than a thousand words. More likes of course.

It seems the chap Mrs Wessex Reiver chatted to a couple of days ago was correct in his summation "they're flighty - best to come when they're feeding the young then you'll have a reference point to observe where the nest is". Sound words of advice there. I'll be back. But will they be here to see?

The Spring Equinox Rooks

 In a non scientific way I have counted the rook nests in the village for a number of years now. In previous years my count took place in late February or early March, after which a couple more nests invariably appeared. This year I delayed my count slightly and waited until the spring equinox, not just because it was the warmest day so far in 2025, but also the first day of my retirement. Until this moment I'd been too busy finishing my career, and work, at the BBC.

The afternoon was warm. The thermometer in the greenhouse nudged 40oC, outside it was around half this, not bad for the 20th of March. With little wind and visually perfect blue skies I set off walking the half mile or so to the village to make my count.

First the site I refer to as the bend in the lane. This is interesting. In previous years there have been one or two nests in the far right tree. This year there are nine spreading across all four trees, themselves around a quarter of a mile from the main rookery. Why the expansion here I can't say, but I hope this is a sign of a healthy population expanding their territory.  

Walking further towards the village, the two core trees as I like to think of them, on the left have, as in previous years, hosted the bulk of the nests in the village, nineteen in total this year in the main tree and five in an adjacent one. The trees to the left (and below) at Cypress Farm, have increased nest numbers too, with nine this year, quite interesting to see poplars being used.

I spent a little time near to and under the main core trees. I've mentioned this before but it never ceases to surprise me that they nest over the lane, now covered with sticks. They're safe in the trees of course but this is a busy commuter short cut from Weston Super Mare to a major road, plus a busy agricultural area with thunderous tractors passing through. Not a quiet spot then but as it is host every year to the core rookery structures, they must like this spot.

Not far from the core area, three nests have appeared in what I can loosely term a new site by the holiday cottages, only a sticks-throw from the core. Three nests here, but room for more.

That's a good total then, 9 on the bend, 9 at Cypress Farm, 19 plus 5 in the two core trees and 3 at the holiday cottage = 45 if my sums are correct. That's two more nests than in 2024. 

Not a bad way to spend the first day of my retirement, messing about in warm sunshine watching the behaviour of rooks in the village.

Bicknoller in 1883

 In June 1883* the writer Richard Jefferies visited Somerset. There is a little confusion as to why he visited Somerset during the long days of summer given the main work published the following year was a book on red deer, with unsurprisingly the title of Red Deer. This now classic study of deer was a detailed natural history of the landscape red deer roamed over with meticulously researched methods of hunting and the movement and ecology of red deer. Which is why visiting in the summer is a little confusing given the deer hunting season happens during the winter months. To gather the information needed for his book Jefferies spent a few days in Exford with the master of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds Arthur Heal. 

I don't wish to go into more detail about the book, as there are better sources than me. You can read more of Jefferies 'Somerset Adventure' and a synopsis of the book via the Richard Jefferies Society Website. Beginning on page 54 of the Societies' Journal Number 39 – 2024

 link here

https://www.richardjefferiessociety.org/p/the-richard-jefferies-society-journal.html

My visit to the Quantock Hills this week was to begin researching locations for a maybe fanciful idea of mine of producing a Jefferies in Somerset self guided tour. He covered a large area during the 19 days he spent here, he must have never stopped. But for my visit I began, where else, at the beginning of Jefferies visit, the hamlet of Bicknoller. 

My visit coincided with a cool but beautifully sunny January day, in stark contrast with Jefferies summer visit in 1883. On my visit snowdrops were in flower along with early daffodils in St George's churchyard. It really is a peaceful place today, blackbird and great tits were calling in the neighbourhood, but in 1883 it might have been a lot noisier. We forget that when these rural communities were all about farming, a lot of the villagers would have been abroad walking to or working in the fields. Horses pulling carts would be trundling through the lanes, cattle and sheep on the hillsides, tradespeople delivering produce, even poachers at night. The rural landscape is relatively empty today but that is a recent change.

I know Bicknoller only to drive through as it is close to where we come to watch nightjars on a summers evening (no evidence Jefferies saw nightjar here, though I'd be surprised if he didn't do so). This however was the first time I'd explored the hamlet, or maybe it is a small village as it has a pub and a shop? First I walked through the churchyard, and was greeted as I entered through the gate with a riot of spring flowers, quite early considering it is only January. Rooks and jackdaw were noisily prospecting for nest sites above me as I wandered through the gravestones, not looking for anything in particular just something I like to do.

Oddly having bought a pamphlet in the church it failed to say how old it was. The historical record stated that it was a manorial chapel during the reign of Henry 3rd which at some point thereafter became a church. It must be older than that however as the yew tree hard by is reputed to be 1000 years old.

Exiting the churchyard through a gate commemorating Queen Victoria I found a little remembrance area with a few seats. From here, a flask of coffee and my copy of Red Deer by my side, I could observe the toing and froing of Church Lane. Which I have to admit was limited. Two dog walkers, a car and a post van in half an hour. Where was everyone? But I'd particularly come to see Lock's Farm, as it was in 1883. Jefferies stayed for a few days with a Mrs Thorne who leased the farmhouse and was joined by the painter J.W. North. It is not known if Jefferies knew North before visiting but as a result of this visit they became good friends. On this visit I sat quietly looking at what is now a residential house I could imagine Jefferies wandering up and down the lane making notes in his field notebook, chatting to North and hopefully enjoying the clean crisp air of West Somerset. It is known that Jefferies walked up onto the hills behind the house as he mentions Crowcombe and Will's Neck both are nearby and he was a keen walker, though by now he'd become ill with tuberculosis. His arrival at Bicknoller was after alighting from the train at Stogumber. My next destination.

Once part of the Great Western Railway Stogumber is now part of a heritage line, the West Somerset Railway. No trains are running in January but on my arrival I spent a very agreeable half an hour chatting to some of the volunteers there undertaking winter maintenance. Stogumber is around two miles from Bicknoller and how Jefferies got from the station to there is not known. Possibly he walked, possibly he was collected by a horse and cart? We don't know but I like to imagine he walked along the narrow lanes with their tall hedges enjoying a very different landscape to the one he'd left in Sussex just a few hours before.

In 1883 this building would have been the ticket office, now serving as an information point and kitchen (I was informed cream teas are a must in the summer and a new kitchen is planned for 2026). Jefferies would have seen this building, no doubt handing his ticket into the platform attendant as he left. Tangible reminders that although we're nearly 150 year after his visit, the landscape still contained clues and real connections to the past. Did North meet him at the station, pleasant introductions proceeding a friendly walk to his lodgings? All pure conjecture of course.

After a few days in Bicknoller Jefferies headed over to Exmoor staying at Exford. He also visited a number of other places including Dunster, Watchet, Minehead, Horner Wood, Holincote and Porlock  where he stayed in the Anchor Inn. Those destinations are for my next visits here. Today however I said my goodbyes to Stogumber and drove up to Crowcombe Gate where the sunshine was strong and the sense of peace exhilarating. 

* some sources quote 1882, but later research confirmed 1883.

On line version of Red Deer

https://archive.org/details/reddeera00jeffuoft

Embargoed Beavers

 I'm not sure where to begin with this. Maybe a photograph of me out birdwatching one day will provide enough impetus for everyone to run in horror and move onto the most important part of the story. Beavers!!

For reasons that become apparent I can't say where all this action took place, and of course is still taking place. However now the news has been released from Natural England onto Social Media I can say this is somewhere on the vast Somerset Levels 'Super' Reserve. That's all you're getting I'm afraid. But for over a week now I've kept the news to myself. After-all wildlife comes before Social-Media.

It all began between Christmas and New Year. I was idly out birdwatching with no real plan and then it was while having a break for a coffee from my flask that something strange on an island just ahead of me caught my eye. Branches at the water line were nibbled, and then scanning this island through my binoculars I noticed a couple of trees showing distinct 'Beaver Engineering'. Really? There are no beavers in this part of Somerset, the nearest known established population miles away on the River Frome and a smaller population on the River Brue. I looked again. There was no doubt about it, freshly nibbled branches at the waters edge and those two trees showing a lot of gnawing, with one leaning at a rakish angle. Back home I emailed Natural England.

A flurry of e-mails then took up much of the next few days until on Friday evening when I received a telephone call from the Senior Reserves Manager (Somerset) for Natural England. We chatted and the conversation ended with an invite 'could I meet him and someone from Somerset Wildlife Trust at the site at 1pm the following day, Saturday?' 

I only need one invite.

It transpired that the report I'd put in was not the first they'd had, it was the second but the first from a member of the public. A few days before my report a volunteer for Natural England out doing survey work had alerted the team and they'd put trail cameras up. On the day I was invited back to the site the plan was to look for other evidence and also check the cameras for any activity for the first time.

At the allotted time I was scooped up in a vehicle and after a short drive myself and Phil from Natural England and Lucy from Somerset Wildlife trust set off into wet woodland well off the public path. Evidence of beaver activity wasn't that hard to miss, with the nibbling of bark a sign they're relaxed enough to be feeding at the site. What I wasn't ready for was the sight that greeted me where the trail cameras had been placed.

Oh my! That oak tree has received some engineering. And that is interesting, it seemed as we wandered about looking for evidence that these beavers are preferentially targeting oak, specifically mature oaks that have been here since this was peat cutting territory. An ecological conundrum then. These oak are hugely valuable to the diversity of species found here, however if the beaver fell them, great for the beavers less great for the other species. It's a minor point but one I found fascinating. As was the amount of engineering which had gone on in a short time, maybe a week to 10 days?

I put my binoculars at one tree just to show the scale, and height, of this activity. On their hind legs beavers can reach almost a meter high, they are after all the second largest rodent on the planet. But it is only when you see this in reality that you realise what they can do, and how extensive the gnawing is. Ultimately this engineering is very beneficial to a habitat. Very few mature trees are clear felled. Many fall with a living hinge to re-grow horizontally as it were, the trunk providing new and different habitats for many species. Mice and mustelids such as stoats and weasels love these aquatic bridges for example, allowing safe and dry crossing across water. Birds like owls or sparrowhawks perch here and plan their next strike, likewise kingfisher using these as a perfect perch to drop into the water below. Increased shadow and cover provided by the felled trees brings with it safe refuge for fish and other aquatic species, which then brings in otter who both feed and rest up in these shady areas. All in all having beavers in a habitat is good.

The three of us spent a lot of time discussion where these beavers have come from. Quickly dismissed was a legal introduction, they happen elsewhere under strict licence, and definitely not here. An illegal re-introduction? That is a possibility but this was also discounted as where they are is not easy to get to by vehicle and would someone carry beavers over a large distance. What seems more likely is a natural expansion, and arrival. I was informed that a few miles away is a fishing lake and for a year or so there has been evidence of beaver living there. But being a private business there's not been a lot of information about their activity. Potentially however they could be the source of these animals. The same individuals or possibly young moving territories. The jury is out. What seems almost certain is the arrival of beaver here is a natural process of territorial expansion rather than human-assisted.

I spent around an hour at the site with Phil and Lucy. The more we looked for evidence the more we found. I particularly like the image below showing the effect of the two huge gnawing teeth beavers have, somehow shows the power of these animals. What we did not find was any evidence of lodges or dams, and that's not to be unexpected. If these are new arrivals, as they are it will take a while for their exploration activity to become structured into holding territories and sustained habitat. There was one loose structure that looked interesting, I'll keep an eye on that.

And that's where we left it, a discussion as to whether I'd be interested in both keeping an eye on this site and looking elsewhere for evidence under Natural England supervision. I've said yes, but at the moment I've not had time to go back there. It is all however very exciting.

A few hours later while once I was back home I received an email from Phil. He'd gone through the Trail-Cam footage and there without a shadow of a doubt a beaver gnawing the very same oak tree in the image above on December 30th. That said, the Trail-Cam only confirms what was plainly evident on the ground, the beavers are back here on the Somerset Levels after hundreds of years.