One of the
iconic wildlife images to emerge from 2015 was a photograph of a weasel
clinging ferociously to the back of a green woodpecker in flight.
I was
spellbound by the image as it went viral on the Internet. The photograph
conveyed in an instant a quality I had been studying closely all year - the
sheer tenacity of this tiny predator.
I’ve been
watching wild weasels in my garden since March and painted the above portrait of a kit after watching it grow up in my back garden. My studies of this tiny family include CCTV footage from inside their nesting
chamber, which I believe is the first of its kind.
Small enough
to slink through a wedding ring and furiously fast; all that most people have
ever seen of a weasel is of it flashing across the road before disappearing
into the undergrowth. Weasels are
part of the mustelid family, which also encompasses badgers, stoats, otters,
wolverines and pine martens, and are generally the subject of a very poor
press. The very
word ‘weasel’ is used to denote a sneaking and untrustworthy character.
And yet
I can’t help but admire this tiny creature’s ferocity. It thinks
nothing of taking on a creature up to 10 times its size. And it has evolved in
remarkable ways – there are species of the weasel family living on every
continent except Antarctica. But until
now there has been very little close observation of their behaviour. Population
counts are normally conducted by the number that gamekeeper’s trap.
When I first
discovered I had a female weasel in my garden I seized the opportunity to use CCTV cameras
that I had trained on bird’s nests at the time to study her. But the project
soon grew and before long I had 12 cameras tracking its every moment. I left food
out for it in specially-designed feeding boxes fitted with cameras. I even watched
the moment it mated with a male, in a vicious act of rough and tumble that you
would expect from a creature with a reputation for brutality.
I followed
her with even more diligence when she began to look heavy with kits and built
her a chamber to nest in, again rigged with hidden cameras. She went on
to have seven kits. I filmed her transporting all seven, one by one, across the
garden in full view of more than 30 visitors to my gallery. Later, I
photographed the tiny creatures as they took their first steps into the outside
world.
One day, I
noticed a stoat creeping into their nesting chamber. Thankfully it was seen off
by the female weasel, despite the fact that she was six times smaller than the
stoat. Then when
the kits were 48 days old there was a real change in behaviour. The female
weasel decided it was time to take them on their first real adventure into the
great unknown.
I had rigged
cameras and sensors throughout the garden to alert me to their movements. So when a
sensor from a hollow log outside my kitchen window triggered an alarm, I knew
they were on the move. I opened the window, but the female noticed my movement and
quickly pulled the kits into the log by the scruffs of their necks. Seconds
later she appeared in the entrance to the log, looking my way. The kits seemed
to think this was some sort of game and pounced on her. She made a chittering
sound and two kits followed her.
They moved as if they were one animal – nose
to tail. As they bounded away I watched them dash up into a feeding box that I
had placed in a pile of old roots. Meanwhile the other weasels whizzed around
the garden. There seemed to be weasels everywhere! The female
was taking them on a grand tour of their territory. After a full morning of
exploration, they all headed back to their nest in the back shed where I filmed
them from a nearby hide.
It was
impossible to count them as they moved through the undergrowth, but ever since
I had seen the stoat enter the nest I had been anxious to see if all seven were
still alive. Back at
their nest I saw five kits dashing in and out of the holes of a dry stone wall
I had built in front of the nest as a backdrop for my photographs.
In spite of
being just 48 days old four of the kits were already bigger than her. I
suspected that these were probably the males. The fifth was a female, she was a
mini-fuzzy version of her mother. I suspect the stoat had got the other two. Later that
day, I heard the chittering call of the adult female. One by one the kits
dashed off in the direction of her call. I heard a squealing distress call. I
ran over to the meadow area of my garden and parted the tall grasses. There was
a weasel kit having a battle with a young rat. They were rolling and writhing
about. One moment the weasel seemed to be winning, the next moment the rat had
the upper hand. The rat tried biting the weasel’s face.
The weasel wrapped
its long body around the rat to deliver a killer bite to the back of its neck;
they spun as they tussled. I dashed to the house to get my camera. By the time
I got back the weasel was winning the war and the rat’s squeals had subdued. The weasel
had the rat by the throat and was viciously biting into it. It was making sure
that rat was not just playing dead. It definitely was dead but it was still
flicking and twitching. The weasel had been so caught up in the fight, that it
hadn’t noticed me standing right over it filming.
It dashed off
into long grasses to eat its well-earned meal and I heard another young rat
being caught by one of the other weasels. The female had obviously taken the
young kits on their very first hunting mission.
What a tough
initiation for these youngsters – especially since there was already plenty of
food for this growing family in the feeding box. Female rats, like most
mammals, are known to fiercely defend their young and are the most dangerous
prey to attempt.
I have
watched cheetah take down gazelle in Africa and this was every bit as dramatic.
How incredible to see such a rare sight in my own back garden.
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