An ornithological journey through Albion’s most precious Wetland realm, a place where traveling spirits may rest a while upon the thin veil between worlds. The strange happenings therein have given rise to many ancient beliefs about the inhabitants of this supernal abode.


In the far desolate North, the Black-throated Diver haunts the mountain Lochs of Wester Ross. One may hear their sorrowful cry wash over the still dark waters and heather clad banks, a lament for the many souls they bare away into the next life. It too portends the coming of rain, or maybe even that the birds themselves are able to conjure it. Across the Paleartic “crown of the world” in which it has its range, it features in many overlapping cultural myths. Most prominently is its ability to change shape into human form and aid those in need, it even aided the Gods in the creation of the world by diving below the primordial waters to bring up the first Earth. Amongst all these cultures and those who follow them it is considered impious to kill or injure the Diver, sadly however there are still cases of such actions in our decadent age. Persecution and habitat loss has led to a decline of just 200 breeding pairs in Albion to this day.

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“Silent is my garment when I tread the Earth, inhabit the dwellings or stir the waters.
Sometimes my trappings and this high air raise me above the abodes of men, and the power of the clouds then bares me far and wide over the people.
My adornments resound loudly and make melody; they sing clearly when I am not near the flood and the Earth - A Traveling Spirit” - The Exeter Book

Perhaps no other bird best embodies the aspects of purity and beauty better than the Swan, their ethereal presence having been revered for millennia. In Ireland it is believed the souls of pure virgins take the form of Swans after death, and tales of Swan Maidens are shared with Welsh, Finnish and many other European cultures. This shared mythology is possibly linked to ancient Bronze Age beliefs and many Swan motifs on pottery and jewellery have been found dating to this period. In Britain it is believed to kill this bird not only brings bad luck but to bring death to oneself.

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The reeds begin to rustle in the little winds that sweep across the labyrinthine marshes of the Somerset levels. In the clear Spring mornings a somewhat unsettling sound may be heard, like the bellowing of a mighty Bull, both distant and close simultaneously. To pin down the source of this sound becomes impossible in the dense other-world of the bog. This is the love song of the Bittern, with which he serenades his mate; and as uncouth and harsh as it sounds to us, the mate hears it with far more pleasure than she would the sweetest chorus of the grove. Here it is believed that the Bittern thrusts his bill deep into the mud “to shake the surrounding marsh”, and to hear this sound is to bring bad luck.
Neolithic Bitterns have been found preserved in the peat across England and Wales and there is no doubt they have been here much longer. Wetlands however are Albion’s fastest shrinking and most desecrated natural environment, and due to this and wanton killings, the Bittern went extinct here as a breeding species in the late 19th century. Even recolonization attempts from continental birds has been thwarted up until very recently where there is now an estimated 160 breeding males and 600 over-wintering visitors.

*Any proceeds from this release will go to a conservation organisation (NatureScot, RSPB) for the continued protection of the habitats and species heard herein*