Things That Go Bump In The Night

Have you ever wondered what goes on in your garden after you’ve gone to bed? What creatures lurk largely unseen before dawn and after dusk? Who has been digging holes in your lawn? Well I used to frequently, and so a few years ago I was given a trail camera as a birthday gift. It very quickly became one of my favourite pieces of kit.

There’s something almost magical about setting up a trail camera and walking away. You’re not just placing a device — you’re leaving a quiet observer in the wild, one that might catch moments you’d never be able to see in person. Every camera check feels like opening a present: What walked by? When? How close? That sense of anticipation is addictive. You find yourself scurrying out into the garden in your pyjamas even before your first cup of tea of the day to see who called by while you were sleeping.

Initially you are fascinated simply to see what passed through your patch in the night; but over time you get to recognise frequent visitors from their markings or their habits; you maybe see them suddenly appear with a fawn or a chick, and you become invested in their family and its survival. They become part of the story of your garden. 

The following grainy and blurred images and stills from videos, which have all been captured over the past 3 or 4 years, feature some of the characters who regard my garden as their own. So let me introduce you to our extended family:

Fantastic Mr Fox, looking shifty because he is about to raid the hedgehog feeding station….

Mr Muntjac – the head of a family of Muntjac deer who visit us most nights. 

Junior Muntjac, whom we have had the pleasure of watching grow up over the past 2 years.

Mrs Muntjac. About 2 years ago, I noticed (on my footage) that she had a badly infected eye. I feared the worst, but we subsequently discovered that not only had she survived the infection (although her eye had not) but that she had given birth to Junior. 

A tawny owl chick born this year in the nest box in our garden. A good month after it left the nest it still relies on its parents for most of its food, and is fascinated by our new pond. As you can see, it’s still ridiculously fluffy and cartoon-like. We call it Helix. 

Our village has a large badger population, with the result that the hedgehog population was wiped out decades ago. 4 rescue hedgehogs were introduced into 2 gardens earlier this year (gardens furthest from the many badger sets) and after a few weeks 1 of them started showing up in our garden. By supplemental feeding we are hoping to keep them from needing to venture out into the fields where the badgers reside.Our cameras allow us to monitor their movements and delight in the simple fact that they are here.

Mr Brock. Only an occasional visitor, and one who runs in, makes a lightning raid on any fall-out from the bird feeders, and hightails it out again in the blink of an eye. 

Mrs Tawny – or Ivy as we call her – taking a bath in an upturned dustbin lid. She now has a new pond in which to bathe, but given half a chance I suspect she would still take to the bin lid.

Here hare here (if you know, you know!)

Fleeting and fleeing fox.

And finally, one of our cats, Florence, maybe thinking about raiding the hedgehog feeding hut, but thinking better of it when she spotted the camera. But look closely, and you will see a pair of beady eyes on the roof of the feeding hut. To whom do they belong? Why, it’s Toady, Overlord of The Area At The Back of The Garage, and Protector of the hedgehog hut! 

In the way that many of a photographer’s tools do, trail cameras cultivate patience and a sense of wonder. But they also make us observers rather than participants, encouraging us to slow down and appreciate nature’s rhythms without disturbance. Over time, they can transform even the smallest patch of land – rural or urban – into a vibrant, bustling habitat — a place full of personality, drama, and surprise. 

Helen