Water Shrew by Michael Blencowe for Sussex Wildlife Trust
I love Jaws, the 1975 movie which sent three men out into the Atlantic on a fishing
boat in search of a marauding Great White Shark. There’s another aquatic monster
hunting in the ponds and shallow streams of Sussex. But to find a Water
Shrew…you’re gonna need a smaller boat.
Water Shrews weigh 15g and measure just 16cm. Unlike other shrews they have an
amazing ability to swim and hunt underwater. They’re covered in dense fur – vital
insulation against the cold and wet. This sleek wetsuit also traps air bubbles,
transforming the shrew into a furry Aero helping it stay buoyant. Powerful, extra
hairy hind feet propel this tiny torpedo through the water.
Water Shrews and Great White Sharks have a common feature that sets them apart
from their close relatives. They both have a striking demarcation between their
dark upperparts and their white underparts. Looking from above, their black backs
blend with the pond bottom or seabed. From below, their pale bellies make them
invisible in the sunlit water. It’s a submarine survival strategy that helps conceal
both hunters and hunted. And the Water Shrew is both.

With sharp, red-tipped fangs, a Water Shrew’s jaws are as fearsome as any shark’s.
But the Water Shrew has a trick up its teeth. It’s Britain’s only venomous mammal.
When it bites it injects a stupefying saliva which subdues its victims. In Jaws, the
grizzled skipper Quint (Robert Shaw) relates the chilling true tale of the torpedoed
WWII cruiser Indianapolis, which sank leaving hundreds of sailors adrift in sharkinfested waters. Well, my mate Barry was once bitten by a Water Shrew in
Newhaven and his finger went all tingly for about two hours. OK, it doesn’t
exactly compare, but the fact that a tiny shrew can make such an impact on a
human is pretty impressive.
Slice open a dead shrew’s stomach and rummage inside and you’ll find bits of
beetle legs, snail shells, and fishbones. They are relentless, frenetic hunters. If the
shrew goes without a meal for more than an hour it will die. What we are dealing
with here is a perfect engine, an eating machine. All this machine does is swim and
eat and make little shrews. Between April and September, the mating of the shrew
can produce 2-3 litters of 3-15 young. They live a fast, brief life. Few of them will
survive for more than a year.
The best way to see a Water Shrew is to sit by a Sussex stream as the sun sets.
Bring a couple of friends and some Apricot Brandy, share some tall tales, and wait
for a shrew to strike!

Stinging Nettles, by Michael Blencowe of the Sussex Wildlife Trust

In the shadows under the Oak trees my enemy awaits. There are hundreds of them, huddled together in a silent, ferocious mob. With their drab green leaves and insignificant flowers, the Stinging Nettle is a joyless plant infamous only for its ability to inflict pain. I can almost hear these nettles straining at their roots, desperately trying to reach me because I am in possession of something they crave: a pair of bare legs. When I started writing this article, I realised that I hadn’t been stung by a Stinging Nettle for so long that I had forgotten what it felt like. So, dear reader, just for you I am wading into a nettle patch in a pair of shorts.

As my legs brush the underside of the nettles’ leaves, I break the fragile tips off hundreds of hollow hairs, and I’m injected with histamine, serotonin and acetylcholine, with a splash of formic acid. This volatile cocktail acts like napalm on my knees – my skin itches and blisters and that familiar fiery, tingling, pulsing pain sears up my spinal cord. The plant does not inflict this agony as some sadistic vendetta against schoolchildren and writers. The nettle’s hairy, hurtful suit of armour is a defence mechanism against hungry herbivores.

Despite our hatred for the Stinging Nettle, we have found many uses for it over the centuries as cloth, medicine, and food. Seventeenth century Sussex herbalist Nicholas Culpeper claimed nettles – which “can be found by feeling in the darkest night” – cured everything from nosebleeds to leprosy. Celebrity chefs extol the virtues of vitamin-packed nettle soups, risottos and spanakopita. And the caterpillars of our most impressive butterflies enjoy munching on nettles too. Red Admirals, Peacocks, Commas and Small Tortoiseshells all depend on them.

Halfway through the nettle patch all this is offering me little comfort. If I focus my mind, I can rise above it and the waves of pain can start to feel strangely invigorating. But not for long and I soon start frantically searching for a cure. Rubbing mashed dock leaves on my legs has soothed my stings since I was a schoolboy, so I was surprised to read that it’s all a ruse. Scientists claim dock leaves are simply a placebo – and the searching and rubbing is just a distraction that numbs the pain.

Beyond the nettle patch I stumbled across an amazing glade of orchids, vibrant and stunning in the sunshine. In an instant the stinging stopped. Maybe it was all in my mind after all. Even when we are in our darkest night we need to keep pushing through the painful patches. There’s something surprising and soothing awaiting us on the other side.

Sussex Wildlife Trust is an independent charity caring for wildlife and habitats throughout Sussex. Founded in 1961, we have worked with local people for over half a century to make Sussex richer in wildlife.

We rely on the support of our members to help protect our rich natural heritage. Please consider supporting our work. As a member you will be invited to join Michael Blencowe on our regular wildlife walks and also enjoy free events, discounts on wildlife courses, Wildlife magazine and our Sussex guide book, Discovering Wildlife. It’s easy to join online at sussexwildlifetrust.org.uk/join