Wildlife Photographer and RSPB Ambassador Rachel Bigsby reports on work to save nature in Orkney.
There are few places where wildlife feels so immediate, so audible, and so intricately woven into daily life as it does in Orkney. This remote archipelago off Scotland’s northern coast isn’t just scenic, it’s ecologically vital. And on my recent ambassadorial visit with the RSPB, I witnessed first-hand how seriously the people of Orkney honour that responsibility.
I was invited to learn more about the Orkney Native Wildlife Project, a pioneering initiative, the first of its kind in the Northern Hemisphere and the largest eradication project ever undertaken on inhabited islands. It even deploys Europe’s first Stoat detection dogs. This ambitious collaboration between the RSPB, NatureScot and Orkney Islands Council is already delivering tangible results.
The Orkney islands are a vital waypoint along the East Atlantic Flyway, a migratory corridor used by more than 150 bird species journeying between the Arctic and Africa. They host 20% of the UK’s Hen Harrier population, up to 11% of its breeding seabirds, and are the only place on Earth where the Orkney Vole exists. But in 2010, that richness was imperiled. Stoats (an invasive, non-native species) were discovered on the islands, and their impact has been devastating.
Removing Stoats from Orkney may seem harsh to some, but it’s a necessary and urgent act of protection. These non-native predators pose an existential threat to the islands’ delicate ecosystem, from ground-nesting birds and seabirds to the unique Orkney Vole. In this landscape, Stoats are the difference between survival and extinction. Without intervention, we risk losing not just individual species, but the intricate balance of life that makes Orkney so ecologically extraordinary.
Since 2019, over 7,500 Stoats have been removed. That number alone is extraordinary, but so is the effort behind it: £16 million in funding, more than 8,000 traps deployed, and a community unified in purpose. From wildlife professionals to local landowners and dedicated volunteers, the entire island network has mobilised.
What struck me most during my visit wasn’t just the magnitude of the operation, it was the mindset that drives it. Every person I met, from seasoned ecologists to young trappers, spoke of the Stoats with a quiet respect. No blame, no anger – just a shared understanding that they are simply the right animal in the wrong place. That sense of compassion and clarity not only shapes more effective conservation, it also fosters a deeper emotional investment in the work.
The strength of this project lies in its people. Local farmers open their land. Traps are handcrafted on Orkney by a local company. Volunteers give their time to surveys, sightings, and monitoring. This isn’t conservation imposed on a landscape – it is conservation rooted in place, shaped by those who live there.
Everywhere I went, I saw evidence of that ethos. People weren’t just contributing to a project, they were protecting their home. The Orkney Native Wildlife Project is about more than removing Stoats; it’s about nurturing what makes these islands special. It’s about securing a future where nature and people can thrive together. It is, at its heart, a story of connection grounded in trust, shaped by relationships, and driven by a profound sense of shared stewardship.
I asked two young trappers if they ever paused to consider the legacy of their work – that one day, they might say they helped save Orkney’s native wildlife. They simply smiled and shrugged, more focused on the task at hand than the long view. But that legacy is real, and it’s growing with every step they take.
One of the most impressive moments of my trip was watching Europe’s first Stoat detection dogs at work. These dogs are trained to detect even the faintest traces of stoat presence and I watched one pinpoint scat (Stoat excrement) no larger than a crumb and over three months old. It was astonishing. The precision of the dog was matched only by the calm, focused presence of its handler. They moved through the Orkney landscape as one – an intuitive, seamless partnership built on trust and training. It was a quiet, powerful reminder that this project isn’t just about science; it’s also about relationship, intuition, and care.
Orkney sounds alive.
The wailing call of the Curlew sweeps across fields like a mournful hymn. Lapwings crackle overhead in looping, acrobatic displays. Oystercatchers erupt with sharp, urgent cries. And beneath it all: waves pressing against the shore, the soft hush of wind and the comforting soundscape of open space.
Its landscape is a shifting tapestry of moorland, wildflower meadow, wetlands, cliff edges, and the quiet remains of abandoned crofts. Heather, orchids, buttercups, and bog cotton ripple in the wind, each corner offering a new niche for wildlife to find its rhythm.
And then, of course, there was the wildlife.
From the moment I landed, Orkney felt animated by wildness. A Short-eared Owl skimmed the runway’s edge and Arctic Terns shrieked overhead on my first walk by the sea. Photographing Little Terns for the first time – bright, delicate, impossibly agile – was a personal highlight. I crouched by the water’s edge, full of joy, as they danced on the air like salt-borne poetry. I watched Hen Harriers drift like ghosts over moorland. I saw Puffins, Guillemots, Gannets, Shags, Skuas, Oystercatchers. Each encounter a reminder of what’s at stake.
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As I left Orkney, I carried with me not just memories, but a renewed sense of what’s possible. I’d witnessed the scale of the challenge, and the scale of the solution. The passion, purpose, and resilience of the people I met was deeply moving. Conversations flowed easily. Strangers became collaborators through shared purpose. I was guided through landscapes, but also through heritage, history, and the spirit of a community that knows what it has, and why it must be protected.
This project may well be remembered as the reason Orkney’s wildlife was saved. That’s not just a powerful idea – it’s a real and unfolding legacy.
I feel incredibly privileged to have seen it with my own eyes and to share it with you. Because what’s happening here isn’t only relevant to Orkney. It’s a lesson in what’s possible when people act together, with clarity and care, the power of collective action. The Orkney Native Wildlife Project is working to protect one of the UK’s most valuable wild places. It’s bold, evidence-based, and fuelled by people who care deeply. It reminded me that progress is possible. That when we come together with purpose, we can change the trajectory for species and habitats under threat.
I left Orkney feeling hopeful. Reassured. Reconnected.
This visit was a reminder that conservation isn’t only about rare species or big numbers – though Orkney has both. It’s about people. It’s about commitment. It’s about the quiet, consistent, often invisible work that protects the wild spaces we can’t afford to lose.
The RSPB would like to say a huge thank you to all the many supporters and RSPB members who have supported the Orkney Native Wildlife Project.
Rachel Bigsby is an award-winning photographer, who has won the Natural History Museum’s Wildlife Photographer of the Year award for the Natural Artistry category and the Portfolio Award in Bird Photographer of the Year.
To see more of her work, follow Rachel Bigsby on Instagram (@rachelbigsby) or check out her website (www.rachelbigsby.com).
