Why are Eurasian Coots building nests with our trash?

As the season shifted, we went on a photo walk in our favourite local park and were thrilled to see new nests appearing in the lake. It was almost like a comedic play, fussing mothers, guardian fathers swimming circles around their fresh eggs, even pigeons marching the banks like tiny security guards.

Parents of new Eurasian Coot chicks

Over the next few days, I made it my mission to visit and capture images of these birds. I watched swans, ducks, and geese babysit each other's territory while their partners flew off to collect more food or bedding for the nests.

The coots were different, quieter, more deliberate in their movements as they supported their nests and partners.

Any day now, their chicks would appear. I was determined to be there when they did. The wildlife photographer in me was excited to return, sometimes twice a day, to see the progress.

The new coot chicks made an appearance!

The first nest we saw was made with twigs, leaves, and organic materials. The female coot was caring for the newborns while the male was absent, obviously off collecting provisions for his growing family.

We were about to leave when something caught our eye further up the lake, a male coot swimming slightly away from the others, heading toward another nest. As we got closer, I could see both parents working, the chicks' bright orange-and-yellow heads bobbing between the reeds. And then I saw it: a flash of blue plastic woven into the structure. Food packaging. Not just caught in the nest, woven into it.

The nest was still made of the usual leaves and reeds, but there was no mistaking what else was there. Around the back, bits of plastic flowed away from the structure, as though they'd loosened from it. But why?

Food packaging woven into their nest

We captured the scene without getting too close to the new family, but I couldn't stop asking myself: why had they included litter?

The question stayed with me. Conversations with friends and family circled around possibilities - maybe it was the location of the nest? But if so, why didn't the other nests have any litter in theirs? Was it simply about proximity to discarded trash?

When we looked around the area, there was a lot of debris floating nearby - more than just masks. Cans, plastic bottles, sandwich packaging, all congregating toward that end of the lake where the coots had built. It seemed they'd used whatever materials were available to them.

I had so many mixed emotions about the scene we'd witnessed, and it continued to bother me. What would happen when these chicks took their first swim - navigating not just water, but plastic, wrappers, and masks floating between them and safety?

A couple of days later, I spotted one of the borough's park rangers clearing a buildup of trash around the outdoor exercise equipment. I approached her and described what I'd seen with the coot nest. She nodded, unsurprised but visibly saddened.

Over the next couple of hours, we walked the park together - her clearing visitors' trash, me helping when she allowed it.

She told me that green spaces had become vital during lockdown, offering open, safe places when people desperately needed them. "We were thrilled to see the parks getting used again," she said, gesturing toward families picnicking near the lake. "But with the increased footfall came the litter."

She paused at the water's edge, watching a swan glide past a floating coffee cup. "Since 2020, we've collected over 98,000 bags of litter a year - that's four times what we collected before lockdown." She gestured toward the lake. "And that's just what makes it into our bags."

Even though I was glad to see trash being regularly cleared, I couldn't shake what she'd told me. This wasn't just our park—it was happening across all of London. I needed to understand not just what was happening, but why.

We continue to seek out green spaces to reset our work-life balance, arranging lunch breaks in local parks, sharing picnics in grasslands. But when the result is leftover sushi packaging and coffee cups abandoned outside trash bins, it becomes hazardous to both people and wildlife, polluting the very spaces we seek out for restoration.

I went back to check on the nest a week later. The chicks were bigger now, swimming in circles around their parents. The blue wrapper was still there, woven into the foundation of their home. They seemed fine - resilient, adaptive, making it work.

New born Eurasian Coots in their nest

But I couldn't help wondering: should they have to?

When you're in green spaces, do you notice what's been left there—or have we become so used to it that it's invisible? I'm curious what you see. Because somewhere out there, birds are building nests with what we leave behind, and their chicks are learning to swim through our coffee cups.

These images were captured in April 2024 at a local London park. If you'd like to see more wildlife photography and stories from the field, visit ancestorsmuse.com or follow along on Instagram @theancestorsmuse.