Riverbank
Freshwater margins: sedges, willows, the commoner caddis and mayfly adults, and a short key to tracks in wet silt. The volume on bankside grasses is the one people buy twice, because the first copy goes into a river.
Books that are meant to get wet.
Everything we print is small enough for a coat pocket, sewn so it opens flat in one hand, and set in a type size that survives bad light.
A field guide is a working tool, not a reference shelf. The usual failure of the form is ambition: eight hundred species, four hundred of which the reader will never stand in front of. We publish the opposite. Each title is bounded — one habitat, one season, or one genus — and the editorial rule is that nothing enters a book unless a reader could reasonably meet it on an afternoon's walk.
The plates are drawn, not photographed. A drawing can show the diagnostic feature at the angle you will actually see it, with the clutter removed; a photograph shows one individual in one light. Every plate is checked against pressed or preserved material before it goes to press, and the artist's initials sit under the caption so that errors have an owner.