Wiltshire & Lutley, West Midlands :: 21 & 24 March 2026

Kev @kev07713 and I decided it was time for our annual pilgrimage to Wiltshire to see the stone curlews and great bustards - the stone curlews at RSPB Winterbourne Downs, and the bustards on Salisbury Plain.

The story of stone curlews at RSPB Winterbourne Downs is closely linked to one of the UK’s most significant modern farmland-conservation successes. The reserve was effectively created with this species in mind, and their presence today reflects decades of dedicated recovery work.

Once widespread across southern England’s chalk downlands and light arable soils - including Salisbury Plain and the surrounding downs - stone curlews suffered major declines due to the loss of chalk grassland and heathland, agricultural intensification, and mechanised farming that destroyed nests.

With the first arrivals of the season reported - up to 7 birds, it felt like the perfect time to visit, as they are often easier to locate before the vegetation begins to grow.

We arrived on site and chose to park in a nearby lay-by rather than the usual reserve car park, hoping to shorten the walk to the area where we were most likely to see the birds. We'd talked with another birder who had suggested ignoring the main field, viewed from the wooden screen, and instead focusing our efforts on the fields behind where sightings were reportedly more reliable. We met another birder who had been concentrating on the main field but hadn’t managed to locate any “stoneys.” After setting up our scopes, we scanned the area ourselves and confirmed that we couldn’t see any either.

We then continued up to the screen overlooking a freshly ploughed field occupied by a large flock of sheep - would the stone curlews tolerate such company? After several minutes of careful scanning, I picked up a bird on the far side of the field, about 45 degrees to our left. A minute later Kev shared that he was on it, though it turned out to be a second bird, crouched slightly lower along the edge of the ploughed area. From time to time the sheep wandered directly in front of them, repeatedly interrupting our attempts to capture photographs and video.

The distance to the birds, combined with the freshly ploughed field between us, made photography particularly challenging. As the ground warmed, heat shimmer began to rise from the bare soil, creating a noticeable haze through the scope and camera lens. The birds appeared to waver and distort in the viewfinder, their outlines softening as ripples of warm air drifted upward. Even when focus seemed perfect, the heat haze reduced sharpness and detail, turning what looked like half-promising shots into soft, shimmering images - a familiar frustration when photographing birds across sun-warmed farmland.

Speaking with a couple of locals, we were told that within three days of the stone curlews arriving and settling in the main field, sheep had been introduced there, pushing the birds into the ploughed field behind. The sheep were then moved again into that area as well, leaving some questioning whether anyone really knew what they were doing. Still, at least this year we had managed to find a couple of birds, and we hope the birds will be able to settle, perhaps again on the main field.

Kev headed off to check the slope in the main field, where our friend Bryan Manston had reported seeing a bird a week or two earlier, while I followed the path inside the trees, searching for a position that might give better views of our two birds, or perhaps reveal more. After setting up my scope again, I realised there were three stone curlews in view: two loosely associating with each other, with a third standing around ten metres away.

Before long the other birder reappeared and mentioned that he could also now see three birds, adding that better views could be had further back along the track. I followed him and set up again, looking down the slope where more of the birds were visible, though the heat haze continued to shimmer relentlessly across the field. Kev called and I explained where we were, and he soon joined us after having no success in locating any additional birds.

We discussed our next move, knowing there was little chance of improving our photographs unless the birds came much closer. In the end, we decided to pull stumps and head over to Salisbury Plain to check on the bustards, something we always enjoy doing to see how they are getting on.

After arriving in roughly the right area, we began scanning the landscape in search of them. As we did, two grey partridges suddenly dropped into the field behind us. Before they disappeared into the crop, I managed to grab a quick shot of one as it paused briefly, seemingly hoping it had gone unnoticed. We’ve been doing rather well with grey partridges this year.

Across the valley we could see red deer feeding on the slope. Salisbury Plain is best known for its sweeping grasslands and archaeological wonders, but it’s also home to some of Britain’s iconic wildlife.

Red deer are native to Britain and have been part of the landscape since the end of the last Ice Age. Although they are most often associated with Scotland and northern England, small groups are known to roam Salisbury Plain, particularly in its open, undisturbed areas. Observers have reported sightings along the ridges and grasslands, offering a rare glimpse of these animals in the heart of southern England.

Two deer stood at the edge of the group, likely young stags, their small antlers just beginning to sprout. In male red deer, these first antlers usually emerge in their second year as short, velvety spikes. The soft velvet, rich in blood vessels and nutrients, nourishes the rapidly growing bone. Initially, the spikes are simple and straight, often just a single point on each side, but as the stags mature, the antlers branch and grow more intricate each year.

From the right, another deer approached. One of the young stags broke from the edge and stood watch, alert and vigilant, as the newcomer gradually edged into the herd. Interestingly, only this stag seemed to take any notice, keeping a careful eye on the new arrival while the rest of the group remained feeding.

Corn buntings, once widespread across the UK’s farmland, have faced severe declines over the past few decades and are now listed as a red‑listed species of conservation concern. Yet on Salisbury Plain, these resilient birds tell a slightly brighter story. Surveys show that corn buntings still breed across the Plain, with their numbers holding steady and, in some areas, even increasing, thanks to the expansive semi‑natural grasslands and low-intensity farming that characterise the landscape. While national populations remain fragmented and vulnerable, Salisbury Plain offers a rare refuge where the familiar song of the corn bunting continues to grace the fields.

As we dropped down the slope we saw at least 30 corn buntings on the brambles on either side of the track - I walked down and tried for some photos, but the birds were mostly flushed by vehicles coming the other way. A couple of birds remained, and I managed to get close enough for a photo or two while Kev dropped further down the slope. Corn buntings are one of my favourite birds, and there’s something magical about hearing their jangly, tinkling song drifting across Salisbury Plain.

Looking up toward the ridge on the right, Kev spotted around eight bustards, some standing clear in front of the crop while others revealed themselves only by heads rising above the crop. We watched as they drifted in and out of view, occasionally walking along the field edge. Then, glancing back across the track to the crop on the opposite side, we realised there were many more; another twenty bustards hidden within it. Seeing so many of these immense birds together is extraordinary. Gradually re-established through a long-running reintroduction project, great bustards are once again becoming a feature of Salisbury Plain.

In recent years the project has made steady progress, with improved survival rates, successful breeding attempts, and a slowly growing free-living population. The Plain’s wide, open landscape, so reminiscent of the bustard’s historic habitat, has proved ideal, allowing these birds to display, breed, and roam much as they once did centuries ago. Although the population remains carefully monitored and still vulnerable, every displaying male and every wild-hatched chick represents another step toward restoring a species once lost from Britain.

One of our target species in the area was the hen harrier, with a ringtail having been reported only ten minutes away. We repositioned to scan the surrounding fields and, as we searched, Kev suddenly called out a harrier flying low across the ground. It moved with purpose, holding a steady course without deviation until it reached the brow of the slope to our right. There, it briefly rose into the air, spreading its wings and tail in a graceful turn before dropping out of sight beyond the ridge. We hurried up to the crest in the hope of relocating it, but the bird had vanished.

The hen harrier remains one of the UK’s most persecuted birds of prey and is now red-listed following long-term declines driven largely by habitat loss and illegal killing. In recent years, conservationists have attempted to restore a southern population through an ambitious reintroduction project, bringing birds from continental Europe in the hope of establishing breeding pairs on Salisbury Plain. Although progress remains uncertain and the project’s future fragile, the sight of a harrier gliding low over the grassland offers a fleeting glimpse of what these landscapes once supported and perhaps may again one day.

We searched in several places in the hope of finding another hen harrier but despite seeing many red kites, kestrels, and buzzards we couldn’t add any other views and eventually made our way home.

On Monday evening, Kev and I agreed that we’d keep an eye out for reports of ringed ouzels at Lutley in the West Midlands and, if they appeared again, we’d make the trip to see them. We’d missed out the previous year after I’d suggested going to look for something else on the very day we might have gone. I was up early on Tuesday, dropping my daughter at the train station, and waited for updates to start appearing on WhatsApp and Birdguides from around 7am.

As the morning unfolded, however, there was still no news of the ouzels and the hours slowly drifted by. By late morning my wife had begun working in the garden and I went out to wash both cars - partly out of guilt, though they genuinely needed it after being coated in dusty rain blown in from desert conditions. After lunch I headed back outside, only to receive a message from Kev followed quickly by a phone call: the two ouzels had just been reported again. He and his wife Karen were out locally and had spotted the update while stopping for lunch. I dropped what I was doing, packed away just enough to leave, and picked Kev and Karen up for the drive to Lutley. The journey was smooth and largely uninterrupted, and before long we pulled up and parked at the spot we’d pinned on the SatNav.

Often appearing almost overnight on upland slopes and short grazed fields, these black thrushes signal the changing season as surely as lengthening days or the first blossom. Passing through on their migration north to breeding grounds in the high hills, they stop briefly to rest and feed, offering birders a fleeting window to catch up with them before they vanish again. There’s something special about seeing ring ouzels in spring, knowing these birds have travelled vast distances only to stay for a short while before continuing their journey.

We walked along the bridleway and eventually met two birders heading in the opposite direction. They confirmed they had seen the birds, though they had since disappeared into the hedge at the far end of the horse paddock, ten minutes earlier. After a few minutes, one of them pointed out a small white patch at the base of the hedge, and Kev quickly swung his scope onto it for a closer look; it was one of the ring ouzels. Through the scope, Kev commented that the bird looked tired, perhaps even unwell. We waited patiently, hoping it would emerge to feed in the open. Around twenty minutes later we were rewarded when the bird finally hopped out and began feeding, though still at some distance, looking well. From where we stood, fences and tapes partially obstructed our view, but it was enough to enjoy the moment.

We watched for around ten minutes before the bird slipped back into the hedge and disappeared. We waited as long as we could in the hope it might reappear, but eventually we had to head home, as I was due out with my wife and needed to be back by 5pm - give or take!

Year list: 201.

Isombridge, Ryton Pools & Brandon Marsh :: 17 March 2026

The taiga bean goose has a relatively recent yet highly significant history at Slamannan in central Scotland, where it now represents one of Britain’s most important wintering goose populations. Historically, taiga bean geese wintered more widely across Scotland, but numbers declined sharply during the twentieth century as a result of habitat change and broader population decreases across Europe. By the late twentieth century, Scotland’s remaining birds were largely confined to Carron Valley in Stirlingshire, where a peak count of 122 birds was recorded in the winter of 1987–88. During the late 1980s, small numbers began appearing on the nearby Slamannan Plateau, marking the beginning of a major shift in wintering distribution.

Through the early 1990s, the entire Scottish flock gradually relocated from Carron Valley to Slamannan. By this time, annual monitoring programmes had begun, with the flock numbering roughly 130–150 birds, and Slamannan becoming Scotland’s only regular wintering site for the species.

My brother and his wife moved from Glasgow to Croy last year, and I had hoped to fit in a visit to see the flock while we were in Scotland in February, as I had never encountered the species before and the site lies only about fifteen minutes from where he lives. In the end, however, my brother travelled down to the coast to visit us, and an unplanned trip to the Highlands followed before we returned home, meaning we never managed to add the bean geese to our holiday list.

The reported sighting of a taiga bean goose at Isombridge in Shropshire immediately caught Kev’s @kev07713 and my attention, and we soon hatched a plan to go and see it. It’s a superb species to encounter in the UK, and one located just a couple of hours from home was too good an opportunity to miss. We set off along a familiar route towards North Wales - a road well known to us from our annual trips to see grouse - but this time stopped short of the moorland, parking instead along quiet farmland lanes bordered by hedgerows.

A couple of other birders pulled in behind us and joined us scanning the fields, though initially we couldn’t locate any geese. Rather oddly, they soon returned to their car and drove off just as we decided to walk down towards the pools, where the distant sound of calling geese could be heard. A jay flew through as we made our way down.

At the pools we found plenty of Canada geese, constantly on the move, some hopping between pools while others lifted off to feed in surrounding fields, but our target bird was nowhere among them. We headed back to the road to view the area marked by the previous day’s BirdGuides pin, squeezing between a line of trees and a barbed-wire fence to set up our scopes.

After a short while scanning, we picked up three geese feeding several fields away in longer grass. The report had mentioned the taiga bean goose associating with two pink-footed geese, and with two pink-foots clearly visible, these seemed promising. The third bird, however, was partly obscured. When it finally walked into the open, the reality became clear - it was a greylag. Damn.

Now set up, Kev scanned back along the fenceline and picked up a fourth bird, partly obscured and previously overlooked as we had assumed the greylag was our target. Through the scopes it quickly became clear that this was indeed the bird we had come for.

The taiga bean goose is a large goose, slightly bigger and noticeably longer-necked than a pink-footed goose. It shows a strong, elongated profile, with a fairly long neck, gently sloping forehead, and substantial body. The head appears angular rather than rounded, giving the bird an alert, purposeful expression, and it looked tall and upright when standing.

Overall, the plumage was a cold grey brown. The upperparts were dark brown with pale feather fringes that created a scaled appearance, while the underparts appeared paler grey with darker barring along the flanks. The head and neck were darker than the body, giving a subtly hooded look. The bill, one of the key identification features, was long and mostly dark with a broad orange band across the middle. In taiga bean goose this orange band is typically extensive, though variable between individuals, and the bill often looks long and parallel-sided rather than stubby. The legs and feet were bright orange.

The bird had originally been reported as a tundra bean goose, one of many that have visited the UK this winter, but photographs later posted online led to its reidentification as a taiga bean goose.

We spent some time photographing and watching the geese as they fed and rested in the grass below us, gradually working their way to the right and eventually disappearing behind a denser stand of trees. By now the pink-foots had rejoined the taiga, while the greylag had drifted off elsewhere. Once the birds slipped out of view, we took it as our cue to move on.

As we walked back towards the car, who should arrive but Adrian Sparrowhawk and Bryan Manston, our friends from Banbury and Didcot. After sharing the bird’s location with them, we left them to it and headed off to search for a hoopoe that had been reported nearby, somewhere between the farm and the village, though it hadn’t been seen the previous day. Despite a thorough search, we came up empty-handed - the bird has most likely moved on.

Having enjoyed success with the taiga, we discussed our next move and decided on a visit to Ryton Pools. Kev hadn’t seen a ferruginous duck yet this year, and a smew had recently begun to be reported there again, a bird I had missed on my previous visit. We arrived, parked up, and agreed to look for the birds before stopping for lunch at the Visitor Centre.

It’s a relatively short walk from the car park to Paget’s Pool, where both the ferruginous duck and smew are usually reported, and along the way I allowed myself a small hope of encountering a bullfinch - though it wasn’t to be. Instead, we came across a flock of Hebridean sheep grazing quietly in a field beside the path.

The Hebridean sheep is a striking and ancient breed, instantly recognisable by its jet-black fleece and impressive multiple horns, often four in number, which sweep outward and curl elegantly around the head. Small but robust, it has a compact, primitive build well suited to harsh upland and island environments, reflecting its origins in the Hebrides of western Scotland. The coarse, dark wool and alert, narrow-faced expression give the animal a distinctly wild appearance compared with modern farm breeds. Highly hardy and adaptable, Hebridean sheep thrive on rough grazing and are now widely used in conservation projects, where their natural browsing helps maintain species-rich grassland and open landscapes.

We reached Paget's Pool and scanned the water, eventually spotting the ferruginous duck again, though at a considerable distance - first from the viewing platform and later from the track running along the pool’s edge. The bird seemed determined to keep its distance, always staying beside or beyond the tree-covered island that separates this side from the open water. While seeing this bird was the main reason for our visit, we also hoped to find a smew, and it didn’t take long. From the hide, I was joined by a woman who had seen the redhead from the next viewing platform. As I stepped outside to tell Kev, he said that he had just located it diving in the narrows.

At first, we could catch glimpses of the redhead smew through the trees along the water’s edge. By the time we moved to the viewing platform, however, we had uninterrupted views as the bird dived repeatedly in the narrows right in front of us - so close that we could often see her clearly beneath the surface.

A female (redhead) smew is a striking small diving duck, quite distinct from the male. Her overall plumage is a soft grey, with warm reddish-brown on the head fading into a pale, subtle throat. The body is pale grey with slightly darker flanks, and her wings show fine white edging that are more noticeable in flight. Compared to the boldly patterned black-and-white male, the female is understated yet elegant, blending soft earthy tones with subtle contrasts.

She is an adept diver, hunting small fish and invertebrates, and here we watched her successfully bring up both great-crested and smooth newts, a display of her skill and feeding behaviour.

The smew made its way back along the narrows into the larger pool, and we followed. Eventually, we returned to the hide, where we also spotted a buzzard on the far bank, busy with its prey - though what it was eating remained a mystery.

Eventually, we returned to the Visitor Centre and ordered some sandwiches for lunch. While waiting, we were scrolling on our phones when Kev spotted a post from Alan Boddington @alanbodd, noting that the garganey from the day before had been refound on East Marsh Pool. After finishing lunch, we jumped in the car and drove the short seven minutes to Warwickshire Wildlife Trust’s Brandon Marsh reserve, hoping the bird would stick around this time.

Passing through the Visitor Centre, we bumped into Alan Boddington, who mentioned it had been a surprise to see the garganey again, as everyone had been searching for it the day before but there they were, back on East Marsh Pool. We hurried through the reserve to the John Walton Hide, which overlooks the pool and the reeds where the pair had been active. As we settled in, I realised that beside me was Dennis Woodward @DennisW500, whom we hadn’t seen since Pitsford Reservoir last year when searching for the American golden plover. He mentioned we’d arrived at just the right moment - the pair had cruised into the bay after being out of view for a short while and were now busy feeding together.

Garganey are primarily dabbling ducks, feeding mostly at or near the water’s surface rather than diving. They tip forward in the water, submerging their head and neck while keeping their tail raised, allowing them to reach aquatic plants, seeds, and invertebrates just below the surface. Their diet includes aquatic insects, larvae, crustaceans, molluscs, and seeds, with insects and small invertebrates being especially important during the breeding season. Garganey can also take small amphibians, such as tadpoles or newts, when foraging in shallow water.

By mid-March, many garganey have formed pairs. A male and female are often seen feeding and moving closely together. At this stage, pair bonds are strong, but they are not yet involved in nest-building. In the UK, most March sightings are migrants passing through on their way north. Pairs may form at stopover sites, feeding together and resting, but they typically continue to breeding grounds further east or north. Reserves such as Brandon Marsh in the Midlands serve as important refuelling and resting sites rather than likely breeding sites.

However, garganey are confirmed as a rare breeding duck in Britain with an estimated 100–120 pairs nesting each year in suitable wetland habitats, including shallow marshes and flooded grasslands in central, southern, and eastern England. Because these birds are secretive and remain within dense vegetation during the breeding season, their numbers are difficult to monitor, and confirmed nests or broods are often hard to document.

The UK’s Rare Breeding Birds Panel includes garganey on its list of regularly reported breeding species, highlighting their status as a rare breeder rather than just a migrant. Nationally, breeding records are most frequent in areas such as the Ouse Washes, Norfolk Broads, Somerset Levels, and parts of eastern England, where extensive shallow wetlands provide ideal conditions.

After feeding for a while, the birds drifted further out into the bay and began preening and washing in the deeper water. The garganey often dipped repeatedly into the water, sometimes quite vigorously, flapping and creating splashes that helped loosen dirt and parasites before preening. The male was particularly energetic, frequently tipping forward and performing partial somersaults, submerging his head and neck while keeping his feet raised skyward - an entertaining display that he repeated at least half a dozen times.

After spending some time watching the garganey pair, we returned to the car and headed home, content with having seen a lifer, Kev finally catching up with the “fudge duck", and connecting with garganey that I’d/we'd missed on previous days. Another great day out.

Year list: 197.