Hunting for woodlark :: 26-27 March 2026

Kev @kev07713 and I discussed possible options for a birding trip on Thursday, but with nothing particularly standing out, we settled on a visit to Greenham Common to target woodlark, with the hope of also finding a few wheatears. We decided to skip breakfast enroute and instead planned to pick something up later in the morning at the Control Tower café.

We arrived at the entrance to the car park to find a barrier down across the road - something neither of us remembered from previous early visits. A quick check online confirmed that the main Control Tower car park opens at 8am daily, with closing times ranging from 4pm in winter to 9pm in summer. As we were too early, we turned around at the roundabout and headed back to a layby we’d noticed on the way in, where there was just enough space to park alongside the two cars already there.

Next to the layby, a gate leads directly onto the common, and as we began pulling on our gear, two dog walkers came through. As we set off, Kev spotted a pair of bullfinches in a tree ahead, a species I had managed to miss so far this year, making them my first year tick of the day.

We set off down the path with song and mistle thrushes around us, while the call of a fieldfare alerted us to one passing overhead. A green woodpecker called from behind, and we watched as it flew past and landed in a nearby tree. Its flight was characteristically undulating, often described as bounding or roller-coaster-like, rising on a series of wingbeats before dipping into a glide. One of the most striking features was the flash of colour, the bright yellow rump glowing as it flew away, catching our eye before the rest of the bird could be seen clearly.

Stonechats bounced along the tops of the gorse, and Kev picked up what we initially thought was the pale front of a distant fieldfare — but closer inspection revealed a wheatear, which soon became two after another appeared nearby.

The return of wheatears to the UK in March is one of the classic early signs of spring migration, as they are among the first long-distance migrants to arrive back from Africa. UK wheatears spend the winter in sub-Saharan Africa before migrating thousands of kilometres north each spring to breeding areas across Britain. Many birds seen in March are passage migrants, briefly stopping in lowland fields, coastal grassland, heathland and commons before continuing north, with the earliest arrivals typically dominated by males racing ahead to secure territories before females follow in April.

We reached the denser gorse at the western end of the site, watching and listening for woodlarks, having seen them in this area on previous visits. Instead, we began hearing Dartford warblers and managed brief views of a couple, though they never stayed in the open long enough for a photograph.

We turned and began heading eastwards, picking up calls from our right - this time chiffchaffs and greenfinches. We continued listening carefully along the treeline in the hope of our first willow warbler of the year, but there was still no sign of one.

Stonechats were ever-present, almost always in pairs, as we continued scanning the sky and listening carefully. Then, as we reached a point due south of the Control Tower, we heard the distinctive call of a woodlark. Kev quickly picked it up in the sky, and we watched as it dropped down to the ground, though at quite some distance.

We carried on to the central crossing back toward the café side but paused again when another Dartford warbler began calling from the gorse. This time we enjoyed slightly longer views, enough for a couple of photos, although the bird never fully came into the open. It then slipped out the back and landed on an almost bare vertical branch, pausing just long enough for another shot, albeit from farther away.

I love these little Dartford warblers - proper bird rock stars, full of attitude and energy, perched on top of gorse with that spiky tail, slate-grey head and deep wine-red chest, looking like the coolest thing on the heath ... before diving back into cover the moment you raise the camera.

We decided to walk down the central gravel path, having heard another woodlark call and hoping we might get closer views than earlier. We spotted a few dog walkers and timed our progress along the path to give ourselves the best chance of encountering the woodlarks - and it paid off.

We soon saw and heard one bird, watching as it dropped to the ground just 10 m from the path, while another remained high in the sky behind. We managed a few photos before the first bird moved along the track from where we had come. We followed and repositioned ourselves, getting a better angle for more shots.

These elusive, ground-nesting birds are typically found in open heathland, short grass, and recently disturbed sandy or gravelly areas, all of which are abundant on Greenham Common. Across the UK, there are over 3,300 pairs, mainly inhabiting open, dry heathlands and woodland edges, with key populations in the New Forest, Breckland, and Dorset. While they can occasionally be seen outside the breeding season, they are most notable in February and March. Primarily resident, woodlarks feed on seeds and insects, though they often move onto farmland stubbles during autumn and early winter.

After a few minutes, Kev noticed someone approaching from our left - a dog walker. I assumed they would stick to the gravel path, as the signs instructed, but he and a woman behind him were walking along the grass track currently being used by our bird. Unsurprisingly, the woodlark was soon flushed and flew off.

We spoke to the walkers about staying on the designated tracks, especially as many birds are now setting up nesting sites. Rather than being apologetic, they insisted there were no nesting birds and that walking on the grass was easier than the paths. Clearly, some monitoring of visitor behaviour is needed, as we’ve previously seen dogs chasing birds and even muntjac across the site, seemingly unaware of the stress they cause to the wildlife. Having the dogs on leads might also help.

We heard a sandpiper call and looked up to see a common sandpiper fly overhead and away - our first of the year.

After this success, we made our way to the café for a late breakfast and to plan our next move. We decided to head back north and stop at Farmoor Reservoir. Before leaving, we spotted another two pairs of bullfinches and had another look at the wheatears, now seeing three in total, two males and a female.

We arrived at Farmoor Reservoir and walked along the causeway between F1 and F2, hoping for a glimpse of an osprey or even a swallow, but neither appeared although both have started to be reported from here - three sand martins flew through. However, we did find a lone dunlin feeding on the north side of the causeway. We later learned it had arrived on the south side around 9.30am but had moved onto the north side about an hour later - a very pale individual.

We reached the end of the causeway without spotting anything else and stopped at the west end for a while and were entertained by a pair of grey wagtails. There were an increasing number of boats on F2, so we decided to complete a circuit round F1 where there were more trees and potential for a willow warbler.

We continued our walk and came across a pair of goldeneyes, but I didn’t manage a photo as I was on a call with Audi to confirm a garage visit for the following day. Kev, meanwhile, captured a rather nice shot of the birds flying off while I was otherwise occupied. Among the handful of tufted ducks on the water was the long-staying greater scaup.

While we were standing by the ducks, a birder pushing a pram went past and paused ahead to scan the trees. When we reached the rough area, we heard a brief call from a willow warbler but couldn’t locate the bird or hear it again - we’ll have to wait for another opportunity to add it to our year list, though I’m sure we’ll get one soon.

We heard the call of a great spotted woodpecker and soon saw it leave a tree, flying along the edge of the woodland parallel to the houses beyond.

We reached the Visitor Centre and stopped for lunch, sitting down beside the birder who had been pushing the pram earlier. He was visiting from Wiltshire for the day and hadn’t seen the dunlin when he crossed the causeway, though he did spot a distant bird diving and wondered whether it might have been a diver - he also considered it may just have been a cormorant. He mentioned that he too had heard the willow warbler and managed a fleeting view. After lunch, he headed off along the causeway to look for the dunlin and make a circuit of F2.

On our way home, we saw updates on the Oxfordshire WhatsApp group reporting a juvenile great northern diver and a sanderling at Farmoor. One birder had a photo of the diver, and another reported seeing the sanderling, though others couldn’t locate it - perhaps it was just making a brief stop, as the pram-pushing birder hadn’t seen that earlier either. The great northern diver was a miss for us, likely diving distantly on F2, and as we weren’t scanning for anything specifically, we didn’t spot it. A shame, as they are magnificent birds, though we’ve had a few this year already. We’ve also enjoyed great views of this species at Farmoor in the past, most notably in January 2022 - report here.

The next day I was scheduled to drop my car at Newbury Audi for diagnostics on the software - my SatNav is now consistently showing incorrect locations, even though the GPS on the car reports the correct position on my Audi phone app. The car is also reporting altitudes between 7,500 and 18,000 feet above sea level and repeatedly claimed it couldn’t read the traffic speed signs. Clearly, there were some communication issues between the systems and the MMI.

I arranged to borrow a courtesy car and, once booked in, made my way to Acres Down in Hampshire for a walk to pass the time. On arrival, I realised I probably should have checked the weather forecast first, as a gentle drizzle was falling - one that looked likely to persist, though the forecast suggested it might stay light enough for a walk.

The last time Kev and I visited a few weeks earlier, we had headed south-east from the car park in search of woodlarks, so this time I set off along the trail in a north-westerly direction to see what might be about. I stopped at the tree where good views of lesser spotted woodpecker are sometimes had, though they are usually seen earlier in the morning. After pausing for a few minutes, I moved around the corner to check another tree where a tawny owl is occasionally found.

As I stood there, a woodpecker began drumming, but it was clearly a greater spotted rather than the hoped-for lesser - I walked back for a look anyway.

After a minute or so, a second great spotted woodpecker dropped onto the tree, called, and the pair soon flew off together. I waited a few more minutes before heading back around the corner.

As I watched the trees, a couple of marsh tits and a coal tit caught my attention, hurrying through the fallen trees and along the branches above. Then, in the bracken to my right, I noticed a bird feeding and once I picked it up through my binoculars, I could see it was a firecrest. It moved quickly through the scrub at ground level before heading deeper into the trees and away from the track - I wasn’t about to follow. I saw and heard a few more as I continued along the paths, but for now there would be no chance of another decent photo.

I walked up the hill towards the trees and the ridge and noticed a couple of birds landing in the trees ahead. I suspect I had flushed them from the ground as I approached and raised my binoculars, I was delighted to find they were a pair of woodlarks. Within a minute or two they seemed to relax and dropped back down into the heather and scrub to feed.

Woodlarks at Acres Down are a regular and fairly reliable species, though they are not always easy to see, so knowing where and when to look makes all the difference. I followed at a respectful distance and watched the area where they were feeding, managing to take a few photographs.

On the ground is where woodlarks spend most of their time when they are not singing or displaying, as they are primarily ground foragers. They walked steadily through short grass and bare patches, stopping frequently to pick at food, probing lightly at the surface and occasionally flicking aside vegetation.

Their diet changes through the year. In spring and summer, during the breeding season, they feed mainly on invertebrates such as beetles, spiders, caterpillars, small larvae and ants. In autumn and winter, seeds and other plant material make up a larger part of their diet.

Eventually the birds moved on, and I decided to leave them from being disturbed any more, continuing along the track. The habitat to my right looked promising for Dartford warblers, a classic New Forest heathland species, with open heather slopes away from the dense woodland - although they appear to be less reliable at Acres Down.

Instead, from the opposite side of the track, where the vegetation thickened with trees tangled in ivy and holly bushes, I heard the calls of firecrest. Two birds zipped through the holly, moving restlessly from branch to branch. I tried to photograph them as they flicked through the foliage, but they refused to sit still long enough for a proper shot.

Then, fortuitously, one dropped onto a branch poking out from the side of the holly and paused for what felt like about ten seconds, just long enough to capture it as it seemed to consider its next move. The result was a series of photographs, all taken from the same perch before it vanished back into the holly and following another through the cover.

The rain briefly intensified, so I began making my way back towards the car to stop for some lunch. Passing an area where significant tree felling had taken place, I noticed a bird high on the bare vertical trunk of a remaining tree, too small to have been taken for timber. Through my binoculars I could see it was a common crossbill, and despite the light drizzle and gloomy conditions I managed to take a few photographs. As I did, a couple of females appeared, rising from the ground to lower perches to join the original bird. They did not stay for long before flying off up the slope and disappearing from view.

I returned to the car, had some lunch, and watched the raindrops fall ever harder, passing the time as a song thrush and a couple of robins foraged outside the rain-covered windows. Eventually, I headed back to the garage, only to learn that the diagnosis required a larger software update than could be completed in a single day. I would need to return and leave the car there for a couple of days, meaning a return to cruising with a ceiling of 7,500 feet and above.

Year list: 205.

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.