Birding home from Fife :: 15-16 April 2026

We’d been invited to join family up in St Andrews, where my brothers were playing golf and staying at a particularly lovely hotel. The weather was glorious, if a little breezy, and we enjoyed some time away with my mum including a scenic drive to Kingsbarns, where we sat overlooking the beach. While there, I noted eider ducks, gannets, guillemot, razorbills, sand martins, sandwich terns, a swallow, and four red-throated divers.

On the final day, we met my mum and youngest brother for breakfast, then spent the rest of the morning with them before they set off for Ayrshire - that left us to make the most of the afternoon. I’d booked a hotel in Glenrothes for that night, so we stayed local and headed to Harbour View in Methil, where surf, white-winged, and Stejneger’s scoters had been reported regularly.

We arrived and climbed up onto the bank to look out over the sea, immediately spotting hundreds of scoters and eider ducks, though the scoters were most distant. Earlier that morning, Charlotte had remarked that the wind had dropped, but by now it had picked up again and if anything, it was even stronger. The sea was rough, and the scoters drifted in and out of view with the swell. We could make out velvet and common scoters; now the challenge was to pick out one of the other three species, each represented only by single birds.

Try as we might, there was no indication that any of the rarer species were out there, or at least none visible through the binoculars or scope. Eventually, Charlotte grew tired of the wind buffeting us and retreated to the car, while I carried on along the wall to see if anything might be visible further to our left.

I kept scanning the water and the scoters, and was able to pick out ten red-breasted mergansers. Further out to the left, I also had distant views of a pair of long-tailed ducks - not as good as the individual at Rushy Common near Oxford, but this time at least in their natural habitat on the sea. I continued looking for something that stood out from the crowd and found more razorbills and guillemot but as for scoters they all appeared as velvets or commons.

I had some lunch in the car with Charlotte, then headed back up to the top of the bank for another scan of the scoters, hoping they might have come closer or reshuffled. No such luck. The only real change was the weather: the earlier broken sunshine had given way to a grey, overcast sky. I spent a while scanning and hoping, but every bird that looked promising turned out, on closer inspection, to be a velvet.

In the end, I suspected I’d probably exhausted Charlotte’s patience, so I returned to the car and suggested we try Lower Largo, where a surf scoter had been reported the previous day - she graciously agreed.

It was still windy, though being less exposed it didn’t feel quite as intense. I set up the scope and scanned the lines of eider ducks, searching for any scoters, and picked out six velvets far out to the right. As I worked that area, a bird flew through; when I swung the scope to follow it, I could see it was a red-throated diver. I saw at least a couple more, all at distance, during the visit. Closer in, but tricky to keep track of in the swell, was another drake long-tailed duck, diving repeatedly.

At least five razorbills were working closer to the far shore, with another lifting off and flying further out from the land. As I followed it, I picked up a Manx shearwater shearing low across the waves. I managed to track it in the scope, but it was far too distant for a worthwhile photo, though that didn’t stop me trying.

To top it all off, the rain set in and drove Charlotte and I back to the car. By now it was around teatime, so we decided to head down to our hotel for an evening meal and some rest. Before turning in, I checked the latest reports and saw that the black-throated thrush had been recorded at Murshiel for a second day. That was enough to make a plan: we’d head there after breakfast. There had also been a hoopoe not far from the site, along with a few other possibilities down the east coast on our way home. I booked a hotel in Middlesbrough, one I’d stayed in before for work, to round off the following day.

After overnight rain, we set off under an overcast sky, with changeable conditions along the route. As we neared the site, the roads became progressively narrower until we were climbing through moorland on near single-track lanes. I mentioned to Charlotte that it looked ideal for grouse habitat, and within minutes I pulled over to point out a red grouse in the heather to our right. With farm vehicles approaching from behind, I put on the hazard lights, grabbed a quick photo, and then moved on.

A few miles further on, the SatNav indicated that we were nearing the area where the black-throated thrush had been reported. As we approached, we spotted a small group of cars pulled in by the roadside, with one birder in the process of assembling his tripod and scope at the back of his vehicle. We pulled in alongside them - there was enough space on the grass to park without obstructing traffic - then grabbed our optics and followed him down to join a handful of others already in place.

Observers had noted the bird feeding in fields alongside a flock of fieldfares, often taking worms and suggesting it would be out in the open rather than tucked away in cover. We asked if it was in view; no one had their optics trained on anything obvious, but we were told it was there, just temporarily obscured by a sheep. Moments later it reappeared, helped by the sheep moving off to the left and the bird hopping to the right. Wow, and a lifer for me.

The black-throated thrush is a scarce but regular vagrant to the UK, prized by birders for its striking appearance and typically brief, unpredictable stays. They breed across central and eastern Siberia and normally winter in parts of southern Asia. Its appearance in Britain is therefore the result of westward vagrancy, most often associated with continental weather patterns that displace birds during migration - there is a bias towards the east coast of England and Scotland, reflecting arrival from continental Europe.

Recent years have seen a slight increase in records, possibly linked to improved observer coverage and reporting, though weather remains the key driver. Multi-day individuals, like those occasionally found in upland fringes or coastal farmland, offer rare opportunities for prolonged views. We had been fortunate and this bird had stayed for us.

We continued watching as people came and went, the weather gradually closing in. Rain began to fall, though we were spared the worst of it under the trees on the opposite side of the road from the field. From our left came the rumble of a large lorry; as it drew level, the thrush lifted, flew to the right, then swung back and disappeared behind, and over, the trees. With the rain settling in, everyone drifted back to their cars in search of shelter.

We figured it might be a while before the bird returned, if it did at all, and felt we’d had reasonable views, so we set off south along a network of narrow lanes and B-roads toward Newcastle, stopping for lunch enroute.

Crossing the River Tweed at Coldstream, we pushed on through roadworks-clogged Newcastle, over the Tyne Bridge, and down to Boldon Flats. A level crossing held us up a couple of miles short of the site, but we eventually arrived to find a single car pulled in by the roadside. Charlotte asked if we should change our shoes; I explained we’d actually be viewing from the pull-in and just needed to locate the bird out on the pools in front of us.

The main pool stretched roughly 100 metres from front to back, and as I scanned the water, I picked out a few avocets, black-tailed godwits, and various duck species. Reaching the far right-hand side of the pool, I found it - the marsh sandpiper we’d come to see. My first had been at Normandy Lagoon a couple of years ago and was very distant; this one was no different, feeding along the back edge of the pool at a full 200 metres.

As it worked its way towards the left-hand side, I hoped it might fly closer to the near edge and halve the distance. Instead, a curlew appeared and walked straight towards it, prompting our bird to turn back and continue feeding along the far side in the opposite direction.

The marsh sandpiper is a notable, rare but regular vagrant to the UK being slim, elegant, and strikingly pale compared with most of its relatives. They breed across the steppe wetlands of eastern Europe and central Asia, wintering mainly in Africa, the Middle East, India, and Australasia. The birds that reach Britain are therefore well off-course, typically arriving as part of wider post-breeding dispersal or weather-driven movements from the east. In Britain it is classified as a scarce vagrant, but unlike many rarities it has become almost annual in recent decades.

It is often described as “a delicate greenshank”, but closer inspection reveals several key features: it has a very slim, long-legged appearance; a fine, slightly upturned bill; pale grey-brown upperparts with clean white underparts; a relatively long neck.

With no immediate sign that our views were likely to improve, I checked BirdGuides and saw that an Iberian chiffchaff was still being reported not far from our route, between our current location and where we planned to stay for the night. We decided to do the sensible thing, packed up, and headed for Hardwick Hall Country Park, parking in the main car park and paying the reasonable fee.

From there we dropped down onto the track running through the trees and followed the path towards the pinned location. Along the way we picked up the usual woodland birds - common chiffchaffs, various tit species, and chaffinches moving through the canopy.

As we neared the indicated area, we picked up the distinctive Iberian chiffchaff call—one of the most useful field characters for separating it from the closely related common chiffchaff. The call itself is typically a clear, disyllabic “hu-weet”, softer and more musical than the flatter call of common chiffchaff. The full song, when given, is more distinctive still, often rendered as a “chiff-chiff-chiff-chiff–dr-dr-dr-dr–swit-swit-swit” sequence, combining a rattling introduction with a series of rising, whistled notes. Below is hopefully a player that gives an impression of the call, not the actual bird we visited. The recording is attributed to Joren van Schie, and recorded in the Netherlands earlier this month.

The Iberian chiffchaff is a scarce but increasingly regular vagrant to Britain. It is a close relative of the widespread common chiffchaff, and for many years it went completely unrecognised in Britain, hidden among the large numbers of its more familiar cousin. Since its identification as a separate species, it has become clear that Iberian chiffchaffs occur in the UK almost annually, though still in very small numbers. Most records involve singing males in spring (April–June), with a smaller number of autumn or winter records likely involving displaced or dispersing birds. Many are found inland at well-watched birding sites, suggesting that detection has improved rather than the species suddenly becoming more frequent.

Initially our bird was high in the tree canopy and calling but from time to time it would go quiet and disappear from view. After a short while we managed to follow the bird a little better as it moved from tree to tree calling and watch as it occasionally dropped to a more manageable elevation.

We waited and eventually we were rewarded with the bird dropping to a height where the background was not just the sky above, but the trees behind, allowing for improved photographs. We were joined by another birder, a Scotsman, who hailed from Galston in Ayrshire, but who was now living locally to here.

Once again the weather closed in and the light began to fade, so we headed back to the car. Charlotte remarked that the Iberian chiffchaff was her bird of the day—it had flitted around us, offered excellent views, and given that beautiful, distinctive call. The following morning, we had breakfast and checked out, knowing we’d be making the journey home. Before heading south, we decided to try our luck for twite around the Seaton Carew and Teesmouth area and made our way to the coast for a walk along the beach.

The wind was strong and relentless again, and dry sand was being blown across the surface and into our faces, but we pushed on regardless. In the fields and along the beach we recorded at least 20 wheatears - excellent to see in such numbers. Otherwise, the day was fairly quiet, with meadow pipits, redshank, curlews, and oystercatchers making up most of the movement. Despite our efforts, we failed to locate any twite.

Seal Sands, on the south side of the River Tees estuary, sits within the wider Teesmouth estuary complex, a landscape shaped by industry and nature in fascinating balance - mudflats, saltmarsh, and tidal channels set against cranes, chimneys, and distant refinery structures. At low tide the site opens out into vast expanses of exposed mud and sand.

Both harbour (common) and grey seals occur here, though harbour seals are typically the more frequently encountered species within the estuary itself. They can be seen hauled out on sandbanks at low tide, lying in loose groups, occasionally lifting their heads as they rest in the wind and sun. Grey seals are generally larger and more robust and may be seen passing through the area or resting on exposed sandbars. What makes seeing seals here particularly memorable is the setting. The seals are part of a working estuary landscape, with the hum of industry in the background and the constant movement of tide, light, and birds around them.

I took a record shot across the estuary mouth of one such group before making our way back to the car for the journey home.

Year list: 226.

Titchfield Haven NNR & Hook-with-Warsarsh :: 04 April 2026

There seemed an obvious choice of destination for Saturday - the American golden plover at Hook-with-Warsash, Hampshire. This coastal reserve lies at the mouth of the River Hamble and includes mudflats, saltmarsh and grazing marsh, making it ideal habitat for migrant waders.

Birders reported a bird at Bunny Meadows, Warsash, on 30 March, identified by observers as an American golden plover; it was seen on a rising tide. American golden plover is a rare vagrant in Britain, typically appearing in autumn among European golden plover flocks following Atlantic drift migration; this individual was reported within the high-tide roost alongside grey plovers.

Tide height is crucial, as birds move from the mudflats onto the grazing marsh as the water pushes in. The prime viewing window is therefore from around 1.5–2 hours before high tide up to high tide itself. Reports suggested that at Hook-with-Warsash plovers often feed out on exposed mud early on, then drop into Bunny Meadows once the tide reaches mid-level and begins to rise - so if nothing is present, it pays to stay put, as the birds frequently arrive rather than being there already.

With this in mind, and with high tide due at around 1.40 pm, Kev @kev07713 and I decided to visit Posbrook Floods, part of Titchfield Haven NNR, first and wait for the tide to push birds off the mudflats where they might otherwise be difficult to locate. There had been a report of a ruddy shelduck on the floods and adjacent fields, and it is always good to catch up with one.

We arrived at the field west of Ranvilles Lane where the ruddy shelduck had been reported the previous day, associating with Egyptian geese, and pulled in to scan. Six Egyptian geese were immediately visible, then seven, then nine as two more flew in, but there was no sign of the ruddy shelduck. A few skylarks added both movement and to the soundscape.

After a short while Kev suggested checking Posbrook Floods, which he had spotted on the way in. A quick look confirmed that this was another location where the shelduck had recently been reported and is a new site for us. We parked in the busy car park, occupied mostly by dog walkers rather than birders, booted up, and set off along the track onto the reserve.

We walked along the path accompanied by the sounds of Cetti’s warblers, chiffchaffs, and various tits, providing a constant soundtrack as we went. At the first pool a few Egyptian geese were present, though the ruddy shelduck was not among them. Small groups of black-tailed godwits fed along the margins, with several shelducks, a couple of lapwings and a scattering of gulls - mostly black-headed - completing the view. Across the field on the opposite side, three great-spotted woodpeckers and a jay made their presence known.

Further along the path Kev was able to scan back into a distant corner and alerted me to a glossy ibis that I couldn’t yet see from my position. Catching up with him, I picked up the bird, though it was far too distant to attempt a photograph. We continued on and soon met a couple of birders coming the other way, stopping briefly to point out the ibis as they had not yet seen it. Around then, four sand martins appeared over the distant trees, hawking low in the air.

Behind us a willow warbler called, and we scanned the surrounding trees and shrubs but struggled to locate it. A great tit joined in, adding to the confusion, and Kev drifted back, following the warbler's calls. Suddenly a small bird dropped into a blackthorn bush directly in front of me and I quickly got my binoculars onto it - a willow warbler, my first of the year. It showed pale legs and a noticeably long-winged, attenuated structure, the primary projection extending beyond the tertials. It flicked between perches, picking at emerging insects, its soft yellowy tones catching the sunlight before slipping back into cover, though while in view it didn't call.

Back at the pool, the glossy ibis took to the wing, gliding along the far edge of the water before disappearing behind a large tree that stood between us and the pool’s front. A few minutes later, one of the other birders called out that four glossy ibis were airborne, and we all watched them drift past at a distance against the grey sky. It wouldn’t be the last glimpse of them: as we walked further along the track, they reappeared, dropping in partway along the flooded grass area, but hidden behind tall grasses.

The glossy ibis is a striking wetland wader, its iridescent plumage shimmering in shades of bronze, green, and purple, and its long, down‑curved bill unmistakable. Still relatively scarce in the UK compared to more common waders, it has been increasingly recorded in southern coastal and inland floodplain sites, often in small groups - I seem to recall an extraordinary flock a year or two ago, when 92 birds were reported together in flight.

As each approached the flooded grass, they slowly raised their long, tapered legs, splaying its toes for a gentle touchdown. Its broad wings tilted slightly, creating a graceful, gliding motion, while the tail feathers fanned for balance, giving it a smooth, almost floating landing.

Behind us, a great spotted woodpecker began drumming on a dead tree, so close we half expected it to appear immediately - it must have been just around the far side of the branch. Soon enough, it hopped into view, perching briefly for a few tens of seconds before taking flight to join another woodpecker in the trees just behind.

One of the other birders mentioned having seen marsh harriers, and before long we were watching two of them separately - a male first, followed by a female. They moved swiftly through the air rather than quartering the reeds, but regardless, their presence was enough to flush birds from the water and along the pool edges, drawing everyone’s attention to the raptors gliding overhead.

We made our way to the second pool, still unable to locate the ruddy shelduck, but enjoyed good views of a nuthatch busy in the tree above. Photography was tricky, but I snapped a few shots anyway. While there, we chatted with another birder who had also returned to the second pool. He turned out to be from Surrey and considered Staines Reservoir his local patch.

Eventually, we took a slow stroll back to the car, leaving him at his car, and I tallied up our day’s sightings - around 45 species in total. Truly, a lovely little reserve.

We decided to return to the top fields to see if the ruddy shelduck had appeared. Scanning the area yielded nothing, but news on BirdGuides alerted us that the American golden plover had been spotted from the footpath north along the east bank of the River Hamble from the Passage Lane car park. Without hesitation, we jumped into the car, heading there just as it approached the best window for observation.

We arrived, grabbed our scopes, and set off along the footpath, spotting other birders doing the same. A few were already standing more than half a mile ahead, scopes raised, cameras raised. On reaching the location, we saw the bird and took a moment to decide the best vantage point for viewing/videoscoping and photography.

As I dropped down to a viewing platform, I spotted our friends Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby and went over to say hello. Nick couldn’t believe our luck - he’d spent two hours trekking up and down the river, covering every inch in search of the bird. Meanwhile, we had practically walked straight onto it, though in fairness, that was part of the plan; Kev had done a bit of research on the tides, and it had paid off, although I believe Nick and Anne had been afforded better views when the bird had first dropped in.

This first-winter American golden plover is a visitor to our shores, a rare but regular vagrant. It is medium-sized, with a compact rounded body, and has a short, straight black bill and long, slender dark grey or blackish legs. Its upright, alert posture and quick, deliberate steps make it easy to spot once you know where to look.

Its plumage, is far less flamboyant than an adult in breeding colours with its back a soft sandy-brown streaked with darker markings, while the underparts are pale, with delicate streaking across the breast and flanks. Its head and face show gentle contrasts: a faint pale eyebrow and pale cheeks.

Nick and Anne decided to leave, as the bird remained at a distance and the incoming tide was filling the muddy bay between us and it, making it unlikely to come any closer and limiting chances for better photos - it had also been a longer morning for them as they had opted to search for the bird. Our only real opportunity came when a group of gulls flushed it, sending it flying across to a grass covered island with the three grey plovers and a lone dunlin. A handful of black-tailed godwits remained and paused to shake and splash, washing away mud and debris.

Overhead, a swallow flew through, my first of the year, while a dozen or so brent geese drifted by, carried along as the tide flowed from the bay into the lagoon. Before long, it was time for us to move on as well.

Deciding what to do next, we opted to return to the Posbrook Floods. We’d enjoyed our earlier visit, and there was still a chance the ruddy shelduck might reappear. On arriving back at the fields, however, we found numbers noticeably reduced - even the Egyptian geese had largely disappeared. Finding a parking space proved far more difficult this time, but fortune was on our side when a couple walking their dog returned to their car and left just as we arrived, allowing us to slip neatly into the vacant spot.

Setting off along the track, we soon spotted a roe deer lying low in the grass, occasionally nibbling at the vegetation around it. Resting quietly among the lush spring growth, only its head and upper neck rose above the greenery. The deer appeared calm yet alert, its dark eye half-watchful as it listened to the sounds of the reserve and the steady passage of walkers nearby.

Its coat was transitioning into the rich reddish tones of spring and summer, replacing the heavier grey of winter. The fur looked slightly tousled and damp, giving a textured, natural appearance that blended perfectly with the fresh vegetation. One ear turned forward while the other angled back, independently scanning for sound and a classic roe deer posture.

Most striking were the short antlers in velvet, thick and rounded, still covered in soft, pale tissue as they continue to grow. The velvet gave a plush, almost sculpted look, contrasting with the darker face and muzzle.

We paused again by the blackthorn where earlier we had seen and heard a willow warbler, but this time a chiffchaff dropped into view and immediately made its presence known. Perching in the open, it gave it large, seemingly determined to dominate the local soundscape.

Chiffchaffs are now a familiar sound across the UK during the summer breeding season, with an estimated 1.1 to 1.8 million breeding pairs. Once considered a scarce winter resident, increasing numbers - likely in the low thousands - now remain through the colder months, aided by milder winters and improved survival rates. Most overwintering birds are found in southern areas, particularly near water and around sheltered sites such as sewage treatment works.

There were noticeably more Egyptian geese around the first pool and on the slope behind it, their numbers presumably boosted by birds that had earlier been feeding in the field to the east. A few moved about restlessly, but there was still no sign of our target species. By now, though, the search had softened into simply enjoying the birding rather than focusing on any one bird.

Scanning the sky, a handful of sand martins appeared, hawking insects high over the water. As we watched, more joined them until we counted at least eighteen birds swirling distantly overhead - excellent to follow through binoculars. Among them was a single swallow, and, like buses, it became my second sighting of the year and the day.

April marks one of the true turning points of spring in the UK, the return of the swallows. After spending the winter thousands of miles away in sub-Saharan Africa, these migrants begin to reappear across the countryside, their arrival often coinciding with lengthening days and the first genuine warmth of the year.

We walked on and as we reached the end of the first pool a familiar call was heard overhead - the unmistakable call of a Mediterranean gull. We looked up and caught sight of the bird and then another two with it. They circled and flew along the pool and out onto the second pool. The second pool was dominated by larger gulls - both herring and lesser black-backed - and so the Med gulls gradually worked back to the first pool which held more black-headed gulls and dropped onto the pool.

Many Mediterranean gulls in the UK are by now in full breeding plumage and therefore visible among gatherings of more common gulls. Once a genuine rarity, the species has steadily increased in recent decades and is now a regular sight at coastal lagoons, estuaries, reservoirs, and even inland wetlands.

At this time of year, adults are unmistakable; their jet-black hoods, clean white bodies, and pale grey upperwings give them a strikingly elegant appearance, while the bright red bill and legs add a splash of colour that stands out even at distance. In flight, the lack of black wingtips, replaced instead by clean white outer wings, is often the feature that catches the eye first. Their calls, softer and more nasal than those of black-headed gulls, give them away before they are picked out visually, as was the case today.

We enjoyed the remainder of the stroll and eventually turned to make the journey back to the car, but I stopped to look at a flock on the far hillside, which until now I had assumed were cattle given the colours. Through my binoculars I could now see they were goats and looking up the species I found them to be Boer goats.

Boer goats are an increasingly familiar sight in parts of the UK countryside, easily recognised by their sturdy build and distinctive colouring - a white body paired with a rich brown head and long, pendulous ears. Originally developed in South Africa for meat production, the breed is valued for its hardiness, calm temperament, and ability to thrive in a wide range of environments.

Their strong browsing behaviour makes them particularly useful for habitat management, where they help control scrub, bramble, and invasive vegetation that might otherwise overwhelm grassland or heath habitats. As a result, they are sometimes encountered unexpectedly near nature reserves or rewilding projects. Often curious but relaxed around people, Boer goats can be seen methodically working through vegetation, standing on hind legs to reach higher leaves or moving steadily across slopes and rough ground with impressive agility. Their growing popularity reflects both practical farming needs and a broader interest in sustainable land management across the UK.

It was time to head for home, stopping for coffee and a cake on the way.

Year list: 213.