Sheringham & Ludham Bridge :: 29 December 2025

A black-winged kite, a very rare visitor to Britain, was reported around Ludham Bridge, Norfolk and the surrounding marshes on 26 December. The bird was seen roughly 1.5 miles west and south of Ludham, particularly from the north side of the river northwest of Ludham Bridge and in the St Benet’s Abbey area. A striking raptor, the black-winged kite shows pale grey, white and black plumage and is well known for its distinctive hovering hunting style. Native to warmer regions such as sub-Saharan Africa and parts of Asia, it only rarely reaches Britain. Kev @kev07713 and I had previously seen the species (report here) at St Osyth in Essex in 2023. With UK records remaining scarce and classed as a true “mega” in birding terms, any appearance generates considerable interest. There was no doubt where our next birding trip would be, although it would have to wait until Monday 29th as family commitments kept each of us busy over the weekend.

Not too far from Ludham Bridge were two other tempting possibilities: an Eastern black redstart on the coast at Sheringham; or a black-bellied dipper at Bintree Mill. We decided we’d choose between them once we had the kite in the bag.

We set off and enjoyed a smooth run, stopping enroute for a comfort break and a service-station sausage bap. As we approached Ludham Bridge, we noticed a lay-by that was effectively full and assumed the small car park on the far side of the bridge must be the same, so we pulled in at the far end. The bird had been reported around 30 minutes earlier, first on a WhatsApp group and then on BirdGuides, so the journey surely wouldn’t be in vain.

As we finished getting ready, Rich Mooney pulled up alongside us, said hello, and then carried on, finding a parking space at the bridge after all. He mentioned he’d dipped a couple of recent birds, so we jokingly told him we didn’t want to be associated with him. We headed off towards the spot where the kite had been reported, and a birder walking back towards us confirmed it was still present when he’d left just ten minutes earlier.

We were over halfway there when we began meeting birders coming the other way - the kite had flown, departing high and south. With little point in continuing, we returned to the bridge to scan the marshes and wait, hoping it might be quickly refound, perhaps around the abbey or in the surrounding fields.

The fields held four whooper swans, two common cranes and a mix of ducks, geese (including an Egyptian goose) and lapwings - but no kite. We waited and watched patiently, but with birders now spread around St Benet’s Abbey and no further reports coming through, we decided to head to Sheringham for the Eastern black redstart reported earlier and return here later in the day. The black-bellied dipper at Bintree Mill, as it turned out, wouldn’t be reported again all day. Before we reached Sheringham the black-kite had been refound and was perching on trees distantly from the alley.

We arrived at Sheringham and followed directions to the esplanade, where parking had been suggested. As we approached, we spotted a small group of birders scanning down a drive towards a tall building and directly opposite was a convenient space to pull in, so we did - it would have been rude not to.

The Eastern black redstart refers to eastern subspecies of black redstart that breed across eastern Europe, Central Asia and parts of western China, differing subtly from the familiar western European form. In Britain, birds showing eastern characteristics are rare but regular vagrants, especially in autumn and winter; most often encountered along the east coast in autumn and winter, particularly after periods of easterly weather.

Cameras and binoculars in hand (and Kev with his scope), we joined the group, watching the bird at distance as it flicked around the gutters and pipework near the top of a multi-storey building. After a few minutes, one of the chaps suggested walking down the drive, pointing out that it simply served various flats and developments and wasn’t private. Kev set off, and I followed, with others joining us shortly afterwards.

The bird remained high and continued feeding, paying no attention to the growing audience below. It flitted effortlessly from perch to gutter to window ledge, entirely oblivious to its admirers below.

We watched for a while as the gathering of birders grew to around ten. I joked with one of them that the bird might drop down onto the fence right in front of us, prompting him to mime and call out “the dove from above” in true Reeves and Mortimer style - for those old enough to remember the 1990s double act.

After five minutes or so, the family that had been loading their car beneath the bird began to disperse, half leaving in one vehicle while the rest retired indoors. That was the cue for the redstart to oblige, dropping down to ground level for a few minutes to the delight of everyone watching - first onto a wall, then onto a wooden sleeper and the drive itself. It showed beautifully before rising again and returning to the elevated perches it had favoured earlier. What ... a ... bird.

After watching for a few more minutes, we accepted that we weren’t going to get any better views and made our way to the promenade to scan the sea. There were plenty of great crested grebes moving about, along with herring and black-headed gulls, an auk we couldn’t confidently identify, and several red-throated divers. Everything was distant and the wind had a definite bite, so once we were satisfied there was nothing else on offer, we packed up, spilt tea on my car bumper, and set off back towards Ludham Bridge - specifically St Benet’s Abbey.

We arrived to find the car park full, with one car abandoned so awkwardly that we couldn’t even enter, forcing us to reverse out again. In a stroke of luck, this allowed us to pull in alongside the entrance and leave the car there - you couldn’t have parked any closer to the abbey than that.

St Benet’s Abbey was a medieval monastery of the Order of Saint Benedict, set on the River Bure within the Broads. It is thought to have been founded on the site of a 9th-century monastery, and takes its name from St Benedict of Nursia, regarded as the founder of western monasticism. At the time of the Dissolution of the Monasteries, the abbey’s lands were effectively seized by the Crown and transferred to the Diocese of Norwich. Although the monastery was intended to continue as a religious community, the monks dispersed within a few years, leaving only the ruins that remain today.

On the raised path linking the abbey to the bridge, overlooking the reeds and marshes beyond, around two dozen birders were gathered, and we joined them to learn that the kite hadn’t been seen for some time and had dropped from view. One birder thought he’d glimpsed it briefly in a distant gap between trees, moving right towards the bridge - were we going to be in the wrong place? Around us marsh harriers, buzzards and kestrels drifted through, while out in the fields were six cattle egrets, two common cranes and a handful of white-fronted geese.

After another fifteen minutes or so, word went up that the kite had been seen from "The Cross" - an elevated viewpoint (with a cross) on the hillside on the far side of the abbey. Everyone packed up and hurried across, only for the bird to drop from its perch and disappear again by the time we arrived. From this higher vantage point, we enjoyed close passes from both male and female marsh harriers, while behind us snipe were on the wing, along with the cattle egrets again, little egrets, lapwings and more.

The chap standing on the far side of Kev mentioned a harrier coming across the field low, and with several around I assumed he meant a marsh harrier. When someone next to me asked what we were looking at, I said as much - only to be immediately corrected: it was a male hen harrier. A ghost.

I picked the bird up in my binoculars and then swung onto it with the camera, only to realise my exposure compensation was cranked far too high. Instead of firing off a few frames regardless, I tried to dial it back, and by the time everything was set the moment had gone. Idiot.

Graham Jepson (@GrahamJepson1) was wandering along the edge of the field, with his family joining him - impressive commitment, given they’d all been up at 5.00am to go birding, especially knowing that waiting for a black-winged kite can involve plenty of standing around. They’d seen the bird first thing, but only briefly and at some distance.

After another twenty minutes or so, a shout went up - someone had relocated the kite, perched on a post. To call it distant was an understatement: it was almost at “Kev range”, close to a mile away; it was visible through the scope, but far too distant to capture any meaningful detail in a photograph, though that didn’t stop me trying. The bird remained on the post for a while, feeding on what appeared to be a small rodent.

After around fifteen minutes, the kite lifted off and drifted right (west) towards the bridge, before stopping to perch high in a willow. It remained there for five to ten minutes, then took to the air to hunt. The species hunts with a distinctive, almost kestrel-like style, often hovering motionless over open ground with wings raised and tail fanned as it scans below. Once prey is detected it drops swiftly and purposefully, seizing small mammals with precision before either returning to a perch or resuming its hover. We were treated to this elegant, buoyant display for almost forty-five minutes, one of the species’ most captivating behaviours.

Eventually, having caught another rodent, the kite dropped into a gated area where it was barely in view, feeding and preening for a good twenty minutes. By now the light was fading and we joined Graham and his family, watching through scopes and cameras. In the end we had to accept that, even if the bird did move closer, the light was poor and it was nearing roosting time - likely to be north of the bridge and away from where we stood, so we made our way back to the car.

Walking through the car park, I headed to the car to open the boot, collapse the tripod and stow my optics, with Kev lagging behind. I assumed he was saying his goodbyes to Graham, but after a minute or two he reappeared to tell me there was a short-eared owl hunting across the marsh fields. I followed him back and watched as it quartered distantly - far from ideal for photography in the failing light, but a fantastic sight to end the day.

Between us and the owl were several Chinese water deer. Introduced to Britain in the late 19th and early 20th centuries from China and parts of Korea, some have escaped from deer parks and went on to establish wild populations, particularly in East Anglia, including Norfolk. Unlike other deer, they lack antlers; instead, both sexes have canine teeth, with the males’ elongated tusks used for display and fighting during the rut. They favour wet, marshy habitats - reedbeds, river margins, wetlands and fenland - which explains their success in places like the Norfolk Broads.

It was a great end to the day - despite our early dip, we’d caught up with both available target species. The journey home was smooth and, with traffic light, didn’t feel too long at all.

I usually create a collage of some of my favourite or significant species of the year and post with a new year message on my social media feeds. If you are reading this then first of all, thank you!, and then please accept my best wishes for health, wealth and happiness for you and yours in 2026. Let’s hope for another cracking year of birding.

Year list: 253.

RSPB Otmoor :: 27 December 2025

Starting Wednesday 24 December, there has been a significant arrival of both Russian white-fronted geese and tundra bean geese into England, especially southern and eastern counties. The largest wave occurred on 24 December, with sightings continuing strongly on Christmas Day and Boxing Day.

Many sites recorded significant numbers of Russian white-fronted geese, with over 150 locations in England logging birds between 24-26 December, including records as far west as Cornwall and Carmarthenshire. In contrast, while tundra bean geese were less numerous, their arrival was notable given the low numbers earlier in December, increasing from around 10 reporting sites prior to the 24th to up to 47 sites between 24-26 December.

Brisk north-easterly winds accompanying a cold spell from 24 December provided a classic trigger for westward goose movements from continental Europe. Increasing numbers of Russian white-fronted geese wintering in the Netherlands are often displaced into the UK during such conditions, while tundra bean geese, normally scarce winter visitors, only appear in greater numbers when weather pushes them further west than usual.

Reports from RSPB Otmoor suggested such an influx of these two geese species and so I asked if Kev Heath might be interested in a look - he was unfortunately tied up with family - so with Charlotte off to play pickleball, I made my way there solo.

I walked and scanned down to the bridleway, then continued along it until reaching the gate to Screens 1 and 2, before carrying on between Ashgrove and Big Otmoor - the two fields where the geese had been reported. I could make out groups of Canada geese, but any greylag-type geese were too obscured to pick out the new arrivals. Continuing on, I met a chap who had been up near the farm end of the track and had seen three tundra bean geese along with numerous Russian white-fronted geese. We edged along to a gap in the hedge, from where the goose flock was visible, along with a small herd of fallow deer. Out over Big Otmoor three ravens cronked back and forth. A short while later I was joined by Paul Willis whom I'd seen recently at Blenheim when searching for crossbills.

Peter Barker and others passed by, and we saw a Chinese water deer and three of the ten tundra bean geese reported earlier on Big Otmoor, before they moved across to Ashgrave. As people drifted off, I stayed on, sharing scope views with those carrying only binoculars and helping others with scopes onto the birds, eventually picking out a fourth bean goose and five barnacle geese.

Chinese water deer has been recorded at RSPB Otmoor, and sightings at the reserve are notable because the species is uncommon in Oxfordshire. One recent report mentioned it being the fifth record for Oxfordshire and the first for the reserve itself. Chinese water deer are a non-native deer species introduced from China in the late 19th and early 20th centuries - escapes from zoo collections has led to established wild populations.

After a while and following a chat with Sally and a new birder she was helping, we headed back to the Wetland Hide, where around a dozen birders and several families had gathered. Careful scanning of the flock produced a consensus of roughly 18 tundra bean geese and about 50 white-fronted geese. I was watching three bean geese when the flock was suddenly spooked and took to the air providing my best chance for a record photo. They soon settled again, allowing us to enjoy them for a while longer.

Chaffinches and reed buntings were busy feeding on the ground and in the bushes along the track beside the hide, attracted by scattered seed, though the normally accompanying linnets were notably absent. A moorhen and a couple of magpies were also present, and a water rail briefly showed itself, partly emerging from the grass beneath the fence and hedge behind. Water rails are much more often heard than seen, with distinctive grunting and squealing “piglet-like” calls, especially in winter as they become more active and abundant across UK wetlands. I’d heard one calling earlier while watching the geese and deer, but this one gave proper, clear views. As a magpie strayed too close, the water rail flared its feathers in battle-mode before melting back into cover.

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Time was marching on and lunch awaited, so I returned to the car, passing Alan Peters (reserve manager at Bicester Wetlands Reserve) on the way.

Year list: 251.

Foryd Bay & Colwyn Bay :: 21 December 2025

On 8 December, a bufflehead was discovered at Point of Ayr, Flintshire, where it stayed for several hours before flying off. Hopes were high that it might reappear locally, but with no further reports, most observers assumed the bird had moved on for good. However, it was refound on 19 December at Foryd Bay, Caernarfon, where it showed extremely well and gave excellent views.

A close relative of goldeneye, though much smaller, the bufflehead is instantly recognisable by the large white patch on the back of the head - it is a very rare visitor to the UK from North America. Although buffleheads are hunted and classified as a gamebird, their overall population has remained relatively stable, in contrast to the declines seen in many other sea duck species in recent decades.

Buffleheads are migratory, wintering mainly in sheltered coastal waters and open inland lakes along the east and west coasts of North America and across the southern United States, with additional wintering birds on the Great Lakes. They are among the last waterfowl to leave their breeding grounds and arrive on their wintering areas within a narrow time window - late October and November are the most likely arrival times both in the Americas and here in the UK.

The first documented British record was on Tresco, Isles of Scilly in 1920, and assuming all 2025 records are accepted (currently provisional), this individual would (I think) represent the 24th UK record.

While some UK occurrences are thought to involve genuine transatlantic vagrants, others may relate to escapes from captivity, as the species is frequently kept in wildfowl collections. Consequently, each record is scrutinised carefully; as with many wildfowl species, questions over origin are common. The BBRC requires clear views of the legs showing no rings before a record can be considered/accepted.

I was working in Sheffield on Thursday and Friday and had a social event to attend on Saturday, so Kev @kev07713 and I came up with a plan to set off early on Sunday morning and drive to North Wales in the hope of catching up with the bird. I wasn’t going to be driving, as I’d be turning in late and had also enjoyed a few! drinks over the course of the evening. In the end I got to bed around midnight and was back on the road with Kev by 5.00am, stopping for breakfast on the way and were astonished by how dark it still was at 8.00am.

We arrived at the end of the lane by Morfa Lodge Holiday Park, then followed the coastal path south along the western side of Foryd Bay, viewing from the embankment. I remembered that some friends were staying at a Banbury hotel after the previous night's social and that they had arranged to meet for breakfast at 9.00am. I sent them a WhatsApp message, showing them where I was and wishing them a great start to the day.

We made our way to the estuary wall and could see a small group of birders standing on the causeway between a pool and the estuary. An update just 45 minutes earlier had reported that the bird was still present, so we were hopeful they were watching it. As we approached, we spotted a duck on the water and paused to check it carefully through our binoculars, keen to confirm we had the right bird before moving any closer - our recent experience of watching a penduline tit lift off and depart as birders approached still fresh in our minds. Lifer! Reassured, we joined the group and watched as the bird dived repeatedly, surfacing for just 10–15 seconds at a time. At the other end of the group was Trevor Ellery @ElleryTrev16932 - Kev spent a bit of time catching up with him, between taking videos and photos.

Owing to their small size and high metabolism, buffleheads are highly energetic birds, spending much of their time diving almost continuously in search of food. In the early light the head showed little iridescence, revealing only fleeting flashes of green.

The bufflehead was especially striking, the adult male’s head shimmering with iridescence that shifted dramatically with the light and viewing angle. The head was far from plain black; in good light it flashed deep green, emerald, purple and blue-violet tones. This sheen framed the male’s large, white, fan-shaped head patch, making the contrast appear even more vivid.

We watched and recorded the bird’s energetic activity as the group of observers steadily grew. Eventually we were joined by Graham Jepson @GrahamJepson1, a well-known birder and photographer, who set up his equipment and began capturing what will no doubt be some of the best images of this bird. We had a chat as it had been some time since we bumped into him last.

After a prolonged period of feeding, the bufflehead eventually settled down to sleep, its head tucked into the feathers along its back. Even then it remained alert, eyes open, and it wasn’t long before it was fully awake again and back to diving, roused by an alarm call from elsewhere in the bay.

Eventually the bird began feeding further to our right, weaving through the reeds and small islands. Now much closer, it showed the iridescent head colours more clearly, the sheen spreading across the crown as well.

The bay was alive with birds: Canada, greylag and brent geese, along with wigeon, teal, pintail, a variety of gulls, great crested and little grebes, and even a male greater scaup among them. Overhead, two peregrines interacted, while three ravens cronked loudly as they tumbled back and forth. The surrounding fields looked promising for merlin and owls, though none were seen. As we began to depart, we watched rock and meadow pipits and a couple of skylarks feeding along the water’s edge. A water pipit was called by someone nearby, but it was too distant for me to make an identification in flight before it dropped to the ground.

It was time to pack up, so Kev and I made our way back to the car, scanning the fields and fence posts as we went - it really is a superb area. We chatted briefly with a couple out walking their dog, who asked what everyone was doing there, gesturing towards the line of cars parked along the verge. Kev replied that we’d come to see them ... and a rare duck on the reserve. That tickled them.

Within the grounds of Caernarfon Airport, flocks of lapwings and corvids were feeding, but the only truly unusual flying object was a bright red whirlybird. Those of a certain age might remember the TV series 'Whirlybirds', which followed a helicopter charter business in California. First airing between 1957 and 1960, when helicopters were still a novelty, it was later repeated on UK television I think on Saturday mornings for children throughout the 1960s and early 1970s.

We decided to head on to Colwyn Bay for some sea-watching. A surf scoter had been reported there the previous day, a species we hadn’t yet seen this year. Kev had dropped a pin on Google Maps, and once we arrived, we began scanning the bay from the promenade. There were good numbers of cormorants and shags, and soon we picked up a great northern diver far offshore. Away to our right a line of common scoters was visible, which seemed the most likely place for the surf scoter, so we relocated to a spot near a café overlooking the bay.

As we approached, a couple of people in swimsuits walked purposefully across the sand towards the sea, prompting the thought that some sort of intervention might be required - a suicide pact? They weren’t in the water for long before retreating and jumping into the Casgen Sawna, the wood-fired barrel sauna often stationed at Porth Eirias, even at this time of year. Apparently, people actually pay for this kind of torture!

We reached the edge of the playground on the point and on the rocks and sand in front, the tide now retreating, were turnstones and a lone oystercatcher.

We resumed our sea-watch and located the flocks of common scoters, but despite working through them repeatedly we couldn’t pick out a surf scoter. It wouldn’t have been the first time the bird had gone AWOL, and it was likely still out there somewhere; reports suggested it had been coming in reasonably close, and we weren’t long past high tide.

As we continued scanning, we refound the great northern diver along with a few red-throated divers, though all were distant and really only visible through the scope.

We took advantage of the café and toilets in the Bryn Williams restaurant area before returning to the sea-watch. Another birder soon joined us, also searching for the target species, which at least confirmed we were in the right place. Despite our efforts, however, we couldn’t add the bird to either our day or year list.

Eventually it was time to start the journey home. The traffic was kind, but it was still a long shift behind the wheel for Kev.

Year list: 251.