Hampshire day-out :: 20 January 2026

When unsure where to go, Kev and I usually find ourselves choosing between RSPB Frampton Marsh and the Hampshire & Isle of Wight Wildlife Trust’s Lymington & Keyhaven Marshes Nature Reserve. With rain forecast to clear from the southwest, we opted for our first visit to Lymington of 2026. It certainly won’t be our last, as we often return after the spring migration to catch up with little terns and a host of other species.

Keyhaven Marshes form part of an extensive coastal wetland and nature reserve stretching between the mouth of the Lymington River and the village of Keyhaven on Hampshire’s Solent coast. The landscape is a rich mosaic of saltmarsh, intertidal mudflats, lagoons, grazing marsh and shingle banks. At this time of year, the area supports large flocks of Brent geese, wigeon, teal, pintail, grey plover, dunlin, black-tailed godwit and a wide variety of other wildfowl and waders, many of which can be observed from the Normandy Lagoon.

Although access across the marshes themselves is restricted to avoid disturbing the birds, a network of sea wall paths and footpaths provides excellent views across the reserve. The sea wall linking Keyhaven and Lymington offers a flat, scenic walk, with sweeping views across the flats towards Hurst Spit and the Isle of Wight.

We arrived at our usual parking spot and made our way towards the Keyhaven Lagoon, with curlews calling overhead and Brent geese feeding in fields through flocks of curlews, Canada geese, teal, and black-tailed godwits. Climbing up onto the sea wall, we were met by a stiff wind; although steady at around 25 mph, the gusts were stronger still, making it feel far colder than the 8°C shown on the car’s display. Deciding against standing in the full force of it, we dropped down to the lower path for some shelter and scanned across the lagoon, soon focusing on the 19 spoonbills exhibiting their usual behaviour ... fast asleep.

At their feet were small groups of avocets, with both species being welcome year ticks. Recent bird records show that spoonbills are now regular visitors to the Lymington–Keyhaven Marshes, particularly during winter and migration periods, and are increasingly occurring in small flocks rather than as lone birds. Counts of up to c.19 spoonbills have been reported at Normandy Marsh, matching our observation.

Spoonbills are now a regular presence from late autumn through winter and into early spring, taking advantage of the shallow feeding habitats of the Normandy Marsh and Lagoon, as well as the adjacent lagoons. A couple of avocets had broken away from the main group and were feeding quietly in the shallows.

We stopped to chat with a local Hampshire birder, who shared details of the species he had encountered during his visit. He confirmed that activity out on the edge of the Solent was reduced, as the tide was close to its peak, pushing many birds back towards the lagoons. This was evident in the numbers of dunlin and ringed plovers gathered on the islands and along the water’s edge.

The conversation proved fortuitous, as we picked up some valuable local knowledge, including information on purple sandpipers and, more importantly, a potential roost site for hawfinches. Coincidentally, Kev and I had been discussing where we might catch up with this species, as our usual local flock appears to have moved on and has been absent for the past couple of winters.

We worked our way round to the southern edge and soon located one of the two reported spotted redshanks, perched at the water’s edge. Within a minute or two it dropped into the lagoon and began swimming across towards another feeding wader. At first, I assumed it was the second spotted redshank, but it soon became clear that the bird was a greenshank. As the redshank swam across, Kev commented that it would make a great photo - I was already on the case - before he remembered that he was carrying a camera too and joined in. Hilarious!

Spotted redshanks are a regular but generally scarce part of the winter and migration bird community here and they’re reliable enough that birders often look for them here in the colder months. In Britain, they are primarily a passage migrant in spring and autumn, with small numbers overwintering at key wetlands, estuaries and coastal marshes and are usually encountered singly or in small groups, rather than large flocks.

Out in the lagoon, increasing numbers of dunlin and ringed plovers gathered, mainly among the lapwings. A small group of ringed plovers in particular caught the eye as they formed a tight cluster beside a tile on a small, raised island. Adding to the wader numbers were oystercatchers, their numbers gradually building as time passed.

Kev had been on a trip down into Cornwall and back through Somerset at the weekend and had sharpened his gull identification, calling a Mediterranean gull as it passed behind us and out onto the Solent. These gulls are regularly present around here in winter, although they’re more often associated with spring and summer breeding gatherings - scarce but regular in winter, with records often in single‑figure counts at these coastal sites. In winter plumage, Mediterranean gulls lose the full black hood seen in summer but still show a distinctive darker mask behind the eye, pinkish legs and a slightly stouter bill than black‑headed gulls.

We continued along the path when, suddenly, a bird flicked from the gorse back into cover. From its colouring, it could only be one species, a Dartford warbler. While Dartford warblers are regularly recorded around the Nature Reserve, they aren’t core marsh birds like waders. Instead, they favour the scrubby, gorse‑rich higher ground and coastal scrub surrounding the reserve. Preferring gorse, bramble, and other scrubby vegetation rather than open saltmarsh, they are usually found on the landward side of the site, where scrub grows on higher ground or rough pasture. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to encounter one between the edge of the lagoon and the Solent. I waited patiently, and after a couple of relocations, it popped out long enough for me to snap a few photos.

We had just remarked that we would normally have seen some stonechats by this point when a pair suddenly appeared ahead along the path. They moved frequently between the ground and prominent perches, with the female eventually drifting further away while the male stayed closer, giving excellent views.

We had heard reports of Slavonian grebes along the stretch where Pennington Marsh meets the sea, near the jetty, so we made our way there. Scanning the area, we spotted the same species, as already recorded, in the lagoons on the landward side of the coastal sea wall, along with another Mediterranean gull and at least 50 golden plovers. There had been a report of a merlin perched on a post feeding on prey, but we never encountered it; however, we did locate a kestrel and a female‑type cream‑crowned marsh harrier. Reaching the sea wall proved challenging, as the wind was so strong that both Kev and I lost our hats, chasing them down the slope, and we were left worrying that the scopes might be blown over. After a few minutes of scanning, we found six red‑breasted mergansers, but there was nothing else to hold us, and no sign of the grebes.

We then relocated in an attempt to connect with purple sandpipers, but this quickly became a “twitching drive-by” as the wind continued to strengthen. We abandoned the idea and while sightings would have been welcome, it would have been no fun standing in that wind. After a brief discussion, we set off again, heading for the site where a hawfinch roost had been reported. Conveniently, it was on the way home and only about twenty minutes from where we were parked.

Hawfinches gather at communal roost sites, often perching in the ornamental conifers here where they can be observed by birders. Survey data shows that hundreds may be present at these roosts - for example, around 353 hawfinches across 35 roosts were recorded in early 2024. These birds are elusive and quiet year‑round, often perched high in the canopy and difficult to see during the breeding season. In winter, however, they become more visible in the leafless trees, with their numbers often bolstered by continental migrants arriving from northern Europe.

We parked and followed the path suggested by the local birder earlier. Along the way, we came across a couple of treecreepers and nuthatches and were soon joined by another local birder carrying binoculars and a camera - he knew the area well and could advise us on which spots to focus on. Our wait began, with marsh tits calling in the trees behind us. Kev spotted a mash tit in a nearby tree, but before I could get on it, it flew out of view - I’d try again later. I thought I glimpsed a hawfinch overhead, but it disappeared into the trees and I couldn’t relocate it. Eventually, I strolled further down the track to see if a different angle would give a better view, leaving Kev and the other birder watching the favoured trees.

After a couple of minutes, I heard a whistle - it was Kev letting me know that hawfinches had dropped into the favoured tree and I hurried back, making out four birds through the branches. They quickly moved to a tree on the right, and I followed, searching for a better line of sight. Kev later told me that he thinks we had nine hawfinches in total and has video showing five of them together in a single frame.

Eventually, the hawfinches had moved to an area to the right of where they had first appeared. With the trees still swaying in the wind, the birds were revealed only intermittently, teasing glimpses through the branches.

It was now time to add a marsh tit to my year list. We came across at least three, busy foraging around a picnic bench where some food had been left by visitors and in the same area, chaffinches, goldcrests, coal tits, and a single firecrest flitted about, adding to the lively scene.

We had found exactly what we’d come for and were delighted to have had good views of so many of these woodland sprites. Normally, this would have meant adding the firecrest to my year list, but remarkably, this was the third site in three weeks where I had encountered one. Satisfied with our sightings, we packed up and set out for home.

Year list: 127.

Crockham Hill & Staines Moor :: 14 January 2026

The weather had been wet in recent days, but with a red-flanked bluetail within reach having been found on 11 January, Kev @kev07713 and I were determined to try and visit - it would be a first for us both. Weather was only part of the equation - we also had diaries to juggle. All we could do was hope the bird would play ball and remain until Wednesday, and fortuitously the weather was forecast to improve and might work in our favour. Encouraging news came on Tuesday when our friends Bryan and Adrian reported that the bird was still present, showing for around 20 seconds at a time but between times was very elusive. Even so, photographs were hard to come by, and the rain certainly didn’t help.

The red-flanked bluetail is a small passerine that has long enjoyed near-mythical status among UK birders. Once regarded as an exceptional rarity, this Siberian breeder has become a regular autumn vagrant, particularly along Britain’s east coast. For much of the 20th century it was a once-in-a-generation bird, but that perception began to change from the 1990s as records increased steadily, especially in autumn. This rise culminated in 2017, when the species was removed from the British Birds Rarities Committee (BBRC) list. It is now recorded annually, though it remains far from common - there are also rare wintering records, showing the species can survive UK conditions when food is available.

Roughly robin-sized, the red-flanked bluetail is unmistakable when seen well. Adult males show rich blue upperparts and tail, contrasting with clean white underparts and bright orange-red flanks. Our bird, however, was more subtle: females and juveniles are brown above with a distinctive blue tail and rump, a pale eye-ring, and muted orange-red flanks. As reported by our friends, patience is rewarded with brief but striking views.

Even though it’s no longer classed as a rarity, the red-flanked bluetail remains a symbol of autumn birding magic - a reminder that birds from the far edge of Siberia can still turn up in a British hedge on the right day.

We set off in freezing conditions, the sky having cleared overnight, and I was a little late picking up Kev after spending a few minutes scraping ice from the car. Once on the road, though, traffic was kind and we made steady progress to Crockham Hill, on the edge of Kent. After parking up, we joined a couple of dozen birders scattered around the dell and gully. Most were positioned on the higher side of the dell above the gully, so we joined them - the bird, we were told, had been seen there shortly before our arrival. After about ten minutes I noticed that Kev had wandered off, though I assumed he would return as his scope was still standing behind the group. In the meantime, a firecrest and goldcrest worked through the area, along with several nuthatches, while blue tits repeatedly popped up to grab our attention.

After about 30 minutes there was a sudden stir on the lower side of the dell and a few people began heading down, suggesting the bird might have been seen. I grabbed the scope and moved quickly to close the distance, joining a small group scanning high in the trees. I picked up a bird silhouetted against the sky, but before I could stand the scope on the tripod it dropped down and disappeared from view. I couldn’t count that as a tick as although I’d seen the bird, I hadn’t had a view good enough to confirm the species. Kev, on the other side, was luckier: he managed to see the bird properly and even managed a couple of photos, providing confirmation of the sighting. I hoped that I/we'd get another opportunity.

We waited, searched and scanned for the next hour and a half - some of the time searching with people using thermal monoculars or others that had visited on previous days that shared where sightings had been most frequent. Still, we couldn't get another sighting. We could see some people beginning to drift away, perhaps having lost patience - this was very much a waiting game, and despite all eyes on the area, there was still no sign of the bird.

Kev and I edged up to the higher side of the dell, where one of the birders told us he had just seen the bird before it flew up and dropped back and away into the bushes. We waited, but it seemed to have already moved through. Kev then relocated down a nearby short track while I stayed between him and the birder who had seen it most recently, hoping it might still be in the area.

Moments later we heard a whistle, and another birder along a nearby track signalled that someone ahead was on the bird. I called to Kev and we followed quickly away from the dell and gully. We drew level with the birder, who explained that he’d just seen the bird on a small mound at the foot of a tree - the area was dense with thin trees. Seconds later it appeared, flicking up and through the branches - a lifer. We followed as it moved quickly to the right, edging further away from where we’d been and only pausing briefly along the way.

After a minute or two the bird settled on a branch and paused, eventually stopping to preen, crucially on the edge of a clearing and in full view, with nothing obstructing our line of sight. It stayed put long enough for all of us, about half a dozen in total, to get onto it and start taking photos. In hindsight, Kev wished he’d taken some video, but in the moment none of us realised it would show in one place for a couple of minutes.

Eventually, as all good things do, the bird dropped down and moved off, working back into denser cover once more. It was still often visible but mostly obscured by branches and twigs. We watched for another five minutes or so before retreating and making our way back to the car. As we passed other birders, many still waiting at the top of the dell, we let them know about the recent sighting.

Kev also posted the update on BirdGuides, noting that the bird was no longer in the same area repeatedly reported over previous days. Unfortunately, that information was ignored and the earlier details were simply cut and pasted again. Hopefully the bird will continue to show and be found if it moves further from its former regular haunt.

Back at the car, we discussed how to spend the rest of the afternoon - the day had moved on, and we were already nearing lunchtime. After visiting Staines Reservoir on Saturday, we’d continued on to Lemsford Springs to see jack snipe, rather than calling in at Staines Moor. This time, with Staines Moor almost on our route home, we decided to stop there in the hope of catching up with water pipits, pausing enroute for a quick bite of lunch.

We pulled into a parking spot and crossed the railway bridge, first hearing and then seeing ring-necked parakeets, then a great spotted woodpecker. Out on the moor, we noted that the water level was lower than on our visit last year, which surprised us given the recent rainfall. As a result, there were no pipits immediately in view on either side of the river.

We continued on and crossed another bridge, where we paused to listen. Almost immediately we heard a water pipit and scanned the field ahead, but without success. A few minutes later one pipit flew up, followed by another - both water pipits. We lost them into cover, but only a short while later one rose again, calling as it flew off. I managed to follow it and, fortuitously, it landed on the top of a bush, albeit at a considerable distance. The bird was easy enough to see through the scope, but I struggled with the camera; Kev had more luck with his phonescoping. Within a couple of minutes, it was up again and gone, dropping out of view once more. Meadow pipits flew through, and a couple of green woodpeckers perched on distant bushes.

We then heard the calls of a water pipit further down the river towards the railway tracks and noticed a couple of photographers stopping on the opposite bank. We edged closer and set up our scope to scan the pools beside the river bend where it turns to run parallel with the tracks. We soon picked up a couple of water pipits feeding in and along the water’s edge, sometimes close together and at other times well apart and appeared to be different individuals from the bird we’d watched earlier. A few meadow pipits worked the area too, while on the river we watched two little grebes running across the water and a grey wagtail foraging up and down.

We also noted buzzards, grey herons, a little egret, a sparrowhawk, and even ran into a couple of birders we sometimes meet out and about. Before leaving, we heard a Cetti’s Warbler moving through the reeds along the water’s edge, catching brief glimpses as it relocated every thirty seconds or so. We tried to follow it but lost it once it reached the trees, though not before enjoying our best views of it.

Later, as we broke away from watching the water pipits, we heard the warbler again and retraced our steps, repeating the same walk. Once more we had fleeting views as it worked its way back towards the trees, and on this occasion, we were lucky enough to see two birds burst from the reeds, fly the length of them, and drop back out of view. A decent photo wasn’t possible, but I managed a record shot - a year tick regardless.

With the light fading and no recent reports of owls on the moor, we packed up and headed for home, progress initially slow thanks to the time of day and traffic on the M25.

Year list: 113.

Staines Reservoirs & Lemsford Springs :: 10 January 2026

After a brief discussion, Kev @kev07713 and I decided to head over to Staines Reservoir to look for the lesser and greater scaup that are still being reported, with the likelihood of black-necked grebes as a welcome bonus. We arrived early and stopped for breakfast, during which we heard a ring-necked parakeet fly over while Kev managed to see it as it vanished over the rooftops. Moments later a flock of ten swept over the car park - a good start to the day.

A short drive later we pulled into a lay-by near the causeway, choosing the side where most of the birds had been reported. We layered up, pulled on gloves, and headed out.

There’s a particular kind of cold at Staines Reservoir that seems to cut straight through everything. Even when it doesn’t feel especially bitter elsewhere, the vast open water and exposed sky create a sharper, more persistent chill. With nothing to slow the wind, it sweeps unhindered across the reservoirs, biting at your face and hands as you scan the distant flocks.

The water itself seems to amplify it - a grey, steel-coloured surface under a low winter sun that somehow makes the air feel even more raw. You can be wrapped in a thick jacket, hat and gloves and still find yourself shivering after an hour by the fence line or one of the viewing points. Fingers stiffen on camera buttons, and you’re aware of how long you’ve been standing still, yet the bleakness, the wind, and the wide-open water give the place a stark, wild atmosphere that feels entirely fitting.

A handful of people were already gathered at the first viewpoint, with a few more lined along the closer section of half-height fencing. Were they on one or both scaups? We joined them and learned that the lesser wasn’t currently on show, although the greater had been seen out in the bay. Two distinct groups of tufted ducks were visible farther offshore, with a large flock of mostly pochard tucked into the corner to our right. We scanned through the birds several times without success, until one of the now ten birders finally picked out the lesser scaup – asleep - typical.

Like most diving ducks, a lesser scaup’s day is built around short bursts of intense feeding followed by long periods of rest. Repeated diving burns a lot of energy and body heat, especially in winter, so once they’ve fed, they often rest for hours. On reservoirs such as Staines this is especially noticeable - they feed offshore, drift into rafts on open water, and with plenty of space and few predators feel safe enough to sleep openly. Cold and wind only increase the need to conserve energy, so they tuck their bills into their backs and doze - dive, refuel, sleep, repeat.

One of the enduring frustrations of Staines, though, is just how far away everything feels. The reservoirs can be alive with grebes, diving ducks, gulls and passing waders, yet so often they are tantalisingly beyond the comfortable reach of even a long lens. Through binoculars or a scope, the scene can look rich and busy while through the camera viewfinder it becomes a test of patience and compromise.

The birds tend to drift towards the middle, or at least out of range. Even with a 500–600mm lens, detail is hard to pull out, leaving heavily cropped images that never quite do the subject justice. Distance and moving water all soften what should be crisp feather detail into something frustratingly vague. It’s not that Staines lacks birds, far from it, but unless they choose to move closer to the banks, you’re often left with silhouettes rather than portraits. Watching a black-necked grebe or a scaup diving in perfect light, just that bit too far away, is both thrilling and maddening in equal measure. At least today we'd have a further excuse - the light wasn't great either.

While we waited for the lesser scaup to wake up we scanned around and on the far side of the northern water body we could see two great northern divers fishing, with a third bird further off to our right - east. Great northern divers are a winter highlight at Staines Reservoir. These powerful seabirds are often seen riding low on the open water, their heavy bodies and long necks giving them a distinctive profile even at great distance. In cold weather they favour large, deep reservoirs like Staines, which mimic the open sea and provide plenty of fish, making it one of the more reliable inland sites to catch up with them in winter.

Like the scaup, they can spend long periods resting between bouts of feeding, sometimes drifting far from the shore before suddenly vanishing beneath the surface on an effortless dive. When one finally surfaces hundreds of metres away, it underlines just how perfectly adapted these birds are to such a harsh, exposed environment and just how much patience it takes to watch, let alone photograph, them here. I settled for a simple record shot; there were other birds to track down.

Black-necked grebes are another regular winter feature at Staines Reservoir, often scattered across the open water or tucked in among rafts of diving ducks, their compact shapes and distinctive head patterns making them an irresistible target for anyone scanning the distant flocks. Last winter we encountered them in double figures, although this season there were thought to be around four. I picked one up feeding along the causeway while Kev had two at the eastern end of the southern basin. The bird I’d found gradually drifted closer, and in the end, I gave up waiting and walked along the causeway to try for some photos - just as a low winter sun broke through, making an already difficult task even more challenging.

In winter, many of the birds at Staines look subtly but unmistakably different. Bright breeding colours give way to softer, more muted tones: grebes lose their sharp contrasts, divers become greyer and more understated. It can make identification trickier, especially at range, but there’s a beauty in it too. These winter plumages are practical rather than showy, built for survival rather than display, and they blend perfectly into the grey water and low skies that dominate the reservoirs at this time of year.

Before long I was watching three grebes diving - two loosely keeping company with each other, while a third fished farther along the causeway. As I waited, the pair gradually drew close enough for me to fit them both into a single frame.

We turned our attention to the line of scattered tufted ducks straight out from the causeway, frustratingly distant. After a couple of careful scans, the drake greater scaup finally gave itself up - it had presumably been head-on and asleep the first time we looked, so we had overlooked it. Now it was partially side-on, giving us a better view. I hadn’t managed to see a greater scaup until mid-November last year, so it was satisfying to tick one in the first ten days of this year, even if the views were far from ideal.

There had been reports of a female black redstart at the far end of the causeway, but none of the other birders on site had seen it, and we couldn’t pick it out either. With that, we shifted our plan to Lemsford Springs. Our friends Bryan and Adrian had visited on Friday to see a showy jack snipe, and we understood that Nick @old_caley and Anne were planning to go today.

Lemsford Springs is a small but exceptionally wildlife-rich reserve on the edge of Welwyn Garden City in Hertfordshire, managed by the Herts and Middlesex Wildlife Trust. The reserve occupies around 4 hectares of former watercress beds fed by natural springs. Because the lagoons are spring fed, they rarely freeze in winter, providing a vital haven for waterbirds when other wetlands are frozen. The site is particularly famous for its wintering green sandpipers, which feed on abundant freshwater shrimp and have been the subject of long-term study.

The reserve is kept locked for visitors to protect the wildlife, and visits are arranged through the Trust’s reserve team. With reports of the showy jack snipe and higher levels of interest and visitors, the team had arranged access via a key system - donations to support their work was encouraged. On arrival, Kev dropped in our contribution before we headed in.

Within minutes we were on the reserve, spotting a buzzard drop onto a post in a neighbouring field before slipping into a hide - to our surprise, Nick and Anne were still there. They made room, and I settled into a seat by the window. They told us they had waited an hour earlier for the jack snipe to appear close to the right of the hide, only for it to retreat tight against the bank and disappear. Fortunately, a second bird was visible further out to our left, bobbing and feeding near a small earth mound.

Jack snipe are notoriously difficult to see, and Lemsford Springs is no exception. These tiny, cryptically plumaged waders blend almost seamlessly into the damp reedbeds and grassy margins, making each sighting a real test of patience and sharp eyes. Mostly active at dawn and dusk, they often remain hidden during the day in shallow vegetation or behind tussocks, so even a brief glimpse feels like a small victory.

This individual, however, has gained a reputation for being unusually “showy” and is the reason why so many birders have come to the reserve in recent days. The second bird offered a welcome bonus, keeping us entertained and hopeful as we waited, fingers crossed, for the main attraction to appear.

In the third photo below, two snipe sit side by side, offering a chance to compare the common snipe (left) with the jack snipe (right). The common snipe is noticeably larger with a more upright stance, while the jack snipe is smaller, shorter, and often appears hunched. The common snipe sports a bold central crown stripe with clear lateral stripes and a long straight bill while the jack snipe’s crown stripes are narrower and subtler, noticeably black at the centre, and its bill is proportionally shorter. The common snipe’s body is finely streaked and elongated, whereas the jack snipe’s plumage is more mottled, aiding its camouflage in dense vegetation. Longer legs on the common snipe make it appear taller, while the jack snipe’s shorter legs contribute to its crouched posture, perfect for staying hidden.

We waited and watched as grey herons, little egrets and handfuls of common snipe worked around the area, waiting for the emergence of our bird - we'd already been afforded views by the second bird but now we were just being greedy and hoping to be presented with a treat. Time passed. We watched as goldfinch, chaffinch, great and blue tits, redwing, a yellow-browed warbler, siskins, and lesser redpoll visited the sallows out in front. Common snipe fed in clearer view.

Lemsford Springs is renowned for hosting one of Europe’s longest-running studies of green sandpipers. Since 1983, Ken Smith, Barry Trevis, and Mike Reid have systematically monitored the local population, ringing around 200 individual birds and recording over 20,000 re-sightings, creating one of the most detailed long-term datasets for the species. Most of the colour-ringed birds spend the majority of the year at Lemsford, only departing briefly in late April to breed in Scandinavia, with tracking confirming breeding sites in Norway, Sweden, and Finland. Many return to the reserve year after year, highlighting Lemsford’s importance for studies of site fidelity and habitat use. As we waited, small groups of green sandpipers dropped in, feeding across the shallows.

Locals were remarking that they hadn’t seen the usual grey wagtail, but there was no need for concern, it soon appeared and returned later. Meanwhile, a pair of wrens fed busily, flitting along the full stretch of the visible area, and a kingfisher made a brief, brilliant flash through and disappeared down a channel behind.

Noisy ring‑necked parakeets called from the trees behind, their activity spiking as a squirrel scampered up and through the tree where they were perched.

Kev eventually wandered off to the other hide while I stayed put, still hoping for a better view of the jack snipe closer to us. By now patience amongst the birders was wearing thin and the hide slowly emptied until only two of us were left. After another five minutes the other chap began packing up, and a minute or two later I did the same, deciding to join Kev and try a different viewpoint.

As I lifted my scope and headed for the door, a flicker of movement caught my eye just beyond the crest of the bank at the water’s edge. I raised my binoculars and sure enough, there was the second snipe. I called it out to the other chap, who hurriedly started unpacking again, then rang Kev to let him know the bird might be showing and grabbed a few quick shots.

By the time Kev and three women birders arrived, the snipe had slipped back tight under the bank and out of view. We all settled in once more, and after five minutes it edged out again to feed, giving us another brief but welcome photo opportunity.

We decided to move on and try for the short-eared owls at Wallington, which had been reported again the previous day. On the way we paused to watch 16+ siskins feeding high in the alders, though there were no lesser redpolls among them - annoying as Kev had missed the bird in the sallows earlier. Then it was back to the car and off on the 20-minute drive.

We reached the designated gate to find three cars already pulled in. Kev squeezed us off the road but ended up parked behind another car, explaining he’d move if anyone needed to get out. We joined the small group of waiting birders, some of whom eventually drifted off to another gate further along the lane. Only one person had seen an owl so far that day - it had risen briefly before dropping back into the long grass. Our vigil began.

Another couple of birders arrived and general chat turned to local sightings and recent trips. One of them had a thermal monocular and scanned the fields; he picked up several birds, but none large enough to be an owl. We also worked the field behind us, which also looked promising habitat, and picked out a pair of stonechats along with a scattering of small birds, including linnet.

Out in front, Kev drew my attention to a fox he’d spotted through his scope, sitting on the crest of a distant slope and staring straight at us, too good not to photograph. Kev also picked out buzzards and kestrels in neighbouring counties.

We waited, but after 3.30pm we called it a day and headed for home as the light began to fade. With the drive back likely to push us close to 6.00pm, we didn’t feel too disappointed. We’ve already seen a short-eared owl this year, though it’s always a joy to watch them hunting, and there will no doubt be more chances to catch up with them.

Year list: 108.