Oxfordshire :: 14 February 2026

Saturday came around and meant another outing with Kev @kev07713, though this time we opted to stay local. The decision was prompted in part by reports of a long-tailed duck lingering around Rushy Common, near Witney. We set off feeling equal parts hope and trepidation: the bird had been present on these and neighbouring lakes over the previous couple of weeks, but never for long, typically moving on after a single day - seemingly in the company of a flock of tufted ducks with which it had been associating.

Each winter, one of the Arctic’s most elegant sea ducks makes a quiet appearance around the coasts of Britain: the long-tailed duck. Breeding far to the north across Scandinavia, Greenland and Arctic Russia, these birds migrate south as polar seas freeze, trading tundra pools for cold coastal waters. In the UK they are never common, but from October through to early spring small numbers gather offshore, especially around northern Scotland and the North Sea coast.

At a distance, a winter drake is strikingly pale, almost ghost-white against dark water, with neat black markings and impossibly long tail streamers that give the species its name. Females and younger birds are subtler, brown-and-white with shorter tails, but share the same delicate shape and buoyant posture. Unlike many ducks, long-tailed ducks spend much of their time diving, vanishing beneath the surface for long seconds at a time as they pursue mussels, crustaceans and small fish in surprisingly deep water.

Inland records are relatively uncommon but not unheard of. Following strong easterly winds or periods of intense cold, birds may occasionally turn up on large reservoirs or lakes, providing unusually close views for observers far from the coast. These visits are typically short-lived, and by late spring most individuals have already returned north to their Arctic breeding grounds, leaving British waters largely empty of these visitors once more. All the more unexpected, then, to find a long-tailed duck on a set of former gravel pits almost as far from the sea as you can get.

What is now a patchwork of open water, reedbeds and scrub was once a busy extraction site, shaped by the demand for construction materials throughout the 20th century. Although nature has softened the scene, traces of that industrial past remain; the steep-sided basins, engineered shorelines and oddly contoured pools reveal their man-made origins rather than those of natural lakes. Even the surrounding landscape - broad, level pasture broken abruptly by water-filled hollows - reflects the underlying quarrying history that created this unexpected refuge for wildlife.

We reached the Rushy Common reserve car park after carefully negotiating lanes that had turned into shallow fords, so much rain had fallen that water was flowing straight off the fields and across the road. Kev’s car, with its relatively low ground clearance, managed the route without too much trouble, though progress was cautious.

After parking, we looked out across the main lake and quickly set up the scopes. The long-tailed duck had been recorded here previously, and there was also the chance of red-crested pochard, a species Kev still needed for his year list. A careful sweep of the water failed to produce our target, and we began to suspect that, if the bird was still present, it was more likely on the lake behind us. With the most recent report placing it there the day before, we packed up and moved round to continue the search.

We made our way along the muddy track - thankfully in wellies rather than walking boots - stopping frequently to scan the water. Plenty of birds were present, including tufted ducks, wigeon, mallard and teal, but there was still no sign of the long-tailed duck. We pressed on until most of the lake came into view yet continued to draw a blank.

Another birder soon joined us, and it turned out to be Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99, who had returned in the hope of better views than he’d managed late the previous afternoon. After a nice chat, we all drifted back towards the car park. Ewan was heading home for breakfast, while Kev and I opted for a change of plan and decided to try our luck with goshawks instead. With so much recent rain, the bright, dry start to the day felt like it might offer a good window of opportunity to see one.

Before that, we made our way down to the hide, which is controlled by a key that both Kev and I already have. The walk involved slogging through deep water that came perilously close to spilling over our wellies. With nothing new to report from the hide, we quickly moved on to Pit 18, hoping to reconnect with the smew and red-crested pochards I’d seen previously; this would save Kev a trip to Eyebrook Reservoir.

It didn’t take long to spot the male smew, followed shortly by the female. As before, viewing was challenging: fences, vegetation, and distance made close looks difficult, so the scope was essential. We managed some decent views, but the red-crested pochards remained elusive - another day, then.

We then drove to a woodland site we know, making a detour on the way due to deep water on the road making it impassable for cars, and arrived at a parking spot. From there we walked up a track to an elevated position where we would be able to watch over layers of treelines stretching into the distance. Birds are resident in quiet woodland blocks and are seldom reported publicly due to their vulnerability to disturbance and persecution. Scopes and binoculars at the ready we started our vigil.

Mid-February is one of the best times of year to look for the elusive goshawk. Although these powerful woodland raptors are present all year, they become far more visible in late winter as the breeding season approaches with pairs beginning to reassert territories, repair old nests or build new ones, and perform spectacular display flights above their woodland homes.

Unlike many birds of prey that favour open country, goshawks are creatures of deep woodland, particularly large tracts of mature conifer plantation mixed with broadleaf trees. For most of the year they remain hidden beneath the canopy, hunting pigeons, corvids and other birds with explosive speed. In February, however, their secretive nature briefly gives way to behaviour that can be observed from forest edges, hillsides or clearings.

Display flights are the main attraction. A bird may soar high above the trees on broad wings, alternating slow, powerful wingbeats with glides, sometimes giving a distinctive “sky-dancing” performance that includes exaggerated flaps and shallow undulations. At times a pair will interact, calling to one another with sharp, yelping notes; on bright, calm mornings these displays can continue for extended periods, making this a prime window for patient watchers.

Weather plays an important role. Clear, dry conditions following prolonged rain often produce the best activity, as birds take advantage of calmer air and improved hunting opportunities. Conversely, strong winds or persistent drizzle can keep them low and hidden. Because displays typically occur in the morning, especially mid-morning once the air begins to warm, timing can be important.

Seeing a goshawk still requires luck; hours may pass with nothing more than distant corvids for company, and misidentifications with common buzzards are frequent. Yet when one does appear, the impression is unmistakable: a large, long-tailed raptor with deep, rowing wingbeats and an air of controlled power, quite unlike the buoyant flight of a buzzard.

By late spring, once incubation begins, activity above the canopy will drop sharply and the birds retreat once more into secrecy. For a few short weeks in late winter, though, the forests reveal one of Britain’s most formidable predators out high over the treetops.

We enjoyed a fantastic morning with several sightings of goshawks, the standout moment being a pair interacting as they moved gracefully across the slope before us. Everything was distant and backlit by the sun, making photography tricky, but I tried to capture a record shot nonetheless.

By late lunchtime, we had enjoyed multiple goshawk sightings, though it was hard to tell exactly how many birds, as some were likely the same ones reappearing. Deciding it was time to head for home, we made a detour to RSPB Otmoor in the hope of catching up with a glossy ibis, a species which has appeared sporadically so far this year. While uncommon, glossy ibis are recurring winter and early-spring visitors, often lingering in the flooded fields and shallow waters around the reserve’s hides.

We opted for wellies once more and followed the track onto the bridleway alongside Greenaways, pausing regularly to check for activity. The highlight enroute was a female marsh harrier basking on the ground in the afternoon sun. Eventually, we reached the bench and joined a small group of birders watching the reeds, a known haunt for bitterns and although nothing was immediately visible, earlier reports suggested one had been seen flying from First Screen.

After a careful scan, a bittern slowly emerged from the far-left edge of the reeds. Partly obscured at first, it gradually revealed itself, and Kev and I were able to share scope views with those only using binoculars or just their eyes. Soon the bittern began feeding, stalking out and along a reed spit and showing beautifully. For the next half-hour, we enjoyed alternating moments of stillness and activity as the bird fed, froze, and moved over the spit, a truly memorable finale to the afternoon.

We spoke with some birders approaching from the other direction, who confirmed there was no sign of a glossy ibis. Deciding not to make the trip around to the screens, we chose to call it a day - with a drive up to Ayrshire, Scotland planned for the next morning, a calm and restful finish was very welcome.

Year list: 164.

Around Staffordshire :: 11 February 2026

Kev @kev07713 was still working hard on his last job before he retires, and was probably ready for a day off and could also have a rest from his daily drive as it was my turn - the only question was where to go. With yet another spell of wet weather to contend with, we had to choose carefully, and in the end, we decided to go looking for willow tits before journeying on to Mow Cop in Staffordshire for the long-staying shore lark.

We agreed on a later start than usual, setting off at 6.30am and heading north via the A46 and M69 before joining the M1. Before long, however, we ran into trouble: collisions ahead meant delays of an extra 20–30 minutes. With that in mind, we pulled off at the next services a few miles up the road, deciding that breakfast would be a better use of our time while the traffic hopefully eased. Once fed, we set off again, initially crawling along until things gradually began to clear. Eventually we passed the accident, now confined to the inside lane and hard shoulder, and were able to make steadier progress.

We continued on to our chosen site, hopeful of connecting with willow tit. The species has declined dramatically over recent decades, with population drops of well over 90% in parts of England and Wales. They have disappeared from large areas of their former range and are now largely confined to fragmented strongholds in northern England, parts of the Midlands, and a few scattered pockets elsewhere. Even within these areas they can be extremely local and often quiet outside the breeding season. Spring is typically the best time to look for them, when birds are more vocal and territorial, though late winter can also offer opportunities as natural food supplies dwindle and they begin venturing out from woodland in search of supplementary feeding sources.

We entered the hide to find we had it entirely to ourselves, which meant we could arrange the seating just as we liked, ensuring we both had clear views of the feeding trays and hanging feeders maintained by the reserve. A steady soundtrack of calling birds drifted in as various species arrived, taking full advantage of the bounty on offer, including some seed that Kev had brought.

Once we’d settled, birds began dropping into the three feeding areas to the left of the hide, each at a different distance. One was a little too close for comfort, another felt just about right (slightly farther out but probably ideal), and the third was larger yet more distant, better suited to viewing through binoculars than photography, though perfectly adequate for watching the comings and goings.

We were prepared for a bit of a wait and were more than content to enjoy the steady stream of other birds visiting the feeders. great, blue, long-tailed, and coal tits came and went, alongside blackbirds, chaffinches, dunnocks, house sparrows and robins. Overhead, siskins called from the treetops, their presence betrayed by sound alone as they stubbornly refused to descend into view.

We saw movement at the foot of the middle feeder and could see what we originally assumed would be a mouse but turned out to be a bank vole - another small rodent skurried in the grass between us and the feeding trays but we didn't ever get eyes on it for an ID. Bank voles are one of the most widespread and familiar small mammals in the UK, though more often heard rustling than actually seen. They favour woodland, scrub, hedgerows and rough grassland where dense cover offers protection. With their warm chestnut-brown upperparts, soft greyish flanks and blunt, rounded features, they have a rather endearing look and quite different from the larger-eyed, longer-tailed wood mouse that often shares the same habitat.

Unlike some small mammals, bank voles do not hibernate, and winter is a test of endurance rather than escape. They remain active throughout the colder months, moving along networks of shallow runways hidden beneath leaf litter, fallen branches or a protective layer of snow. Food, of course, becomes harder to come by. Autumn caches of seeds and nuts can be crucial, and their diet shifts towards whatever remains available: beech mast, acorns, fungi, roots and the occasional green shoot. Around well-managed reserves they quickly learn to take advantage of the bounty beneath feeding stations, darting out to gather fallen sunflower hearts or fragments of peanut before vanishing back into cover.

For the patient observer, though, winter offers the best chance of a sighting. Hunger can make them a little bolder, and at quiet hides they sometimes grow accustomed to the rhythm of human presence. Watch the ground beneath a busy tit flock and you may notice a small reddish shape materialise, whiskers twitching, pausing only briefly before collecting a prize and retreating along its secret pathways. In the stillness of a cold woodland winter’s day, those fleeting encounters can be every bit as rewarding as the birds above.

Still scanning through our binoculars, I picked up a bird in the tree beside the furthest feeding station and instantly recognised it as a willow tit - result. I alerted Kev and within seconds it slipped away into the hedge and trees to our left, vanishing as quietly as it had appeared.

A few minutes later it made its first brief visit to the table, in and out in a flash. Another shortish wait brought it back, this time offering a chance for a photograph, a pattern that continued over the next half hour or so, each appearance fleeting but enough to keep us thoroughly engaged.

Then the rhythm changed with the gaps between visits seeming to shorten noticeably and Kev suggested we might now be watching two birds rather than one. Sure enough, after another ten or fifteen minutes, we had confirmation: two willow tits together on the table at the same time, a quietly satisfying moment after the long wait. On a couple of occasions, we were also treated to views of them in the surrounding hedges, perched naturally and clearly enough for us to attempt a few more pleasing photographs, far preferable than the shots taken on the feeder table.

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, making us very grateful for the shelter of the hide - inevitably, though, we would have to return to the car. Eventually the downpour eased just enough for us to make a dash, reaching the car without getting completely soaked.

We entered details for the car park suggested on BirdGuides into the SatNav and made our way to Mow Cop in search of the long-staying shore lark, first reported there on 16 January. Shore lark is a striking winter visitor to the UK, but it is rarely seen away from coastal habitats. Typically, a passage migrant from Scandinavia, it is most often found along the east coast on saltmarshes, shingle beaches, and open coastal flats; inland sightings are comparatively rare.

While a few shore larks do appear inland in some winters, they usually turn up as scattered vagrants or passage visitors, rarely staying long in one place. This bird’s loyalty to the same field for several weeks, foraging in rough grass and churned mud, makes it a particularly appealing and accessible target for birders.

We got out the car and made our way to the last sighting location, passing a birder coming the other way. Recent reports indicated the bird had been viewed in fields along the wall by the Gritstone Trail near the Old Man O’Mow, a muddy cow‑field. He confirmed that the bird was still showing but could be a little tinker in first locating it - he had posted his latest sighting on BirdGuides but it hadn't yet been updated on the app. We reached the area and immediately came across meadow pipits and skylarks flitting about the area, some of the skylarks chasing one another around. There was a light drizzle starting when after ten minutes or so Kev spotted the shore lark along the edge of muddy tractor tracks and called me back from where I was looking: where the last pin-drop had been advised.

Shore larks are small birds with a striking appearance, their most distinctive feature being a bright yellow face and throat, sharply contrasted with a black bib and mask, a high‑contrast look that stands out even at a distance. The upperparts are sandy brown streaked with darker tones, while the underparts are pale, and a faint pale stripe runs along the wing. In flight, the white wing panels are noticeable against the brown body. They feed on seeds and insects, often running along the ground in short bursts rather than hopping or perching in vegetation.

We watched as the bird worked along the edge of the broken earth along the tractor track and then across it, getting closer and closer. We snapped away with our cameras and rain started to fall, getting heavier. The lark took to the air and flew left and back along the field towards the village. Kev eventually relocated it before we decided to retire back to the car, getting soaked as we went.

We plotted our route home but opted for a route that allowed for a detour past Whitemoor Haye, hoping to catch a merlin if the weather had improved, and as I’d seen there a couple of weeks earlier. The drive was smooth, and we arrived on the lane under broken skies with no rain.

We parked and made our way to the spot I’d used before, and almost immediately we spotted a Slavonian grebe on the water. Turning back to scan the likely field, we couldn’t see anything of note at first. Soon, a raptor shot across the far side of the field and through the trees, and Kev later picked out a sparrowhawk perched on the lowest rung of a distant fence in the same area. Noting that the recently cut hedge was a little too tall to give him a good view, Kev decided to head back toward the car, where a raised track should provide a clearer vantage over the field.

We scanned the area, picking out numerous mute swans along with several Egyptian, Canada, and greylag geese, but there was no sign of our target bird. Continuing along the track, we enjoyed varied views across the fields. Soon, Kev stopped again as the hedge line had grown too tall, restricting his view, so he returned to the raised section for a better vantage. I carried on down the track, still able to see over the vegetation.

After a hundred yards or so, passing close to some low trees and bushes, a sudden movement flushed a bird from cover. Out it shot - a woodcock, dashing across the water and disappearing behind the raised banks and grasses on the far side; a very nice sight, if all too brief.

The track turned right and I stopped to look out to where several hares were crouched, and crows were scattered across the field. One crow caught my attention as it hopped and pecked around a hare - the hare didn't appreciate the attention and spun round to face the crow as it circled. I'm really not sure what was happening. Perhaps likely it wasn't predation on a healthy adult hare but more probable it was a crow investigating or probing a possible food opportunity, combined with natural curiosity or play.

I made my way back to where Kev was now stationed, and we were joined by a local birder who had returned from Derbyshire, where he’d been trying to connect with Tundra bean geese associating with white-fronted geese. He mentioned that partridges had been reported in the field recently - the first greys seen here for several years. We searched carefully but came up empty, and I hadn’t seen any on my previous visit either. As time passed without any further sightings of note, we eventually made our way home, arriving home a little later than planned but content with our outing, again despite the weather.

Year list: 162.

Linch Hill Pit 18 & Farmoor Reservoir :: 09 February 2026

With Charlotte away playing pickleball and Kev still busy fitting windows for family, I found myself with some free time and decided to explore the Lower Windrush Valley Gravel Pit Complex, starting at Rushy Common Nature Reserve and Tar Lakes, where pintails, two red‑crested pochards, and an oystercatcher had been reported the day before.

Rushy Common Nature Reserve lies in the Lower Windrush Valley, just southeast of Witney, off Cogges Lane between Cogges and Stanton Harcourt in West Oxfordshire. Nestled among a cluster of restored gravel pits, the reserve has been transformed into a rich wetland habitat through coordinated conservation efforts. Originally part of Gill Mill Quarry, the site was reshaped from industrial extraction land into a thriving nature reserve through a long-term restoration project led by the Lower Windrush Valley Project and its partners. From the reserve car park, permissive and public footpaths loop around the site, including routes that lead towards Tar Lakes and further into the Windrush Valley path network.

Parking at Rushy Common is free but limited to around 20 vehicles and on arrival, there were three cars - a chap was just packing up as I pulled in. Since it was my first visit, I located the direction of the bird hide, retrieved my hide key from my bag, and set off, pausing along the way to scan the water. The water was alive with activity: a grey heron, pintails, wigeon, teal, great crested grebes, coot, shoveler, Canada geese, and more.

Eventually, I reached a bend in the track and discovered that the usual puddles had expanded into a completely flooded stretch. Having chosen walking boots over wellies, there was no way I could continue to the hide - what a shame. I turned back and headed to the viewing screen in the opposite direction, from where I could scan the water and re‑spot all the species I had seen from the track, and still no red-crested pochards.

I had also planned on visiting Linch Hill Pit 18 (also known as Stoneacres Lake, particularly by the fishermen) to try and catch the two smew (drake and redhead) that had been present since 2 February. It wasn’t far from my location, but getting there required driving around the perimeter of the pit complex and through Stanton Harcourt. Observations of the smew are made from outside the site perimeter fence and through tree cover, so seeing the birds up close would not be possible. The northern roadside is fenced and where viewing was recommended to me, and if needed, a footpath runs about a third of the way down the eastern side, providing scope views of the pit.

The complex isn’t generally developed as a public nature reserve like Rushy Common and Tar Lakes, and the surrounding landscape has been shaped by decades of gravel extraction and subsequent natural colonisation and restoration. This pit is one of the larger and deeper gravel lakes in the area, with extensive open water that attracts a wide range of waterbirds and has developed a mix of aquatic vegetation, shallows and fringe habitats.

I parked in a layby, careful not to block one of the designated passing places along this stretch of the single-track road and stepped out to scan through the fence and trees. Setting up my scope, I immediately picked out the drake smew, then the redhead. I had to shift slightly to maintain a clear view, and that’s when I noticed at least four red‑crested pochards in the same area. They drifted to the right and out of sight from my initial position, so I moved further along the road to a more open gap in the hedges, and from there I was able to relocate and enjoy views of all the birds again.

The male smew is mostly white with bold black markings, and the head is pure white with a striking black mask through the eye and down the nape - the back and wings are patterned with black. It is small and compact, and highly conspicuous on this open water. In contrast the female has a grey body with a chestnut-red head and subtle white cheek patch, and although more muted than the male, is still elegant.

The birds were frustratingly distant, but their presence more than made up for the distance. Eventually, the smew that had been diving along the opposite bank took flight, flying back toward the area where I had first spotted them. I relocated once more, but the birds were frustratingly difficult to pick out through the tangle of branches and twigs. Still, I’d enjoyed the encounter and especially the bonus red-crested pochards, a species I don’t often stumble across naturally during the year.

I set off for home but then realised that Farmoor Reservoir lay more or less on the way. With that in mind, I decided to drop in and see if I could track down the common scoter I’d missed on a previous visit, after a paddleboarder had reportedly flushed it, along with several other birds, from the water.

I parked up and walked out onto the causeway between F1 and F2, focussing on F1 where most recent sightings had been reported and where disturbance tends to be lower. I began scoping the reservoir and, after a bit of patience, eventually picked up the scoter among a group of mostly sleeping great crested grebes, almost directly opposite my position.

I packed up the scope and set off to try for closer views and along the way, I stopped to watch a female greater scaup cruising along the edge of F1 in the company of tufted ducks.

I set up my scope, having closed the distance, but I could no longer locate the bird among the grebes. Had it moved out into the centre of the water? Despite scanning carefully, I still couldn’t pick it up.

I continued around the reservoir and eventually reached the area where the great crested grebes were sleeping or preening, and began scanning again. After a couple of careful passes, I picked it up once more, often diving and disappeared for long periods before resurfacing some distance away - a habit that made keeping track of it tricky.

At range, the bird appeared dark and very low-slung on the water, lacking the bold features of an adult drake but showing well enough to confirm it as an immature common scoter. It sat exceptionally low, giving a heavy, almost submerged appearance that was accentuated by the choppy conditions. The overall plumage was a uniform brown, without the jet-black tones or strong structure of a mature male.

The head was noticeably paler than the body, with lighter cheeks and face standing out subtly against the darker crown and nape. The bill was dull greyish-brown and relatively slim, showing little of the swollen orange-and-yellow knob characteristic of an adult male. In profile, the head shape appeared gently rounded, with a fairly flat crown flowing smoothly into the neck.

That was satisfying ... I’d managed to redeem myself and finally catch up with a bird that had been reported regularly but had so far eluded me. It had been a good day out, even if it was a little less enjoyable flying solo. No doubt Kev and I will have our diaries aligned again before long.

Year list: 159.