The Gunsite, Leasowe, Wirral :: 10 October 2026

Neither Kev @kev07713 nor I had been out birding all week. The birds all seemed to be stuck on Shetland or the Scillies, and with no easterly winds, the migrant fall from Europe that we’d been hoping for was delayed. We started looking for somewhere to visit on Saturday and, as it happened, the winds had been blowing strongly from the west-north-west and west for the previous couple of days, with more of the same forecast for Saturday.

There had been a bit of discussion about what these conditions might bring, so we decided to make a return trip to the Gunsite, between Wallasey and Leasowe on the Wirral. We were hoping for more Leach’s petrels, perhaps a skua or two, but topping my personal wish list was a Sabine’s gull.

Kev picked me up at 6.00am, with the forecast high tide of 9.37 metres due at 11.40 am. This would give us at least three hours of seawatching leading up to high tide, when we hoped our chances of seeing Leach’s petrels and any other seabirds blown closer to shore would be at their best.

The forecast for this stretch of the coast promised a persistent WNW wind of around 20–23mph, with gusts reaching over 40mph. It was going to be a cool day, with temperatures of 10–13°C, extensive cloud and occasional showers, although there was a chance of some brighter spells, particularly around high tide.

On the way, Kev told me that our friends Adrian Sparrowhawk @sparra1959 and Bryan Manston @BManston2222 were also planning to make the journey north. They had dipped on Leach’s petrels during their visit the previous month and were keen to try their luck again, this time opting for a day trip rather than an overnight stay. It sounded as though we’d have some familiar faces joining us for the seawatch, all hoping that the conditions would deliver the birds we were looking for.

As we drew near, we stopped for breakfast, where Adrian and Bryan caught up with us. We then set off together towards the Gunsite, but as we were leaving, news came through of a Leach’s petrel and a Sabine’s gull in the river mouth before 8.00 am. I’d already missed out on my main target bird - perhaps it would hang around and I'd get another chance. To have had a chance of seeing them, we would have needed to leave home no later than 4.30am, even without stopping along the way. It was frustrating to know that both birds had already put in an appearance before we’d even reached our destination, but there was still plenty of time for something to turn up.

We decided to head for the Gunsite rather than the harbour / river mouth, hoping this would give us better views if the birds came through. It was a blustery day, with rain in the air, so initially we used the cars as our hides, scanning the sea with binoculars and scopes. We angled the cars to provide some protection from the worst of the weather, as rain, salt spray and sand pummelled the sides of the vehicles.

Then Kev called out that he had a Leach’s petrel! We all leapt out of the cars as the bird was now directly in front of us, heading left. We’d missed its approach, and both Bryan and I had failed to get onto it. I did have an excuse of sorts, having positioned myself in the back seat behind Kev, to get a better view of the beach and the direction from which we expected the birds to approach. Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t quite worked out, as we’d missed the first petrel coming through, distracted by a gull whose plumage looked interesting enough to warrant a closer look.

Once outside, we scanned the sea in the hope of relocating the petrel, but it had vanished without trace. Before long, we were back in the cars, peering through our scopes and binoculars once more, hoping another bird would come our way and give us a better opportunity.

There was still plenty to keep us occupied, with dunlin, bar-tailed godwits, oystercatchers and turnstones passing through at regular intervals. Common scoters were also on the move, and we picked out a distant Arctic skua, although it was far too far out to offer any chance of a photograph.

We noticed the chap in the car beside us watching something intently and eventually got out to investigate. It turned out that a Leach’s petrel had passed close inshore, so close, in fact, that we hadn’t been able to see it from the car because the wall and the slope down to the water had blocked our view. Damn! That settled it - we weren’t going to miss another bird passing close by and got out the car.

We chatted with a couple of the other birders nearby while Adrian and Bryan retreated to their car for some shelter from the weather. We’d taken the opposite approach, deciding that the best option was to add a few more waterproof layers and brave the elements.

I got talking to another birder who had spent some time at New Brighton and the river mouth earlier in the morning. He’d seen Leach’s petrel there, but all the views had been very distant, which had prompted him to relocate to the Gunsite in search of better opportunities. After a brief chat, he wandered further along the car park to assess the views and see how the conditions looked from there.

Kev called a skua coming our way and we were soon on it, a bonxie (aka great skua), people starting to gather around and watching as the bird flew in from right to left (Wallasey to Leasowe). On the local WhatsApp group there was an update to tell us it was coming our way.

October is a good time to look for bonxies as birds move south from their northern breeding grounds towards their wintering areas in the Atlantic, with some eventually reaching waters off West Africa. Strong WNW winds along the Wirral coast brings these migrating seabirds closer to shore, offering birders a better chance of spotting them. Great skuas are large, powerful, dark brown birds with distinctive white flashes on their wings, often seen flying low over the waves or pursuing other seabirds.

With the excitement over, we returned to scanning the water for petrels as the tide continued to creep closer, gradually swallowing the beach. The sea seemed remarkably close already, despite there still being a considerable time to go before high tide.

A couple of geese flew in and passed by - Brent geese, and our first of the autumn. Their return from Arctic breeding grounds to the UK's coasts and estuaries is another welcome sign that the autumn and winter season is getting underway. Dark-bellied Brent geese arrive from Siberia and Russia, while light-bellied birds come from Greenland and Canada, with some populations breeding on Svalbard. They are often seen gathering in flocks on mudflats and saltmarshes, where they feed throughout the winter months.

An estimated 135,000 Brent geese migrate to the UK each winter, according to official data collected by the British Trust for Ornithology (BTO); about 90,000 - 100,000 dark-bellied, 35,000 - 40,000 light-bellied.

Our pair were light-bellied Brent geese, with clean, pale greyish-white underparts contrasting sharply with their jet-black chests. Dark-bellied Brent geese, by comparison, would have a much darker, smoky grey belly that blends more closely with the black breast. It was a welcome little bonus while we continued scanning the increasingly turbulent sea for our main targets.

Conditions seemed to be worsening by the minute, with the wind strengthening and sand stinging our faces whenever we turned into it. Our pockets were gradually filling with sand, and we had to be constantly mindful of where we pointed our camera lenses to avoid the worst of the salt spray and flying sand.

Out at sea, things were becoming increasingly wild. Waves crashed into one another, throwing spray into the air, while the water churned into a swirling mass of foam and sand, taking on that familiar muddy brown colour after a spell of strong winds. White water surged in every direction, with spray hanging in the air and the whole sea taking on a restless, untidy appearance. It was certainly living up to the forecast, making conditions challenging for both birding and photography but was the conditions we were hoping for as it would increase our chances of seeing our target birds.

News came through from New Brighton and Wallasey that up to three Leach’s petrels might be heading our way, adding to the anticipation. The birder who had wandered off to check conditions at the other end of the car park returned and, after a brief chat, retreated to his car for some respite from the weather. However, when he spotted us excitedly pointing out to sea, he quickly rejoined us to watch the approach of a Leach’s petrel.

The bird appeared to be following in the wake of a gull, keeping low over the turbulent water with the gull higher. As they drew closer, the gull pulled ahead, leaving the petrel to shear through the crashing waves and dart between the troughs. This was much closer than our earlier encounter and finally gave us a chance to try for some photographs. A lifer for Bryan and Adrian.

The bird would disappear completely below the height of the waves, only to reappear moments later, skimming effortlessly through the gaps between the crests. Watching it negotiate the rough sea at close quarters was quite a sight, and a reminder of just how well these little seabirds are adapted to life in the open ocean.

I chatted some more to the other birder standing with us and eventually I realised who it was, Carl Moorhouse @manchesterbirder.bsky.social. We've talked on the internet and often read each other's blogs - his at https://themanchesterbirder.blogspot.com. His blog has a conversational, humorous style, mixing personal experiences with detailed bird observations and interesting snippets of natural history. It brings birding trips to life through descriptions of the weather, landscape, the anticipation of finding a bird and the occasional frustration along the way. The writing feels informal and engaging, with a touch of dry humour and a strong sense of camaraderie among birders. It is always well worth a read.

We watched as more Leach’s petrels passed through, although these birds were back to being more distant. By this point, we reckoned that around nine or ten had been reported moving through the area. There was some confusion, however, as reports coming in from Wallasey and New Brighton were occasionally followed by confirmation of sightings at the Gunsite, despite none of us having seen the birds. The birders further down the car park hadn’t seen them either, including a group who had been at New Brighton earlier when Carl was there. We never did establish who was picking up these additional birds, so the numbers remained a little uncertain.

We did manage another sighting of an Arctic skua, but it was way out offshore and offered little more than a distant view against the turbulent sea.

Eventually, we suggested to Adrian and Bryan that we would head round to Wallasey to see what was happening there, leaving them at the Gunsite. Despite our three visits to the area, we’d never tried the spot by the RNLI Lifeguard Station on King’s Parade, so it seemed worth a look.

We parked up and made our way down onto the beach, where we noticed a group of birders with their scopes taking shelter behind the Lifeguard Station. Perhaps this was a good alternative when the tide was high, but by now the sea had receded quickly, leaving a vast expanse of exposed sand.

Further out on the beach, we spotted three birders / photographers. When we joined them, they explained that they were waiting for Leach’s petrels but hadn’t seen any yet. Unless a bird came right in along the water’s edge, the lack of elevation above the sea meant views were likely to be rather limited. That said, there had been some excellent photographs and videos taken here the previous month, when Leach’s petrels had done precisely that.

The tide was racing out, though, and anyone hoping to connect with the birds would need to keep moving down the beach to follow the water’s edge. After a quick look around, we decided we’d had enough for one day. We made our way back to the car, content with our day’s birding, and set off for home.

Year list: 295 (mine) - BUBO: 290.

RSPB Minsmere, Marshside, & Hesketh Out Marsh :: 03 October 2026

Planning our next day out birding, Kev had said that he was tied up with various arrangements from Monday through Wednesday, so on Wednesday morning I was easing myself into the day after a leisurely breakfast when the phone rang. It was Kev. We’d chatted the night before about the red-eyed vireo that had been found at RSPB Minsmere but had concluded that this was likely to be a one-day bird with little chance of it staying. I had pointed out, though, that it might generally relocate overnight, and with rain forecast right through until first light, perhaps there was a glimmer of hope.

Kev’s first word when I answered was, “Oops.” He then asked whether I was thinking of going.

To be honest, I hadn’t yet picked up any messages about the bird being reported again, but Kev’s wife, Karen, was clearly on the case and had already relayed the news to him. I quickly changed, and barely 30 minutes later Kev and Karen were outside my house, and we were on our way, Kev having cancelled his appointment that afternoon. Charlotte didn’t join us as she was playing pickleball in the early evening.

Although the red-eyed vireo is a rare visitor to Britain, it is one of the more regularly encountered North American passerines. The first British record was at St. Agnes in the Isles of Scilly in 1962, and records have accumulated steadily since, with the vast majority occurring in September and October as birds undertake their autumn migration. It remains very much a rarity, however, with many individuals appearing only briefly before continuing their journey, while the chances of encountering one is heavily influenced by weather conditions.

The red-eyed vireo is a smart-looking bird, with olive-green upperparts contrasting with clean white underparts. Its head is particularly distinctive, with a greyish crown, broad white supercilium and dark line through the eye. The wings are darker and subtly marked, while the tail carries the same olive-green tones above. It has a fine bill and pale grey legs. Adults show the species' characteristic red iris, while first-year birds have a darker eye, gradually developing the red colour as they mature.

The Minsmere bird had been discovered at about 3.15pm the previous day, when a visitor reported it in the North Bushes. RSPB staff subsequently obtained brief views, followed by several local birders who also managed to connect with it. It was notoriously elusive, however, being seen only occasionally as it moved through the dense bushes. It is a significant record: the first red-eyed vireo for Minsmere and only the fifth for Suffolk, with the previous Suffolk record dating from 1995. It also became the 350th bird species recorded at Minsmere.

On the way, I asked via a WhatsApp group whether parking at Dunwich Heath NT might be more sensible, given the pin drop shown on BirdGuides, but was reminded that the Visitor Centre and car park there was still closed following the fires that had swept across the heath during the dry summer months. We also understood that today's reported sighting had come from a single observer, while others were already on site but had so far failed to relocate the bird.

We pulled into the car park and set off through the Visitors Centre, pausing for a comfort break. Outside, we bumped into a chap who had just come up from the North Bushes, where the bird had reportedly been seen. He told us that it had been spotted again and that we should get a move on before it dissolved back into the bushes and scrub. Apparently, it had been extremely elusive and hadn't been seen for around four hours before this latest sighting.

We set off through the reserve, passing several people who had already been lucky enough to see the bird, and paused a couple of times to check that we were heading in the right direction. Before long, we arrived to find a line of birders all focused intently on a particular stretch of bushes. Among them we spotted Lee Evans and a Coventry birder we bump into from time to time, Mike Doughty @dogdoughty. They had already enjoyed a few views of our bird but told us that it was currently out of sight. Mike described how, only ten minutes or so earlier, he had watched the bird for almost a minute as it worked its way through a bush or small tree to our right, pulling off and eating berries - it would show again, right? A post on X showed the only photo I saw posted of this encounter.

Red-eyed Vireo at Minsmere lunch time https://t.co/4KBjIBaw23

— mick davis (@Med2005Mick) September 30, 2026

We waited and scanned the bushes as birds came and went, with the suggestion that our best chance of seeing the vireo would be when the tit flock moved through. Blue tits, great tits and long-tailed tits were constantly keeping us occupied, but around 25 minutes passed without any sign of our target.

Then calls went up from the other side of the trees that someone had the bird, with directions being relayed to those nearby. The group at the left-hand end of the line immediately set off, with Lee, Mike and several staying put. We heard that the bird was mobile and that, by the time everyone reached the other side, it would probably have moved on, as it was further round than most people realised.

A couple of minutes later, two small birds flew into the bushes directly in front of us. I raised my binoculars to see what they were and, to my surprise, one was our red-eyed vireo, its prominent pale supercilium making it instantly recognisable - a lifer! I started to call out that the bird was there, only to realise that a couple of others were doing the same. As we pointed and alerted those around us, the vireo took to the air and flew across the clearing, now attracting the attention of more of the birders.

It landed briefly in an oak tree and then vanished. None of us had seen where it had gone, and we searched the oak and the surrounding trees and bushes without success. News of the sighting quickly spread, and the scattered groups began making their way back, including Kev and Karen. Unfortunately, they had missed this brief appearance, but we would stay put and wait for another opportunity and so that this time I might have the opportunity to get a photo.

We waited, and waited, and waited. The tit flock continued to work its way through the bushes, appearing several times and occasionally leaving us wondering where it had gone when long spells passed without a sighting or even a calling bird. As the afternoon wore on, people gradually began to drift away, and more than once we found ourselves almost alone in the favoured area, with the light beginning to fade.

Then, at around 5.30pm, a reported sighting appeared on BirdGuides, apparently just up the track. Birders began appearing from below us, asking whether it was our group that had seen the bird. We made our way back up towards the pin drop and continued beyond it, but there was no sign of anyone who knew anything about the report. It was all rather strange.

Eventually, with the light fading and no further news, we had to admit defeat and head for home. Having been the only one of us to get a view, I couldn't help feeling disappointed for Kev and Karen. I suppose that's birding, though on another day it could just as easily have been the other way round.

Friday evening arrived and, looking at potential new birds available for my year list, I suggested that the only realistic option on the mainland was the pallid harrier at RSPB Marshside in South Lancashire. It was a particularly smart first-winter bird, with the characteristic dark boa across the neck, neat white rump and long, narrow wings giving it that distinctive appearance that separates it from the more familiar hen harrier. It was proving mobile and unpredictable, however. Some observers had enjoyed only brief flight views as it quartered the marsh, others had managed more regular and closer encounters, while some could spend hours watching without seeing it at all.

We decided on an early start on Saturday morning and made our way there without stopping. As we approached the car park, we could see a line of birders gathered along Marine Drive, apparently looking intently towards the marsh, looking through scopes, binoculars, and cameras. We wondered if we'd arrived just in time, but checking BirdGuides once we reached the car park revealed that they had likely been watching a short-eared owl. Looking at the photographs later, it was clear that they had enjoyed some remarkably good views.

We got our kit ready and chatted to a chap in the car park, wondering whether he was local and might have some useful intelligence on where best to view from, given that recent reports had come from several points along Marine Drive. As it turned out, he was a birder from the Bristol area, Tom Cutter, who spends much of his time birding at RSPB Ham Wall. We may well have crossed paths with him on previous visits there, although neither of us could be certain. He was certainly hard to miss, being considerably taller than six feet.

Tom also knew Kev's sister Karen and her partner Dean from his time birding at Ham Wall, which gave us an immediate connection and something to chat about before we headed out to look for the harrier.

From below the car park beside the sand works, we had an expansive view across the reserve. Beyond Marine Drive, the flat saltmarsh stretched away towards the Ribble, broken up by pools, ditches and patches of rough grass, with very little to obstruct the view. It was the sort of landscape where a harrier could appear almost anywhere, quartering low over the marsh before suddenly gaining height or dropping out of sight behind a bank or patch of vegetation. We stood scanning the open ground and distant pools, checking every harrier-sized shape and movement as birds rose from the marsh, while flocks of geese occasionally lifted into the air and settled again, predominantly pink-footed geese.

There were plenty of kestrels perched on posts and branches or hovering and hunting on the wing, along with the occasional distant marsh harrier, including both cream-crowned females and males. Snipe, linnets and meadow pipits passed overhead, while a few stonechats worked the vegetation out in front of us. We scanned the marsh, chatted and kept an eye on what distant groups of birders were watching, hoping that their attention might give us some clue as to where the pallid harrier might appear.

After a while, we decided to head back towards the car park and then out along Marine Drive to see what other viewpoints might be available and where the other birders had settled. We soon found a large group looking intently towards the far right of the marsh and decided to join them. They hadn’t seen anything more than we had, though, and there was still no news of the pallid harrier. That said, there was a distant view of a female merlin, and it’s always a good day when you’ve seen one of these. Unfortunately, it was far too distant for either a video or a photograph.

After a while, Tom crouched down low but continued scanning with his binoculars. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and announced that he had just seen a short-eared owl rise from the grass before almost immediately dropping back into cover. He didn't have a scope with him, just his camera and long lens, and asked if he could use mine to try to pick up the spot where he thought the owl had landed.

“Of course - be my guest.”

Within a couple of minutes, Tom stepped back and said that the bird was sitting right in the centre of the scope. He then moved across and did the same with Kev's scope. The owl was there, its domed head just visible above the grass, but it certainly wasn't an easy bird to pick out unless you already suspected something was there. Kev and I shared the scope views with others, helping them to get onto it and making sure to point out that Tom was the finder, not us.

After another half hour or so, the short-eared owl decided to relocate, giving us some lovely flight views before dropping back into the grass and disappearing once more. It wasn't completely out of view, though, as we could see birders further along Marine Drive with cameras raised, presumably enjoying better views from their position.

After another half hour, Kev decided to walk round and join them, while Tom and I stayed put, continuing to scan the marsh and chatting about birding, photography, blogging and the various places we post our photographs.

Tom said that he didn't post on X or Bluesky but was active on Instagram, where he posts as @exploretwentyfourseven - well worth a look. He also told me about a new project he had started, creating a birding and wildlife channel on YouTube Wildlife With Tom @Exploretwentyfourseven.

He'd only made three episodes so far, but if those are anything to go by, it's certainly worth subscribing and following along with his future adventures. He certainly seems to have the skills for it, both behind the camera and in front of it, with a natural personality that should work well.

After a while, we decided to pull stumps and make our way round to join Kev, who seemed to have settled into taking his own photographs. We thought we'd better go and spoil his fun. Looking out across the grassland, we initially couldn't see the owl at all; it was remarkably well camouflaged against its surroundings. Once it was pointed out, we had a much better chance of picking it up, although taking your eyes off it for even a moment meant another frustrating search to relocate it.

Eventually, the owl turned slightly side-on, and I managed to get a few shots with the camera, while Kev alternated between video and stills. After a while, the owl got up again, turned in the air and flew away from us, gradually increasing the distance before dropping back into the grass.

A few of the people around us followed its progress and appeared to get views as it went down, but after a quick chat, Kev and I decided to return to where we'd been earlier. Tom, meanwhile, decided to call it a day, with a considerably longer drive home ahead of him.

Kev and I decided to cross the road and see what the Visitor Centre had to offer. It seemed to be more of a hide than a conventional Visitor Centre, although there were a couple of portaloos, which was useful to know for the future. We spent a little time scanning the pools on the other side before making our way back towards the car, spotting a wall brown butterfly as it landed on the roadside verge.

Across the estuary we could see Lytham St Annes and Blackpool Tower beyond.

The plan now was to relocate to the main slipway at Southport beach, opposite Ocean Plaza, where twite are sometimes reported. It was probably still a little early to expect any this autumn, but there was always an outside chance, and even if we drew a blank, it would at least give us some reconnaissance for a possible trip later in the year.

However, just as I was putting my phone away, I checked BirdGuides and spotted a report from just 15 minutes earlier of a pallid harrier at RSPB Hesketh Out Marsh. Plans changed instantly. We headed back to the car and set off for Hesketh, only to bump into a couple of local birders who had also seen the report and were doing the same.

We all jumped into our cars, and we followed them towards the reserve. It turned out to be a considerably longer journey than I'd expected, but I suppose we had to negotiate the estuary edges. We jumped out of the car and hurried up the slope, hopeful that the bird might still be showing.

As we joined the line of birders, there was a familiar face among them - Tom, who had also spotted the report and decided to give it a go. Unfortunately, the news from those already there wasn't encouraging. There had been no further views, and none of the birders present had seen the bird themselves. We joined them in scanning the marsh, picking out a chap in the distance who appeared to be carrying out some sort of survey, clipboard in hand.

There were other raptors to keep us occupied - buzzards, marsh harriers and kestrels - but no sign of the pallid harrier. One of the kestrels eventually landed in a tree behind us, and I couldn't resist taking a photograph.

After another hour or more, we finally had to admit defeat. We said our goodbyes and all made our way back to the cars for the journey home. No doubt we'll bump into Tom again on future visits to RSPB Ham Wall, and in the meantime we can follow his exploits through his YouTube channel.

Halfway home, Kev checked BirdGuides and spotted a report of a pallid harrier at Belmont Reservoir, east of where we'd been. Could it be our bird? It was only about a 50-minute drive from RSPB Marshside, but by then it was possibly even further from where we were - and, unfortunately, in completely the wrong direction.

There was nothing we could do about it now, so we continued home, hoping that we'd get another chance to connect with the pallid harrier on another day.

Year list: 295 (mine) - BUBO: 290.

Pennington & Stanpit Marshes, Winterbourne Downs :: 26 September 2026

In the search for new birds to add to the year list, the semipalmated sandpiper at Pennington Marsh was right at the top of the list. On Thursday evening, Kev @kev07713 got in touch to say that he’d realised the bird wasn’t on his wife’s life list, so they were planning to visit on Friday. Unfortunately, I already had a few things organised and wouldn’t be able to join them.

They had a great day, managing not only to see the sandpiper but also to visit and tick a Lapland bunting and saw both white-tailed eagles and ospreys - the location for viewing the eagles and ospreys had been suggested by our friend David South @davidso55441100. On Friday evening, Kev got back in touch to ask whether I was planning to head down to Hampshire on Saturday, as David was keen to go and see the eagles and ospreys himself, as well as the sandpiper and anything else that might be on offer.

I said that I was going, and it was agreed that Kev would join David and I. With plenty to look forward to, we planned to set off bright and early.

Pennington Marshes form part of the extensive Lymington and Keyhaven Marshes on the Hampshire coast, a mixture of grazing marsh, saltmarsh, mudflats and saline lagoons that is renowned for its birdlife. One of the most productive areas is Fishtail Lagoon, which lies immediately inside the sea wall and can be viewed from the Solent Way. A large island in the centre provides a nesting site for birds such as avocets, while the shallow margins of the lagoon can attract a variety of waders, wildfowl and terns. With its combination of muddy edges, shallow water and surrounding marsh, Fishtail is also the sort of habitat that can produce scarce passage waders, making it an obvious place to check during likely passage events.

We stopped for a comfort break and a spot of breakfast before deciding whether to make a detour to look for a Lapland bunting before heading on to try for the semipalmated sandpiper. With no report available yet to guide us, we decided to make our way straight to the rarer species.

We arrived at the car park to find it already full, but fortunately there was just enough room to pull in at the side of the road while still allowing other vehicles to pass. There was also good news on the BirdGuides news service confirming that the semipalmated sandpiper was still present, so we hurried from the car park towards the sea wall to see if we could connect with the bird. Having already been flushed from the pools on two previous occasions/days, once by a sparrowhawk and once by a peregrine, there was certainly no guarantee that it would still be there - it had gone awol for 4 hours the previous day.

As we approached the sea wall, we spotted what looked like our bird in the shallow pool and, sure enough, a few people were already taking photographs. Within a couple of minutes, another small wader joined it, but both birds suddenly took to the air and flew away towards Butts Lagoon. Apparently, a peregrine had been seen back towards the car park, which may well have been the reason for their sudden departure. After such a promising start, we were going to have to check that the semipalmated sandpiper was still there. Thankfully, we needn’t have worried, as it was soon located at the back edge of the water on Butts Lagoon, where it was associating with a little stint. Kev picked up a bearded tit after hearing it call, although Dave and I couldn’t manage to get onto it. We all did, however, get good views of a Cetti’s warbler as it called and then relocated nearby.

We followed the two birds as they fed, occasionally chatting with each other and with a couple of the birders nearby, until they suddenly got up and relocated back into Fishtail Lagoon, this time further along the sea wall. We followed a group of birders ahead of us along the lower path beneath the sea wall and soon found the birds feeding much closer. We all crouched down to get views through and over the fence, with the two birds still largely associating with one another. For me, the best photographs were those that captured the reflections in the still water. As we watched the birds, we were joined by Trevor Ellery @ElleryTrev16932, who had made the journey back after returning home the previous day when it appeared that the bird had departed. Having heard the news that it had returned, he was back again and had managed to catch up with it.

The semipalmated sandpiper is a scarce North American visitor to Britain, with most British records occurring during the autumn migration period. Although it occurs regularly enough to be firmly established on the British List, it remains a bird that most birders will encounter only rarely - the first documented British record was in Norfolk in 1953. This individual was a juvenile, its fresh, neatly patterned upperparts giving it a distinctly scaly appearance, contrasting with its clean white underparts.

From time to time, I found myself following the little stint as the two birds worked their way along the water’s edge, generally feeding from left to right, with one sometimes taking the lead before the other caught up. The little stint appeared smaller than the semipalmated sandpiper, with a tiny, fine black bill and dark legs. Its upperparts were intricately marked, with pale feather fringes creating the distinctive pale lines, or ‘tramlines’, down the back, while the underparts were clean white. It moved quickly along the water’s edge, constantly feeding, running a few steps before stopping to pick at the muddy margin. Having the two birds together made the difference in size and structure particularly obvious, although both were remarkably small waders.

I turned to rejoin Kev and David, only to find Kev chatting with Alan Boddington @alanbodd, a birder from nearby us in Warwickshire who we regularly bump into around home, as well as at birding sites further afield. It’s always good to see a familiar face further from home, and after catching up for a while, Alan headed off to get some closer photographs and videos of the birds.

On the Solent side of the sea wall we could see so many grey mullets, some adults and some fry. They can often be seen moving through the shallows or breaking the surface as they feed. The extensive network of tidal creeks, lagoons and mudflats around Lymington and Keyhaven provides ideal habitat for fish, and the abundance of marine life is one of the reasons the area attracts such a wealth of birdlife. The Isle of Wight provides some shelter from the full force of the English Channel, allowing fine sediments to accumulate and creating the shallow, productive waters and mudflats that are characteristic of the Solent coast.

After a quick discussion, we decided to move on and head for Stanpit Marsh, as the latest reports were still negative for the local Lapland bunting near Southampton. When we reached the car park to leave, we found Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby just arriving and parking up. We offered them our spot, as the space they had managed to find was particularly tight, making it difficult for cars parked opposite to manoeuvre out. This meant a quick repack of the car and a brief chat with Nick and Anne before we set off again. It was then that we discovered the phone signal was rather patchy, and eventually we had to rely on Kev’s phone to get us the directions we needed.

Stanpit Marsh lies at the northern end of Christchurch Harbour, where the Avon and Stour meet before making their way out towards the sea. The reserve is a mixture of saltmarsh, reedbeds, wet grassland, pools and tidal creeks, with the changing water levels constantly altering the appearance of the site. It is a particularly good place for waders, with the muddy margins and shallow pools providing feeding habitat for both resident birds and migrants.

The views across the marsh are extensive, with Christchurch Harbour and Hengistbury Head providing a backdrop beyond the pools and channels. At the right time of year, the open habitat can produce a good variety of passage birds, while the reedbeds and surrounding scrub add the possibility of something different. Like many coastal sites, Stanpit is a place where patience can pay off, with the birds often spread across a surprisingly large area and conditions changing as the tide moves through the harbour.

We joined a large group of birders gathered at the BCP Raptor Watch, who initially had their attention focused away from the Solent as they followed a glossy ibis moving around the marsh. We soon discovered that the largest contingent were members of the Christchurch Harbour Ornithological Group (CHOG), who were on an organised visit. We were told that the pair of white-tailed eagles had arrived at around 9.30am and had already spent at least ninety minutes on the East Marsh.

With David regularly taking to the water in his kayak, we were aware of the presence of several kayakers inside the yellow buoys around Stanpit and that they could potentially cause some disturbance. The eagles, however, appeared completely unperturbed, remaining settled on the marsh and occasionally preening.

The white-tailed eagles are part of the ongoing reintroduction programme on the Isle of Wight, where young birds collected from wild nests in Scotland have been released since 2019. Once released, the eagles roam widely as they learn the landscape, and Christchurch Harbour has increasingly become a regular destination for some of them. Individual birds have been recorded around Stanpit for several years, with a pair now making increasingly regular visits to the harbour and surrounding marshes. The presence of the pair was therefore no longer quite the unexpected event it would once have been, although seeing two of Britain's largest birds of prey settled together was still an impressive sight.

Although there was a significant amount of heat haze, views through the scope were still good, and we were able to share them with a couple of people who had either binoculars or cameras but not both. The haze is particularly noticeable in the videos below and reflected the conditions, with the day feeling more like the height of summer than late September.

We were scanning the marsh and out on the water when a shout went up that the eagles had taken off - we'd missed that. They flew along the channel in front of the houses, and you could see residents and birders watching them from the opposite side. Now in the air, their sheer size became even more apparent. They flew with broad, powerful wings held almost flat, the long, wide wings and projecting head giving them a very distinctive silhouette. Their flight was surprisingly effortless for such large birds, with long glides punctuated by slow, deep wingbeats. As they circled over the marsh, their white tails were clearly visible against the darker plumage, while the sheer breadth of their wings made them unmistakable even at distance. Watching the pair together, effortlessly gaining height before gliding over the marsh and the harbour, was an impressive sight.

They eventually climbed high enough that taking any more photographs seemed rather pointless, so we resumed scanning the waders around the water’s edge, across the marsh and along the field margins. There were good numbers of little egrets, with more than 20 present, along with at least nine grey herons, most of which were roosting rather than feeding. The grassier areas held plenty of curlews and bar-tailed godwits, giving us plenty to keep checking through as we continued to scan the marsh.

Overhead a glossy ibis flew by giving great views and is apparently a new arrival at the site that day. The glossy ibis has become an increasingly familiar sight in Britain. Once a genuine rarity, its numbers have risen considerably since the turn of the century, mirroring a major expansion of the species across western Europe. The first confirmed British breeding took place in Cambridgeshire in 2022, when a pair successfully raised a chick, and the species is now regarded as a colonising breeder.

The scale of the change was highlighted dramatically in September 2025, when an unprecedented influx saw hundreds of glossy ibises arrive across Britain and Ireland. With birds now being seen regularly at wetlands across the country, encounters with them no longer carry quite the rarity value they once did, although seeing them remains a memorable part of any visit.

We had already seen a single osprey pass through earlier, followed by a couple working their way up and down the coast. As we turned and started back towards the car park, however, one returned and, rather than simply passing through, appeared to be actively fishing offshore. We made our way back to our original position and watched as it worked steadily further from the shore, searching the water below.

Then it suddenly dropped into the sea. When it emerged, it was carrying a fish, and fortunately it began flying back towards the shore, giving us several passes as it carried what appeared to be a grey mullet. It looked to be a sizeable fish, and the osprey seemed to be working hard to carry it towards the coast, occasionally being mobbed a a couple of gulls.

With autumn migration well underway, the ospreys won't be staying for much longer. Having spent the summer in Britain, they will soon begin their journeys south, eventually reaching their wintering grounds in West Africa. In Hampshire, ospreys can remain into October, so the birds we were watching at Stanpit were taking advantage of the rich feeding opportunities around the harbour before setting off on their migration.

We prepared to leave, and from where we stood, as well as along the walk back, we picked out a selection of smaller birds including pipits, linnets, reed buntings and stonechats.

As we passed the Visitor Centre, we looked back towards the marsh and Kev pointed out a sun halo above us. A large, faint ring of light surrounded the sun, suspended against the sky. It is apparently caused by sunlight passing through millions of tiny ice crystals in high, thin cloud, with the hexagonal crystals refracting the light to create the circular halo. The effect was surprisingly obvious, occasionally showing a hint of colour around its inner edge. Against the intense late-September sunshine, it added another striking feature to a day that had already felt more like midsummer.

Kev was already armed with an explanation of how it formed, having read about sun halos recently.

We made it back to the car and discussed what to do next, conscious that the Lapland bunting had still not been located. Our friend Bryan Manston had warned us that there could be traffic problems on the route back, suggesting that travelling via Salisbury might be the better option. With that in mind, we decided to head through Wiltshire and make a stop at RSPB Winterbourne Downs, where we could try for some stone curlews. David had never seen one, so it seemed like a worthwhile addition to the day.

We arrived at the site and parked up where we had earlier in the year and set off up the track to view across the fields. The site was a complete change of habitat from the coastal marshes we had left behind. The reserve sits within the rolling chalk country of Wiltshire, with wide, open fields of restored chalk grassland stretching across the downland. Formerly agricultural fields, much of the site has been transformed into wildlife-rich grassland, with fallow plots and areas of sparsely vegetated ground providing the open, bare conditions favoured by stone curlews.

By late September, the site has taken on its autumn character and was very different from the habitats we had encountered earlier in the day. The grassland looked dry and somewhat parched beneath the strong sunshine, while the open landscape was broken by hedgerows and substantial areas of scrub. The carefully managed plots provided ideal habitat for stone curlews preparing for their autumn migration, but the birds could be remarkably difficult to pick out, even when they were standing in the open only a short distance away.

Initially, we began to doubt whether we would find any, but then, in a green crop in the distance, we spotted one, then a second and then a third. Through the scopes we could make them out, although they were distant and the heat haze was very strong. As we continued scanning the area, the number steadily increased until we had counted 17 individuals. We could also occasionally hear others calling from the field on the other side of the trees, although the ground there was almost completely covered in scrub and there would have been little chance of seeing them. How many are present is unknown but the 17 is very much a low estimate.

The latest RSPB article, published 25 September, confirms that the reserve had eight breeding pairs in 2026, but doesn't give the September post-breeding total. Interestingly, an RSPB local-group page says 30+ stone curlews have been seen at Winterbourne Downs in recent years so there could be many more than those we saw.

We packed up and made our way back to the car, bringing what had been a fantastic day of birding to an end. It had been a rewarding trip, with plenty of memorable birds, some excellent views and a good mix of species including a new bird on my year list. The drive home was thankfully straightforward, and we made good time, giving us plenty of opportunity to reflect on everything we had managed to see during a very enjoyable day out.

Year list: 294.