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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year list: 213.

A day in North Wales :: 30 March 2026

With the clocks having moved forward an hour on Sunday, we were able to enjoy a lie-in, until around 2.30–2.45am and still arriving in North Wales in time for a black grouse lek at about 6.00am, with sunrise due at 6.42am - even allowing for a breakfast stop along the way. This has become something of an annual pilgrimage, though always a long day, as we planned to continue birding after the grouse before making the lengthy drive back to Banbury.

I picked up Kev @kev07713 at around 3.20am and we headed towards the lek site, stopping a few hundred metres short to get ourselves organised in the car - cameras ready, binoculars to hand, and coffee poured - positioning ourselves so we could both watch from the driver’s side, which offered the best view of the display area. Opening the doors revealed not the gentle breeze that had been forecast, but a stiff, biting wind that almost held them shut. Once outside, my hat was immediately snatched from my head by a sudden gust - fortunately, I have the reactions of a cat 😜 and managed to catch it before it disappeared down the slope.

We pulled in at the roadside to find two cars already parked ahead of us, leaving space for perhaps only one more vehicle behind without blocking the track for passing traffic. It was still dark but as we lowered the windows, we could hear the black grouse and just make out their shapes on the slope - seven birds in total. The wind made the air sharply cold; Kev pulled on his gloves while I zipped up my gilet. At least it wasn’t raining.

As the light slowly improved, we watched and counted again, only to realise that one bird appeared to have gone AWOL, leaving six remaining on the lek. There was still more than half an hour until sunrise, and with the slope backed by a hill, it would be at least fifteen minutes after sunrise before the sun finally crested the ridge and reached us.

A car pulled in behind us and in my rear view mirror I thought that the driver looked like Alan Boddington - likely my first and only positive ID of the day - Kev spun round on the back seats and confirmed that it was and sent him a message asking why he was so late and had needed a lie-in; Kev does like a bit of banter. We then settled down to watch the birds.

As the light strengthened, the black grouse on the lek became easier to watch in detail. These males stood out strikingly against the pale grass, their glossy blue-black plumage catching what little dawn light there was. Each bird held its lyre-shaped tail fanned wide, the white undertail coverts flashing whenever they turned or leapt into the air. The vivid red combs above their eyes glow as they postured and faced one another, heads lowered and wings drooped in exaggerated display.

From time to time, two birds would square up, circling stiff-legged before rushing together in a brief burst of energy, wings flapping and feet skittering across the turf. Between these confrontations they produced a constant chorus of bubbling, cooing calls interspersed with sharp hisses - sounds that carried clearly through the cold morning air.

As the light improved, the black grouse became increasingly active on the lek. The males spread themselves across the slope, each holding a small territory while keeping a wary eye on their neighbours. Much of the activity consisted of ritualised confrontation rather than outright conflict. Adjacent males edged closer in short, deliberate steps, circling one another before breaking into brief chases or rushing together in flurries of wingbeats and kicking feet. These encounters were usually short-lived, with both birds quickly returning to their chosen patches to resume displaying.

Meadow pipits lifted from the far side of the display area like back-garden fireworks, rising in gentle bursts before drifting slowly back down to the ground. Beyond the lek, an unlikely trio passed through - two mallards accompanied by a single male teal - while, in the distance, a lone male wheatear showed briefly.

After watching for a couple of hours, the van in front began manoeuvring to leave, which we took as our cue to do the same. As we pulled out, the two cars behind shuffled forward to take the space we had been occupying. Ahead, another pair of vehicles were parked up overlooking the display area, partially blocking the road, while a car approaching from the opposite direction was forced to pull in so everyone could carefully rearrange and pass.

Once clear, we continued on, setting off in search of red grouse, hoping to find birds perched conspicuously on the heather as we followed the winding single-track road.

A little further along the moor we came across a pair of red grouse beside the roadside, the differences between the sexes immediately apparent. The male stood more boldly in the open feeding, rich chestnut plumage glowing warmly against the heather and his red eye combs giving him a fierce expression. Just behind, the female remained more subdued and cautious, her mottled brown plumage providing excellent camouflage as she fed quietly among the stems. While the male paused frequently to stand upright and scan his surroundings, the female kept lower to the ground, moving deliberately and blending into the moor.

Behind us, we noticed Alan following along the track, and as we pulled into a passing place to let them through, we stopped for a quick chat. They drove on about 100 metres before turning around and passing us again in the opposite direction, explaining that they were heading off to see the long-staying lesser yellowlegs at Rhyl. As we were thinking of doing the same, we agreed we would probably meet again there.

For now, though, we continued along the track in search of more red grouse, adding several more sightings - some reasonably close and others much farther out across the moor.

Along the way we encountered many more meadow pipits, along with skylarks and stonechats. By the time we reached the woods at the end of the track we were ready for another coffee, so we stopped to refill from our flasks, during which a red kite drifted overhead along with two peregrines.

From here, the SatNav on my phone suggested we could continue down the hill rather than retrace our route along the track. As we followed the road alongside a stream, it began to widen and, just as Kev was scanning ahead, a dipper flew upstream right on cue - at least for Kev, as I was concentrating on driving and keeping the car on the road. We quickly pulled over and jumped out to search upstream, but the bird had clearly travelled farther than we could reasonably see.

With that, we set off towards Rhyl.

We arrived at the suggested parking spot and were surprised not to see Alan’s car already there. Parking up, we set off along the footpath towards the riverbank. Gulls and geese stood the fields on either side, while a pair of stonechats flicked up and down along the hedge, the male seemingly escorting us as we made the fairly long walk to the water’s edge.

On arrival, it became clear that the wind here was just as strong, and I quickly realised I should probably have swapped my baseball cap for a woolly hat before setting out. Across the water were scattered gulls, cormorants, black-tailed godwits and a couple of oystercatchers. Kev scanned to our right and picked out many more black-tailed godwits, along with redshank, additional gulls, and a couple of dunlins.

Looking back down the track, we could see Alan approaching with a group of eleven other birders - all volunteers from Warwickshire Wildlife Trust’s Brandon Marsh reserve. They soon joined us scanning the area, and Kev added two sandwich terns to the steadily growing species list. Before long we upped sticks and continued along the footpath towards the spot where Alan had seen the lesser yellowlegs on his previous visit, and where the pinned location suggested it should be.

Before we even reached the area, Alan was already standing with binoculars raised, having relocated the bird. Scopes were quickly set up on tripods while those with cameras attempted record shots of this first-winter individual. The lesser yellowlegs showed well, albeit on the far bank - a delicate and elegant wader. Its first-winter plumage appeared neat and subtly patterned, with soft grey-brown upperparts edged pale, creating a gently scaled effect across the back and wings. The underparts were clean white, marked only by light streaking across the breast, lacking the heavier patterning of breeding adults.

Its long, bright yellow legs stood out even at distance against the muted mud and pale grass. The bill was fine, straight and entirely dark, reinforcing the bird’s dainty structure. Feeding actively and purposefully along the water’s edge, it picked briskly with quick, precise movements while remaining constantly alert.

At times it paused upright, revealing its elegant proportions - long-necked, slim-bodied and slightly attenuated towards the rear - before resuming its steady feeding. At one point the bird flew out over the water and briefly looked as though it might land on our side of the river, only to change its mind and return to the opposite bank, perhaps wisely deciding against settling alongside fourteen eager birders.

Kev and I weren’t quite sure what to do next, but while chatting with the Brandon Marsh group they mentioned they were planning to head to the Great Orme in search of chough - Alan confidently remarking that he had never failed to see them there, a bold claim. It sounded too good an opportunity to miss, and as neither Kev nor I had visited before, it also offered the chance to gather some useful intelligence for future trips.

Birding at the Great Orme has a distinctive feel, the open limestone headland rising above the sea with sweeping views in every direction. The short, grazed turf and rocky slopes create ideal habitat for coastal specialists, and even on a windy day like today there always seems to be movement. Jackdaws and crows drifted effortlessly along the cliff edge, occasionally tumbling in display, while a handful of gulls wheeled below against the backdrop of the Irish Sea.

The main attraction, however, was the chough. We made our way to the car park at the top, where Kev went to buy a parking ticket while I scanned the surrounding fields from beside the car. Almost immediately, I spotted three choughs feeding on the slope below. When Kev returned, we grabbed his scope and headed down the hillside to close at least half the distance.

The three choughs moved across the slopes with buoyant, elastic flight, their glossy black plumage flashing in the sunlight and their long red bills and legs standing out vividly whenever they landed. They fed by probing the short turf, sometimes disappearing briefly into dips in the ground before reappearing further along the hillside, calling with their distinctive ringing notes that carried clearly on the wind.

Reaching a vantage point opposite the birds, we stopped to scan, and before long the Brandon Marsh birders appeared, making their way down to join us. Shortly afterwards, three more choughs flew in and briefly joined the original trio. Having enjoyed good views, and after being thoroughly buffeted by the wind, we decided we’d seen enough, excused ourselves, and headed back up to the café for a sandwich lunch.

After lunch we returned to the car park, where we found some of the Brandon Marsh birders finishing a packed lunch beside their cars. Alan, it seemed, had already moved on, heading down to the cliffs in search of black guillemots - a species he remarked he had missed there only once. Kev still needed the bird for his year list, so we decided to join them, and one of the chaps kindly offered to lead the way if we followed his car.

We soon arrived at the walled cliff edge and looked out over the sea, with Alan commenting on how unusually quite it was on the water was compared to his previous visits. Overhead, a couple of choughs passed through, announcing their presence with their distinctive calls.

We began scanning the water more carefully, working slowly across the surprisingly calm sea in the hope of picking something out. The chap standing next to me mentioned he thought he had a diver far out in front of us - a red-throated diver. It didn’t take long to locate it through the scope, the bird sitting low in the water as it preened before drifting steadily farther from the shore with the gentle swell.

The sea felt unusually quiet, with little surface activity, though occasional gannets passed through in ones and twos, powering low over the water on stiff wings. They appeared to be travelling rather than feeding, continuing purposefully along the coastline without pausing to plunge-dive. Every so often we rescanned the same stretch of water, hoping a black guillemot might suddenly appear among the ripples, the anticipation keeping everyone fixed to their scopes despite the persistent wind.

We could find singles and pairs of common guillemots but none of their cousins - a shame but there was little activity on the water, and we'd given it a good try. On the cliffs were both shag and cormorants, joined by a couple of fulmars. Several fulmars circled effortlessly on stiff, outstretched wings, barely seeming to move as they rode the updrafts rising from the rock below. They glided back and forth, tilting subtly to adjust to the wind, giving distant scope views of their pale grey backs and clean white heads.

From time to time, one would angle towards a narrow ledge, lowering its feet and fluttering briefly as if preparing to land. For a moment it appeared committed, wings half-folded as it touched down, only to change its mind almost immediately. With a quick push and a few shallow wingbeats, the bird dropped away from the rock face and was instantly airborne again, swept outward by the wind before resuming its effortless circling.

This tentative settling seemed repeated again and again - approach, hover, land, then abandon the attempt within seconds - as though the birds were constantly reassessing the ledges in the shifting gusts, never quite satisfied before taking once more to the air.

Alan and the rest of the Brandon Marsh birders began packing up after watching a rock pipit on the rocks behind us, mentioning they were off to continue birding elsewhere. Kev and I stayed a little longer, but we didn’t manage to add anything more to our day list, and eventually set off on the nearly four-hour journey back home. Traffic in Banbury was disrupted by a couple of collisions on the main road from the motorway, delaying our arrival by an additional half hour. It had been a long day, but a thoroughly enjoyable one.

Year list: 210.