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.

Hunting for woodlark :: 26-27 March 2026

Kev @kev07713 and I discussed possible options for a birding trip on Thursday, but with nothing particularly standing out, we settled on a visit to Greenham Common to target woodlark, with the hope of also finding a few wheatears. We decided to skip breakfast enroute and instead planned to pick something up later in the morning at the Control Tower café.

We arrived at the entrance to the car park to find a barrier down across the road - something neither of us remembered from previous early visits. A quick check online confirmed that the main Control Tower car park opens at 8am daily, with closing times ranging from 4pm in winter to 9pm in summer. As we were too early, we turned around at the roundabout and headed back to a layby we’d noticed on the way in, where there was just enough space to park alongside the two cars already there.

Next to the layby, a gate leads directly onto the common, and as we began pulling on our gear, two dog walkers came through. As we set off, Kev spotted a pair of bullfinches in a tree ahead, a species I had managed to miss so far this year, making them my first year tick of the day.

We set off down the path with song and mistle thrushes around us, while the call of a fieldfare alerted us to one passing overhead. A green woodpecker called from behind, and we watched as it flew past and landed in a nearby tree. Its flight was characteristically undulating, often described as bounding or roller-coaster-like, rising on a series of wingbeats before dipping into a glide. One of the most striking features was the flash of colour, the bright yellow rump glowing as it flew away, catching our eye before the rest of the bird could be seen clearly.

Stonechats bounced along the tops of the gorse, and Kev picked up what we initially thought was the pale front of a distant fieldfare — but closer inspection revealed a wheatear, which soon became two after another appeared nearby.

The return of wheatears to the UK in March is one of the classic early signs of spring migration, as they are among the first long-distance migrants to arrive back from Africa. UK wheatears spend the winter in sub-Saharan Africa before migrating thousands of kilometres north each spring to breeding areas across Britain. Many birds seen in March are passage migrants, briefly stopping in lowland fields, coastal grassland, heathland and commons before continuing north, with the earliest arrivals typically dominated by males racing ahead to secure territories before females follow in April.

We reached the denser gorse at the western end of the site, watching and listening for woodlarks, having seen them in this area on previous visits. Instead, we began hearing Dartford warblers and managed brief views of a couple, though they never stayed in the open long enough for a photograph.

We turned and began heading eastwards, picking up calls from our right - this time chiffchaffs and greenfinches. We continued listening carefully along the treeline in the hope of our first willow warbler of the year, but there was still no sign of one.

Stonechats were ever-present, almost always in pairs, as we continued scanning the sky and listening carefully. Then, as we reached a point due south of the Control Tower, we heard the distinctive call of a woodlark. Kev quickly picked it up in the sky, and we watched as it dropped down to the ground, though at quite some distance.

We carried on to the central crossing back toward the café side but paused again when another Dartford warbler began calling from the gorse. This time we enjoyed slightly longer views, enough for a couple of photos, although the bird never fully came into the open. It then slipped out the back and landed on an almost bare vertical branch, pausing just long enough for another shot, albeit from farther away.

I love these little Dartford warblers - proper bird rock stars, full of attitude and energy, perched on top of gorse with that spiky tail, slate-grey head and deep wine-red chest, looking like the coolest thing on the heath ... before diving back into cover the moment you raise the camera.

We decided to walk down the central gravel path, having heard another woodlark call and hoping we might get closer views than earlier. We spotted a few dog walkers and timed our progress along the path to give ourselves the best chance of encountering the woodlarks - and it paid off.

We soon saw and heard one bird, watching as it dropped to the ground just 10 m from the path, while another remained high in the sky behind. We managed a few photos before the first bird moved along the track from where we had come. We followed and repositioned ourselves, getting a better angle for more shots.

These elusive, ground-nesting birds are typically found in open heathland, short grass, and recently disturbed sandy or gravelly areas, all of which are abundant on Greenham Common. Across the UK, there are over 3,300 pairs, mainly inhabiting open, dry heathlands and woodland edges, with key populations in the New Forest, Breckland, and Dorset. While they can occasionally be seen outside the breeding season, they are most notable in February and March. Primarily resident, woodlarks feed on seeds and insects, though they often move onto farmland stubbles during autumn and early winter.

After a few minutes, Kev noticed someone approaching from our left - a dog walker. I assumed they would stick to the gravel path, as the signs instructed, but he and a woman behind him were walking along the grass track currently being used by our bird. Unsurprisingly, the woodlark was soon flushed and flew off.

We spoke to the walkers about staying on the designated tracks, especially as many birds are now setting up nesting sites. Rather than being apologetic, they insisted there were no nesting birds and that walking on the grass was easier than the paths. Clearly, some monitoring of visitor behaviour is needed, as we’ve previously seen dogs chasing birds and even muntjac across the site, seemingly unaware of the stress they cause to the wildlife. Having the dogs on leads might also help.

We heard a sandpiper call and looked up to see a common sandpiper fly overhead and away - our first of the year.

After this success, we made our way to the café for a late breakfast and to plan our next move. We decided to head back north and stop at Farmoor Reservoir. Before leaving, we spotted another two pairs of bullfinches and had another look at the wheatears, now seeing three in total, two males and a female.

We arrived at Farmoor Reservoir and walked along the causeway between F1 and F2, hoping for a glimpse of an osprey or even a swallow, but neither appeared although both have started to be reported from here - three sand martins flew through. However, we did find a lone dunlin feeding on the north side of the causeway. We later learned it had arrived on the south side around 9.30am but had moved onto the north side about an hour later - a very pale individual.

We reached the end of the causeway without spotting anything else and stopped at the west end for a while and were entertained by a pair of grey wagtails. There were an increasing number of boats on F2, so we decided to complete a circuit round F1 where there were more trees and potential for a willow warbler.

We continued our walk and came across a pair of goldeneyes, but I didn’t manage a photo as I was on a call with Audi to confirm a garage visit for the following day. Kev, meanwhile, captured a rather nice shot of the birds flying off while I was otherwise occupied. Among the handful of tufted ducks on the water was the long-staying greater scaup.

While we were standing by the ducks, a birder pushing a pram went past and paused ahead to scan the trees. When we reached the rough area, we heard a brief call from a willow warbler but couldn’t locate the bird or hear it again - we’ll have to wait for another opportunity to add it to our year list, though I’m sure we’ll get one soon.

We heard the call of a great spotted woodpecker and soon saw it leave a tree, flying along the edge of the woodland parallel to the houses beyond.

We reached the Visitor Centre and stopped for lunch, sitting down beside the birder who had been pushing the pram earlier. He was visiting from Wiltshire for the day and hadn’t seen the dunlin when he crossed the causeway, though he did spot a distant bird diving and wondered whether it might have been a diver - he also considered it may just have been a cormorant. He mentioned that he too had heard the willow warbler and managed a fleeting view. After lunch, he headed off along the causeway to look for the dunlin and make a circuit of F2.

On our way home, we saw updates on the Oxfordshire WhatsApp group reporting a juvenile great northern diver and a sanderling at Farmoor. One birder had a photo of the diver, and another reported seeing the sanderling, though others couldn’t locate it - perhaps it was just making a brief stop, as the pram-pushing birder hadn’t seen that earlier either. The great northern diver was a miss for us, likely diving distantly on F2, and as we weren’t scanning for anything specifically, we didn’t spot it. A shame, as they are magnificent birds, though we’ve had a few this year already. We’ve also enjoyed great views of this species at Farmoor in the past, most notably in January 2022 - report here.

The next day I was scheduled to drop my car at Newbury Audi for diagnostics on the software - my SatNav is now consistently showing incorrect locations, even though the GPS on the car reports the correct position on my Audi phone app. The car is also reporting altitudes between 7,500 and 18,000 feet above sea level and repeatedly claimed it couldn’t read the traffic speed signs. Clearly, there were some communication issues between the systems and the MMI.

I arranged to borrow a courtesy car and, once booked in, made my way to Acres Down in Hampshire for a walk to pass the time. On arrival, I realised I probably should have checked the weather forecast first, as a gentle drizzle was falling - one that looked likely to persist, though the forecast suggested it might stay light enough for a walk.

The last time Kev and I visited a few weeks earlier, we had headed south-east from the car park in search of woodlarks, so this time I set off along the trail in a north-westerly direction to see what might be about. I stopped at the tree where good views of lesser spotted woodpecker are sometimes had, though they are usually seen earlier in the morning. After pausing for a few minutes, I moved around the corner to check another tree where a tawny owl is occasionally found.

As I stood there, a woodpecker began drumming, but it was clearly a greater spotted rather than the hoped-for lesser - I walked back for a look anyway.

After a minute or so, a second great spotted woodpecker dropped onto the tree, called, and the pair soon flew off together. I waited a few more minutes before heading back around the corner.

As I watched the trees, a couple of marsh tits and a coal tit caught my attention, hurrying through the fallen trees and along the branches above. Then, in the bracken to my right, I noticed a bird feeding and once I picked it up through my binoculars, I could see it was a firecrest. It moved quickly through the scrub at ground level before heading deeper into the trees and away from the track - I wasn’t about to follow. I saw and heard a few more as I continued along the paths, but for now there would be no chance of another decent photo.

I walked up the hill towards the trees and the ridge and noticed a couple of birds landing in the trees ahead. I suspect I had flushed them from the ground as I approached and raised my binoculars, I was delighted to find they were a pair of woodlarks. Within a minute or two they seemed to relax and dropped back down into the heather and scrub to feed.

Woodlarks at Acres Down are a regular and fairly reliable species, though they are not always easy to see, so knowing where and when to look makes all the difference. I followed at a respectful distance and watched the area where they were feeding, managing to take a few photographs.

On the ground is where woodlarks spend most of their time when they are not singing or displaying, as they are primarily ground foragers. They walked steadily through short grass and bare patches, stopping frequently to pick at food, probing lightly at the surface and occasionally flicking aside vegetation.

Their diet changes through the year. In spring and summer, during the breeding season, they feed mainly on invertebrates such as beetles, spiders, caterpillars, small larvae and ants. In autumn and winter, seeds and other plant material make up a larger part of their diet.

Eventually the birds moved on, and I decided to leave them from being disturbed any more, continuing along the track. The habitat to my right looked promising for Dartford warblers, a classic New Forest heathland species, with open heather slopes away from the dense woodland - although they appear to be less reliable at Acres Down.

Instead, from the opposite side of the track, where the vegetation thickened with trees tangled in ivy and holly bushes, I heard the calls of firecrest. Two birds zipped through the holly, moving restlessly from branch to branch. I tried to photograph them as they flicked through the foliage, but they refused to sit still long enough for a proper shot.

Then, fortuitously, one dropped onto a branch poking out from the side of the holly and paused for what felt like about ten seconds, just long enough to capture it as it seemed to consider its next move. The result was a series of photographs, all taken from the same perch before it vanished back into the holly and following another through the cover.

The rain briefly intensified, so I began making my way back towards the car to stop for some lunch. Passing an area where significant tree felling had taken place, I noticed a bird high on the bare vertical trunk of a remaining tree, too small to have been taken for timber. Through my binoculars I could see it was a common crossbill, and despite the light drizzle and gloomy conditions I managed to take a few photographs. As I did, a couple of females appeared, rising from the ground to lower perches to join the original bird. They did not stay for long before flying off up the slope and disappearing from view.

I returned to the car, had some lunch, and watched the raindrops fall ever harder, passing the time as a song thrush and a couple of robins foraged outside the rain-covered windows. Eventually, I headed back to the garage, only to learn that the diagnosis required a larger software update than could be completed in a single day. I would need to return and leave the car there for a couple of days, meaning a return to cruising with a ceiling of 7,500 feet and above.

Year list: 205.