Ups-and-downs, dips-and-lifers :: 02-06 May 2026

It had been a funny end to the week, with various appointments and events restricting me to little more than local birding, even as reports emerged of a tawny pipit at Landguard Observatory and Nature Reserve. By Saturday, Kev @kev07713 and I were heading east in the hope of connecting with the bird. With only around 10–12 individuals typically accepted each year in the UK, tawny pipit is now considered a national rarity. Although once a more regular visitor, its status has declined markedly in recent years, making this a potential lifer for both of us.

About 30 minutes from the site we pulled into a petrol station for a quick comfort break and a sandwich, keen not to lose time sitting down for breakfast somewhere. As we came back from paying, we heard the unmistakable song of a nightingale from behind a row of containers. Food and drinks were hastily abandoned in the car as we grabbed our binoculars and went in search of the bird.

The song was carrying well, and it didn’t take long to work out where it was, although the bird itself was buried deep within the centre of a tall, leafy bush. After a few minutes it climbed higher and briefly poked its head into view before slipping back into cover - Kev saw the bird but I managed to miss it. It continued singing for a while longer before flying between this and another patch of dense vegetation. The song then fell silent, but a couple of minutes later the bird returned to the original bush and began singing again.

We waited in the hope of something better than a flight view, but eventually the bird moved farther away and resumed singing well in front of us, at which point we decided to continue our journey.

Back in the car it wasn’t long before we reached the car park, paid, and began unpacking our optics and changing into walking boots when we noticed another birder approaching. As he drew nearer, he called out, "Hello Kyle" - it was Matt Dineen, whom I’d met in East Lothian a few weeks earlier while watching the black-throated thrush. He did well to recognise me; I have aged since then 😂.

We asked whether there had been any sign of the tawny pipit, as there had been no positive reports by that stage. Matt said he was heading off for breakfast after unsuccessful searches by himself and all the birders on site despite a thorough effort. The bird had apparently been favouring the approach to the end roped-off area first thing in the morning before regularly relocating into the roped-off section itself later on. With no sign of it, birders had begun spreading out and walking circuits of the area in the hope that someone would relocate it, but so far nobody had managed to do so.

We walked out onto the reserve and crossed to the far side of the grassy field, passing through scattered gorse before stopping at the ropes put in place to protect the ground-nesting birds. From there we began scanning the area, picking out woodpigeons, linnets, and a red-legged partridge within the roped-off section, while the gorse held blackbirds, whitethroats, more linnets, and several blue and great tits.

Working the area carefully with scopes and binoculars, we searched across the grassland and soon found two wheatears and a pair of yellow wagtails, along with more linnets, house sparrows, two ringed plovers, and several pied wagtails. Overhead, two shelducks circled briefly before dropping in nearby.

Singles and small groups of birders were scattered across the site, all scanning intently and trying to relocate the tawny pipit, which had been confirmed going to roost the previous evening. Despite the effort, things were beginning to look rather unpromising. We joined the search, methodically covering the area before eventually gravitating towards the spot where the bird had been showing most regularly over the previous few days.

Out over the sea we could hear the calls of Mediterranean gulls, but on the grassland we continued to find only the same species we had picked up earlier. Another birder approached and turned out to be Oli Beacock @olibeacock.bsky.social, who was also searching for the pipit. He had arrived before us, checked this area thoroughly, and completed two wide circuits of the site, but had also drawn a blank.

We chatted for a while before he headed off - he was planning to call in at RSPB Minsmere on his way home unless news of something else broke. Before long we too were making our way back towards the car, as many of the other birders had already done. With no sign of the tawny pipit since first light, despite birders searching continuously through the morning, it increasingly felt as though the bird had moved on.

We passed by the fort and headed down towards the shore, where we soon noticed a line of birders with binoculars and cameras raised. Joining them, we discovered that the focus of attention was not the tawny pipit, but a woodlark feeding on a stony patch of grass just above the shoreline.

Woodlarks are always a pleasure to see, though on this occasion there was a slight sense of disappointment as, for a moment, our hopes had been raised. After feeding briefly, the bird took off strongly, flew some distance away, and then returned within a couple of minutes.

With the tawny pipit seemingly gone, we decided to look elsewhere for something to salvage the day and made our way back to the car.

On the walk back to the car we looked out across the rooftops of the fort after someone mentioned there was a pair of black redstarts around. I soon spotted a bird fly across and land on a chimney stack. Raising my binoculars, I could see it was a female black redstart, and I quickly called Kev over so he could get onto it, and we could add it to the day list.

Although the black redstart was a nice bonus, Kev had also received an update from BirdGuides - a woodchat shrike had just been reported up the coast at Dunwich Heath NT, the very site where I had dipped the red-tailed shrike the previous year. Woodchat shrike has become something of a bogey bird for me; I’d already travelled to see one on four separate occasions and failed every time. Kev has grown rather weary of these unsuccessful quests and had previously vowed never to go for another one with me because he couldn’t face the disappointment again.

I turned to him and asked whether he fancied the roughly hour-long drive. Thankfully for me, he agreed - after all, what’s another dip between friends? Besides, I was driving, so I could always have taken him hostage and gone there anyway!

We pulled into the car park after a smooth drive and were greeted by glorious weather and a car park bursting at the seams. Kev wandered off to buy a parking ticket while I got myself organised and spoke to a few birders returning from the heath, who confirmed both where we needed to go and, more importantly, that the bird was still present.

When Kev returned, we headed down the path, only to encounter increasing numbers of birders walking back the other way. For a moment I feared the worst - surely, I couldn’t be unlucky enough to dip again? Thankfully they reassured us that the bird was still there, although distant and not ideal for photography.

Before long we reached the line of assembled birders and quickly got onto the woodchat shrike, perched on top of a distant gorse bush. Over the next half hour, it relocated several times, though it seemed faithful to the same general area, occasionally dropping to the ground before returning to the line of gorse.

Although distant, none of that mattered. I finally had my bird. The monkey was off my back - after four previous failures, woodchat shrike was at last a lifer.

Woodchat shrikes are considered a rare visitor to Britain, with most records involving spring overshoots or autumn migrants. They are recorded annually in small numbers, with typically around 20–60 individuals reported each year. Many are short-stayers, which is probably why I’d missed them previously. In the past I’d usually had to wait until Saturday to make the journey, only to find the bird had already moved on by then. It seems that with woodchat shrikes, if one turns up, you simply have to go immediately.

A first-year male woodchat shrike such as this can be a particularly attractive bird, showing a pleasing mix of immature and adult-like features. The most striking feature was the warm chestnut-rufous crown and nape which, although probably duller and less extensive than on a full adult male, looked superb to me.

We spent some time simply enjoying the bird and, before long, another familiar face joined us - Tom Hines @tomhines10, whom we occasionally bump into while out birding. He told us he had arrived the previous evening and had managed to connect with the tawny pipit before it disappeared, making the woodchat shrike an added bonus on his journey home. Conversation soon turned to the lesser kestrel that had just appeared in Cornwall, but Tom explained that he needed to be back home on Sunday and couldn’t face the prospect of a seven-hour drive from here, followed by the same journey back up to Sheffield. Instead, he planned to try and arrange some time off over the following few days.

I’d got my bird, and once again looking on BirdGuides we could see continuing reports of an Iberian chiffchaff not far down the road at Westleton Heath NNR. Although I’d already seen one in Durham back in April, Kev still needed it for the year list, and it’s never a disappointment to connect with one.

We returned to the car and drove the short distance, parking alongside another birder who turned out to be local and heading for the same spot. We followed him along the road, through a gate, and up a track towards a treeline bordering the heath. Along the way we met two birders just coming back who confirmed the bird was still present, and within moments we could hear it calling - unmistakeable.

Soon afterwards it showed, flitting frustratingly high in the canopy. We watched it for a while and were joined by another couple keen to tick the species, who added it to their lists before rushing off. Eventually, content with the views we’d had, we turned back and wandered down to the car.

Before we got very far Kev spun round to point out a woodlark perched on a low tree on the fenceline behind us. Two for the price of one today. It called repeatedly and we walked down the path until we were almost level with it. Soon it decided it was time to move on and flew back and away.

On the track I spotted a small butterfly with Kev and I stopping to take a look - a small copper butterfly. It appears Kev and I have started paying a bit more attention to them since seeing a green hairstreak last year, followed by our search for purple emperors. Not a minute later we saw another small species and this time we ID'd it as a small heath. This is an unobtrusive grassland butterfly that can be very easy to overlook, but it’s a great species for a heath if the conditions are right. It is one of the UK’s smallest butterflies, usually found flying low and fast over short vegetation rather than visiting flowers much. A key feature visible is the small, dark eyespot near the tip of the forewing, which is typical for this butterfly.

We returned to the car and crossed the road into the woodland opposite, beyond the Westleton Heath NNR car park, in search of nightingales. It wasn’t long before we were hearing several singing, and although we occasionally caught fleeting glimpses of birds in the bushes, none obliged with anything approaching a prolonged view or photo opportunity.

With nightingales, though, it is very much about the song, and we were content to stand and soak in the chorus from a handful of different individuals before heading back.

Back at the car park we bumped into Oli Beacock, who had remained in the area and also managed to connect with the woodchat shrike earlier. Soon after, it was time to pack up and begin the journey home.

After a rest on the bank holiday Sunday, I discussed the possibility of heading down for the lesser kestrel, but with Kev due to help his brother with work on Tuesday he wasn’t keen to travel on the Monday. Instead, he and his wife Karen planned to set off late on Tuesday morning and stay in Cornwall for Tuesday and Wednesday nights. I already had an evening appointment on Tuesday, so realistically the earliest I could join them would be Wednesday - the question was whether the bird would still be around by then.

On the bank holiday Monday, Charlotte was out playing pickleball in the morning, which gave me an opportunity to slip off to Farmoor Reservoir. The aim was twofold: to try for an Arctic tern, with a few having been reported moving through nearby sites over the previous couple of days, and to have another go at finding a grasshopper warbler, which had so far eluded me this year.

On the water there were just a couple of common terns, along with a few dozen swifts, a scattering of sand martins, and a couple of house martins - but no sign of any Arctic terns.

Out on the causeway I picked up a dunlin, which was associating with a sanderling that had been reported over recent days. Sanderlings are cracking little birds, and I always enjoy seeing them, especially when they’re in numbers on a beach, scurrying along the water’s edge, constantly in motion.

I didn’t wait long in the hope of Arctic terns and soon made my way down to the river, where whitethroats, sedge warblers and reed warblers were all in full song - but still no sign of a grasshopper warbler. The air was alive with noise, yet the distinctive reeling I was hoping for was absent.

I walked the river stretch back and forth a few times, even switching on the Merlin app in case I was simply missing it, but it confirmed there was nothing being picked up. After a good half hour, I caught sight of a bird dropping down on the far side of the river. It looked promising, so I focused my attention in that direction.

Eventually I picked it up, just perched above the reed line, and could see it was indeed a grasshopper warbler. I managed a few quick photos before it flew off to the left and dropped out of sight again.

At last.

Along the river again a common tern passed through, its flight showing a buoyant, elastic rhythm rather than steady flapping. Its flight alternated between rapid, shallow wingbeats and short glides, giving it a light, almost hovering quality as it worked over the water and eventually from view.

Charlotte would be home for lunch, so I packed up and headed back to the car, meeting Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby on the causeway. Nick was out doing what he does every year at this time - photographing swifts. He’s far better at it than I am; I really struggle to get anything decent of them on the wing, whereas he consistently produces top-notch images. He also took the opportunity to photograph the sanderling and dunlin on the wing as they were flushed by families out for a walk.

We had a quick chat as we made our way back to the car, then I headed off home in a bit of a rush so I wouldn’t be much later back than Charlotte.

Late on Tuesday morning an update came through on a WhatsApp group reporting an accident on the M5 south of Weston-Super-Mare, with the road closed and traffic already building behind it. It soon became clear that the incident involved a lorry, with fuel spillage meaning the road surface would need to be replaced; estimates of an opening time extended out, eventually to midnight.

Kev was already enroute and likely caught up in the closure, raising the real possibility that his arrival to see the bird that evening would be badly delayed. As it turned out, the journey took him just under seven hours, a terrible journey, and he eventually arrived a little before 6.00pm. He managed to get onto the bird and even captured a video of it taking off and watched as it flew off strongly. Reports from Kev, later echoed on BirdGuides, confirmed it “flew east at 6.00pm and no further sign by dusk”.

Despite a thorough search and a long wait, the bird had seemingly vanished. I spoke to Kev briefly as I headed to bed early, as I still planned to make the journey myself the following day in the hope it might still be lingering in the area and show again.

I left at 2.30am and had an easy drive down, and even with a comfort break en route I was on site just after 7.00am. Kev hadn’t arrived yet, but a handful of birders were already out searching and had been since first light - with nothing seen so far.

I chatted with one chap who had driven through the night to be there for dawn. He was concentrating on the trees where the bird had reportedly roosted on previous evenings, though apparently not the night before. He also mentioned that a woman had reported black-winged stilts on the pool up the road, so I decided to walk up and check that area, along with the fields on the far side of the trees where the main group was stationed.

As I returned from the pool - no stilts - Kev and Karen parked up and joined me. I’d only been on site about 45 minutes, though others had been searching longer, and there was still no sign of the bird. It was beginning to feel like it might be another dip.

We regrouped and searched around the trees and nearby fields, discussing where to go next. That seemed to involve crossing some very muddy ground, so we started heading back down to the car so I could put on my wellies.

On the way, I glanced left across the field and picked up a kestrel hanging in the air. I dropped my tripod and scope, called Kev and Karen over, and tried to work out what we were looking at. The bird was backlit against a bright sky, making it tricky to pick out key details. I grabbed a few photos, and between those and scope views I began to think this might actually be it. It was only after processing that the initial photos clearly confirm the identification.

A couple of minutes later it dropped onto a mound, giving much better views, and the details came into focus. It was our lesser kestrel. Get in there.

It is a genuine mega-rarity in the UK. Unlike the more familiar common kestrel, lesser kestrels have never established any breeding population in Britain and are only recorded as very rare vagrants. On average, only a handful of records occur per decade, with many years having none - in fact the last bird recorded was back in 2010 at RSPB Minsmere. There have been only around 22 accepted UK records, and this bird is only the second accepted record for Cornwall.

Lesser kestrels breed in southern Europe, North Africa, and parts of western Asia. The closest strong populations are in: Spain and Portugal (major strongholds); southern France and Italy; North Africa (especially Morocco and Algeria).

We moved through a gate and around the edge of the field that allowed access up to the trees on the northern side, where three birders were already stationed. The kestrel remained on the mound throughout and was still present when we began watching from this slightly elevated viewpoint.

Gradually more people gathered, and in due course we were all rewarded with views of the bird in flight, hunting low across the field. At times it disappeared briefly over the slope before reappearing again, drawing us all in to watch as it worked the area. Eventually it landed in a tree in front, apparently the same one Kev and Karen had seen it in the evening before. It had graced a number of nearer trees in past days, but this was good enough and allowed better views of the whole bird.

Our bird was clearly a male lesser kestrel, an exceptionally rare visitor to the UK. Although it closely resembles the more familiar common kestrel, this adult male can be separated by several clear features visible in the photos. It shows a pale blue-grey head and tail, and unlike the common kestrel it lacks a dark “moustache”, although in certain lighting a shadow can give a similar impression. There are also obvious grey panels on the upper wings, and pale yellow talons, in contrast to the black talons of the common kestrel. The underwing is strikingly pale, often described as almost unmarked white. This contrasts sharply with its darker breast. Unlike the common kestrel, which has heavily barred or spotted underwings, the male lesser kestrel's underwing typically has less to no barring, and fewer if any spots.

Behaviour is another useful clue: unlike common kestrels, lesser kestrels feed mainly on insects, which they either catch on the wing or drop to the ground to take.

On a couple of occasions the bird dropped from its perch into the field, picking off insects on the ground before returning to the trees. The flight out and back again was a real spectacle to watch. I chatted with a birder I recognised, Richard Tyler richardtyler.zenfolio.com, whom I’d also seen earlier this year when we were both out for the killdeer in Hampshire. Looking at his site I see he has some superb images in his May catalogue - he’s an excellent photographer and has some very impressive kit.

Kev and Karen decided it was time to head off for breakfast and take a look around Hayle, so we started walking back towards the cars. On the way we discussed their plans for the journey home, and they mentioned they would likely stop at RSPB Labrador Bay to see cirl buntings, avoiding the need for a dedicated trip later in the year. That sounded like a sensible idea, and it also made it seem like a good opportunity for me to do the same today.

We said our goodbyes and split up, as my car was parked a little further down the road. Before I reached it, I bumped into a few other birders, one of whom stopped for a chat and mentioned he had managed to photograph the lesser kestrel perched on a post on the far side of the road - presumably during one of the moments we’d lost sight of it earlier in the field.

We talked more generally about birds in the area for a good 20 minutes before I finally made it back to the car. I’d just started packing my kit away when a shout went up that the lesser kestrel had reappeared on the very post the other birder had mentioned, across the road. I grabbed my camera and hurried down to get a few more shots before finally setting off.

It was about a two-hour drive to RSPB Labrador Bay, but at least it was broadly on the way home and would break up the final leg into a more manageable journey. I’d never been there before, so on arrival I dropped down the slope from the car park, through the gate, and took in the view across the field towards the sea.

Turning left, I followed the footpath along the hedgerow, where I soon picked up the contact call of a cirl bunting, apparently coming from a patch of brambles. I couldn’t see the bird at first, but it eventually lifted out and flew across the field behind me into a taller hedge with scattered trees.

At the end of the field I went through another gate and turned left up a track enclosed by dense bushes on both sides, heading roughly in the direction the cirl bunting had flown. Near the top, where gates opened on either side of the track, I again heard cirl bunting calls - this time several birds.

I quickly located one moving in the hedge and paused to try for some photos, but it remained deep in cover and the best I could manage was a brief record shot before it flew out the back and continued along the track I’d just come up.

The others had fallen silent, so I made my way back down the track and picked up a couple of birds in a tree on the far side of the hedge. I tried to get them in focus, but they were quickly obscured by branches and foliage before disappearing and heading back up the track.

I followed once more, and this time could hear a male in full song. I located it high in a tree right beside the track - not an ideal photographic position, but giving excellent views through binoculars. After a short while it dropped out of sight, only for one (or possibly the same bird) to appear on a branch in front of me - absolutely superb.

I managed to fire off a couple of shots before it slipped away again, stage right.

I headed back down the track to check the rest of the site and surrounding fields before returning to the car for the 3½ hour drive home.

It had been quite a day - no dip this time, a lifer safely in the bag, and a couple of excellent year ticks to round things off nicely.

Year list: 246.

Stop-and-go birding :: 24-30 April 2026

There was no chance of birding over the weekend, as Charlotte and I were away celebrating a friend’s birthday and staying overnight at a hotel near Kidderminster. With a spring passage of black tern moving through the country, though, I managed to sneak out in the hope that one or more might drop into Farmoor Reservoir. I’d missed them last year, so they were a definite target this time around.

In spring, most black terns are moving from African wintering grounds to breeding areas across eastern and northern Europe. Because of that, Britain sits a bit off the main migration route, so we tend to get “overshooting” birds, often in small numbers, occasionally in notable influxes - they are never especially numerous, and its passage can be quite erratic. Records indicate that the earliest arrivals are sometimes in late April with a peak usually last two weeks of May.

I didn’t arrive especially early, and there’d been no reports on any of the usual channels. Still, as I got out of the car, I noticed a birder on the perimeter path staring intently out over the water - always a promising sign. I grabbed my gear and headed up, but before I even reached him, I picked up a black tern out in the middle of F2; by the time I joined him, there were two in view.

From that angle and distance, the photos were strictly record shots, so I moved on and walked round to the causeway hide, where Dave Lowe and Paul were already watching. From there the birds were a little closer, and every so often they came nearer still, enough that the photos showed something more than just a black-and-white smudge.

We watched them for a good twenty minutes as they worked steadily back and forth across the middle of the reservoir, occasionally lifting higher before dropping again to feed. Eventually they gained height more decisively, circled once or twice, and then powered off west just before 10.00am, leaving the water suddenly feeling rather empty.

Hoping for more passage terns, I waited a while longer, scanning the skies and the water. Instead, we were treated to a lively supporting cast: a flock of 50+ swifts - my first of the year - cutting through the air overhead, mixed in with sand martins and a single house martin. Then two cattle egrets then drifted over, adding an unexpected bonus.

I wandered down towards the river hoping to pin down a grasshopper warbler, but could only hear one reeling faintly from the far bank. Closer at hand, whitethroats and sedge warblers were in full voice, giving it plenty all around. I usually manage some decent views of grasshopper warbler and like to see one properly before adding it to the year list, so this one will have to wait for another day.

With time catching up on me, I headed back up to the reservoir and crossed the causeway between F1 and F2, but there was no further sign of any terns. On the way I passed a couple of birders who asked if the black terns were still around, and I had to break the news that they’d gone. They took it well enough, saying they were pleased to have caught up with a flock of twelve little gulls in any case ...

That was news to me - apparently, they’d been on F1 and showing while I was down by the river. Typical. I carried on towards the car, and just as I did a whimbrel circled overhead. Then, scanning the water one last time, I picked out two little gulls flying low to the surface, just moments after I’d messaged Kev to say I’d missed them.

I also popped out a bit closer to home to see a wood sandpiper and 26 male yellow wagtails together from Balscote Quarry Reserve and Clifton respectively, adding to my year list.

The wood sandpiper is a nice local record (found by Mark Ribbons) and fits the classic pattern for the site and county - wood sandpipers are scarce but regular spring passage waders in Oxfordshire, typically turning up on shallow margins at gravel pits and quarry workings like Balscote. They’re often brief stayers, sometimes only present for a few hours or a single day, so catching up with one can require a bit of luck and timing, this one appearing a little earlier than records would suggest.

Within a couple of days there was a much larger fall of wood sandpipers across the country. The BirdTrack reporting rate jumped to around 2.2%, about six times higher than the long-term average for this period according to the BTO. Birds have been recorded widely and simultaneously, which is the hallmark of a genuine arrival rather than isolated records with some sites holding multiple birds. A spell of easterly winds has pushed migrants off their usual east-European route creating “drift migration”, dropping birds into Britain in higher-than-normal numbers.

Monday brought a welcome return to birding, this time with Kev @kev07713 and Karen Heath in the Wyre Forest—an annual pilgrimage for a set of classic woodland specialists: tree pipits, redstarts, pied flycatchers and wood warblers. There’s also a stretch of Dowles Brook where dippers hold territories, and we’ve always managed to catch up with them there too.

We set off early, breaking the journey with a quick stop in Kidderminster for breakfast (and a comfort break), passing the hotel where Charlotte and I had stayed on Saturday night. On arrival at the car park, things didn’t look promising - no spaces at all - but just as Kev began to reverse out, a couple of dog walkers came through the gate and offered us their spot. Quite possibly the only time Kev has been pleased to see dog walkers.

We grabbed our kit and set off along the main track - the main track through the heart of the Wyre Forest is the wide, hard-surfaced road that runs along the former railway line. Kev picked up a common redstart calling from some distant trees, and after a bit of searching I managed to locate it as it dropped from its perch to a lower branch. I lost it almost immediately afterwards, though, and couldn’t get Kev or Karen onto it before it disappeared.

We listened closely, particularly for wood warblers, as they were likely to be the hardest of our target species to pick up today, but the soundscape was quiet on that front. We did hear one of our main targets, the pied flycatcher, along the way, though by the time we reached Eddie’s Bench we still hadn’t seen one.

As usual, there were a pair in the trees behind the bench, and we paused to add them to the year list. The pied flycatcher is one of the most charismatic summer visitors to the UK, closely associated with mature deciduous woodland that provides plenty of natural cavities or nest boxes. Its stronghold is Wales, especially mid- and north-Wales, with smaller populations in northern England, including parts of Cumbria and Lancashire, and a very localised presence in the south and south-west Highlands of Scotland.

The male is particularly striking, black-and-white with a neat white wing patch, and their call is often the first clue to their presence, helping to pick them out in the canopy before they’re properly seen.

Almost directly on the opposite side of the track is a fence and from here we could hear a garden warbler and eventually a tree pipit. It took quite a few minutes for us to get a precise fix on the location of the pipit, other than it was in the high trees in the distance; with a bit more waiting we eventually saw it springing upward into the open air. It then gave itself to gravity - no rush, no panic - just a sudden release as it tipped forward and began to fall.

For a moment it seemed to hang in the sky, wings slightly open as if testing the air rather than fighting it. The wings slowed the descent, and it drifted downward in a controlled, floating drop that feels more like parachute than flight. Only at the last moment did it pull out of the fall, angling down to an unseen perch on the ground.

We continued on and heard another tree pipit in a dead tree to our left and this time much closer and worthy of a photograph. This is one of the key upland woodland specialties that birders come here specifically to see and hear. In the Wyre Forest specifically, tree pipits can feel quite localised. You may walk through stretches of apparently perfect habitat without seeing or hearing one, and then suddenly pick up a singing male out of the blue - this stretch is very reliable for them though.

As we moved on, a male bullfinch paused in the trees behind us, giving us good views before dropping off the branch and flying back along the track.

As we set off again, we passed a birder coming the other way, and Kev gleaned from him that a tawny owl had been seen flying around in the gully ahead. We reached the spot to find a couple already sitting on the bench at the top of the slope, while Kev dropped his rucksack to get out his thermal imager and see if he could locate it.

Karen and I held back, scanning down into the gully, when the birds off to our right suddenly erupted into alarm calls. I turned to look, and as I did a large brown shape lifted into view and settled onto a branch on the edge of a tree - a tawny owl. I alerted Karen, who was right beside me, and then we called Kev over. I began taking photos, but just as Kev arrived, locked on with his binoculars, and then raised his camera, the owl slipped away to a more distant perch in the gully.

It was a tremendous piece of luck, and a superb view while it lasted. We watched as it eventually drifted off behind the trees, but within ten minutes it reappeared, perched again in the branches at mid-distance, though now partially obscured.

Seeing daytime hunting tawny owls in late April in the Wyre Forest (or similar UK woodland) isn’t unusual in itself and likely related to the nesting / early chick-rearing period with adults often under pressure to feed growing young. Even though they are strongly nocturnal, hungry chicks can change the rhythm and it is not the first time we have seen daytime tawny owls here - a May 2024 report here.

In the meantime we had been talking with an elderly couple, the woman still with us while her husband had wandered off. Karen dashed after him and brought him back so he could catch up with the owl as well.

The owl departed once more and we turned our attention to the main targets, quickly connecting with both male and female pied flycatchers. I was particularly keen to get better views, and hopefully a decent photograph of a female, but they remained distant and uncooperative, only offering record shots before we moved on.

We then headed down towards Dowles Brook in the hope of finding the resident dippers, noting along the way the sheer abundance of wood ants scattered across the forest floor and paths, and rediscovering a long-established wood ant nest tucked just off the woodland path.

We dropped down to the path along the brook and worked our way towards the bridge, keeping a constant lookout for a dipper. Pausing on the bridge, we scanned all the usual spots - prime territory and the site of previous nesting - but there was no sign of any activity.

As we stood watching, a group of birders arrived - the Brandon Marsh Massive (reserve volunteers) on a day out. They’d already checked for dippers further along the brook without success and soon moved on again, heading towards the old mill house and the next bridge to continue their search.

Not long after, we were joined by Alan Boddington @alanbodd, also part of the Brandon group. He’d doubled back to the gully in the hope of hearing or seeing a wood warbler but had drawn a blank there too. We had a brief chat before he set off again to rejoin the others.

Eventually we left too as we were unable to find any signs of the dippers and followed the route that the Brandon group were taking, spotting a speckled wood butterfly working along the shady edges. As we started to drop down to the mill house we saw a couple of pearl-bordered fritillaries dancing along a bank, seemingly with nothing there that interested them, at least as far as stopping as they simply powered up and down. Kev and Karen went on ahead, having good views of a pair of common redstarts while I stayed and tried to catch a pearl-bordered fritillary on the ground.

The pearl-bordered fritillary is one of Britain’s most sought-after spring butterflies, small, fast-moving, and very much tied to warm, sheltered woodland clearings. They are considered a rare and declining species but with strongholds now mainly in western Scotland, parts of northern England, and a few sites in Wales and south-west England; they are largely lost from much of their former range in southern and central England. They have a bright orange upper side with black markings while the underside of the hindwing shows a row of distinct “pearl” spots along the edge (the key feature).

We reached the bridge by the mill and found the Brandon group again, but after a brief chat they moved on once more. As we waited, a male pied flycatcher flew in and landed on the side of a nest box, immediately beginning to investigate. He called repeatedly, I thought clearly advertising the site to a nearby female and even popped inside to give it a thorough inspection.

Disappointed, we turned back and retraced our steps along the path. As we went, I stopped to point out a slow worm I’d spotted on the edge of the track, giving Kev and Karen a nice view.

While the slow worm does occur here, it’s not something you’d normally expect to come across without a bit of targeted searching. They’re most active in spring (April–June) and again in early autumn and are best seen in the early morning when basking, or later in the afternoon. Despite the name, it’s a legless lizard rather than a snake, and while chance encounters by birders do happen, most records tend to come from people deliberately checking cover objects or carrying out reptile surveys.

The slow worm has the look of a small, polished creature - smooth, glossy, and almost metallic in sheen. At first glance it resembles a snake, but the impression quickly shifts once you notice the subtle details.

Its body is cylindrical and uniform, tapering gently at both ends, with skin that looks more like burnished bronze or copper than scales in the typical reptilian sense. The surface is sleek and reflective, catching the light so that it can appear golden, grey, or even slightly purplish depending on the angle. Movement is unhurried and fluid, a gentle gliding rather than the purposeful, muscular motion of a snake.

The head is blunt and barely distinct from the body, giving it a simple, almost understated profile. Unlike snakes, it has visible eyelids and will often blink - a small but telling feature that gives it a surprisingly expressive quality. The eyes themselves are neat and dark, set into the smooth curve of the head.

Shortly after there was a call from a common redstart and Kev picked it out in a distant tree - I took a photo not expecting anything other than a dot but with cropping it is quite recognisable.

Back at the foot of the slope where we’d dropped down from the gully, we paused to decide our next move: head back and try again for the owl - or perhaps a wood warbler, though no one we’d spoken to had heard one; or continue along the brook to its far end, where we’d been told a pair of mandarin ducks were hanging about near the beaver enclosure. In the end, we opted for the latter.

There was a noticeable drop-off in bird activity, perhaps as it was now afternoon, but we did at least come across a holly blue butterfly on holly, exactly where you’d expect it to be.

We reached the fencing where we understood the beaver enclosure was and started walking around the perimeter to see if we could spot either a beaver (a very long-shot), or a mandarin which Karen needed for her year list.

Beavers had been hunted to extinction in the Wyre Forest area during the 16th century. To reverse this, in April 2024, a population of six Eurasian beavers (two adults and four kits) were reintroduced to an enclosure on a tributary of Dowles Brook, marking a key point in conservation and reintroduction of native species to the area. The fenced enclosure along Dowles Brook, is established as a controlled project rather than a free-ranging population.

The project aims to demonstrate natural processes like dam building, wetland creation, and habitat diversification. Even within the enclosure, the beavers are creating dams and pools, slowing water flow, and increasing habitat for amphibians, invertebrates, and birds. So, while we didn't actually see a beaver, the effects of their presence are increasingly part of the Wyre Forest experience.

Working along the fence line, Kev picked out first the male and then the female mandarin, tucked inside a tangle of branches and twigs that largely obscured them, but still left them just about visible.

We took a seat and prepared for the walk back along the main track to the car park, watching various tits and treecreeper flying around the trees - the walk had become longer than we had anticipated.

As we approached the gully once more, we had another encounter with pied flycatchers which seem more numerous than in previous years - only an impression.

We reached a stretch of old railway embankment that’s known as a hotspot for pearl-bordered fritillaries. Along here, they were certainly in evidence, with numbers seemingly into double figures and several individuals interacting as they moved through the grass and bracken.

The same sunny stretch was also active with other butterflies and moths, including a particularly attractive yellow speckled moth, adding to a very lively patch of spring activity.

The speckled yellow moth is a distinctive and fairly familiar day-flying moth in many UK woodlands, including places like the Wyre Forest. Despite being a moth, it often behaves more like a small butterfly in the way it flits through sunny patches of woodland. It is active in daylight, especially in sunny rides and glades and its flight is low, fluttery, and erratic, often just above vegetation.

With 7½ miles under our belts, it was time to head back to the car, pick up some more drinks, and make for home, all of us slightly disappointed by the absence of wood warblers and dippers.

The next morning I was taking things easy while Charlotte had gone to the supermarket for essentials, when a report came through of a black-winged stilt on Big Otmoor in Oxford. With my car still in the garage, I had to wait for her to return before I could even consider going, although Kev had kindly offered his own car when I mentioned I hadn't gone yet.

Once Charlotte was back, I borrowed her car and headed out to the Noke end of the bridleway, where people had suggested viewing from. On arrival I was briefly puzzled to find no one about, despite our friends Adrian and Bryan having seen the bird there not long before. I began walking slowly along the bridleway away from the main reserve and messaged Adrian, who immediately rang me and explained where to look. I turned back towards the reserve and eventually came across a couple of birders already set up on their scopes and, beyond them, the black-winged stilt itself. It was distant and there was some heat haze, but the bird was quite visible although being chased a little by the lapwings.

Soon after, three women and another birder arrived, and I was able to put them onto the stilt before starting to think about leaving. Just as I set off, my phone rang - it was Mark Ribbons, asking where exactly I’d been viewing the bird from. He’d arrived via the same route I had and was just as confused by the lack of people. I explained where I was, and within a few minutes he joined me for a look at the stilt and a quick chat.

While we were talking, Bryan Maston arrived as well. After a short exchange, Mark headed off to the Wetland Hide to try for the whimbrel that had been reported there and the reason why he'd come. I was also preparing to leave, but before I said goodbye to Bryan, we picked up a couple of hobbys over the hedge on the far side of Big Otmoor - another year tick. On his way back through the reserve, Bryan later reported seeing around twenty more hobby.

The next day I decided it would be worth a visit to Farmoor Reservoir, as there was a passage of Arctic terns through the area and two had been reported the day before. Kev said he would join me, though he had an appointment in the afternoon so would only be out for the morning.

Looking out from the shoreline we couldn’t see any terns, so we opted to head along the causeway and scan from there instead. On the way, I noticed a cormorant working on a fish that looked almost too large to be swallowed, though it was clearly determined to try.

The cormorant is a powerful underwater hunter, built for pursuit. It catches fish using strong underwater propulsion, then surfaces to deal with whatever it has managed to subdue. This bird had the fish held crosswise in its bill, tossing it repeatedly in an attempt to turn it head-first to ease swallowing, pausing at intervals in what looked almost like brief defeat before trying again.

It’s a strange and compelling sight, the bird sitting on the water, wrestling with prey that seems almost too large for it, before eventually managing to subdue and swallow it whole.

Onto the causeway, we as always scanned the slopes on either side of the water and came across a lone dunlin feeding along the edge of the concrete bowl. It’s striking how often birds are comparatively confiding in this artificial setting, far less wary than you might expect in more natural surroundings.

We paused to watch, eventually picking out terns moving across the reservoir which gradually dropped in and continued on, though unfortunately all proved to be common tern. After a while we located one perched on a buoy, and when it lifted off again we picked it up once more, this time alongside another bird on the floating walkway.

After about two and a half hours we grabbed a roll from the café and decided to head over to RSPB Otmoor to see if we could relocate the black-winged stilt, which had moved onto a pool on the far side of the bridleway and was now slightly closer, though still partly obscured by a hedge.

We parked up and joined a small group already watching the pool. Although the bird was nearer, it was still not easy to see, not helped by people repeatedly walking and stopping directly in front of the viewing spots as if no one else was there. John Prowse, a Witney birder I believe, was present and we had a good chat until Kev eventually lost patience with the people and we drifted further down the track, where we bumped into Thomas Miller just as he was heading up towards the stilt.

Back on WhatsApp, John posted an update confirming the bird was still showing, after a gap in reports, while we could see Thomas had also picked out a wood sandpiper out on Big Otmoor. Kev and I then settled in to try for the reeling grasshopper warbler that had been reported, but with the stiff wind we couldn’t make any headway with it.

A few hobbies were active over the far hedge, and at one point one came in a little closer, giving Kev and I a brief but good opportunity to photograph it in flight - I was pleased with the results. Thomas rejoined us shortly afterwards and we had a quick chat before parting ways, after which Kev and I set off for home, spotting an interesting fly (saw fly) on a bush, the red catching our eye.

On Thursday I was finally able to head down to Newbury to collect my car from the garage after a week without it. Charlotte dropped me off, but rather than heading straight home I made a detour to Wokingham, where a hoopoe had been reported late that morning and possibly the same bird that had been in Beaconsfield a couple of weeks earlier and that I’d failed to catch up with. It was only a slight diversion, just over half an hour, so well worth a try.

I arrived and located the meadow where the bird had apparently been seen, then began walking circuits of the area. Despite covering it thoroughly, all I could find were stonechats, whitethroats, chiffchaffs, a little egret, and corvids. After about 45 minutes I came across another birder, Rick Dawson, who had already searched for a couple of hours earlier in the day and had now returned for another look.

The site itself is relatively new, part of a housing development on that side of the motorway, and somewhat oddly lacking in obvious hoopoe habitat - very little short grass, aside from the margins of the footpaths. During a chat, Rick mentioned that locals (non-birders) had been seeing the bird for three or four days, often flushed by dogs and dog walkers, and joined me and walking towards the areas they’d suggested.

After ten minutes or so, Rick picked up something crossing a hedge. We moved further along and looked up a long grassy track - and there it was, a hoopoe out in the open. Rick quickly posted the news to the local group and took a call from friends who were nearby, before we repositioned slightly to get a clearer view, avoiding the plastic tubes protecting newly planted trees. By then the bird had edged back into longer grass along the track, offering only partial and intermittent views as it fed.

This appearance fits the wider pattern this spring, with hoopoes turning up in typical fashion across the country. There was a noticeable pulse in early to mid-April, with multiple birds appearing at once, but since then things have settled into the usual pattern of sporadic individuals popping up and moving on quickly.

A few more people began to arrive, and we were careful not to push any closer in case we flushed the bird, especially with others still on their way. With time catching up on me, I eventually had to leave, return to the car, and make the journey home up the M40.

Year list: 240.