RSPB Frampton Marsh & Ardley ERF Lagoon :: 20 September 2026

Saturday arrived, and usually this would be the day when Kev @kev07713 and I headed out birding for the weekend session. This week, though, I had a prior engagement, having arranged a social get-together for some of my former colleagues from work.

Well, I say I’d arranged it! My super-efficient former colleague, who had previously overseen admin at work, had done most of the groundwork. She had found out when her husband would be playing with one of his bands and then emailed around our old colleagues to see who might be interested and available to attend the gig. I then arranged for my old team to meet up for a curry beforehand. It turned into a lovely afternoon and evening together, eventually with 23 of us in all, catching up over food, reminiscing about our time at work, what each was doing now, and generally enjoying each other’s company.

Our birding trip was therefore rearranged for the Sunday, and with five reports of our target bird on Saturday, we decided to head for RSPB Frampton Marsh in search of a buff-breasted sandpiper. It had been reported in almost exactly the same spot where we had seen one back in early October 2023.

As I was likely to be home late and in bed around midnight, we agreed to meet at 6.00am, giving me as much of a lie-in as possible, while Kev would do the driving. Keen to get onto the bird as soon as we could, we decided not to stop for breakfast and instead head straight there. We could always grab something from the reserve café once we'd seen the bird - assuming, of course, that it was still there.

Once we had connected with the sandpiper, the plan was to work our way around the reserve and spend the rest of the day simply birding. Having already seen many species this year, there are relatively few other targets nearby, particularly on the UK mainland, at this point in the season. Hopefully, that will change over the coming weeks as the winds shift from their predominantly westerly direction currently to more easterly winds, bringing with them the prospect of some exciting autumn migrants.

We arrived and decided to make the walk from the car park to the sea bank and then along towards the raptor viewpoint, rather than taking the slightly cheeky option of driving almost to the end of the track and parking there. As we made our way along, we stopped from time to time to scan the fields in the hope of finding a merlin. They have been seen on several occasions around their usual haunts this autumn, but unfortunately, we couldn't find one. We did, however, see marsh harrier, buzzard and kestrel as we scanned the fields.

Then, as we continued towards the sea bank, we noticed a small group of birders gathered together in the distance. They were clearly looking at something, and given their location, there was a very good chance that whatever had attracted their attention was our target bird.

We met a chap coming in the opposite direction who confirmed that the bird was still present, although it was rather distant. We soon reached the group of birders already gathered on the sea bank, and one of them kindly stepped aside and pointed us towards roughly where the bird was. We scanned the area and, before long, had picked it up in our own scopes, while the others were still heads-down, watching for it themselves. It was windy, with the gusts buffeting our scopes and tripods, making conditions less than ideal for trying to capture any phone-scoped video.

The chap standing next to me then turned and asked, “Are you Kyle?” It was a bit unexpected, but as he introduced himself I immediately knew who he was - Paul Cashmore @pcashmore53. We started chatting, and then noticed the birder standing behind him was Mike Doughty @dogdoughty, who we hadn't seen since bumping into him in the Wyre Forest back in mid-May.

It seemed we'd been so focused on finding the bird that we'd completely failed to notice who else was around us! We had a lovely chat before they said their goodbyes and headed off in search of breakfast. We got back to the bird.

The buff-breasted sandpiper is a North American species, and is a regular but scarce visitor to Britain, with most records occurring during early autumn with September being the peak month. Most of the birds turning up here are juveniles, having made the long journey south from their breeding grounds in the Arctic before somehow finding themselves on the wrong side of the Atlantic.

The bird in front of us was indeed a juvenile, looking particularly smart in its fresh autumn plumage. It showed the warm buff wash across the breast and face that gives the species its name, contrasting with the intricately scaled appearance of the upperparts. It was feeding on the short, wet grassland below, walking around methodically as it searched for food apparently quite undecided as to whether it should feed left or right. Although distant, it was relatively easy to pick out once we knew where to look and the sunlight hit it - there is something rather special about watching a juvenile that had made its way across the Atlantic and ended up here at Frampton Marsh. The number recorded can vary considerably from year to year, making any sighting feel like something of an event.

The buff-breasted sandpiper was a beautifully marked little wader, with a warm buff-coloured face, breast and underparts contrasting with its patterned upperparts. Its back and wings were dark brown, edged with pale buff and giving it a distinctly scaly appearance, while the clean white belly stood out below the softly coloured breast. It had a small head, short, straight dark bill and yellowish legs. As it walked across the short grass, occasionally pausing to probe for food, it had an almost plover-like feel to it, making it quite distinctive even at this distance.

We dropped down the slope and sat on the sea bank, lowering our scopes so we could continue watching while seated. From there, I attached my phone to the scope and attempted to get some video. It wasn't particularly easy, as the bird was working its way through my field of view a little quicker than I would have liked. I clearly need to practise and improve my technique. I also sometimes try to take video with my camera, but at this distance it would have been difficult to get anything more than a basic record shot. I was therefore reasonably pleased with what I managed to capture on my phone.

Kev wandered off to the bench by the Raptor Viewpoint while I stayed behind to watch the bird for a little longer. I then started working my way through the many yellow & pied wagtails and meadow pipits, along with the odd reed bunting, checking to see if there might be anything a little more exotic among them. A couple of years ago there had been a Lapland bunting here at the same time as the buff-breasted sandpiper, which we'd managed to miss, but I certainly can’t afford to make the same mistake again this year if there was one!

Another birder dropped down the slope and sat beside me, asking about the sandpiper. When I checked, however, the bird had moved and was going to need searching for. Fortunately, it wasn't long before I picked it up again and was able to direct him onto it. That was my final act before I packed up and set off to join Kev.

I set up my scope and started scanning the area, eventually finding the peregrine that Kev had directed me towards, although it was a long way off, perched on a distant fence. There were also more marsh harriers, kestrels and a buzzard, but despite working the area carefully there was still no sign of a merlin.

After half an hour or so, we decided to head back towards the Visitor Centre and café for some breakfast before venturing further around the reserve and getting on with the rest of our day's birding. As we set off, I checked BirdGuides on my phone to see if anything else had been reported, followed by WhatsApp. That's when things suddenly changed. There was a report of a possible Baird's sandpiper at the Ardley ERF lagoon, just outside Banbury, and moments later it was confirmed.

I hadn't seen a Baird's sandpiper since August 2024 - and, rather oddly, that bird had also been at Frampton Marsh. A quick chat with Kev was all it took. Breakfast and the rest of our plans could wait; we were heading for the car. We only stopped a couple of times on the way to scan the fields for a merlin, but there was still no sign of one, and soon we were on our way south.

It was suggested that there would be limited parking in the layby by the entrance to the Ardley ERF site but as we drew up there was a single space on the end. We could see some cars a hundred metres or so down the road in another pull in so some people must have been there and already departed. We followed the track round and met a couple of people coming the other way who confirmed that the bird was still there. In a few minutes we were there at the fence joining about a dozen people viewing through.

The Ardley ERF lagoon is an unassuming little wetland just outside Bicester, but it has developed something of a reputation for producing good waders, particularly when falling water levels leave muddy edges around the lagoon. Despite its relatively modest size and rather industrial surroundings, it can be surprisingly productive, with a good selection of passage waders turning up and the occasional much scarcer visitor.

The lagoon itself is part of the wetland created around the restoration and water-management of the former quarry and landfill site. What began as an industrial landscape has developed into a surprisingly useful little wetland, with changing water levels creating muddy margins.

Baird's sandpiper is a real rarity in Britain, with only around seven records a year on average. Numbers can vary considerably from year to year, with some years producing more than ten records, but it remains an accidental visitor from North America and one that is always worth making an effort to see when one turns up.

It is a smart little wader, slightly smaller than a dunlin but with noticeably longer wings, with the primary feathers projecting beyond the tail. It had the characteristic finely patterned upperparts, with dark feather centres and pale fringes giving the back and scapulars a neat, scaly appearance. The head and breast were softly streaked, becoming much cleaner and paler towards the white belly, while the dark eye and relatively long, straight bill gave it a distinctive look.

The bird was nicely positioned in front of us, but we joined the group at the far end where there was a little more space, although the views were partly obscured by some brambles on the other side of the palisade security fence. Seeing the bird through the scope was straightforward enough, but trying to record it through the gaps in the fence with a phone proved rather more difficult. Getting close to the fence with the camera and shooting between the posts and over the brambles, however, was much more productive. A two-sandpiper tick day!

While the views were good, the bird was still a little way off, so my photos were never going to be frame-fillers. Nevertheless, I was happy with what I managed to capture, and the views were certainly better than those we'd had at Frampton Marsh in 2024, when the bird spent much of the time resting with its head tucked beneath its wing before eventually flying further away and becoming even more distant. There were also at least three green sandpipers flitting around the muddy edges of the water.

At one point the bird was spooked by something, although we had no idea what, and it took a circuit around the lagoon, calling three or four times as it went. We needn't have worried, though, as it then flew back and settled again in the same area as before.

The track was now starting to fill up with other birders, Oxfordshire's finest, and the bird then flew down along the water's edge to a more distant position. That seemed like our cue to leave and create a little more space for those still arriving. When we reached the roadside, we found that people were now parking on the verges as well as in the lay-bys. As we loaded our kit into the car, Bryan Manston rushed through, then Steve Holliday, BOS Reserve Manager for Balscote Quarry, arrived with his wife. After a brief “Hello” to each, they headed off to see the bird.

Later, we heard that a sparrowhawk had later flushed it and that it had subsequently departed over the trees. Unfortunately, it wasn't refound that evening or the following day, so we'd clearly timed our visit rather well.

Year list: 293.

Leasowe, Cheshire :: 17 September 2026

New Brighton, on the north Wirral coast, is one of the best-known places in Britain for watching Leach’s petrels from land. The birds are normally pelagic, spending much of their lives far out at sea, but strong autumn weather can transform the Liverpool Bay coastline into a spectacular sea watching location.

The key ingredient is strong north-westerly or westerly weather. Gales and prolonged periods of rough seas push Leach’s petrels towards the coast and into the Mersey and Liverpool Bay. Around New Brighton and nearby Leasowe, birds can sometimes pass remarkably close inshore, making this one of the few places where a species that is usually so difficult to see can occasionally be enjoyed at closer range.

Timing the visit around the tide is also important. The best conditions are generally around high tide, with the two hours either side of high water often particularly productive, probably more so the two hours before as the sea retreats very quickly after high tide. Leasowe and New Brighton have produced impressive movements in the past, including dozens of birds during major weather events.

There is something particularly exciting about watching for them from the shore. One minute the sea can appear almost empty; the next, a small, dark bird comes powering through the spray, skimming low over the waves with its long wings and distinctive forked tail. In really good conditions, several can appear in a single sea watch.

Leach’s petrels are rarely the only reward. Strong north-westerlies can also bring other storm-driven seabirds and migrants into the area, making a sea watch there an unpredictable but potentially memorable experience.

Britain and Ireland hold less than 1% of the world's breeding Leach's petrels, but the UK population is nevertheless internationally important. The species breeds in a small number of colonies on remote islands, particularly in northern and western Scotland. The largest UK colony is said to be on Dun, St Kilda.

The most recent BTO information gives a UK breeding population estimate of around 48,000 pairs, based on the 1998–2002 Seabird 2000 census. However, Leach's petrels are notoriously difficult to census because they nest in burrows and visit their colonies almost exclusively at night. Subsequent surveys at some colonies have indicated substantial declines; BTO reports a 54% decline at Dun, St Kilda, which held roughly 58% of the UK population at the time of the Seabird 2000 survey.

Outside the breeding season, they disperse widely across the Atlantic. Birds breeding in Britain can travel huge distances over the ocean, with individuals potentially travelling up to 1,000 km from their colonies while foraging during the breeding season.

Their distinctive long, narrow wings and deeply forked tail are useful identification features, although the combination of distance, poor light, spray and fast-moving birds makes them a notoriously challenging sea watching species.

Having visited New Brighton and Leasowe just a week earlier and failed to record a single sighting, Kev and I were determined to give it another go. On that occasion, the birds had passed through much earlier than expected, with most of them apparently making landfall along the North Wales coast rather than the Wirral. Kev @kev07713 had received the nod from a local birder that Wednesday was looking promising, but I was tied up, so he went with his wife Karen instead and managed to see three.

There is always an element of uncertainty with Leach’s petrels. Even at one of the country’s best sites, you can spend hours staring at a heaving sea without seeing a single bird, as had been the case for us the previous week. This time, however, the conditions seemed to be falling into place.

Now free on Thursday, and looking at the forecast, I felt it should prove to be exactly the sort of day that gets sea watchers excited. A stronger westerly to north-westerly wind was blowing, and Leach’s petrels had already been recorded passing Blackpool first thing. At Leasowe, high tide was around 3.20–3.30pm, giving me what looked like the perfect window to get there and scan the sea as the tide rose.

I arrived at 'The Gunsite' car park at Leasowe at 11.45am, having spent just under an hour beforehand at the mouth of the river. I had decided to relocate after a sighting was posted on BirdGuides from this area. A handful of birders were already in the car park, scoping the sea from the comfort of their cars, windows down and scopes balanced on the ledges of their doors.

I jumped out and asked the chap parked next to me if he’d had any luck. He told me he was watching a Leach’s petrel at that very moment. I asked for some idea of the bird’s range before returning to my car, where I trained my scope out to sea. It took a little searching, but soon I picked it up, a fair way offshore. I followed it as it worked its way along the coast from right to left, working steadily against the wind.

A short time later, I picked up a second bird, again some distance offshore. By now the sea was moving in quickly, and I followed it as it traced much the same path as the first. The chap beside me then signalled that he had two together, but despite searching the area I never managed to pick either of them up.

Now having got my eyes in I spotted my third bird well along the beach, only just visible above the bonnet of the car beside me. As it continued towards me and came into view directly in front of us, it was considerably closer than the first two. This time, I decided to try to get some photographs and video of it.

Its plumage is predominantly sooty brown, almost black, with a contrasting pale rump that flashed into view whenever the bird twisted in flight. Its long, slender wings were held slightly swept back as it angled into the wind, using the air rising from the wave faces to maintain height.

Despite the turbulent sea, the petrel looked remarkably steady and controlled, seemingly completely at home in conditions that made the water almost impossible to watch for long. It weaved effortlessly between the troughs and crests, alternating short bursts of wingbeats with long, graceful glides. Every so often it would dip towards the surface before rising again, following the contours of the waves. Watching it work its way through the rough water, it was easy to appreciate just how perfectly adapted Leach’s petrels are to life at sea.

At one point I jumped out of the car to grab a drink from the boot and have a chat with a couple of birders who had been braving the conditions outside. It didn't take long to realise that the car was probably the sensible place to be, with the wind driving sand and rain across the car park. I quickly retreated to the driver's seat, where I could continue watching through the windscreen. Occasional showers swept across the glass, but with the car angled into the wind and the window still open, I remained surprisingly well protected from the worst of it.

The birds continued to come through. I would go on to see more than ten Leach's petrels, along with an Arctic skua, a couple of terns, sanderlings, dunlin, oystercatchers, curlews, and bar-tailed godwits. At one point, two petrels appeared close together on the water, briefly feeding amongst the waves before separating and continuing independently.

A grey phalarope was reported, and the birder in the car next to me said that he had been the one to report it. His views had been extremely distant, however, as the bird flew steadily from left to right. It was also picked up from the river mouth at New Brighton, so it was clearly moving along the coast rather than remaining in one area. Despite the distance, it was another reminder that in these conditions, you never quite know what might appear in the scope next.

As high tide arrived, I packed away my kit and loaded everything into the boot. It had been a thoroughly enjoyable sea watch, and with plenty of Leach’s petrels and a good selection of other birds under my belt, I headed home to join the family for dinner, more than happy with the day’s sightings.

Year list: 291.

Lisvane Reservoir & RSPB Titchwell Marsh :: 08 & 12 September 2026

Remarkably, reports continued to come through of the grey phalarope at Lisvane Reservoir, the bird having first been reported there the previous Friday. It was already approaching late breakfast time when I decided to go, but on checking Kev’s @kev07713 availability, it became clear that he couldn’t join me. I checked with my wife too, but she had other arrangements, so I jumped in the car and set off for Lisvane on my own. I had an appointment that evening, which meant there would be no opportunity to call in anywhere else, and with nothing else of particular interest between me and Cardiff, travelling any further into Wales simply wasn’t going to be possible.

The grey phalarope is a scarce but regular visitor to Britain, most often turning up in autumn as birds migrate south from their Arctic breeding grounds. Despite its name, it is a striking little wader, with a fine needle-like bill, often swimming actively on the surface of pools and reservoirs as it picks insects and other small prey from the water.

The journey was straightforward and along a well-worn route, as I had spent considerable time working in the Rogerstone/Newport area during my time with Alcan International. I had several secondments to the factory there and, at various points, was making almost weekly visits to support process developments and special projects. Consequently, the route was one I knew well, making the drive down to Cardiff a familiar one.

I arrived to find that parking at the reservoir was free for an hour and a half, which seemed to give me enough time to find the bird and, hopefully, grab some lunch afterwards. I collected my kit and set off along the footpath towards the area where the bird had been reported earlier that morning. I kept my eyes open as I walked, as the grey phalarope could easily have moved, although from what I could see, it seemed to have favoured the same body of water each day.

It had been suggested that the earlier report came from the viewing screen, so when I reached there I scanned the water carefully. There were plenty of little grebes, both sitting on the surface and repeatedly diving beneath it, but no sign of the phalarope. I therefore returned to the footpath and continued along, where I could now see more of the remaining water stretching away towards the far corner. I set up the scope again and, this time, managed to locate the phalarope, apparently about halfway across the water. Judging distances over water is always difficult, however, and a bird that initially appears to be close to the opposite bank can somehow seem to be much nearer the centre of the reservoir when viewed from the opposite side.

The bird swam quickly in my direction and, as it drew level with me, suddenly took to the air and flew in towards the bank, effectively halving the distance between us. I managed to get a few photographs before it began working its way back out towards the middle of the water. I updated BirdGuides to confirm that the bird was still present, but as I did so the phalarope flew further along the water and disappeared. I worked my way back along the footpath and soon relocated it, although now at a greater distance and now gradually making its way back towards where I had first seen it. I watched and waited, but it seemed quite content to remain well away from the bank and showed little inclination to give me another opportunity for those elusive close-up photographs.

Eventually I gave up leaving to grab some food and get back to the car within the free limit for parking. The journey home was inevitably slower with people starting to make their way home. I had to get home, have dinner, got out for a few hours, come home for a shower, and then prepare for a visit to New Brighton where Kev, his wife Karen, and I were hoping to connect with Leach's petrels.

New Brighton is one of the better places in the northwest to look for Leach's petrel, although seeing one is very much dependent on the weather. The best opportunities come in autumn, particularly during September and October, when strong north-westerly winds can push these normally pelagic birds towards the coast. A good sea watching day typically involves a stiff NW or WNW wind, preferably with squally showers, and ideally coinciding with a high tide.

Under the right conditions, birds can be driven surprisingly close to shore, sometimes passing just offshore as they work their way along the coast. Early morning can be productive, particularly when birds have been sheltering in the Irish Sea overnight before moving along the coast. It is, therefore, less a case of simply picking a date and hoping for the best and more a matter of watching the forecast and waiting for that combination of wind, tide and weather that might bring a Leach's petrel within range. The following day looked good on all counts.

We set off at 5.45am, working on the understanding that the best chance of seeing the birds would be during the couple of hours either side of high tide. With high tide due at around 10.45am, that should put us in position at about the right time. When we pulled into the car park at New Brighton, we could see a group of birders already set up with their scopes, so we jumped out of the car and went over to speak to them before getting our own kit out. It had started to rain, however, and several of the birders were already packing away their gear and heading back to their cars. From those who remained, we learned that they had seen a single Leach's petrel out in the estuary but had concluded that the wind simply wasn't strong enough to push the birds close enough to shore for any views. They were all relocating to Gun Point, further west along the coast, so we decided to follow suit.

We arrived at the car park and quickly set up our scopes. The birders already there had also managed to see a single Leach's petrel, along with two Arctic skuas. The wind felt reasonably brisk to us, so we were a little surprised to hear that it apparently wasn't strong enough to bring more birds within view.

We checked BirdGuides and quickly realised that we had been in the wrong place. There were reports of good numbers of Leach's petrels along the North Wales coast, particularly at Rhos Point near Conwy, where 40 had been seen before 8.00am, a further five before 8.30am, and another two by 9.00am. It seemed the birds had been pushed further down the coast and had largely bypassed our position. Despite a couple of local sightings, our five-hour vigil failed to produce our target bird - a lifer for Kev and Karen and a much-needed year tick for me. In total, there had been 29 reports of Leach's petrels along the coast here and into North Wales, yet we hadn't managed to see a single one.

We had at least salvaged two Arctic skuas, which were new for the year for Kev and Karen, and as we headed home at around 2.00pm we discussed whether we should make the detour to Rhos Point in the hope that the birds might show at the next high tide. It was around an hour and fifteen minutes from where we were, but doing so would have put us in North Wales with an almost four-hour drive home ahead of us. I would also have arrived home at a time when my wife would probably already have been in bed, having prepared for a couple of days away with friends. I could sense that Kev was keen to give it a go, and I was disappointed to have to decline. As it turned out, however, there were no further reports after 12.55pm, so in hindsight it was probably the right decision after all. Perhaps we will get another chance?

Saturday arrived and we had decided to make the journey to RSPB Titchwell Marsh, where not one but two spotted crakes had been reported - one apparently an adult type and the other a juvenile. We had missed the bird at Upton Warren, which had been a one-day affair, after I had opted instead to travel to Daventry Reservoir to see a pectoral sandpiper. The crake disappeared, while the sandpiper stayed, so with hindsight it hadn't been my finest decision! The Titchwell birds, however, seemed to be showing remarkably well for such elusive birds and had already been present for a surprisingly long time. Our main concern was the clear night, which might have encouraged them to move on, but that worry was put to rest when a report came through that at least one bird was still present while we were enroute.

The spotted crake is one of those birds that has a reputation for being considerably easier to hear than to see. A small, secretive wetland bird, it spends much of its time skulking through reeds, sedges and other dense vegetation, with the male's distinctive, repeated 'whip-crack' call often providing the first indication that one is present. It is a summer visitor to Britain, arriving from its African wintering grounds, although passage birds can also occur outside the breeding season.

The species is particularly significant in Britain because of its scarcity. The spotted crake was once more widespread and numerous, but the loss and degradation of suitable wetland habitat has resulted in a substantial decline. The national survey in 1999 recorded around 80 singing males, but by 2012 only 28 singing males were found at 11 sites. More recent estimates suggest that the British breeding population may be little more than 25–30 males. Numbers can be difficult to assess, however, as the birds are exceptionally secretive and males often become silent once they have paired.

We pulled into the car park and made our way towards the area where the crakes had been reported over the previous few days. As we approached, birders coming back along the track confirmed that one of the birds was currently showing. We joined a couple of dozen other birders gathered along the main track just beyond the hide, all peering down towards the edge of the water, and almost immediately we were onto the bird. It fed quietly, working its way along the base of the reed stems before eventually disappearing. There were another couple of dozen birders gathered in the Island Hide, but they were missing these excellent views from the track. Later, there was a suggestion that the other bird might have been showing from the hide.

We waited for a while, but there were no further views of the bird, so we decided to head down towards the beach and have a look from there, particularly as it wasn't long after high tide. On the way, we stopped at a spot where we had found wasp spiders the previous year and, remarkably, they were still in almost the same place as before.

Wasp spiders make an interesting seasonal addition to the wildlife, particularly around the rough grassland and areas of longer vegetation. Their striking yellow-and-black patterning makes the females relatively easy to spot when they are sitting in the centre of their large orb webs, while the much smaller males are far less conspicuous. September is a particularly good time to look for them, as the females are fully grown and breeding is taking place.

Their egg sacs are equally fascinating. After mating, the female produces a distinctive, roughly spherical brown papery egg sac, often suspended among the surrounding vegetation close to the web. Each sac can contain hundreds of eggs, and the female's life cycle is effectively drawing to a close by this stage of the year. The young spiders remain protected within the sac through the colder months, emerging the following spring. Finding both the spiders and their egg sacs adds another small but memorable detail to a visit, even when the focus of the trip is on rarer birds.

We reached the beach and found the usual collection of shoreline favourites: sanderlings, curlews, oystercatchers, sandwich terns, common terns, black-tailed and bar-tailed godwits, turnstones, and more besides. Out over the water, gulls and cormorants were scattered across the sea, while common scoter and terns were also present, the latter occasionally plunging into the water to feed. Then two Arctic skuas appeared at considerable distance. I tried for a photograph, although I knew in my heart that it was never going to produce anything worthwhile at that range. Eventually, we headed back towards the main reserve, intending to make our way to the Parrinder Hide and see if we could find some of the smaller waders, which should hopefully include curlew sandpipers and little stints.

As we approached the turn towards the Parrinder Hide, we noticed a group of birders looking particularly interested in something along another stretch of reeds. Naturally, we went to investigate and found that they had located a spotted crake. We watched the bird again, first from the track and then from a bench a little further along, where Kev and I both managed to take some video, although Kev's effort turned out considerably better than mine.

While we were on the track, I was also keeping an eye on the ruff and spoonbills when, suddenly, a curlew sandpiper dropped in among the waders. Curlew sandpipers breed in the high Arctic, particularly across northern Siberia, before undertaking a southward migration once the breeding season is over. August and September are the main periods for autumn passage through Britain, with adults followed by juveniles making their way towards wintering grounds in Africa and, for some birds, further east. During their passage they can often be found among mixed flocks of waders, probing the soft mud for invertebrates with their distinctive, slightly down-curved bills.

We decided to make our way back through the reserve and stop for some lunch before spending a little time checking out the woodland birds. By the end of the visit, we had logged more than 70 species around the reserve, making it another very enjoyable day at Titchwell. Whatever the time of year, it always seems to deliver a good day's birding.

Year list: 290.

RSPB Freiston Shore & Avenue Washlands NR :: 03 & 05 September 2026

In the space of just six days, I’d managed to miss two wrynecks, so when I heard that one was repeatedly showing well, and, rather remarkably, doing so in the Freiston Shore RSPB car park, it immediately caught my attention.

It wasn’t as though there weren’t plenty of other birds to see, but wrynecks are one of those species that can be surprisingly difficult to catch up with. Miss a couple when they turn up and, before you know it, you can be waiting a long time for another opportunity to get one onto the year list. Having already struck out twice in less than a week, I thought it was probably time to put an end to my wryneck losing streak. Fortunately, Kev @kev07713 was up for an attempt, keen to get some better views after his fleeting glimpse a few days earlier and supporting my attempt to see 300 species for the year.

Wrynecks are one of those birds that turn up in the UK during autumn migration and cause quite a stir among birders. Although they breed across much of mainland Europe, they are a relatively scarce passage migrant here, with most records occurring in late summer and autumn as birds make their way south towards their wintering grounds in Africa. Only around 100–500 wrynecks are recorded in Britain in a typical year, making them a genuinely scarce autumn visitor.

They weren't always the scarce visitors they are today. They were once a breeding species in Britain, particularly across southern and eastern England, where they inhabited open woodland, heathland, orchards and other areas with plenty of dead wood and ants – an important part of their diet.

Sadly, numbers declined steadily through the 19th and 20th centuries, and wrynecks eventually disappeared as a regular breeding bird.

Despite being a member of the woodpecker family, wrynecks are anything but typical looking. Their intricately marked, brown and grey plumage gives them superb camouflage, allowing them to disappear remarkably easily against tree bark, leaf litter and dead vegetation. They also have an unusual habit of creeping around on the ground rather than spending much of their time climbing tree trunks like most woodpeckers.

Their migration largely brings them to coastal parts of Britain, when suitable weather conditions can result in several birds being discovered around the country. Finding one, however, is another matter entirely. Their cryptic plumage and secretive behaviour make them notoriously difficult to locate, even when you know one is somewhere in the area.

By all accounts, though, this individual was being exceptionally cooperative. It had been showing remarkably well, apparently allowing birders some excellent views as it fed and moved around the edge of the car park, rather than behaving like the typically elusive wryneck that can vanish into the vegetation at the slightest disturbance.

That combination of rarity, strange appearance and sheer elusiveness makes the wryneck a particularly rewarding bird to find - and a particularly frustrating one to miss!

Kev picked me up and we made our way up towards Boston, stopping enroute for a comfort break before hitting a growing queue of traffic as we approached the town. The reason soon became apparent. Stage 2 of the cycling Tour of Britain was running from Boston to Skegness that day, so the roads were considerably busier than usual, with the normal mix of work and school traffic joined by supporters, race vehicles and other event traffic.

Adding to the spectacle was a convoy of more than 30 police motorcyclists, accompanied by four police vehicles, which certainly wasn't something you see every day on the way to a birding site. Eventually, after slowly making our way through the congestion, we reached the car park.

There were already around a dozen people gathered together, all looking towards the same area. This had to be the spot. Presumably, the wryneck was showing, or at least had been showing, somewhere in front of them.

We grabbed our cameras and binoculars and joined the group. Initially, the bird was tucked away in cover, but it was only a few minutes before it emerged into view, although it remained partially obscured in the centre of a dense patch of scrub.

Apparently, it had been feeding well and was now taking a short break before continuing. Chatting to some of the other birders, it soon became clear that the wryneck had a particular favourite spot: a tangle of twigs towards the front left of the scrub. There was a sizeable nest of ants there, which presumably explained why the bird kept returning to the same spot. If the food was good, there was little reason to go elsewhere - and it was probably one of the things that had encouraged it to stick around.

We watched as it slowly worked its way around the scrub, gradually disappearing from view before eventually reappearing at the back. From there, it began making its way down the slope, giving us the first real opportunity to watch it as it moved through the vegetation.

It paused on the slope for a moment, seemingly taking in its surroundings and surveying the growing crowd of birders watching its every move. It didn't appear overly concerned by all the attention - perhaps it was simply taking a moment to count how many admirers it had managed to attract.

It continued down the slope and immediately began feeding, initially keeping low among the sticks, just below their height. Gradually, though, it worked its way upwards until it was perched right on top, giving us much better views as it fed busily.

It was fascinating to watch as it moved methodically through the sticks, pausing frequently to probe into cracks and crevices with its bill. Every so often there would be a sudden movement as it located something, followed by that wonderfully bizarre tongue flicking out to investigate further.

Wrynecks have an unusually long tongue, perfectly adapted for their diet of ants and their larvae. Once it had located a likely target, the tongue would shoot out surprisingly quickly, reaching well beyond the end of the bill, before disappearing again almost as quickly. Watching this close up made it easy to see just how specialised the bird is for extracting ants from places that other birds would struggle to reach.

It would occasionally pause, before continuing its methodical search through the vegetation. Given the sizeable ant nest, it was clearly onto a good thing and seemed in no particular hurry to leave.

A dog walker appeared just after the bird had disappeared back into the scrub but thankfully caused no significant disturbance. We heard that on previous occasions the wryneck had flown from the scrub over to the apple tree behind, but this time it seemed quite content to stay put.

Once it reappeared in the open, a couple of walkers/birders made their way down the slope and, perhaps unsurprisingly, sent it scuttling back into the deeper cover. At least it remained within the same patch of scrub, so we weren't having to start the search all over again.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before it emerged once more, this time climbing onto a pile of sticks where it sat beautifully in full view. It seemed almost to realise that everyone had cameras pointed in its direction and decided to cooperate. There it sat, patiently posing for us and providing some excellent photo opportunities - a real little poser!

With more birders arriving and the wryneck currently out of view, we decided it was probably a good time to retreat to the car, pack away our kit and leave the growing crowd to it. After a short discussion, we decided to head over to RSPB Frampton Marsh, where we could grab some breakfast and have a look around the reserve.

We had one target in mind: merlin. Kev still needed one for his year list, whereas I had somehow managed to tick one 'accidentally' back at the end of January. I'd been out birding on my own, trying to catch up with a few species that Kev had already seen while out with his sister and her partner, when a merlin had rather helpfully crossed my path.

We checked with the reserve volunteers, who confirmed that merlin had been seen around the reserve recently, and we asked whether it was still favouring its usual perches. With that information in mind, we stopped to scan the likely spots but again came up empty-handed.

Moving further into the reserve, we started scanning the muddy edges and pools to see what else might be around. We soon began finding plenty to keep us occupied, including two little stints, more than 15 Spoonbills, a couple of ruff, our first pintails of the autumn, a few returning wigeon and a couple of avocets, along with the usual assortment of waders and wildfowl.

No merlin, but there was certainly no shortage of birds to look through while we hoped for one to put in an appearance. We decided to make our way down to the sea wall and scan the saltmarsh, hoping that a merlin might be perched on one of the posts or anything else that gave it a slightly elevated vantage point. We scanned and scanned, but the merlin remained absent.

There were plenty of kestrels to keep us occupied, with up to four in view at times. A couple even took exception to passing marsh harriers, mobbing them as they crossed the marsh. The kestrels themselves occasionally caught our attention when they settled on the posts, giving us that brief moment of excitement before we realised they were, unfortunately, exactly what they looked like - kestrels rather than the merlin we were hoping for.

Eventually, we worked our way back towards the Visitor Centre, stopping for a well-earned drink before making a final few scans of the reserve. With no sign of our target bird, we decided there was little more we could do, so we packed away the kit and headed for home, leaving the merlin for another day.

Saturday arrived and, after a bit of discussion, we decided to head out in search of a red-backed shrike. There were two birds on offer, but the choice was straightforward. One was a little further away, but reports suggested it was showing well, while the other was being described as ‘elusive’. Both were first-winter birds, so there was little to choose between them on appearance - the main objective was simply to make sure we didn't dip!

We did have a backup plan, though. If the shrike received a negative report, we would divert to Lisvane Reservoir and try for the grey phalarope instead. As it happened, a positive report came through at around 7.00am, so that settled it - Derbyshire it was.

We set off, stopping at a service area for a comfort break before leaving the M1 and continuing past Chesterfield, with the prospect of a red-backed shrike waiting somewhere ahead.

We arrived at the car park and set off down the hill noticing the new housing estate and a field full of travellers below but our area was in the opposite direction and the pool around which our bird was feeding.

Avenue Washlands is an interesting wetland reserve just south of Chesterfield, occupying part of the site of the former Avenue Coking Works. It's one of those places where the industrial history of the landscape is difficult to imagine now, with reedbeds, marsh, ponds and grassland providing a surprisingly attractive setting for wildlife.

The reserve lies in the valley of the River Rother and has developed into an important site for wetland and farmland birds. Depending on the season, the pools and marsh are reported to hold species such as wigeon, teal, snipe, little grebe and lapwing, while the surrounding grassland and scrub support skylarks, yellowhammers, linnets and various warblers. The reedbeds can also attract migrants and, on occasion, something rather scarcer - bitterns have been recorded here.

It's also a good site for wildlife beyond birds, with water voles, great crested newts, grass snakes and a good selection of dragonflies and other insects recorded around the reserve. There are viewing screens and a mixture of paths and boardwalks, making it relatively easy to explore and scan the wetland areas.

Perhaps one of the more spectacular seasonal events mentioned is the autumn passage of swallows. The reedbeds have previously held between 10,000 and 15,000 birds as they gather to feed and roost before beginning their long journey south to Africa - an impressive sight over a reserve that has come a remarkably long way from its industrial past.

Red-backed shrikes are a particularly interesting bird in the British context. They weren't always the scarce visitors that they are today; once they were a widespread breeding species across much of England and Wales. Their fortunes changed dramatically from the middle of the 19th century onwards, with numbers steadily declining as suitable habitat disappeared and changes in agriculture reduced the availability of the large insects and other prey on which they depend.

By 1989, the species had effectively disappeared as a regular breeding bird in Britain, although there have been occasional breeding attempts since. These days, we're more likely to encounter them as passage migrants. In an ordinary year, there are probably only a few dozen birds nationally - 2024 was exceptional with a major spring influx producing at least 302 birds across Britain during 20–27 May alone.

That makes seeing one a rather special occasion. They also have a habit of sitting prominently on fence posts, bushes and other vantage points while watching for prey, which can make them surprisingly easy to spot when they're being cooperative. And when one is showing well, as ours was, it's hard not to appreciate just how smart looking these little shrikes are.

It wasn't difficult to work out where the bird was - a line of birders were already pointing scopes, binoculars and cameras in the same direction. We joined the group and were quickly told where the red-backed shrike had been seen, although, naturally, it had decided to disappear just before we arrived.

While we were scanning the area, Kev suddenly pointed towards a distant wire - “there it is.”

Sure enough, there was the bird, moving between the wires and fence posts - the shrike was clearly on show.

The shrike then flew from the fence and into a tree to our left, but unfortunately chose a less cooperative perch, partially obscured by branches and leaves that were constantly moving in the breeze.

The shrike then worked its way around the edge of the pool, darting to catch insects, dropping down into the bushes and grass. It regularly perched on brambles, branches and reed stems, giving us plenty of opportunities to watch its behaviour as it hunted.

Unfortunately, the light wasn't ideal. The harsh sunshine created a noticeable haze and, combined with the constantly moving vegetation, made getting decent photographs rather challenging. But it's not always about the photos, and the shrike gave us some excellent views and, more importantly, plenty of interesting behaviour to enjoy.

We eventually made our way back to the car, stopping at a couple of sites on the way home. First up was a regular spot where we'd seen merlin a few times before. We had a look, but despite scanning the likely areas, there was no sign of one this time.

We then dropped into Balscote Quarry for an hour or so to see what we could find, with the bowl looking particularly dry and little, if any, water remaining. Even without the water, though, there's always something to see, and the quarry didn't disappoint. We recorded 23 bird species, along with six clouded yellow butterflies, three muntjac deer, and a hare.

Eventually, it was time to call it a day and head home, ready to get myself organised for an evening out.

Year list: 288.