RSPB Snettisham :: 01 August 2026

Having been unable to travel up to Yorkshire with Kev @kev07713 and Karen, and consequently missing both buff-breasted and white-rumped sandpipers, it was rather fortuitous that a white-rumped sandpiper appeared at RSPB Snettisham in time for our regular Saturday birding trip.

We set off at 4.30am, hoping to arrive ahead of the high tide and catch the bird as it was pushed closer towards the shore. After arriving, we began the reasonably long walk from the RSPB car park down to the shore. Within minutes, we heard the unmistakable call of a turtle dove.

We quickly located it, only for two birds to fly over before one settled in a tree some distance away. We stopped to enjoy the views, and as I moved on, Kev dropped back to the car to collect his glasses, just in case he needed to phonescope anything, as focusing was so much easier with them.

I reached the shore and started working through the dunlin and ringed plovers along the water’s edge, hoping to pick out the white-rumped sandpiper amongst them. As I made my way along, Kev caught me up and we continued together, pausing to watch the red knot swirling in the distance.

There were an impressive 56,000 red knot recorded here during the Wetland Bird Survey (WeBS) count at the beginning of the month, and the sheer number of birds was evident as they wheeled above the Wash. Their flight patterns and constantly changing formations were remarkably reminiscent of starling murmurations.

As the tide pushed further across the mudflats, flock after flock of red knot lifted from the water’s edge, thousands of birds twisting and turning in unison above the Wash. The flock moved almost like a single living organism, constantly changing shape as the birds responded to one another, alternately flashing dark and silver as they banked and caught the light.

The sheer scale of the spectacle was difficult to take in. Wave after wave of red knot rose from the shore, filling the sky before settling back down onto the pool behind, only to erupt into flight moments later. It was an incredible display, made all the more impressive by the vast numbers involved.

No sign of the white-rumped sandpiper though.

We continued working our way along the shore, picking out two peregrines, six kestrels, and a buzzard quartering the land beyond the mudflats. Along the remaining shoreline was an impressive array of curlews, godwits, shelduck, redshank, dunlin, red knot, Mediterranean gulls, and more, all feeding along the water’s edge.

Out in front of us, streams of little terns and a handful of common terns headed out across the Wash, setting off on fishing trips as the tide continued to push in. The latest verified local eBird log for RSPB Snettisham recorded a specific group of 117 little terns on the reserve - reports suggest this area of the coastline supports an average of 314 breeding pairs.

According to the latest (unverified WEBS) count there were 56,000 red knot, 3,943 dunlin, 4,500 oystercatcher, 2,050 black-tailed godwit, 1,435 bar-tailed godwit, 1,560 shelduck, 1,270 curlew, 1,270 grey plover, 1,124 redshank, 662 sanderling, 424 ringed plover, 226 turnstone, and 40 Mediterranean gulls amongst the other species.

There are so many waders here at the moment because yit is the start of the autumn migration period, when The Wash becomes an extremely important feeding and staging area for birds returning from their Arctic breeding grounds.

A few things are happening simultaneously:

• Red knot are arriving back from the Arctic. They make the enormous journey south from breeding areas in places such as Greenland, Canada and Russia. The Wash's extensive mudflats provide an exceptionally rich food supply for them to refuel.
• Dunlin numbers are building too. Late summer onwards is an important period for Dunlin on UK estuaries and mudflats, with birds arriving from further north to spend the winter here.
• The Wash is an exceptionally productive feeding area. The huge expanses of exposed mud provide worms, molluscs and other invertebrates, allowing enormous numbers of waders to feed together. The RSPB describes the area as having "world class mud" - essentially, the food supply is what drives the congregation of birds.
• The tide concentrates them. At low tide the birds can spread across vast areas of mudflat to feed. As the tide rises, that feeding habitat disappears, forcing them towards the shore and Snettisham's roosts. The birds spread across The Wash to feed, then become concentrated at Snettisham as the tide comes in.

Looking back along the shore, we could see a group of birders gathered at the point where the path from the car park joins the coastal path. In front of them was a sizeable gathering of waders, although at that distance we couldn’t make out exactly what they were.

At this point, we checked BirdGuides and saw that a report had just been posted for the white-rumped sandpiper further back along the track, with the sighting subsequently confirmed by another birder who had seen it. Had we somehow missed it, or had the bird already moved from there, perhaps onto the pools or with the distant waders?

We headed back towards the group, only to find that they were already moving off. What they had been watching was predominantly sanderling, with a few dunlin, redshank, ringed plovers, and a couple of turnstones mixed in. The white-rumped sandpiper was still nowhere to be seen - we'd arrived 15 minutes too late for the close views described by others.

After a short while, we walked back up the path to where a growing group of birders had gathered, all scanning the mudflats as the tide began to drop once more. We worked our way through the flocks, commenting that each time we made a sweep, the birds seemed to have relocated further along to the latest stretch of exposed sand.

Some of the birders began making their way back along the shore, and we followed, step by step. Every so often they would stop and scan again, only to move on once more, with us gradually catching them up.

Then, at one point, a couple of birders came hurrying back towards us. They had seen the white-rumped sandpiper, but it had flown and landed beside a channel, where it had quickly disappeared from view. We had missed it again! We scanned and scanned but could find no sign of it. Apparently, the white-rumped sandpiper had left with a group of dunlins, and a small flock was later seen flying off to the right, which probably included our elusive bird.

We moved further to the right and began scanning the area, working through the dunlin and redshanks as more birds gradually filtered through from that direction. While I continued searching from this spot, Kev carried on along the path following a couple of the remaining birders.

About ten minutes later, my phone rang. One of the birders had located the sandpiper, and I immediately set off at a brisk pace along the path and a few minutes later, I caught up with them and, at last, was within reach of our target bird.

It took barely a minute to pick it out among the birds on the mudflats, but then there it was - first in my scope, then in my bins, and finally in front of my camera lens.

The white-rumped sandpiper is a rare but regular vagrant to Britain. It breeds across Arctic Canada and winters mainly in Patagonia, but its transatlantic migration route brings small numbers to Britain and Ireland, particularly during late summer and autumn. To make things even more challenging, it is roughly dunlin-sized and can be surprisingly difficult to pick out amongst hundreds or even thousands of its smaller counterparts. The combination of long wings, a relatively long bill, prominent white supercilium, and streaking extending onto the flanks can be particularly useful when separating it from dunlin.

With the Wash attracting enormous numbers of passage waders at this time of year, perhaps it is not so surprising that the occasional Nearctic vagrant finds its way into these vast gatherings of otherwise familiar species. For a bird arriving from the other side of the Atlantic, the rich feeding grounds of the Wash must provide an ideal place to stop, refuel, and continue its journey.

Walking to the next group of birders we heard that there were two little stints and it wasn't long before we located one, feeding amongst the seaweed and dunlins. The little stint is Britain's smallest regularly occurring wader, at only about two-thirds the size of a dunlin. It is seen mainly on spring and, especially, autumn passage. British birds breed in northern Scandinavia and north-west Russia and winter around southern Europe and western Africa.

The important distinction is that little stint isn't normally expected in the huge tidal flocks of dunlin at Snettisham in quite the same way. You're more likely to find one feeding around the edges of pools or amongst smaller wader gatherings. This makes finding one a matter of carefully checking the less obvious birds rather than simply scanning the main knot/dunlin spectacle.

On the way to the shore from the car park I'd seen a wall butterfly - a species that Kev had not knowingly encountered previously and so on the way back to the car we stopped regularly and searched. We were eventually rewarded by a couple of views, one relatively close. We struggled to get open wing photographs and the only individual that compiled was a bit worse for wear.

The wall is a beautifully marked butterfly, its orange-and-brown wings patterned with dark lines and prominent eyespots. The most striking feature is the large black eyespot with a white centre near the tip of each forewing, complemented by a series of smaller eyespots along the hindwings. When settled with its wings closed, however, it becomes much more cryptic, the mottled grey-brown underside blending remarkably well with dry grass, bare earth and stones.

The wall is a butterfly of short, open, sunny grassland, particularly where there are patches of bare ground. Typical habitats include coastal cliffs and dunes, quarries, railway embankments, grassy tracks and field margins. The caterpillars feed on various grasses. It is particularly associated with warm, sheltered places, and adults often bask on walls, rocks, bare ground and other sunny surfaces. Males can be quite conspicuous when they patrol low over the ground looking for females.

The wall has experienced a very substantial long-term decline. UKBMS data show an 82.8% decline since monitoring began in 1976. Interestingly, the national index has been more stable over the last 20 years and has increased over the last decade, although this doesn't undo the much larger historical loss.

With a three-hour journey home ahead of us, it was time to make tracks, but not before stopping at the café just outside the reserve for a well-earned spot of lunch.

Year list: 272.

Eastleach Martin & Churn, Blewbury :: 20 & 25 July 2026

Only two weeks ago I made the long journey to Crail, Fife, to see what was only the second long-tailed shrike ever recorded in Britain. In my recent blog I wrote that "the long-tailed shrike was the sort of bird I may never have the opportunity to see in Britain again." How quickly things can change! Here we are just a fortnight later, and another, completely different long-tailed shrike turned up just 45 minutes from home on the Gloucestershire/Oxfordshire border. For me, it was an unexpected second chance with a species I never imagined I'd encounter in Britain, let alone two within the space of two weeks.

What makes the story even more remarkable is that the Eastleach Downs bird wasn't a newly arrived rarity. It later emerged that it had actually been present between 8 and 16 July after being photographed by a member of the public. Its presence was announced on 18 July and when a search of the area was made, the bird was relocated and reported on Sunday 19 July.

The discovery revealed one of the most extraordinary coincidences in recent British birding. For more than a week, Britain almost certainly hosted two long-tailed shrikes simultaneously - an astonishing situation considering there had previously been just a single accepted British record.

Unsurprisingly, the delayed announcement has prompted plenty of discussion. Nevertheless, it's hard not to wonder what might have been. Had the Gloucestershire bird been identified earlier, birders would have had the unprecedented choice of two long-tailed shrikes in Britain at the same time, with many opting for the far more accessible location.

Whether it was an extraordinary coincidence or simply one of birding's wonderful twists of fate, July 2026 will surely be remembered as the month Britain unexpectedly hosted two long-tailed shrikes at the same time. It's also a timely reminder that rare birds are undoubtedly being overlooked every year, only coming to light through chance - or, perhaps more often, never being recognised at all.

On Sunday morning, just after 11.20am, the news broke on BirdGuides that the long-tailed shrike had been relocated. Barely ten minutes later, Kev @kev07713 gave me a call to say that he and his wife were already on their way and asked if I fancied joining them. Having only recently seen the Crail bird, I decided to give the opening-day crowds a miss and planned instead to visit on the Monday, hoping things would be a little quieter once the initial (weekend) rush was over.

As expected, hundreds of birders descended on Eastleach Martin throughout the day. With the viewing area accessed via a narrow country lane during the height of the harvest season, there were understandable concerns about congestion, blocked access for farm machinery and the fire risk posed by so many vehicles parked alongside dry crops.

Thankfully, a local farmer came to the rescue by opening one of his fields for parking, with donations from each car going towards conservation projects. The arrangement provided a safe and well-organised solution for visiting birders, prevented the narrow lanes and verges from becoming obstructed, and allowed farming operations to continue with minimal disruption. It was an excellent example of the local birding community and landowners working together to manage an exceptional rarity while respecting the needs of a working farm.

So, on Monday morning I was up early and made my way down to the site, passing a long line of birders already in place, many of whom had already enjoyed views of the bird. I pulled into the car park and stopped for a quick chat with Richard Tyler, who was kindly manning the gate. I didn’t stop for long as I was keen to get onto the shrike, but while we talked a few grey partridges scuttled around in the field opposite, providing a nice distraction before the main event.

I then walked the short five-minute stroll along the lane and joined the growing line of birders gathered at the viewing area. The latest news was that the bird was probably on the far side of a large bramble patch and currently out of sight, leaving everyone waiting patiently for it to appear. I looked round and noticed a familiar birder just along from me - it was David Wall - we chatted as we watched and waited.

A small group of birders had positioned themselves at the opposite end of the hedge, and I thought they would have the better chance of seeing the shrike from there. The two viewing areas were linked by a public footpath, which was how this small group had reached their position. Rather than approaching from the lane where I was standing, they had walked in across the fields from the lane beyond, giving them access to the far side of the hedge. Quite where they had managed to park, though, was anyone's guess given the instructions to only park in the field.

After about 15 minutes the shrike flew up onto the top of the brambles, giving me my first view and though distant, I had my scope, so range wasn't an issue. I watched as it hopped along the top of the bramble patch, dropped down to the ground briefly, then climbed back up before disappearing behind the dense vegetation and out of sight for those of us watching from the lane. Those at the opposite end of the hedge, however, appeared to be able to keep it in view.

About ten minutes later the shrike reappeared on top of the brambles, but after less than a minute it flew to a bush almost directly in front of the birders at the far end of the hedge. They must have enjoyed superb views. Although still distant from our position, the bird was now much more exposed and gave good scope views as it then gradually worked its way along the hedge in our direction.

As it disappeared from view at the far end, a couple of birders dropped onto the public footpath and followed its progress. The shrike then slipped back into the hedge and was briefly lost to everyone before emerging again on the opposite side, much closer to the footpath. Eventually it worked close enough for a few photographs, although producing anything worthwhile wasn't easy as the increasing heat haze was already beginning to soften the view.

Before long, some of the birders from the far side made their way down the footpath to join us on the lane. Not long afterwards the shrike worked its way back towards the opposite end of the hedge once again, suggesting it might be quite a while before it came close to us for another opportunity.

We continued to watch the shrike as it worked along the hedge and out into the field, feeding throughout, but it never came any closer to our position. After another half an hour or so, several birders decided they had seen enough and headed back up the public footpath towards their cars, which were parked on the lane beyond. As they approached the area where the shrike was perched, it flew across to the far hedgerow and settled in full view. Rather than continuing on and giving the bird the space to resume feeding along the hedges, the group stopped on the footpath and spent the next twenty minutes watching it from there. Inevitably, this prevented the shrike from working its way back towards the rest of us waiting on the lane.

Eventually I grew tired of this, so I decided to head back to the car park. On the walk back I passed Sandra and Adrian Bletchly, who were making their way towards the viewing area, and stopped briefly for a chat before continuing on my way.

Wednesday arrived and Kev and I decided to make a return visit to RSPB Freiston Shore, as reports of the pectoral sandpipers had continued to come through. We checked the tide times and headed back, although on arrival it was clear that there were fewer waders on the pools than during our previous visit.

This time we didn't hang around the car park area and made our way straight to the viewing screen over the reservoir pool. The number of waders was still relatively low, but there were plenty of wagtails around, mostly yellow wagtails. One individual caught our attention and seemed to be a blue-headed subspecies of yellow wagtail.

Among the other birds present were good numbers of ringed and little ringed plovers, along with a handful of black-tailed godwits. There were no greenshanks on the pools this time, but with high tide still a couple of hours away, we weren't too concerned by the continued absence of the pectoral sandpipers. As the incoming tide pushed more waders onto the reserve, we remained hopeful they would eventually appear.

A little later I noticed a sandpiper drop in beside the track. After watching for a while, I wandered over to investigate and found it was a green sandpiper, a welcome addition to the morning's sightings.

On the walk back I was alerted by the unmistakable jangling call of a corn bunting. After a short search I eventually picked it out, perched obligingly in the open, allowing me to get close enough for a photograph before it flew off.

From the screen we watched as the pools very gradually filling with returning oystercatchers and black-tailed godwits, the latter eventually numbering at least 80 birds on our pool and the oystercatchers on the lagoon behind. Around a dozen little egrets moved around the reserve, occasionally dropping into the pool directly in front of us to preen along the opposite shoreline.

From time to time we stepped out from behind the screen to watch the activity in the grassland behind us, where swallows hawked low over the fields, meadow pipits flitted and hovered, and a variety of butterflies added a splash of colour while we waited for the tide to push more waders onto the reserve.

Despite waiting for another few hours, we eventually had to admit defeat and leave without seeing our target bird. Perhaps we should have made the trip to Keyhaven to look for the other pectoral sandpiper instead, but that's birding - you can't get them all.

The following Saturday, Kev and I arranged to leave at the rather antisocial time of 4.30am to drive down to Churn in the hope of seeing the Montagu's harrier that had been reported the previous day. I joked that we'd arrive at 5.30am, see the bird by 6.30am and be back home in time for breakfast at 7.30am. I'd seen my first Montagu's harrier at the end of June last year (report here) but that was a ring-tail while this is a first-summer male.

The Montagu's harrier is one of Britain's rarest breeding birds of prey and is an elegant, long-winged harrier that breeds mainly across southern and eastern Europe before migrating to sub-Saharan Africa for the winter. In Britain it has always been scarce, with only a handful of breeding pairs in most years, usually nesting in cereal crops where nests require careful protection from harvesting and disturbance. Recent years have seen encouraging conservation success through close cooperation between farmers, volunteers and the RSPB, but the species remains one of our rarest breeding raptors.

The bird at Churn is a first-summer male, a plumage that lacks the full crisp appearance of an adult male. Although already showing the characteristic pale grey body, black wing tips and graceful, buoyant flight of the species, it retains some immature feathers, giving it a slightly less clean-cut appearance than an older bird. It spends much of its time perched on posts or the ground, or quartering low over the crops and rough grassland, using its slow, elastic wingbeats and occasional glides to search for prey before suddenly dropping into the vegetation.

We arrived to find a couple of birders already parked up and made our way to the area where the harrier had been quartering the evening before. Stopping at a concrete pad, we joined another birder (Jake) who confirmed there had been no sign of it so far.

A few minutes later Kev's phone rang. It was Ewan Urquhart (@Stormvogel99), who, as it transpired, was the birder we could see further down the track. We watched for a while before Ewan walked back up to join us, explaining that the light was much better from his position, where the rising sun wasn't shining directly into your eyes as it was from where we were standing. As more birders gradually arrived, Ewan and several others headed back down the track to continue their vigil from the supposedly more favourable viewpoint.

While we waited, there was still plenty to keep us entertained. Buzzards, red kites, kestrels and even a hobby were all seen, but the Montagu's harrier remained elusive. Around us, linnets, stonechats, goldfinches and corn buntings called from the scrub and hedgerows, while deer, hares and a fox moved through the fields in front of us. At least one quail was also calling from the field behind, adding another layer to the morning's soundtrack.

I recognised one of the other birders as Harry, who runs the YouTube channel Winging it with Harry, and who is also undertaking a big year attempt. He mentioned that he generally tries to avoid birding at weekends, but this was a special exception as the early start meant he could get home before most people had even started their day.

At 6.39am, Jake, the birder standing nearby, suddenly spoke up. He had turned around and been scanning in the opposite direction and had picked out the harrier perched on a fence line on the distant horizon, at the top of the slope. Through our scopes we could make out the bird clearly, although to the naked eye it was little more than a speck in the distance. Nine minutes later than I'd suggested!

Photography at this distance would be challenging and so I opted to try for a video through my scope - imagine the view the chap in the video would have had if only he'd looked up!

The birders further down the track soon made their way back to join us as the Montagu’s harrier continued to sit and preen on the fence post. Eventually, it dropped from its perch and flew along the slope, occasionally breaking the skyline as it moved across the hillside.

It paused several times, landing briefly on fence posts and on the ground, but it remained distant throughout. I attempted a few record shots, and while the scope views were good, photography was always going to be difficult. Even at 6.40 am, the heat haze was already surprisingly noticeable, creating a shimmer that made capturing a sharp image of such a distant bird a real challenge.

After about 20 minutes the harrier flew along the ridge and over the top and out of view - we wouldn't see it again.

We decided to try and locate the various quail that were calling around the site and joined a group of birders over the bridge where a field of barley was being harvested. Beyond the bridge, a combine harvester was busy cutting the barley, a reminder that this was very much a working agricultural landscape, with farming activity continuing alongside the excitement of a rare bird.

The combine worked steadily through the barley, its grain tank gradually filling before a a waiting track vehicle and trailer pulled alongside. With the auger extended, the harvested grain was transferred smoothly from the combine into the trailer while both machines continued moving slowly through the field. Once full, the tracked vehicle carried the load across the field to the edge where we stood and another tractor and trailer were waiting. The barley was then transferred again, this time into the road-going trailer ready for transport away from the field. It was an impressive operation to watch, with several machines working in harmony to keep the harvest moving efficiently.

We waited in the hope that the harvesting operation would eventually flush the quail from the remaining crop, but for a long while it was other wildlife that provided the entertainment. Flocks of corn buntings, numbering more than 75 birds, along with skylarks, red-legged partridges and grey partridges were repeatedly disturbed by the advancing machinery. Roe deer and hares also appeared, moving through the shrinking cover as the combine continued its steady progress.

Time passed, and we continued to watch and wait, hoping that the next pass through the crop might finally reveal an elusive quail. A hare suddenly broke cover and came bounding towards us, making a close pass as it searched for somewhere to hide. It paused briefly, clearly unsettled by the lack of cover following the harvest, before eventually finding a route to safety and disappearing.

Kev thought he saw a quail drop out from the remaining cover as the final passes of the combine were made, but unfortunately, we couldn't get a definite identification. Once the harvest was complete and the machinery had moved on, we walked along the footpath, listening carefully as the quail continued to call from the field.

Despite the stubble now being short and offering little cover, we still couldn't locate the bird. It remained frustratingly elusive, giving away its presence only through its distinctive call from somewhere within the field.

We'd spent way longer than we'd expected here but had a great day birding and enjoying the countryside and farm activity - time to head home.

Kev returned the following evening with his wife to see the Montagu's harrier again, while I decided to make another visit on Tuesday morning. The forecast suggested cooler, cloudier conditions, which I hoped might reduce the heat haze and provide a better opportunity for photography.

I arrived to find a handful of birders gathered on the bridge, where the elevated position provided a wide view across the landscape. After spotting Graham Jepson walking along the track, I decided to relocate and, when he stopped, I caught up with him. We waited together, gradually being joined by the birders from the bridge and others arriving for the morning watch.

Once again, there was plenty to keep us entertained, with buzzards, red kites, kestrels and red-legged partridges all noted before, at around 6.30am, one of the birders picked out the Montagu's harrier. Conditions were certainly better than my previous visit, with less heat haze and slightly closer views, although it was still very much a bird best appreciated through a scope rather than through a camera lens.

The harrier quartered the field for a while before eventually disappearing behind a small copse of trees. It was around another 30 minutes before it was relocated, again at distance, as it continued hunting across the slope. This time, however, we watched as it dropped to the ground and appeared to catch some prey. It then flew a few tens of metres before dropping back down again.

Graham, myself and another birder decided to walk along the track in the hope of locating the bird on the ground and perhaps getting the chance to watch it take off. Before we reached the area where we thought it had landed, the harrier was already back in the air, working its way towards where we had come from. I held back slightly and followed its progress as it eventually reached the horse gallops and jumps, where it dropped out of view once again.

After another 15 minutes or so, the bird took to the air once more, flying up and over the ridge before disappearing from sight. With that, it was time to head home for breakfast. Before leaving, I had a quick chat with Bryan Manston, who had also joined the group and had managed to enjoy some additional views of this superb bird.

Year list: 271.

Cattawade, Sholing & Lincolnshire :: 15/16/18 July 2026

Saturday arrived, and after a quick discussion with Kev @kev07713, we decided to head down to Sholing, Southampton, in the hope of seeing the black-crowned night heron that had been present for the previous couple of days. After the week I'd had, we opted for a slightly later start than usual, setting off at 6.00am. It was still early enough to beat the worst of the traffic while allowing ourselves a little extra rest.

We made a brief comfort stop enroute and, as we got back into the car, received some encouraging news from the site - the bird was still there. We contacted our friend Bryan Manston, who was about 40 minutes ahead of us, and he confirmed that the heron had been seen in the reeds, although it hadn't yet ventured into the open.

Buoyed by the positive reports, we continued towards Southampton, feeling increasingly confident that we were in for a successful day. Then the phone rang. It was Bryan.

Unfortunately, the news wasn't what we wanted to hear. The night heron had suddenly flown high over the trees and disappeared, leaving everyone searching in vain. Bryan had decided to cut his losses and would head down to Pennington in search of a curlew sandpiper, a bird they would ultimately miss as well, so they wouldn't be there by the time we arrived.

We parked up and spent the next few hours chatting with other birders as they came and went, but there was still no sign of the night heron. To pass the time, we watched the dragonflies and damselflies buzzing around the reserve, along with a red-eared slider turtle basking nearby. After four and a half hours of waiting, we finally decided to pull stumps, admit defeat, and head back to Whitecross Green Woods in search of butterflies instead. A bit annoying as I had delayed our departure time.

Over the next couple of days, news broke that a Hudsonian godwit had been found at Cattawade, on the Suffolk–Essex border. By Tuesday evening, we'd agreed on another early start to see if we could connect with it. We'd both seen one last year (report here), but I was keen to add it to my year list. We also took Kev's wife, Karen @karenheath62, along for the trip, as it would be a lifer for her.

The Hudsonian godwit is one of North America's most sought-after vagrants to Britain. Although it breeds in North America and winters in southern South America, a small number are blown across the Atlantic each year, making every UK record a significant event. This was certainly a bird not to miss. There have been around 70–80 accepted British records, with the total continuing to rise as new sightings are assessed by the British Birds Rarities Committee. Many of these birds remain for several days or even weeks, giving birders the opportunity to catch up with them.

It is widely believed that the Cattawade bird was the same adult first discovered at RSPB Minsmere on 1 July before disappearing for over a week. It was rediscovered at Stutton Mill on the River Stour, just upstream from Cattawade, and over the following days ranged around the Stour Estuary, appearing at Cattawade, Manningtree and Stutton Mill, with its movements largely dictated by the tides. The bird, an adult in breeding plumage, had been photographed showing the rich chestnut-red underparts typical of the species and, whenever it took flight, the diagnostic black underwings and axillaries - one of the key features separating it from the accompanying black-tailed godwits.

After a stop for a comfort break, we arrived at the recommended car park and set off towards the pin drop we'd been given the previous day. As we gathered our gear, we'd noticed a couple of birders doing the same - they mentioned walking along the road, and we had intended to follow them, but by the time we left the car park they had disappeared from sight - I'd seemed to drag my feet leaving Kev and Karen waiting.

We looked along the road but quickly decided it wasn't the correct route. It looked like a death trap, with nowhere safe to walk, so we crossed the road instead. From there it became obvious that the route led through a small area of houses, shops and industrial units. A birder heading in the opposite direction confirmed we were on the right track and told us to cross the bridge, where we'd find the assembled birders already watching the godwit.

When we joined the group, we were told the bird was currently out of view, about halfway along the channel. We set up our scopes, and after about five minutes the godwit reappeared, feeding steadily along the water's edge before making a short flight across to the opposite bank.

I began photographing it as it worked its way closer, but I noticed another group of birders positioned lower down the ditch, around 30 metres ahead. Thinking it would give me a better angle and reduce the distance to the bird, I left my scope with Karen and Kev and walked down to join them. The godwit continued feeding along the far side of the channel, gradually making its way towards us. After a long wait, it finally moved into a much better position, giving me my best photo opportunity. A great bird and a welcome addition to my year list.

The bird started working away and we looked at our watches - well the time at least, Kev doesn't wear one - and decided that we'd start making our way home and drop off at RSPB Otmoor on the way as one of our friends Bruyan Manston had alerted us to the fact that brown hairstreaks have emerged and could be seen down one of the rides. Kev and I have really quite enjoyed the last month where birds have taken a bit of a back seat and insect life taken over. It has been a time to recharge and prepare for the second half of the year when I hope to close out a species list of more than 300.

On the way down Otmoor Lane there were signs suggesting a road ahead was closed but continuing on we didn't come across any obstructions and reached the car park to find only one other car there. We picked up some binoculars and cameras and set off to search along the ride we'd been pointed at and see if we could find this new butterfly to us.

The brown hairstreak is one of Britain's most elusive and sought-after butterflies and unlike many butterfly species that can be found easily nectaring on flowers in open meadows, it typically spends much of its life hidden away among the branches of trees and hedgerows, making it a real challenge to find and photograph.

This small but beautiful butterfly is instantly recognisable when seen well - the female is the more striking of the two sexes, with bold orange markings on the upper wings, while the male is generally darker, with a smaller orange patch on the forewing. Both have the characteristic orange markings and small tails on the underwings that give hairstreak butterflies their distinctive appearance.

It is strongly associated with traditional hedgerows and areas of scrub containing its main food plant, blackthorn. The female lays her eggs individually on young blackthorn stems, where they remain through the winter before hatching the following spring. The caterpillars feed on the fresh leaves and flower buds before eventually pupating among the surrounding vegetation.

Some of the best places to see this species are in south Wales and parts of southern England, where conservation efforts and sympathetic land management have helped maintain important populations - outside of these areas, sightings are much more sporadic. Even within areas where they occur, they are never guaranteed. Their habit of spending much of their time in the tree canopy means that patience, good weather and a little luck are often needed to catch a glimpse.

We spotted a good variety of butterflies along the ride, along with plenty of damselflies and dragonflies enjoying the warm conditions. I eventually stopped to investigate some butterflies feeding on a patch of brambles, and as one fluttered up and settled to nectar, I realised it was a brown hairstreak.

I called Kev and Karen over and pointed out where it was feeding. Within a minute, Kev found another individual and showed us where it was perched - a fantastic result! Later, Kev discovered two more, bringing the total to four sightings.

We continued searching for another half an hour but could only relocate the same individuals in their favoured spots. Even so, the area was alive with insect activity, with a great variety of other butterflies, damselflies and dragonflies.

With our search complete and the brown hairstreak successfully found, we headed home delighted with our short visit.

That evening, Kev and I were chatting and noticed that the black-crowned night Heron was still being reported from Miller's Pool, Sholing. We decided it was worth another attempt, this time planning to leave earlier than on our previous visit. Setting the alarm for 4.00am, we hoped an early morning start would give us the best chance of connecting with the bird, as pre-breakfast seemed to be when it was most active and in view. It also meant we'd beat the public and, unlike the previous Saturday, avoid the inevitable disturbance caused by the many children fishing around the pool.

We arrived and parked up, soon joining a lone birder watching from the edge of the pool. His news wasn't particularly encouraging as he'd already been there for nearly half an hour without a sighting.

We settled in alongside him and began another patient vigil. Apart from a suspicious shape moving in the reeds that briefly raised our hopes before revealing itself to be nothing more than a coot, there was no sign of our target. A few more birders arrived over the next hour or so, and we updated them on the situation.

As we continued to wait, Kev spotted a fox standing on a fallen log spanning the water. It paused to scan its surroundings before turning its attention towards us, watching quietly for a few moments. Earlier, we'd seen a rat behaving in much the same way from the very same log. The fox looked to be in excellent condition, with a healthy coat and a watchful, alert demeanour.

As the wait dragged on, Kev moved to a different vantage point to gain a better angle into the reedbed where the bird had been seen most often, but despite our combined efforts, we still drew a blank.

I got chatting to another birder who turned out to be a regular visitor, having seen the night heron on several of his daily visits. He confirmed that it was usually seen at the far end of the reeds and kindly showed me his best photograph of the bird - an image I could only admire with a touch of envy. He'd also found what he considered the best place to wait, although before long we found ourselves back on the fishing-platform peg.

Kev and I eventually climbed down to sit at the end of the platform, almost at water level, where we continued scanning the reed margins. While we waited, black-tailed skimmers began patrolling the pool, and a couple of interesting butterflies drifted past, providing a welcome distraction. Then I caught some movement in a willow tree ahead. We'd scanned the tree countless times already, knowing that both of our previous night heron sightings had involved birds perched in willows at some stage. I raised my binoculars to investigate. At first all I could see was a woodpigeon, but then, tucked in amongst the branches, I spotted the night heron. I alerted everyone and tried to describe where to look as apparently "it’s in the tree" is not descriptive enough!

The bird soon hopped further along the branch and disappeared behind dense leaf cover. Kev quickly relocated in an attempt to gain a better angle, but before he could get into position the heron took flight, disappearing behind the willow and into a stand of trees off to our left, frustratingly out of sight.

Before we had much chance to discuss our next move, the night heron was airborne again. This time it flew towards us, passing high in front of our position before continuing over the trees. It then banked left and appeared to drop into the woodland beyond. A couple of the other birders headed off in search of it, but after a while they returned empty-handed, unable to relocate the bird.

By now it was approaching mid-morning, so we decided to wait a little longer in the hope that the night heron might return. There seemed little point in heading home only to sit in heavy traffic, so we made the most of the peaceful surroundings and continued scanning the pool.

Eventually, we called it a day and began the journey home, but this time there was a sense of satisfaction. Having redeemed ourselves after dipping on our previous visit, it seemed only fitting to round off the morning with a well-earned celebratory brunch.

Saturday arrived and our search for new species for the year took us in pursuit of pectoral sandpipers. There were two potential locations to choose from: two birds reported at RSPB Freiston Shore, or a single bird at Keyhaven Marshes.

I initially suggested we head for Keyhaven, but with the distances to both sites being fairly similar, the added attraction of two birds at Freiston Shore, and the ever-present possibility of something new turning up along the east coast, we decided to make the journey northeast.

We arrived and parked up, heading out to view the pool in front of us, which was alive with waders. Among the many birds present were good numbers of redshanks, golden plover, a turnstone, oystercatchers, a lone red knot, dunlin, avocets, a black-tailed godwit and lapwings. Adding to the variety were common terns, along with a juvenile little tern, which provided a welcome highlight amongst the busy scene. There were no reports for the pectoral sandpipers yet and we wondered if we'd misjudged when the tides might turn and birds disperse.

We continued along the edge of the car park towards the reservoir pool and stopped to have another look, this time from a different angle. While we were scanning the water, a birder approached from behind and shared the news that a pectoral sandpiper was still being reported. We quickly packed away our gear and made our way towards the screen overlooking the pool.

When we arrived, a female birder already there turned to us with disappointing news. Both birds had been present shortly after the previous birder had left, but a peregrine had flown through and flushed the pectoral sandpipers, just five minutes before we arrived. The frustrating part was that all the other wildfowl and waders had remained in place, and we hadn't even seen the peregrine as we walked over.

We settled in and scanned through the gathering of birds, picking out the black-tailed godwits, redshanks, three yellow wagtails, and an impressive group of 11 greenshanks, but despite searching carefully there was still no sign of the sandpipers.

Eventually, we decided to try the lagoon further back along the track, viewed from the new hide. As we made our way there, we met another birder coming in the opposite direction. He stopped to check his phone and asked whether the pectoral sandpipers were still present. When we told him they had disappeared, he shared some unexpected news - a message had just come through on the Frampton Marsh volunteers' WhatsApp group reporting that two pectoral sandpipers had been seen there. Could these be our birds?

Looking across the lagoon, there was still no sign of the pectoral sandpipers. The far bank was packed with birds, however, with hundreds of red knot and oystercatchers gathered along the shoreline, creating an impressive spectacle in their own right.

We set off for RSPB Frampton Marsh, which was only a short distance along the coast but still around a 20–25 minute drive by car. Conveniently, we crossed paths with a Frampton Marsh volunteer at both ends of the journey, and before long we were on site and making our way towards the 360 Hide, where the report had originated.

As we approached, we met a couple of birders leaving the hide who told us they had been unable to relocate the birds and were going to try their luck scanning from the path instead. Entering the hide ourselves, we quickly confirmed the situation - the pectoral sandpipers were still missing. Apparently, only one person had seen the birds, but he was considered a reliable observer.

We spent time scanning the area and picked out a good selection of waders, including black-tailed godwits, five spotted redshanks, a ruff, and a single green sandpiper, but there was still no sign of the pectoral sandpipers.

Eventually, we decided to move on and view the area from the side, scanning across the water and the islands beyond the reedbed hide in the hope that the birds had simply moved elsewhere.

From here, we had a much better view across the reserve and quickly picked out at least 14 spoonbills, many more black-tailed godwits, a couple of Mediterranean gulls, three sleeping spotted redshanks, and several avocets. Unfortunately, the reported little stint had seemingly gone awol and was nowhere to be found.

While scanning, three birders appeared and told us they had spotted the two reported black-winged stilts down at the water's edge. Unfortunately, from our current position they were hidden from view. We moved higher up the bank and carefully peered over the edge, where we were finally able to get clear views of the pair.

It was believed that these black-winged stilts had attempted to breed earlier in the season but had been unsuccessful. Since then, they had been moving around this stretch of coastline, with this area currently proving to be their favoured location. Any day when you get to see stilts is a good day.

We decided to return to RSPB Freiston Shore on the off chance that the pectoral sandpipers had come back. On arrival, we noticed that the lagoon by the car park was now holding far fewer birds than earlier, perhaps displaced by the falling tide, which was now approaching low rather than the high tide conditions from our first visit.

We made our way back towards the screen, noting that the impressive flocks of red knot had largely moved on and the numbers of oystercatchers were gradually beginning to fall as well.

When we reached the screen, we found three other birders present, but there was still no sign of the pectoral sandpipers. The greenshanks and redshanks had also disappeared, while the black-tailed godwits were steadily leaving in small groups until eventually the lagoon was empty of them too. We shared our news from Frampton Marsh with the other birders, and after a discussion they eventually decided to move on. With little else to do, we accepted that our search was probably coming to an end and started making our way back towards the car.

Before leaving, we stopped to take another look over the lagoon from the new hide. From here, we continued to watch oystercatchers departing, while scanning across the surrounding meadow revealed a lone corn bunting, adding to another bird that had been calling near the screen earlier. Swallows streamed through over the water, but despite the excellent views offered from the new hide, there was nothing further to add to the day’s list.

We finally set off back to the car, with Kev hearing a tree sparrow and spotting what we presumed to be a female perched high on a distant bush.

As we walked along the track, we heard the unmistakable sound of a powerful propeller aircraft approaching. Looking up, we watched as an RAF Douglas C-47 Dakota swept overhead, crossing out over the seawall before banking away, circling back and repeating the manoeuvre before finally disappearing along the coast.

The aircraft was ZA947, wearing its distinctive brown and green South East Asia Command (SEAC) camouflage scheme. As it passed over the bay, it appeared to be flying through a cloud of oystercatchers. We assumed the aircraft was further offshore than it looked, but its passage was enough to flush many of the remaining oystercatchers from the water's edge.

ZA947 has a fascinating history. The aircraft was built in 1942 by the Douglas Aircraft Company at their Long Beach plant in California and was originally destined for the United States Army Air Forces (USAAF). However, it was soon transferred under the Lend-Lease programme to the Royal Canadian Air Force (RCAF), where it served throughout the Second World War, carrying out vital transport, supply and evacuation duties.

The Dakota remained in Canadian military service until 1969, when it was declared surplus and two years later, in 1971, it was acquired by the British Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE), where it spent the next two decades based at Farnborough and Bedford, being used for advanced radar trials and atmospheric research.

In 1993, ZA947 was transferred to the Battle of Britain Memorial Flight (BBMF), where it remains today. Unlike the flight's historic fighters, the Dakota has a dual role - not only does it appear at airshows and commemorative events, but it also serves as a multi-engine training aircraft, helping prepare pilots to fly the flight's iconic Avro Lancaster bomber.

We headed home, stopping along the way for a sandwich and a drink. Although we hadn't managed to connect with our target bird, it had still been an enjoyable day out, with plenty of good birding, unexpected highlights and the simple pleasure of being out in the field.

Year list: 270.