Day trip to Norfolk :: 29 January 2026

Kev @kev07713 and his wife had been talking about a trip over to Hickling Broad in Norfolk, with the main aim of seeing the black-winged kite, a species Karen had yet to encounter. There were several other sites in the area that could be visited if needed, so it promised to be a good day regardless. The forecast was dry, if decidedly cold. Kev got in touch to ask if I was free to join them and, after checking with my wife Charlotte, I replied to say that we’d both love to come along and make a proper day of it.

We set off early, planning to head straight to Hickling Broad to give ourselves as much time as possible and ensure everyone got to see the bird. Neither Charlotte nor Karen had seen a black-winged kite before, while for Kev and I it would be a welcome year tick. After a quick breakfast stop enroute, we arrived at the Visitor Centre car park at around 8.30am. We’d driven through some mist and fog earlier on, but this had cleared by the time we reached Cambridge. The sky remained grey, though mercifully not heavy or threatening. The car’s temperature gauge read 3.5°C, and a light ESE breeze greeted us as we set out.

Hickling Broad is a 600-hectare National Nature Reserve in Norfolk, managed by the Norfolk Wildlife Trust (NWT). It is the largest of the Norfolk Broads and is a landscape of shallow lakes and wetlands created by medieval peat digging and later flooding. Lying within the Upper Thurne Broads and Marshes, the Broad’s waters are slightly brackish due to their proximity to the coast. A rich mosaic of open water, reedbeds, woodland and grazing marsh makes the reserve one of the most important wetland sites in the region.

The black-winged kite is a striking small raptor, with pale grey and white plumage, bold black shoulder patches and intense forward-facing eyes that give it an almost owlish expression and before 2023, there were no accepted UK records of this species. A bird that appeared briefly in Mid Wales (near Newtown, Powys) in April that year went largely unpublicised, but in July 2023 a black-winged kite was discovered at Hickling Broad, becoming only the second confirmed UK record and the first ever for Norfolk.

The species is typically associated with open grasslands, savannahs and semi-arid habitats in sub-Saharan Africa, tropical Asia, and increasingly south-west Europe, particularly Spain, Portugal and southern France. Although classed globally as Least Concern, it remains an accidental vagrant in the UK. More recently, from late 2025 into early 2026, what is thought to possibly be the same individual, has been repeatedly reported around Hickling Broad and the wider Norfolk Broads, including regular sightings near Stubb Mill Raptor Watchpoint and the Horsey area. During this winter, the bird has stayed for an unusually long period, including appearances at Ludham Bridge, where Kev and I visited in December to catch up with it (report here).

We chose to follow the grass track towards the Raptor Viewing Point, a walk of around 20 minutes, and were treated to plenty of wildlife along the way. A couple of muntjac deer crossed our path, while the surrounding marshes held an assortment of ducks and wildfowl, along with small flocks of tits and finches flitting through the hedgerows.

On reaching the viewpoint, we found another birder already in place. He confirmed that the black-winged kite had been active earlier, hunting over the area to the left, and had recently been seen perched in some distant trees. For the time being, however, the bird was out of sight.

We set up our scopes and began scanning, concentrating on the area where the kite had last been seen but also sweeping the wider vista, keen not to miss it should it drift through unseen. At least four marsh harriers were in view, quartering the reeds and grassland or perched in nearby trees. As time passed, the cold began to creep in, made more noticeable bas we stood quietly scanning with scopes and binoculars.

After around half an hour, I picked up a bird hovering high and distant - it was our bird. I quickly alerted the others, Kev swinging his scope into position while Charlotte and Karen raised their binoculars. Although the kite was clearly visible through the scope, especially once we increased the magnification, it remained frustratingly far off. Photographs were never going to do it justice; the only real hope was that Kev might be able to stay on it long enough to capture some video through his scope.

The species’ hovering hunting style, reminiscent of a kestrel, combined with its elegant, unhurried flight over the open marshes made it a dramatic and compelling sight. Its striking pale and black plumage, vivid red eyes, and agile aerial movements set it apart from any other raptor we’re used to seeing in the UK. Photos are unfortunately only for the record.

We lost sight of the bird, which reappeared two or three times before disappearing completely. After a further 15–20 minutes, Kev eventually managed to pick it up again - now seemingly in the next county, perched in the furthest line of trees from the viewing platform. By this point, photographs weren’t just poor, they were entirely pointless. Several other birders had now joined us on the platform, and we shared the bird's location.

I attempted some video of my own through the scope, clearly something I need to practise if I’m going to improve, while Kev’s effort, though still limited by distance, was noticeably better and at least captured the essence of the bird (see on X here).

We waited in the hope that the bird might drift closer to feed but eventually accepted that we’d had good views through the scopes and there was no sign the bird would come closer any time soon. If we were going to make the most of the day, it was time to move on, ideally somewhere we could also grab some lunch. Sea Palling felt like the obvious choice: close by and holding an Iceland gull that had been present since 20 January.

Before long we were pulling into the car park, quickly clocking a couple of food options - the café in particular looked very tempting. After feeding the meter, we headed beyond the sea wall and along the steps that run parallel to the beach, passing other birders along the way, some heading out and others returning. They confirmed that the Iceland gull was showing, and it wasn’t hard to guess where: a small cluster of scopes and long lenses was visible a few hundred yards along the steps.

We started in that direction but soon paused to watch a group of sanderlings scurrying across the sand. They moved in restless bursts, pausing for barely a heartbeat to probe the wet shoreline before racing on again, their constant motion conveying a sense of urgency and purpose. These were our first of the year, making them a very welcome tick. Beyond the sanderlings, three purple sandpipers were also feeding - distant, but another year tick and a pleasure to watch through the binoculars.

We reached the other birders and set up our scopes. When we asked about the Iceland gull, no one seemed to know its exact location, only that it had been in the bay recently among dozens of other gulls. Strangely, no one appeared to be watching it.

We began scanning, and within a couple of minutes I managed to pick it out from the jumble of juvenile gulls that kept drawing the eye but weren’t what we were looking for. I shared the location, and a few people peered through my scope to confirm the bird - a juvenile itself, apparently.

The Iceland gull is a medium‑sized, pale “white‑winged” gull that draws birders whenever one shows up. Despite its name, it doesn’t breed in Iceland - its breeding range is further west and north, mainly along the rocky Arctic coasts of Greenland and northeast Canada, but the name has stuck. These gulls are scarce but regular winter visitors to Britain and Ireland. During autumn and early winter, many young birds disperse from their Arctic breeding grounds, and a few head south and west - sometimes reaching the UK from November through April. Unlike common coastal gulls such as herring or lesser black‑backed gulls, Iceland gulls tend to occur singly or in very small numbers within mixed gull flocks. Their pale plumage and comparatively graceful appearance make them prized finds.

While scanning further, I also picked out a couple of adult Caspian gulls and another that I couldn’t confidently age - I’m not that skilled at gull identification.

A few moments later, a dog walker appeared, and their off-lead dog charged across the beach, flushing the gulls into the air. While I couldn’t relocate the adult Caspian gulls, I had tracked the Iceland gull across to the far side of the bay, where I watched it preen before settling down to rest on the sand.

A quarter of an hour passed as we watched the gull intermittently lie down or stroll slowly across the distant sand. During these quieter moments, we scanned out to sea and spotted passing red-throated divers, another first of the year for me. Eventually, the Iceland gull moved closer, joining an advance party of black-headed gulls in the nearer bay. There it began stalking up and down, feeding over a patch of what appeared to be seaweed just breaking the surface of the water.

Apparently there is no limit to the number of photographs you can take but I eventually managed to break away from the Iceland gull, and we were then entertained by three purple sandpipers working along the rocky breakwater at the foot of the steps. They worked parallel to us as we walked back along the steps to the slipway from the village to the beach. They crept across the rocks with quiet intent, their slate-grey plumage blending seamlessly with the sea-dark stone. They pecked methodically at the surface, tapping and probing, pausing just long enough to prise a morsel before moving on. Each movement was deliberate and economical - a quick jab of the bill, a half-step sideways, then another peck.

We reached the café we’d passed earlier and decided to stop. The men went for sausage baps, while the ladies opted for French onion soup. Warming up after our time on the beach, we chatted over lunch and discussed where to head next and in the end, we settled on a site that regularly hosts short-eared owls, hoping for one in flight - our earlier encounter this year had involved a bird buried in a bush. There was also the added bonus of a possible barn owl, which Kev and Karen were still missing for the year.

As we approached the site, we passed a couple of cattle egrets and pulled over to watch them at close range - so small when you get up close. With no optics to hand, we simply enjoyed the view through the car window before moving on. Arriving at the car park, we found a small group of birders already in place, clearly thinking along the same lines. We were told that a barn owl had been out on the horizon about five minutes earlier.

We began scanning the landscape, picking up whooper and mute swans, a couple of common cranes, flocks of greylag and Canada geese, and scattered lapwings. After around 30 minutes, a barn owl finally appeared from the left, flying across in front of us towards an area of longer grass. As it reached the broken hedge line separating the two areas, a kestrel burst from a nearby tree and gave chase, forcing the owl to dive for cover into a hole in a bush. The brief interaction was quite spectacular. The kestrel circled once before perching in a tree off to our right, while the barn owl soon re-emerged and began hunting over the scrubbier ground before being lost from view.

We continued to watch the barn owl intermittently at greater distance, passing the time chatting with some of the locals, who were very friendly. One told us that there was more than one short-eared owl in the area, though they weren’t always all visible, and sometimes not at all. He mentioned that one would occasionally drop onto a post off to the left and even showed us a video of just such an encounter. These owls clearly weren’t the only species he'd videoed. He also shared an extraordinary video of three owlets emerging from a tree hole - the sort of footage you suspect you’ll never top. While we waited, we were further entertained by several Chinese water deer feeding in the field in front of us, seemingly everywhere and, in this area at least, appearing to outnumber the muntjacs.

A short while later, the local we’d been chatting with suddenly alerted everyone to a short-eared owl that had dropped onto a post to our left. The bird sat scanning the surrounding fields, slowly rotating its head as it took in the landscape. It remained there for a couple of minutes, long enough for us to fully savour the moment - what a bird.

I rattled off a few photos and then decided to try for some video, opting to shoot handheld, unsure how long the owl might stay. Within thirty seconds it dropped from the post, flew across the fields and disappeared behind a line of trees, not to be seen again.

We waited a little longer, but with the light beginning to fade and a three-plus-hour journey ahead of us, we eventually packed up and said our goodbyes. We stopped for dinner at a pub on the way home, the same one our friends Adrian and Bryan often use when passing through Northampton - a fitting end to another cracking day out in excellent company.

Year list: 149.

Filling in some gaps :: 26 January 2026

I was recently enjoying a lovely time with friends over a weekend, celebrating one of their birthdays. This left Kev free for the weekend, and with his wife away, he headed down to Cornwall to go birding with his sister Karen and her partner Dean, later visiting RSPB Ham Wall. He managed to tick quite a few birds, some we’ve since encountered on our travels, but he also added further species with his wife in Hampshire when they went to see the killdeer.

There are therefore a couple of species that might normally require a special trip, but Kev already has them on his year list. This isn’t usually a problem, as Kev graciously revisits several birds he’s already seen just so I can add them to my year or life list.

Today, I decided it would be a good idea to knock a couple off the list in advance, avoiding the need for extra trips and leaving us free to search for new species for both of us, rather than just me. So, I focused on the American wigeon at Ferry Meadows CP and the two long-staying Slavonian grebes at Whitemoor Haye.

I had a specific plan, so there was no need to be out at the crack of dawn. I waited until my wife was getting up to go play pickleball, still quite early, before setting off. The drive was smooth, and I arrived at Ferry Meadows CP, passing through the camera-controlled (license-recognition) barrier. I made my way to the furthest car park and used the facilities before returning to the car. A birder and his wife were just setting off, and he briefly asked if I was there for the wigeon. He suggested the most likely spot to see it was where the pin-drop on BirdGuides indicated. As they left, I jokingly remarked that it would be nice if they could locate it by the time I arrived.

In the UK the American wigeon is considered a rare but regular vagrant. It doesn’t breed here but individuals are occasionally recorded, especially in autumn and winter. It used to be treated as a rarity deserving formal review, but because of increasing records it is no longer classed as a British Birds Rarity Committee (BBRC) rarity. These ducks normally breed in boreal and sub‑arctic North America and winter across the southern USA and Mexico. Birds that appear in the UK are believed to arrive as a result of trans‑Atlantic vagrancy, often aided by strong westerly winds or weather systems that push them off course during migration.

I walked to the viewpoint to find the couple and another birder scanning the water - a slightly worrying sight, as they were looking in different directions. The lone birder explained that no one had seen the bird yet and that he had spoken to several others who had been searching since early morning - it hadn’t been found. I joined the search, but things didn’t look promising. We worked through the various ducks and geese on and around the water and passed a great white egret standing on the point to our right. It was delightful to watch a group of eight little grebes diving along the edges of the reeds. There were also plenty of common gulls, and I spotted one cormorant of the "Sinensis" sub-species, also known as the “Continental” form due to it being common inland across Europe.

Time passed with no sightings. The couple eventually decided they’d had enough and went to the Centre for a cup of coffee. The other birder, who had already been to Fen Drayton to see a smew, concluded that our luck had run out. I stayed on, continuing to scan the banks. American wigeons are dabbling ducks, feeding mostly at the surface of shallow water rather than diving. Even when actively feeding in the morning, many wigeons rest on banks or grassy areas near water, often tucking their heads under their wings. What worried me was that there were only a handful of Eurasian wigeon on the water, and none were visible on the banks. The footpath around Gunwade Lake runs quite close to the water’s edge, so opportunities for them out of the water were limited.

I waited and noticed a birder on the opposite side of the lake checking his phone. Deciding to do the same, I saw a report on BirdGuides confirming the American visitor just a minute before but in a completely different location, on the far side of Overton Lake in the marshes. I packed up and began making my way to the new area. Along the way, three birders approached and said, “You know what we’re going to ask you, right?” I explained about the update and hurried on, checking the route as I went. The site was new to me, and I didn’t even know the marsh area existed or how to access it.

After a 15–20 minute walk, I reached the viewing platform and arrived with the couple I had met earlier - they were very glad they had stopped for a coffee. Within a minute, we located the American wigeon among its Eurasian cousins and numerous teal. This was a much better location for the bird to feed. As we watched, it cruised along, feeding, gradually moving further away. Eventually it reached the far end of the visible water, and I decided I had been fortunate and had waited patiently. It was time to move on.

I had planned a trip across to Whitemoor Hays, but noted that Eyebrook Reservoir was roughly on the way and decided to make a detour, as up to eight smew had been recorded there lately. I set off, but the journey seemed to take longer than expected given the relatively short as-the-crow-flies distance.

On arrival, I made my way down toward the bay the smew favour each winter, passing through a large pool of water covering the road. As I neared the spot where I planned to park, I came across a couple, both carrying birding gear, walking the other way. I nodded to them, thinking they were relocating to the spot likely to give the best view of the birds. I quickly parked the car in the mud beside the road and checked the opposite side of the island before following them down to the gap in the hedge cut to allow viewing of the bay. While there had been a report of eight smew from this spot earlier in the morning, there were none now - really disappointing.

The couple had moved further along the road, and I followed, hoping for a wider view of the water. When I reached them, they explained that the only smew they had located was on the far side of the water and only visible from where we stood. It was just about visible in the scope but extremely difficult to photograph - I tried anyway. How unlucky was that? Eight birds earlier, and now a single drake at extreme distance.

It was bitterly cold standing there, so the three of us walked back up the road toward the cars. On the way out, I stopped at each pull-in, hoping to locate any others, but had no luck.

It was still quite a drive to my next venue, and I hoped the murky conditions wouldn’t limit my chances of seeing the birds. I needn’t have worried, as the sky seemed to brighten slightly as I got closer. I drove down the last stretch of road to a pull-in where I could turn around and then return to the spot that offered the best view of the Roadside Pit, where the long-staying Slavonian grebes had been recorded since 12 December. As I pulled up, I waved to a chap who was heading back to his car - he must have been checking out the surrounding area.

I jumped out and learned that he hadn’t located any grebes, which was a bit annoying, but I set up my scope and began scanning. I asked him about any merlin, and again he hadn’t seen one.

I lifted my binoculars and scanned the field behind where merlins are sometimes reported, and there it was: a female, sitting in the field. I pointed it out to him, and he managed to get on it, agreeing with my ID. I spun round my scope and reached for my camera to take a few record shots; it was at some distance, and the light was starting to fade. He expressed his gratitude, saying he wouldn’t have seen it without my help.

The merlin is the UK’s smallest falcon, a compact, fast, and agile bird of prey that chase small birds low over the ground at high speed, often surprising prey with sudden bursts of flight. In autumn and winter, the resident population is augmented by migrants, especially from Iceland, so numbers increase in the UK during the colder months. Many of our resident birds breed on upland moorlands (Scotland, northern England, and Wales) move to lower ground, coastal marshes and farmland in winter.

With the excitement over, we turned our attention to locating the Slavonian grebes. After about ten minutes, we spotted one, cruising gracefully among the ducks. At first it stayed in the middle of the pool, but eventually it worked its way to our end, offering a much better viewing position. I managed a few record shots at a distance before packing up my kit for the journey home. All in all, it had been a very successful day of birding.

Year list: 142.

Hampshire return, then into Gloucestershire :: 23/24 January 2026

A first-winter killdeer was initially recorded in the UK on 5 November, when it was discovered on Skokholm/Skomer in Pembrokeshire, where it remained for a couple of days. The bird then relocated to South Slob, County Wexford, being present there from 27 November until 2 December. After a prolonged absence with no confirmed reports, the killdeer reappeared on 21 January at Ripley Farm Reservoir - after talking it over with Kev @kev07713, it was clear I couldn’t get there the following day, so he would head over with his wife Karen, while I hoped to make some time on Friday despite already having evening plans in Birmingham. They were successful in seeing the bird, as were our friends Bryan Manston and Adrian Sparrowhawk.

The killdeer is noticeably larger than a ringed plover and is instantly recognisable by its bold double breast band, and with a more upright stance. It has a distinctive rufous rump and upper tail, a feature that contrasts strongly with the darker central tail band and white tail sides. This warm, rusty-toned rump is particularly striking when the bird takes to the sky, or relocates short distances around the reservoir, and is a useful identification feature at range. Combined with the long, pointed wings and bold wing pattern, the rufous rump adds to the species’ unmistakable appearance in flight.

It is an exceptional vagrant to the UK and Ireland, with its normal range extending across much of North America, from southern Canada through the United States and into Central America. As a result, any appearance on this side of the Atlantic is considered a major event.

Records in the UK are extremely scarce, with most involving autumn or winter birds thought to have crossed the Atlantic on strong westerly systems. Many of these records relate to first-winter individuals, which are more prone to long-distance displacement. Sightings are often brief, although on rare occasions birds have lingered long enough to allow multiple observers to connect.

When present, killdeer typically favour open, muddy margins, reservoirs, coastal lagoons, and flooded fields, behaving much as they do in their native range by feeding actively and making short, rapid runs. Their striking plumage, particularly the double breast bands and bold facial pattern, makes them distinctive even among similar plovers. Sightings are generally short-lived, so visiting doesn’t guarantee seeing the bird - timing and luck are critical.

With reports of a scheduled shooting event on Saturday, visitors hoping to see the killdeer were eager to get views before any potential disturbance. I left home at 5.30am, aiming to arrive and walk the track to the reservoir by 8.00am. The forecast was mixed - I encountered rain on the journey, but it was dry on arrival, though I dressed expecting showers at some point.

As I set off from the car, I met a fellow birder, Lloyd, who had come down from Nottingham; this would be a lifer for him as well. We chatted along the track, which made the 15–20 minute walk pass quickly. Thankfully, we didn’t encounter any birders coming the other way, suggesting the killdeer was still present.

We arrived to find a couple of dozen birders already gathered, all focused on the killdeer. One kindly shared a rough location, and before long we had our scopes trained and were on the bird. At first, it was just over the edge of the grass, with only its head visible, but it was easy to pick out, positioned just to the left of a small group of lapwings. Gradually, the killdeer moved fully onto the grass, feeding and running around, giving excellent views for everyone although very distant. I posted that I’d seen the bird on our friends’ Birding WhatsApp group and soon heard that a couple of others were about 30 minutes away - with the 20-minute walk from the car, that meant they would likely be joining me in around an hour. In the meantime, the killdeer preened and settled slightly out of view, giving only glimpses to those watching.

My friends arrived, and we watched the killdeer for about 10 minutes before it suddenly took to the air, heading west and high, accompanied by three lapwings. For a moment, there was concern that it might have gone for good, but word soon spread that it had done this before and would likely return. With good views already in the bag, we began to pack up, only to be interrupted when a white-tailed eagle was spotted at a great distance, gliding along the tops of the trees. Our views were fleeting, and within seconds the eagle dropped from sight before I had a chance to photograph it.

As expected, the killdeer returned after about 10 minutes, and the sun broke through the clouds. This seemed like a perfect opportunity for better photos, but with the sun directly behind the bird, it was mostly silhouetted. I took a couple of shots but decided there was little advantage in staying longer. As we started to leave, we paused briefly when a little gull was spotted on the far left of the reservoir.

I was in Birmingham at a show, simultaneously messaging with Kev about the possibility of a birding trip on Saturday morning. As has become almost a routine lately, the forecast was for wet and changeable conditions throughout the day, so we considered options that would give us a satisfying day out while remaining flexible to the weather. Eventually, we settled on meeting at 6.45am and heading into the Cotswolds to check out a finch flock that might include bramblings, a species neither of us had seen yet this year.

We arrived just as light was breaking, the first soft glow illuminating the fields. A few finches were already visible, and we were delighted to spot our first corn bunting of the year, perched quietly in a tree nearby. After about 15 minutes, the finches began dropping to the track where some seed had been scattered, feeding briefly before quickly moving off again. The flock grew larger and returned intermittently, though they remained very skittish despite our efforts to stay still and unobtrusive.

The flock was a limited mix of species: mainly chaffinches, a few corn buntings, and quite a few striking bramblings with their warm, rufous tones. Occasional dunnocks flitted among them, while blue tits and great tits added movement and colour to the scene. Watching the birds in the morning light, with the quiet Cotswold landscape around us, it was a wonderfully rewarding start to the day and even before the rain threatened to arrive.

With views secured, we decided it was time to move on to WWT Slimbridge, where a few interesting reports had been made and several potential species awaited that could be added to our year list. An added advantage of the site was the network of hides scattered throughout, offering shelter should the weather take a turn for the worse.

We arrived early and entered via the Members’ gate, as it was still before opening time, then made our way towards the Zeiss and Kingfisher hides. A flock of birds caught our attention, and we paused to watch for them dropping in, but they initially wheeled away and disappeared from view. The calls suggested they were entirely, or at least largely, siskins.

It wasn’t long before the flock reappeared and eventually settled in an alder tree to feed. We carefully scanned through the siskins, hoping to pick out a lesser redpoll, but none could be found.

Off to our right, an unexpected sight drew our attention: a great white egret perched high in the branches of a nearby tree. While it’s fairly common to see little or cattle Egrets roosting high like this, it’s behaviour we’ve rarely encountered in great whites. On reflection, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

We left the area around the wildfowl collections and passed through the first gate into the trees, pausing to check whether a water rail might be feeding in a spot where we’d seen one on a recent visit - still missing from our year lists, and once again not obliging.

As we continued on, a treecreeper suddenly popped into view ahead of Kev. I stopped in the hope of grabbing a photo, while Kev carried on towards the Kingfisher Hide. A warden with a camera paused alongside me, clearly with the same idea in mind.

I caught up with Kev in the Kingfisher Hide, where he’d been scanning the surrounding fields and trees for anything unusual, though without success so far. I joined him but drew a blank as well. Looking back down the field we’d walked parallel to earlier, I eventually picked out a single white-fronted goose among the Canada geese. There were also two obvious farmyard geese present, which I’m confident are long-stayers, having previously served as useful markers when viewing two pink-footed geese earlier in the month.

Kev then moved over to the window overlooking the feeders in the tree, following a warden’s tip that a great spotted woodpecker had visited earlier. He quickly called me over after noticing movement in the stream below - a water rail. It slipped out of view before I reached the window, but around 30 seconds later it reappeared, walking across and then down the stream. It was a very welcome sighting, and one we’re always pleased to enjoy, given how secretive this species is and how rarely it shows itself, especially when calling.

With no further birds of note, we moved back down to the Van de Bovenkamp Hide and began scanning from there, working through the geese ahead of us and to our right, all at some distance. Kev suddenly stopped and said he had a juvenile peregrine in his view at 12 o'clock and within seconds I had it in my binoculars and camera. The bird was hunting through the geese, presumably looking for an opportunity, perhaps a lapwing breaking from cover.

Peregrines are often seen hunting over flooded fields and along the estuary margins, sometimes from high vantage points such as the Estuary Tower. Most encounters involve a bird powering low and fast over flocks of dunlin, lapwing, teal or wigeon, with any attack over in seconds, a sudden sweep that can cause mass panic even if there is no kill. Even without striking, their presence creates instant chaos: lapwings lift en masse, wader flocks tighten, and geese become visibly edgy.

On this occasion no attack followed, and the peregrine eventually flew onto the face of the ridge, disappearing over the far side and out of view.

Returning to the geese, Kev picked out a group of three and then a further five tundra bean geese feeding among the Canada, barnacle and greylags. There are still good numbers around and we’ve been fortunate to catch up with them at several sites this winter. Although distant, they showed well through the scope and confirmed that they weren’t accompanied by the two pink-footed geese we’d seen on our previous visit.

Tight against the hide window, I heard the calls of common cranes moments before they came into view - first two birds, then the group swelling to nine. Common Cranes are very often seen in groups/multiples of three because that’s the classic family unit: two adults (a bonded pair) and one juvenile (occasionally two, but often only one survives the first year). Juveniles stay with their parents for 10–12 months, migrating and wintering with them, so through autumn and winter you’ll frequently see tight groups of three feeding and moving together.

We moved on to the Zeiss Hide and took in the views across the grasses and reeds but added nothing further of note. Despite Heather England’s regular postings of bittern photos, our luck didn’t extend that far. In the pool to our left, however, we watched another great white egret slowly stalking the water’s edge.

We retired to the Visitor Centre for a breakfast roll before packing up and heading on to Burnham-on-Sea, hoping to catch up with the wintering German Kentish plover, a bird that has become a regular in recent years. We’d left it a little late and the water level wasn’t on our side, still falling towards low tide; we always feel that arriving an hour or two on a rising high tide gives the best chance.

We arrived in a light drizzle and chatted with another birder who had been earlier in the morning and hadn’t seen the plover but had returned for another look. He headed off to park, and we didn’t see him again. Scanning the beach, we picked up oystercatchers, dunlin, avocets, curlew, a single ringed plover and a grey plover, and as we worked along the esplanade it was largely these species that continued to turn up.

We also began scanning Stert Island, off Burnham-on-Sea, a low-lying tidal island at the mouth of the River Parrett in Bridgwater Bay; largely saltmarsh and mudflat and regularly cut off at high tide, but often holding good numbers of waders. At first I assumed the largest flock was dunlin, but Kev pointed out that while Dunlin formed the leading edge, the birds behind were knot, with a few grey plovers mixed in.

The rain grew heavier as we worked our way along much of the beach normally favoured by the Kentish plover. Realising we weren’t going to find it, we decided to call it a day. On the way back, we considered a stop at Oldbury Power Station, but with the rain still falling, we opted to give it a miss.

Year list: 138.