Around Staffordshire :: 11 February 2026

Kev @kev07713 was still working hard on his last job before he retires, and was probably ready for a day off and could also have a rest from his daily drive as it was my turn - the only question was where to go. With yet another spell of wet weather to contend with, we had to choose carefully, and in the end, we decided to go looking for willow tits before journeying on to Mow Cop in Staffordshire for the long-staying shore lark.

We agreed on a later start than usual, setting off at 6.30am and heading north via the A46 and M69 before joining the M1. Before long, however, we ran into trouble: collisions ahead meant delays of an extra 20–30 minutes. With that in mind, we pulled off at the next services a few miles up the road, deciding that breakfast would be a better use of our time while the traffic hopefully eased. Once fed, we set off again, initially crawling along until things gradually began to clear. Eventually we passed the accident, now confined to the inside lane and hard shoulder, and were able to make steadier progress.

We continued on to our chosen site, hopeful of connecting with willow tit. The species has declined dramatically over recent decades, with population drops of well over 90% in parts of England and Wales. They have disappeared from large areas of their former range and are now largely confined to fragmented strongholds in northern England, parts of the Midlands, and a few scattered pockets elsewhere. Even within these areas they can be extremely local and often quiet outside the breeding season. Spring is typically the best time to look for them, when birds are more vocal and territorial, though late winter can also offer opportunities as natural food supplies dwindle and they begin venturing out from woodland in search of supplementary feeding sources.

We entered the hide to find we had it entirely to ourselves, which meant we could arrange the seating just as we liked, ensuring we both had clear views of the feeding trays and hanging feeders maintained by the reserve. A steady soundtrack of calling birds drifted in as various species arrived, taking full advantage of the bounty on offer, including some seed that Kev had brought.

Once we’d settled, birds began dropping into the three feeding areas to the left of the hide, each at a different distance. One was a little too close for comfort, another felt just about right (slightly farther out but probably ideal), and the third was larger yet more distant, better suited to viewing through binoculars than photography, though perfectly adequate for watching the comings and goings.

We were prepared for a bit of a wait and were more than content to enjoy the steady stream of other birds visiting the feeders. great, blue, long-tailed, and coal tits came and went, alongside blackbirds, chaffinches, dunnocks, house sparrows and robins. Overhead, siskins called from the treetops, their presence betrayed by sound alone as they stubbornly refused to descend into view.

We saw movement at the foot of the middle feeder and could see what we originally assumed would be a mouse but turned out to be a bank vole - another small rodent skurried in the grass between us and the feeding trays but we didn't ever get eyes on it for an ID. Bank voles are one of the most widespread and familiar small mammals in the UK, though more often heard rustling than actually seen. They favour woodland, scrub, hedgerows and rough grassland where dense cover offers protection. With their warm chestnut-brown upperparts, soft greyish flanks and blunt, rounded features, they have a rather endearing look and quite different from the larger-eyed, longer-tailed wood mouse that often shares the same habitat.

Unlike some small mammals, bank voles do not hibernate, and winter is a test of endurance rather than escape. They remain active throughout the colder months, moving along networks of shallow runways hidden beneath leaf litter, fallen branches or a protective layer of snow. Food, of course, becomes harder to come by. Autumn caches of seeds and nuts can be crucial, and their diet shifts towards whatever remains available: beech mast, acorns, fungi, roots and the occasional green shoot. Around well-managed reserves they quickly learn to take advantage of the bounty beneath feeding stations, darting out to gather fallen sunflower hearts or fragments of peanut before vanishing back into cover.

For the patient observer, though, winter offers the best chance of a sighting. Hunger can make them a little bolder, and at quiet hides they sometimes grow accustomed to the rhythm of human presence. Watch the ground beneath a busy tit flock and you may notice a small reddish shape materialise, whiskers twitching, pausing only briefly before collecting a prize and retreating along its secret pathways. In the stillness of a cold woodland winter’s day, those fleeting encounters can be every bit as rewarding as the birds above.

Still scanning through our binoculars, I picked up a bird in the tree beside the furthest feeding station and instantly recognised it as a willow tit - result. I alerted Kev and within seconds it slipped away into the hedge and trees to our left, vanishing as quietly as it had appeared.

A few minutes later it made its first brief visit to the table, in and out in a flash. Another shortish wait brought it back, this time offering a chance for a photograph, a pattern that continued over the next half hour or so, each appearance fleeting but enough to keep us thoroughly engaged.

Then the rhythm changed with the gaps between visits seeming to shorten noticeably and Kev suggested we might now be watching two birds rather than one. Sure enough, after another ten or fifteen minutes, we had confirmation: two willow tits together on the table at the same time, a quietly satisfying moment after the long wait. On a couple of occasions, we were also treated to views of them in the surrounding hedges, perched naturally and clearly enough for us to attempt a few more pleasing photographs, far preferable than the shots taken on the feeder table.

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, making us very grateful for the shelter of the hide - inevitably, though, we would have to return to the car. Eventually the downpour eased just enough for us to make a dash, reaching the car without getting completely soaked.

We entered details for the car park suggested on BirdGuides into the SatNav and made our way to Mow Cop in search of the long-staying shore lark, first reported there on 16 January. Shore lark is a striking winter visitor to the UK, but it is rarely seen away from coastal habitats. Typically, a passage migrant from Scandinavia, it is most often found along the east coast on saltmarshes, shingle beaches, and open coastal flats; inland sightings are comparatively rare.

While a few shore larks do appear inland in some winters, they usually turn up as scattered vagrants or passage visitors, rarely staying long in one place. This bird’s loyalty to the same field for several weeks, foraging in rough grass and churned mud, makes it a particularly appealing and accessible target for birders.

We got out the car and made our way to the last sighting location, passing a birder coming the other way. Recent reports indicated the bird had been viewed in fields along the wall by the Gritstone Trail near the Old Man O’Mow, a muddy cow‑field. He confirmed that the bird was still showing but could be a little tinker in first locating it - he had posted his latest sighting on BirdGuides but it hadn't yet been updated on the app. We reached the area and immediately came across meadow pipits and skylarks flitting about the area, some of the skylarks chasing one another around. There was a light drizzle starting when after ten minutes or so Kev spotted the shore lark along the edge of muddy tractor tracks and called me back from where I was looking: where the last pin-drop had been advised.

Shore larks are small birds with a striking appearance, their most distinctive feature being a bright yellow face and throat, sharply contrasted with a black bib and mask, a high‑contrast look that stands out even at a distance. The upperparts are sandy brown streaked with darker tones, while the underparts are pale, and a faint pale stripe runs along the wing. In flight, the white wing panels are noticeable against the brown body. They feed on seeds and insects, often running along the ground in short bursts rather than hopping or perching in vegetation.

We watched as the bird worked along the edge of the broken earth along the tractor track and then across it, getting closer and closer. We snapped away with our cameras and rain started to fall, getting heavier. The lark took to the air and flew left and back along the field towards the village. Kev eventually relocated it before we decided to retire back to the car, getting soaked as we went.

We plotted our route home but opted for a route that allowed for a detour past Whitemoor Haye, hoping to catch a merlin if the weather had improved, and as I’d seen there a couple of weeks earlier. The drive was smooth, and we arrived on the lane under broken skies with no rain.

We parked and made our way to the spot I’d used before, and almost immediately we spotted a Slavonian grebe on the water. Turning back to scan the likely field, we couldn’t see anything of note at first. Soon, a raptor shot across the far side of the field and through the trees, and Kev later picked out a sparrowhawk perched on the lowest rung of a distant fence in the same area. Noting that the recently cut hedge was a little too tall to give him a good view, Kev decided to head back toward the car, where a raised track should provide a clearer vantage over the field.

We scanned the area, picking out numerous mute swans along with several Egyptian, Canada, and greylag geese, but there was no sign of our target bird. Continuing along the track, we enjoyed varied views across the fields. Soon, Kev stopped again as the hedge line had grown too tall, restricting his view, so he returned to the raised section for a better vantage. I carried on down the track, still able to see over the vegetation.

After a hundred yards or so, passing close to some low trees and bushes, a sudden movement flushed a bird from cover. Out it shot - a woodcock, dashing across the water and disappearing behind the raised banks and grasses on the far side; a very nice sight, if all too brief.

The track turned right and I stopped to look out to where several hares were crouched, and crows were scattered across the field. One crow caught my attention as it hopped and pecked around a hare - the hare didn't appreciate the attention and spun round to face the crow as it circled. I'm really not sure what was happening. Perhaps likely it wasn't predation on a healthy adult hare but more probable it was a crow investigating or probing a possible food opportunity, combined with natural curiosity or play.

I made my way back to where Kev was now stationed, and we were joined by a local birder who had returned from Derbyshire, where he’d been trying to connect with Tundra bean geese associating with white-fronted geese. He mentioned that partridges had been reported in the field recently - the first greys seen here for several years. We searched carefully but came up empty, and I hadn’t seen any on my previous visit either. As time passed without any further sightings of note, we eventually made our way home, arriving home a little later than planned but content with our outing, again despite the weather.

Year list: 162.

Linch Hill Pit 18 & Farmoor Reservoir :: 09 February 2026

With Charlotte away playing pickleball and Kev still busy fitting windows for family, I found myself with some free time and decided to explore the Lower Windrush Valley Gravel Pit Complex, starting at Rushy Common Nature Reserve and Tar Lakes, where pintails, two red‑crested pochards, and an oystercatcher had been reported the day before.

Rushy Common Nature Reserve lies in the Lower Windrush Valley, just southeast of Witney, off Cogges Lane between Cogges and Stanton Harcourt in West Oxfordshire. Nestled among a cluster of restored gravel pits, the reserve has been transformed into a rich wetland habitat through coordinated conservation efforts. Originally part of Gill Mill Quarry, the site was reshaped from industrial extraction land into a thriving nature reserve through a long-term restoration project led by the Lower Windrush Valley Project and its partners. From the reserve car park, permissive and public footpaths loop around the site, including routes that lead towards Tar Lakes and further into the Windrush Valley path network.

Parking at Rushy Common is free but limited to around 20 vehicles and on arrival, there were three cars - a chap was just packing up as I pulled in. Since it was my first visit, I located the direction of the bird hide, retrieved my hide key from my bag, and set off, pausing along the way to scan the water. The water was alive with activity: a grey heron, pintails, wigeon, teal, great crested grebes, coot, shoveler, Canada geese, and more.

Eventually, I reached a bend in the track and discovered that the usual puddles had expanded into a completely flooded stretch. Having chosen walking boots over wellies, there was no way I could continue to the hide - what a shame. I turned back and headed to the viewing screen in the opposite direction, from where I could scan the water and re‑spot all the species I had seen from the track, and still no red-crested pochards.

I had also planned on visiting Linch Hill Pit 18 (also known as Stoneacres Lake, particularly by the fishermen) to try and catch the two smew (drake and redhead) that had been present since 2 February. It wasn’t far from my location, but getting there required driving around the perimeter of the pit complex and through Stanton Harcourt. Observations of the smew are made from outside the site perimeter fence and through tree cover, so seeing the birds up close would not be possible. The northern roadside is fenced and where viewing was recommended to me, and if needed, a footpath runs about a third of the way down the eastern side, providing scope views of the pit.

The complex isn’t generally developed as a public nature reserve like Rushy Common and Tar Lakes, and the surrounding landscape has been shaped by decades of gravel extraction and subsequent natural colonisation and restoration. This pit is one of the larger and deeper gravel lakes in the area, with extensive open water that attracts a wide range of waterbirds and has developed a mix of aquatic vegetation, shallows and fringe habitats.

I parked in a layby, careful not to block one of the designated passing places along this stretch of the single-track road and stepped out to scan through the fence and trees. Setting up my scope, I immediately picked out the drake smew, then the redhead. I had to shift slightly to maintain a clear view, and that’s when I noticed at least four red‑crested pochards in the same area. They drifted to the right and out of sight from my initial position, so I moved further along the road to a more open gap in the hedges, and from there I was able to relocate and enjoy views of all the birds again.

The male smew is mostly white with bold black markings, and the head is pure white with a striking black mask through the eye and down the nape - the back and wings are patterned with black. It is small and compact, and highly conspicuous on this open water. In contrast the female has a grey body with a chestnut-red head and subtle white cheek patch, and although more muted than the male, is still elegant.

The birds were frustratingly distant, but their presence more than made up for the distance. Eventually, the smew that had been diving along the opposite bank took flight, flying back toward the area where I had first spotted them. I relocated once more, but the birds were frustratingly difficult to pick out through the tangle of branches and twigs. Still, I’d enjoyed the encounter and especially the bonus red-crested pochards, a species I don’t often stumble across naturally during the year.

I set off for home but then realised that Farmoor Reservoir lay more or less on the way. With that in mind, I decided to drop in and see if I could track down the common scoter I’d missed on a previous visit, after a paddleboarder had reportedly flushed it, along with several other birds, from the water.

I parked up and walked out onto the causeway between F1 and F2, focussing on F1 where most recent sightings had been reported and where disturbance tends to be lower. I began scoping the reservoir and, after a bit of patience, eventually picked up the scoter among a group of mostly sleeping great crested grebes, almost directly opposite my position.

I packed up the scope and set off to try for closer views and along the way, I stopped to watch a female greater scaup cruising along the edge of F1 in the company of tufted ducks.

I set up my scope, having closed the distance, but I could no longer locate the bird among the grebes. Had it moved out into the centre of the water? Despite scanning carefully, I still couldn’t pick it up.

I continued around the reservoir and eventually reached the area where the great crested grebes were sleeping or preening, and began scanning again. After a couple of careful passes, I picked it up once more, often diving and disappeared for long periods before resurfacing some distance away - a habit that made keeping track of it tricky.

At range, the bird appeared dark and very low-slung on the water, lacking the bold features of an adult drake but showing well enough to confirm it as an immature common scoter. It sat exceptionally low, giving a heavy, almost submerged appearance that was accentuated by the choppy conditions. The overall plumage was a uniform brown, without the jet-black tones or strong structure of a mature male.

The head was noticeably paler than the body, with lighter cheeks and face standing out subtly against the darker crown and nape. The bill was dull greyish-brown and relatively slim, showing little of the swollen orange-and-yellow knob characteristic of an adult male. In profile, the head shape appeared gently rounded, with a fairly flat crown flowing smoothly into the neck.

That was satisfying ... I’d managed to redeem myself and finally catch up with a bird that had been reported regularly but had so far eluded me. It had been a good day out, even if it was a little less enjoyable flying solo. No doubt Kev and I will have our diaries aligned again before long.

Year list: 159.

RSPB Frampton Marsh & Fillingham :: 07 February 2026

After looking around, we were unsure where to go on Saturday. Kev @kev07713 and I hadn’t been out all week - Kev had been busy fitting windows for family, while I’d been catching up with friends and attending a funeral. As ever, RSPB Frampton Marsh felt like a safe bet. The reserve has recently been hosting snow buntings, a species I’d failed to connect with last year but one that’s always a pleasure to see. A trip to Lincolnshire might also give us the chance to visit the Fillingham great grey shrike, which many of our friends had already visited to see.

We left Banbury fairly early, deciding not to stop for breakfast on the way. The plan was to try for the snow buntings first, then head to the reserve’s Visitor Centre for some food before moving on.

After a smooth journey, we pulled into the car park and got booted up before climbing from the path onto the sea wall. Kev set up his scope to scan along the wall, guided by information shared by friends about where they’d seen the birds earlier in the week. I mentioned that the latest BirdGuides update from Friday suggested there were still seven snow buntings on the sea wall near the steps by the East Hide, further along than he’d expected.

We worked our way along the track, and before long a small group of birds lifted and dropped down onto the side of the wall. Through our binoculars we could see they were our target birds, along with a single meadow pipit, settled roughly halfway between our starting point and the gate above the East Hide, just before the bend in the wall. We walked closer dropped our scopes and took some photographs. The birds offered excellent views, one pausing to stretch its wings and revealing bold black-and-white patterning in the primaries.

Snow buntings are a classic winter visitor to England, and for many birders they’re one of the highlights of the colder months. They breed way up in the high Arctic (Greenland, Iceland, Scandinavia, Russia), then move south as winter bites. In England they usually start turning up from late October, with numbers peaking November–February, and most have gone again by March. They are often found in small flocks, sometimes mixed with linnets or twite and feed mostly on seeds, running mouse-like across the ground - males in winter show that lovely mix of white, black and warm buff.

A couple of photographers approached from the direction of the East Hide and joined us in watching the birds, one of them mentioning that this was his first encounter with the species. What a lucky chap, though they’re always special to see, and all the more so with a couple of smart males among them.

We scanned both sides of the sea wall, picking up marsh harriers, buzzards, curlews, redshanks, ringed plovers, a single dunlin, and vast numbers of lapwings and golden plovers. We returned to the top of the wall by the steps and scanned again, hoping to spot a merlin perched on a post or clinging to the rungs of a fence, but drew a blank.

Dropping back down, we headed in the direction of the car, pausing to scan the scrapes and talking to a couple of the reserve volunteers heading out to catch up with the snow buntings. Here we found plenty of wildfowl: my favourite pintail, wigeon, teal, shoveler, gadwall, mallard, black-tailed godwits, huge flocks of dunlin - hundreds, if not thousands - along with greylag and Canada geese. Snipe flew through on a couple of occasions, singly and in pairs.

We continued scanning back and forth, with Kev picking out a distant peregrine on the ground, busy consuming its recently caught prey. Behind us, I picked up a sparrowhawk, initially perched on a post before flying to a low, raised structure where it remained for at least ten minutes. With kestrel already seen, we’d recorded most of the raptors, just not the desired merlin.

By now we’d spent a couple of hours scanning the area, so decided it was time to drop into the Visitor Centre for a spot of breakfast - sausage-filled rolls and coffee, which hit the spot. We chatted with the ladies on duty while checking the sightings cards, reflecting on just how much the site has changed since our last visit, when it was almost devoid of water, and birds. How good it was to see it flooded again and hosting tens of thousands of birds. As the rain began to fall, we set off back towards the car.

We confirmed our earlier decision to then follow with a visit to Fillingham, the great grey shrike having been confirmed to still be there with an update earlier in the morning. Kev drove and as we progressed, we kept our eyes open to see if we could spot any grey partridge, a species we haven't encountered this year so far - we often stop and look but almost inevitably they turn out to be red-legged and has been the case repeatedly this year and that morning.

However, as we passed a place called Ingham Cliffs, we spotted a couple of partridges out in the fields. Kev safely pulled the car over so I could look back and check them - greys! He then dropped back so we could both get a better view. The birds were crouched low in the crop, the female now almost completely hidden from view. Despite the name, grey partridges are anything but grey when you really look at them - their plumage is actually a warm, beautifully patterned mix of colours - rich chestnut and rufous tones on the face and flanks; buff and sandy browns across the body, giving excellent camouflage in farmland; finely barred flanks with bold chestnut stripes; a pale grey-brown back rather than true grey.

You’ll often see pairs forming from January through February, with most birds firmly paired by March. Through the winter they can be in small coveys, but as daylight increases and the breeding season approaches, those groups break up and birds start forming monogamous pairs. So this is a classic sign that spring, at least in partridge terms, is just around the corner.

They were once a common farmland bird but have seen a significant decline in numbers across the UK and much of Europe over the past decades. Modern intensive agriculture removes hedgerows, field margins, and rough grass strips that provide cover and nesting sites. Grey partridges rely heavily on weed seeds in winter and insects (especially for chicks). Pesticides and herbicides have reduced these food sources, particularly invertebrates in spring and summer. Some areas historically released large numbers of gamebirds (pheasants, partridges), but release strategies and shooting pressure have negatively affected wild grey partridge populations when not managed carefully.

We arrived at Fillingham and pulled onto the verge alongside a couple of other cars, with a cold wind and the hint of rain in the air. A little way along the track we could see three birders chatting and assumed that was the right direction to head in. As we approached, we realised one of them was Wayne Glossop (@WayneGlossop2). As Kev has met and chatted with him before, he stopped to say hello. Wayne mentioned he was just heading back to his car to pick something up but would return shortly and, most importantly, that the bird was showing well.

When we arrived, two birders were already in position, one with a camera and the other with a scope, though the bird wasn’t in view at that moment. It was only a couple of minutes before the great grey shrike flew across the set-aside field, hovered briefly, and then perched on the hedge we’d just walked along. Viewing from the inside line of the hedge, we stepped back a few paces to get a better line of sight as the bird remained perched there for several minutes.

Great grey shrikes in the UK are classic winter visitors - scarce, and always a bit of an event when one turns up. They breed across northern and eastern Europe and parts of Asia and are regular winter visitor, mainly from October to March, with most records between November and February, with numbers varying year to year; some winters see several birds, others very few. They favour open countryside with scattered bushes, hedges such as here, or isolated trees, especially on rough set-aside farmland, heathland, and moorland edges.

Typically they are very conspicuous, often perched on a post, hedge, or small tree, hunting by watching from a vantage point, then dropping or gliding onto prey; prey consisting of small mammals, birds, large insects, and lizards. They are famous for impaling prey on thorns or barbed wire, earning the nickname “butcher bird”. They’re a proper winter bonus.

After a few minutes our bird took to the wing, flying out across the rough field before lifting and beginning to hover, its wings beating rapidly. Kev managed to capture some video, which gives a great impression of the behaviour and can be seen in his post on X here.

While great grey shrikes typically hover only briefly, some individuals will hover for surprisingly long periods, particularly in steady winds. A good headwind allows them to hold position with far less effort, much like a kestrel, especially when locked onto prey moving below - behaviour we’d not witnessed before. On this occasion, the shrike hovered for a considerable time over the field before dropping back to a perch, longer than is usually expected for the species. This was repeated again and again as it worked across the field, often beginning from a higher position before descending to lower levels and eventually dropping into the grass.

After a while Wayne returned and the bird slipped out of view, disappearing over the far side of the hedge. One of the other birders mentioned that this was the first time in the couple of hours he’d been there that the shrike hadn’t been visible. By now the weather had closed in - the cold wind strengthened and spots of rain began to fall - so the bird was likely holed up in a dense patch of cover, taking a break from the conditions. Wayne and his companion headed off, while Kev wandered along the hedge to check whether the bird was hunting in the adjacent fields and down the gentle slope. Before long, the last remaining birder departed as well. With little action, Kev scanned behind us and picked out four more grey partridges - buses, eh!?

An older woman then joined us for twenty minutes or so while the bird remained out of view. She’d only got married the week before and hadn’t yet had the chance to come and see the shrike, but it still refused to show. Eventually she decided to return another day, being local, and by the time she reached the end of the track near the parked cars, the shrike had hopped back up onto the far hedge line. Kev whistled and, after a moment, she turned back, though she’d clearly decided to return when conditions were better. Kev and I watched as the bird worked slowly along the hedge, perching for minutes at a time before moving on to the next vantage point.

Eventually the bird reached the far right-hand corner of the field and perched there for a while. We were then joined by Toby Carter (@_TCartz) and a young woman with him, whom he introduced as Charlotte. They had apparently seen the bird earlier along the far hedge but had relocated as it moved out of view and back into the field.

We chatted for a while, and Kev mentioned Toby's latest updates and videos on Facebook, where he’s been trying something a little different. Before long, the bird resumed its earlier behaviour, hovering for prolonged periods and occasionally dropping into the grass. As the weather closed in once more, with longer spells of drizzle, Toby and Charlotte eventually headed back towards the car. Later, however, we came across them again further along the hedge, still watching the shrike.

With the weather drawing in and the light steadily fading, we decided we’d had our fill of the bird and turned for home, calling it a day.

Year list: 157.