Looking around there didn't seem to be much around that we might travel to, at least not within easy reach. Much like Frampton Marsh and Lymington you can never have a bad day at WWT Slimbridge, so we decided to head there, arriving just as the members’ gate opened, comfortably ahead of the general public. At the entrance we were greeted by a young girl volunteering as a warden, noting down membership numbers. Her mother remarked on how impressed she was that her daughter not only had the interest, but also the enthusiasm to get up so early for it.
From that entry point it made sense to follow the track past the Rushy Hide towards the Estuary Tower Hide, which overlooks the Dumbles. There had been a report of a Caspian tern here the day before, so you never know what might turn up.
At the Rushy hide, there was quite a change since our last visit. Avocet numbers had dropped sharply, presumably because they’d nested and the young had fledged, probably moving to other parts of the reserve. I was keeping a species tally, carefully working through the ducks in search of teal - eventually, I did find a couple. Nearby, a black swan was sleeping, while redshank, green sandpipers, and several little ringed plovers with their young busily scuttled along the water’s edge.
The day before, a female garganey had been reported from the area to the left of the Robbie Garnett Hide. We were delighted when another birder picked it out - distant, but right in front of us. It certainly hadn’t been there earlier, as I had thoroughly scanned all the ducks while searching for teal. It must have dropped in while we were scanning, hidden among the crowd. Over the following days it would prove to be quite mobile, sometimes seen on the Tack Piece, “calling in” before flying back over the hedge.
The garganey is a small dabbling duck, similar in build to teal, and one of the rarest but regular summer visitors. A migratory species, it breeds in parts of Europe and western Asia, arriving in March, then winters in sub-Saharan Africa and southern Asia from August onwards. A female appearing at Slimbridge in late July might be a failed breeder leaving early, a dispersing post-breeder seeking rich feeding before migration, or a migrant from continental Europe pausing on its journey. Slimbridge provides ideal conditions for moulting birds: safe water, plentiful food along the margins, and limited disturbance.
The female, though far subtler than the strikingly patterned male with his bold white head stripe, is beautifully adapted to her wetland environment. Garganey are often secretive, foraging quietly in shallow margins or hidden among vegetation—unless, of course, they’re fast asleep in the reeds, which is how I’ve often encountered them.
After we'd chatted with others in the hide, we looked back to see our bird had vanished, presumably the small duck flying off to the left.
We stopped briefly at the Martin Smith hide, but with little in view we moved on to the Robbie Garnett hide. Here, a dozen or so green sandpipers were feeding close by, a few showing particularly well right in front of the hide. Some waded in the water, their movements captured beautifully in the reflections. Across the far bank a spoonbill was, as ever, fast asleep. A lone male ruff worked along the water’s edge, first feeding to the right and then drifting left. While scanning to count the green sandpipers, I noticed one bird that stood out - “one of these things is not like the others.” It was, in fact, a wood sandpiper.
Wood sandpipers are most frequently encountered during spring passage (April–May) and again on autumn migration (July–September). Late July through August marks their peak return passage, as birds travel south after breeding in northern Europe and Asia. In Britain the annual total usually numbers only in the low hundreds, with most sightings involving single birds, though occasionally several may gather at a good site.
This individual was feeding at some distance but eventually flew in to about halfway across the pool, allowing for a slightly better view and photograph.
To our amazement, the spoonbill eventually stirred from its sleep and with a stretch and a shake of its head, it began to preen, giving us a chance to see it in all its elegance. Its plumage looked dazzlingly white and the bird’s long, spatulate bill was shown off beautifully as it worked methodically through its feathers. An exotic visitor more reminiscent of a Mediterranean lagoon than a Gloucestershire wetland.
This small interlude was lovely to watch, as spoonbills often appear motionless for hours at a time. Their routine of sleeping and preening is in fact a reflection of their feeding ecology - they tend to feed intensively at dawn and dusk, sweeping their distinctive bills side to side through shallow water, then spend much of the day resting to conserve energy. In the UK they are still relatively scarce, though their numbers are slowly increasing, with breeding colonies now established in a handful of sites.
After its brief display the bird soon reverted to type, tucking its bill back beneath its wing and sinking once more into sleep.
From the next hide we located a great white egret, standing almost motionless in the shallows. Its large size and striking white plumage made it easy to pick out, but the bird hardly moved during the time we watched it. This still, patient behaviour is typical of the species, which will often wait for long periods before stalking and striking quickly at passing fish or amphibians. Great white egrets are becoming more frequent sightings and are now breeding in a few areas, so encounters like this are no longer quite the rarity they once were.
In front of the hide, activity was provided by a family of reed warblers moving rapidly through the reedbed. The adults worked their way among the stems, searching for insects, while the juveniles followed, less agile but clearly learning quickly. Their constant movement gave us an excellent chance to watch them at close quarters, a good example of the busy, hidden life that thrives in reedbeds through the summer.
We made our way up into the Estuary Tower and spent some time scanning the view, hoping for a glimpse of the Caspian tern reported the previous day, or perhaps something interesting passing over the Tack Piece or the Dumbles. Despite repeated checks with the scope, the scene remained fairly quiet. On the slope down to the water’s edge we noted groups of gulls, curlew, and dunlin, but nothing out of the ordinary stood out. With little else showing, we decided to retrace our steps and head across to the Zeiss Hide.
From there we picked up a pair of common cranes off to our left, feeding in the distance. These birds have become a welcome feature at Slimbridge in recent years, thanks to the reintroduction programme. Looking further out, a marsh harrier came into view, flying steadily across the reserve. It was immediately mobbed by a variety of smaller species as it passed through. Once the raptor had gone, many of the disturbed birds filtered back down to the pools. Among them we picked out a leucistic lapwing, strikingly pale compared with the rest of the flock and an unusual sight.
From here we could also see more than one hundred avocets – so this is where they were.
A sudden burst of commotion broke out when news came through that the Caspian tern had reappeared. The message circulated quickly via the local WhatsApp birding group, BirdGuides, and even by a telephone call. Kev and I, along with a pair of other birders, set off at pace back towards the Estuary Tower Hide - ironically, we had managed to place ourselves about as far from the bird as it was possible to be on the reserve.
Partway there, however, another update came through: the tern had been flushed by grazing cattle from the field where it had been resting and had vanished. The birders ahead of us relayed the disappointing news, but we continued on regardless, hoping it might return.
At the Estuary Tower Hide, a small crowd had gathered, all scanning the estuary in anticipation. More people arrived in quick succession, word clearly travelling fast. Despite our collective effort, the tern never showed again, though it was reported once more the following day.
While the tern stayed away, there was still plenty of activity on the Dumbles. Increasing numbers of common cranes began to drop in, eventually building to around twelve birds, loosely gathered in pairs. As we watched the cranes settle, the black swan flew past, presumably returning from feeding elsewhere.
We headed back to the Visitor Centre for a bite to eat and a much-needed coffee before setting off again, this time towards the Discovery Hide. A Tundra bean goose had been reported from there earlier in the morning, and we were keen to try our luck.
On the way, however, we met several birders coming in the opposite direction, all of whom reported that the goose had disappeared. This news was confirmed as soon as we arrived at the hide - no sign of the bird. We spent some time scanning, but at first all we could pick out were greylags scattered across the pools and grazing areas. Still, the atmosphere in the hide was good, with birders chatting.
Then, just as our attention began to drift, Kev suddenly pointed and called out. There, walking steadily along the strip of land between two bodies of water, was our goose. At last, the Tundra bean goose had revealed itself, giving us the views we had been waiting for.
They breed in the Russian Arctic tundra and migrate mainly to western and central Europe; the UK is on the edge of their regular wintering range. Generally darker in plumage than greylags, with a more compact build - the bill is mostly dark with a limited orange band near the middle.
Time was marching on, and we returned to the Rushy hide to see what might be showing there, finding that the spoonbill must have relocated - again initially asleep, preening, and then going back to sleep after it had walked at most 5 metres.
Green sandpipers sometimes flatten themselves, lying low in shallow water when a raptor passes overhead - this “freeze” behaviour is a well-known anti-predator response. However, on hot days, green sandpipers (like many waders) will sometimes settle low in very shallow water or damp mud to cool off. The water can help regulate temperature, especially in mid-summer - this seemed to be what was happening.
A ruff fed in the shallows but again some distance from us.
On our way back to the car we passed through the Slimbridge collection and were drawn to the enclosure holding masked lapwings and southern screamers, two striking species sharing the same space. We stepped inside the walk-through area just as one of the lapwings began bathing in the pool, splashing vigorously before pausing to shake out its wings.
Masked lapwings, also known as spur-winged plovers, are native to Australia and New Guinea. They are bold, noisy birds, often highly territorial, and are well known for defending their nests with loud calls and even aerial attacks on intruders. Their distinctive yellow wattles and sharp wing spurs give them a unique appearance among lapwings.
The southern screamer by contrast, is a large South American wetland bird, more goose-like in size and stature. Despite its bulky build, it belongs to the same order as ducks and geese, though it looks quite different. Its name comes from its extraordinarily loud, far-carrying call, which can be heard over long distances in its native range. At close quarters its size and unusual build make it particularly impressive.
Together in the same pen, the two species made an odd but fascinating pairing - one small and sharp, the other large and ungainly but both offering a glimpse of wetland life from very different parts of the world.
Year list: 222.
