I returned from Scotland and arrived home on Friday evening. Kev and I had agreed to head to North Wales for our annual black grouse trip. With enough time, we also planned to swing by the Wyre Forest to look for some of its specialist woodland species - wood warblers were likely in by now, joining the pied flycatchers.
We settled on a 2.45am departure, aiming to be in position by around 5.00am. Thankfully, I wasn’t driving; I’d already driven a six-hour journey earlier that day and only managed about four hours of sleep. Given the early start and our plan to be in place by sunrise, we packed some breakfast - food and drink we could have in the car, which we’d be using as a hide.
The lek is a traditional ground where male black grouse gather to perform elaborate displays in a bid to attract females. We arrived and found it was still dark, getting to our spot and taking the first place in the pull-in. Looking out from our unusual hide across the open moorland, the sky was still heavy with night, and it was cold with the windows down. The light gradually crept over the hill behind all the time hearing the sound: bubbling coos and rapid hisses - an otherworldly chorus, part gurgle, part hiss. Out of the gloom the black grouse began to materialise, jet black with a white wing-bar, and tail fanned open showing striking white under-tail coverts, their red eye-combs flaring as they display and prepare for battle. They stop, flutter, circle and parallel walk with other males in choreographed aggression, trying to out-perform their rivals. Occasionally fights break out and although it is intense, it is rarely very violent.
As the sun rose, shafts of sunlight poured onto the lek, illuminating the iridescent sheen of the males' plumage. After a couple of hours, the action began to slow and the males started to disperse, the moor beginning to return to silence - although not completely with regular calls from red grouse and cuckoos.
We turned the car and drove back to the car park for a stretch and to see if we could spot any cuckoos - we'd heard them call from this direction. With coffee in hand, we walked down the slope and started scanning with scope and bins, also keeping an eye out for a ring ouzel (we wouldn't find any today). After a while scoping, we found an individual perched on top of a very very distant tree, a second individual passing a little closer but ultimately continuing down the slope to where our first bird was. Then a third appeared with them and this kicked off some chasing and displaying over the trees - it was good to watch but frustrating as it wasn't possible to record any of the action, with the camera or phonescoping.
Content with our views but realising we might not get any better views of the cuckoos, we jumped back into the car and drove passed the lek where numbers had dropped to just a couple of individuals, and then along the track. We were now on the hunt for red grouse - hopefully these wouldn't prove to be difficult.
Spotting red grouse along the narrow winding road that cuts through the heather-clad moor is a quieter, more spontaneous kind of wildlife encounter and less theatrical than the black grouse lek we'd just left. The ground is a mosaic of rich purples and browns and so you have to stay alert to pick out a head that may pop above the heather or sitting on top. At first they appear almost invisible, their russet-brown plumage perfectly matching the scrubby surroundings. But once you see them you seem to get you eye in.
It is a round-bodied bird with a slightly hunched posture, a bold white eye-ring, and a red eyebrow (the eye comb, more prominent in males). Often, they seem to stare at you for a moment and then either duck down, flap and depart (often calling with their "go-back go-back call), or if you are lucky they return to feeding and give stunning views. Their walk is part strut, part scuttle - almost like they are always in a hurry but aren't sure where to go.
Their presence is a sign of the health and character of the moorland, thriving in heather-rich uplands shaped by traditional land use like low-intensity grazing - there’s a strong presence of sheep across this area. We were fortunate to encounter good numbers of red grouse, with several birds obligingly close, allowing us time to watch and photograph their behaviour.
There’s something undeniably special about seeing red grouse this way, often surprisingly near, exuding a proud, slightly wary energy with that unmistakable fierce look. A few sat upright and calm, radiating a kind of quiet confidence. At one point, one even walked right out onto the road ahead of us, as if to remind us of whose ground we were on.
Along the route we came across more meadow pipits and a few wheatears, always keeping the interest going. We paused to look around and I mentioned that we hadn't yet seen a whinchat, and as soon as I mentioned its name one called to our left. We pulled the car in for a look around.
We first spotted a whinchat perched in a tree before it dropped into the valley, where it remained in view but on and off. Luckily, it eventually came closer, giving me the chance to get some clearer record shots. It is not a rarity here but when you find one it feels special - a small upright bird perched on a post or bush, tail flicking and head alert. The male's striking eyestripe, warm orange breast and delicate white throat make him look like a brushstroke of colour. We later spotted a female which is sutler, softer in tone but just as charismatic. They perched low most of the time but occasionally flitted higher giving better photo opportunity.
They flicked back and forth, snapping up insects, tail bobbing. Their call often alerted us where they had relocated to - a soft "whit" or a slightly scratchy song, blending with the calls from meadow pipits and skylarks. It is good have such glimpses as they visit our shores - they are only here a few months, making the encounters even more special.
In a tree to our right a chiffchaff and a willow warbler called, joining in the chorus.
We paused by the woods for breakfast and coffee, surrounded by birdsong. As we stood there, it felt surreal that it was still only mid-morning and that we’d already been birding for hours. After a brief wander through the area, and a final look at the cuckoos, we saw a peregrine dash through before we made our way down to the Wyre Forest for our annual visit.
We followed the main track, ears tuned for any of our target forest species, pausing now and then to scan the slopes below. It wasn’t long before we spotted a pied flycatcher perched high in a tree, showing beautifully in the broken light. It lingered for a few minutes before heading off to hunt. Further along, we picked up the call of a tree pipit, that distinctive descending, cascading song. It took some time, but we eventually located it, high in the canopy among the tallest trees as it relocated and exhibited its characteristic parachuting onto its perch. We waited, hoping it might come closer, but no such luck this time.
Tree pipits are summer visitors, and the Wyre Forest is one of the strongholds where they still breed in decent numbers. Their presence here speaks to the quality of the habitat, open woodland with scattered trees, clearings, and sunny rides.
About a hundred metres along the track, we heard a wood warbler calling from the trees to our right. We spent a good while watching it flit through the branches, pausing often to deliver its distinctive song - what a bird! Last year, we drew a blank here and ended up travelling to Harry's Wood in Northamptonshire, where we were treated to an unforgettable show by an especially bold individual (account here). This one wasn’t quite as showy, but the views were still superb.
We dropped down through a glade and picked out a couple more pied flycatchers, this time also seeing a female. We wouldn't wait long as we wanted to get down to the brook and hopefully catch up with some of the dippers.
We spotted dippers in their usual spot, though as ever, they kept their distance - two birds, one of which flew towards us and beneath and passed the bridge we were standing on. We’d heard reports of another pair further along the river and hoped they might offer a closer opportunity for some record shots.
As we continued, something caught our eye on the forest floor, a beetle we didn’t recognise. It turned out to be a green tiger beetle, a first for us. There it was, perched on the bare earth, shimmering with metallic emerald and bronze, long-legged and poised - an unexpected highlight.
As we neared the bridge where we hoped to find the dippers we heard a blackcap, and then a couple of garden warblers. Elusive at first the garden warblers eventually gave themselves up and I managed a photo I was really pleased with.
As we reached the bridge, we spotted a dipper standing motionless just beyond its edge. Careful not to flush it, I circled around to try for a photo - not bad, I think, though there's always room for improvement. Still, it’s always a joy to see these birds, such stunning little river specialists.
We climbed the slope back up to the main track, spotting more pied flycatchers as we went. It had been a fantastic day out - long, but very rewarding. We began the journey home.
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