Two red-necked phalaropes have been reported at RSPB Titchwell Marsh from 8 September, so on Friday Kev @kev07713, his wife Karen @karenheath62, and my wife Charlotte made the journey across hoping to see them. The birds have been delighting visitors by feeding actively on one of the freshwater lagoons. Observers noted them favouring the more sheltered edges, where invertebrate prey is abundant - a classic phalarope behaviour, furiously skating on the water’s surface to stir up food.
Titchwell Marsh itself is a perfect stage to see one - covering 171 hectares, this reserve is a mosaic of habitats packed into a relatively small area: reedbeds alive with warblers in the summer, bitterns (if you are fortunate), open freshwater lagoons busy with waders, saltmarsh swept by the tides, pockets of woodland near the entrance, and a broad sandy beach stretching out to The Wash. Each habitat has its own character and community of wildlife, so a walk through the reserve feels like stepping through several different landscapes all in one visit.
The reserve’s welcome centre was open when we arrived, and Charlotte quickly realised she’d forgotten her RSPB membership card. No problem - we were waved through with a smile, reassured that we weren't cheating the system. At the desk, the volunteers shared some news: an osprey had been spotted feeding in the harbour, just up the coast to the north. As soon as the path gave us a clear break in the trees, we set up our scopes and, sure enough, there it was - an osprey at extreme distance, wheeling and diving among the gulls.
Just then, a pair of raptors shot through closer, and Kev quickly picked out one bird with a striking white rump. We followed it through, and I managed to fire off a few photos - could it be a hen harrier? A closer look at the images later confirmed it was in fact a male marsh harrier, simply showing a much more prominent white rump than usual. That’s the challenge and the charm of marsh harriers: their plumage is wonderfully variable. Unlike some raptors with neat, clear-cut markings, male marsh harriers show a whole spectrum of colours as they mature, meaning no two seem quite the same. It’s worth pausing to remember just how special these birds are - once pushed to the edge of extinction in the UK, they have staged a remarkable comeback and are now a regular, almost signature sight over the reedbeds of Titchwell and other reserves around the country.
We pressed on, hopeful that our main target for the day hadn’t slipped away overnight. A quick scan to the left brought our first glimpse of the open water and suddenly, 50 Spoonbills lifted into the air. I hurried to adjust my camera settings for some flight shots; the sky filled with white wings. Just then, Karen called out and pointed upwards: an Osprey was gliding directly overhead - against the clear sky, every detail stood out, long wings angled in that distinctive gull-like shape, as it glided effortlessly across the marsh. Its primary feathers looked pristine, fresh and undamaged, catching the light as it glided. In a couple of minutes, it was gone from view.
September is the perfect time to catch sight of ospreys at Titchwell. By now, most birds have finished their breeding season in Scotland or northern England and are heading south on migration. Their journey will take them down through western Europe and across the Mediterranean, with many crossing the Sahara to spend the winter in West Africa. Watching one glide overhead at Titchwell is a reminder of the sheer scale of that migration - a bird that may have been fishing Scottish lochs just weeks ago could be casting its shadow across the reedbeds here before pushing on to Senegal or The Gambia.
The sight of around 50 spoonbills gathered on the lagoons is an extraordinary number for a single reserve. Standing tall and white against the backdrop of the marsh, they looked almost statuesque at first, until you caught the movement of those unmistakable spatula-shaped bills - the birds were exhibiting their usual behaviour now, back to sleep or preening.
Spoonbills have become something of a speciality at Titchwell in the late summer and early autumn. Many of these birds come from breeding colonies in the Netherlands and France, dispersing to the Norfolk coast to feed and roost before moving further south for the winter. Watching such a large group together is a reminder of how far this once-scarce species has come in the UK, and how important places like Titchwell are as stopovers on their journey.
Spoonbills are still relatively scarce in the UK, but their numbers are growing. As of a few years ago there were only about 29 breeding pairs recorded, mainly concentrated in Norfolk - the UK breeding population was estimated at 73 pairs in 2024. In winter, totals recorded across the UK are usually around 100-150 birds, depending on habitat and arrival from continental Europe. The recovery has been driven by successful colonies like Holkham and new sites popping up in Suffolk, Yorkshire, and Cambridgeshire. It’s a hopeful sign: what was once extinct as a breeding species here is now becoming more regular, and sighting fifty spoonbills at a place like Titchwell feels like a glimpse into what might become the norm.
We continued further along the track and checked with birders already in place where the phalaropes were showing. At first, they weren’t easy to pick out among the busy mix of waders - mostly ruff, black-tailed godwits and dunlin, with the odd snipe tucked in. They others pointed us towards the back of the pool, just beyond a line of resting geese and black-tailed godwits. Scopes up, and there they were - two juvenile phalaropes, tirelessly feeding across the water. At times they kept close company, frantically working side by side; at others they drifted apart, putting a good stretch of lagoon between them. We had heard that the second bird had only arrived a couple of days after the first, doubling the excitement for everyone watching.
Watching across the pool a hobby came into view and started hawking in the sky above us. Hobbies are migratory and return passage peaks in September, as birds move south from their UK breeding grounds so it wouldn't be long until this individual would be on the move - these falcons are often in the last wave of migrants to depart.
Reading updates it appears that one of the phalaropes was predated by a hobby on the following afternoon. It is a stark reminder that even the rarest of birds are part of the natural food chain. For birdwatchers, it’s easy to root for the phalaropes, hoping they will linger for another day of enjoyment, but for the hobby it was simply survival.
With the tide almost at its peak, we decided to head down to the beach, hoping to catch birds out on the water before returning later as the saltmarsh and freshwater pools began to expose more of their muddy edges. A small group of birders were already scanning for the red-throated diver and red-necked grebe reported previously.
Through our scopes we picked out four adult red-throated divers, still showing their rich throat patches, alongside a single juvenile. A lone guillemot bobbed further out, though the razorbill mentioned by others eluded us. As we watched, an osprey appeared further down the coast, fishing along the shoreline. Gradually, it worked its way closer and closer, offering superb views as it quartered the shallows, and our wish came true when it plunged into the sea but unfortunately came up empty handed - magical, nevertheless.
Out over the water, common and sandwich terns passed by regularly, including a few fresh juveniles. I kept scanning in the hope of picking out a black or Arctic tern, but luck wasn’t on my side this time. By September, most common terns are wrapping up their breeding season. Colonies begin to empty as adults and juveniles start heading south - many birds can still be seen staging at estuaries and coastal lagoons, often gathering in mixed flocks with gulls and other terns. Their migration route takes them down through western Europe and along the west coast of Africa, with many wintering as far as South Africa.
We started back to main reserve and along the path came across a handful of people looking into the grass by the track and taking photographs. We stopped to look and found they were looking at a wasp spider - another was found just 10 metres further along. As summer wanes, this striking resident of Titchwell emerges - these orb-weaving spiders are easy to miss unless you’re looking along the long grass edges.
In August, volunteers counted dozens - about 36 on 17 August, then 21 along the West Bank Path by the end of the month, all found in the morning warmth or early evening when their webs glint in the light. The females, especially, are hard to ignore: bold black, yellow and white stripes, on large orb webs.
After mating and laying egg sacs - tough, papery structures usually hidden low in the grass - the adults will die off with the arrival of cooler weather. The webs that seemed so striking in August and early September will gradually vanish. The egg sacs overwinter tucked away in vegetation, protecting hundreds of spiderlings inside from frost and damp. Come spring, the tiny spiderlings hatch and disperse, often ballooning on silken threads to find new patches of grassland.
It takes them a full season to grow, and by the following summer the cycle begins again, with fresh adults and new webs appearing across the reserve. So, when you spot a wasp spider in September at Titchwell, you’re often looking at the closing chapter of the year’s generation.
At the Parrinder Hide, our next target was the pectoral sandpiper, reported to be loosely associating with the ruff. We began scanning carefully, especially toward the back corner where a cluster of birders were already focused on the far end of the Autumn Trail. I can’t quite recall whether it was me or the birder beside me that locked on first, but the shout went up almost simultaneously - there it was.
Even at extreme distance, the bird was unmistakeable, every bit as far off as the one I’d seen at RSPB Snettisham, and perhaps even the same individual working its way along the coast? We tracked it as it picked delicately through the mud and shallows, though it gave no hint of moving closer for a better view or photo.
As we scanned the pools, a shape appeared low in the vegetation - not a bittern or marsh harrier this time, but a Chinese water deer feeding on the scrub. Stocky, ginger-brown, with teddy-bear ears and no antlers, it looked almost out of place until it melted back into the cover of the marsh. These small deer are non-native, introduced from Asia in the early 20th century, but they have found a stronghold in the Norfolk wetlands. Bucks don’t grow antlers but instead sport long curved tusks - upper canine teeth used in displays and sparring during the rut. Most of the time, though, they are quiet, solitary animals, feeding on grasses and herbs in the marsh.
Suddenly there was commotion in the channel to our right - a grey heron had caught a large eel. We watched as it hauled the writhing catch from the water and onto the muddy bank. There, the heron set about dispatching it with brutal efficiency, stabbing repeatedly at the eel’s head until the struggle slowed.
Once the eel was almost still, the heron dragged it back into the shallows to rinse away the mud before, with a couple of deliberate movements, swallowing it whole. The whole sequence was drawn out, far more graphic than words can easily capture - Charlotte could almost have been watching through her fingers.
We returned to the Visitor Centre for a spot of lunch before heading back out along the boardwalk and onto the Autumn Trail. Among the flutter of dragonflies you’ll spot at Titchwell as summer moves into autumn, the common darter is one of the more familiar and reliable species. Bright red in mature males, tawny gold or brown in females and juveniles, these darters dart out from perches to snatch insects in flight, often returning to a favoured twig or stem to eat their catch. They favour the wetland edges, ditches, pools and edges of reedbeds and marshy habitats, where small flies and midges are plentiful - two landed on the boardwalk and we stopped to view and take a couple of photographs.
We walked along the Autumn trail and saw a mixed flock containing long-tailed, bue and great tits as well as some chiffchaff. Out of the reed bed climbed a couple of great white egrets, one eventually departing left and the other circling back and dropping into the reeds. A few decades ago, the Great White Egret was a rare visitor in the UK. Over time, sightings became annual, then breeding was recorded (first successful breeding in the UK was in 2012 on the Somerset Levels - since then their range has expanded significantly and we see them over most of the water-based sites we visit - Kev even had them over his garden (garden tick, if he had a garden list!).
We came to a raised bank, on and over which access was restricted, but from there we could look out across the saltmarsh and a narrow tidal channel. As we scanned, Kev picked out a group of seals hauled out in what looked, oddly enough, like a grassy field. Among them were at least two pups, and I counted around seven in total. It was a surreal sight - quite far from the open sea, yet clearly the channel provided a route inland. When a group of walkers came by, we happily offered them a turn at the scopes for a closer look.
At the viewpoint we scanned carefully, hoping for a closer look at the pectoral sandpiper, but it stayed out of sight. Instead, we picked out at least five lively little stints working the mud. After a while, we paused to weigh up our next move. Rumour has it that the sandpiper often returned to the same channel we’d watched the Grey Heron in, usually around 4.00pm, to feed along the muddy edges. If we set off now, we’d arrive just in time to be in place for its routine appearance.
We walked back around and as we got to the pool holding the phalaropes we stopped to scan the birds in case anything had changed - Charlotte and Karen stopped to watch over the reeds and said they'd catch us up. Just as we were about to move on, I was drawn to one of the gulls. This group of birds is the one I am probably least confident with and so I called Kev to have a look - my thought was Caspian gull - Kev looked and I tried to explain my reasoning - he was on board but not completely convinced - gulls are hard. We set off again and joined a group looking over the pool and asked what they were looking at - it was my Caspian!
As gull watchers know, the appearance of a Caspian gull in the UK is a sign that things are shifting, both for the species itself and for birding in general. Since 1995, these elegant gulls have gone from rare oddities to regular visitors, especially in winter roosts from October through January. What marks one out? A cleaner white head in winter, less streaking than many herring gulls; extensive black on the outer primaries; sleeker proportions - longer legs, neck, and narrower bill. The number of records is rising. As Caspian gull populations grow on the Continent, and birders sharpen their identification skills, it’s likely we’ll see more, perhaps even breeding attempts in the UK. We called Charlotte and Karen, and they joined us for a look as did an increasing number of passers-by.
Back at the Parrinder Hide, the pectoral sandpiper was already showing — still not close, but at least less distant than before. It worked the channel edge methodically, edging nearer with each careful step. We watched in anticipation, though our attention was occasionally pulled skyward by a passing hobby or other fly-bys.
Then Karen brought us back to task: the sandpiper had slipped out of sight, swimming across the channel and vanishing behind a low rise. For ten long minutes it remained hidden, before reappearing farther off, feeding along the water’s edge once more but now moving away. At times it stood quietly among stones, perhaps seeking cover from potential predation, before eventually scurrying further out across the mud. And just like that, our hope of those close, lingering views was gone - we had been given only a partial glimpse of what might have been, and it was unlikely we would get anything better soon.
We scanned the area and picked out a pair of Egyptian geese, along with several little stints feeding along the distant water’s edge, mixed in amongst the groups of dunlin and ruff.
Time was pressing on and we decided it was time to return to the car and head for home. On the way back we saw rather a nice ruff, and I couldn't resist a photo.
It would be too late to get food when we got back home so we stopped on the way at 'The Gin Trap Inn' in Ringstead. The pub has a characterful history welcoming guests since 1668 and is a gem - dating from 1668, this 17th-century coaching inn has a warm, rustic charm, beamed ceilings, old stone walls, cozy nooks. The menu is seasonal and local, with a focus on sourcing ingredients from the land, shore and sea that are as fresh as possible. They often use local seafood (mussels, crab, fish) and other produce from Norfolk and offer both a restaurant and a bar menu. If you’re making a wildlife or birding trip along the North Norfolk coast and want a place with character to stay or stop for a meal, I'd have no hesitation in recommending The Gin Trap Inn.
Year list: 236.
