Our discussion about where to go birding on Saturday was brief as Kev @kev07713 already had a plan. A trip to Norfolk, he suggested, might give me the chance to finally see a dusky warbler (a potential lifer), along with several other top species in the area. Even if things didn’t quite go as hoped, in Norfolk there’s rarely such a thing as a bad day’s birding. We’d stop for breakfast at our usual spot with Kev driving this time, and given the distance, we planned for another early start.
The dusky warbler is a small, plain-looking leaf-warbler from the eastern Palearctic that occasionally strays to Britain as a vagrant. It’s classed as a scarce but regular visitor - not a routine migrant, yet far from a one-off rarity. Most British records occur in late autumn, though a few hardy individuals have been known to overwinter in mild years.
Sightings were once extremely rare - the first European record was in Orkney in 1913 but reports increased steadily from the 1960s onward, with notable influxes during 1990 and 1994. By the early 2000s, several hundred records had been logged. Improved observer coverage and growing numbers of active birders have certainly helped, so long-term trends should be interpreted with care. As the species became more frequent, its treatment by rarity committees has also evolved.
In Britain, dusky warblers are most often found at coastal and island sites, where migrants from Asia make landfall. Classic locations include the east and northern coasts of Britain and Ireland, particularly at well-watched headlands, ringing stations, and reed-fringed scrub.
On their breeding grounds, dusky warblers inhabit the taiga and wet shrub habitats of northeastern Russia, Mongolia, and northeast China, favouring damp, dense vegetation where they forage low in cover. In winter they migrate south to South and Southeast Asia, from the Indian subcontinent to southern China.
Birds reaching Britain are thought to be drift migrants or weather-displaced individuals, blown westward by autumn storms or following unusual migration routes. As with many eastern vagrants, annual numbers vary depending on weather systems and breeding success in their core range.
At first glance, a dusky warbler can easily be overlooked among chiffchaffs and other small warblers. It’s a small, compact warbler with dark, earthy-brown upperparts and cold grey-buff underparts, appearing plainer and darker than a chiffchaff. The strong, pale supercilium (eyebrow) is long and sharply defined, especially in front of the eye, giving the bird a bright, alert expression. It has short wings, a rounded tail, a fine bill, and typically dark brown to blackish legs.
The call is often the best clue: a sharp, dry “tack” or “tchak”, reminiscent of a lesser whitethroat or two small stones being tapped together. It’s usually given repeatedly from low in cover and is often the first sign of a dusky warbler flitting through autumn brambles or scrub.
The Walsey Hills Reserve is well signposted, with roadside parking available alongside the site, and occasionally space in the small NWT car park at the southern end of the East Bank. We were lucky on arrival to find a spot in the layby right by the track leading into the reserve.
Walsey Hills Migration Watchpoint is a compact three-acre hillside reserve beside the A149 coast road, lying between the villages of Cley and Salthouse. Its mix of thorn and gorse scrub offers excellent cover for migrating birds, often drawing in scarcer species. Over the years, the site has produced an impressive list of rarities, including red-backed shrike, alpine swift, honey buzzard, Richard’s pipit, little bunting, and a trio of eastern warblers: dusky, yellow-browed, and Pallas’s. More regular visitors include Cetti’s warbler, pied flycatcher, common redstart, and firecrest, making it a great spot to check at almost any time of year.
As we walked in, we quickly encountered other birders, all scanning and listening intently - the bird had been vocal earlier, especially before the birders had entered the hedges. Soon enough, we heard its distinctive call, accompanied by glimpses of two yellow-browed warblers and flitting goldcrests. We continued scanning and listening, but although the call was clear, the bird itself remained elusive. Occasionally, a couple of birders would claim to have seen it flick past, though any views were fleeting.
Kev wandered down the track while I stayed put. Far back in the willows, our target finally appeared, distant and high, often partially obscured. I managed a tick, though the view wasn’t ideal, and Kev still hadn’t returned. It seemed that those who had taken a narrow path into the hedge clearing were getting better views. The bird then flew through into a tall stand of brambles, and I repositioned, hoping for a better view, bumping into Kev as I waited. While we scanned, two female blackcaps flitted in and out of sight, adding a bit of extra interest to the standstill.
We walked back to our original spot and saw the bird again, still frustratingly deep in cover. From a narrow path to our left came a steady chatter; around fifteen birders were gathered in a small clearing within the hedge, clearly getting better views. After a few minutes we decided to join them, and it wasn’t long before the dusky warbler appeared high in a tree to our right, possibly even visible from the main path. It was tricky to photograph, but when it briefly dropped out from the dense leaves, I managed a couple of record shots before it slipped back into cover.
We could still hear it calling and soon caught glimpses as it moved restlessly through the branches, always half-hidden by twigs and foliage. After some patient waiting, it worked its way into a tree to our left, giving us better, though still brief, views. I managed a few more decent photos, but not quite the clear shot I’d been hoping for.
Another ten or fifteen minutes passed before the dusky repeated its earlier circuit along the same branches. This time I crouched low, finding a gap through the scrub and a clear line of sight up to the branch it was climbing along - got it! Beside us we had Shaun Evans @sevans1032, a birder we have met on several outings previously, mostly around the Somerset/Gloucestershire/South Wales regions. He was with his wife and so, after seeing the bird well he disappeared off to catch up with her.
Kev was equally frustrated in his attempts to photograph the bird, as were most others trying their luck. Eventually, we decided we’d had our fill, and it was time to make room for others to enjoy the views we’d been lucky to get. We headed back to the car, content. As we packed away our gear, a large flock of pink-footed geese swept across the skyline, while redwings and fieldfares passed overhead in small groups and singles. We checked BirdGuides and decided to make our way to Warham Greens as a Hume's warbler had been reported there earlier in the morning.
We made our way up the track and parked the car, this time taking our scopes and tripods in the hope of scanning across the saltmarsh. The site offers a superb mix of habitats that make it a magnet for migrants and a haven for resident wildlife. The area lies between Stiffkey and Wells-next-the-Sea, overlooking vast saltmarshes, creeks, and tidal mudflats that stretch out toward the Wash and the North Sea.
Inland from the marsh, a low coastal ridge of gorse, bramble, hawthorn, and elder scrub runs parallel to the shore, the classic North Norfolk “bushy edge” that shelters tired migrants after sea crossings. In autumn, this strip can be alive with warblers, chats, flycatchers, and the occasional rarity. Paths through the scrub open out onto patches of rough grassland, bracken, and sandy trackways, while the seaward side offers panoramic views across the Cley–Salthouse–Wells saltmarsh system.
The combination of coastal scrub, wet meadows, and open marsh provides rich feeding and resting areas for a wide variety of species. In spring and autumn, it’s especially renowned for migrant passerines, while winter brings large flocks of waders, wildfowl, and raptors such as marsh, hen, pallid harriers, occasional merlin, long- or short-eared owls (a long-eared owl had been present a couple of days before), and peregrine.
We stopped to chat with a chap who was just leaving, and he explained that the Hume’s warbler had apparently gone AWOL. A few people were still claiming brief glimpses, but none were confident enough to report it again - the last confirmed sighting had been early that morning. We passed a guided group on the way and soon reached the copse where the bird had last been seen, joining more than a dozen birders already searching the area in hope and soon were joined by the guide and his followers.
Among the crowd under the trees we spotted Shaun Evans and his wife, and Des, our infrequent East Coast birding companion. We began working through the flocks, and, just as at Walsey Hills, there were plenty of goldcrests along with at least two yellow-browed warblers. After a while, Kev decided to head out onto the edge of the saltmarsh to see what else was about, while I stayed behind to continue the search for the Hume’s.
I continued to watch the yellow-browed warblers flitting through the tree canopy, and at one point one dropped lower through the branches to the side where Kev and Des were standing. I decided to join them, figuring the Hume’s had likely moved on, and if it reappeared, we’d hear the commotion and could return quickly.
Kev mentioned that, in addition to a buzzard passing through, he’d also seen a peregrine, which we later picked up again at long range through the scopes. He was slightly frustrated to learn that not long after he’d followed the buzzard, a honey buzzard had been reported a short way along the coast - possibly the same bird, though there was no way to be certain.
Out over the saltmarsh, marsh harriers drifted back and forth, both males and cream-crowned females quartering the area. One female passed close over a feeding group of golden plovers, sending them up in a tight, wheeling flock before they settled again and melted back into the marsh.
I spotted a raptor coming into view and called Kev over - it didn’t look like a marsh harrier. I thought it could be a hen harrier, identifiable by its striking white rump, though it remained too distant for even an attempt at a record shot. Later, a similar bird appeared, but before it could come closer, a curlew took exception and chased it off. The harrier clearly got the message and veered away, eventually disappearing from sight. We and the other birders were fairly confident that this was the recently returned pallid harrier, though my record shots were inconclusive at best.
We lingered for a while, hoping for better views of the pallid harrier, and wandered around the area, picking up stonechats, skylarks, pipits, kestrels, red kites, and a few more marsh harriers. Eventually, though, time was against us, and we began making our way back to the car.
Kev paused to point out a shaggy inkcap mushroom at the side of the track. Our friend Dave South has been posting photos of all sorts over the past couple of weeks - he really is a fun-guy. I couldn’t resist: I’ll get my coat!
It is a mushroom that’s hard to miss. Its tall, slender white cap is covered in distinctive shaggy scales, giving it the look of a lawyer’s wig, which is exactly where it got its nickname. Young mushrooms have white gills, but as they age these turn pink and eventually blacken into a liquid “ink”, a quirky trait that made them useful for writing back in the day. The hollow, white stem often features a movable ring, adding to its dramatic, almost architectural appearance.
Shaggy inkcaps are common across the UK, popping up in grasslands, roadside verges, lawns, and nutrient-rich wastelands, especially after a wet spell. They usually appear from late summer into autumn, often growing overnight in large clusters or singly.
For the adventurous forager, they’re edible when young, but don’t mix with alcohol, as some related species can cause a nasty reaction. Even if you’re just out for a walk, they’re a fun and photogenic find, perfect for a quick photo stop before getting back to birdwatching.
Halfway back to the car, we came across a flock of linnets, around 75–100 birds in the fields to our right. We watched them wheel back and forth in the air before eventually settling back onto the ground. We scanned through the flock, hoping to pick out the brambling that had been reported about an hour earlier, but if it was with them, it remained impossible to separate from the mass of linnets.
After the breeding season, linnets begin to gather into flocks, typically from late summer into early autumn. These post-breeding groups can range from a handful of birds to several hundred, offering more eyes to spot seeds in stubble fields, grasslands, and hedgerows. Flocking also provides safety in numbers, reducing the risk of predation by sparrowhawks, kestrels, and corvids, while allowing juvenile and adult birds to mix. These flocks often form ahead of the winter dispersal to lowland feeding areas.
Kev then drove us home, getting me back in time for food, a quick shower, and an evening out to visit friends.
Year list: 242.
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