When it comes to rare bird visitors to the UK, the penduline tit is a name that often excites birders across the country. Small, stylish and an astonishing nest architect, this species is a real treat for those lucky enough to spot one. I have tried to see one on several occasions but failed repeatedly.
It is a very small songbird, measuring only 7.5–11cm long - its most recognisable feature is the black mask across its pale grey head, often compared to a miniature bandit. Its upperparts are chestnut-coloured, and its underparts are soft and buff-toned, giving it a warm, delicate appearance. Unlike the familiar “true” tits (like blue tits or great tits), penduline tits belong to a different family, Remizidae, and are considered only distant relatives.
They prefer wetland environments, particularly areas with dense reeds, poplar or willow stands. Their feeding behaviour is acrobatic - they cling to reeds and have a remarkably precise, needle-like bill used to pick off small insects, larvae and spiders. In winter, they also feed on seeds.
In the UK, penduline tits are rare vagrants, not typically native breeders. They are typically recorded in small numbers during winter, especially at wetland reserves with the first UK record in 1966, in East Yorkshire. Nests have occasionally been observed, but successful breeding has never been officially confirmed. on average there are around 10 sightings per year, though this varies - recent trends suggest an increase in winter sightings - and birds recorded here often originate from continental Europe, particularly Scandinavia, France and the Netherlands, as shown through ringing data.
On 9 November, Northwick Warth delivered a real treat, a first-winter penduline tit! This was a notable sighting: the first ever for South Gloucestershire and only the fourth for Avon. For those unfamiliar, these juvenile birds are far subtler than their adult counterparts. Gone is the striking black facial mask; instead, the head is a soft brownish grey. Their upperparts are muted, and the underparts a pale buff to off-white, lacking the reddish spotting that can brighten some adult males - they might be understated but beautiful in their own right.
I couldn’t resist trying for it. On the way back from Bournemouth, Charlotte and I had made a detour, but the bird had “gone to ground” thanks to the fierce winds that even closed the Severn Bridge. Despite that, reports kept coming in all week. Friends managed to catch up with it on Saturday, describing it as “elusive” and “mobile” - classic penduline tit behaviour. By Sunday, Kev knew exactly what I had in mind. We set off later than usual, the sky heavy with cloud and daylight at a premium. Conditions weren’t ideal, but the lure of such a rarity was too strong to ignore, especially as I'd never managed to see one, never mine get a photo.
We pulled up on Passage Road and grabbed our optics and cameras before heading back to the bridge and onto the Severn Way. As we approached, we noticed a group of birders gathered tightly together, a good sign the bird might still be around. A birder coming the other way confirmed it had shown briefly but was still proving “elusive.” It took only a few minutes after joining the group before we started scanning the reeds. We were given rough directions to where it was last seen, which matched the usual spot described during my previous visit.
Blue tit, wren, and reed bunting passed through the area, prompting everyone to raise binoculars and cameras in anticipation, but still no sight of our quarry. Then a bird flicked past. Someone muttered it was just another blue tit, but Kev and I moved towards the area and scanned carefully, convinced it was something different - it didn’t look like a blue tit to either of us. Moments later, another birder confirmed he had it in view, and sure enough, there it was - penduline tit! Get in!
It moved along the front of the reeds and reed mace, though several people were still struggling to get onto it. There was a brief chance to grab some photos, but the distance and early morning light, it was still only just after 9.00am, made conditions tricky.
Before long, the bird dropped back into the reeds to the left, prompting us all to shuffle back and resume scanning. Within five minutes, someone picked it up again, this time working at the back of a small channel on some shorter reeds. Gradually, everyone managed to get eyes on it as it paused and finally right on and up to the reed mace’s cottony crown. Happy days!
It fed for a couple of minutes before flying back into thicker scrub, disappearing from view and remaining concealed for a good ten minutes. When it finally reappeared, it perched further back, making photography less favourable. Moments later, it flicked along the rear of the pool, then suddenly lifted into the air—climbing higher and higher, circling northwards before swinging east ... AND AWAY.
Naturally, we were disappointed to see it go so unexpectedly, though grateful we had seen it at all. A line of birders was just approaching and would have narrowly missed it. Would it return? It seemed unlikely - its strong, high flight east suggested it was moving on. It had been little more than an hour since we’d arrived, and the bird had already departed. Sometimes, it really does pay to be lucky.
We chatted with a couple of other birders and then Kev spotted a kestrel over the far side of the pool. It swooped down and caught a rodent, probably a vole. The bird hadn’t carried its prey far, perching on a branch as it began tearing off pieces and feeding. Harsh, perhaps, but always fascinating to witness a successful hunt in action.
We looked on BirdGuides and thought about what we might do next, now that the target bird had gone awol and was unlikely to return. We made our way back to the car and along the way Kev called as a kingfisher shot across the field towards the channel - we both saw it but we couldn't relocate it. After a breafast sandwich we headed off to Cheddar Reservoir as neither of us seemed to have connected with a greater scaup this year and a pair had been reported that morning.
Along the way, we chatted with Kev’s sister as we passed within ten minutes of her place. Dean was getting ready for work, so we didn’t stop, soon pulling into a surprisingly busy car park. There were plenty of people walking the perimeter path as well. Kev had visited before when a spotted sandpiper had appeared and was familiar with the site.
We dropped down onto the concrete platform and began scanning the water, picking out great crested grebes, tufted ducks, coot, pochard, wigeon, teal, cormorants, and more, but no scaup. It took a couple of passes before I finally spotted them at a distance - scope views only. We walked along the wall to get a better vantage point, and as if on cue, the pair of scaup moved closer, closing the distance between us and giving us a much better view.
We then spent the next 45 minutes to an hour following them along the water. Eventually, they took flight, circling high above the reservoir before dropping back roughly to where they had started. We tracked them as they cruised to the right, the female occasionally appearing as if she might stop and rest. Even with her head tucked in, she continued to move steadily alongside the drake.
Out on the far side of the reservoir were some people wing foiling (also known as wing surfing or winging) - it is a rapidly growing watersport that combines elements of windsurfing, kiteboarding, and foiling. It involves holding a handheld inflatable wing to harness the wind while standing on a hydrofoil board. The foil lifts the board above the water as you gain speed, giving a smooth, gliding sensation with minimal drag. Wing foiling is often described as easier to learn than kiteboarding but harder than windsurfing initially. Basic wing handling can be learned quickly (often within a day on land/SUP) but foil control takes practice, balance and board handling being key. Most people need 5–10 water sessions to achieve controlled foiling.
Back at the steps leading down to the car park, we spotted an intriguing bird in the sky. Its flight was unlike the others in the sky, and we immediately decided it was a raptor. Sure enough, it soon became clear that it was a peregrine. It was being mobbed by other birds and kept moving away from us until it eventually disappeared from view.
We scanned the area a little longer but didn’t find anything else of note and began making our way home. Along the way, we paused to look across the farmland, spotting pheasants, red-legged partridges, and six hares. Only the red-legged partridges came close enough for a record shot in the fading light. After about an hour, we packed up and headed home - a lifer for me today.
Year list: 247.
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