When unsure where to go, Kev and I usually find ourselves choosing between RSPB Frampton Marsh and the Hampshire & Isle of Wight Wildlife Trust’s Lymington & Keyhaven Marshes Nature Reserve. With rain forecast to clear from the southwest, we opted for our first visit to Lymington of 2026. It certainly won’t be our last, as we often return after the spring migration to catch up with little terns and a host of other species.
Keyhaven Marshes form part of an extensive coastal wetland and nature reserve stretching between the mouth of the Lymington River and the village of Keyhaven on Hampshire’s Solent coast. The landscape is a rich mosaic of saltmarsh, intertidal mudflats, lagoons, grazing marsh and shingle banks. At this time of year, the area supports large flocks of Brent geese, wigeon, teal, pintail, grey plover, dunlin, black-tailed godwit and a wide variety of other wildfowl and waders, many of which can be observed from the Normandy Lagoon.
Although access across the marshes themselves is restricted to avoid disturbing the birds, a network of sea wall paths and footpaths provides excellent views across the reserve. The sea wall linking Keyhaven and Lymington offers a flat, scenic walk, with sweeping views across the flats towards Hurst Spit and the Isle of Wight.
We arrived at our usual parking spot and made our way towards the Keyhaven Lagoon, with curlews calling overhead and Brent geese feeding in fields through flocks of curlews, Canada geese, teal, and black-tailed godwits. Climbing up onto the sea wall, we were met by a stiff wind; although steady at around 25 mph, the gusts were stronger still, making it feel far colder than the 8°C shown on the car’s display. Deciding against standing in the full force of it, we dropped down to the lower path for some shelter and scanned across the lagoon, soon focusing on the 19 spoonbills exhibiting their usual behaviour ... fast asleep.
At their feet were small groups of avocets, with both species being welcome year ticks. Recent bird records show that spoonbills are now regular visitors to the Lymington–Keyhaven Marshes, particularly during winter and migration periods, and are increasingly occurring in small flocks rather than as lone birds. Counts of up to c.19 spoonbills have been reported at Normandy Marsh, matching our observation.
Spoonbills are now a regular presence from late autumn through winter and into early spring, taking advantage of the shallow feeding habitats of the Normandy Marsh and Lagoon, as well as the adjacent lagoons. A couple of avocets had broken away from the main group and were feeding quietly in the shallows.
We stopped to chat with a local Hampshire birder, who shared details of the species he had encountered during his visit. He confirmed that activity out on the edge of the Solent was reduced, as the tide was close to its peak, pushing many birds back towards the lagoons. This was evident in the numbers of dunlin and ringed plovers gathered on the islands and along the water’s edge.
The conversation proved fortuitous, as we picked up some valuable local knowledge, including information on purple sandpipers and, more importantly, a potential roost site for hawfinches. Coincidentally, Kev and I had been discussing where we might catch up with this species, as our usual local flock appears to have moved on and has been absent for the past couple of winters.
We worked our way round to the southern edge and soon located one of the two reported spotted redshanks, perched at the water’s edge. Within a minute or two it dropped into the lagoon and began swimming across towards another feeding wader. At first, I assumed it was the second spotted redshank, but it soon became clear that the bird was a greenshank. As the redshank swam across, Kev commented that it would make a great photo - I was already on the case - before he remembered that he was carrying a camera too and joined in. Hilarious!
Spotted redshanks are a regular but generally scarce part of the winter and migration bird community here and they’re reliable enough that birders often look for them here in the colder months. In Britain, they are primarily a passage migrant in spring and autumn, with small numbers overwintering at key wetlands, estuaries and coastal marshes and are usually encountered singly or in small groups, rather than large flocks.
Out in the lagoon, increasing numbers of dunlin and ringed plovers gathered, mainly among the lapwings. A small group of ringed plovers in particular caught the eye as they formed a tight cluster beside a tile on a small, raised island. Adding to the wader numbers were oystercatchers, their numbers gradually building as time passed.
Kev had been on a trip down into Cornwall and back through Somerset at the weekend and had sharpened his gull identification, calling a Mediterranean gull as it passed behind us and out onto the Solent. These gulls are regularly present around here in winter, although they’re more often associated with spring and summer breeding gatherings - scarce but regular in winter, with records often in single‑figure counts at these coastal sites. In winter plumage, Mediterranean gulls lose the full black hood seen in summer but still show a distinctive darker mask behind the eye, pinkish legs and a slightly stouter bill than black‑headed gulls.
We continued along the path when, suddenly, a bird flicked from the gorse back into cover. From its colouring, it could only be one species, a Dartford warbler. While Dartford warblers are regularly recorded around the Nature Reserve, they aren’t core marsh birds like waders. Instead, they favour the scrubby, gorse‑rich higher ground and coastal scrub surrounding the reserve. Preferring gorse, bramble, and other scrubby vegetation rather than open saltmarsh, they are usually found on the landward side of the site, where scrub grows on higher ground or rough pasture. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to encounter one between the edge of the lagoon and the Solent. I waited patiently, and after a couple of relocations, it popped out long enough for me to snap a few photos.
We had just remarked that we would normally have seen some stonechats by this point when a pair suddenly appeared ahead along the path. They moved frequently between the ground and prominent perches, with the female eventually drifting further away while the male stayed closer, giving excellent views.
We had heard reports of Slavonian grebes along the stretch where Pennington Marsh meets the sea, near the jetty, so we made our way there. Scanning the area, we spotted the same species, as already recorded, in the lagoons on the landward side of the coastal sea wall, along with another Mediterranean gull and at least 50 golden plovers. There had been a report of a merlin perched on a post feeding on prey, but we never encountered it; however, we did locate a kestrel and a female‑type cream‑crowned marsh harrier. Reaching the sea wall proved challenging, as the wind was so strong that both Kev and I lost our hats, chasing them down the slope, and we were left worrying that the scopes might be blown over. After a few minutes of scanning, we found six red‑breasted mergansers, but there was nothing else to hold us, and no sign of the grebes.
We then relocated in an attempt to connect with purple sandpipers, but this quickly became a “twitching drive-by” as the wind continued to strengthen. We abandoned the idea and while sightings would have been welcome, it would have been no fun standing in that wind. After a brief discussion, we set off again, heading for the site where a hawfinch roost had been reported. Conveniently, it was on the way home and only about twenty minutes from where we were parked.
Hawfinches gather at communal roost sites, often perching in the ornamental conifers here where they can be observed by birders. Survey data shows that hundreds may be present at these roosts - for example, around 353 hawfinches across 35 roosts were recorded in early 2024. These birds are elusive and quiet year‑round, often perched high in the canopy and difficult to see during the breeding season. In winter, however, they become more visible in the leafless trees, with their numbers often bolstered by continental migrants arriving from northern Europe.
We parked and followed the path suggested by the local birder earlier. Along the way, we came across a couple of treecreepers and nuthatches and were soon joined by another local birder carrying binoculars and a camera - he knew the area well and could advise us on which spots to focus on. Our wait began, with marsh tits calling in the trees behind us. Kev spotted a mash tit in a nearby tree, but before I could get on it, it flew out of view - I’d try again later. I thought I glimpsed a hawfinch overhead, but it disappeared into the trees and I couldn’t relocate it. Eventually, I strolled further down the track to see if a different angle would give a better view, leaving Kev and the other birder watching the favoured trees.
After a couple of minutes, I heard a whistle - it was Kev letting me know that hawfinches had dropped into the favoured tree and I hurried back, making out four birds through the branches. They quickly moved to a tree on the right, and I followed, searching for a better line of sight. Kev later told me that he thinks we had nine hawfinches in total and has video showing five of them together in a single frame.
Eventually, the hawfinches had moved to an area to the right of where they had first appeared. With the trees still swaying in the wind, the birds were revealed only intermittently, teasing glimpses through the branches.
It was now time to add a marsh tit to my year list. We came across at least three, busy foraging around a picnic bench where some food had been left by visitors and in the same area, chaffinches, goldcrests, coal tits, and a single firecrest flitted about, adding to the lively scene.
We had found exactly what we’d come for and were delighted to have had good views of so many of these woodland sprites. Normally, this would have meant adding the firecrest to my year list, but remarkably, this was the third site in three weeks where I had encountered one. Satisfied with our sightings, we packed up and set out for home.
Year list: 127.
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