Kev @kev07713 was still working hard on his last job before he retires, and was probably ready for a day off and could also have a rest from his daily drive as it was my turn - the only question was where to go. With yet another spell of wet weather to contend with, we had to choose carefully, and in the end, we decided to go looking for willow tits before journeying on to Mow Cop in Staffordshire for the long-staying shore lark.
We agreed on a later start than usual, setting off at 6.30am and heading north via the A46 and M69 before joining the M1. Before long, however, we ran into trouble: collisions ahead meant delays of an extra 20–30 minutes. With that in mind, we pulled off at the next services a few miles up the road, deciding that breakfast would be a better use of our time while the traffic hopefully eased. Once fed, we set off again, initially crawling along until things gradually began to clear. Eventually we passed the accident, now confined to the inside lane and hard shoulder, and were able to make steadier progress.
We continued on to our chosen site, hopeful of connecting with willow tit. The species has declined dramatically over recent decades, with population drops of well over 90% in parts of England and Wales. They have disappeared from large areas of their former range and are now largely confined to fragmented strongholds in northern England, parts of the Midlands, and a few scattered pockets elsewhere. Even within these areas they can be extremely local and often quiet outside the breeding season. Spring is typically the best time to look for them, when birds are more vocal and territorial, though late winter can also offer opportunities as natural food supplies dwindle and they begin venturing out from woodland in search of supplementary feeding sources.
We entered the hide to find we had it entirely to ourselves, which meant we could arrange the seating just as we liked, ensuring we both had clear views of the feeding trays and hanging feeders maintained by the reserve. A steady soundtrack of calling birds drifted in as various species arrived, taking full advantage of the bounty on offer, including some seed that Kev had brought.
Once we’d settled, birds began dropping into the three feeding areas to the left of the hide, each at a different distance. One was a little too close for comfort, another felt just about right (slightly farther out but probably ideal), and the third was larger yet more distant, better suited to viewing through binoculars than photography, though perfectly adequate for watching the comings and goings.
We were prepared for a bit of a wait and were more than content to enjoy the steady stream of other birds visiting the feeders. great, blue, long-tailed, and coal tits came and went, alongside blackbirds, chaffinches, dunnocks, house sparrows and robins. Overhead, siskins called from the treetops, their presence betrayed by sound alone as they stubbornly refused to descend into view.
We saw movement at the foot of the middle feeder and could see what we originally assumed would be a mouse but turned out to be a bank vole - another small rodent skurried in the grass between us and the feeding trays but we didn't ever get eyes on it for an ID. Bank voles are one of the most widespread and familiar small mammals in the UK, though more often heard rustling than actually seen. They favour woodland, scrub, hedgerows and rough grassland where dense cover offers protection. With their warm chestnut-brown upperparts, soft greyish flanks and blunt, rounded features, they have a rather endearing look and quite different from the larger-eyed, longer-tailed wood mouse that often shares the same habitat.
Unlike some small mammals, bank voles do not hibernate, and winter is a test of endurance rather than escape. They remain active throughout the colder months, moving along networks of shallow runways hidden beneath leaf litter, fallen branches or a protective layer of snow. Food, of course, becomes harder to come by. Autumn caches of seeds and nuts can be crucial, and their diet shifts towards whatever remains available: beech mast, acorns, fungi, roots and the occasional green shoot. Around well-managed reserves they quickly learn to take advantage of the bounty beneath feeding stations, darting out to gather fallen sunflower hearts or fragments of peanut before vanishing back into cover.
For the patient observer, though, winter offers the best chance of a sighting. Hunger can make them a little bolder, and at quiet hides they sometimes grow accustomed to the rhythm of human presence. Watch the ground beneath a busy tit flock and you may notice a small reddish shape materialise, whiskers twitching, pausing only briefly before collecting a prize and retreating along its secret pathways. In the stillness of a cold woodland winter’s day, those fleeting encounters can be every bit as rewarding as the birds above.
Still scanning through our binoculars, I picked up a bird in the tree beside the furthest feeding station and instantly recognised it as a willow tit - result. I alerted Kev and within seconds it slipped away into the hedge and trees to our left, vanishing as quietly as it had appeared.
A few minutes later it made its first brief visit to the table, in and out in a flash. Another shortish wait brought it back, this time offering a chance for a photograph, a pattern that continued over the next half hour or so, each appearance fleeting but enough to keep us thoroughly engaged.
Then the rhythm changed with the gaps between visits seeming to shorten noticeably and Kev suggested we might now be watching two birds rather than one. Sure enough, after another ten or fifteen minutes, we had confirmation: two willow tits together on the table at the same time, a quietly satisfying moment after the long wait. On a couple of occasions, we were also treated to views of them in the surrounding hedges, perched naturally and clearly enough for us to attempt a few more pleasing photographs, far preferable than the shots taken on the feeder table.
Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, making us very grateful for the shelter of the hide - inevitably, though, we would have to return to the car. Eventually the downpour eased just enough for us to make a dash, reaching the car without getting completely soaked.
We entered details for the car park suggested on BirdGuides into the SatNav and made our way to Mow Cop in search of the long-staying shore lark, first reported there on 16 January. Shore lark is a striking winter visitor to the UK, but it is rarely seen away from coastal habitats. Typically, a passage migrant from Scandinavia, it is most often found along the east coast on saltmarshes, shingle beaches, and open coastal flats; inland sightings are comparatively rare.
While a few shore larks do appear inland in some winters, they usually turn up as scattered vagrants or passage visitors, rarely staying long in one place. This bird’s loyalty to the same field for several weeks, foraging in rough grass and churned mud, makes it a particularly appealing and accessible target for birders.
We got out the car and made our way to the last sighting location, passing a birder coming the other way. Recent reports indicated the bird had been viewed in fields along the wall by the Gritstone Trail near the Old Man O’Mow, a muddy cow‑field. He confirmed that the bird was still showing but could be a little tinker in first locating it - he had posted his latest sighting on BirdGuides but it hadn't yet been updated on the app. We reached the area and immediately came across meadow pipits and skylarks flitting about the area, some of the skylarks chasing one another around. There was a light drizzle starting when after ten minutes or so Kev spotted the shore lark along the edge of muddy tractor tracks and called me back from where I was looking: where the last pin-drop had been advised.
Shore larks are small birds with a striking appearance, their most distinctive feature being a bright yellow face and throat, sharply contrasted with a black bib and mask, a high‑contrast look that stands out even at a distance. The upperparts are sandy brown streaked with darker tones, while the underparts are pale, and a faint pale stripe runs along the wing. In flight, the white wing panels are noticeable against the brown body. They feed on seeds and insects, often running along the ground in short bursts rather than hopping or perching in vegetation.
We watched as the bird worked along the edge of the broken earth along the tractor track and then across it, getting closer and closer. We snapped away with our cameras and rain started to fall, getting heavier. The lark took to the air and flew left and back along the field towards the village. Kev eventually relocated it before we decided to retire back to the car, getting soaked as we went.
We plotted our route home but opted for a route that allowed for a detour past Whitemoor Haye, hoping to catch a merlin if the weather had improved, and as I’d seen there a couple of weeks earlier. The drive was smooth, and we arrived on the lane under broken skies with no rain.
We parked and made our way to the spot I’d used before, and almost immediately we spotted a Slavonian grebe on the water. Turning back to scan the likely field, we couldn’t see anything of note at first. Soon, a raptor shot across the far side of the field and through the trees, and Kev later picked out a sparrowhawk perched on the lowest rung of a distant fence in the same area. Noting that the recently cut hedge was a little too tall to give him a good view, Kev decided to head back toward the car, where a raised track should provide a clearer vantage over the field.
We scanned the area, picking out numerous mute swans along with several Egyptian, Canada, and greylag geese, but there was no sign of our target bird. Continuing along the track, we enjoyed varied views across the fields. Soon, Kev stopped again as the hedge line had grown too tall, restricting his view, so he returned to the raised section for a better vantage. I carried on down the track, still able to see over the vegetation.
After a hundred yards or so, passing close to some low trees and bushes, a sudden movement flushed a bird from cover. Out it shot - a woodcock, dashing across the water and disappearing behind the raised banks and grasses on the far side; a very nice sight, if all too brief.
The track turned right and I stopped to look out to where several hares were crouched, and crows were scattered across the field. One crow caught my attention as it hopped and pecked around a hare - the hare didn't appreciate the attention and spun round to face the crow as it circled. I'm really not sure what was happening. Perhaps likely it wasn't predation on a healthy adult hare but more probable it was a crow investigating or probing a possible food opportunity, combined with natural curiosity or play.
I made my way back to where Kev was now stationed, and we were joined by a local birder who had returned from Derbyshire, where he’d been trying to connect with Tundra bean geese associating with white-fronted geese. He mentioned that partridges had been reported in the field recently - the first greys seen here for several years. We searched carefully but came up empty, and I hadn’t seen any on my previous visit either. As time passed without any further sightings of note, we eventually made our way home, arriving home a little later than planned but content with our outing, again despite the weather.
Year list: 162.
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