Saturday came around and meant another outing with Kev @kev07713, though this time we opted to stay local. The decision was prompted in part by reports of a long-tailed duck lingering around Rushy Common, near Witney. We set off feeling equal parts hope and trepidation: the bird had been present on these and neighbouring lakes over the previous couple of weeks, but never for long, typically moving on after a single day - seemingly in the company of a flock of tufted ducks with which it had been associating.
Each winter, one of the Arctic’s most elegant sea ducks makes a quiet appearance around the coasts of Britain: the long-tailed duck. Breeding far to the north across Scandinavia, Greenland and Arctic Russia, these birds migrate south as polar seas freeze, trading tundra pools for cold coastal waters. In the UK they are never common, but from October through to early spring small numbers gather offshore, especially around northern Scotland and the North Sea coast.
At a distance, a winter drake is strikingly pale, almost ghost-white against dark water, with neat black markings and impossibly long tail streamers that give the species its name. Females and younger birds are subtler, brown-and-white with shorter tails, but share the same delicate shape and buoyant posture. Unlike many ducks, long-tailed ducks spend much of their time diving, vanishing beneath the surface for long seconds at a time as they pursue mussels, crustaceans and small fish in surprisingly deep water.
Inland records are relatively uncommon but not unheard of. Following strong easterly winds or periods of intense cold, birds may occasionally turn up on large reservoirs or lakes, providing unusually close views for observers far from the coast. These visits are typically short-lived, and by late spring most individuals have already returned north to their Arctic breeding grounds, leaving British waters largely empty of these visitors once more. All the more unexpected, then, to find a long-tailed duck on a set of former gravel pits almost as far from the sea as you can get.
What is now a patchwork of open water, reedbeds and scrub was once a busy extraction site, shaped by the demand for construction materials throughout the 20th century. Although nature has softened the scene, traces of that industrial past remain; the steep-sided basins, engineered shorelines and oddly contoured pools reveal their man-made origins rather than those of natural lakes. Even the surrounding landscape - broad, level pasture broken abruptly by water-filled hollows - reflects the underlying quarrying history that created this unexpected refuge for wildlife.
We reached the Rushy Common reserve car park after carefully negotiating lanes that had turned into shallow fords, so much rain had fallen that water was flowing straight off the fields and across the road. Kev’s car, with its relatively low ground clearance, managed the route without too much trouble, though progress was cautious.
After parking, we looked out across the main lake and quickly set up the scopes. The long-tailed duck had been recorded here previously, and there was also the chance of red-crested pochard, a species Kev still needed for his year list. A careful sweep of the water failed to produce our target, and we began to suspect that, if the bird was still present, it was more likely on the lake behind us. With the most recent report placing it there the day before, we packed up and moved round to continue the search.
We made our way along the muddy track - thankfully in wellies rather than walking boots - stopping frequently to scan the water. Plenty of birds were present, including tufted ducks, wigeon, mallard and teal, but there was still no sign of the long-tailed duck. We pressed on until most of the lake came into view yet continued to draw a blank.
Another birder soon joined us, and it turned out to be Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99, who had returned in the hope of better views than he’d managed late the previous afternoon. After a nice chat, we all drifted back towards the car park. Ewan was heading home for breakfast, while Kev and I opted for a change of plan and decided to try our luck with goshawks instead. With so much recent rain, the bright, dry start to the day felt like it might offer a good window of opportunity to see one.
Before that, we made our way down to the hide, which is controlled by a key that both Kev and I already have. The walk involved slogging through deep water that came perilously close to spilling over our wellies. With nothing new to report from the hide, we quickly moved on to Pit 18, hoping to reconnect with the smew and red-crested pochards I’d seen previously; this would save Kev a trip to Eyebrook Reservoir.
It didn’t take long to spot the male smew, followed shortly by the female. As before, viewing was challenging: fences, vegetation, and distance made close looks difficult, so the scope was essential. We managed some decent views, but the red-crested pochards remained elusive - another day, then.
We then drove to a woodland site we know, making a detour on the way due to deep water on the road making it impassable for cars, and arrived at a parking spot. From there we walked up a track to an elevated position where we would be able to watch over layers of treelines stretching into the distance. Birds are resident in quiet woodland blocks and are seldom reported publicly due to their vulnerability to disturbance and persecution. Scopes and binoculars at the ready we started our vigil.
Mid-February is one of the best times of year to look for the elusive goshawk. Although these powerful woodland raptors are present all year, they become far more visible in late winter as the breeding season approaches with pairs beginning to reassert territories, repair old nests or build new ones, and perform spectacular display flights above their woodland homes.
Unlike many birds of prey that favour open country, goshawks are creatures of deep woodland, particularly large tracts of mature conifer plantation mixed with broadleaf trees. For most of the year they remain hidden beneath the canopy, hunting pigeons, corvids and other birds with explosive speed. In February, however, their secretive nature briefly gives way to behaviour that can be observed from forest edges, hillsides or clearings.
Display flights are the main attraction. A bird may soar high above the trees on broad wings, alternating slow, powerful wingbeats with glides, sometimes giving a distinctive “sky-dancing” performance that includes exaggerated flaps and shallow undulations. At times a pair will interact, calling to one another with sharp, yelping notes; on bright, calm mornings these displays can continue for extended periods, making this a prime window for patient watchers.
Weather plays an important role. Clear, dry conditions following prolonged rain often produce the best activity, as birds take advantage of calmer air and improved hunting opportunities. Conversely, strong winds or persistent drizzle can keep them low and hidden. Because displays typically occur in the morning, especially mid-morning once the air begins to warm, timing can be important.
Seeing a goshawk still requires luck; hours may pass with nothing more than distant corvids for company, and misidentifications with common buzzards are frequent. Yet when one does appear, the impression is unmistakable: a large, long-tailed raptor with deep, rowing wingbeats and an air of controlled power, quite unlike the buoyant flight of a buzzard.
By late spring, once incubation begins, activity above the canopy will drop sharply and the birds retreat once more into secrecy. For a few short weeks in late winter, though, the forests reveal one of Britain’s most formidable predators out high over the treetops.
We enjoyed a fantastic morning with several sightings of goshawks, the standout moment being a pair interacting as they moved gracefully across the slope before us. Everything was distant and backlit by the sun, making photography tricky, but I tried to capture a record shot nonetheless.
By late lunchtime, we had enjoyed multiple goshawk sightings, though it was hard to tell exactly how many birds, as some were likely the same ones reappearing. Deciding it was time to head for home, we made a detour to RSPB Otmoor in the hope of catching up with a glossy ibis, a species which has appeared sporadically so far this year. While uncommon, glossy ibis are recurring winter and early-spring visitors, often lingering in the flooded fields and shallow waters around the reserve’s hides.
We opted for wellies once more and followed the track onto the bridleway alongside Greenaways, pausing regularly to check for activity. The highlight enroute was a female marsh harrier basking on the ground in the afternoon sun. Eventually, we reached the bench and joined a small group of birders watching the reeds, a known haunt for bitterns and although nothing was immediately visible, earlier reports suggested one had been seen flying from First Screen.
After a careful scan, a bittern slowly emerged from the far-left edge of the reeds. Partly obscured at first, it gradually revealed itself, and Kev and I were able to share scope views with those only using binoculars or just their eyes. Soon the bittern began feeding, stalking out and along a reed spit and showing beautifully. For the next half-hour, we enjoyed alternating moments of stillness and activity as the bird fed, froze, and moved over the spit, a truly memorable finale to the afternoon.
We spoke with some birders approaching from the other direction, who confirmed there was no sign of a glossy ibis. Deciding not to make the trip around to the screens, we chose to call it a day - with a drive up to Ayrshire, Scotland planned for the next morning, a calm and restful finish was very welcome.
Year list: 164.
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