The weather forecast for Saturday looked decidedly unsettled, so Kev @kev07713 and I had a chat and agreed to postpone our birding until Sunday, when conditions were expected to be rather more favourable.
Late on Saturday morning, however, news broke of a potentially extraordinary find at Foryd Bay, Caernarfon - a western reef heron. As the day progressed, the identification was confirmed as a dark-morph western reef heron, a species never previously recorded in Britain. If accepted by the records committee, it will become the first for the British List.
Western reef herons are medium-sized herons closely related to the little egret, but unlike their freshwater-loving relatives they are true coastal specialists. They inhabit rocky shorelines, sandy beaches, estuaries, and mudflats, feeding in shallow tidal waters on fish, crustaceans and other marine prey.
One of the species' most distinctive features is its variable plumage. Birds occur in two main colour forms: a striking dark morph, with slate-grey to almost black plumage and a contrasting yellow bill base, and a white morph, which can easily be mistaken for a little egret. Intermediate birds, showing a mixture of dark and white feathers, also occur where populations overlap.
The species has a broad but fragmented distribution, occurring along the Atlantic coast of West Africa, around the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, and along the coasts of India and Sri Lanka. Most populations are largely resident, although some make limited seasonal movements.
Although primarily an African and Asian species, western reef herons have reportedly established a tiny breeding population in eastern Spain, making them one of Europe's rarest breeding herons. Elsewhere in Europe they remain exceptional, with occasional records from Portugal, France and Italy, while birds are seen more regularly in the Canary Islands, where they occur naturally from nearby West African populations.
The appearance of one in North Wales is therefore a truly remarkable event and represents an exceptional vagrant far outside its normal range. Exactly what brought this individual to Britain is impossible to say, although unusual weather patterns or natural post-breeding dispersal may have played a part.
Whatever the explanation, the bird has already become one of the most significant rarities to reach Britain in recent years and on the Saturday drew birders from across the country eager to witness a potential addition to the British List. In one report a snapshot of the number of birders currently onsite was 400 with some having already departed and others still arriving. Our venue for birding on Sunday was agreed, and an early night was required.
An early alarm at 2.20am saw me drive round to Kev's, leaving Kev's house promptly at 3.00am, heading north and west past Birmingham and into the heart of North Wales. We opted for the shortest route, which also happened to be the most scenic, and according to the satnav it wasn't expected to take any longer than the alternatives.
Our only stop came around 15–20 minutes from our intended parking spot at Foryd Bay - the same place where we'd parked for the bufflehead back in late December (trip report here). A quick visit to the Co-op provided bacon rolls for breakfast and sandwiches in case we had a wait on our hands; while we were tucking into the rolls an update appeared on our phones.
The news wasn't quite what we wanted to hear. The western reef heron was no longer at Foryd Bay, with early-arriving birders having already searched the area. Fortunately, the update was followed by the information that it had been relocated in Caernarfon Harbour, beside the castle.
With renewed optimism, we reset the satnav and headed for the new location, hoping the bird would remain in place. In truth, it sounded like a better site for viewing anyway, with convenient parking right alongside the harbour.
We pulled into the harbour car park to find a line of birders already scanning across the water, with another couple of dozen spread out along the opposite bank. A footbridge beyond the castle linked the two sides, allowing people to move around in search of the best views.
As we rolled into a parking space, Kev pointed across the harbour and announced that he could already see the bird, and he hadn't even got out of the car! Tick! ... should we move on 😜?
We wasted no time jumping out of the car and heading straight for the harbour wall to make sure we had the bird in view - after all, with a rarity like this, you can never take anything for granted. After grabbing a few quick record shots, we returned to the car to collect our coats and scopes before heading back to the waterfront. This time we could relax, enjoy prolonged views of Britain's first western reef heron and really take in the spectacle.
The reef heron spent much of its time methodically feeding along the muddy water's edge, picking its way through patches of seaweed exposed by the low tide. It moved with deliberate, measured steps, pausing frequently to study the shallow water before making a quick, precise stab at unsuspecting prey. Occasionally it would probe amongst the seaweed searching for hidden worms, shrimps or crabs.
It seemed completely at home in this habitat, quietly stalking its prey through the seaweed-covered shoreline before striking with remarkable speed. The dark plumage contrasted beautifully with the glistening seaweed and brown mud, making for a striking sight against the backdrop of Caernarfon Harbour.
Suddenly the heron took flight, dropping down the shoreline to the right of a viewing platform where several birders had gathered on the opposite bank. Looking along the shore, it was easy to see why - one birder had ventured down onto the edge of the mud and, in doing so, had inadvertently flushed the bird from its feeding area. The culprit then made a slow walk back along the top of the shore to rejoin the group on the platform, although from our vantage point it wasn't obvious whether they could see the heron over the wall.
Fortunately, we had no such problems. It was simply a case of walking a little further along the harbour wall to the left, where we quickly picked the bird up again and resumed enjoying excellent views.
As we settled back behind the scopes, we were joined by Tom Hines @tomhines10. Tom explained that he had travelled up the previous evening, managing only a brief view of the bird out on the estuary before darkness fell and the bird departed, presumably to roost. He had then spent the night sleeping in his car before searching Foryd Bay from first light, eventually making his way into Caernarfon after news broke that the heron had relocated to the harbour.
Before long we were joined by Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99, who explained that he and Graham Jepson @GrahamJepson1 had been in Kirkcaldy the previous day seeing the white-winged scoter before dropping everything and embarking on the seven-hour-plus drive to North Wales. Like many others, they had initially expected the western reef heron to be down on the estuary, but news of its relocation had brought them into Caernarfon instead, with Graham still watching from the opposite bank of the harbour.
Not long afterwards, Alan Boddington @alanbodd and John Raven @greatrav1 arrived, setting up their scopes alongside us and quickly getting onto the bird. They too had travelled up that morning and made excellent time, receiving news of the relocation early enough to avoid an unnecessary detour to Foryd Bay before heading straight to the harbour.
After a short spell of feeding, the western reef heron paused to stand quietly on the shoreline, but its presence clearly wasn't appreciated by some of the local residents. A couple of gulls and two oystercatchers repeatedly harassed it, swooping low in an apparent attempt to drive the unfamiliar visitor away. The heron seemed largely unfazed, calmly sidestepping the attacks and continuing to survey its surroundings.
Off to the left, three grey herons were roosting in a nearby tree, prompting me to wonder whether the western reef heron might have spent the previous night there too, after being lost from view as darkness fell on the estuary. It seemed a plausible refuge for such an unexpected visitor, tucked safely away above the harbour until first light.
Then without warning the bird took to the wing again and flew to join the grey herons in the tree, perching facing away from us, but then walking back along the fallen trunk and dropping down onto the muddy shore where it started to stalk and feed along the edge towards the waiting birders on the opposite bank.
As the western reef heron gradually worked its way towards the birders watching from the opposite bank, and with Ewan having set off back around to join Graham, the bird suddenly took flight. It followed the harbour channel upstream, eventually dropping down onto the shoreline before disappearing around a bend.
Almost instantly, groups of birders set off up the road in pursuit, hoping to relocate it further along the harbour. Kev and I, however, decided to stay put. We'd already enjoyed superb views and, rather than joining the stampede, took the opportunity to catch our breath and start planning our next move.
While I had concentrated on taking still photographs, Kev focused on capturing video through his scope using his phone, and he absolutely nailed it. His footage beautifully captured the western reef heron's behaviour as it patiently stalked along the shoreline, picking its way through the seaweed before striking at prey with lightning speed. In many ways, the moving images conveyed far more of the bird's character than the static photos I managed to take.
When Kev posted the clips on X, they were an instant hit and perfectly showcased this remarkable bird in action. You can see the post below ...
3am start for @jkyles32 & I this morning, the Western Reef Heron was our target bird, it was a first for the UK so it was a nervous drive waiting for news, finally, it was still present, it had relocated to Caernarfon, we arrived and were straight on it, what a bird!@BirdGuides pic.twitter.com/5rHT2FHDEg
— Kev heath (@kev07713) June 7, 2026
With our main target safely in the bag, we jumped back into the car and headed for Holyhead Old Harbour, where there is always a good chance of seeing black guillemots. Although I had enjoyed plenty of encounters with the species during my visits to the Ayrshire coast this year, Kev had yet to add one to his year list, and being so close to one of Britain's most reliable sites was an opportunity too good to miss.
Pulling up alongside the harbour wall, we immediately began scanning the water. It didn't take long to pick out a couple of birds swimming over on the far side of the harbour, but before long an even better surprise awaited us as another black guillemot surfaced much closer, affording better views.
The black guillemots in Holyhead Old Harbour are one of North Wales' best-known birding attractions and provide one of the easiest places in Britain to see this attractive auk at close range.
Holyhead's birds nest amongst the crevices, cavities and gaps within the old harbour walls and breakwaters, where they are protected from predators and close to their feeding grounds. They can often be watched carrying small fish back to their nest sites, disappearing into tiny holes in the masonry before re-emerging a few minutes later.
The species is present around Holyhead throughout the year, but late spring and early summer offer the best views as adults are in full breeding plumage and frequently commute between the harbour and nearby feeding areas.
As we watched, a handful of black guillemots flew past in both directions along the harbour, their rapid wingbeats carrying them low over the water. The striking white wing patches flashed brilliantly against their otherwise dark plumage, making them instantly recognisable as they commuted between the harbour and their feeding grounds offshore.
The harbour also held a couple of sandwich terns, with the birds moving back and forth across the water. Their elegant flight, buoyed by long, graceful wings and punctuated by occasional plunges towards the surface, added life to the scene.
The day was still young, and checking the morning reports we saw that a woodchat shrike was still being reported at RSPB South Stack. With only around 20 minutes to go, it made perfect sense to head straight over for a look.
On arrival it was clear that many of those who had been at the western reef heron had had the same idea, with several familiar faces already in the car park. Ewan and Graham were first to greet us, soon followed by Wayne Glossop @WayneGlossop2, confirming we were very much on the right track.
Earlier updates had suggested the shrike was showing on the exposed hillside, where birders were apparently being battered by strong winds while trying to get onto it. In fact, the bird had since sensibly dropped down into the valley below the car park, where it was perched comfortably and in full view - a far more sheltered position given the conditions.
We joined the assembled birders, set up the cameras and scopes, and spent some time enjoying and photographing the bird. It was hard to believe that it had only been a month or so since I finally connected with my first woodchat shrike after a string of near misses, yet here was another - a 1st-summer female.
The bird had first been discovered on 30 May and had shown remarkable site fidelity, remaining faithful to the heathland around the visitor centre and becoming one of the reserve’s standout attractions. Unlike many migrant shrikes that can be frustratingly elusive, this individual was exceptionally obliging, often perched prominently on gorse bushes, fence posts and low shrubs before dropping to the ground to hunt.
At times it could be seen hovering briefly or making short sallies after bumblebees, beetles and grasshoppers, returning to a favourite perch to scan for its next opportunity. The plumage showed a warm chestnut crown and nape contrasting with pale underparts and a darker wing panel marked with bold white flashes.
Its behaviour - repeatedly scanning from a raised vantage point before launching swift, decisive attacks - perfectly illustrated why shrikes are often referred to as “butcher birds”. The prolonged stay was particularly notable given how scarce woodchat shrikes are in Wales, with most Anglesey records involving brief, one-day visits. This individual, however, had remained for over a week, providing hundreds of birders and photographers with extended, close-range views of one of Europe’s most charismatic migrants.
Alan Boddington and John Raven then arrived to complete the group from earlier.
With around 15 minutes still to go before the visitor centre opened, Kev and I dropped down to the cliff edge to scan the sea beyond. Out on the water and on the cliffs there was a steady passage of seabirds: kittiwakes, guillemots, razorbills and gannets, and Kev even managed a brief glimpse of a single puffin among the rafting birds.
The wind, however, was relentless, tearing caps from heads and forcing us into an impromptu chase back up the slope before resorting to stuffing them into pockets for safety. It wasn’t the most comfortable of watches, and after a short while we retreated back to the car park to wait for the centre to open.
It was a real joy watching the choughs making the most of the conditions, tumbling effortlessly in the wind. They seemed completely at home in the gale, twisting and dropping through the air with barely a wingbeat, using the strength of the wind to perform their aerial acrobatics over the cliffs.
Once inside, we grabbed coffees and took the chance to sit down with Ewan and Graham for a good long chat - something that doesn’t happen nearly often enough in a day that is usually driven by relocating to find the next bird.
Eventually, with the morning’s birding done, we packed everything into the car and pointed it homewards. As always, the journey back seemed that bit longer than the outward leg.
Year list: 262.
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