The Gunsite, Leasowe, Wirral :: 10 October 2026

Neither Kev @kev07713 nor I had been out birding all week. The birds all seemed to be stuck on Shetland or the Scillies, and with no easterly winds, the migrant fall from Europe that we’d been hoping for was delayed. We started looking for somewhere to visit on Saturday and, as it happened, the winds had been blowing strongly from the west-north-west and west for the previous couple of days, with more of the same forecast for Saturday.

There had been a bit of discussion about what these conditions might bring, so we decided to make a return trip to the Gunsite, between Wallasey and Leasowe on the Wirral. We were hoping for more Leach’s petrels, perhaps a skua or two, but topping my personal wish list was a Sabine’s gull.

Kev picked me up at 6.00am, with the forecast high tide of 9.37 metres due at 11.40 am. This would give us at least three hours of seawatching leading up to high tide, when we hoped our chances of seeing Leach’s petrels and any other seabirds blown closer to shore would be at their best.

The forecast for this stretch of the coast promised a persistent WNW wind of around 20–23mph, with gusts reaching over 40mph. It was going to be a cool day, with temperatures of 10–13°C, extensive cloud and occasional showers, although there was a chance of some brighter spells, particularly around high tide.

On the way, Kev told me that our friends Adrian Sparrowhawk @sparra1959 and Bryan Manston @BManston2222 were also planning to make the journey north. They had dipped on Leach’s petrels during their visit the previous month and were keen to try their luck again, this time opting for a day trip rather than an overnight stay. It sounded as though we’d have some familiar faces joining us for the seawatch, all hoping that the conditions would deliver the birds we were looking for.

As we drew near, we stopped for breakfast, where Adrian and Bryan caught up with us. We then set off together towards the Gunsite, but as we were leaving, news came through of a Leach’s petrel and a Sabine’s gull in the river mouth before 8.00 am. I’d already missed out on my main target bird - perhaps it would hang around and I'd get another chance. To have had a chance of seeing them, we would have needed to leave home no later than 4.30am, even without stopping along the way. It was frustrating to know that both birds had already put in an appearance before we’d even reached our destination, but there was still plenty of time for something to turn up.

We decided to head for the Gunsite rather than the harbour / river mouth, hoping this would give us better views if the birds came through. It was a blustery day, with rain in the air, so initially we used the cars as our hides, scanning the sea with binoculars and scopes. We angled the cars to provide some protection from the worst of the weather, as rain, salt spray and sand pummelled the sides of the vehicles.

Then Kev called out that he had a Leach’s petrel! We all leapt out of the cars as the bird was now directly in front of us, heading left. We’d missed its approach, and both Bryan and I had failed to get onto it. I did have an excuse of sorts, having positioned myself in the back seat behind Kev, to get a better view of the beach and the direction from which we expected the birds to approach. Unfortunately, that plan hadn’t quite worked out, as we’d missed the first petrel coming through, distracted by a gull whose plumage looked interesting enough to warrant a closer look.

Once outside, we scanned the sea in the hope of relocating the petrel, but it had vanished without trace. Before long, we were back in the cars, peering through our scopes and binoculars once more, hoping another bird would come our way and give us a better opportunity.

There was still plenty to keep us occupied, with dunlin, bar-tailed godwits, oystercatchers and turnstones passing through at regular intervals. Common scoters were also on the move, and we picked out a distant Arctic skua, although it was far too far out to offer any chance of a photograph.

We noticed the chap in the car beside us watching something intently and eventually got out to investigate. It turned out that a Leach’s petrel had passed close inshore, so close, in fact, that we hadn’t been able to see it from the car because the wall and the slope down to the water had blocked our view. Damn! That settled it - we weren’t going to miss another bird passing close by and got out the car.

We chatted with a couple of the other birders nearby while Adrian and Bryan retreated to their car for some shelter from the weather. We’d taken the opposite approach, deciding that the best option was to add a few more waterproof layers and brave the elements.

I got talking to another birder who had spent some time at New Brighton and the river mouth earlier in the morning. He’d seen Leach’s petrel there, but all the views had been very distant, which had prompted him to relocate to the Gunsite in search of better opportunities. After a brief chat, he wandered further along the car park to assess the views and see how the conditions looked from there.

Kev called a skua coming our way and we were soon on it, a bonxie (aka great skua), people starting to gather around and watching as the bird flew in from right to left (Wallasey to Leasowe). On the local WhatsApp group there was an update to tell us it was coming our way.

October is a good time to look for bonxies as birds move south from their northern breeding grounds towards their wintering areas in the Atlantic, with some eventually reaching waters off West Africa. Strong WNW winds along the Wirral coast brings these migrating seabirds closer to shore, offering birders a better chance of spotting them. Great skuas are large, powerful, dark brown birds with distinctive white flashes on their wings, often seen flying low over the waves or pursuing other seabirds.

With the excitement over, we returned to scanning the water for petrels as the tide continued to creep closer, gradually swallowing the beach. The sea seemed remarkably close already, despite there still being a considerable time to go before high tide.

A couple of geese flew in and passed by - Brent geese, and our first of the autumn. Their return from Arctic breeding grounds to the UK's coasts and estuaries is another welcome sign that the autumn and winter season is getting underway. Dark-bellied Brent geese arrive from Siberia and Russia, while light-bellied birds come from Greenland and Canada, with some populations breeding on Svalbard. They are often seen gathering in flocks on mudflats and saltmarshes, where they feed throughout the winter months.

An estimated 135,000 Brent geese migrate to the UK each winter, according to official data collected by the British Trust for Ornithology (BTO); about 90,000 - 100,000 dark-bellied, 35,000 - 40,000 light-bellied.

Our pair were light-bellied Brent geese, with clean, pale greyish-white underparts contrasting sharply with their jet-black chests. Dark-bellied Brent geese, by comparison, would have a much darker, smoky grey belly that blends more closely with the black breast. It was a welcome little bonus while we continued scanning the increasingly turbulent sea for our main targets.

Conditions seemed to be worsening by the minute, with the wind strengthening and sand stinging our faces whenever we turned into it. Our pockets were gradually filling with sand, and we had to be constantly mindful of where we pointed our camera lenses to avoid the worst of the salt spray and flying sand.

Out at sea, things were becoming increasingly wild. Waves crashed into one another, throwing spray into the air, while the water churned into a swirling mass of foam and sand, taking on that familiar muddy brown colour after a spell of strong winds. White water surged in every direction, with spray hanging in the air and the whole sea taking on a restless, untidy appearance. It was certainly living up to the forecast, making conditions challenging for both birding and photography but was the conditions we were hoping for as it would increase our chances of seeing our target birds.

News came through from New Brighton and Wallasey that up to three Leach’s petrels might be heading our way, adding to the anticipation. The birder who had wandered off to check conditions at the other end of the car park returned and, after a brief chat, retreated to his car for some respite from the weather. However, when he spotted us excitedly pointing out to sea, he quickly rejoined us to watch the approach of a Leach’s petrel.

The bird appeared to be following in the wake of a gull, keeping low over the turbulent water with the gull higher. As they drew closer, the gull pulled ahead, leaving the petrel to shear through the crashing waves and dart between the troughs. This was much closer than our earlier encounter and finally gave us a chance to try for some photographs. A lifer for Bryan and Adrian.

The bird would disappear completely below the height of the waves, only to reappear moments later, skimming effortlessly through the gaps between the crests. Watching it negotiate the rough sea at close quarters was quite a sight, and a reminder of just how well these little seabirds are adapted to life in the open ocean.

I chatted some more to the other birder standing with us and eventually I realised who it was, Carl Moorhouse @manchesterbirder.bsky.social. We've talked on the internet and often read each other's blogs - his at https://themanchesterbirder.blogspot.com. His blog has a conversational, humorous style, mixing personal experiences with detailed bird observations and interesting snippets of natural history. It brings birding trips to life through descriptions of the weather, landscape, the anticipation of finding a bird and the occasional frustration along the way. The writing feels informal and engaging, with a touch of dry humour and a strong sense of camaraderie among birders. It is always well worth a read.

We watched as more Leach’s petrels passed through, although these birds were back to being more distant. By this point, we reckoned that around nine or ten had been reported moving through the area. There was some confusion, however, as reports coming in from Wallasey and New Brighton were occasionally followed by confirmation of sightings at the Gunsite, despite none of us having seen the birds. The birders further down the car park hadn’t seen them either, including a group who had been at New Brighton earlier when Carl was there. We never did establish who was picking up these additional birds, so the numbers remained a little uncertain.

We did manage another sighting of an Arctic skua, but it was way out offshore and offered little more than a distant view against the turbulent sea.

Eventually, we suggested to Adrian and Bryan that we would head round to Wallasey to see what was happening there, leaving them at the Gunsite. Despite our three visits to the area, we’d never tried the spot by the RNLI Lifeguard Station on King’s Parade, so it seemed worth a look.

We parked up and made our way down onto the beach, where we noticed a group of birders with their scopes taking shelter behind the Lifeguard Station. Perhaps this was a good alternative when the tide was high, but by now the sea had receded quickly, leaving a vast expanse of exposed sand.

Further out on the beach, we spotted three birders / photographers. When we joined them, they explained that they were waiting for Leach’s petrels but hadn’t seen any yet. Unless a bird came right in along the water’s edge, the lack of elevation above the sea meant views were likely to be rather limited. That said, there had been some excellent photographs and videos taken here the previous month, when Leach’s petrels had done precisely that.

The tide was racing out, though, and anyone hoping to connect with the birds would need to keep moving down the beach to follow the water’s edge. After a quick look around, we decided we’d had enough for one day. We made our way back to the car, content with our day’s birding, and set off for home.

Year list: 295 (mine) - BUBO: 290.

RSPB Minsmere, Marshside, & Hesketh Out Marsh :: 03 October 2026

Planning our next day out birding, Kev had said that he was tied up with various arrangements from Monday through Wednesday, so on Wednesday morning I was easing myself into the day after a leisurely breakfast when the phone rang. It was Kev. We’d chatted the night before about the red-eyed vireo that had been found at RSPB Minsmere but had concluded that this was likely to be a one-day bird with little chance of it staying. I had pointed out, though, that it might generally relocate overnight, and with rain forecast right through until first light, perhaps there was a glimmer of hope.

Kev’s first word when I answered was, “Oops.” He then asked whether I was thinking of going.

To be honest, I hadn’t yet picked up any messages about the bird being reported again, but Kev’s wife, Karen, was clearly on the case and had already relayed the news to him. I quickly changed, and barely 30 minutes later Kev and Karen were outside my house, and we were on our way, Kev having cancelled his appointment that afternoon. Charlotte didn’t join us as she was playing pickleball in the early evening.

Although the red-eyed vireo is a rare visitor to Britain, it is one of the more regularly encountered North American passerines. The first British record was at St. Agnes in the Isles of Scilly in 1962, and records have accumulated steadily since, with the vast majority occurring in September and October as birds undertake their autumn migration. It remains very much a rarity, however, with many individuals appearing only briefly before continuing their journey, while the chances of encountering one is heavily influenced by weather conditions.

The red-eyed vireo is a smart-looking bird, with olive-green upperparts contrasting with clean white underparts. Its head is particularly distinctive, with a greyish crown, broad white supercilium and dark line through the eye. The wings are darker and subtly marked, while the tail carries the same olive-green tones above. It has a fine bill and pale grey legs. Adults show the species' characteristic red iris, while first-year birds have a darker eye, gradually developing the red colour as they mature.

The Minsmere bird had been discovered at about 3.15pm the previous day, when a visitor reported it in the North Bushes. RSPB staff subsequently obtained brief views, followed by several local birders who also managed to connect with it. It was notoriously elusive, however, being seen only occasionally as it moved through the dense bushes. It is a significant record: the first red-eyed vireo for Minsmere and only the fifth for Suffolk, with the previous Suffolk record dating from 1995. It also became the 350th bird species recorded at Minsmere.

On the way, I asked via a WhatsApp group whether parking at Dunwich Heath NT might be more sensible, given the pin drop shown on BirdGuides, but was reminded that the Visitor Centre and car park there was still closed following the fires that had swept across the heath during the dry summer months. We also understood that today's reported sighting had come from a single observer, while others were already on site but had so far failed to relocate the bird.

We pulled into the car park and set off through the Visitors Centre, pausing for a comfort break. Outside, we bumped into a chap who had just come up from the North Bushes, where the bird had reportedly been seen. He told us that it had been spotted again and that we should get a move on before it dissolved back into the bushes and scrub. Apparently, it had been extremely elusive and hadn't been seen for around four hours before this latest sighting.

We set off through the reserve, passing several people who had already been lucky enough to see the bird, and paused a couple of times to check that we were heading in the right direction. Before long, we arrived to find a line of birders all focused intently on a particular stretch of bushes. Among them we spotted Lee Evans and a Coventry birder we bump into from time to time, Mike Doughty @dogdoughty. They had already enjoyed a few views of our bird but told us that it was currently out of sight. Mike described how, only ten minutes or so earlier, he had watched the bird for almost a minute as it worked its way through a bush or small tree to our right, pulling off and eating berries - it would show again, right? A post on X showed the only photo I saw posted of this encounter.

Red-eyed Vireo at Minsmere lunch time https://t.co/4KBjIBaw23

— mick davis (@Med2005Mick) September 30, 2026

We waited and scanned the bushes as birds came and went, with the suggestion that our best chance of seeing the vireo would be when the tit flock moved through. Blue tits, great tits and long-tailed tits were constantly keeping us occupied, but around 25 minutes passed without any sign of our target.

Then calls went up from the other side of the trees that someone had the bird, with directions being relayed to those nearby. The group at the left-hand end of the line immediately set off, with Lee, Mike and several staying put. We heard that the bird was mobile and that, by the time everyone reached the other side, it would probably have moved on, as it was further round than most people realised.

A couple of minutes later, two small birds flew into the bushes directly in front of us. I raised my binoculars to see what they were and, to my surprise, one was our red-eyed vireo, its prominent pale supercilium making it instantly recognisable - a lifer! I started to call out that the bird was there, only to realise that a couple of others were doing the same. As we pointed and alerted those around us, the vireo took to the air and flew across the clearing, now attracting the attention of more of the birders.

It landed briefly in an oak tree and then vanished. None of us had seen where it had gone, and we searched the oak and the surrounding trees and bushes without success. News of the sighting quickly spread, and the scattered groups began making their way back, including Kev and Karen. Unfortunately, they had missed this brief appearance, but we would stay put and wait for another opportunity and so that this time I might have the opportunity to get a photo.

We waited, and waited, and waited. The tit flock continued to work its way through the bushes, appearing several times and occasionally leaving us wondering where it had gone when long spells passed without a sighting or even a calling bird. As the afternoon wore on, people gradually began to drift away, and more than once we found ourselves almost alone in the favoured area, with the light beginning to fade.

Then, at around 5.30pm, a reported sighting appeared on BirdGuides, apparently just up the track. Birders began appearing from below us, asking whether it was our group that had seen the bird. We made our way back up towards the pin drop and continued beyond it, but there was no sign of anyone who knew anything about the report. It was all rather strange.

Eventually, with the light fading and no further news, we had to admit defeat and head for home. Having been the only one of us to get a view, I couldn't help feeling disappointed for Kev and Karen. I suppose that's birding, though on another day it could just as easily have been the other way round.

Friday evening arrived and, looking at potential new birds available for my year list, I suggested that the only realistic option on the mainland was the pallid harrier at RSPB Marshside in South Lancashire. It was a particularly smart first-winter bird, with the characteristic dark boa across the neck, neat white rump and long, narrow wings giving it that distinctive appearance that separates it from the more familiar hen harrier. It was proving mobile and unpredictable, however. Some observers had enjoyed only brief flight views as it quartered the marsh, others had managed more regular and closer encounters, while some could spend hours watching without seeing it at all.

We decided on an early start on Saturday morning and made our way there without stopping. As we approached the car park, we could see a line of birders gathered along Marine Drive, apparently looking intently towards the marsh, looking through scopes, binoculars, and cameras. We wondered if we'd arrived just in time, but checking BirdGuides once we reached the car park revealed that they had likely been watching a short-eared owl. Looking at the photographs later, it was clear that they had enjoyed some remarkably good views.

We got our kit ready and chatted to a chap in the car park, wondering whether he was local and might have some useful intelligence on where best to view from, given that recent reports had come from several points along Marine Drive. As it turned out, he was a birder from the Bristol area, Tom Cutter, who spends much of his time birding at RSPB Ham Wall. We may well have crossed paths with him on previous visits there, although neither of us could be certain. He was certainly hard to miss, being considerably taller than six feet.

Tom also knew Kev's sister Karen and her partner Dean from his time birding at Ham Wall, which gave us an immediate connection and something to chat about before we headed out to look for the harrier.

From below the car park beside the sand works, we had an expansive view across the reserve. Beyond Marine Drive, the flat saltmarsh stretched away towards the Ribble, broken up by pools, ditches and patches of rough grass, with very little to obstruct the view. It was the sort of landscape where a harrier could appear almost anywhere, quartering low over the marsh before suddenly gaining height or dropping out of sight behind a bank or patch of vegetation. We stood scanning the open ground and distant pools, checking every harrier-sized shape and movement as birds rose from the marsh, while flocks of geese occasionally lifted into the air and settled again, predominantly pink-footed geese.

There were plenty of kestrels perched on posts and branches or hovering and hunting on the wing, along with the occasional distant marsh harrier, including both cream-crowned females and males. Snipe, linnets and meadow pipits passed overhead, while a few stonechats worked the vegetation out in front of us. We scanned the marsh, chatted and kept an eye on what distant groups of birders were watching, hoping that their attention might give us some clue as to where the pallid harrier might appear.

After a while, we decided to head back towards the car park and then out along Marine Drive to see what other viewpoints might be available and where the other birders had settled. We soon found a large group looking intently towards the far right of the marsh and decided to join them. They hadn’t seen anything more than we had, though, and there was still no news of the pallid harrier. That said, there was a distant view of a female merlin, and it’s always a good day when you’ve seen one of these. Unfortunately, it was far too distant for either a video or a photograph.

After a while, Tom crouched down low but continued scanning with his binoculars. Suddenly he sprang to his feet and announced that he had just seen a short-eared owl rise from the grass before almost immediately dropping back into cover. He didn't have a scope with him, just his camera and long lens, and asked if he could use mine to try to pick up the spot where he thought the owl had landed.

“Of course - be my guest.”

Within a couple of minutes, Tom stepped back and said that the bird was sitting right in the centre of the scope. He then moved across and did the same with Kev's scope. The owl was there, its domed head just visible above the grass, but it certainly wasn't an easy bird to pick out unless you already suspected something was there. Kev and I shared the scope views with others, helping them to get onto it and making sure to point out that Tom was the finder, not us.

After another half hour or so, the short-eared owl decided to relocate, giving us some lovely flight views before dropping back into the grass and disappearing once more. It wasn't completely out of view, though, as we could see birders further along Marine Drive with cameras raised, presumably enjoying better views from their position.

After another half hour, Kev decided to walk round and join them, while Tom and I stayed put, continuing to scan the marsh and chatting about birding, photography, blogging and the various places we post our photographs.

Tom said that he didn't post on X or Bluesky but was active on Instagram, where he posts as @exploretwentyfourseven - well worth a look. He also told me about a new project he had started, creating a birding and wildlife channel on YouTube Wildlife With Tom @Exploretwentyfourseven.

He'd only made three episodes so far, but if those are anything to go by, it's certainly worth subscribing and following along with his future adventures. He certainly seems to have the skills for it, both behind the camera and in front of it, with a natural personality that should work well.

After a while, we decided to pull stumps and make our way round to join Kev, who seemed to have settled into taking his own photographs. We thought we'd better go and spoil his fun. Looking out across the grassland, we initially couldn't see the owl at all; it was remarkably well camouflaged against its surroundings. Once it was pointed out, we had a much better chance of picking it up, although taking your eyes off it for even a moment meant another frustrating search to relocate it.

Eventually, the owl turned slightly side-on, and I managed to get a few shots with the camera, while Kev alternated between video and stills. After a while, the owl got up again, turned in the air and flew away from us, gradually increasing the distance before dropping back into the grass.

A few of the people around us followed its progress and appeared to get views as it went down, but after a quick chat, Kev and I decided to return to where we'd been earlier. Tom, meanwhile, decided to call it a day, with a considerably longer drive home ahead of him.

Kev and I decided to cross the road and see what the Visitor Centre had to offer. It seemed to be more of a hide than a conventional Visitor Centre, although there were a couple of portaloos, which was useful to know for the future. We spent a little time scanning the pools on the other side before making our way back towards the car, spotting a wall brown butterfly as it landed on the roadside verge.

Across the estuary we could see Lytham St Annes and Blackpool Tower beyond.

The plan now was to relocate to the main slipway at Southport beach, opposite Ocean Plaza, where twite are sometimes reported. It was probably still a little early to expect any this autumn, but there was always an outside chance, and even if we drew a blank, it would at least give us some reconnaissance for a possible trip later in the year.

However, just as I was putting my phone away, I checked BirdGuides and spotted a report from just 15 minutes earlier of a pallid harrier at RSPB Hesketh Out Marsh. Plans changed instantly. We headed back to the car and set off for Hesketh, only to bump into a couple of local birders who had also seen the report and were doing the same.

We all jumped into our cars, and we followed them towards the reserve. It turned out to be a considerably longer journey than I'd expected, but I suppose we had to negotiate the estuary edges. We jumped out of the car and hurried up the slope, hopeful that the bird might still be showing.

As we joined the line of birders, there was a familiar face among them - Tom, who had also spotted the report and decided to give it a go. Unfortunately, the news from those already there wasn't encouraging. There had been no further views, and none of the birders present had seen the bird themselves. We joined them in scanning the marsh, picking out a chap in the distance who appeared to be carrying out some sort of survey, clipboard in hand.

There were other raptors to keep us occupied - buzzards, marsh harriers and kestrels - but no sign of the pallid harrier. One of the kestrels eventually landed in a tree behind us, and I couldn't resist taking a photograph.

After another hour or more, we finally had to admit defeat. We said our goodbyes and all made our way back to the cars for the journey home. No doubt we'll bump into Tom again on future visits to RSPB Ham Wall, and in the meantime we can follow his exploits through his YouTube channel.

Halfway home, Kev checked BirdGuides and spotted a report of a pallid harrier at Belmont Reservoir, east of where we'd been. Could it be our bird? It was only about a 50-minute drive from RSPB Marshside, but by then it was possibly even further from where we were - and, unfortunately, in completely the wrong direction.

There was nothing we could do about it now, so we continued home, hoping that we'd get another chance to connect with the pallid harrier on another day.

Year list: 295 (mine) - BUBO: 290.