Titchfield Haven NNR & Hook-with-Warsarsh :: 04 April 2026

There seemed an obvious choice of destination for Saturday - the American golden plover at Hook-with-Warsash, Hampshire. This coastal reserve lies at the mouth of the River Hamble and includes mudflats, saltmarsh and grazing marsh, making it ideal habitat for migrant waders.

Birders reported a bird at Bunny Meadows, Warsash, on 30 March, identified by observers as an American golden plover; it was seen on a rising tide. American golden plover is a rare vagrant in Britain, typically appearing in autumn among European golden plover flocks following Atlantic drift migration; this individual was reported within the high-tide roost alongside grey plovers.

Tide height is crucial, as birds move from the mudflats onto the grazing marsh as the water pushes in. The prime viewing window is therefore from around 1.5–2 hours before high tide up to high tide itself. Reports suggested that at Hook-with-Warsash plovers often feed out on exposed mud early on, then drop into Bunny Meadows once the tide reaches mid-level and begins to rise - so if nothing is present, it pays to stay put, as the birds frequently arrive rather than being there already.

With this in mind, and with high tide due at around 1.40 pm, Kev @kev07713 and I decided to visit Posbrook Floods, part of Titchfield Haven NNR, first and wait for the tide to push birds off the mudflats where they might otherwise be difficult to locate. There had been a report of a ruddy shelduck on the floods and adjacent fields, and it is always good to catch up with one.

We arrived at the field west of Ranvilles Lane where the ruddy shelduck had been reported the previous day, associating with Egyptian geese, and pulled in to scan. Six Egyptian geese were immediately visible, then seven, then nine as two more flew in, but there was no sign of the ruddy shelduck. A few skylarks added both movement and to the soundscape.

After a short while Kev suggested checking Posbrook Floods, which he had spotted on the way in. A quick look confirmed that this was another location where the shelduck had recently been reported and is a new site for us. We parked in the busy car park, occupied mostly by dog walkers rather than birders, booted up, and set off along the track onto the reserve.

We walked along the path accompanied by the sounds of Cetti’s warblers, chiffchaffs, and various tits, providing a constant soundtrack as we went. At the first pool a few Egyptian geese were present, though the ruddy shelduck was not among them. Small groups of black-tailed godwits fed along the margins, with several shelducks, a couple of lapwings and a scattering of gulls - mostly black-headed - completing the view. Across the field on the opposite side, three great-spotted woodpeckers and a jay made their presence known.

Further along the path Kev was able to scan back into a distant corner and alerted me to a glossy ibis that I couldn’t yet see from my position. Catching up with him, I picked up the bird, though it was far too distant to attempt a photograph. We continued on and soon met a couple of birders coming the other way, stopping briefly to point out the ibis as they had not yet seen it. Around then, four sand martins appeared over the distant trees, hawking low in the air.

Behind us a willow warbler called, and we scanned the surrounding trees and shrubs but struggled to locate it. A great tit joined in, adding to the confusion, and Kev drifted back, following the warbler's calls. Suddenly a small bird dropped into a blackthorn bush directly in front of me and I quickly got my binoculars onto it - a willow warbler, my first of the year. It showed pale legs and a noticeably long-winged, attenuated structure, the primary projection extending beyond the tertials. It flicked between perches, picking at emerging insects, its soft yellowy tones catching the sunlight before slipping back into cover, though while in view it didn't call.

Back at the pool, the glossy ibis took to the wing, gliding along the far edge of the water before disappearing behind a large tree that stood between us and the pool’s front. A few minutes later, one of the other birders called out that four glossy ibis were airborne, and we all watched them drift past at a distance against the grey sky. It wouldn’t be the last glimpse of them: as we walked further along the track, they reappeared, dropping in partway along the flooded grass area, but hidden behind tall grasses.

The glossy ibis is a striking wetland wader, its iridescent plumage shimmering in shades of bronze, green, and purple, and its long, down‑curved bill unmistakable. Still relatively scarce in the UK compared to more common waders, it has been increasingly recorded in southern coastal and inland floodplain sites, often in small groups - I seem to recall an extraordinary flock a year or two ago, when 92 birds were reported together in flight.

As each approached the flooded grass, they slowly raised their long, tapered legs, splaying its toes for a gentle touchdown. Its broad wings tilted slightly, creating a graceful, gliding motion, while the tail feathers fanned for balance, giving it a smooth, almost floating landing.

Behind us, a great spotted woodpecker began drumming on a dead tree, so close we half expected it to appear immediately - it must have been just around the far side of the branch. Soon enough, it hopped into view, perching briefly for a few tens of seconds before taking flight to join another woodpecker in the trees just behind.

One of the other birders mentioned having seen marsh harriers, and before long we were watching two of them separately - a male first, followed by a female. They moved swiftly through the air rather than quartering the reeds, but regardless, their presence was enough to flush birds from the water and along the pool edges, drawing everyone’s attention to the raptors gliding overhead.

We made our way to the second pool, still unable to locate the ruddy shelduck, but enjoyed good views of a nuthatch busy in the tree above. Photography was tricky, but I snapped a few shots anyway. While there, we chatted with another birder who had also returned to the second pool. He turned out to be from Surrey and considered Staines Reservoir his local patch.

Eventually, we took a slow stroll back to the car, leaving him at his car, and I tallied up our day’s sightings - around 45 species in total. Truly, a lovely little reserve.

We decided to return to the top fields to see if the ruddy shelduck had appeared. Scanning the area yielded nothing, but news on BirdGuides alerted us that the American golden plover had been spotted from the footpath north along the east bank of the River Hamble from the Passage Lane car park. Without hesitation, we jumped into the car, heading there just as it approached the best window for observation.

We arrived, grabbed our scopes, and set off along the footpath, spotting other birders doing the same. A few were already standing more than half a mile ahead, scopes raised, cameras raised. On reaching the location, we saw the bird and took a moment to decide the best vantage point for viewing/videoscoping and photography.

As I dropped down to a viewing platform, I spotted our friends Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby and went over to say hello. Nick couldn’t believe our luck - he’d spent two hours trekking up and down the river, covering every inch in search of the bird. Meanwhile, we had practically walked straight onto it, though in fairness, that was part of the plan; Kev had done a bit of research on the tides, and it had paid off, although I believe Nick and Anne had been afforded better views when the bird had first dropped in.

This first-winter American golden plover is a visitor to our shores, a rare but regular vagrant. It is medium-sized, with a compact rounded body, and has a short, straight black bill and long, slender dark grey or blackish legs. Its upright, alert posture and quick, deliberate steps make it easy to spot once you know where to look.

Its plumage, is far less flamboyant than an adult in breeding colours with its back a soft sandy-brown streaked with darker markings, while the underparts are pale, with delicate streaking across the breast and flanks. Its head and face show gentle contrasts: a faint pale eyebrow and pale cheeks.

Nick and Anne decided to leave, as the bird remained at a distance and the incoming tide was filling the muddy bay between us and it, making it unlikely to come any closer and limiting chances for better photos - it had also been a longer morning for them as they had opted to search for the bird. Our only real opportunity came when a group of gulls flushed it, sending it flying across to a grass covered island with the three grey plovers and a lone dunlin. A handful of black-tailed godwits remained and paused to shake and splash, washing away mud and debris.

Overhead, a swallow flew through, my first of the year, while a dozen or so brent geese drifted by, carried along as the tide flowed from the bay into the lagoon. Before long, it was time for us to move on as well.

Deciding what to do next, we opted to return to the Posbrook Floods. We’d enjoyed our earlier visit, and there was still a chance the ruddy shelduck might reappear. On arriving back at the fields, however, we found numbers noticeably reduced - even the Egyptian geese had largely disappeared. Finding a parking space proved far more difficult this time, but fortune was on our side when a couple walking their dog returned to their car and left just as we arrived, allowing us to slip neatly into the vacant spot.

Setting off along the track, we soon spotted a roe deer lying low in the grass, occasionally nibbling at the vegetation around it. Resting quietly among the lush spring growth, only its head and upper neck rose above the greenery. The deer appeared calm yet alert, its dark eye half-watchful as it listened to the sounds of the reserve and the steady passage of walkers nearby.

Its coat was transitioning into the rich reddish tones of spring and summer, replacing the heavier grey of winter. The fur looked slightly tousled and damp, giving a textured, natural appearance that blended perfectly with the fresh vegetation. One ear turned forward while the other angled back, independently scanning for sound and a classic roe deer posture.

Most striking were the short antlers in velvet, thick and rounded, still covered in soft, pale tissue as they continue to grow. The velvet gave a plush, almost sculpted look, contrasting with the darker face and muzzle.

We paused again by the blackthorn where earlier we had seen and heard a willow warbler, but this time a chiffchaff dropped into view and immediately made its presence known. Perching in the open, it gave it large, seemingly determined to dominate the local soundscape.

Chiffchaffs are now a familiar sound across the UK during the summer breeding season, with an estimated 1.1 to 1.8 million breeding pairs. Once considered a scarce winter resident, increasing numbers - likely in the low thousands - now remain through the colder months, aided by milder winters and improved survival rates. Most overwintering birds are found in southern areas, particularly near water and around sheltered sites such as sewage treatment works.

There were noticeably more Egyptian geese around the first pool and on the slope behind it, their numbers presumably boosted by birds that had earlier been feeding in the field to the east. A few moved about restlessly, but there was still no sign of our target species. By now, though, the search had softened into simply enjoying the birding rather than focusing on any one bird.

Scanning the sky, a handful of sand martins appeared, hawking insects high over the water. As we watched, more joined them until we counted at least eighteen birds swirling distantly overhead - excellent to follow through binoculars. Among them was a single swallow, and, like buses, it became my second sighting of the year and the day.

April marks one of the true turning points of spring in the UK, the return of the swallows. After spending the winter thousands of miles away in sub-Saharan Africa, these migrants begin to reappear across the countryside, their arrival often coinciding with lengthening days and the first genuine warmth of the year.

We walked on and as we reached the end of the first pool a familiar call was heard overhead - the unmistakable call of a Mediterranean gull. We looked up and caught sight of the bird and then another two with it. They circled and flew along the pool and out onto the second pool. The second pool was dominated by larger gulls - both herring and lesser black-backed - and so the Med gulls gradually worked back to the first pool which held more black-headed gulls and dropped onto the pool.

Many Mediterranean gulls in the UK are by now in full breeding plumage and therefore visible among gatherings of more common gulls. Once a genuine rarity, the species has steadily increased in recent decades and is now a regular sight at coastal lagoons, estuaries, reservoirs, and even inland wetlands.

At this time of year, adults are unmistakable; their jet-black hoods, clean white bodies, and pale grey upperwings give them a strikingly elegant appearance, while the bright red bill and legs add a splash of colour that stands out even at distance. In flight, the lack of black wingtips, replaced instead by clean white outer wings, is often the feature that catches the eye first. Their calls, softer and more nasal than those of black-headed gulls, give them away before they are picked out visually, as was the case today.

We enjoyed the remainder of the stroll and eventually turned to make the journey back to the car, but I stopped to look at a flock on the far hillside, which until now I had assumed were cattle given the colours. Through my binoculars I could now see they were goats and looking up the species I found them to be Boer goats.

Boer goats are an increasingly familiar sight in parts of the UK countryside, easily recognised by their sturdy build and distinctive colouring - a white body paired with a rich brown head and long, pendulous ears. Originally developed in South Africa for meat production, the breed is valued for its hardiness, calm temperament, and ability to thrive in a wide range of environments.

Their strong browsing behaviour makes them particularly useful for habitat management, where they help control scrub, bramble, and invasive vegetation that might otherwise overwhelm grassland or heath habitats. As a result, they are sometimes encountered unexpectedly near nature reserves or rewilding projects. Often curious but relaxed around people, Boer goats can be seen methodically working through vegetation, standing on hind legs to reach higher leaves or moving steadily across slopes and rough ground with impressive agility. Their growing popularity reflects both practical farming needs and a broader interest in sustainable land management across the UK.

It was time to head for home, stopping for coffee and a cake on the way.

Year list: 213.

Pitsford Water & Summer Leys :: 04 October 2025

Each of the past few weekends, Kev @kev07713 and I have ended up doing the same thing, talking about the weather and deciding where to head next. Over the last few days, a storm had been rolling in from the west, sweeping across from the USA and bringing heavy disruption to the north and west of the UK. By overnight, the wind had picked up in Banbury too, blustery and wet.

Since we had decided to stay local, there was no need for an early start. With winter drawing in, the mornings were still dark as we set out and still blustery. We made steady progress to the parking spot and were surprised to find it completely empty - we’d expected others, newly freed from the workweek, to be making the most of the day as well. From there, we followed the track past the feeder station tucked among the trees, the harsh calls of a couple of jays echoing overhead and made our way toward the Bird Club hide.

From the track and through our scopes, we could already make out a dense flock of ducks at the far end of the reservoir, with a scattering of waders mixed in. From the feeders, though, we couldn’t be sure if the bird we were hoping for was among them. Closing the distance by half, we set up again - and there it was, the American golden plover.

Inside the hide, we found ourselves alone. We chose the best angle for viewing and soon had the bird in sight. It remained distant, but through the scopes that hardly mattered. We watched as it fed steadily across the exposed mud of the reservoir bed, occasionally joined by three ruff, though they didn’t seem to associate closely.

Next came the more challenging part, trying to capture some record shots and video. True to form, I’d left my photo adapter in the car, so I used the camera on top of the tripod. The image quality was fine; only the magnification was lacking.

The American golden plover breeds in the Arctic tundra in northern North America (Alaska, northern Canada) and migrates to South America for the non-breeding season. In the UK they are a rare vagrant and show up most commonly in the autumn, and occasionally in spring. The species is now recorded annually in small numbers in the UK. Because adult golden love (the European species) are common and similar looking, their American cousins can be confusing. Juveniles such as this bird, and non-breeding individuals, can be hard to separate and observers look for combinations of plumage, underwing colour, structure and behaviour. Because records are rare, thorough documentation including good photographs are often required if the sighting is to officially be accepted.

Kev managed to capture some footage, recording through his scope and has posted it on X (Twitter) here. I struggled a bit more - a couple of other birders joined us in the hide and we helped them onto the bird.

Since the American bird is unfamiliar and differs slightly in plumage, size, and behaviour, it can draw the attention of lapwings, which are highly territorial and responsive. One lapwing from the flock along the water’s edge took flight to chase it away, having triggered an aggressive or investigative reaction.

We spent a considerable time watching and scanning the other birds, hoping to spot something noteworthy, but only observed returning migrants, such as a few pintails and wigeon. Early October often brings the first waves of migratory and wintering wigeon back to the UK. They arrive from more northerly parts of their range as the breeding season ends and conditions begin to deteriorate. The wigeon were mingling with other ducks, including teal and mallard, in this sheltered bay, presumably to rest, graze, and feel secure. As the month progresses, more birds will arrive, often responding to falling temperatures, shortening daylight, and, possibly, food availability - particularly the grasslands around the water on which they feed.

Day-by-day and week-by-week, rather than in a single massive influx, the numbers steadily increase. I expect that by mid-month, moderate-sized flocks will be well established here, with numbers reaching into the hundreds and, in some years, perhaps even thousands.

Eventually, we decided to make our way to the James Fisher hide to see if the bird was any closer from there. We could see that the sun was now breaking through the clouds, and although the bird might be closer, it could end up silhouetted against the light.

On the walk, we came across some goldcrests working through the tree canopy, with Kev hearing a call that sounded more like a firecrest. Unfortunately, we never located a bird matching the call before they disappeared. A treecreeper also worked its way up the back of a tree but was quickly lost from view.

When we reached the hide, we quickly spotted our bird feeding on the mud. As feared, the sun was directly behind it, so quality photos were out of the question - we would only have been able to pick out details from a silhouette. Around the main water body and in a small pool between the two hides, handfuls of great white egrets fed alongside little egrets, pintail, shoveler, and mallard.

By now, there were four of us squeezed into the little hide, and shortly afterward, a couple more birders arrived. Given the limited space and the likelihood that the photo opportunities wouldn’t improve anytime soon, Kev and I decided to leave. As we stepped out, I checked my phone and noticed a notification: someone had reported finding a camera lens hood and had placed it back in the Bird Club hide. I’d realised mine was missing in the hide and had been a little frustrated, but now I felt a wave of relief - someone had found it just outside the Bird Club hide. At least I wouldn't have to be quite so vigilant on the return walk.

We started back along the path, but our attention was quickly drawn upward. In the tree canopy above, a couple of common crossbills were working through the branches. Before we could even raise our cameras, they flitted away, vanishing almost as soon as we had located them. Undeterred, we continued scanning the trees, eyes constantly shifting across the foliage. Not long after, a small flock of birds dropped in, and we soon managed to identify them as siskins, bright and lively, flitting among the leaves. But within a few tens of seconds these moved on too, leaving behind a couple of goldfinches.

We made our way back to the Bird Club hide, retrieved my lens hood, and settled in once more to watch our bird and see whether anything new had appeared. The great white egrets were becoming more active, several taking flight across the water. One landed to the left of the hide, while three others continued toward the causeway.

A little later, we were joined by Dennis Woodward (well-known Warwickshire birder), and conversation turned to the bird out on the mud, possible supporter action at the upcoming Coventry vs. Sheffield Wednesday match, and the difficulties some of his friends were having getting north on their journey to Shetland.

A flicker of movement in the trees far to our left caught my attention. Scanning the branches, I found a sparrowhawk perched there, standing its ground despite the persistent attentions of a crow trying to drive it off.

We noticed the clouds beginning to darken and decided to move on toward Summer Leys. Along the way back to the car, we saw and heard both green and great spotted woodpeckers, as well as a stonechat, before stopping on the track beside the trees that hold the feeders. We scanned through the birds gathered there - greenfinches, goldfinches, great tits, blue tits, and a couple of chiffchaffs - but no sign of any tree sparrows. They’re probably still around, though their numbers have been declining. We knew a few had been seen here back in the spring.

Before long, Darren caught up with us and stopped for another chat, and then another birder came along the track behind us and struck up a conversation with Kev. While they talked, I kept scanning the water and noticed a solitary gull that caught my eye. Its features suggested it might be a yellow-legged gull. As I glanced away and then back, I saw it had taken off and as it passed overhead, I could confirm I’d been right, though too late to point it out to Kev.

We arrived at Summer Leys and headed first to the Pioneer hide, where a mother and son were already in place. Just as I reached the window, a water rail slipped quickly into the reeds - Kev was a moment too late to catch what the young lad had been trying to point out. The boy was knowledgeable for his age and proudly wielded a camera with a decent-sized lens, though his mum mentioned he was hoping for a larger one for Christmas. Kev, ever the entertainer, struck up a lively conversation with him until his mother reminded him of another appointment and they moved on.

With little else to see from that hide, we decided to continue to the Paul Britten (Double-Decker) hide. Jack snipe have begun returning to the country, and we’ve had good sightings from there in previous years. When we arrived, the hide was empty and almost as empty as the scrape itself, which was largely devoid of water. A couple of great white egrets and grey herons stood in the nearby grasses, and before long, one of the egrets took flight, presumably heading off in search of a suitable feeding spot. Aside from stretches of mud, there wasn’t much else to draw the eye.

In front of us the long-staying glossy ibis was feeding along a channel still with some mud - it waded slowly through dry bed and mud, often with its head lowered, probing the mud with its long, slender, downward-curved bill. The sensitive tip of the bill detects prey by touch, allowing the bird to snap it up quickly once contact is made. The glossy ibis has a dark, iridescent plumage that can appear chestnut, bronze, green, purple, or even metallic black depending on the light angle. Under flat or overcast light, the glossy ibis appeared mostly dark brown or black, and much of the metallic sheen was lost.

The glossy ibis left and I saw it relocated over towards the Pioneer hide where at least four photographers sat at the window with camera lenses hanging out the window. Kev's attention had been redirected to scanning for snipe and specifically a jack - he was very focused - if anyone would find one it would be Kev as he is amazing at picking out objects and birds in cover and/or at great distance.

Jack snipe are small, compact waders with mottled brown, buff, and black plumage - their streaked and barred pattern blends seamlessly with dead reeds, cut vegetation, and wetland detritus. When stationary, they are almost invisible, with only the subtle outline of their head or eyes occasionally betraying their presence. They prefer cut or trampled reed beds where water is shallow and cover is dense - typically, a jack snipe will stay crouched and motionless, relying on its camouflage to avoid detection.

Kev stopped as he scanned the far edge of the cut reeds and called me over. At first, it was almost impossible to tell, just a tiny, mottled blur among the browns and tans of the cut stalks. Then, with a practiced glance through his scope, he picked out the rounded shape of a jack snipe crouched low in the vegetation.

Despite the distance - well over 100 metres - the bird’s compact, cryptic form and its slight, hesitant movements betrayed its presence. Kev signalled again, and from so far away, the telltale streaked and barred plumage, perfectly blended with the cut reeds, was enough for us to confirm it - the black crown now showing "clearly".

The jack snipe remained almost motionless, unaware of the distant observer. Kev continued to watch, noting its tiny head, subtle breathing movements, and the way it adjusted its posture slightly, preening beneath the reeds. Every now and then, a tiny movement, a flick of the bill or a slight twitch of a leg, served as a reminder of the bird’s incredible camouflage and secretive nature. Then, after some subtle but unmistakable bobbing, the jack snipe revealed itself just enough - spotting it at that distance, so perfectly hidden among the cut reeds, was an incredible find, the kind that makes all that patient scanning worthwhile. Kev once again captured some great video, which he shared on X (Twitter) here.

The glossy ibis returned and repeated the feeding route but from further to our left, leaving before it reached directly in front.

Two Iron Age pigs, a cross between wild boar and Tamworth, have been living at the reserve for the past couple of months. They’ll be leaving soon, but they’ve reportedly been doing some fantastic conservation work during their stay. Their natural rootling behaviour has been used to turn up the soil and create patches of muddy, bare ground around the water margins. These areas provide excellent feeding habitat for wading birds, both resident and migratory, which probe the shallow water and soft mud for invertebrates and other small creatures.

The area they have been placed in had been choked with invasive New Zealand pygmy weed and Bur-reed, which offered poor conditions for waders. Thanks to the pigs, the vegetation has been cleared and the habitat greatly improved. I don't know if they are the same pigs (but highly likely) as those previously doing the same job at Lilbourne Meadows reserve, also in Northamptonshire.

It was now time to make tracks home, but as always, it had been a great day out.

Year list: 240.