A weekend catching up with a few spring arrivals :: 18/19 April 2026

There had been a fair amount of travelling over the past week, so Kev and I began the weekend’s birding with something closer to home, heading into Northamptonshire. There had been regular reports of a whimbrel at Clifford Hill, a site I had never visited before and one Kev had only been to once, and not for birding. Armed with his directions on where to park, we made for the car park on the western side of the main waterbody.

Clifford Hill Country Park forms part of the Upper Nene Valley Gravel Pits, a mosaic of lakes, reedbeds, wet grassland and footpaths created from former gravel workings. Paths circle the pools, and our target bird had been reported regularly along the northern shore of the main pit, according to the Northants Birding WhatsApp group.

We followed the track from the car park to the water’s edge, where a decision had to be made: north side or south? Kev mentioned that on his previous visit he had walked the southern route and seen a couple of yellow wagtails, so we opted to go that way, reasoning there might be more to record while still allowing views across to the northern shore.

Just as we turned right, we checked the WhatsApp group and saw that “Pete” had posted moments earlier that the whimbrel was still present - a relief - along with a list of other species he had seen, though without updating the bird’s location.

Sedge warblers called from all directions, while sand martin and the odd swallow hawked over the water and surrounding fields. Along the southern stretch of the footpath we spotted a birder beside the water, scope set up, bicycle leaning nearby, scanning the pit; presumably Pete. We quickened our pace to catch up with him.

When we had covered about half the distance, Kev suddenly picked up a bird passing through his scope’s field of view and called it out so we could both try to identify it. As usual, he was quick off the mark, suggesting it was our whimbrel. We could make out features that supported the identification and watched as it first circled the far side of the pool, then climbed high and flew strongly away over the houses beyond, disappearing from view. Was that our bird departing? Had we caught it just as it was leaving?

We scanned the north bank and could not see a whimbrel there, then continued on until we met Pete, now mounted on his bicycle and heading our way. After greetings, we mentioned we had just watched the whimbrel fly off. He seemed a little surprised, saying he had last seen the bird on the east bank quite recently, and as far as he knew there was and had only been one whimbrel present over recent days - so perhaps we had been mistaken ...

But as soon as we put the scope down, there was a whimbrel on the far north-eastern corner. Had there really been time for a long flight and a return? It seemed unlikely. Which raised the question: was there more than one?

Kev and I then had a brief discussion about whether to make a full circuit or turn back towards the car park. Kev realised, and probably already knew, that I would want a better photo than I had managed so far, so we pressed on, leaving Pete to continue his circuit in the opposite direction.

As we rounded the eastern bank, we watched the whimbrel work back onto the north bank, with a single little ringed plover in the background, one of three we would see there. Then, unexpectedly, a second whimbrel walked into view. Was this the bird we had seen fly through earlier and apparently return, or another entirely?

Before we could post an update on WhatApp, Pete had already done so, and before long he came round to join us, quickly adding a photo of the two whimbrels to the group.

One bird remained closer to the water but slowly fed its way nearer and nearer to the other, until at one point it approached so closely that it provoked a reaction: the second bird dropped its head, lunged forward, and sent the intruder briefly into the air. After that brief dispute, they resumed feeding together, though now at a more respectful distance.

We continued our walk around the pool and watched as five boats were being rowed up and down the river - two men’s crews, one women’s crew and two singles - with a launch following them back and forth, coaching from alongside and monitoring the stroke. In the reeds along the river’s edge, sedge warbler continued calling and we saw several more, seemingly trying to drown out the song of skylark rising and falling in the fields behind. We had seen six wheatear, three males and three females, but they refused to come close enough for a proper photo, and I decided not to pursue them around the field in search of a better shot.

Back at the car we decided to visit Summer Leys Nature Reserve, despite our earlier discussion that the additional whimbrel might have been the bird reported there the previous day. It would make for a pleasant few hours’ birding regardless, and at this time of year there is usually a chance of seeing and hearing garden warbler - a species neither Kev nor I had encountered yet this year.

We arrived in the car park and chose to make our circuit in the opposite direction to usual, passing a visit to the Pioneer Hide and taking a clockwise route instead. Along the path, Cetti's warbler, sedge warbler and willow warbler called, while butterflies drifted past - first orange-tip, then a holly blue, and perched on a bush we found a green-veined white. We talked about making a few butterfly trips in summer, when some of the intensity of spring birding eases and the migrants are all in and settled.

Shortly after a chiffchaff called from the side of the footpath and it was impossible not to comply with his request for a portrait.

We stopped as Kev mentioned he had heard a bullfinch. I hadn’t picked it up myself, but he was sure of it and said he could still hear the soft, call coming from somewhere nearby - possibly from the two birds that had just dropped into cover behind a bush to our left.

We turned on the Merlin app to see if it would pick anything up, but it remained silent on the matter, even though both of us could still hear the call. Kev, as so often, was outperforming Merlin.

After a short wait, a pair of bullfinches finally emerged. The male slipped out first and headed further along the path, more wary and reluctant to stay, while the female paused briefly to feed in a tree ahead, picking delicately at buds before following after him. They moved quietly and unhurriedly, slipping back into cover as quickly as they had appeared - understated, compact birds, but unmistakably lovely to watch at close range.

Now out along the disused railway track we paused often, listening as warblers called from all around us, the loudest being Cetti's and sedge warblers, both belting out their songs at full volume. Looking out over the water we counted at least eight terns, at times possibly more, and through the scope confirmed them as common tern.

At the sand martin wall there was no activity at all, and we picked our way around the diverted path, currently blocked off to give the birds some protection. There was an effort in 2014, when around 50 nest holes were drilled into the old quarry conveyor loading-ramp wall along the disused railway to provide a more secure and stable nesting site for sand martin. The artificial wall itself serves as protection, offering nesting burrows less vulnerable to erosion than natural banks.

As we rejoined the path on the far side, we came across a Cetti's warbler calling from right beside us, though hidden on the far side of a bush. It then flew into a more open shrub in front of us, at first largely obscured, but gradually worked its way into view, giving Kev and me the chance for a few photographs before it slipped away again into a denser patch of bramble.

Now on the last stretch we stopped to listen to a garden warbler and were initially frustrated that it remained invisible from the path. Eventually we found a small gap through the vegetation where we could watch it, though the view was heavily interrupted by leaves and branches - still enough to claim our first of the year.

This is a good place to encounter garden warbler, particularly from late April into June when males are in full song - they can be elusive and are often heard long before they are seen, but they are regular spring and summer migrants here.

We reached the car park and changed out of our boots for the journey home. Another excellent day out, and it had been good to do some birding a little closer to home for a change, helped by the arrival of so many migrants settling in for the summer.

That evening we chatted and decided it would be prudent to make the trip down to Swineham, near Wareham, to see the red-spotted bluethroat. Our regular white-spotted bluethroat at WWT Slimbridge will fail to return one of these years; it has been around five years since its first appearance, and it seems increasingly unwise to assume we will always get another chance. The Swineham bird, meanwhile, had been giving remarkable views to those walking the narrow trail at the reserve.

So Kev, Karen and I set off at a leisurely 7.00am, driving straight there - not passing go or collecting £200.

We parked on the roadside just outside the entrance to Swanage & Wareham Rugby Football Club and started down the track. Visitors had been asked not to park along the lane itself - at first we were a little concerned by the volume of traffic heading that way, but it soon became clear there was an event on, probably a match, with most vehicles turning into the club, leaving enough roadside space without causing an obstruction.

Partway along the track there was a narrow muddy section to cross, and despite wearing walking boots I decided to leap it. As I took off, I felt a pull in my calf muscle - what an idiot. Over the rest of the walk, I resigned myself to cancelling my Tuesday night pickleball session and did so on the website; there was no way I would be playing with that injury.

It took about twenty to twenty-five minutes to reach the spot, where we found a line of people gathered along the path, waiting for the bird to appear. We joined the back of the group and soon spotted Graham Jepson standing off the path and in the water. He had brought wellies “just in case”, and it was now paying dividends, allowing him to stand where others could not.

Then the bird appeared, and we began to get views. As it came and went, some people drifted away or shifted position, allowing us gradually to edge further and further towards the front. And what a bird it was.

Red-spotted bluethroat are scarce but regular migrants to Britain, and they are generally considered more numerous than white-spotted bluethroats in overall British records. They are Spring migrants, chiefly in May (their classic time) but are also recorded in autumn, especially on east coast migration hotspots. Most red-spotted bluethroats in Britain are brief, furtive and can vanish overnight. A confiding bird lingering for days is much more unusual.

As we watched, a call went up alerting everyone to three glossy ibis flying away from us. Not the best views, or the best photographs I have of the species, but a record for the day nonetheless.

We then settled into a period of waiting, hoping an osprey might fly along the channel as it had done for others in recent days - perhaps even, ambitiously, a white-tailed eagle. There was no such luck.

We did, however, see a number of bearded tits moving through the reeds, their pinging calls carrying across the margins, though I never managed a usable photograph of them.

As we made our way back along the lane to the car, we heard siskin calling overhead and eventually picked one up as it flew across the track and into a tree above us - always good value for the money.

Back at the car we decided to make a diversion on the way home to Pig Bush to see if we could locate any common redstart, as our friends Adrian and Bryan had seen some there the day before. I did not have a hard stop today, as my wife was away playing a pickleball league match and would be home late, so there was time for one more stop.

We reached the car park and took the last remaining space, then made our way through the trees to the far side, leaving the people behind. Kev picked up a firecrest calling, but we did not linger - we were on a mission.

Walking the line between the trees and open heath, it was not long before we heard a common redstart calling, and within a couple of minutes Kev had located it high in the canopy. We followed it as it moved from tree to tree, and occasionally it dropped a little lower, offering a chance for a photograph, though usually with the sky as a difficult backdrop.

It was great to see these birds back. They must be among our most colourful breeding species, and this was a welcome year tick.

We decided to leave this bird in peace and walked further along the edge of the trees. Having lagged behind, I caught up with Kev and Karen, who were already watching another male common redstart, this one lower down and dropping repeatedly from the tree to the ground and back again. As we watched, a female common redstart moved through the shadows below, hopping quietly into view before departing stage right.

We stayed with the male for a while, enjoying better views than the first bird, until a group of walkers with a dog came along the track and brought our entertainment to an abrupt end.

Karen had yet to see a Dartford warbler this year, so we set off in the opposite direction to try to find her one. It took a few hundred metres and around 20 minutes, but eventually we came across two birds - one giving only vocal clues from deep cover, and a second that briefly popped into view on a couple of occasions as it worked through the vegetation.

There must still be good numbers around, as we rarely fail to connect with this species in this area.

Dartford warbler is one of the signature birds of the New Forest National Park, which remains one of its principal strongholds in Britain. Unlike many warblers, it does not migrate to Africa, instead remaining on the heaths throughout the winter, reliant on mature lowland heath with a mix of heather and gorse.

It is also a notable conservation success story. After crashing to very low numbers following severe winters, most famously in 1962–63, the species has recovered strongly thanks to targeted habitat management and increasingly mild winters.

Mission accomplished, we started back towards the car and paused in the trees as we once again heard the call of a firecrest. We scanned the surrounding holly, focusing on movement among the dense foliage.

After a few moments we managed to pick out a bird, and it held long enough in the open for a decent photograph. A great species to round off a great weekend’s birding.

Year list: 231.

Around the West Midlands, Rushy Common, & Somerset :: 23-25 February 2026

We hadn’t done any birding over the weekend, as I’d spent Saturday driving back to Banbury from the Highlands and was in need of a rest on Sunday after a busy week. Kev @kev07713 and I decided to keep things fairly local and noticed that a Hume’s warbler was still showing at Lea Marston. As it was a species we hadn’t seen since a trip to Norfolk a couple of years earlier, and having dipped another in Norfolk last year at Warham Greens, albeit with the "consolation" of a yellow-browed warbler and a pallid harrier, it seemed like a good opportunity to go and catch up with one again.

We set off at an early breakfast hour for Lea Marston, greeted by bright sunshine as the sun rose. The conditions prompted Kev to ask why we weren’t heading instead to RSPB Middleton Lakes to try for a lesser spotted woodpecker - a little earlier in the season than our usual, perhaps, but with the weather so favourable there seemed a good chance of success.

A quick change of plan followed, and fortunately it required little adjustment, as the two sites are only about four miles - a 10-15 minute drive - apart. On arrival we found the RSPB car park gates still closed, clearly too early, so we parked in the spaces on the corner opposite Middleton Hall instead. After unpacking our kit, we walked round towards the car park and settled in to wait for our target to appear, while great spotted woodpeckers could already be heard drumming from the trees beyond.

We watched as grey herons moved back and forth from the heronry, while various tits and finches passed through and settled in the trees ahead of us. Our attention stayed mainly on the tree where we most often see the bird arrive to drum, though we kept an eye on the trees further to our right as well, aware that on previous visits the bird had appeared from that direction.

In late February, lesser spotted woodpeckers are beginning to show early signs of the breeding season, although they remain a difficult species to see well. Small and roughly sparrow-sized, they are noticeably more delicate than great spotted woodpeckers, with a shorter bill and a compact appearance.

The plumage is clean black and white. The back is barred rather than showing the large white shoulder patches of great spotted woodpecker, and the underparts are pale with fine dark streaking along the flanks. Males show a bright red crown, which can stand out clearly in good light, while females lack red on the head entirely.

At this time of year, birds are most often detected by sound. Males begin drumming more regularly as territories are established, producing a softer, shorter and less powerful drum roll than great spotted woodpecker. They tend to drum on thinner dead branches high in mature trees rather than on large trunks. Calls are quiet and easily overlooked.

Feeding behaviour is also distinctive. Lesser spotted woodpeckers spend much of their time working along smaller branches and twigs, often hanging underneath them while searching for insects and larvae. They are typically active high in the canopy, which, combined with their size and unobtrusive behaviour, makes views brief and often distant even when birds are present.

Late winter therefore offers one of the better chances to locate the species, as leafless trees improve visibility and increased drumming activity helps give away their position. And indeed, that proved to be the case - first one bird began drumming, then a second, followed by a brief call. Although we had mostly expected the bird to appear from the right, Kev instead picked one up arriving from the left, flying in from the small copse between us and where the car was parked. He immediately commented on how surprisingly small it looked; despite knowing their size, seeing one in the field never quite prepares you for just how tiny they are.

The lesser spotted woodpecker is now regarded as one of the UK’s most threatened and rapidly declining woodland birds with numbers falling dramatically since the 1970s, with declines estimated at around 80–90% over that period. The species’ breeding range has also contracted by roughly 40% since the late 1960s so we are very fortunate to be living near areas holding this special little bird.

Views were generally restricted by trunks and branches, but we were able to see the bird well if not get a photograph, other than a record shot. Before we were joined by anyone else the bird evaporated into the trees behind and out of view, although we could still hear it drumming - although both greater and lesser spotted woodpeckers use drumming to advertise territory and attract a mate, the sound they produce is noticeably different once you know what to listen for.

The drumming of a lesser spotted woodpecker is short, light and dry, often described as a quick rattling burst. It typically lasts around a second or less and lacks the power or resonance of the larger woodpeckers - the rhythm is fast but fades quickly. In practice, the difference is often obvious: if the drumming sounds delicate and you must listen carefully for it, it may well be a lesser spotted; if it echoes confidently through the woodland, it is almost certainly a great spotted woodpecker.

A couple of other birders arrived, and we let them know we’d already had good views, so they stayed in the hope of connecting with it as well. The bird continued drumming from the back right-hand side of the trees, prompting Kev and I to move along to the fence line for a better angle. From there we picked it up working a dead tree - a useful note for next year.

It spent most of its time drumming but eventually dropped onto a tree in front, feeding along the smaller branches exactly as advertised. Getting a clear view proved tricky, but with a bit of patience we managed to piece together some decent views in the end, and some photos.

Soon the bird moved off again, and we suspected it might reappear on the front side of the trees where it could be viewed from the car park. Sure enough, it obliged, popping up on various branches, drumming briefly but mostly feeding.

By this time a small group of birders, including two couples, had joined us and we did our best to guide them onto the bird, no easy task given the tangle of branches and the bird’s tiny size. Kev managed to capture a few videos through his scope and later posted them on X here - you can hear the drumming and Kev helping other birders onto the bird.

What a fantastic little bird, and another memorable experience enjoying the car park bathed in sunlight - the sun’s appearance almost feels as rare these days as seeing a lesser spotted woodpecker!

After seeing the bird, it was time to move on and try for the Hume’s (leaf) warbler at Lea Marston. We were advised to park by St John the Baptist Church and follow the track down to the footpath along the River Tame, leading to an area behind the Jaguar Land Rover Battery Assembly Centre, Rockwool, Forterra, and a DHL Supply Centre.

We parked outside the church and headed down to the riverside path. There were a few stretches where wellies might have been more suitable than walking boots, but we managed to navigate them without any trouble and soon came across a single birder scanning some bushes - he indicated "up" and we joined him to look back into a bush where apparently the bird was showing. It was not long before we were on it as it flitted around the top and inside of the bush - a welcome tick. We were distant and I had a go at some photos with very limited success.

The Hume's is a small, greenish-yellow leaf warbler, with a pale underbelly, a subtle yellow wash along the flanks, and a delicate yellowish eyebrow. It can be tricky to distinguish from a yellow-browed warbler, so patience and careful observation are essential. Watching it flit through the branches, active and restless, made it a rewarding encounter, although in the bright winter light and up a slope I could only manage record photos.

We moved back and forth along the track in the hope of getting better photos but the bird stayed high and mainly showed against the sky which made life difficult, as did the fact that it never stayed still and trying to get the bird in frame with handheld 700mm focal length was a stretch in my capabilities. Kev had a bit more luck with his 300mm lens and seemed to beat me for quality on this occasion, as evidenced with his photos posted on X here.

Its soft, high-pitched “tsee” or “tsi‑tsi” call was often the first hint of its presence, giving us a clue to its location. Careful observation is usually needed to distinguish it from the more common yellow-browed warbler, but with none of the latter reported here, it was clear that it was our Hume’s warbler calling. The bird would vanish at times, and we moved up and down the track, listening for any sign of where it had gone. Gradually, the number of birders grew, with at least twenty people arriving to catch a glimpse, including a few returning for second or even third helpings.

Although we’d enjoyed some good views, we decided it was time to move on and see what else the day might bring. By the time we reached the car, we had agreed to return to Whitemoor Haye in the hope of indulging Kev’s merlin obsession - I’d been lucky enough to “accidentally” record a merlin there back in late January (report here) and would have been thinking the same otherwise.

Starting from a different location, the SatNav routed us in a different way, and along the lane we stopped to chat with a couple of birders. They mentioned a young chap waiting at our usual spot, hoping to see a merlin all morning but without luck so far. We arrived and joined him, scanning the area where I’d seen the merlin previously - apparently a favoured perch.

Despite a few careful sweeps, the merlin remained absent. Kev climbed onto the half‑metre-high concrete barrier that blocks vehicles from the track, and from there he spotted two, then at least four grey partridges in the field ahead. True to form, when Kev says the birds are right in front of you, they really are - I ended up looking right over them. The chap with us was thrilled, having never seen a grey partridge before, which made his stop worthwhile, even if the merlin continued to evade him/us.

We spent some time scanning along the track and the lane but couldn’t find our target bird, sharing views of the partridges with a few birders who stopped by. Despite continued efforts, we eventually had to admit defeat - Kev’s quest for this elusive raptor continues.

The following morning I "eased into the day” and started ticking off a few jobs from my to-do list. While chatting with my wife, I suggested a drive down to Rushy Common Nature Reserve, where the long-tailed duck I’d recently dipped had returned and had reportedly been showing well on the main water for a couple of days. I checked the Oxon Birding WhatsApp group to see if anyone had visited and whether the bird was still present. Bryan Manston replied that he was on his way and would report back shortly - which he did, confirming the bird was still there. After lunch we set off, hopeful that this time it wouldn’t disappear before I arrived.

As we pulled into the car park, we could see someone with a camera standing at the corner where the hedge has been cut lower to allow views over the water. Speaking to her, she confirmed the bird had been showing out in front but had since swum off towards the hide. I set up my scope and carefully checked all the visible areas, noting pochard, tufted duck, wigeon, teal, coot, moorhen, pintail and shoveler among others - but no long-tailed duck. With luck, I thought, it might be visible from the hide instead.

We splashed along the flooded lane and footpath - thankfully having remembered to wear wellies - and reached the gate, unlocking the padlock to access the keyholder-only area beyond. Bryan appeared from the other side of the lane to say hello and confirmed the bird had drifted off and out of view again. After thanking him, we carried on, now fon a mission to connect with the bird. We secured the gate behind us and made our way up to the hide, unlocking it to find a single birder already scanning through his scope. He confirmed that the bird had passed by earlier but had disappeared behind the island and suggested we might have a better chance back at the car park.

Frustratingly, we retraced our steps and scanned again from the hedge with no sign of it. I decided to try once more, this time taking the flooded footpath I’d avoided earlier. About halfway along, persistence finally paid off - scanning the water to the left of the island, I picked up the drake long-tailed duck at last. Apologising to Charlotte, we turned around yet again and hurried back so we could view it through the hedge bordering the car park.

Fortunately, the duck had begun feeding closer in, and the woman with the camera and I attempted photographs through gaps in the tangle of twigs, with partial success. We watched as it continued feeding in the area, hoping it might move into clearer view. After about fifteen minutes it did exactly that, following two tufted ducks out into open water, where it began diving repeatedly.

With another commitment later, we needed to get home for some food before heading out again that evening, so we called it a day and made our way back, satisfied that this bird had finally been put to bed.

That evening I was chatting with Kev when he suggested a trip down to Pilning Wetlands, where a hooded merganser had been reported the previous day and was apparently still present. It would be a lifer for both of us - and for Karen, who would be joining us too - so plans were quickly made.

We set off reasonably early, stopping enroute for a breakfast roll and a comfort break, and arrived in time to grab a space along the road that leads around to the site. There were already plenty of cars parked up, though worryingly there had been no reported sightings so far that morning. That didn’t feel like good news.

A birder walking back towards us confirmed that people had been on site before first light and there had been no sign of the bird on the pools it had been favouring, nor out on the River Severn. We stopped and began scanning anyway, picking out plenty of duck, along with dunlin, redshank, pintail and six black-tailed godwits ... but no hooded merganser.

Out over the grassland, meadow pipits, pied wagtails and skylarks flicked about, bouncing across the fields and perching on the various logs, branches and posts scattered across the area, providing a welcome distraction while we continued our search. We stopped to chat with a birder coming the other way - it turned out to be Andy Stockhausen (@andy-1963.bsky.social), the original finder of the bird. We hadn’t seen him since our trip to see the Montagu’s harrier near Cheddington, Bucks, the previous July.

We carried on to the pools and scanned back and forth, entertained by four little grebes on the water as well as the ever-present pipits and skylarks. There had apparently been a report of a water pipit the day before, and one birder mentioned that someone had shown him a bird in their scope, though he admitted he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. We headed over to the suggested spot and began scanning, picking out a pipit Kev had noticed earlier - pale on the underparts and sitting preening.

We waited for better views, and when it eventually turned side-on the leg colour quickly confirmed it as a meadow pipit, despite looking noticeably different from others nearby. We couldn’t find anything else that suggested a water pipit was present, and after a short discussion we decided to head back to the car and move on to see what else the day might offer.

We decided to try our luck at RSPB Greylake, as we hadn’t visited for a while and there’s always a chance of merlin there, especially during the winter months. After arriving in the car park, we pulled on our wellies, having been warned that conditions underfoot would be wet. As we walked along the track towards the hides, the water soon almost reached the tops of our boots - about 10 inches deep (25.4 cm for younger readers 😊).

We slowly made our way along the track to the boardwalk linking it with the main hide and the screen hide, eventually settling into the former. Scanning the water revealed large numbers of teal and wigeon, but it was a couple of common snipe feeding at close range that really held our attention. At that distance, the intricate detail of their plumage was easy to appreciate. It is a well-camouflaged wader, its plumage perfectly suited to marshes and wet grassland. At first glance the bird appears mottled brown, but closer views reveal an intricate pattern of buff, black and chestnut striping. The crown shows bold pale stripes running lengthwise, while the back is marked with strong golden-buff lines that contrast with darker feather centres, creating a striking but highly disruptive pattern when the bird is crouched among vegetation.

The underparts are much paler, washed buff or whitish, with fine dark barring along the flanks. Its long, straight bill and relatively short legs add to its distinctive profile, especially when feeding as it probes methodically into soft mud.

One of the most noticeable features in flight is the rufous rump which you could partially see in my photos - the warm reddish-brown rump and tail base; in flight they can briefly flash into view, contrasting with the darker back and barred wings. This feature, combined with the characteristic zigzag escape flight, is often the quickest way to confirm identification as a common snipe as it bursts away after being flushed.

Out in front, several marsh harriers quartered the marsh at varying distances, with both males and females in view. A lone kestrel hovered nearby, while a scan around the perimeter with the scope revealed at least seven or eight buzzards perched on posts, gates, and bushes. Talking to one of the reserve volunteers who was sharing the hide with us, we learned that merlins are now seen on site throughout the year, although they are sometimes only recorded on the far side of the reserve when occasionally flushed during maintenance work.

Behind and to the side of the hide came the calls of water rails, wrens, and Cetti’s warblers. Looking out to see what might reveal itself, I caught a brief view of a Cetti’s warbler calling before instantly disappearing back into cover, while a wren paused on the reed stems, singing as it followed its partner through the vegetation. Kev, watching from the Screen Hide, enjoyed much better views of a Cetti’s warbler and even managed to take a few photographs as it moved closer to his position. We never managed to see a water rail in the open.

As is often the case with Kev, he was the one to pick out one of the two common cranes right at the far end of the marsh, beyond the fenced perimeter - effectively in another county at that distance. It took me a while to get onto the bird, as I was scanning entirely the wrong area and couldn’t make sense of the commentary that “its head is up.” Eventually I managed to align myself with the correct spot and finally saw it. Later, while walking out onto the boardwalk, I happened to glance to the right and noticed another common crane moving through the tall grass much closer to us. In time, both birds took to the air, flying out over the car park and the road behind before circling back and dropping in again roughly where my nearer bird had been feeding.

Common crane is now an established breeding and wintering species on the Somerset Levels, and Greylake has played a growing role in that recovery with breeding presence having risen from one pair to three pairs in recent years.

It was time to leave, and we began making our way back along the track when another Cetti’s warbler burst into song - we must have heard close to ten around the hides and along the path. I tried to position myself for a photograph as the bird moved along the reed line, but just as I brought it into focus a gust of wind blew reeds across my line of sight, and the bird took to the wing. In the end, I came away with a record shot rather than the frame-filler I’d hoped for, which rather sums up photographing Cetti’s warblers.

The journey home was straightforward, and we stopped for a comfort break on the way back, grabbing a sandwich before continuing on.

Year list: 178.