Saltcoats & RSPB Ham Wall :: 27-30 May 2026

My eldest daughter had been encouraged to take some of her annual leave before the end of June and asked when we might next be heading north to visit my mum in West Kilbride, as she hadn't been to see her for some time. With my mum also having been ill, it seemed the perfect opportunity to arrange a trip.

Once the bank holiday weekend was over, we set off and made the journey north, arriving in time for lunch with Mum and later dinner with her and my brother.

As is often the case on these visits, I like to rise early and spend a few hours birding before breakfast, or at least for as long as the sunrise and available daylight allow. The only question was where to go.

I had been thinking that I should focus on species I hadn't yet seen this year, and a series of posts on the Ayrshire WhatsApp group the previous week helped make the decision. Jason McManus had reported from Saltcoats: "Arctic Skua – 2, Pomarine Skua – 2 singles north, Long-tailed Skua – 23 north." There had been various smaller counts through the month.

Although I was a little late to the party and the wind conditions had changed since those sightings were reported, you never know. With that in mind, I decided that Saltcoats would be my destination for the morning.

I'd never met Jason before, but I knew he was often sea watching from behind Oscar's Café throughout May. So, when I collected my scope from the car and walked around to the usual spot, I assumed the chap sitting on a chair scanning the sea was him. After introducing myself, I discovered it wasn't Jason at all, but a local birder called Dave, who apparently spends quite a bit of time there as well. He explained that Jason had been celebrating his son's football team's latest success and wouldn't be making an appearance that day.

A couple of text messages later, Jason confirmed that the easterly winds were expected to persist until Thursday before swinging round to a more favourable westerly on Friday. That would make Friday the best day for sea watching - and, as it happened, my last day in the area.

Although the conditions weren't ideal, you never know what might turn up, so we set about scanning the water while enjoying long conversations about local birding and sites. At first there was little activity offshore, but then a lone tern passed overhead. I initially assumed it would be a sandwich tern, the species I most commonly encounter along this stretch of coastline during late spring and summer. However, it proved to be an Arctic tern - a welcome surprise and one I had somehow missed on passage through my local region earlier this spring.

Arctic terns are extraordinary birds. Despite their delicate appearance, they undertake one of the longest migrations in the natural world, travelling from their Arctic breeding grounds to the waters around Antarctica and back again each year. It is a journey that can cover tens of thousands of miles and allows them to experience more daylight than any other creature on the planet.

In the field, Arctic terns can be a challenge to separate from common terns, but this bird showed well enough to reveal the long tail streamers and graceful, buoyant flight that make the species so distinctive. Watching it pass by on a breezy Ayrshire morning, it was hard not to marvel at the incredible distances it may already have travelled - and the many thousands of miles that could still lie ahead.

Despite being famed for their extraordinary migrations between the Arctic and Antarctic, Arctic terns are also a familiar breeding bird around Scotland's coasts. They nest in colonies on islands, coastal headlands, beaches and even some freshwater lochs. Indeed, Scotland supports most of the the UK's breeding population, with colonies scattered throughout Shetland, Orkney and the Hebridean islands. As a result, this may well have been a bird remaining relatively local rather than one merely passing through on migration, and given it was heading south at the time.

The UK breeding population is generally estimated at around 53,000–54,000 pairs, of which approximately 47,000 (close to 90%) breed in Scotland.

Manx shearwaters gradually began to appear, although all were at considerable distance and I didn't bother attempting any photographs. The usual common guillemots were present offshore and were joined by a few black guillemots, presumably birds from the harbour, along with several razorbills and what I suspected was a puffin, although the view was too brief and distant to be certain.

Three gulls passed through that caught my attention. They appeared noticeably smaller than the expected herring and lesser black-backed gulls and, at first glance, I wondered whether they might be fulmars or perhaps kittiwakes - they weren't black-headed. A closer look at the photographs later suggesting common gulls.

Most Scottish common gulls move inland to breed, nesting around lochs, moorland, peatlands and islands. By late May many adults will be on breeding territories, so coastal numbers tend to be reduced compared with the large winter flocks seen around harbours, beaches and farmland. That said, it's still perfectly normal to encounter non-breeding or immature birds lingering along the coast or birds commuting between feeding areas and inland breeding sites.

It was an enjoyable morning, with plenty of gannets and shag moving back and forth offshore, although there was surprisingly little activity from any divers and an absence of any skua candidates.

The following morning I decided to return to Saltcoats and repeat my vigil, this time finding myself alone at the watchpoint. A few spots of rain had fallen overnight, but nothing significant or enough to make the ground wet, and the easterly wind was exactly as forecast, accompanied by temperatures a few degrees cooler than the previous day.

From the moment I set up the scope, Manx shearwaters were visible offshore, while good numbers of common guillemots passed by in small groups of between one and eight birds. Looking out towards Lady Isle, around forty gannets were circling and occasionally plunge-diving, presumably after shoals of mackerel.

Lady Isle Lighthouse provides an excellent reference point when communicating sightings to other sea watchers and serves as a distinctive feature on the horizon. It stands on Lady Isle itself, approximately two miles south-west of Troon in the Firth of Clyde. The island was once home to a chapel dedicated to St Mary, from which it takes its name.

Situated on this low-lying island, the lighthouse warns mariners of the dangers posed by Half Tide Rock and Scart Rock, while also aiding navigation through the Firth and towards the harbours of Troon and Irvine. The site's maritime history stretches back to around 1776, when Glasgow merchants established a pair of beacons to assist shipping. One of these was later removed, and the present lighthouse was eventually constructed on the remaining site. When aligned correctly, it guided vessels into a safe channel and anchorage and provided sheltering access for ships bound for Irvine.

This morning proved rather different, with several divers visible offshore almost from the outset. Most appeared to be red-throated divers, although one bird looked rather more like a black-throated diver. Unfortunately, it remained too distant for a confident identification. By the end of the watch, I had counted around half a dozen divers in total, a marked contrast to the previous day's complete lack of activity.

The sighting was particularly encouraging given some of the impressive diver counts recorded recently along the Ayrshire coast. Combined counts reported from the Turnberry to Girvan and Ballantrae to Girvan stretches on a single day produced totals of 39 red-throated divers, 25 black-throated divers and an impressive 104 great northern divers. Quite a tally, and a reminder of just how important these waters can be for divers at this time of year.

Two large birds appeared from the north and steadily worked their way past offshore. As they drew closer, I was able to identify them as a pair of red-breasted mergansers. They would prove to be the only individuals of the species that I saw during my time at Saltcoats.

I was a little surprised not to encounter more. Stevenston Point is only a short distance away and I have traditionally seen much larger numbers in the bay there. During the winter and early spring, this stretch of coast can hold good concentrations of red-breasted mergansers as birds gather in the sheltered bays but by late May, many breeding adults have likely dispersed to their nesting areas, while those remaining along the coast are spread over a much wider area. Non-breeding and immature birds may still be present, but generally in far smaller numbers than earlier in the year.

Three gulls passed at considerable distance and immediately appeared different from the more usual large gulls, such as herring and lesser black-backed gulls. Equally, they were clearly not black-headed gulls. Identification remained uncertain until one bird banked, briefly revealing the distinctive upper wing pattern of a first-summer kittiwake.

Despite the range, the bird's age was apparent from the bold black "M" pattern across the upper wings. Formed by dark markings on the outer wing, coverts and shoulder area, this striking zig-zag pattern is a classic feature of immature kittiwakes and stands out particularly well when a bird turns in flight. Retaining some of the dark markings of its first-winter plumage while beginning to acquire a more adult-like appearance, it proved to be a pleasing identification and a useful reminder to keep an eye on even the most distant gulls.

With black guillemot resident in the harbour, it is perhaps no surprise that they venture out along the nearby coastline from time to time. The first bird flew in directly in front of me, providing great views, and was soon joined by a second.

Their visit was brief, however, and after spending a short while offshore, both birds took to the air and headed back in the direction of the harbour, from where they had almost certainly originated.

One bird attracted my attention as it worked its way across the water among a line of Manx shearwaters. At first glance it appeared to have a strikingly white bill, prompting a closer look through the scope. As it drew nearer, the mystery was resolved - it was simply a cormorant, the apparent white bill being nothing more than the conspicuous white wedge at the base of the lower mandible catching the light.

By now, Manx shearwaters were a constant feature of the watch, with dozens visible offshore at any one time as birds streamed past in both directions.

Three terns appeared together offshore and immediately had me reaching for the scope, hopeful that they might be Arctic terns like the one that had passed through the day before. Sadly, it wasn't to be. A closer look revealed them to be sandwich terns, a much more expected sight at this time of year.

They powered their way along the coast, barely pausing and showing no interest in fishing. Within a few minutes they had disappeared from view, perhaps continuing towards Stevenston Point or Irvine.

My time ran out again and again there was no sign of any skuas.

My final morning arrived and, for the third consecutive day, I found myself heading to Saltcoats. This time, however, I did so with the knowledge that the wind had finally swung around and was now blowing in the favourable direction that Jason had predicted.

After parking up, I unpacked my scope from the car and was about to walk around behind Oscar's when I heard someone call out from behind me. Looking round, I spotted Jason sitting on the steps of the tower overlooking the tidal pools. I wandered across, introduced myself, and joined him for the morning's watch. Apparently, the stronger wind was far less punishing from our position. By way of comparison, Jason pointed out Dougie Edmond, who was perched on top of the tower at the end of the harbour wall, far more exposed to the full force of the elements.

No sooner had I set up my scope than Jason picked up a peregrine hunting offshore. As we followed it through the scopes, he explained that peregrines are sometimes seen making optimistic attempts to catch Manx shearwaters, although their presence can also indicate storm petrels moving through the area. We kept a close eye on it for a while, but eventually lost sight of the falcon and, despite our hopes, there was no sign of any storm petrels.

Three red-throated divers flew through, and I hurriedly tried to get a photograph. Unfortunately, by the time I got the camera onto them they had climbed higher against the sky and were already heading further offshore, leaving me with little chance of a good image. A little later, Jason picked out a common scoter far out to sea, followed shortly afterwards by a puffin, my first of the year, and then I spotted 12 kittiwakes.

As we continued scanning the horizon in the hope of finding a skua, conversation flowed between sightings. We talked about all manner of birding topics, his son's football team and their recent successes, the match he would be attending that evening, and eventually discovered that he knew my youngest brother. Meanwhile, the steady procession of razorbills, common guillemots and Manx shearwaters continued, but still there was no sign of a skua.

Time was slipping away and I had been watching for over two hours when a WhatsApp message arrived from Dougie. He was alerting us to a dark-morph Arctic skua heading in our direction. I hadn't seen the message before the bird suddenly materialised, appearing from the gap between our position and Dougie's watchpoint before powering past behind a shag. At last, a skua!

The encounter caught me slightly off guard and I struggled to get the bird in the camera's viewfinder. By the time I managed to lock onto it, the skua was already some distance away, meaning most of my photographs were taken as it passed in front of us or disappeared into the distance, resulting in a collection of increasingly poor images taken from behind.

I remained for another half hour, hoping for a repeat performance or perhaps a second skua, but none materialised. Eventually I had to head back to the hotel for a shower before breakfast and checkout. Later that afternoon, however, I saw a message from Dougie reporting another dark-morph Arctic skua from Stevenston Point, suggesting there may have been more birds moving through the area that day.

I set off for home with the family in mid-afternoon, eventually arriving back a little after 10.00pm. During the journey, I had been exchanging messages with Kev Heath about the possibility of another birding trip the following morning.

Fortunately, Kev offered to do the driving, which was much appreciated after a long day on the road. We eventually settled on a visit to RSPB Ham Wall, where both a Savi's warbler and a blue-winged teal had been showing from VP1. Kev had attempted to see a different Savi's warbler in Northamptonshire a couple of times in recent days but had only managed to hear it - this offered another opportunity. There was also the possibility of a great reed warbler, although reports suggested it was proving far easier to hear than to see, spending most of its time hidden away in the bushes.

That prospect didn't particularly concern me. Only a few weeks earlier I had spent a considerable amount of time listening to a great reed warbler skulking in the bushes at Belvide Reservoir, so I didn't feel a pressing need to repeat the experience.

We decided against stopping for breakfast on the journey south. With toilets available at the reserve and no real need for a break, we made good progress and arrived at the car park in good time. Better still, an update had already come through confirming that the blue-winged teal had been seen that morning.

Making our way along the track to VP1, we found Kev's sister Karen @hobbylovinglife and her partner Dean @worlebirder among the dozen or so birders already gathered there. Although the teal had apparently been seen earlier, none of those present had apparently seen it but there was a rough indication of where it had last been observed before disappearing into cover. With that as our only clue, we joined the search and began scanning the area in the hope that it would reappear.

Bitterns were exceptionally active throughout the morning. Between bouts of booming, birds regularly took to the air, presumably on feeding flights, and in total through the visit we enjoyed more than half a dozen prolonged views, including many lengthy flights.

A couple of hobbies also appeared over the treeline in front of VP1, providing plenty of distraction while we searched for the teal - there were large numbers of dragonflies and damselflies on the wing. Despite carefully checking every likely candidate, there was still no sign of the target bird. Large numbers of gadwall were scattered across the water's edges, and the blue-winged teal had reportedly been associating with them, but none of the flocks we examined contained anything unusual.

Meanwhile, we could hear the distinctive reeling song of the Savi's warbler carrying from some distance away to our right. Kev swung his scope around in that direction, but for the moment the only bird we could pick out among the reeds was a reed warbler.

Eventually, Kev called me over to his scope and pointed out a bird that we quickly agreed was the Savi's warbler. It was now showing more towards the one o'clock position from the platform. We alerted the other birders nearby, but the warbler promptly dropped back into cover before many could get onto it. Our first for the year.

Fortunately, it proved to be a creature of habit, repeatedly reappearing on almost the same broken reed stem. Although distant, the first few views were particularly satisfying as we were able to link the bird's distinctive reeling song to its movements and exact location. Before long, several others had joined us and were enjoying views of the bird. The bird stayed too distant to allow any photographs and Kev shared that even videoing through a scope was very challenging.

One birder standing behind me stepped forward to look through my scope so that he could get a line on the warbler. Unfortunately, I had neglected to lock the scope head, and it shifted slightly when his binoculars caught it. By the time I managed to relocate the bird, it once again slipped from view into the reeds.

Only later did I discover that the birder was Leon Rice @LeonRice861481 and although we follow each other on X, we had never actually met. We chatted about the day's birding, and he shared that earlier that morning he had visited Dawlish Warren to see his first broad-billed sandpiper before travelling up to Ham Wall, where he was hoping to connect with what would also be a new bird for him - the blue-winged teal.

We continued to enjoy intermittent views of the Savi's warbler, although as the morning wore on it became increasingly reluctant to sing loudly enough for us to hear and there were longer periods between appearances. With the excitement of the warbler beginning to fade, our attention returned to the search for the blue-winged teal.

At one point a report circulated of a garganey out in front of us, but none of us knew who had made the identification and there were plenty of puzzled expressions as we scanned the area without success. Despite many pairs of binoculars and scopes covering the pools, nobody could find a garganey.

What we really needed was for the ducks to shuffle themselves and reveal anything hidden from view. Before long, a marsh harrier drifted across the reserve and provided exactly the disturbance we had been hoping for. Ducks lifted from the margins and shuffled around the pools, prompting a frantic effort to work through every bird both in flight and newly exposed along the water's edge. Despite our best efforts, however, there was still no sign of the blue-winged teal.

Meanwhile, black-tailed godwits wheeled gracefully around the pools before dropping back down, only to repeat the circuit again a few minutes later, adding a constant sense of movement to the scene.

Once this excitement died down, we spent time casually scanning looking for any change in front but also chatted more with the birders around us. Karen and Dean left to go and attempt to connect with the great reed warbler and I started to pay a bit more attention to the dragonflies and damselflies around us. A large chaser dropped on the rail in front of us and then down onto the platform and then onto the grasses beyond.

As I took photographs, I assumed it was a broad-bodied chaser but reviewing the photos I could see it was actually a scarce chaser. Despite their name, they are now more widespread than they once were, although they remain a local and much sought-after species. The Somerset Levels are one of their strongholds in Britain, and late May is an excellent time to encounter them.

The males are particularly striking, their powder-blue abdomens catching the sunlight as they darted back and forth over the water. At first glance they can resemble broad-bodied chasers, but the dark tip to the abdomen and distinctive wing-base markings quickly give them away. Their eyes are bluish-grey, often matching the bluish tone of the abdomen in mature males. Watching them patrol their territories provided a welcome distraction while the search for the blue-winged teal continued.

Other dragonflies were also active, including the more familiar four-spotted chasers patrolling the pools and ditches. I took the opportunity to wander back to the ditch behind the viewpoint, where I found a greater variety of damselflies. Among them were several striking (large) red-eyed damselflies, their vivid crimson eyes standing out immediately in contrast with the otherwise dark, bronze-black body. At a glance they can resemble the more familiar blue-tailed damselfly, but the combination of ruby-red eyes and the metallic sheen to the body makes them distinctive once seen well. The species is widespread across much of England and Wales and has expanded its range significantly over recent decades. It is particularly common on well-vegetated lakes, gravel pits, reservoirs, canals and wetland reserves but less so in northern England and Scotland.

Eventually it was time to call it a day and begin the journey home, stopping only briefly for a sandwich enroute. We had managed to connect with one of our target species, the Savi's warbler, but the blue-winged teal had managed to evade us.

Reports over the following days suggested that we were far from alone in our frustration. The bird continued to prove remarkably elusive, often appearing for only a matter of seconds before disappearing back into cover or flying out of view. I'll continue to keep an eye on the reports, however. It's a smart-looking duck and one that would be well worth another attempt should the opportunity arise.

Year list: 260.

Oxfordshire :: 14 February 2026

Saturday came around and meant another outing with Kev @kev07713, though this time we opted to stay local. The decision was prompted in part by reports of a long-tailed duck lingering around Rushy Common, near Witney. We set off feeling equal parts hope and trepidation: the bird had been present on these and neighbouring lakes over the previous couple of weeks, but never for long, typically moving on after a single day - seemingly in the company of a flock of tufted ducks with which it had been associating.

Each winter, one of the Arctic’s most elegant sea ducks makes a quiet appearance around the coasts of Britain: the long-tailed duck. Breeding far to the north across Scandinavia, Greenland and Arctic Russia, these birds migrate south as polar seas freeze, trading tundra pools for cold coastal waters. In the UK they are never common, but from October through to early spring small numbers gather offshore, especially around northern Scotland and the North Sea coast.

At a distance, a winter drake is strikingly pale, almost ghost-white against dark water, with neat black markings and impossibly long tail streamers that give the species its name. Females and younger birds are subtler, brown-and-white with shorter tails, but share the same delicate shape and buoyant posture. Unlike many ducks, long-tailed ducks spend much of their time diving, vanishing beneath the surface for long seconds at a time as they pursue mussels, crustaceans and small fish in surprisingly deep water.

Inland records are relatively uncommon but not unheard of. Following strong easterly winds or periods of intense cold, birds may occasionally turn up on large reservoirs or lakes, providing unusually close views for observers far from the coast. These visits are typically short-lived, and by late spring most individuals have already returned north to their Arctic breeding grounds, leaving British waters largely empty of these visitors once more. All the more unexpected, then, to find a long-tailed duck on a set of former gravel pits almost as far from the sea as you can get.

What is now a patchwork of open water, reedbeds and scrub was once a busy extraction site, shaped by the demand for construction materials throughout the 20th century. Although nature has softened the scene, traces of that industrial past remain; the steep-sided basins, engineered shorelines and oddly contoured pools reveal their man-made origins rather than those of natural lakes. Even the surrounding landscape - broad, level pasture broken abruptly by water-filled hollows - reflects the underlying quarrying history that created this unexpected refuge for wildlife.

We reached the Rushy Common reserve car park after carefully negotiating lanes that had turned into shallow fords, so much rain had fallen that water was flowing straight off the fields and across the road. Kev’s car, with its relatively low ground clearance, managed the route without too much trouble, though progress was cautious.

After parking, we looked out across the main lake and quickly set up the scopes. The long-tailed duck had been recorded here previously, and there was also the chance of red-crested pochard, a species Kev still needed for his year list. A careful sweep of the water failed to produce our target, and we began to suspect that, if the bird was still present, it was more likely on the lake behind us. With the most recent report placing it there the day before, we packed up and moved round to continue the search.

We made our way along the muddy track - thankfully in wellies rather than walking boots - stopping frequently to scan the water. Plenty of birds were present, including tufted ducks, wigeon, mallard and teal, but there was still no sign of the long-tailed duck. We pressed on until most of the lake came into view yet continued to draw a blank.

Another birder soon joined us, and it turned out to be Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99, who had returned in the hope of better views than he’d managed late the previous afternoon. After a nice chat, we all drifted back towards the car park. Ewan was heading home for breakfast, while Kev and I opted for a change of plan and decided to try our luck with goshawks instead. With so much recent rain, the bright, dry start to the day felt like it might offer a good window of opportunity to see one.

Before that, we made our way down to the hide, which is controlled by a key that both Kev and I already have. The walk involved slogging through deep water that came perilously close to spilling over our wellies. With nothing new to report from the hide, we quickly moved on to Pit 18, hoping to reconnect with the smew and red-crested pochards I’d seen previously; this would save Kev a trip to Eyebrook Reservoir.

It didn’t take long to spot the male smew, followed shortly by the female. As before, viewing was challenging: fences, vegetation, and distance made close looks difficult, so the scope was essential. We managed some decent views, but the red-crested pochards remained elusive - another day, then.

We then drove to a woodland site we know, making a detour on the way due to deep water on the road making it impassable for cars, and arrived at a parking spot. From there we walked up a track to an elevated position where we would be able to watch over layers of treelines stretching into the distance. Birds are resident in quiet woodland blocks and are seldom reported publicly due to their vulnerability to disturbance and persecution. Scopes and binoculars at the ready we started our vigil.

Mid-February is one of the best times of year to look for the elusive goshawk. Although these powerful woodland raptors are present all year, they become far more visible in late winter as the breeding season approaches with pairs beginning to reassert territories, repair old nests or build new ones, and perform spectacular display flights above their woodland homes.

Unlike many birds of prey that favour open country, goshawks are creatures of deep woodland, particularly large tracts of mature conifer plantation mixed with broadleaf trees. For most of the year they remain hidden beneath the canopy, hunting pigeons, corvids and other birds with explosive speed. In February, however, their secretive nature briefly gives way to behaviour that can be observed from forest edges, hillsides or clearings.

Display flights are the main attraction. A bird may soar high above the trees on broad wings, alternating slow, powerful wingbeats with glides, sometimes giving a distinctive “sky-dancing” performance that includes exaggerated flaps and shallow undulations. At times a pair will interact, calling to one another with sharp, yelping notes; on bright, calm mornings these displays can continue for extended periods, making this a prime window for patient watchers.

Weather plays an important role. Clear, dry conditions following prolonged rain often produce the best activity, as birds take advantage of calmer air and improved hunting opportunities. Conversely, strong winds or persistent drizzle can keep them low and hidden. Because displays typically occur in the morning, especially mid-morning once the air begins to warm, timing can be important.

Seeing a goshawk still requires luck; hours may pass with nothing more than distant corvids for company, and misidentifications with common buzzards are frequent. Yet when one does appear, the impression is unmistakable: a large, long-tailed raptor with deep, rowing wingbeats and an air of controlled power, quite unlike the buoyant flight of a buzzard.

By late spring, once incubation begins, activity above the canopy will drop sharply and the birds retreat once more into secrecy. For a few short weeks in late winter, though, the forests reveal one of Britain’s most formidable predators out high over the treetops.

We enjoyed a fantastic morning with several sightings of goshawks, the standout moment being a pair interacting as they moved gracefully across the slope before us. Everything was distant and backlit by the sun, making photography tricky, but I tried to capture a record shot nonetheless.

By late lunchtime, we had enjoyed multiple goshawk sightings, though it was hard to tell exactly how many birds, as some were likely the same ones reappearing. Deciding it was time to head for home, we made a detour to RSPB Otmoor in the hope of catching up with a glossy ibis, a species which has appeared sporadically so far this year. While uncommon, glossy ibis are recurring winter and early-spring visitors, often lingering in the flooded fields and shallow waters around the reserve’s hides.

We opted for wellies once more and followed the track onto the bridleway alongside Greenaways, pausing regularly to check for activity. The highlight enroute was a female marsh harrier basking on the ground in the afternoon sun. Eventually, we reached the bench and joined a small group of birders watching the reeds, a known haunt for bitterns and although nothing was immediately visible, earlier reports suggested one had been seen flying from First Screen.

After a careful scan, a bittern slowly emerged from the far-left edge of the reeds. Partly obscured at first, it gradually revealed itself, and Kev and I were able to share scope views with those only using binoculars or just their eyes. Soon the bittern began feeding, stalking out and along a reed spit and showing beautifully. For the next half-hour, we enjoyed alternating moments of stillness and activity as the bird fed, froze, and moved over the spit, a truly memorable finale to the afternoon.

We spoke with some birders approaching from the other direction, who confirmed there was no sign of a glossy ibis. Deciding not to make the trip around to the screens, we chose to call it a day - with a drive up to Ayrshire, Scotland planned for the next morning, a calm and restful finish was very welcome.

Year list: 164.

Oldbury Power Station & WWT Slimbridge :: 25 October 2025

With Kev away on holiday, birding along the west and east coasts of Scotland before heading into Yorkshire, I had to decide on my own plan for the regular Saturday outing. I asked my wife, Charlotte, if she’d like to join me, and she agreed, giving up her regular Pickleball session since she’d already played nearly every day during her club’s holiday week. I started looking for somewhere not too far away, with decent facilities and the potential for a year tick or two. In the end, I settled on a trip to Oldbury-on-Severn and the power station in search of black redstarts, followed by a visit to WWT Slimbridge to try for the Temminck’s stint.

There’s often a black redstart at the power station around this time of year, but reports over the past few days have mentioned anywhere from four to seven birds, so the odds of finding a male seemed promising. I’d only been to the site once before,back in March 2023, when I went to see an Alpine swift (report here).

The power station is located on the south bank of the River Severn, near the village of Oldbury-on-Severn in South Gloucestershire. The station comprised two nuclear reactors of the Magnox type, each originally producing about 217MW capacity. The first of the reactors started generating back in 1967 - a good year - and when it shutdown in 2012 was the oldest operating nuclear power station in the world. Over its lifetime the station generated circa 137.5 TWh of electricity - enough to power one million homes for 20 years. The reactor buildings were enclosed in prestressed concrete pressure vessels, the first in the UK to employ this method. The site used water from the River Severn via intake/outfall structures connected by underground culverts to the turbine hall's condensing units for cooling.

The last of the station's fuel was removed in early 2016 meaning about 99% of the site's radioactive hazard had been removed. Site decommissioning is still underway with current work focussing on waste retrieval, processing, storing and dispatch. The site is scheduled to enter the "Care and Maintenance" phase in 2027 with final site clearance and demolition planned for wel into the 2090s or 2100s.

With sunrise at 6:51 a.m., there was no need for an early start - I wanted enough light for photography - so we planned to arrive around 9.00am. Pulling into the car park, we spotted another birder setting up his gear, also heading out in search of the birds. He’d been before, though he admitted he still hadn’t managed a great photo. The sky was overcast, which meant good shots might be tricky, but hope springs eternal. He set off ahead of us, though we soon caught up and followed him to the spot where the best photos had reportedly been taken. Even before reaching it, I spotted a female perched on top of a white corrugated building.

The black redstart is a rare breeder in the UK and is more regularly encountered as a passage migrant and winter visitor from continental Europe - France, Belgium, and the Netherlands. Autumn passage typically spans from September to November, with a peak in October. Its preferred habitats include old buildings, industrial sites, quarries, churches and cathedrals, and cliff faces - basically places with bare or rocky ground.

The male is sooty-grey/dark overall, with a distinct bright orange.red tail, and often with a white-ish wing patch. Females and juveniles are a duller grey-brown overall but still with the orange-red tail - juvenile males often exhibiting the white wing patch.The wing patch on juvenile males is a great clue to their age and plumage stage, and changes quite a bit between late summer and their first spring. Freshly fledged there is no wing patch but juveniles undergo a partial moult before the autumn migration and crucially develops a pale or white wing patch. Females will lack ay wing patch and are more uniformly grey-brown.

There are thought to be typically 60-80 breeding pairs nationally with autumn migrants totalling several hundred to circa 1,000 individuals - total individuals recorded annually are therefore roughly 1,000-2,000 birds. They are highly localised with key areas are London and the Thames Estuary, Brisol and Severnside, Birmingham, and along the south coast.

I was able to locate various female type birds but always at distance and after a while of enjoying them through the scope we relocated down onto the coastal path, viewing one of the Severn Bridges in the distance. Although the light was still limited it was at least reasonably still. It took five minutes or so before we located a female but it was now closer and viewable through the fence. It then dropped down and into a dogwood shrub growing up a chain-link (wire-mesh) fence - this type of fence is common around industrial areas because it’s durable, affordable, and provides visibility while still creating a boundary.

We watched two females, a juvenile male and one male visit the fence around the dogwood and eventually observed them feeding on the dogwood berries - dogberries. Black redstarts are primarily insectivores, but their diet shifts seasonally to adapt to food availability. During the breeding season and warmer months, they focus on insects and other small invertebrates, which are rich in protein and essential for raising chicks.

In autumn and winter, insect numbers drop sharply, especially in northern or urban areas. To survive, black redstarts switch to fruits and berries, which provide sugars for energy and some essential nutrients. Dogwood berries, along with hawthorn, ivy, rowan, and other small fruits, are easy to find and digest, making them a convenient winter food source.

This seasonal flexibility is one reason black redstarts can survive in urban and semi-urban areas where insect availability may be unpredictable. They’ll often forage on berry-laden shrubs, supplementing their diet with whatever is available.

We enjoyed the views, and our earlier companion soon joined us, clearly noticing that we were getting better sightings than he had. Another birder appeared on the path as a kestrel flew around the cylindrical building structures, flushing pigeons from hidden perches. The kestrel made several passes, keeping the pigeons from settling, though they continued to circle the area. After a while, the kestrel seemed to give up its search and departed. It was evident that the peregrine, occasionally reported in the area, was not present today.

Charlotte had walked along the path and back and mentioned that she was beginning to feel cold, so we decided to pack up and head back to the car. On the way, we crossed paths with a birder coming the other direction, who confirmed spotting some female-type birds near our original vantage point. As we continued, we glimpsed a couple more ourselves, and a couple of stonechats.

We made our way to Slimbridge, which wasn’t far away, and on arrival we decided to postpone lunch until we had seen the Temminck’s stint that had already been reported that morning. We headed around to the Rushy Hide, only to find it full, with no spaces by the windows. Luckily, being tall, we were able to peer between others and try to catch sight of the bird. I was struck again by its size, particularly as it moved just behind a shelduck. Charlotte had a little trouble picking it out at first, with only directions and little sense of its scale, but she eventually spotted it, and we watched as it fed along a narrow muddy spit.

It is adapted for foraging in shallow mud and along the edges of freshwater wetlands. Its feeding behaviour is characterised by active probing and pecking. It mainly feeds on tiny invertebrates - insects, larvae, small crustaceans, and worms - which it picks from the surface of mud, sand, or shallow water.

Unlike some waders that use a rapid, continuous probing motion, Temminck’s stint often pause briefly between pecks, carefully inspecting the surface before striking. In winter or during migration stopovers, it will opportunistically consume tiny seeds or plant material, though invertebrates remain its main diet.

They breed across northern Europe and Siberia and winter in sub-Saharan Africa, South Asia, and parts of southern Europe. In recent decades, there are about 100 records per year, with around 70 of those in spring passage - the species is extremely variable year‑to‑year, partly because Britain lies on the edge of its migration route, which makes numbers highly dependent on weather and migration patterns. There was a reportedly low count in 2021 of 54 individuals and a record influx of at least 226 in 2004.

Scanning the rest of the water we could see that numbers of birds have not built to the level we would expect for the winter months. We did however see a couple of common snipe out in the open and three spotted redshanks. After just a few minutes the stint flew onto the near bank but significantly distant and perhaps midway between the Rushy hide and Peng Observatory. From there it relocated again but this time to the back of the pool. After a further ten minutes Charlotte decided this was the time for us to visit the Visitor Centre for lunch.

We had been listening to one of the volunteers describe bittern flights between the Zeiss and Van de Bovencamp hides, which seemed to heighten Charlotte’s eagerness to return to the reserve. There was also a reported sighting of a yellow-browed warbler in the bushes near the Kingfisher hide. We decided to head straight for the Van de Bovencamp hide, joining about half a dozen others scanning the grass, reeds, and pool beyond. On the way, we stopped to chat with some friends who had dropped by after playing golf at Celtic Manor over the past couple of days.

One of the birders mentioned seeing bitterns within the last 45 minutes, so we were hopeful that regular sightings meant we wouldn’t have to wait long. About 20 minutes later, a bittern took flight in front of us, heading toward the Zeiss hide and dropping into the reeds to the front left. I managed to fire off a couple of shots, though the bird was already passing before I could get the camera on it. We watched for signs of movement in the reeds, and noticed people in the Zeiss hide pointing their lenses, suggesting they might have had partial views.

Around 15 minutes later, a second bittern burst out from roughly the same area, this time closer. It caught the strong wind now blowing through the hide windows and sped off quickly, veering right and disappearing over the track behind us. I didn’t have time to get the camera on it, though I was the one who had spotted it first. Later, a birder dropped by and showed us a photo of the second bird flying straight toward him before turning and crossing the track.

We spoke with a few birders who had gone looking for the yellow-browed warbler but returned empty-handed; perhaps the bird had taken shelter from the now brisk wind. Deciding to wrap up the day, we headed back towards the Visitor Centre for a cup of tea before making our way home.

On the way, we bumped into Nick and Anne Truby, who had stopped by on their return from a birding holiday in Cornwall. Unfortunately, the trip hadn’t been as rewarding as they’d hoped, and both had been under the weather with colds - Anne was still feeling unwell. We chatted briefly before continuing on our way.

Year list: 244.