Bedfordshire :: 10 May 2025

At this time each year, Kev @kev07713 and I make our annual pilgrimage to see turtle doves. Since they're no longer present at our local RSPB Otmoor, we've had to venture further afield, most often into Bedfordshire. Thankfully, the birds have been reliable there in recent years, and we were hopeful they'd returned. We’d even seen a recent photo we believed was taken at our usual spot, so we decided that today was the day to visit.

We arrived, and even before reaching our usual vantage point, we could hear a turtle dove calling. Promising. A birder with a camera was already in place, and we soon spotted the bird high in the tree canopy, calling steadily. He told us this was his fourth consecutive day here, and that the bird had spent about 90% of its time perched in that very spot.

I think our visit last year was a couple of weeks later, and we had the pleasure of seeing two birds then - perhaps more are still on their way this year. In 2023, we observed nest-building around the 10th of May; last year it was closer to the 22nd.

We waited, hoping the bird would shift position for a clearer view, but it stayed put. We tried approaching from the opposite side of the treeline and hedgerow, but the foliage was too dense to see through. Directly beneath the bird ran a footpath that saw a steady stream of runners, walkers, and dog owners, none of whom seemed to bother it in the slightest.

Occasionally, the bird would fly off, presumably to feed elsewhere, but after about 20 minutes, it would return to its favoured perch and resume singing. Its song is a mellow, rolling purr, repeated softly and steadily, like a contented cat or a gently bubbling kettle - unmistakable. I took a few photos from a distance before trying to capture some shots through the tree canopy from the footpath.

From the footpath I managed to locate a cuckoo that had been calling over on the edge of the nature reserve, perched high in a tree. I think several were working the area and there was frequent calling all along this stretch.

Our friends Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby arrived and joined us in watching the bird perched in its usual spot. We chatted for a while, especially during one of the bird’s absences. Eventually, it returned, but by then we were already thinking about our next move. A red-footed falcon had been reported not far from here, and we decided to head over to see if we could get better views than we had last week - we'd hear from Nick later that a second bird had eventually appeared and joined the first, though still showing at the same distance.

We eventually found somewhere to park and followed the path to the spot where the sighting had been marked on Birdguides. Before long, we were overlooking a body of water fringed with reeds. A couple of hobbies were hunting over the area, and we tracked them through the scope, hoping the red-footed falcon might appear nearby. A birder who had been watching from the opposite bank told us he'd seen the falcon earlier, right out in front of us, but it had since vanished, chased off by one of the hobbies.

We waited and were treated to sightings of up to four bitterns relocating across the reeds, but the rising heat created a significant haze, making even record shots nearly impossible. All around us, Cetti’s, reed, and sedge warblers called.

Eventually, we spotted the red-footed falcon, high up and distant. We watched as it dropped out of view, only to pick it up again as it flew far to our left and disappeared behind us. Apparently, it had been relocating to that area the day before, so we decided to head there too, though a wrong turn meant we had to take a bit of a detour.

After a short walk, we finally reached the spot. It wasn’t long before a few hobbies began cutting through the sky, swift and agile. Then, we picked her out: the female red-footed falcon, distinguishable by her warm rufous underparts and pale head. Once again, she was distant, often little more than a silhouette against the sky but we tracked her movements through the scope as she quartered the treeline. The hobbies, meanwhile, treated us to several close flybys, offering excellent views as they stooped and twisted in pursuit of insects.

Having had no real record photos last weekend I had a go at capturing something, however poor - can you see what it is yet. Well I think you can!

As of late May 2025, the UK has experienced a significant influx of red-footed falcons, with at least 50 individuals reported across Britain and Ireland. This marks one of the most substantial spring arrivals of this species in recent years. Notably, Carlton Marshes in Suffolk recorded up to seven individuals present simultaneously.

This influx is considered one of the largest on record, though it still falls short of the remarkable 1992 event, which saw an estimated 250 individuals across Britain. The current surge is likely influenced by persistent easterly winds during the spring migration period, facilitating the movement of these falcons from their breeding grounds in Eastern Europe to the UK.

Our attention was caught by a turtle dove calling softly behind us, but despite a quick search, we never managed to spot it before the bird fell silent.

Among the flurry of aerial activity, we spotted a few insects on the wing. I was especially pleased to get my first proper chance this year to photograph a bee-fly, its furry body and long proboscis hovering with precision as it fed on early wildflowers. Not long after, a four-spotted chaser dragonfly appeared, patrolling the edge of the sllope down to the water. It paused briefly on a stem, giving me a chance to admire its broad, dark wing spots and amber-tinted body, a classic early-season species that always signals summer isn’t far off.

Knowing that clearer views of the falcon weren’t going to happen anytime soon, we reluctantly began packing up our gear. The afternoon warmth had settled in, and the bird remained distant and elusive. We called it a day, retracing our steps along the path back to where we’d left the car. The quiet countryside was bathed in soft golden light as we walked, reflecting on the highlights of the day. Before heading home, we stopped for an ice cream, a perfect reward after hours spent in the field.

Year list: 199.

Grafham Water, Ouse Fen, & Summer Leys :: 03 May 2025

It was trickier than usual to settle on a birding location this time, with the lure of a spotted sandpiper in the mix. While it would be a lifer for me, Kev had already seen the individual that turned up at Upton Warren in June 2023. That sighting drew quite a bit of attention, given how rare the species is in the UK - an event I’ve tried hard to forget, having failed to visit myself. The only saving grace is that although they are rare, they are regular.

Fortunately, it is all about me - Kev agreed to humour me. We arrived and decided to make our way round to the north end of Grafham Water, parking on the grass verge as the car park by the Visitor Centre doesn't open until 9.30/10.00am. Grafham Water is England's third-largest reservoir and a designated Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI). The western end of the reservoir is managed as a nature reserve by the Wildlife Trust for Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, and Northamptonshire. The bird had been frequenting this area and been showing fantastically well.

I was especially keen as the bird was in breeding plumage where it has bold black spots on the underparts, the only sandpiper with this - out of breeding plumage it lacks the spots, and with plain underparts can resemble a common sandpiper - in fact the two are considered sister species.

They breed across North America, from Alaska and Canada to the northern U.S., migrating to winter in Central and South America. UK sightings often coincide with post-breeding dispersal or storm-driven drift across the Atlantic - usually there are 1–5 birds per year, though some years may have none - the estimated total UK records are circa 250–300.

We reached the concrete dam wall and met three birders coming the other way who confirmed the bird was still present. As we approached, we spotted it alongside three common sandpipers, which, as it turned out, wasn’t ideal. Earlier, the spotted sandpiper had been showing well, but now that it had joined the common sandpipers, it had become much more flighty, mirroring their skittish behaviour.

As we edged closer, the group took off, heading toward the valve tower, with the Spotted Sandpiper second in the formation. Kev decided to stay put, content to watch through his scope, while I made my way around to the valve tower for another attempt.

By the time I arrived, the bird had already been flushed further along the shoreline, and as I followed, birders inadvertently pushed it on again. Eventually, I caught up with the group and managed to get a decent view and a few photos before they took off once more. We relocated them right at the end of the concrete dam wall, almost exactly where Kev and I had originally planned to park but before long, they were gone again, heading back up the reservoir. I followed, and each time I approached, they flushed further along. I passed the valve tower and watched as the four amigos headed well out across the water. Kev later told me the spotted sandpiper had peeled away from the group and flown over to the grassy edge near Plummer Park Car Park on the southern shore.

I made my way back to Kev, who was waiting patiently on the far shore. While I’d been off chasing the bird, he’d picked up dunlin and a sanderling, plus had scoped some nice views of the spotted sandpiper. We’d already agreed that once this target was in the bag, we’d head over to RSPB Ouse Fen for the great reed warbler. It’s a cracking site that nearly always throws up something interesting, and the warbler itself is a real treat, especially when it's in full song.

The song of the great reed warbler is one of the loudest and most distinctive among European warblers, often described as "mechanical" or "machine-like"; a common description might be "KRAAK-kraak-kraak tik tik tik churrr churrr chack chack chack" - a mix of grating croaks, buzzes, clicks, and flute-like notes. The song, performed by males to defend territory and attract a mate, will sadly go unanswered, just as it has in recent years - this is a returning bird. Typically, the song is delivered from tall reeds, especially during the spring and early summer months.

We arrived at RSPB Ouse Fen and made our way round to where groups of people were gathered, apparently a pair of red-footed falcons were feeding above a distant wood. We saw four bitterns wheeling in the sky to the left of the woods and I took a record shot. It wouldn't be the last bittern we saw but all would be quite distant.

We spent time watching the red-footed falcons feeding with a handful of hobbies. Unfortunately, the red-foots were always too distant for a photo but we had some good views through the scopes, particularly of the female.

We reluctantly pulled ourselves away and set off in search of the warbler, hearing its song well before we caught sight of it. At first, it was visible but mostly hidden behind the dense reeds. Before long, though, gusts of wind parted the stems just enough to give us a partial but satisfying view of the bird.

We were debating our next move when news came through that two wood sandpipers had been reported at Wildlife BCN Summer Leys, almost directly on our route home. Wood sandpipers are scarce but regular passage migrants in the UK, with a few hundred individuals typically recorded each year. These elegant, medium-sized waders breed in northern Europe and Asia, using the UK as a stopover during their spring and autumn migrations.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to add one to our year lists, so we headed there. On arrival, a birder mentioned that one of the birds had seemingly flown off earlier, and the other hadn’t been seen for about an hour - not exactly encouraging.

We made our way to the Pioneer Hide overlooking the scrape, and before long, we had a wood sandpiper in view. Hoping for a closer look, we moved to the Paul Britten (Double Decker) Hide and relocated the bird.

At first, it was picking its way through short reeds, partially obscured, but eventually it stepped out into the open long enough for us to grab a few record shots.

There were large numbers of redshanks around, including a male that was displaying to a female - quite a racket! A few little ringed plovers darted around the scrape and three yellow wagtails dropped in.

We had heard the call of a cuckoo for much of the time we were there and eventually we picked it out, perched high in a distant tree. Not long after we were treated to swifts and hobbies darting across the scrape in search of flies and dragonflies - most entertaining.

After we'd had our fill, we followed the track around to see if we could get a better view of the terns fishing at the far end of the main water body. We were quietly hoping for a late Arctic or perhaps a black tern, but all the birds on show appeared to be commons.

Glancing back from near the feeding station, we noticed a commotion - plenty of Redshanks dashing about, and a couple of little ringed plovers tucked in among them. Then, out of nowhere, a handful of birds dropped in, and to our surprise, we realised there were now three wood sandpipers foraging together.

We had a look on Mary's Lake but found the same birds present. We made our way back to the car and home - there seem to be quite a few red-footed falcons in the country - maybe we will catch up with another and get better views?

Year list: 198.

North Wales & Wyre Forest :: 26 April 2025

I returned from Scotland and arrived home on Friday evening. Kev and I had agreed to head to North Wales for our annual black grouse trip. With enough time, we also planned to swing by the Wyre Forest to look for some of its specialist woodland species - wood warblers were likely in by now, joining the pied flycatchers.

We settled on a 2.45am departure, aiming to be in position by around 5.00am. Thankfully, I wasn’t driving; I’d already driven a six-hour journey earlier that day and only managed about four hours of sleep. Given the early start and our plan to be in place by sunrise, we packed some breakfast - food and drink we could have in the car, which we’d be using as a hide.

The lek is a traditional ground where male black grouse gather to perform elaborate displays in a bid to attract females. We arrived and found it was still dark, getting to our spot and taking the first place in the pull-in. Looking out from our unusual hide across the open moorland, the sky was still heavy with night, and it was cold with the windows down. The light gradually crept over the hill behind all the time hearing the sound: bubbling coos and rapid hisses - an otherworldly chorus, part gurgle, part hiss. Out of the gloom the black grouse began to materialise, jet black with a white wing-bar, and tail fanned open showing striking white under-tail coverts, their red eye-combs flaring as they display and prepare for battle. They stop, flutter, circle and parallel walk with other males in choreographed aggression, trying to out-perform their rivals. Occasionally fights break out and although it is intense, it is rarely very violent.

As the sun rose, shafts of sunlight poured onto the lek, illuminating the iridescent sheen of the males' plumage. After a couple of hours, the action began to slow and the males started to disperse, the moor beginning to return to silence - although not completely with regular calls from red grouse and cuckoos.

We turned the car and drove back to the car park for a stretch and to see if we could spot any cuckoos - we'd heard them call from this direction. With coffee in hand, we walked down the slope and started scanning with scope and bins, also keeping an eye out for a ring ouzel (we wouldn't find any today). After a while scoping, we found an individual perched on top of a very very distant tree, a second individual passing a little closer but ultimately continuing down the slope to where our first bird was. Then a third appeared with them and this kicked off some chasing and displaying over the trees - it was good to watch but frustrating as it wasn't possible to record any of the action, with the camera or phonescoping.

Content with our views but realising we might not get any better views of the cuckoos, we jumped back into the car and drove passed the lek where numbers had dropped to just a couple of individuals, and then along the track. We were now on the hunt for red grouse - hopefully these wouldn't prove to be difficult.

Spotting red grouse along the narrow winding road that cuts through the heather-clad moor is a quieter, more spontaneous kind of wildlife encounter and less theatrical than the black grouse lek we'd just left. The ground is a mosaic of rich purples and browns and so you have to stay alert to pick out a head that may pop above the heather or sitting on top. At first they appear almost invisible, their russet-brown plumage perfectly matching the scrubby surroundings. But once you see them you seem to get you eye in.

It is a round-bodied bird with a slightly hunched posture, a bold white eye-ring, and a red eyebrow (the eye comb, more prominent in males). Often, they seem to stare at you for a moment and then either duck down, flap and depart (often calling with their "go-back go-back call), or if you are lucky they return to feeding and give stunning views. Their walk is part strut, part scuttle - almost like they are always in a hurry but aren't sure where to go.

Their presence is a sign of the health and character of the moorland, thriving in heather-rich uplands shaped by traditional land use like low-intensity grazing - there’s a strong presence of sheep across this area. We were fortunate to encounter good numbers of red grouse, with several birds obligingly close, allowing us time to watch and photograph their behaviour.

There’s something undeniably special about seeing red grouse this way, often surprisingly near, exuding a proud, slightly wary energy with that unmistakable fierce look. A few sat upright and calm, radiating a kind of quiet confidence. At one point, one even walked right out onto the road ahead of us, as if to remind us of whose ground we were on.

Along the route we came across more meadow pipits and a few wheatears, always keeping the interest going. We paused to look around and I mentioned that we hadn't yet seen a whinchat, and as soon as I mentioned its name one called to our left. We pulled the car in for a look around.

We first spotted a whinchat perched in a tree before it dropped into the valley, where it remained in view but on and off. Luckily, it eventually came closer, giving me the chance to get some clearer record shots. It is not a rarity here but when you find one it feels special - a small upright bird perched on a post or bush, tail flicking and head alert. The male's striking eyestripe, warm orange breast and delicate white throat make him look like a brushstroke of colour. We later spotted a female which is sutler, softer in tone but just as charismatic. They perched low most of the time but occasionally flitted higher giving better photo opportunity.

They flicked back and forth, snapping up insects, tail bobbing. Their call often alerted us where they had relocated to - a soft "whit" or a slightly scratchy song, blending with the calls from meadow pipits and skylarks. It is good have such glimpses as they visit our shores - they are only here a few months, making the encounters even more special.

In a tree to our right a chiffchaff and a willow warbler called, joining in the chorus.

We paused by the woods for breakfast and coffee, surrounded by birdsong. As we stood there, it felt surreal that it was still only mid-morning and that we’d already been birding for hours. After a brief wander through the area, and a final look at the cuckoos, we saw a peregrine dash through before we made our way down to the Wyre Forest for our annual visit.

We followed the main track, ears tuned for any of our target forest species, pausing now and then to scan the slopes below. It wasn’t long before we spotted a pied flycatcher perched high in a tree, showing beautifully in the broken light. It lingered for a few minutes before heading off to hunt. Further along, we picked up the call of a tree pipit, that distinctive descending, cascading song. It took some time, but we eventually located it, high in the canopy among the tallest trees as it relocated and exhibited its characteristic parachuting onto its perch. We waited, hoping it might come closer, but no such luck this time.

Tree pipits are summer visitors, and the Wyre Forest is one of the strongholds where they still breed in decent numbers. Their presence here speaks to the quality of the habitat, open woodland with scattered trees, clearings, and sunny rides.

About a hundred metres along the track, we heard a wood warbler calling from the trees to our right. We spent a good while watching it flit through the branches, pausing often to deliver its distinctive song - what a bird! Last year, we drew a blank here and ended up travelling to Harry's Wood in Northamptonshire, where we were treated to an unforgettable show by an especially bold individual (account here). This one wasn’t quite as showy, but the views were still superb.

We dropped down through a glade and picked out a couple more pied flycatchers, this time also seeing a female. We wouldn't wait long as we wanted to get down to the brook and hopefully catch up with some of the dippers.

We spotted dippers in their usual spot, though as ever, they kept their distance - two birds, one of which flew towards us and beneath and passed the bridge we were standing on. We’d heard reports of another pair further along the river and hoped they might offer a closer opportunity for some record shots.

As we continued, something caught our eye on the forest floor, a beetle we didn’t recognise. It turned out to be a green tiger beetle, a first for us. There it was, perched on the bare earth, shimmering with metallic emerald and bronze, long-legged and poised - an unexpected highlight.

As we neared the bridge where we hoped to find the dippers we heard a blackcap, and then a couple of garden warblers. Elusive at first the garden warblers eventually gave themselves up and I managed a photo I was really pleased with.

As we reached the bridge, we spotted a dipper standing motionless just beyond its edge. Careful not to flush it, I circled around to try for a photo - not bad, I think, though there's always room for improvement. Still, it’s always a joy to see these birds, such stunning little river specialists.

We climbed the slope back up to the main track, spotting more pied flycatchers as we went. It had been a fantastic day out - long, but very rewarding. We began the journey home.