Lisvane Reservoir & RSPB Titchwell Marsh :: 08 & 12 September 2026

Remarkably, reports continued to come through of the grey phalarope at Lisvane Reservoir, the bird having first been reported there the previous Friday. It was already approaching late breakfast time when I decided to go, but on checking Kev’s @kev07713 availability, it became clear that he couldn’t join me. I checked with my wife too, but she had other arrangements, so I jumped in the car and set off for Lisvane on my own. I had an appointment that evening, which meant there would be no opportunity to call in anywhere else, and with nothing else of particular interest between me and Cardiff, travelling any further into Wales simply wasn’t going to be possible.

The grey phalarope is a scarce but regular visitor to Britain, most often turning up in autumn as birds migrate south from their Arctic breeding grounds. Despite its name, it is a striking little wader, with a fine needle-like bill, often swimming actively on the surface of pools and reservoirs as it picks insects and other small prey from the water.

The journey was straightforward and along a well-worn route, as I had spent considerable time working in the Rogerstone/Newport area during my time with Alcan International. I had several secondments to the factory there and, at various points, was making almost weekly visits to support process developments and special projects. Consequently, the route was one I knew well, making the drive down to Cardiff a familiar one.

I arrived to find that parking at the reservoir was free for an hour and a half, which seemed to give me enough time to find the bird and, hopefully, grab some lunch afterwards. I collected my kit and set off along the footpath towards the area where the bird had been reported earlier that morning. I kept my eyes open as I walked, as the grey phalarope could easily have moved, although from what I could see, it seemed to have favoured the same body of water each day.

It had been suggested that the earlier report came from the viewing screen, so when I reached there I scanned the water carefully. There were plenty of little grebes, both sitting on the surface and repeatedly diving beneath it, but no sign of the phalarope. I therefore returned to the footpath and continued along, where I could now see more of the remaining water stretching away towards the far corner. I set up the scope again and, this time, managed to locate the phalarope, apparently about halfway across the water. Judging distances over water is always difficult, however, and a bird that initially appears to be close to the opposite bank can somehow seem to be much nearer the centre of the reservoir when viewed from the opposite side.

The bird swam quickly in my direction and, as it drew level with me, suddenly took to the air and flew in towards the bank, effectively halving the distance between us. I managed to get a few photographs before it began working its way back out towards the middle of the water. I updated BirdGuides to confirm that the bird was still present, but as I did so the phalarope flew further along the water and disappeared. I worked my way back along the footpath and soon relocated it, although now at a greater distance and now gradually making its way back towards where I had first seen it. I watched and waited, but it seemed quite content to remain well away from the bank and showed little inclination to give me another opportunity for those elusive close-up photographs.

Eventually I gave up leaving to grab some food and get back to the car within the free limit for parking. The journey home was inevitably slower with people starting to make their way home. I had to get home, have dinner, got out for a few hours, come home for a shower, and then prepare for a visit to New Brighton where Kev, his wife Karen, and I were hoping to connect with Leach's petrels.

New Brighton is one of the better places in the northwest to look for Leach's petrel, although seeing one is very much dependent on the weather. The best opportunities come in autumn, particularly during September and October, when strong north-westerly winds can push these normally pelagic birds towards the coast. A good sea watching day typically involves a stiff NW or WNW wind, preferably with squally showers, and ideally coinciding with a high tide.

Under the right conditions, birds can be driven surprisingly close to shore, sometimes passing just offshore as they work their way along the coast. Early morning can be productive, particularly when birds have been sheltering in the Irish Sea overnight before moving along the coast. It is, therefore, less a case of simply picking a date and hoping for the best and more a matter of watching the forecast and waiting for that combination of wind, tide and weather that might bring a Leach's petrel within range. The following day looked good on all counts.

We set off at 5.45am, working on the understanding that the best chance of seeing the birds would be during the couple of hours either side of high tide. With high tide due at around 10.45am, that should put us in position at about the right time. When we pulled into the car park at New Brighton, we could see a group of birders already set up with their scopes, so we jumped out of the car and went over to speak to them before getting our own kit out. It had started to rain, however, and several of the birders were already packing away their gear and heading back to their cars. From those who remained, we learned that they had seen a single Leach's petrel out in the estuary but had concluded that the wind simply wasn't strong enough to push the birds close enough to shore for any views. They were all relocating to Gun Point, further west along the coast, so we decided to follow suit.

We arrived at the car park and quickly set up our scopes. The birders already there had also managed to see a single Leach's petrel, along with two Arctic skuas. The wind felt reasonably brisk to us, so we were a little surprised to hear that it apparently wasn't strong enough to bring more birds within view.

We checked BirdGuides and quickly realised that we had been in the wrong place. There were reports of good numbers of Leach's petrels along the North Wales coast, particularly at Rhos Point near Conwy, where 40 had been seen before 8.00am, a further five before 8.30am, and another two by 9.00am. It seemed the birds had been pushed further down the coast and had largely bypassed our position. Despite a couple of local sightings, our five-hour vigil failed to produce our target bird - a lifer for Kev and Karen and a much-needed year tick for me. In total, there had been 29 reports of Leach's petrels along the coast here and into North Wales, yet we hadn't managed to see a single one.

We had at least salvaged two Arctic skuas, which were new for the year for Kev and Karen, and as we headed home at around 2.00pm we discussed whether we should make the detour to Rhos Point in the hope that the birds might show at the next high tide. It was around an hour and fifteen minutes from where we were, but doing so would have put us in North Wales with an almost four-hour drive home ahead of us. I would also have arrived home at a time when my wife would probably already have been in bed, having prepared for a couple of days away with friends. I could sense that Kev was keen to give it a go, and I was disappointed to have to decline. As it turned out, however, there were no further reports after 12.55pm, so in hindsight it was probably the right decision after all. Perhaps we will get another chance?

Saturday arrived and we had decided to make the journey to RSPB Titchwell Marsh, where not one but two spotted crakes had been reported - one apparently an adult type and the other a juvenile. We had missed the bird at Upton Warren, which had been a one-day affair, after I had opted instead to travel to Daventry Reservoir to see a pectoral sandpiper. The crake disappeared, while the sandpiper stayed, so with hindsight it hadn't been my finest decision! The Titchwell birds, however, seemed to be showing remarkably well for such elusive birds and had already been present for a surprisingly long time. Our main concern was the clear night, which might have encouraged them to move on, but that worry was put to rest when a report came through that at least one bird was still present while we were enroute.

The spotted crake is one of those birds that has a reputation for being considerably easier to hear than to see. A small, secretive wetland bird, it spends much of its time skulking through reeds, sedges and other dense vegetation, with the male's distinctive, repeated 'whip-crack' call often providing the first indication that one is present. It is a summer visitor to Britain, arriving from its African wintering grounds, although passage birds can also occur outside the breeding season.

The species is particularly significant in Britain because of its scarcity. The spotted crake was once more widespread and numerous, but the loss and degradation of suitable wetland habitat has resulted in a substantial decline. The national survey in 1999 recorded around 80 singing males, but by 2012 only 28 singing males were found at 11 sites. More recent estimates suggest that the British breeding population may be little more than 25–30 males. Numbers can be difficult to assess, however, as the birds are exceptionally secretive and males often become silent once they have paired.

We pulled into the car park and made our way towards the area where the crakes had been reported over the previous few days. As we approached, birders coming back along the track confirmed that one of the birds was currently showing. We joined a couple of dozen other birders gathered along the main track just beyond the hide, all peering down towards the edge of the water, and almost immediately we were onto the bird. It fed quietly, working its way along the base of the reed stems before eventually disappearing. There were another couple of dozen birders gathered in the Island Hide, but they were missing these excellent views from the track. Later, there was a suggestion that the other bird might have been showing from the hide.

We waited for a while, but there were no further views of the bird, so we decided to head down towards the beach and have a look from there, particularly as it wasn't long after high tide. On the way, we stopped at a spot where we had found wasp spiders the previous year and, remarkably, they were still in almost the same place as before.

Wasp spiders make an interesting seasonal addition to the wildlife, particularly around the rough grassland and areas of longer vegetation. Their striking yellow-and-black patterning makes the females relatively easy to spot when they are sitting in the centre of their large orb webs, while the much smaller males are far less conspicuous. September is a particularly good time to look for them, as the females are fully grown and breeding is taking place.

Their egg sacs are equally fascinating. After mating, the female produces a distinctive, roughly spherical brown papery egg sac, often suspended among the surrounding vegetation close to the web. Each sac can contain hundreds of eggs, and the female's life cycle is effectively drawing to a close by this stage of the year. The young spiders remain protected within the sac through the colder months, emerging the following spring. Finding both the spiders and their egg sacs adds another small but memorable detail to a visit, even when the focus of the trip is on rarer birds.

We reached the beach and found the usual collection of shoreline favourites: sanderlings, curlews, oystercatchers, sandwich terns, common terns, black-tailed and bar-tailed godwits, turnstones, and more besides. Out over the water, gulls and cormorants were scattered across the sea, while common scoter and terns were also present, the latter occasionally plunging into the water to feed. Then two Arctic skuas appeared at considerable distance. I tried for a photograph, although I knew in my heart that it was never going to produce anything worthwhile at that range. Eventually, we headed back towards the main reserve, intending to make our way to the Parrinder Hide and see if we could find some of the smaller waders, which should hopefully include curlew sandpipers and little stints.

As we approached the turn towards the Parrinder Hide, we noticed a group of birders looking particularly interested in something along another stretch of reeds. Naturally, we went to investigate and found that they had located a spotted crake. We watched the bird again, first from the track and then from a bench a little further along, where Kev and I both managed to take some video, although Kev's effort turned out considerably better than mine.

While we were on the track, I was also keeping an eye on the ruff and spoonbills when, suddenly, a curlew sandpiper dropped in among the waders. Curlew sandpipers breed in the high Arctic, particularly across northern Siberia, before undertaking a southward migration once the breeding season is over. August and September are the main periods for autumn passage through Britain, with adults followed by juveniles making their way towards wintering grounds in Africa and, for some birds, further east. During their passage they can often be found among mixed flocks of waders, probing the soft mud for invertebrates with their distinctive, slightly down-curved bills.

We decided to make our way back through the reserve and stop for some lunch before spending a little time checking out the woodland birds. By the end of the visit, we had logged more than 70 species around the reserve, making it another very enjoyable day at Titchwell. Whatever the time of year, it always seems to deliver a good day's birding.

Year list: 290.

Newlyn / Hayle, Cornwall & Clifton Pits :: 28 February & 02 March 2026

News of a Ross's gull turning up at Newlyn, Cornwall has produced excitement across the birding community. With just under 100 accepted records in the UK, it remains one of the most sought-after gulls for British birders; it is classified as an "accidental" visitor to Britain, with this Arctic species usually found drifting across pack ice than along the shores of Cornwall. Most historical sightings have occurred in northern and eastern coastal areas, particularly Shetland and Yorkshire, though birds have occasionally reached further south.

Reports from the harbour at Newlyn has drawn birders from across the country, all hoping for a glimpse of this elegant wanderer. While Cornwall has built a reputation for turning up rare seabirds and transatlantic vagrants, a Ross's gull is still an exceptional visitor. Kev @kev07713 and I decided this was a bird we had to see, hatching a plan to leave early on Saturday morning and make the drive down to Newlyn Harbour for sunrise.

Most British records have been very brief, often just a few hours to a couple of days - birds frequently move on quickly. This bird had been present for 6 days and so there was a real chance that it could depart at any time - a long way to go for a potential dip, but the bird was worth it.

We stopped briefly on the way, just outside Penzance, for a comfort break and to pick up some breakfast, arriving almost exactly as planned at 7.10am. We’d heard from Kev’s sister Karen @hobbylovinglife that she and Dean @worlebirder had already arrived, but so far there was no sign of the bird. Stepping out of the car, we joined the small group already scanning the harbour, hopeful that the gull would appear later in the morning. Meanwhile, Karen and Dean, and a handful of other birders, had moved off to check the beaches on either side of the harbour. The view across the harbour in the early morning light was magnificent.

We walked around to the landward side of the harbour and soon came across first one, then fifteen, and before long many more turnstone. We watched as they gathered and dispersed repeatedly, clearly hoping someone might feed them. On at least three occasions I watched people scatter food on the ground; one of them operating from one of the units along the harbour wall and, I’m told, does this quite regularly.

Later, seemingly expecting the same treatment from me, the birds began following behind in a neat line as I walked along, giving me the rather amusing feeling of being the Pied Piper.

We joined half a dozen or so people overlooking the harbour at Newlyn Harbour, scanning the likely spots where the bird might be perched, including the roofs of the surrounding buildings, but without any success. Our search soon extended to the beach visible beyond the harbour wall and out across the bay, and gradually we worked our way along towards the edge of the harbour mouth.

Every so often I glanced back towards the birders still positioned further inside the harbour, just in case someone had picked up the bird. On one such look back I spotted a familiar face - a birder we know from Oxfordshire, Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99. Eventually we strolled back down through the harbour, by which point Karen and Dean had returned, giving us the chance to catch up with them and have a chat with Ewan. As we did so, another familiar face arrived - a birder we often bump into, Shaun Evans (@sevans1032). It was beginning to feel less like a twitch and more like an informal gathering of friends.

We all milled around the harbour, waiting and scanning. By about 9.45am there was still no sign of the Ross's gull, which might have been cause for concern, but most people remained quietly optimistic - although a negative sighting had been posted on X. At the same time, birders were aware there were other species to see locally, and gradually people began drifting away one by one. Before long only half a dozen of us remained - Ewan had gone off in search of a coffee, Karen and Dean had gone in search of a dipper, while Shaun set off along the coast towards Mousehole.

A Pacific diver had also been reported nearby, usually seen from the harbour up towards Penlee Point Lighthouse, which sits just south of the harbour and marks the western side of the entrance to Mount’s Bay. Kev and I decided to drive up to the stretch of coast indicated and take a look. If our bird was called on BirdGuides, we’d be no more than a five-minute drive away. On our way back to the car, we bumped into Cliff Smith @01000011S buying a coffee, and who I think had previously been at Hayle Estuary searching for the ring-billed gull. Having failed to find it, he had decided to give this site a try instead.

We pulled into a lay-by on an elevated stretch of the coast and began scanning the water with our scopes. A great northern diver was soon picked up and, quite unexpectedly, the Pacific diver as well - something we managed to confirm later after reviewing Kev's video footage. Shaun joined us and managed to pull a black-throated diver out of the bag too. Before we had time to properly settle in or move further along the coast, a shout went up from some birders about fifty metres up the pavement: the Ross's gull was flying from right to left and heading towards the harbour. It was very distant but still unmistakable.

While adult Ross's gulls show a delicate pink flush and a distinctive wedge-shaped tail, this was a first-winter bird. It showed soft grey upperparts and clean white underparts, giving it a very pale overall appearance. A clear dark ear spot behind the eye would later stand out on the otherwise white head, and the bill was small and black.

In flight the bird looked particularly striking. The pale grey upperwings were crossed by a bold dark “W”-shaped pattern, created by the darker carpal bar and the trailing edge of the wings, a reported classic feature of young Ross's gulls. The wings were long and buoyant, giving the bird an almost tern-like quality as it moved among the surrounding gulls.

We quickly jumped back into the car, packed Shaun into the back seats and headed for the harbour. On the way to our parking spot Kev called Karen to make sure they were aware the bird had returned. They hadn’t heard the news and immediately hot-footed it down through the village, picking up Cliff on the way.

We arrived at the harbour just in time to see the bird over the water inside the harbour itself, where it drifted about for a minute or two. It then flew towards the harbour mouth, passing along the harbour wall before disappearing from view behind the units that line it. Ewan was in the perfect position as the bird went along the wall and must have enjoyed particularly good views.

We’d already enjoyed excellent views and would have been happy if that had been all we saw, though we still hoped the bird might have dropped onto the beach on the far side, as it had reportedly done on previous days. Most people moved to the other side of the harbour wall, to a vantage point overlooking the beach, only to find people scattered around - hardly ideal conditions for the gull to land there. At times during its stay, the Ross’s gull had been reported perched on the roof of the nearby Lidl supermarket, so some scanned that area carefully with their scopes, but it was not to be.

We eventually gave up here and started back to the harbour, stopping for a coffee and Cornish pasty on the way. We sat on a step along the harbour wall and started eating but before we could all finish a call went up that our bird had reappeared at the harbour mouth and we all shot up there with at least two dozen people now being in the group. The bird entertained us there for almost two hours - tens of thousands of photos must have been taken.

The bird fed by picking small prey items from the water’s surface, snatching insects, small fish, and crustaceans without diving fully - sometimes flying low over water, skimming the surface to catch plankton or tiny invertebrates. Occasionally, it hovered briefly before plunging slightly to catch prey just beneath the surface, but it was not a deep diver like a tern.

We’d taken countless photos, Kev had captured some video, and we had spent a long, enjoyable time being treated to close views by this gull. So, when it spun around the harbour and disappeared, we took that as our cue to leave and start heading home. Our plan now included a stop at Hayle Estuary to try for the ring-billed gull reported earlier on BirdGuides. Most of our companions seemed to have the same idea, and we all regrouped on the causeway overlooking the shallow water and the birds gathered there.

More than a dozen people were spread out in a loose line, and within minutes someone spotted the ring-billed gull, which had presumably been asleep with its head tucked under its wing until then. At this distance, scopes were essential, and the key field mark for identification was the bright yellow legs (and the bill) - absent in the many common gulls in the flock. Soon we were all on the bird. It preened briefly before settling down again, giving me another lifer before promptly going back to sleep.

We waited patiently, and before long the birds became restless, moving around and giving us more chances to get clear views of the gull.

Among the dunlin were a handful of bar-tailed godwits - the very birds I’d gotten up early to search for along the beach in Troon just a couple of weeks before. I couldn’t help thinking, well, I could have had a lie-in! - though, of course, they’re always a delight to see.

A birder to our left then picked out a curlew sandpiper within a small flock of dunlin further out in the estuary. Although it was distant, it was relatively easy to locate through the scopes, and I even managed a couple of record shots despite the range. Another year tick, and entirely unexpected.

We then enjoyed scanning on this and the other side of the causeway before saying our goodbyes to everyone and getting on the road, ready for a journey of at least 4½ hours.

Monday arrived, and with Charlotte out, I decided to make another twitch, this time much closer to home - 39 miles as the crow flies. I messaged Kev to see if he was free, but he was tied up, so I headed solo to Clifton Pits, Worcestershire, where a Richardson’s cackling goose had been reported since 24th February. There’s a lay-by on the A38 giving access to the Severn Way footpath, which leads to the north end of a waterbody where the bird had been frequenting with a small flock of Canada geese.

I parked and made my way to the site, finding a lone birder already in position. Disappointingly, he hadn’t managed to see the goose despite scanning. I set up my scope and went through the key features to watch for, and within moments he located the bird and seconds later, so did I. The Richardson’s cackling goose was chasing one of the larger Canada geese across the water before settling back into the flock. I managed a few record shots, though the bird was on the opposite bank from where we stood.

The Richardson’s cackling goose (Branta hutchinsii richardsonii) is a small, compact goose that is part of the broader cackling goose complex, once lumped in with the Canada goose. My friend Nick Truby posted that it was one of Jim's - he had to explain to me about the Latin name hutchinsii, as I am hard of understanding - our other birding friend is Jim Hutchins ...

It is one of the smallest forms of Branta hutchinsii, and noticeably daintier than the familiar Canada goose. Richardson’s cackling goose has a short, stubby neck, a relatively small head, and a stubby, short bill. Its plumage is strikingly similar to the Canada goose, with a black head and neck, white cheek patches, and a brownish-grey body, but the smaller size is the main field mark.

These geese are highly social outside the breeding season, often forming mixed flocks with Canada geese. and are grazers, feeding mainly on grasses, sedges, and other vegetation, though they will also forage in agricultural fields during migration and winter. They breed in the Arctic tundra of western Canada and Alaska, nesting near lakes and wetlands. During the winter, they migrate south to the western United States, with significant numbers wintering in California, Oregon, and the central plains. Richardson’s cackling goose is a very rare visitor to Britain and Ireland, and only a small number of individuals have been recorded here - all subspecies of Branta hutchinsii total up to around 77 accepted UK records.

Eventually the goose clambered out of the water, preened briefly, and then began feeding as it moved up the slope, gradually becoming more distant. Before long, I packed up my kit, said my goodbyes to the first and another birder who had just arrived, and headed home.

Year list: 185.