Local birds & RSPB Ham Wall :: 14-18 August 2026

Even before Kev @kev07713 and I had a chance to discuss plans for our Saturday birding trip, a white-winged black tern appeared on Friday morning at Wildlife Trust BCN Summer Leys, with reports quickly coming through on the Northants WhatsApp group and BirdGuides. I was out playing pickleball when I spotted the news, and messaged Kev on the way home to see if he had already been or fancied going. He was up for it, so once I got home, I quickly changed, grabbed my gear and picked him up on the way. We had confirmation from Trevor Ellery that the bird was still present, as there had been no further update on BirdGuides and nobody had responded to my message in the WhatsApp group.

We arrived having talked with Stuart Mundy enroute to check where it was best viewed from. Stuart said he'd still be there when we arrived and that the best views were from beside or inside the Pioneer hide and that is where we made for. We got to the hide to find four birders on scopes beside the ramp up to the hide and joined them, hearing that the tern had been showing up and down the main lake but was currently out of view to our right. In a couple of minutes, it appeared distantly above the reeds flying away. I managed to see it and get my tick, but Kev missed it being shorter and still obscured by the reeds. We needn't have worried as true to form the bird repeatedly fished up and down the same channel - unfortunately always distant.

The bird itself was a moulting adult, giving it a wonderfully variable appearance as it transitions from breeding into winter plumage. The once-black head and underparts were broken up with patches of white, creating a mottled, almost untidy look, while the pale grey upperparts contrasted with the strikingly white rump and tail. The white wings were particularly noticeable in flight, making it stand out against the more familiar black terns. Although not in the pristine black-and-white plumage of a breeding adult, the transitional plumage arguably made it even more interesting to watch. With heat haze and distance, the photos were a little disappointing.

White-winged black tern is a rare vagrant in the UK, with only occasional records as birds overshoot from their breeding range in continental Europe and beyond. Most British sightings occur during late spring and summer, making any local appearance a real event for birders.

There were three spotted redshanks on the far bank, while handfuls of common terns passed through as we watched and waited for intermittent views of the white-winged black tern. One useful point of reference was an iron-age pigs, which had been introduced to Summer Leys in early August as part of Wildlife Trust BCN’s habitat-management work. Having previously been grazing at Lilbourne, where it was being used to root out invasive vegetation, it has now been moved to Summer Leys to continue their work and provide visitors with an opportunity to see them in action.

As this was an unscheduled outing Kev and I had things to do at home and so after popping into the hide to talk with Stuart and Ricky Sinfield, we said our goodbyes and headed home.

Now it was time for our regular Saturday birding trip, and this week we decided to head down to RSPB Ham Wall, hoping to finally catch up with a purple heron, a species that had eluded us the previous year. Purple heron is a scarce but increasingly regular migrant to Britain, with around 25 birds recorded in a typical year. Most occur during the summer and autumn, with sightings concentrated mainly in southern and eastern England, although birds can turn up almost anywhere.

Numbers vary considerably from year to year, but records have increased over recent decades as the species has expanded its range in mainland Europe - purple heron remains a real rarity in Britain, however. Although primarily regarded as a migrant, there have also been occasional breeding attempts, with confirmed breeding still exceptionally rare.

According to RSPB and observers there are two purple herons on the site at present, an adult and a juvenile. The report from Friday night suggested that the juvenile bird had been seen between the Avalon hide and VP2, then flying towards the hide.

As we stopped at VP1, we scanned the water but couldn't find anything of note. An elderly gentleman sitting nearby with a large camera mounted on a tripod confirmed that we'd not missed anything. As we began to leave, he called us back to let us know that Kev had left something on the bench. As Kev turned to walk away, he suddenly spotted a bittern partially emerged from the base of the reeds - a nice bonus that we'd completely missed!

Ham Wall is one of the country's strongholds for bittern, forming part of the wider Avalon Marshes population, which supports a substantial number of breeding birds. Although I can't find an exact current count, bitterns remain a regular feature of the reserve with 18-20 booming males, with the reedbeds providing ideal habitat for this notoriously elusive species.

We made our way through the reserve and reached the turn in the track towards the Avalon Hide. Rather than following that path, we decided to investigate the pool immediately to the right, where we could see several white egrets through the trees. There was no one else down the slope, but further along, in front of VP2, we spotted three birders with scopes, one of whom had a camera raised to his eye. That was enough to convince us to hot foot it over there.

We quickly set up our scopes and asked if they were on the bird. They pointed towards an island at the back of the pool, where the purple heron was surprisingly easy to pick out, perched prominently on top of the island just a few feet from a great white egret. It was distant, but thankfully not too distant for photography, although heat haze seems always to be a potential problem currently. Fortunately, on this occasion it only had a slight effect, allowing us to get some reasonable record shots.

Purple herons have a habit of spending considerable periods concealed among the reeds, so seeing this juvenile bird sitting fully exposed in such a prominent position was a real bonus.

We'd missed that part of the show - just the luck of the draw.

Eventually, it climbed down behind the island and disappeared from view. We waited, and waited, hoping it would reappear or perhaps take to the air, but neither happened. Instead, we had to make do with the impressive collection of herons and egrets around the pool: more than 20 great white egrets, a handful of little egrets, a single cattle egret, and several grey herons, all feeding in the water or resting on the islands.

Meanwhile, various dragonflies were patrolling up and down the path, including one that repeatedly dropped onto the ground beside us - a black-tailed skimmer.

Eventually, we grew tired of waiting and, already more than satisfied with our prolonged views of the purple heron, decided to head back and make our way down to the Avalon Hide. We stopped on a bridge spanning a relatively stagnant pool, a spot where we'd previously had encounters with water rails, and while we stood watching, Kev suddenly pointed to the mud beside us and said, "Weasel!"

Almost as soon as I'd picked it up, it darted into the reeds and disappeared. We eventually relocated it on a distant log and tried for a few photos, but foliage was frustratingly in the way, and I couldn't manage anything worth keeping. It retreated again before popping out once more, and I once again failed to get a decent shot as it turned and faced us. Kev, the photographer, managed to lock onto it and got the shot. These small, elusive predators can be surprisingly difficult to see, so any encounter is a welcome bonus.

The weasel made one final appearance, dashing along the log before jumping into the water and swimming across the narrow channel, its progress through the duckweed leaving a faint trail behind it. I managed to get one serviceable photo before it entered the water, and I was more than happy with that.

The weasel is Britain's smallest carnivore and is widespread across England, Wales and Scotland, occupying a wide variety of habitats from farmland and woodland edges to grassland, wetlands and urban areas. Despite being relatively common, they are notoriously elusive, spending much of their time hunting beneath vegetation, along field edges and around banks and ditches. Their slender shape allows them to pursue prey into tunnels and burrows, with small mammals, particularly voles and mice, forming an important part of their diet.

We moved on to the Avalon Hide, where we joined around a dozen other birders. We found seats by the windows, giving us a good view across the pools and plenty of room to set up our scopes and scan the reedbeds and exposed mud. Kev was soon onto a water rail on a distant point, working its way along the edge of the reeds, repeatedly appearing and disappearing as it probed the exposed mud for food. A couple more water rails would be spotted later, although these were even further away.

In the shorter reeds in front of the hide, a glossy ibis was busy preening before eventually flying further to the right to feed among the stems. A second ibis was also showing further along the channel. Photography was largely a matter of patience, waiting for the birds to emerge from the denser vegetation and offer a clear view. When they did, the sunlight picked out the subtle iridescent colours in their plumage, revealing flashes of green, purple and bronze across the otherwise dark-looking bird.

Glossy ibis has gone from being a genuine rarity in Britain to an increasingly regular visitor, with birds now turning up at suitable wetland sites across the country. Although still a relatively scarce bird, it is no longer the exceptional find it once was, and some individuals have become remarkably faithful to particular sites.

The glossy ibis in front of the hide took flight and headed left towards the area where the first water rail had been feeding. As it approached, the ibis seemed to take exception to the water rail's presence, opening its wings to make itself look larger before breaking into a determined jog towards it. The display was enough to flush the water rail back into the safety of the reed cover.

We turned our attention to scanning through the other birds around the pools, of which there were plenty. The most notable were two spotted redshanks, both now fully moulted out of their dark breeding plumage and showing their much plainer winter appearance. While watching these, I picked out another wader further out beyond the spotted redshanks - a green sandpiper, feeding methodically along the water's edge.

We were pleased we'd made the effort to visit the hide and spent some more time enjoying the variety of birds on offer. Eventually, though, it was time to start making our way back towards the visitor centre and the car. We took our time along the way, stopping to watch the dragonflies and butterflies that were busy around the reserve.

Of note were two clouded yellows that flew through while we were at VP1, followed later by a rather special helice form of the clouded yellow, which was settled and feeding on knapweed. Clouded yellows, including the helice form, frequently nectar on knapweed, and by late summer it becomes one of their most important nectar sources, alongside scabious and thistles.

We reached the café and stopped for some drinks and ice creams, by now enjoying a very pleasant temperature. As we stood nearby, I spotted a hummingbird hawkmoth flying through and followed it to a buddleia, where it joined a variety of bees and butterflies feeding on the flowers.

We watched as it worked its way around the bush, often disappearing behind the foliage but occasionally hovering in full view as it moved from flower to flower. After a slow start to the year, I'm now regularly encountering hummingbird hawkmoths while out birding, and I'm even starting to see them in the garden, which has been a welcome change.

We chatted with some of the reserve volunteers before packing up and setting off for home, negotiating the road closures along the way.

On Monday morning, I headed to Charlbury for our regular pickleball session, and on the journey home I noticed that a pectoral sandpiper had been reported at Daventry Country Park. As you may have read in previous posts, I'd already missed several of these birds during two visits to RSPB Freiston Shore, so the opportunity to see one much closer to home was too good to pass up. I called Kev to see if he fancied joining me, and with a yes from him, I swung by his house on the way and we headed to the reservoir, where we paid for parking.

Reports suggested that the bird could be viewed from the dam, but when we arrived, we could see several green sandpipers, a ringed plover and what appeared to be two dunlin. At this distance, however, we couldn't be certain, as one of the dunlins looked subtly different from the other. We'd need to get closer. We don't often visit the site and weren't sure whether there was another viewing point around the perimeter that would give us a better look. We worked our way around the reservoir, and talking to some tree workers they confirmed there was a viewing platform, with a handful of birders already having headed in that direction. We met a couple coming back the other way, who confirmed that the pectoral sandpiper was still present - and, sure enough, it was one of the two birds we'd been suspicious of.

We joined another birder on the platform, who quickly directed us to where the pectoral sandpiper was now feeding. Within moments we were both onto it, scopes trained on the bird as we tried to capture a few record shots with our cameras and phones.

The exposed shoreline looked to be in excellent condition for attracting and holding waders, although the views were always going to be distant, with the water level having dropped considerably and the water's edge now well away from where we were standing. We watched the pectoral sandpiper for a while and were joined first by Stuart Munday and then Mike Alibone @bonxie. Mike commented on how difficult it was to get sharp images in the heat haze, which was causing considerable distortion at that distance. It was nice to catch up and have a chat with them both.

Having decided to go for the pectoral sandpiper, I had then noticed a report of a spotted crake at Upton Warren. Frustratingly, updates continued throughout the evening, with the bird showing exceptionally well and producing some superb photos on X, including those posted by Alan Boddington. That evening, Kev and I agreed we'd meet early the following morning and give it a go, hoping that the bird would stay overnight and, with any luck, continue to show well.

We skipped breakfast so we could get there as quickly as possible and, after parking up, made our way around to the Lapwing hide, where the spotted crake had been reported the previous day. It was still too early for any fresh news on the sightings boards, so we had no idea whether the bird had been seen that morning. On the way, we met two birders heading back who had been on site since 4.30am. They gave us the disappointing news that there had been no sign of the bird so far, and they were now heading home so they could get to work.

We entered the hide to find around half a dozen birders already waiting patiently. We joined them and settled in, scanning the exposed mud while watching green sandpipers and common sandpipers moving around the margins, with several more green sandpipers nearby.

Water rails began appearing from the reeds, and each emergence brought a brief injection of hope that the spotted crake might finally put in an appearance. Some quickly retreated back into cover, while others fed along the reed margin before disappearing. A couple of other individuals also showed on the far side of the pool, but none of them turned out to be the bird we were waiting for.

A familiar face then entered the hide - Harry, who runs the YouTube channel @Wingingitwithharry - and he joined us in the vigil. As the minutes ticked by, the chances of a no-show were beginning to increase. Then a fox appeared at the front right, on the opposite side of the exposed mud, and its arrival brought back memories of my first attempt to see a spotted crake at Brandon Marsh in Warwickshire in late July 2015. On that occasion, a fox had passed through just as I arrived and the bird was never seen again. Hopefully history wouldn't repeat itself here.

There was plenty of friendly conversation in the hide, with birders coming and going as the vigil continued, but there was still no sign of our target bird. Eventually, we had to admit defeat and leave. Home James and don't spare the horses.

As it turned out, we'd got our priorities the wrong way round. The spotted crake proved to be a single-day visitor, while the pectoral sandpiper remained for several more days. With hindsight, I should have gone for the spotted crake first and left the pectoral sandpiper until later. Ho hum - that's birding for you!

Year list: 282.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year list: 231.