Crockham Hill & Staines Moor :: 14 January 2026

The weather had been wet in recent days, but with a red-flanked bluetail within reach having been found on 11 January, Kev @kev07713 and I were determined to try and visit - it would be a first for us both. Weather was only part of the equation - we also had diaries to juggle. All we could do was hope the bird would play ball and remain until Wednesday, and fortuitously the weather was forecast to improve and might work in our favour. Encouraging news came on Tuesday when our friends Bryan and Adrian reported that the bird was still present, showing for around 20 seconds at a time but between times was very elusive. Even so, photographs were hard to come by, and the rain certainly didn’t help.

The red-flanked bluetail is a small passerine that has long enjoyed near-mythical status among UK birders. Once regarded as an exceptional rarity, this Siberian breeder has become a regular autumn vagrant, particularly along Britain’s east coast. For much of the 20th century it was a once-in-a-generation bird, but that perception began to change from the 1990s as records increased steadily, especially in autumn. This rise culminated in 2017, when the species was removed from the British Birds Rarities Committee (BBRC) list. It is now recorded annually, though it remains far from common - there are also rare wintering records, showing the species can survive UK conditions when food is available.

Roughly robin-sized, the red-flanked bluetail is unmistakable when seen well. Adult males show rich blue upperparts and tail, contrasting with clean white underparts and bright orange-red flanks. Our bird, however, was more subtle: females and juveniles are brown above with a distinctive blue tail and rump, a pale eye-ring, and muted orange-red flanks. As reported by our friends, patience is rewarded with brief but striking views.

Even though it’s no longer classed as a rarity, the red-flanked bluetail remains a symbol of autumn birding magic - a reminder that birds from the far edge of Siberia can still turn up in a British hedge on the right day.

We set off in freezing conditions, the sky having cleared overnight, and I was a little late picking up Kev after spending a few minutes scraping ice from the car. Once on the road, though, traffic was kind and we made steady progress to Crockham Hill, on the edge of Kent. After parking up, we joined a couple of dozen birders scattered around the dell and gully. Most were positioned on the higher side of the dell above the gully, so we joined them - the bird, we were told, had been seen there shortly before our arrival. After about ten minutes I noticed that Kev had wandered off, though I assumed he would return as his scope was still standing behind the group. In the meantime, a firecrest and goldcrest worked through the area, along with several nuthatches, while blue tits repeatedly popped up to grab our attention.

After about 30 minutes there was a sudden stir on the lower side of the dell and a few people began heading down, suggesting the bird might have been seen. I grabbed the scope and moved quickly to close the distance, joining a small group scanning high in the trees. I picked up a bird silhouetted against the sky, but before I could stand the scope on the tripod it dropped down and disappeared from view. I couldn’t count that as a tick as although I’d seen the bird, I hadn’t had a view good enough to confirm the species. Kev, on the other side, was luckier: he managed to see the bird properly and even managed a couple of photos, providing confirmation of the sighting. I hoped that I/we'd get another opportunity.

We waited, searched and scanned for the next hour and a half - some of the time searching with people using thermal monoculars or others that had visited on previous days that shared where sightings had been most frequent. Still, we couldn't get another sighting. We could see some people beginning to drift away, perhaps having lost patience - this was very much a waiting game, and despite all eyes on the area, there was still no sign of the bird.

Kev and I edged up to the higher side of the dell, where one of the birders told us he had just seen the bird before it flew up and dropped back and away into the bushes. We waited, but it seemed to have already moved through. Kev then relocated down a nearby short track while I stayed between him and the birder who had seen it most recently, hoping it might still be in the area.

Moments later we heard a whistle, and another birder along a nearby track signalled that someone ahead was on the bird. I called to Kev and we followed quickly away from the dell and gully. We drew level with the birder, who explained that he’d just seen the bird on a small mound at the foot of a tree - the area was dense with thin trees. Seconds later it appeared, flicking up and through the branches - a lifer. We followed as it moved quickly to the right, edging further away from where we’d been and only pausing briefly along the way.

After a minute or two the bird settled on a branch and paused, eventually stopping to preen, crucially on the edge of a clearing and in full view, with nothing obstructing our line of sight. It stayed put long enough for all of us, about half a dozen in total, to get onto it and start taking photos. In hindsight, Kev wished he’d taken some video, but in the moment none of us realised it would show in one place for a couple of minutes.

Eventually, as all good things do, the bird dropped down and moved off, working back into denser cover once more. It was still often visible but mostly obscured by branches and twigs. We watched for another five minutes or so before retreating and making our way back to the car. As we passed other birders, many still waiting at the top of the dell, we let them know about the recent sighting.

Kev also posted the update on BirdGuides, noting that the bird was no longer in the same area repeatedly reported over previous days. Unfortunately, that information was ignored and the earlier details were simply cut and pasted again. Hopefully the bird will continue to show and be found if it moves further from its former regular haunt.

Back at the car, we discussed how to spend the rest of the afternoon - the day had moved on, and we were already nearing lunchtime. After visiting Staines Reservoir on Saturday, we’d continued on to Lemsford Springs to see jack snipe, rather than calling in at Staines Moor. This time, with Staines Moor almost on our route home, we decided to stop there in the hope of catching up with water pipits, pausing enroute for a quick bite of lunch.

We pulled into a parking spot and crossed the railway bridge, first hearing and then seeing ring-necked parakeets, then a great spotted woodpecker. Out on the moor, we noted that the water level was lower than on our visit last year, which surprised us given the recent rainfall. As a result, there were no pipits immediately in view on either side of the river.

We continued on and crossed another bridge, where we paused to listen. Almost immediately we heard a water pipit and scanned the field ahead, but without success. A few minutes later one pipit flew up, followed by another - both water pipits. We lost them into cover, but only a short while later one rose again, calling as it flew off. I managed to follow it and, fortuitously, it landed on the top of a bush, albeit at a considerable distance. The bird was easy enough to see through the scope, but I struggled with the camera; Kev had more luck with his phonescoping. Within a couple of minutes, it was up again and gone, dropping out of view once more. Meadow pipits flew through, and a couple of green woodpeckers perched on distant bushes.

We then heard the calls of a water pipit further down the river towards the railway tracks and noticed a couple of photographers stopping on the opposite bank. We edged closer and set up our scope to scan the pools beside the river bend where it turns to run parallel with the tracks. We soon picked up a couple of water pipits feeding in and along the water’s edge, sometimes close together and at other times well apart and appeared to be different individuals from the bird we’d watched earlier. A few meadow pipits worked the area too, while on the river we watched two little grebes running across the water and a grey wagtail foraging up and down.

We also noted buzzards, grey herons, a little egret, a sparrowhawk, and even ran into a couple of birders we sometimes meet out and about. Before leaving, we heard a Cetti’s Warbler moving through the reeds along the water’s edge, catching brief glimpses as it relocated every thirty seconds or so. We tried to follow it but lost it once it reached the trees, though not before enjoying our best views of it.

Later, as we broke away from watching the water pipits, we heard the warbler again and retraced our steps, repeating the same walk. Once more we had fleeting views as it worked its way back towards the trees, and on this occasion, we were lucky enough to see two birds burst from the reeds, fly the length of them, and drop back out of view. A decent photo wasn’t possible, but I managed a record shot - a year tick regardless.

With the light fading and no recent reports of owls on the moor, we packed up and headed for home, progress initially slow thanks to the time of day and traffic on the M25.

Year list: 113.

Upper Hollesley Common & The Naze :: 02 November 2025

The brown shrike is an exceptionally rare visitor to the UK, typically appearing as a vagrant from eastern Asia. Most records occur in autumn (late September to early November), likely caused by migration disorientation or strong easterly winds. This species breeds across eastern Russia, Mongolia, China, and Japan, and winters in tropical Asia, including India, Thailand, and Myanmar. To date, there have been around 46 records of brown shrike in the UK, with notable sightings in Shetland, Yorkshire, the Isles of Scilly, Cornwall, and London.

Recently, one of these rare shrikes was discovered at Upper Hollesley Common, Suffolk, near a Ministry of Defence (MOD) compound, where it has remained for over a week. The bird was first reported on Wednesday 22 October, and while initial reports were uncertain, confirmation soon followed - identifying it as a first-winter brown shrike. Early on, the bird was often seen perching along the fence line along the road and nearby bushes, easily visible from the road. More recently, it has spent more time within the MOD compound, which has restricted access, though it frequently perches on both the inner and outer fencing, offering good viewing opportunities for birders.

The MOD compound forms part of the Defence Training Estate, which includes some areas open to the public, though entry to the secure compound itself is prohibited. As a military training site, access is restricted during live firing or exercises, when red flags or lamps signal active danger zones. However, public access remains available on designated paths and registered common land under the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000, including much of Upper Hollesley Common. Kev @kev07713 had already visited the site the previous Wednesday with his wife and seen the shrike, but given the bird’s rarity, he was happy to visit for second helpings. Due to other commitments, we decided to go birding on Sunday rather than our usual Saturday and I planned to pick Kev up at 5.00am., allowing us to arrive early and remain flexible should any other notable species appear nearby.

The journey brought intermittent rain, though conditions improved as we arrived. It was dry when we reached the car park, and with no other birders present, we set out to search for the shrike. As we neared the fence line, the rain returned, prompting us to take shelter beneath some trees while scanning the area.

Within ten minutes, Kev called out - he had the bird in his scope and urged me to take a look to add my lifer. Up to that point, our views had been limited to stonechats, yellowhammers, skylarks, and robins. The shrike was perched far down along the fence, so we decided to move closer, taking cover near a small group of trees. From there, we managed to capture a few photos and videos before the bird dropped out of sight, remaining hidden for about twenty minutes. Despite the lingering drizzle, both we and the bird gradually began to dry out.

We spent the next couple of hours watching the shrike and a supporting cast of other species.

Upper Hollesley Common features a mix of coniferous woodland and heathland, providing excellent habitat for common crossbills, which feed on pine cone seeds. They’ve been particularly conspicuous in recent days, often seen drinking from puddles on the ground — several fine photographs have appeared on social media. Perhaps because of the weather, we only saw a few flying overheads with none perched or feeding on the ground.

The heathland is also home to Dartford warblers and woodlarks, both key species for this habitat. Dartford warblers often follow stonechats, so spotting one may lead to another. They are best observed on warm, calm days, as they tend to stay low in windy weather. Woodlarks are frequently heard singing from fence posts or in flight, favouring open heathland with short vegetation, particularly near pine plantations.

At first, we only heard Dartford warblers calling, but on a couple of occasions we managed brief views of one perched on low scrub, and once enjoyed a longer look as it showed well on the front fence. Every so often, a yellowhammer would drop in to share the barbed wire perch above the chain-link fence.

In the distance, a couple of woodlarks called as they circled overhead. I couldn’t seem to keep them in focus, though Kev was snapping away quite happily. Eventually, they dropped out of view.

Before long, a few other birders began to appear, their numbers gradually growing until there were around a dozen of us. Most had decided to take their chances once the rain eased, and we were able to point out where the shrike was showing best. Among them was Oli Beacock @oli_beacock, who we’ve bumped into several times before, and another birder we last met at Winterton Dunes while watching the lesser grey shrike.

We had another close pass from the two woodlarks, but once again I failed to get a photo, much to Kev’s surprise and disappointment.

As time slipped by, we checked BirdGuides to plan our next move. Oli and the other birder mentioned they were heading to The Naze, where a Pallas’s warbler had been reported earlier in the day with confirmed sightings. We said we'd do the same, parting ways with a quick “see you there.”

Oli had mentioned that the best place to park was at The Naze Tower, and we found the parking fees to be quite reasonable. The tower, located near Walton-on-the-Naze on the Essex coast, is an early 18th-century navigational landmark built to aid shipping along this stretch of coastline. It was constructed in 1720–1721 by Trinity House, the authority responsible for lighthouses and navigation aids around England and Wales.

Standing 26 metres (86 feet) tall, the octagonal brick tower originally served as a daymark; a visual reference point for sailors navigating the Thames Estuary and Harwich approaches. At the time, the surrounding low-lying coast was prone to fog and shifting sands, making navigation hazardous.

During the Napoleonic Wars, the tower was used as a signalling station, and later, in the 19th century, it was repurposed for coastguard observation. In World War II, it again took on a defensive role, used by the Royal Observer Corps for spotting enemy aircraft.

Over the centuries, coastal erosion has dramatically altered the surrounding landscape. The cliffs of the Naze continue to recede, and significant conservation efforts have been made to preserve both the tower and the fragile coastline around it. Today, The Naze Tower is a Grade II listed building and serves as a heritage attraction, housing an art gallery, museum, and viewing platform offering panoramic views across the North Sea, Hamford Water, and the surrounding nature reserve - a favourite spot for migrating birds and birdwatchers alike.

We set off in the direction indicated on BirdGuides, and before long we were caught up by another birder carrying a serious lens and tripod with a gimbal head. We decided to follow him down to the spot where good views had reportedly been had earlier in the day. On the way, we paused for a quick chat and watched two jays fly through.

We joined half a dozen birders watching long-tailed / blue / great tits, goldcrests, chiffchaffs and more working through the trees, and a siskin over. We could swear that 90% of birds were goldcrests! - some getting close as they fed around us.

We searched high and low, and Oli joined us for part of the time, but despite enjoying the search and watching a variety of other species, we never managed to locate the Pallas’s warbler, although we did hear a couple of possible calls.

Eventually, time ran out, and we said our goodbyes, beginning the long journey home along the M25 and up the M40, a tiring but satisfying end to the day.

Year list: 245.

Walsey Hills NR & Warham Greens :: 18 October 2025

Our discussion about where to go birding on Saturday was brief as Kev @kev07713 already had a plan. A trip to Norfolk, he suggested, might give me the chance to finally see a dusky warbler (a potential lifer), along with several other top species in the area. Even if things didn’t quite go as hoped, in Norfolk there’s rarely such a thing as a bad day’s birding. We’d stop for breakfast at our usual spot with Kev driving this time, and given the distance, we planned for another early start.

The dusky warbler is a small, plain-looking leaf-warbler from the eastern Palearctic that occasionally strays to Britain as a vagrant. It’s classed as a scarce but regular visitor - not a routine migrant, yet far from a one-off rarity. Most British records occur in late autumn, though a few hardy individuals have been known to overwinter in mild years.

Sightings were once extremely rare - the first European record was in Orkney in 1913 but reports increased steadily from the 1960s onward, with notable influxes during 1990 and 1994. By the early 2000s, several hundred records had been logged. Improved observer coverage and growing numbers of active birders have certainly helped, so long-term trends should be interpreted with care. As the species became more frequent, its treatment by rarity committees has also evolved.

In Britain, dusky warblers are most often found at coastal and island sites, where migrants from Asia make landfall. Classic locations include the east and northern coasts of Britain and Ireland, particularly at well-watched headlands, ringing stations, and reed-fringed scrub.

On their breeding grounds, dusky warblers inhabit the taiga and wet shrub habitats of northeastern Russia, Mongolia, and northeast China, favouring damp, dense vegetation where they forage low in cover. In winter they migrate south to South and Southeast Asia, from the Indian subcontinent to southern China.

Birds reaching Britain are thought to be drift migrants or weather-displaced individuals, blown westward by autumn storms or following unusual migration routes. As with many eastern vagrants, annual numbers vary depending on weather systems and breeding success in their core range.

At first glance, a dusky warbler can easily be overlooked among chiffchaffs and other small warblers. It’s a small, compact warbler with dark, earthy-brown upperparts and cold grey-buff underparts, appearing plainer and darker than a chiffchaff. The strong, pale supercilium (eyebrow) is long and sharply defined, especially in front of the eye, giving the bird a bright, alert expression. It has short wings, a rounded tail, a fine bill, and typically dark brown to blackish legs.

The call is often the best clue: a sharp, dry “tack” or “tchak”, reminiscent of a lesser whitethroat or two small stones being tapped together. It’s usually given repeatedly from low in cover and is often the first sign of a dusky warbler flitting through autumn brambles or scrub.

The Walsey Hills Reserve is well signposted, with roadside parking available alongside the site, and occasionally space in the small NWT car park at the southern end of the East Bank. We were lucky on arrival to find a spot in the layby right by the track leading into the reserve.

Walsey Hills Migration Watchpoint is a compact three-acre hillside reserve beside the A149 coast road, lying between the villages of Cley and Salthouse. Its mix of thorn and gorse scrub offers excellent cover for migrating birds, often drawing in scarcer species. Over the years, the site has produced an impressive list of rarities, including red-backed shrike, alpine swift, honey buzzard, Richard’s pipit, little bunting, and a trio of eastern warblers: dusky, yellow-browed, and Pallas’s. More regular visitors include Cetti’s warbler, pied flycatcher, common redstart, and firecrest, making it a great spot to check at almost any time of year.

As we walked in, we quickly encountered other birders, all scanning and listening intently - the bird had been vocal earlier, especially before the birders had entered the hedges. Soon enough, we heard its distinctive call, accompanied by glimpses of two yellow-browed warblers and flitting goldcrests. We continued scanning and listening, but although the call was clear, the bird itself remained elusive. Occasionally, a couple of birders would claim to have seen it flick past, though any views were fleeting.

Kev wandered down the track while I stayed put. Far back in the willows, our target finally appeared, distant and high, often partially obscured. I managed a tick, though the view wasn’t ideal, and Kev still hadn’t returned. It seemed that those who had taken a narrow path into the hedge clearing were getting better views. The bird then flew through into a tall stand of brambles, and I repositioned, hoping for a better view, bumping into Kev as I waited. While we scanned, two female blackcaps flitted in and out of sight, adding a bit of extra interest to the standstill.

We walked back to our original spot and saw the bird again, still frustratingly deep in cover. From a narrow path to our left came a steady chatter; around fifteen birders were gathered in a small clearing within the hedge, clearly getting better views. After a few minutes we decided to join them, and it wasn’t long before the dusky warbler appeared high in a tree to our right, possibly even visible from the main path. It was tricky to photograph, but when it briefly dropped out from the dense leaves, I managed a couple of record shots before it slipped back into cover.

We could still hear it calling and soon caught glimpses as it moved restlessly through the branches, always half-hidden by twigs and foliage. After some patient waiting, it worked its way into a tree to our left, giving us better, though still brief, views. I managed a few more decent photos, but not quite the clear shot I’d been hoping for.

Another ten or fifteen minutes passed before the dusky repeated its earlier circuit along the same branches. This time I crouched low, finding a gap through the scrub and a clear line of sight up to the branch it was climbing along - got it! Beside us we had Shaun Evans @sevans1032, a birder we have met on several outings previously, mostly around the Somerset/Gloucestershire/South Wales regions. He was with his wife and so, after seeing the bird well he disappeared off to catch up with her.

Kev was equally frustrated in his attempts to photograph the bird, as were most others trying their luck. Eventually, we decided we’d had our fill, and it was time to make room for others to enjoy the views we’d been lucky to get. We headed back to the car, content. As we packed away our gear, a large flock of pink-footed geese swept across the skyline, while redwings and fieldfares passed overhead in small groups and singles. We checked BirdGuides and decided to make our way to Warham Greens as a Hume's warbler had been reported there earlier in the morning.

We made our way up the track and parked the car, this time taking our scopes and tripods in the hope of scanning across the saltmarsh. The site offers a superb mix of habitats that make it a magnet for migrants and a haven for resident wildlife. The area lies between Stiffkey and Wells-next-the-Sea, overlooking vast saltmarshes, creeks, and tidal mudflats that stretch out toward the Wash and the North Sea.

Inland from the marsh, a low coastal ridge of gorse, bramble, hawthorn, and elder scrub runs parallel to the shore, the classic North Norfolk “bushy edge” that shelters tired migrants after sea crossings. In autumn, this strip can be alive with warblers, chats, flycatchers, and the occasional rarity. Paths through the scrub open out onto patches of rough grassland, bracken, and sandy trackways, while the seaward side offers panoramic views across the Cley–Salthouse–Wells saltmarsh system.

The combination of coastal scrub, wet meadows, and open marsh provides rich feeding and resting areas for a wide variety of species. In spring and autumn, it’s especially renowned for migrant passerines, while winter brings large flocks of waders, wildfowl, and raptors such as marsh, hen, pallid harriers, occasional merlin, long- or short-eared owls (a long-eared owl had been present a couple of days before), and peregrine.

We stopped to chat with a chap who was just leaving, and he explained that the Hume’s warbler had apparently gone AWOL. A few people were still claiming brief glimpses, but none were confident enough to report it again - the last confirmed sighting had been early that morning. We passed a guided group on the way and soon reached the copse where the bird had last been seen, joining more than a dozen birders already searching the area in hope and soon were joined by the guide and his followers.

Among the crowd under the trees we spotted Shaun Evans and his wife, and Des, our infrequent East Coast birding companion. We began working through the flocks, and, just as at Walsey Hills, there were plenty of goldcrests along with at least two yellow-browed warblers. After a while, Kev decided to head out onto the edge of the saltmarsh to see what else was about, while I stayed behind to continue the search for the Hume’s.

I continued to watch the yellow-browed warblers flitting through the tree canopy, and at one point one dropped lower through the branches to the side where Kev and Des were standing. I decided to join them, figuring the Hume’s had likely moved on, and if it reappeared, we’d hear the commotion and could return quickly.

Kev mentioned that, in addition to a buzzard passing through, he’d also seen a peregrine, which we later picked up again at long range through the scopes. He was slightly frustrated to learn that not long after he’d followed the buzzard, a honey buzzard had been reported a short way along the coast - possibly the same bird, though there was no way to be certain.

Out over the saltmarsh, marsh harriers drifted back and forth, both males and cream-crowned females quartering the area. One female passed close over a feeding group of golden plovers, sending them up in a tight, wheeling flock before they settled again and melted back into the marsh.

I spotted a raptor coming into view and called Kev over - it didn’t look like a marsh harrier. I thought it could be a hen harrier, identifiable by its striking white rump, though it remained too distant for even an attempt at a record shot. Later, a similar bird appeared, but before it could come closer, a curlew took exception and chased it off. The harrier clearly got the message and veered away, eventually disappearing from sight. We and the other birders were fairly confident that this was the recently returned pallid harrier, though my record shots were inconclusive at best.

We lingered for a while, hoping for better views of the pallid harrier, and wandered around the area, picking up stonechats, skylarks, pipits, kestrels, red kites, and a few more marsh harriers. Eventually, though, time was against us, and we began making our way back to the car.

Kev paused to point out a shaggy inkcap mushroom at the side of the track. Our friend Dave South has been posting photos of all sorts over the past couple of weeks - he really is a fun-guy. I couldn’t resist: I’ll get my coat!

It is a mushroom that’s hard to miss. Its tall, slender white cap is covered in distinctive shaggy scales, giving it the look of a lawyer’s wig, which is exactly where it got its nickname. Young mushrooms have white gills, but as they age these turn pink and eventually blacken into a liquid “ink”, a quirky trait that made them useful for writing back in the day. The hollow, white stem often features a movable ring, adding to its dramatic, almost architectural appearance.

Shaggy inkcaps are common across the UK, popping up in grasslands, roadside verges, lawns, and nutrient-rich wastelands, especially after a wet spell. They usually appear from late summer into autumn, often growing overnight in large clusters or singly.

For the adventurous forager, they’re edible when young, but don’t mix with alcohol, as some related species can cause a nasty reaction. Even if you’re just out for a walk, they’re a fun and photogenic find, perfect for a quick photo stop before getting back to birdwatching.

Halfway back to the car, we came across a flock of linnets, around 75–100 birds in the fields to our right. We watched them wheel back and forth in the air before eventually settling back onto the ground. We scanned through the flock, hoping to pick out the brambling that had been reported about an hour earlier, but if it was with them, it remained impossible to separate from the mass of linnets.

After the breeding season, linnets begin to gather into flocks, typically from late summer into early autumn. These post-breeding groups can range from a handful of birds to several hundred, offering more eyes to spot seeds in stubble fields, grasslands, and hedgerows. Flocking also provides safety in numbers, reducing the risk of predation by sparrowhawks, kestrels, and corvids, while allowing juvenile and adult birds to mix. These flocks often form ahead of the winter dispersal to lowland feeding areas.

Kev then drove us home, getting me back in time for food, a quick shower, and an evening out to visit friends.

Year list: 242.