Staines Reservoirs & Lemsford Springs :: 10 January 2026

After a brief discussion, Kev @kev07713 and I decided to head over to Staines Reservoir to look for the lesser and greater scaup that are still being reported, with the likelihood of black-necked grebes as a welcome bonus. We arrived early and stopped for breakfast, during which we heard a ring-necked parakeet fly over while Kev managed to see it as it vanished over the rooftops. Moments later a flock of ten swept over the car park - a good start to the day.

A short drive later we pulled into a lay-by near the causeway, choosing the side where most of the birds had been reported. We layered up, pulled on gloves, and headed out.

There’s a particular kind of cold at Staines Reservoir that seems to cut straight through everything. Even when it doesn’t feel especially bitter elsewhere, the vast open water and exposed sky create a sharper, more persistent chill. With nothing to slow the wind, it sweeps unhindered across the reservoirs, biting at your face and hands as you scan the distant flocks.

The water itself seems to amplify it - a grey, steel-coloured surface under a low winter sun that somehow makes the air feel even more raw. You can be wrapped in a thick jacket, hat and gloves and still find yourself shivering after an hour by the fence line or one of the viewing points. Fingers stiffen on camera buttons, and you’re aware of how long you’ve been standing still, yet the bleakness, the wind, and the wide-open water give the place a stark, wild atmosphere that feels entirely fitting.

A handful of people were already gathered at the first viewpoint, with a few more lined along the closer section of half-height fencing. Were they on one or both scaups? We joined them and learned that the lesser wasn’t currently on show, although the greater had been seen out in the bay. Two distinct groups of tufted ducks were visible farther offshore, with a large flock of mostly pochard tucked into the corner to our right. We scanned through the birds several times without success, until one of the now ten birders finally picked out the lesser scaup – asleep - typical.

Like most diving ducks, a lesser scaup’s day is built around short bursts of intense feeding followed by long periods of rest. Repeated diving burns a lot of energy and body heat, especially in winter, so once they’ve fed, they often rest for hours. On reservoirs such as Staines this is especially noticeable - they feed offshore, drift into rafts on open water, and with plenty of space and few predators feel safe enough to sleep openly. Cold and wind only increase the need to conserve energy, so they tuck their bills into their backs and doze - dive, refuel, sleep, repeat.

One of the enduring frustrations of Staines, though, is just how far away everything feels. The reservoirs can be alive with grebes, diving ducks, gulls and passing waders, yet so often they are tantalisingly beyond the comfortable reach of even a long lens. Through binoculars or a scope, the scene can look rich and busy while through the camera viewfinder it becomes a test of patience and compromise.

The birds tend to drift towards the middle, or at least out of range. Even with a 500–600mm lens, detail is hard to pull out, leaving heavily cropped images that never quite do the subject justice. Distance and moving water all soften what should be crisp feather detail into something frustratingly vague. It’s not that Staines lacks birds, far from it, but unless they choose to move closer to the banks, you’re often left with silhouettes rather than portraits. Watching a black-necked grebe or a scaup diving in perfect light, just that bit too far away, is both thrilling and maddening in equal measure. At least today we'd have a further excuse - the light wasn't great either.

While we waited for the lesser scaup to wake up we scanned around and on the far side of the northern water body we could see two great northern divers fishing, with a third bird further off to our right - east. Great northern divers are a winter highlight at Staines Reservoir. These powerful seabirds are often seen riding low on the open water, their heavy bodies and long necks giving them a distinctive profile even at great distance. In cold weather they favour large, deep reservoirs like Staines, which mimic the open sea and provide plenty of fish, making it one of the more reliable inland sites to catch up with them in winter.

Like the scaup, they can spend long periods resting between bouts of feeding, sometimes drifting far from the shore before suddenly vanishing beneath the surface on an effortless dive. When one finally surfaces hundreds of metres away, it underlines just how perfectly adapted these birds are to such a harsh, exposed environment and just how much patience it takes to watch, let alone photograph, them here. I settled for a simple record shot; there were other birds to track down.

Black-necked grebes are another regular winter feature at Staines Reservoir, often scattered across the open water or tucked in among rafts of diving ducks, their compact shapes and distinctive head patterns making them an irresistible target for anyone scanning the distant flocks. Last winter we encountered them in double figures, although this season there were thought to be around four. I picked one up feeding along the causeway while Kev had two at the eastern end of the southern basin. The bird I’d found gradually drifted closer, and in the end, I gave up waiting and walked along the causeway to try for some photos - just as a low winter sun broke through, making an already difficult task even more challenging.

In winter, many of the birds at Staines look subtly but unmistakably different. Bright breeding colours give way to softer, more muted tones: grebes lose their sharp contrasts, divers become greyer and more understated. It can make identification trickier, especially at range, but there’s a beauty in it too. These winter plumages are practical rather than showy, built for survival rather than display, and they blend perfectly into the grey water and low skies that dominate the reservoirs at this time of year.

Before long I was watching three grebes diving - two loosely keeping company with each other, while a third fished farther along the causeway. As I waited, the pair gradually drew close enough for me to fit them both into a single frame.

We turned our attention to the line of scattered tufted ducks straight out from the causeway, frustratingly distant. After a couple of careful scans, the drake greater scaup finally gave itself up - it had presumably been head-on and asleep the first time we looked, so we had overlooked it. Now it was partially side-on, giving us a better view. I hadn’t managed to see a greater scaup until mid-November last year, so it was satisfying to tick one in the first ten days of this year, even if the views were far from ideal.

There had been reports of a female black redstart at the far end of the causeway, but none of the other birders on site had seen it, and we couldn’t pick it out either. With that, we shifted our plan to Lemsford Springs. Our friends Bryan and Adrian had visited on Friday to see a showy jack snipe, and we understood that Nick @old_caley and Anne were planning to go today.

Lemsford Springs is a small but exceptionally wildlife-rich reserve on the edge of Welwyn Garden City in Hertfordshire, managed by the Herts and Middlesex Wildlife Trust. The reserve occupies around 4 hectares of former watercress beds fed by natural springs. Because the lagoons are spring fed, they rarely freeze in winter, providing a vital haven for waterbirds when other wetlands are frozen. The site is particularly famous for its wintering green sandpipers, which feed on abundant freshwater shrimp and have been the subject of long-term study.

The reserve is kept locked for visitors to protect the wildlife, and visits are arranged through the Trust’s reserve team. With reports of the showy jack snipe and higher levels of interest and visitors, the team had arranged access via a key system - donations to support their work was encouraged. On arrival, Kev dropped in our contribution before we headed in.

Within minutes we were on the reserve, spotting a buzzard drop onto a post in a neighbouring field before slipping into a hide - to our surprise, Nick and Anne were still there. They made room, and I settled into a seat by the window. They told us they had waited an hour earlier for the jack snipe to appear close to the right of the hide, only for it to retreat tight against the bank and disappear. Fortunately, a second bird was visible further out to our left, bobbing and feeding near a small earth mound.

Jack snipe are notoriously difficult to see, and Lemsford Springs is no exception. These tiny, cryptically plumaged waders blend almost seamlessly into the damp reedbeds and grassy margins, making each sighting a real test of patience and sharp eyes. Mostly active at dawn and dusk, they often remain hidden during the day in shallow vegetation or behind tussocks, so even a brief glimpse feels like a small victory.

This individual, however, has gained a reputation for being unusually “showy” and is the reason why so many birders have come to the reserve in recent days. The second bird offered a welcome bonus, keeping us entertained and hopeful as we waited, fingers crossed, for the main attraction to appear.

In the third photo below, two snipe sit side by side, offering a chance to compare the common snipe (left) with the jack snipe (right). The common snipe is noticeably larger with a more upright stance, while the jack snipe is smaller, shorter, and often appears hunched. The common snipe sports a bold central crown stripe with clear lateral stripes and a long straight bill while the jack snipe’s crown stripes are narrower and subtler, noticeably black at the centre, and its bill is proportionally shorter. The common snipe’s body is finely streaked and elongated, whereas the jack snipe’s plumage is more mottled, aiding its camouflage in dense vegetation. Longer legs on the common snipe make it appear taller, while the jack snipe’s shorter legs contribute to its crouched posture, perfect for staying hidden.

We waited and watched as grey herons, little egrets and handfuls of common snipe worked around the area, waiting for the emergence of our bird - we'd already been afforded views by the second bird but now we were just being greedy and hoping to be presented with a treat. Time passed. We watched as goldfinch, chaffinch, great and blue tits, redwing, a yellow-browed warbler, siskins, and lesser redpoll visited the sallows out in front. Common snipe fed in clearer view.

Lemsford Springs is renowned for hosting one of Europe’s longest-running studies of green sandpipers. Since 1983, Ken Smith, Barry Trevis, and Mike Reid have systematically monitored the local population, ringing around 200 individual birds and recording over 20,000 re-sightings, creating one of the most detailed long-term datasets for the species. Most of the colour-ringed birds spend the majority of the year at Lemsford, only departing briefly in late April to breed in Scandinavia, with tracking confirming breeding sites in Norway, Sweden, and Finland. Many return to the reserve year after year, highlighting Lemsford’s importance for studies of site fidelity and habitat use. As we waited, small groups of green sandpipers dropped in, feeding across the shallows.

Locals were remarking that they hadn’t seen the usual grey wagtail, but there was no need for concern, it soon appeared and returned later. Meanwhile, a pair of wrens fed busily, flitting along the full stretch of the visible area, and a kingfisher made a brief, brilliant flash through and disappeared down a channel behind.

Noisy ring‑necked parakeets called from the trees behind, their activity spiking as a squirrel scampered up and through the tree where they were perched.

Kev eventually wandered off to the other hide while I stayed put, still hoping for a better view of the jack snipe closer to us. By now patience amongst the birders was wearing thin and the hide slowly emptied until only two of us were left. After another five minutes the other chap began packing up, and a minute or two later I did the same, deciding to join Kev and try a different viewpoint.

As I lifted my scope and headed for the door, a flicker of movement caught my eye just beyond the crest of the bank at the water’s edge. I raised my binoculars and sure enough, there was the second snipe. I called it out to the other chap, who hurriedly started unpacking again, then rang Kev to let him know the bird might be showing and grabbed a few quick shots.

By the time Kev and three women birders arrived, the snipe had slipped back tight under the bank and out of view. We all settled in once more, and after five minutes it edged out again to feed, giving us another brief but welcome photo opportunity.

We decided to move on and try for the short-eared owls at Wallington, which had been reported again the previous day. On the way we paused to watch 16+ siskins feeding high in the alders, though there were no lesser redpolls among them - annoying as Kev had missed the bird in the sallows earlier. Then it was back to the car and off on the 20-minute drive.

We reached the designated gate to find three cars already pulled in. Kev squeezed us off the road but ended up parked behind another car, explaining he’d move if anyone needed to get out. We joined the small group of waiting birders, some of whom eventually drifted off to another gate further along the lane. Only one person had seen an owl so far that day - it had risen briefly before dropping back into the long grass. Our vigil began.

Another couple of birders arrived and general chat turned to local sightings and recent trips. One of them had a thermal monocular and scanned the fields; he picked up several birds, but none large enough to be an owl. We also worked the field behind us, which also looked promising habitat, and picked out a pair of stonechats along with a scattering of small birds, including linnet.

Out in front, Kev drew my attention to a fox he’d spotted through his scope, sitting on the crest of a distant slope and staring straight at us, too good not to photograph. Kev also picked out buzzards and kestrels in neighbouring counties.

We waited, but after 3.30pm we called it a day and headed for home as the light began to fade. With the drive back likely to push us close to 6.00pm, we didn’t feel too disappointed. We’ve already seen a short-eared owl this year, though it’s always a joy to watch them hunting, and there will no doubt be more chances to catch up with them.

Year list: 108.

Pitsford Water & Summer Leys :: 04 October 2025

Each of the past few weekends, Kev @kev07713 and I have ended up doing the same thing, talking about the weather and deciding where to head next. Over the last few days, a storm had been rolling in from the west, sweeping across from the USA and bringing heavy disruption to the north and west of the UK. By overnight, the wind had picked up in Banbury too, blustery and wet.

Since we had decided to stay local, there was no need for an early start. With winter drawing in, the mornings were still dark as we set out and still blustery. We made steady progress to the parking spot and were surprised to find it completely empty - we’d expected others, newly freed from the workweek, to be making the most of the day as well. From there, we followed the track past the feeder station tucked among the trees, the harsh calls of a couple of jays echoing overhead and made our way toward the Bird Club hide.

From the track and through our scopes, we could already make out a dense flock of ducks at the far end of the reservoir, with a scattering of waders mixed in. From the feeders, though, we couldn’t be sure if the bird we were hoping for was among them. Closing the distance by half, we set up again - and there it was, the American golden plover.

Inside the hide, we found ourselves alone. We chose the best angle for viewing and soon had the bird in sight. It remained distant, but through the scopes that hardly mattered. We watched as it fed steadily across the exposed mud of the reservoir bed, occasionally joined by three ruff, though they didn’t seem to associate closely.

Next came the more challenging part, trying to capture some record shots and video. True to form, I’d left my photo adapter in the car, so I used the camera on top of the tripod. The image quality was fine; only the magnification was lacking.

The American golden plover breeds in the Arctic tundra in northern North America (Alaska, northern Canada) and migrates to South America for the non-breeding season. In the UK they are a rare vagrant and show up most commonly in the autumn, and occasionally in spring. The species is now recorded annually in small numbers in the UK. Because adult golden love (the European species) are common and similar looking, their American cousins can be confusing. Juveniles such as this bird, and non-breeding individuals, can be hard to separate and observers look for combinations of plumage, underwing colour, structure and behaviour. Because records are rare, thorough documentation including good photographs are often required if the sighting is to officially be accepted.

Kev managed to capture some footage, recording through his scope and has posted it on X (Twitter) here. I struggled a bit more - a couple of other birders joined us in the hide and we helped them onto the bird.

Since the American bird is unfamiliar and differs slightly in plumage, size, and behaviour, it can draw the attention of lapwings, which are highly territorial and responsive. One lapwing from the flock along the water’s edge took flight to chase it away, having triggered an aggressive or investigative reaction.

We spent a considerable time watching and scanning the other birds, hoping to spot something noteworthy, but only observed returning migrants, such as a few pintails and wigeon. Early October often brings the first waves of migratory and wintering wigeon back to the UK. They arrive from more northerly parts of their range as the breeding season ends and conditions begin to deteriorate. The wigeon were mingling with other ducks, including teal and mallard, in this sheltered bay, presumably to rest, graze, and feel secure. As the month progresses, more birds will arrive, often responding to falling temperatures, shortening daylight, and, possibly, food availability - particularly the grasslands around the water on which they feed.

Day-by-day and week-by-week, rather than in a single massive influx, the numbers steadily increase. I expect that by mid-month, moderate-sized flocks will be well established here, with numbers reaching into the hundreds and, in some years, perhaps even thousands.

Eventually, we decided to make our way to the James Fisher hide to see if the bird was any closer from there. We could see that the sun was now breaking through the clouds, and although the bird might be closer, it could end up silhouetted against the light.

On the walk, we came across some goldcrests working through the tree canopy, with Kev hearing a call that sounded more like a firecrest. Unfortunately, we never located a bird matching the call before they disappeared. A treecreeper also worked its way up the back of a tree but was quickly lost from view.

When we reached the hide, we quickly spotted our bird feeding on the mud. As feared, the sun was directly behind it, so quality photos were out of the question - we would only have been able to pick out details from a silhouette. Around the main water body and in a small pool between the two hides, handfuls of great white egrets fed alongside little egrets, pintail, shoveler, and mallard.

By now, there were four of us squeezed into the little hide, and shortly afterward, a couple more birders arrived. Given the limited space and the likelihood that the photo opportunities wouldn’t improve anytime soon, Kev and I decided to leave. As we stepped out, I checked my phone and noticed a notification: someone had reported finding a camera lens hood and had placed it back in the Bird Club hide. I’d realised mine was missing in the hide and had been a little frustrated, but now I felt a wave of relief - someone had found it just outside the Bird Club hide. At least I wouldn't have to be quite so vigilant on the return walk.

We started back along the path, but our attention was quickly drawn upward. In the tree canopy above, a couple of common crossbills were working through the branches. Before we could even raise our cameras, they flitted away, vanishing almost as soon as we had located them. Undeterred, we continued scanning the trees, eyes constantly shifting across the foliage. Not long after, a small flock of birds dropped in, and we soon managed to identify them as siskins, bright and lively, flitting among the leaves. But within a few tens of seconds these moved on too, leaving behind a couple of goldfinches.

We made our way back to the Bird Club hide, retrieved my lens hood, and settled in once more to watch our bird and see whether anything new had appeared. The great white egrets were becoming more active, several taking flight across the water. One landed to the left of the hide, while three others continued toward the causeway.

A little later, we were joined by Dennis Woodward (well-known Warwickshire birder), and conversation turned to the bird out on the mud, possible supporter action at the upcoming Coventry vs. Sheffield Wednesday match, and the difficulties some of his friends were having getting north on their journey to Shetland.

A flicker of movement in the trees far to our left caught my attention. Scanning the branches, I found a sparrowhawk perched there, standing its ground despite the persistent attentions of a crow trying to drive it off.

We noticed the clouds beginning to darken and decided to move on toward Summer Leys. Along the way back to the car, we saw and heard both green and great spotted woodpeckers, as well as a stonechat, before stopping on the track beside the trees that hold the feeders. We scanned through the birds gathered there - greenfinches, goldfinches, great tits, blue tits, and a couple of chiffchaffs - but no sign of any tree sparrows. They’re probably still around, though their numbers have been declining. We knew a few had been seen here back in the spring.

Before long, Darren caught up with us and stopped for another chat, and then another birder came along the track behind us and struck up a conversation with Kev. While they talked, I kept scanning the water and noticed a solitary gull that caught my eye. Its features suggested it might be a yellow-legged gull. As I glanced away and then back, I saw it had taken off and as it passed overhead, I could confirm I’d been right, though too late to point it out to Kev.

We arrived at Summer Leys and headed first to the Pioneer hide, where a mother and son were already in place. Just as I reached the window, a water rail slipped quickly into the reeds - Kev was a moment too late to catch what the young lad had been trying to point out. The boy was knowledgeable for his age and proudly wielded a camera with a decent-sized lens, though his mum mentioned he was hoping for a larger one for Christmas. Kev, ever the entertainer, struck up a lively conversation with him until his mother reminded him of another appointment and they moved on.

With little else to see from that hide, we decided to continue to the Paul Britten (Double-Decker) hide. Jack snipe have begun returning to the country, and we’ve had good sightings from there in previous years. When we arrived, the hide was empty and almost as empty as the scrape itself, which was largely devoid of water. A couple of great white egrets and grey herons stood in the nearby grasses, and before long, one of the egrets took flight, presumably heading off in search of a suitable feeding spot. Aside from stretches of mud, there wasn’t much else to draw the eye.

In front of us the long-staying glossy ibis was feeding along a channel still with some mud - it waded slowly through dry bed and mud, often with its head lowered, probing the mud with its long, slender, downward-curved bill. The sensitive tip of the bill detects prey by touch, allowing the bird to snap it up quickly once contact is made. The glossy ibis has a dark, iridescent plumage that can appear chestnut, bronze, green, purple, or even metallic black depending on the light angle. Under flat or overcast light, the glossy ibis appeared mostly dark brown or black, and much of the metallic sheen was lost.

The glossy ibis left and I saw it relocated over towards the Pioneer hide where at least four photographers sat at the window with camera lenses hanging out the window. Kev's attention had been redirected to scanning for snipe and specifically a jack - he was very focused - if anyone would find one it would be Kev as he is amazing at picking out objects and birds in cover and/or at great distance.

Jack snipe are small, compact waders with mottled brown, buff, and black plumage - their streaked and barred pattern blends seamlessly with dead reeds, cut vegetation, and wetland detritus. When stationary, they are almost invisible, with only the subtle outline of their head or eyes occasionally betraying their presence. They prefer cut or trampled reed beds where water is shallow and cover is dense - typically, a jack snipe will stay crouched and motionless, relying on its camouflage to avoid detection.

Kev stopped as he scanned the far edge of the cut reeds and called me over. At first, it was almost impossible to tell, just a tiny, mottled blur among the browns and tans of the cut stalks. Then, with a practiced glance through his scope, he picked out the rounded shape of a jack snipe crouched low in the vegetation.

Despite the distance - well over 100 metres - the bird’s compact, cryptic form and its slight, hesitant movements betrayed its presence. Kev signalled again, and from so far away, the telltale streaked and barred plumage, perfectly blended with the cut reeds, was enough for us to confirm it - the black crown now showing "clearly".

The jack snipe remained almost motionless, unaware of the distant observer. Kev continued to watch, noting its tiny head, subtle breathing movements, and the way it adjusted its posture slightly, preening beneath the reeds. Every now and then, a tiny movement, a flick of the bill or a slight twitch of a leg, served as a reminder of the bird’s incredible camouflage and secretive nature. Then, after some subtle but unmistakable bobbing, the jack snipe revealed itself just enough - spotting it at that distance, so perfectly hidden among the cut reeds, was an incredible find, the kind that makes all that patient scanning worthwhile. Kev once again captured some great video, which he shared on X (Twitter) here.

The glossy ibis returned and repeated the feeding route but from further to our left, leaving before it reached directly in front.

Two Iron Age pigs, a cross between wild boar and Tamworth, have been living at the reserve for the past couple of months. They’ll be leaving soon, but they’ve reportedly been doing some fantastic conservation work during their stay. Their natural rootling behaviour has been used to turn up the soil and create patches of muddy, bare ground around the water margins. These areas provide excellent feeding habitat for wading birds, both resident and migratory, which probe the shallow water and soft mud for invertebrates and other small creatures.

The area they have been placed in had been choked with invasive New Zealand pygmy weed and Bur-reed, which offered poor conditions for waders. Thanks to the pigs, the vegetation has been cleared and the habitat greatly improved. I don't know if they are the same pigs (but highly likely) as those previously doing the same job at Lilbourne Meadows reserve, also in Northamptonshire.

It was now time to make tracks home, but as always, it had been a great day out.

Year list: 240.