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.
