Birding home from Fife :: 15-16 April 2026

We’d been invited to join family up in St Andrews, where my brothers were playing golf and staying at a particularly lovely hotel. The weather was glorious, if a little breezy, and we enjoyed some time away with my mum including a scenic drive to Kingsbarns, where we sat overlooking the beach. While there, I noted eider ducks, gannets, guillemot, razorbills, sand martins, sandwich terns, a swallow, and four red-throated divers.

On the final day, we met my mum and youngest brother for breakfast, then spent the rest of the morning with them before they set off for Ayrshire - that left us to make the most of the afternoon. I’d booked a hotel in Glenrothes for that night, so we stayed local and headed to Harbour View in Methil, where surf, white-winged, and Stejneger’s scoters had been reported regularly.

We arrived and climbed up onto the bank to look out over the sea, immediately spotting hundreds of scoters and eider ducks, though the scoters were most distant. Earlier that morning, Charlotte had remarked that the wind had dropped, but by now it had picked up again and if anything, it was even stronger. The sea was rough, and the scoters drifted in and out of view with the swell. We could make out velvet and common scoters; now the challenge was to pick out one of the other three species, each represented only by single birds.

Try as we might, there was no indication that any of the rarer species were out there, or at least none visible through the binoculars or scope. Eventually, Charlotte grew tired of the wind buffeting us and retreated to the car, while I carried on along the wall to see if anything might be visible further to our left.

I kept scanning the water and the scoters, and was able to pick out ten red-breasted mergansers. Further out to the left, I also had distant views of a pair of long-tailed ducks - not as good as the individual at Rushy Common near Oxford, but this time at least in their natural habitat on the sea. I continued looking for something that stood out from the crowd and found more razorbills and guillemot but as for scoters they all appeared as velvets or commons.

I had some lunch in the car with Charlotte, then headed back up to the top of the bank for another scan of the scoters, hoping they might have come closer or reshuffled. No such luck. The only real change was the weather: the earlier broken sunshine had given way to a grey, overcast sky. I spent a while scanning and hoping, but every bird that looked promising turned out, on closer inspection, to be a velvet.

In the end, I suspected I’d probably exhausted Charlotte’s patience, so I returned to the car and suggested we try Lower Largo, where a surf scoter had been reported the previous day - she graciously agreed.

It was still windy, though being less exposed it didn’t feel quite as intense. I set up the scope and scanned the lines of eider ducks, searching for any scoters, and picked out six velvets far out to the right. As I worked that area, a bird flew through; when I swung the scope to follow it, I could see it was a red-throated diver. I saw at least a couple more, all at distance, during the visit. Closer in, but tricky to keep track of in the swell, was another drake long-tailed duck, diving repeatedly.

At least five razorbills were working closer to the far shore, with another lifting off and flying further out from the land. As I followed it, I picked up a Manx shearwater shearing low across the waves. I managed to track it in the scope, but it was far too distant for a worthwhile photo, though that didn’t stop me trying.

To top it all off, the rain set in and drove Charlotte and I back to the car. By now it was around teatime, so we decided to head down to our hotel for an evening meal and some rest. Before turning in, I checked the latest reports and saw that the black-throated thrush had been recorded at Murshiel for a second day. That was enough to make a plan: we’d head there after breakfast. There had also been a hoopoe not far from the site, along with a few other possibilities down the east coast on our way home. I booked a hotel in Middlesbrough, one I’d stayed in before for work, to round off the following day.

After overnight rain, we set off under an overcast sky, with changeable conditions along the route. As we neared the site, the roads became progressively narrower until we were climbing through moorland on near single-track lanes. I mentioned to Charlotte that it looked ideal for grouse habitat, and within minutes I pulled over to point out a red grouse in the heather to our right. With farm vehicles approaching from behind, I put on the hazard lights, grabbed a quick photo, and then moved on.

A few miles further on, the SatNav indicated that we were nearing the area where the black-throated thrush had been reported. As we approached, we spotted a small group of cars pulled in by the roadside, with one birder in the process of assembling his tripod and scope at the back of his vehicle. We pulled in alongside them - there was enough space on the grass to park without obstructing traffic - then grabbed our optics and followed him down to join a handful of others already in place.

Observers had noted the bird feeding in fields alongside a flock of fieldfares, often taking worms and suggesting it would be out in the open rather than tucked away in cover. We asked if it was in view; no one had their optics trained on anything obvious, but we were told it was there, just temporarily obscured by a sheep. Moments later it reappeared, helped by the sheep moving off to the left and the bird hopping to the right. Wow, and a lifer for me.

The black-throated thrush is a scarce but regular vagrant to the UK, prized by birders for its striking appearance and typically brief, unpredictable stays. They breed across central and eastern Siberia and normally winter in parts of southern Asia. Its appearance in Britain is therefore the result of westward vagrancy, most often associated with continental weather patterns that displace birds during migration - there is a bias towards the east coast of England and Scotland, reflecting arrival from continental Europe.

Recent years have seen a slight increase in records, possibly linked to improved observer coverage and reporting, though weather remains the key driver. Multi-day individuals, like those occasionally found in upland fringes or coastal farmland, offer rare opportunities for prolonged views. We had been fortunate and this bird had stayed for us.

We continued watching as people came and went, the weather gradually closing in. Rain began to fall, though we were spared the worst of it under the trees on the opposite side of the road from the field. From our left came the rumble of a large lorry; as it drew level, the thrush lifted, flew to the right, then swung back and disappeared behind, and over, the trees. With the rain settling in, everyone drifted back to their cars in search of shelter.

We figured it might be a while before the bird returned, if it did at all, and felt we’d had reasonable views, so we set off south along a network of narrow lanes and B-roads toward Newcastle, stopping for lunch enroute.

Crossing the River Tweed at Coldstream, we pushed on through roadworks-clogged Newcastle, over the Tyne Bridge, and down to Boldon Flats. A level crossing held us up a couple of miles short of the site, but we eventually arrived to find a single car pulled in by the roadside. Charlotte asked if we should change our shoes; I explained we’d actually be viewing from the pull-in and just needed to locate the bird out on the pools in front of us.

The main pool stretched roughly 100 metres from front to back, and as I scanned the water, I picked out a few avocets, black-tailed godwits, and various duck species. Reaching the far right-hand side of the pool, I found it - the marsh sandpiper we’d come to see. My first had been at Normandy Lagoon a couple of years ago and was very distant; this one was no different, feeding along the back edge of the pool at a full 200 metres.

As it worked its way towards the left-hand side, I hoped it might fly closer to the near edge and halve the distance. Instead, a curlew appeared and walked straight towards it, prompting our bird to turn back and continue feeding along the far side in the opposite direction.

The marsh sandpiper is a notable, rare but regular vagrant to the UK being slim, elegant, and strikingly pale compared with most of its relatives. They breed across the steppe wetlands of eastern Europe and central Asia, wintering mainly in Africa, the Middle East, India, and Australasia. The birds that reach Britain are therefore well off-course, typically arriving as part of wider post-breeding dispersal or weather-driven movements from the east. In Britain it is classified as a scarce vagrant, but unlike many rarities it has become almost annual in recent decades.

It is often described as “a delicate greenshank”, but closer inspection reveals several key features: it has a very slim, long-legged appearance; a fine, slightly upturned bill; pale grey-brown upperparts with clean white underparts; a relatively long neck.

With no immediate sign that our views were likely to improve, I checked BirdGuides and saw that an Iberian chiffchaff was still being reported not far from our route, between our current location and where we planned to stay for the night. We decided to do the sensible thing, packed up, and headed for Hardwick Hall Country Park, parking in the main car park and paying the reasonable fee.

From there we dropped down onto the track running through the trees and followed the path towards the pinned location. Along the way we picked up the usual woodland birds - common chiffchaffs, various tit species, and chaffinches moving through the canopy.

As we neared the indicated area, we picked up the distinctive Iberian chiffchaff call—one of the most useful field characters for separating it from the closely related common chiffchaff. The call itself is typically a clear, disyllabic “hu-weet”, softer and more musical than the flatter call of common chiffchaff. The full song, when given, is more distinctive still, often rendered as a “chiff-chiff-chiff-chiff–dr-dr-dr-dr–swit-swit-swit” sequence, combining a rattling introduction with a series of rising, whistled notes. Below is hopefully a player that gives an impression of the call, not the actual bird we visited. The recording is attributed to Joren van Schie, and recorded in the Netherlands earlier this month.

The Iberian chiffchaff is a scarce but increasingly regular vagrant to Britain. It is a close relative of the widespread common chiffchaff, and for many years it went completely unrecognised in Britain, hidden among the large numbers of its more familiar cousin. Since its identification as a separate species, it has become clear that Iberian chiffchaffs occur in the UK almost annually, though still in very small numbers. Most records involve singing males in spring (April–June), with a smaller number of autumn or winter records likely involving displaced or dispersing birds. Many are found inland at well-watched birding sites, suggesting that detection has improved rather than the species suddenly becoming more frequent.

Initially our bird was high in the tree canopy and calling but from time to time it would go quiet and disappear from view. After a short while we managed to follow the bird a little better as it moved from tree to tree calling and watch as it occasionally dropped to a more manageable elevation.

We waited and eventually we were rewarded with the bird dropping to a height where the background was not just the sky above, but the trees behind, allowing for improved photographs. We were joined by another birder, a Scotsman, who hailed from Galston in Ayrshire, but who was now living locally to here.

Once again the weather closed in and the light began to fade, so we headed back to the car. Charlotte remarked that the Iberian chiffchaff was her bird of the day—it had flitted around us, offered excellent views, and given that beautiful, distinctive call. The following morning, we had breakfast and checked out, knowing we’d be making the journey home. Before heading south, we decided to try our luck for twite around the Seaton Carew and Teesmouth area and made our way to the coast for a walk along the beach.

The wind was strong and relentless again, and dry sand was being blown across the surface and into our faces, but we pushed on regardless. In the fields and along the beach we recorded at least 20 wheatears - excellent to see in such numbers. Otherwise, the day was fairly quiet, with meadow pipits, redshank, curlews, and oystercatchers making up most of the movement. Despite our efforts, we failed to locate any twite.

Seal Sands, on the south side of the River Tees estuary, sits within the wider Teesmouth estuary complex, a landscape shaped by industry and nature in fascinating balance - mudflats, saltmarsh, and tidal channels set against cranes, chimneys, and distant refinery structures. At low tide the site opens out into vast expanses of exposed mud and sand.

Both harbour (common) and grey seals occur here, though harbour seals are typically the more frequently encountered species within the estuary itself. They can be seen hauled out on sandbanks at low tide, lying in loose groups, occasionally lifting their heads as they rest in the wind and sun. Grey seals are generally larger and more robust and may be seen passing through the area or resting on exposed sandbars. What makes seeing seals here particularly memorable is the setting. The seals are part of a working estuary landscape, with the hum of industry in the background and the constant movement of tide, light, and birds around them.

I took a record shot across the estuary mouth of one such group before making our way back to the car for the journey home.

Year list: 226.

Around the West Midlands, Rushy Common, & Somerset :: 23-25 February 2026

We hadn’t done any birding over the weekend, as I’d spent Saturday driving back to Banbury from the Highlands and was in need of a rest on Sunday after a busy week. Kev @kev07713 and I decided to keep things fairly local and noticed that a Hume’s warbler was still showing at Lea Marston. As it was a species we hadn’t seen since a trip to Norfolk a couple of years earlier, and having dipped another in Norfolk last year at Warham Greens, albeit with the "consolation" of a yellow-browed warbler and a pallid harrier, it seemed like a good opportunity to go and catch up with one again.

We set off at an early breakfast hour for Lea Marston, greeted by bright sunshine as the sun rose. The conditions prompted Kev to ask why we weren’t heading instead to RSPB Middleton Lakes to try for a lesser spotted woodpecker - a little earlier in the season than our usual, perhaps, but with the weather so favourable there seemed a good chance of success.

A quick change of plan followed, and fortunately it required little adjustment, as the two sites are only about four miles - a 10-15 minute drive - apart. On arrival we found the RSPB car park gates still closed, clearly too early, so we parked in the spaces on the corner opposite Middleton Hall instead. After unpacking our kit, we walked round towards the car park and settled in to wait for our target to appear, while great spotted woodpeckers could already be heard drumming from the trees beyond.

We watched as grey herons moved back and forth from the heronry, while various tits and finches passed through and settled in the trees ahead of us. Our attention stayed mainly on the tree where we most often see the bird arrive to drum, though we kept an eye on the trees further to our right as well, aware that on previous visits the bird had appeared from that direction.

In late February, lesser spotted woodpeckers are beginning to show early signs of the breeding season, although they remain a difficult species to see well. Small and roughly sparrow-sized, they are noticeably more delicate than great spotted woodpeckers, with a shorter bill and a compact appearance.

The plumage is clean black and white. The back is barred rather than showing the large white shoulder patches of great spotted woodpecker, and the underparts are pale with fine dark streaking along the flanks. Males show a bright red crown, which can stand out clearly in good light, while females lack red on the head entirely.

At this time of year, birds are most often detected by sound. Males begin drumming more regularly as territories are established, producing a softer, shorter and less powerful drum roll than great spotted woodpecker. They tend to drum on thinner dead branches high in mature trees rather than on large trunks. Calls are quiet and easily overlooked.

Feeding behaviour is also distinctive. Lesser spotted woodpeckers spend much of their time working along smaller branches and twigs, often hanging underneath them while searching for insects and larvae. They are typically active high in the canopy, which, combined with their size and unobtrusive behaviour, makes views brief and often distant even when birds are present.

Late winter therefore offers one of the better chances to locate the species, as leafless trees improve visibility and increased drumming activity helps give away their position. And indeed, that proved to be the case - first one bird began drumming, then a second, followed by a brief call. Although we had mostly expected the bird to appear from the right, Kev instead picked one up arriving from the left, flying in from the small copse between us and where the car was parked. He immediately commented on how surprisingly small it looked; despite knowing their size, seeing one in the field never quite prepares you for just how tiny they are.

The lesser spotted woodpecker is now regarded as one of the UK’s most threatened and rapidly declining woodland birds with numbers falling dramatically since the 1970s, with declines estimated at around 80–90% over that period. The species’ breeding range has also contracted by roughly 40% since the late 1960s so we are very fortunate to be living near areas holding this special little bird.

Views were generally restricted by trunks and branches, but we were able to see the bird well if not get a photograph, other than a record shot. Before we were joined by anyone else the bird evaporated into the trees behind and out of view, although we could still hear it drumming - although both greater and lesser spotted woodpeckers use drumming to advertise territory and attract a mate, the sound they produce is noticeably different once you know what to listen for.

The drumming of a lesser spotted woodpecker is short, light and dry, often described as a quick rattling burst. It typically lasts around a second or less and lacks the power or resonance of the larger woodpeckers - the rhythm is fast but fades quickly. In practice, the difference is often obvious: if the drumming sounds delicate and you must listen carefully for it, it may well be a lesser spotted; if it echoes confidently through the woodland, it is almost certainly a great spotted woodpecker.

A couple of other birders arrived, and we let them know we’d already had good views, so they stayed in the hope of connecting with it as well. The bird continued drumming from the back right-hand side of the trees, prompting Kev and I to move along to the fence line for a better angle. From there we picked it up working a dead tree - a useful note for next year.

It spent most of its time drumming but eventually dropped onto a tree in front, feeding along the smaller branches exactly as advertised. Getting a clear view proved tricky, but with a bit of patience we managed to piece together some decent views in the end, and some photos.

Soon the bird moved off again, and we suspected it might reappear on the front side of the trees where it could be viewed from the car park. Sure enough, it obliged, popping up on various branches, drumming briefly but mostly feeding.

By this time a small group of birders, including two couples, had joined us and we did our best to guide them onto the bird, no easy task given the tangle of branches and the bird’s tiny size. Kev managed to capture a few videos through his scope and later posted them on X here - you can hear the drumming and Kev helping other birders onto the bird.

What a fantastic little bird, and another memorable experience enjoying the car park bathed in sunlight - the sun’s appearance almost feels as rare these days as seeing a lesser spotted woodpecker!

After seeing the bird, it was time to move on and try for the Hume’s (leaf) warbler at Lea Marston. We were advised to park by St John the Baptist Church and follow the track down to the footpath along the River Tame, leading to an area behind the Jaguar Land Rover Battery Assembly Centre, Rockwool, Forterra, and a DHL Supply Centre.

We parked outside the church and headed down to the riverside path. There were a few stretches where wellies might have been more suitable than walking boots, but we managed to navigate them without any trouble and soon came across a single birder scanning some bushes - he indicated "up" and we joined him to look back into a bush where apparently the bird was showing. It was not long before we were on it as it flitted around the top and inside of the bush - a welcome tick. We were distant and I had a go at some photos with very limited success.

The Hume's is a small, greenish-yellow leaf warbler, with a pale underbelly, a subtle yellow wash along the flanks, and a delicate yellowish eyebrow. It can be tricky to distinguish from a yellow-browed warbler, so patience and careful observation are essential. Watching it flit through the branches, active and restless, made it a rewarding encounter, although in the bright winter light and up a slope I could only manage record photos.

We moved back and forth along the track in the hope of getting better photos but the bird stayed high and mainly showed against the sky which made life difficult, as did the fact that it never stayed still and trying to get the bird in frame with handheld 700mm focal length was a stretch in my capabilities. Kev had a bit more luck with his 300mm lens and seemed to beat me for quality on this occasion, as evidenced with his photos posted on X here.

Its soft, high-pitched “tsee” or “tsi‑tsi” call was often the first hint of its presence, giving us a clue to its location. Careful observation is usually needed to distinguish it from the more common yellow-browed warbler, but with none of the latter reported here, it was clear that it was our Hume’s warbler calling. The bird would vanish at times, and we moved up and down the track, listening for any sign of where it had gone. Gradually, the number of birders grew, with at least twenty people arriving to catch a glimpse, including a few returning for second or even third helpings.

Although we’d enjoyed some good views, we decided it was time to move on and see what else the day might bring. By the time we reached the car, we had agreed to return to Whitemoor Haye in the hope of indulging Kev’s merlin obsession - I’d been lucky enough to “accidentally” record a merlin there back in late January (report here) and would have been thinking the same otherwise.

Starting from a different location, the SatNav routed us in a different way, and along the lane we stopped to chat with a couple of birders. They mentioned a young chap waiting at our usual spot, hoping to see a merlin all morning but without luck so far. We arrived and joined him, scanning the area where I’d seen the merlin previously - apparently a favoured perch.

Despite a few careful sweeps, the merlin remained absent. Kev climbed onto the half‑metre-high concrete barrier that blocks vehicles from the track, and from there he spotted two, then at least four grey partridges in the field ahead. True to form, when Kev says the birds are right in front of you, they really are - I ended up looking right over them. The chap with us was thrilled, having never seen a grey partridge before, which made his stop worthwhile, even if the merlin continued to evade him/us.

We spent some time scanning along the track and the lane but couldn’t find our target bird, sharing views of the partridges with a few birders who stopped by. Despite continued efforts, we eventually had to admit defeat - Kev’s quest for this elusive raptor continues.

The following morning I "eased into the day” and started ticking off a few jobs from my to-do list. While chatting with my wife, I suggested a drive down to Rushy Common Nature Reserve, where the long-tailed duck I’d recently dipped had returned and had reportedly been showing well on the main water for a couple of days. I checked the Oxon Birding WhatsApp group to see if anyone had visited and whether the bird was still present. Bryan Manston replied that he was on his way and would report back shortly - which he did, confirming the bird was still there. After lunch we set off, hopeful that this time it wouldn’t disappear before I arrived.

As we pulled into the car park, we could see someone with a camera standing at the corner where the hedge has been cut lower to allow views over the water. Speaking to her, she confirmed the bird had been showing out in front but had since swum off towards the hide. I set up my scope and carefully checked all the visible areas, noting pochard, tufted duck, wigeon, teal, coot, moorhen, pintail and shoveler among others - but no long-tailed duck. With luck, I thought, it might be visible from the hide instead.

We splashed along the flooded lane and footpath - thankfully having remembered to wear wellies - and reached the gate, unlocking the padlock to access the keyholder-only area beyond. Bryan appeared from the other side of the lane to say hello and confirmed the bird had drifted off and out of view again. After thanking him, we carried on, now fon a mission to connect with the bird. We secured the gate behind us and made our way up to the hide, unlocking it to find a single birder already scanning through his scope. He confirmed that the bird had passed by earlier but had disappeared behind the island and suggested we might have a better chance back at the car park.

Frustratingly, we retraced our steps and scanned again from the hedge with no sign of it. I decided to try once more, this time taking the flooded footpath I’d avoided earlier. About halfway along, persistence finally paid off - scanning the water to the left of the island, I picked up the drake long-tailed duck at last. Apologising to Charlotte, we turned around yet again and hurried back so we could view it through the hedge bordering the car park.

Fortunately, the duck had begun feeding closer in, and the woman with the camera and I attempted photographs through gaps in the tangle of twigs, with partial success. We watched as it continued feeding in the area, hoping it might move into clearer view. After about fifteen minutes it did exactly that, following two tufted ducks out into open water, where it began diving repeatedly.

With another commitment later, we needed to get home for some food before heading out again that evening, so we called it a day and made our way back, satisfied that this bird had finally been put to bed.

That evening I was chatting with Kev when he suggested a trip down to Pilning Wetlands, where a hooded merganser had been reported the previous day and was apparently still present. It would be a lifer for both of us - and for Karen, who would be joining us too - so plans were quickly made.

We set off reasonably early, stopping enroute for a breakfast roll and a comfort break, and arrived in time to grab a space along the road that leads around to the site. There were already plenty of cars parked up, though worryingly there had been no reported sightings so far that morning. That didn’t feel like good news.

A birder walking back towards us confirmed that people had been on site before first light and there had been no sign of the bird on the pools it had been favouring, nor out on the River Severn. We stopped and began scanning anyway, picking out plenty of duck, along with dunlin, redshank, pintail and six black-tailed godwits ... but no hooded merganser.

Out over the grassland, meadow pipits, pied wagtails and skylarks flicked about, bouncing across the fields and perching on the various logs, branches and posts scattered across the area, providing a welcome distraction while we continued our search. We stopped to chat with a birder coming the other way - it turned out to be Andy Stockhausen (@andy-1963.bsky.social), the original finder of the bird. We hadn’t seen him since our trip to see the Montagu’s harrier near Cheddington, Bucks, the previous July.

We carried on to the pools and scanned back and forth, entertained by four little grebes on the water as well as the ever-present pipits and skylarks. There had apparently been a report of a water pipit the day before, and one birder mentioned that someone had shown him a bird in their scope, though he admitted he wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking at. We headed over to the suggested spot and began scanning, picking out a pipit Kev had noticed earlier - pale on the underparts and sitting preening.

We waited for better views, and when it eventually turned side-on the leg colour quickly confirmed it as a meadow pipit, despite looking noticeably different from others nearby. We couldn’t find anything else that suggested a water pipit was present, and after a short discussion we decided to head back to the car and move on to see what else the day might offer.

We decided to try our luck at RSPB Greylake, as we hadn’t visited for a while and there’s always a chance of merlin there, especially during the winter months. After arriving in the car park, we pulled on our wellies, having been warned that conditions underfoot would be wet. As we walked along the track towards the hides, the water soon almost reached the tops of our boots - about 10 inches deep (25.4 cm for younger readers 😊).

We slowly made our way along the track to the boardwalk linking it with the main hide and the screen hide, eventually settling into the former. Scanning the water revealed large numbers of teal and wigeon, but it was a couple of common snipe feeding at close range that really held our attention. At that distance, the intricate detail of their plumage was easy to appreciate. It is a well-camouflaged wader, its plumage perfectly suited to marshes and wet grassland. At first glance the bird appears mottled brown, but closer views reveal an intricate pattern of buff, black and chestnut striping. The crown shows bold pale stripes running lengthwise, while the back is marked with strong golden-buff lines that contrast with darker feather centres, creating a striking but highly disruptive pattern when the bird is crouched among vegetation.

The underparts are much paler, washed buff or whitish, with fine dark barring along the flanks. Its long, straight bill and relatively short legs add to its distinctive profile, especially when feeding as it probes methodically into soft mud.

One of the most noticeable features in flight is the rufous rump which you could partially see in my photos - the warm reddish-brown rump and tail base; in flight they can briefly flash into view, contrasting with the darker back and barred wings. This feature, combined with the characteristic zigzag escape flight, is often the quickest way to confirm identification as a common snipe as it bursts away after being flushed.

Out in front, several marsh harriers quartered the marsh at varying distances, with both males and females in view. A lone kestrel hovered nearby, while a scan around the perimeter with the scope revealed at least seven or eight buzzards perched on posts, gates, and bushes. Talking to one of the reserve volunteers who was sharing the hide with us, we learned that merlins are now seen on site throughout the year, although they are sometimes only recorded on the far side of the reserve when occasionally flushed during maintenance work.

Behind and to the side of the hide came the calls of water rails, wrens, and Cetti’s warblers. Looking out to see what might reveal itself, I caught a brief view of a Cetti’s warbler calling before instantly disappearing back into cover, while a wren paused on the reed stems, singing as it followed its partner through the vegetation. Kev, watching from the Screen Hide, enjoyed much better views of a Cetti’s warbler and even managed to take a few photographs as it moved closer to his position. We never managed to see a water rail in the open.

As is often the case with Kev, he was the one to pick out one of the two common cranes right at the far end of the marsh, beyond the fenced perimeter - effectively in another county at that distance. It took me a while to get onto the bird, as I was scanning entirely the wrong area and couldn’t make sense of the commentary that “its head is up.” Eventually I managed to align myself with the correct spot and finally saw it. Later, while walking out onto the boardwalk, I happened to glance to the right and noticed another common crane moving through the tall grass much closer to us. In time, both birds took to the air, flying out over the car park and the road behind before circling back and dropping in again roughly where my nearer bird had been feeding.

Common crane is now an established breeding and wintering species on the Somerset Levels, and Greylake has played a growing role in that recovery with breeding presence having risen from one pair to three pairs in recent years.

It was time to leave, and we began making our way back along the track when another Cetti’s warbler burst into song - we must have heard close to ten around the hides and along the path. I tried to position myself for a photograph as the bird moved along the reed line, but just as I brought it into focus a gust of wind blew reeds across my line of sight, and the bird took to the wing. In the end, I came away with a record shot rather than the frame-filler I’d hoped for, which rather sums up photographing Cetti’s warblers.

The journey home was straightforward, and we stopped for a comfort break on the way back, grabbing a sandwich before continuing on.

Year list: 178.