Titchfield Haven NNR & Hook-with-Warsarsh :: 04 April 2026

There seemed an obvious choice of destination for Saturday - the American golden plover at Hook-with-Warsash, Hampshire. This coastal reserve lies at the mouth of the River Hamble and includes mudflats, saltmarsh and grazing marsh, making it ideal habitat for migrant waders.

Birders reported a bird at Bunny Meadows, Warsash, on 30 March, identified by observers as an American golden plover; it was seen on a rising tide. American golden plover is a rare vagrant in Britain, typically appearing in autumn among European golden plover flocks following Atlantic drift migration; this individual was reported within the high-tide roost alongside grey plovers.

Tide height is crucial, as birds move from the mudflats onto the grazing marsh as the water pushes in. The prime viewing window is therefore from around 1.5–2 hours before high tide up to high tide itself. Reports suggested that at Hook-with-Warsash plovers often feed out on exposed mud early on, then drop into Bunny Meadows once the tide reaches mid-level and begins to rise - so if nothing is present, it pays to stay put, as the birds frequently arrive rather than being there already.

With this in mind, and with high tide due at around 1.40 pm, Kev @kev07713 and I decided to visit Posbrook Floods, part of Titchfield Haven NNR, first and wait for the tide to push birds off the mudflats where they might otherwise be difficult to locate. There had been a report of a ruddy shelduck on the floods and adjacent fields, and it is always good to catch up with one.

We arrived at the field west of Ranvilles Lane where the ruddy shelduck had been reported the previous day, associating with Egyptian geese, and pulled in to scan. Six Egyptian geese were immediately visible, then seven, then nine as two more flew in, but there was no sign of the ruddy shelduck. A few skylarks added both movement and to the soundscape.

After a short while Kev suggested checking Posbrook Floods, which he had spotted on the way in. A quick look confirmed that this was another location where the shelduck had recently been reported and is a new site for us. We parked in the busy car park, occupied mostly by dog walkers rather than birders, booted up, and set off along the track onto the reserve.

We walked along the path accompanied by the sounds of Cetti’s warblers, chiffchaffs, and various tits, providing a constant soundtrack as we went. At the first pool a few Egyptian geese were present, though the ruddy shelduck was not among them. Small groups of black-tailed godwits fed along the margins, with several shelducks, a couple of lapwings and a scattering of gulls - mostly black-headed - completing the view. Across the field on the opposite side, three great-spotted woodpeckers and a jay made their presence known.

Further along the path Kev was able to scan back into a distant corner and alerted me to a glossy ibis that I couldn’t yet see from my position. Catching up with him, I picked up the bird, though it was far too distant to attempt a photograph. We continued on and soon met a couple of birders coming the other way, stopping briefly to point out the ibis as they had not yet seen it. Around then, four sand martins appeared over the distant trees, hawking low in the air.

Behind us a willow warbler called, and we scanned the surrounding trees and shrubs but struggled to locate it. A great tit joined in, adding to the confusion, and Kev drifted back, following the warbler's calls. Suddenly a small bird dropped into a blackthorn bush directly in front of me and I quickly got my binoculars onto it - a willow warbler, my first of the year. It showed pale legs and a noticeably long-winged, attenuated structure, the primary projection extending beyond the tertials. It flicked between perches, picking at emerging insects, its soft yellowy tones catching the sunlight before slipping back into cover, though while in view it didn't call.

Back at the pool, the glossy ibis took to the wing, gliding along the far edge of the water before disappearing behind a large tree that stood between us and the pool’s front. A few minutes later, one of the other birders called out that four glossy ibis were airborne, and we all watched them drift past at a distance against the grey sky. It wouldn’t be the last glimpse of them: as we walked further along the track, they reappeared, dropping in partway along the flooded grass area, but hidden behind tall grasses.

The glossy ibis is a striking wetland wader, its iridescent plumage shimmering in shades of bronze, green, and purple, and its long, down‑curved bill unmistakable. Still relatively scarce in the UK compared to more common waders, it has been increasingly recorded in southern coastal and inland floodplain sites, often in small groups - I seem to recall an extraordinary flock a year or two ago, when 92 birds were reported together in flight.

As each approached the flooded grass, they slowly raised their long, tapered legs, splaying its toes for a gentle touchdown. Its broad wings tilted slightly, creating a graceful, gliding motion, while the tail feathers fanned for balance, giving it a smooth, almost floating landing.

Behind us, a great spotted woodpecker began drumming on a dead tree, so close we half expected it to appear immediately - it must have been just around the far side of the branch. Soon enough, it hopped into view, perching briefly for a few tens of seconds before taking flight to join another woodpecker in the trees just behind.

One of the other birders mentioned having seen marsh harriers, and before long we were watching two of them separately - a male first, followed by a female. They moved swiftly through the air rather than quartering the reeds, but regardless, their presence was enough to flush birds from the water and along the pool edges, drawing everyone’s attention to the raptors gliding overhead.

We made our way to the second pool, still unable to locate the ruddy shelduck, but enjoyed good views of a nuthatch busy in the tree above. Photography was tricky, but I snapped a few shots anyway. While there, we chatted with another birder who had also returned to the second pool. He turned out to be from Surrey and considered Staines Reservoir his local patch.

Eventually, we took a slow stroll back to the car, leaving him at his car, and I tallied up our day’s sightings - around 45 species in total. Truly, a lovely little reserve.

We decided to return to the top fields to see if the ruddy shelduck had appeared. Scanning the area yielded nothing, but news on BirdGuides alerted us that the American golden plover had been spotted from the footpath north along the east bank of the River Hamble from the Passage Lane car park. Without hesitation, we jumped into the car, heading there just as it approached the best window for observation.

We arrived, grabbed our scopes, and set off along the footpath, spotting other birders doing the same. A few were already standing more than half a mile ahead, scopes raised, cameras raised. On reaching the location, we saw the bird and took a moment to decide the best vantage point for viewing/videoscoping and photography.

As I dropped down to a viewing platform, I spotted our friends Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby and went over to say hello. Nick couldn’t believe our luck - he’d spent two hours trekking up and down the river, covering every inch in search of the bird. Meanwhile, we had practically walked straight onto it, though in fairness, that was part of the plan; Kev had done a bit of research on the tides, and it had paid off, although I believe Nick and Anne had been afforded better views when the bird had first dropped in.

This first-winter American golden plover is a visitor to our shores, a rare but regular vagrant. It is medium-sized, with a compact rounded body, and has a short, straight black bill and long, slender dark grey or blackish legs. Its upright, alert posture and quick, deliberate steps make it easy to spot once you know where to look.

Its plumage, is far less flamboyant than an adult in breeding colours with its back a soft sandy-brown streaked with darker markings, while the underparts are pale, with delicate streaking across the breast and flanks. Its head and face show gentle contrasts: a faint pale eyebrow and pale cheeks.

Nick and Anne decided to leave, as the bird remained at a distance and the incoming tide was filling the muddy bay between us and it, making it unlikely to come any closer and limiting chances for better photos - it had also been a longer morning for them as they had opted to search for the bird. Our only real opportunity came when a group of gulls flushed it, sending it flying across to a grass covered island with the three grey plovers and a lone dunlin. A handful of black-tailed godwits remained and paused to shake and splash, washing away mud and debris.

Overhead, a swallow flew through, my first of the year, while a dozen or so brent geese drifted by, carried along as the tide flowed from the bay into the lagoon. Before long, it was time for us to move on as well.

Deciding what to do next, we opted to return to the Posbrook Floods. We’d enjoyed our earlier visit, and there was still a chance the ruddy shelduck might reappear. On arriving back at the fields, however, we found numbers noticeably reduced - even the Egyptian geese had largely disappeared. Finding a parking space proved far more difficult this time, but fortune was on our side when a couple walking their dog returned to their car and left just as we arrived, allowing us to slip neatly into the vacant spot.

Setting off along the track, we soon spotted a roe deer lying low in the grass, occasionally nibbling at the vegetation around it. Resting quietly among the lush spring growth, only its head and upper neck rose above the greenery. The deer appeared calm yet alert, its dark eye half-watchful as it listened to the sounds of the reserve and the steady passage of walkers nearby.

Its coat was transitioning into the rich reddish tones of spring and summer, replacing the heavier grey of winter. The fur looked slightly tousled and damp, giving a textured, natural appearance that blended perfectly with the fresh vegetation. One ear turned forward while the other angled back, independently scanning for sound and a classic roe deer posture.

Most striking were the short antlers in velvet, thick and rounded, still covered in soft, pale tissue as they continue to grow. The velvet gave a plush, almost sculpted look, contrasting with the darker face and muzzle.

We paused again by the blackthorn where earlier we had seen and heard a willow warbler, but this time a chiffchaff dropped into view and immediately made its presence known. Perching in the open, it gave it large, seemingly determined to dominate the local soundscape.

Chiffchaffs are now a familiar sound across the UK during the summer breeding season, with an estimated 1.1 to 1.8 million breeding pairs. Once considered a scarce winter resident, increasing numbers - likely in the low thousands - now remain through the colder months, aided by milder winters and improved survival rates. Most overwintering birds are found in southern areas, particularly near water and around sheltered sites such as sewage treatment works.

There were noticeably more Egyptian geese around the first pool and on the slope behind it, their numbers presumably boosted by birds that had earlier been feeding in the field to the east. A few moved about restlessly, but there was still no sign of our target species. By now, though, the search had softened into simply enjoying the birding rather than focusing on any one bird.

Scanning the sky, a handful of sand martins appeared, hawking insects high over the water. As we watched, more joined them until we counted at least eighteen birds swirling distantly overhead - excellent to follow through binoculars. Among them was a single swallow, and, like buses, it became my second sighting of the year and the day.

April marks one of the true turning points of spring in the UK, the return of the swallows. After spending the winter thousands of miles away in sub-Saharan Africa, these migrants begin to reappear across the countryside, their arrival often coinciding with lengthening days and the first genuine warmth of the year.

We walked on and as we reached the end of the first pool a familiar call was heard overhead - the unmistakable call of a Mediterranean gull. We looked up and caught sight of the bird and then another two with it. They circled and flew along the pool and out onto the second pool. The second pool was dominated by larger gulls - both herring and lesser black-backed - and so the Med gulls gradually worked back to the first pool which held more black-headed gulls and dropped onto the pool.

Many Mediterranean gulls in the UK are by now in full breeding plumage and therefore visible among gatherings of more common gulls. Once a genuine rarity, the species has steadily increased in recent decades and is now a regular sight at coastal lagoons, estuaries, reservoirs, and even inland wetlands.

At this time of year, adults are unmistakable; their jet-black hoods, clean white bodies, and pale grey upperwings give them a strikingly elegant appearance, while the bright red bill and legs add a splash of colour that stands out even at distance. In flight, the lack of black wingtips, replaced instead by clean white outer wings, is often the feature that catches the eye first. Their calls, softer and more nasal than those of black-headed gulls, give them away before they are picked out visually, as was the case today.

We enjoyed the remainder of the stroll and eventually turned to make the journey back to the car, but I stopped to look at a flock on the far hillside, which until now I had assumed were cattle given the colours. Through my binoculars I could now see they were goats and looking up the species I found them to be Boer goats.

Boer goats are an increasingly familiar sight in parts of the UK countryside, easily recognised by their sturdy build and distinctive colouring - a white body paired with a rich brown head and long, pendulous ears. Originally developed in South Africa for meat production, the breed is valued for its hardiness, calm temperament, and ability to thrive in a wide range of environments.

Their strong browsing behaviour makes them particularly useful for habitat management, where they help control scrub, bramble, and invasive vegetation that might otherwise overwhelm grassland or heath habitats. As a result, they are sometimes encountered unexpectedly near nature reserves or rewilding projects. Often curious but relaxed around people, Boer goats can be seen methodically working through vegetation, standing on hind legs to reach higher leaves or moving steadily across slopes and rough ground with impressive agility. Their growing popularity reflects both practical farming needs and a broader interest in sustainable land management across the UK.

It was time to head for home, stopping for coffee and a cake on the way.

Year list: 213.

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.