Berkshire nightjars :: 02 June 2026

It is that time of year again when Kev @kev07713 and I make our annual pilgrimage in search of nightjars - a highlight in any birder's calendar. We have a favoured site in Berkshire, a rich mosaic of lowland heathland and mixed woodland that provides an ideal habitat for our target species.

The heathland consists of open expanses of heather, gorse and acid-loving grasses growing on nutrient-poor sandy soils. Over recent years, the area has benefited from extensive conservation work aimed at restoring and maintaining this increasingly rare habitat. Management has included the selective removal of woodland to recreate larger areas of open heath, benefiting a range of specialist wildlife that depends on these conditions.

Surrounding the heath are extensive areas of woodland, including both pine plantations and native broadleaved trees such as oak, birch and beech. Together, these habitats support a diverse range of wildlife, from woodland birds and bats to mammals and a rich variety of ground flora, creating a landscape of exceptional ecological value.

This year, our friend Dave South @davidso55441100 asked if he could join us in search of this elusive summer visitor. He had never seen a nightjar before and was eager to experience for himself the encounters we had enjoyed in previous years. Dave is also one of the finest photographers we know, so having him along offered the added bonus that we might pick up a few tips while we were at it.

After blindfolding Dave, we arrived at our usual parking spot and made the short walk onto the heath. Kev was particularly keen to put his thermal monocular through its paces, so we spent some time wandering the trails scanning the surrounding habitat.

Although the thermal picked up several birds, there was nothing especially noteworthy. Great-spotted and green woodpeckers, nuthatch, wren, chiffchaff, chaffinch, blackbird and various tits all appeared on the screen, but none of the species we were really hoping to find - namely roosting nightjars or woodcock.

I also had a turn with the thermal monocular but fared no better. To be fair, it wasn't a case of operator error; the birds simply weren't where we were looking, or they were tucked away deep within the undergrowth and out of sight.

Eventually, we decided it was time to head for our favoured watchpoint. However, when Dave and I arrived, Kev was nowhere to be seen. A quick call revealed that he had continued further along the track, where he had found a vantage point and a particular tree that he felt would make an ideal perch for any nightjars emerging onto the heath.

I suggested to Dave that we stick with our original plan and remain where we were. After all, this spot had served us well in previous years. Dave agreed, and so we settled in to wait as the light slowly began to fade. Our vigil had begun.

The conditions looked good for an evening watch. The day had been mixed with periods of rain adding to the overnight rain, and even as we made our way down there were some patches of rain. However, the forecast was for improved conditions as we went through the evening. The sun slipped towards the horizon the wind dropped away, leaving the heath bathed in relatively still, calm air.

Nightjars are often most active on such evenings, emerging from their daytime roosts at dusk to hawk for moths and other flying insects over the heathland. Warm temperatures and an abundance of insect prey can make for particularly productive nights.

Woodcock, too, favour these tranquil conditions for their crepuscular displays. As darkness gathers, males leave the shelter of the woodland and begin their distinctive "roding" flights, slowly patrolling territories over the treetops while uttering their characteristic grunts and squeaks. The period from sunset into the first half-hour of darkness is often the best time to witness these remarkable behaviours.

With the light fading and the heath falling quiet, all the ingredients seemed to be in place for an exciting evening.

Out in front of us and slightly to our right, a roe deer appeared from the edge of the heath. Initially wary of our presence, it gradually relaxed and began to work its way across the slope, pausing frequently to browse on the fresh new leaves of saplings and low shrubs. Its rich chestnut coat stood out beautifully against the muted greens and browns of the heathland vegetation.

Roe deer are a familiar sight here, where the mosaic of woodland and heath provides ideal habitat. The woodland offers shelter and cover during the day, while the open heath and scrub provide feeding opportunities, particularly during the quieter hours of dawn and dusk.

As we watched, two more roe deer burst from cover and raced up the slope away from us, their brief dash in stark contrast to the calm demeanour of our original deer, which barely seemed concerned and continued feeding peacefully in front of us.

By about 9.15pm we had our first flyover woodcock, appearing above the treeline, flying with stiff, purposeful wingbeats as it followed its route across the heath. As it passed, its distinctive roding call carried through the still evening air - a series of deep, croaking grunts interspersed with high-pitched squeaks that seemed completely out of place yet instantly recognisable to anyone familiar with this remarkable display flight. It was a welcome sign that the evening was unfolding exactly as we had hoped. A quick message to Kev confirmed that he was seeing the same birds from his vantage point further along the track, so neither of us was missing any of the action.

Over the next twenty minutes, further woodcock appeared at regular intervals, passing overhead singly or occasionally in pairs. By the end of the flurry of activity, we had logged a total of fourteen flyovers. Exactly how many individual birds were involved was impossible to say, as some may well have been making repeat passes along their roding routes, but it was an impressive level of activity, nonetheless.

Kev called to say that he had just heard the brief churring of a nightjar. As I was talking to him, another woodcock appeared, flying towards us from the opposite slope. Then, almost immediately, I spotted a nightjar below it.

I hastily dropped the phone and grabbed my camera, but in my excitement completely fluffed the shot. The bird swept directly over our heads before gliding over the trees behind us and disappearing towards another area of heath. Dave was quicker off the mark and managed to fire off a few shots, although he was left cursing his choice of lens, having opted for one with a wider aperture rather than focal length.

After a quick conversation with Kev, our attention was drawn to the opposite side of the trees as the unmistakable churr and calls of nightjars drifted through the air. Peering through gaps in the foliage, we eventually picked out two birds floating effortlessly above the heath, their long wings carrying them back and forth in the fading light.

Nightjars possess a distinctive flight unlike that of any other British bird. Their long, pointed wings and broad tail give them a buoyant, highly manoeuvrable appearance as they quarter the heath in search of insects. Alternating between deep, elastic wingbeats and effortless glides, they drift through the dusk with an almost moth-like quality, twisting and banking suddenly as they pursue their prey. In poor light they can seem to appear and disappear at will, their erratic, silent flight lending them an air of mystery that perfectly suits their crepuscular habits.

A nightjar began churring repeatedly from the same spot, allowing us to home in on its location. After a short search, we found it perched on a branch in a tree set slightly back from the main woodland edge behind us. We immediately started manoeuvring for a clear line of sight, hoping to secure a photograph, but before either of us could get into a good position the bird suddenly dropped from its perch and melted away into the gathering dusk.

Not wanting to miss another opportunity, we began searching for better vantage points. Dave and I gradually spread out, each exploring different angles and gaps in the trees, trying to identify the best position from which to photograph any nightjars that might appear again. I eventually found a position that gave me a clear view of the tree where the nightjar had briefly perched. A little further to my right stood a broken silver birch, its bare branches looking like the ideal place for a nightjar to use as a churring post. I remember thinking it looked a likely candidate.

Within just a few minutes, a nightjar dropped onto the birch exactly as I had hoped. How's your luck! It was now getting quite dark and I'd lost all ability to maintain a fast shutter speed. I snapped off a few shots before the bird took off - I was very lucky to get the photo that I did with f5.6, ISO 12,800, 1.0 ev, and 1/20 s shutter speed.

I made my way over to where Dave was positioned and was greeted with tales of his views. He had watched multiple nightjars, including one hovering above the treetops, while one bird had dropped into the heath no more than fifteen feet away from him. For someone seeing his first nightjar, it seemed to be a memorable introduction.

Together we watched more birds drift effortlessly through the gathering darkness before returning to our original churring tree, where the nightjar was once again advertising its presence. We managed a few more photographs, but by now the light had all but disappeared. Any hopes of decent images were fading fast, though our enjoyment of the spectacle certainly wasn't.

Eventually, we decided to wander over to Kev's watchpoint and experience the action from his perspective. While he had been less fortunate when it came to finding perched birds, he had enjoyed some fantastic encounters with multiple nightjars fluttering and hawking for insects around him. He predicted, with his usual optimism, that all 120 or so photographs he had taken of birds in flight would turn out to be hopelessly out of focus.

With darkness now making it impossible to follow the birds comfortably, we headed back to the car. Just as we arrived, one final nightjar struck up its churring song from beyond the trees and the car, providing a fitting soundtrack to the end of a memorable evening.

As we drove home, conversation inevitably turned to nightjars and we all agreed on one thing: evenings like this are highly addictive.

Year list: 261.

Wyre Forest, Bedfordshire, & Rutland Water :: 09 & 12 May 2026

On a recent visit to the Wyre Forest, Kev @kev07713 and I failed to find either wood warbler or dipper, so today we decided to return after seeing that Miles Cluff @miles_cluff had reported seeing one there - birds now returning? Miles posted on X that he had “seen some very bold wood warblers in my time, but this one takes the cake - no fear whatsoever.”

On arrival, we decided not to head straight for our usual car park. Instead, we dropped down the slope to the bridge over Dowles Brook to see if we could finally connect with a dipper. Frustratingly, we’d never previously missed this species here, but this year they seem to have become much harder to see - not just for us, but for all the birders we’ve spoken to.

We pulled the car into a lay-by off the lane and settled ourselves on the edge of the bridge after confirming there wasn’t currently a bird showing. As we sat chatting and listening to the surrounding birdsong, we considered moving on several times but decided to wait a little longer. After almost half an hour, a bird suddenly appeared, flying low down the brook before passing directly over us and continuing upstream to the deeper section beyond the bridge - a dipper. The view was brief, but very satisfying.

With the dipper finally seen, we returned to the car and headed for the main car park to continue our search for a wood warbler. We wandered out through parts of the forest we don’t usually explore before looping back past the car park and onto tracks running through the woods parallel to the main route, all the while listening out for the distinctive call of a wood warbler.

Above we could hear the call of common redstart and from time to time we would be able to pick them out, usually perched high in the tree canopy. Anecdotally, quite a few birders seem to be reporting good numbers in traditional woodland areas, especially in Wales, here in the Wyre Forest, and parts of the New Forest. The warm, settled periods in April appear to have helped migrants move through quickly and establish territories early. That said, common redstart remains an amber-listed species in the UK, and long-term breeding trends are still mixed depending on region.

As we made our way along the tracks, we saw several pairs of roe deer. With the forest lush there is a lot of available food, but the deer are also more active and visible because does are heavily pregnant and bucks are establishing and defending territories. Roe bucks become increasingly territorial from spring onwards. They typically give birth from mid-May through June in the UK, with most fawns born in late May and early June - the timing is quite precise because roe deer have a delayed implantation process: mating takes place in summer (usually July–August), but the fertilised egg does not begin developing until winter. This allows births to coincide with peak spring vegetation and food availability.

We came across pairs of blackcaps, goldcrest, and then saw garden warblers chasing through the dense bushes off to our right but a distance. Garden warblers usually arrive from Africa in late April and are in full song through May and early June while establishing breeding territories. Unlike blackcaps, garden warblers tend to stay hidden in thicker vegetation, often in bramble patches, young woodland, willow scrub, or dense scrub near woodland edges. You often hear them long before you see them but by June, they often become much quieter and harder to locate.

Garden warblers are famously understated visually. Compared with something like a common redstart or wood warbler, they can look rather plain at first glance: mostly warm brown above and pale buff-grey below, with very few obvious markings. But many birders are fond of them because the song is so rich and beautiful compared with the bird’s rather modest appearance - much like nightingales, I think.

Still unable to locate our target bird we dropped down to one of the main tracks and made our way past the premises of "Peter the Bee and Friends". This is a dedicated nursery working to protect local pollinators by growing native, peat-free, insecticide-free wildflowers. The initiative helps reverse the decline of bees, moths, and beetles in the Wyre Forest area by encouraging wildlife gardening and supporting pollinator habitats. Their vision is that everyone should have a few wildflowers in their gardens even if it's just a balcony or a window box and believe that even small actions by many people will make a positive difference - how right they are.

As we passed the brick building, the call of a pied flycatcher caught our attention as it flitted around the lower branches of several large trees. At first, it stubbornly refused to perch in the open, remaining partially obscured by the branches, but eventually it landed in a much better position and we both managed to snap off a few photos before it disappeared into the trees beyond. We were also impressed by the number of bird and owl boxes mounted on the surrounding trees throughout this area.

We eventually rejoined the main path and headed back towards the gully where we had seen the tawny owl on our previous visit, still without any sign or sound of a wood warbler. As we reached the slope, we could hear and then see a common redstart perched in a tree just above the bench, while a few tree pipits were calling further beyond.

We decided to drop down towards the brook and listen along the bank there, but before we had gone very far the call of a lesser spotted woodpecker stopped us in our tracks. The call gave us a rough idea of where the bird was, but without seeing it we struggled once it fell silent again. We stood listening for several minutes, mainly to the tree pipits, while also watching two jays working their way along the slope down towards the brook - probably Kev’s favourite moment of the day.

Then came the call again. I looked up and managed to pick out the lesser spotted woodpecker on the branches of a dead tree, working its way around a branch and gradually moving into a better position for viewing. I pointed it out to Kev, but by the time he got onto the bird it dropped down behind a tree in front of us, completely obscuring the view and giving him just a fleeting sighting. We tried to relocate it, but despite our efforts we couldn’t find it again, although we heard it call.

This was the first time either of us had seen a lesser spotted woodpecker in the Wyre Forest, probably because we usually only visit once, or at most twice, during the period when the pied flycatchers, tree pipits, common redstarts, and wood warblers are present.

Along the river we didn't see anything new in the way of birds but did see several butterfly species including pearl-bordered fritillary, holly blue, and orange tips. Orange-tip butterflies seem to be restless and often seem unwilling to settle for more than a second or two, especially the males. In spring they appear to spend a huge amount of time patrolling along hedgerows, woodland edges, rides and damp meadows searching for females, which makes them appear constantly on the move. I think this was my first opportunity to take a photo of one this year.

Despite further searching, we were still unable to locate a wood warbler. We bumped into Mike @dogdoughty, who we regularly seem to encounter out birding, and he confirmed that he too had failed to find one. It certainly seems to be a poor year for them here. We slowly made our way back to the car and set off for home.

Kev was helping his brother with some work again on Monday, but Tuesday promised a much better forecast, although reports suggested that many of the birds we might have gone to see had already moved on. Instead, we decided to head across into Bedfordshire to look for turtle doves at a site we’ve visited over the last couple of years, following the disappearance of this species from RSPB Otmoor. We set off at a leisurely hour, though still before most people would have been sitting down to breakfast. It wasn’t too far to travel, and we would be on site before most people had even started work for the day.

We arrived, parked the car, and walked towards the spot where we’d enjoyed our best views on previous visits, listening as we approached for the distinctive call of a turtle dove - one of the most evocative sounds of late spring and summer, a soft, gentle purring.

We began scanning the hedgerows and surrounding trees and, as I followed a dove in the distance that was probably a collared dove, Kev suddenly spotted a bird dropping into the hedge nearby. Walking round carefully for a better angle, he quickly confirmed that it was indeed a turtle dove, and moments later it began calling briefly from the top of the hedge.

We positioned ourselves for a few photographs before stepping back to give the bird some space so we could simply stand and watch it. By now the area was becoming busier, with people returning after the school run, dog walkers appearing along the paths, and a few runners passing through. Eventually the turtle dove seemed to decide the activity had become a little too close for comfort and flew off strongly, disappearing into the distance and, we suspected, travelling quite some way from where we stood.

The turtle dove is now one of the UK’s most rapidly declining and threatened breeding birds. Once a familiar summer visitor, it has suffered a catastrophic decline over recent decades, including at our local site in Oxfordshire. Since the 1970s, the UK breeding population has fallen by more than 95%, and the species is now largely confined to parts of southern and eastern England, meaning that you increasingly must travel to specific sites if you want to connect with them.

We waited in the hope that the bird might return, or that we might encounter another, as we had heard that two had been seen at the site within the last week. We followed a narrow brook running between two hedgerows, hoping to pick up the birds along this stretch, but saw little other than woodpigeons until a little egret dropped into the hedge ahead.

We edged closer, but it appeared quite content to remain where it was, basking in the sun. Eventually it moved on, flying further down the brook before dropping into the water and reeds below.

We walked around to the far side of the hedge and onto a path running parallel with the brook, where we heard a cuckoo calling off to our left. Kev headed off to the right and disappeared into the distance, but before he returned, I’d managed a couple of views of the cuckoo - first as it shifted position in flight, and then perched on a spindly branch, its call giving it away.

Although slightly distant and seen against the sky, it was probably my longest view of the year, and perhaps only surpassed by the excellent flyover sighting at Pig Bush in Hampshire.

We returned to our original position and waited a while longer, kept entertained by a showy whitethroat, a cuckoo, and a calling Cetti’s warbler. In the end, we decided we might be in for a long wait; we’d heard that some birders had spent up to three hours there without a sighting and left empty-handed recently. With that in mind, and hoping to make other plans for the day, we decided to move on.

We checked BirdGuides and found nothing of note locally, so decided to head over to Rutland Water in the hope of seeing some ospreys. We often visit Eyebrook Reservoir to watch them fishing, but it is still early in the season, and the males are not yet under pressure to provide food for chicks, so visits tend to be more irregular at this time of year.

We drove to the Lyndon Visitor Centre, where we were given an update on the ospreys, along with news that a white stork had been moving between Manton Bay and the North Arm. It had apparently been on site for 12 days, though we hadn’t seen any previous mention of it. We then set out along the trail between the centre and Waderscrape hide. The first hide, Deep Water, produced little activity on the water, but at Tufted Duck Hide we found around eight people already in position.

We were told the white stork was on the opposite bank, though mostly obscured by reeds and long grass. We managed brief views of it and waited in case it showed more clearly. The bird had been seen well at times and was noted to carry a blue darvic ring; it is believed to have come from from one of the reintroduction projects in the UK. Eventually the bird walked out from the reeds, but at over 500m there was only ever going to be a record shot.

Just as the stork was walking along the shoreline, a female mandarin duck appeared in front of the hide with what we think was close to ten chicks hurrying around her. It caught us slightly off guard and we largely missed the chance to photograph the young birds, though we did get more prolonged views of the adult.

Mandarin duck is now a well-established breeding species in the UK, having originally been introduced from East Asia. Rutland Water is in fact one of the more reliable places in the country to encounter breeding birds, even if the species still looks rather exotic in appearance.

The downy chicks of mandarin duck look quite similar to those of mallard at a glance: small, mottled brown, and well adapted for camouflage along water margins. That general “cryptic brown fluff” pattern is common across many dabbling duck species. I’ve read that mandarin ducklings can sometimes show a slightly cleaner, more contrasting facial pattern than the more uniformly streaked mallard chicks and may appear a little darker and more sharply patterned overall, though this is quite variable. Without the female shepherding them around, they could very easily be overlooked.

We then made our way to Waderscrape Hide, which was much busier and offered wider windows looking across the bay. The resident female, known as Maya, has nested at Manton Bay since 2009 and is the most successful breeding female on the Rutland Water Nature Reserve. The resident male, known as 33 (after his leg ring identity), hatched at a nearby Rutland nest in 2011 and became Maya’s permanent partner in 2015.

As we entered the hide, two volunteers came over and pointed out the nest and the male’s perch. We set up our scopes and enjoyed good views of both birds. The male remained perched throughout our visit but rather distant and could well be a bird we might also encounter at Eyebrook Reservoir. While it’s always good to see them at all, it is far more rewarding to watch them in flight and fishing, so hopefully we might connect with one more closely later in the year.

I had an appointment at teatime, so we eventually packed up and headed home to give me time for a shower and dinner before heading out again. Hopefully it won’t be too long before we’re out again.

Year list: 250.

Berkshire & WWT Slimbridge : 07 & 08 June 2024

Back from Scotland and time for our annual pilgrimage to see nightjar and woodcock. Kev @kev07713 Karen @karenheath62 Charlotte and I dropped down to a site we know in Berkshire that is an ideal habitat offering a mix of open ground for hunting and dense cover for roosting during the day. We parked in a lane and made the short walk from there to the same area we enjoyed the spectacle last year.

Nightjars feed on flying insects, particularly moths and beetles, catching their prey in flight using their wide mouths and bristle-fringed feathers. The best time to observe them is during their active periods at dusk and dawn, and although we'd seen some video footage of the dawn period, our preference was for dusk.

We saw a pair of great spotted woodpeckers in their preferred tree and watched as both left to feed and probably return with food for their nest. Very shortly after we had our first indication confirming the presence of nightjars, churring very early at 7.39pm - nightjars are known for their distinctive churring song; it lasted only a couple of minutes and then stopped for the next couple of hours.

We chatted and listened (just in case) but noted that we'd had our first flyover woodcock at 9.00pm last May (the report here) - it wasn't until almost 9.20pm before we had our first view of a woodcock this time. The light was being lost quickly and I managed a few record shots of woodcocks as they started to pass regularly - circa 15 while we were counting.

Once we'd counted 15 woodcock flyovers the nightjars started calling around us, mainly from behind. Kev strolled back to see where the calls may be coming from and found an individual in a tree - he managed to get a video (see his post on X here) before the bird departed and I arrived (no chance for a record shot). We watched over the back treeline and had great views of flying nightjars, watching them drop into the heather and scrub before rising again. All too far for photos, and the light had gone. Woodcocks continued to pass over, but we were distracted now.

A couple of people appeared, conducting a nightjar survey for the BTO. They moved around the area to get the best views and record the number of birds calling. Since nightjars are primarily active at night, they are difficult to study, and little was known about their movements during breeding and migration. However, recent tracking with high-resolution GPS devices has provided the most detailed and accurate information ever on the migration and movements of British nightjars. These surveys at known locations are an excellent way to monitor changes through the seasons and over the years.

We watched at least three nightjars flying and perching on various trees and Kev managed to take another video - I was again on the other side of the trees and path - idiot. I'd had great views though, just not the photo I wanted. We eventually packed up and made for the car - we'd be getting home after midnight.

Kev and I agreed to meet the following morning and made for WWT Slimbridge - as it doesn't open for members until 8.30am, we didn't rush. There were a handful of cars already in the car park - members that had gone in a little early. We got kitted up and made for Middle Point where a white-spotted bluethroat has been showing again. This is most likely a returning individual that birders have been going to see for the last three years. I feel it is becoming easier to see – I’ve heard a number of people recount the number of repeat visits they had before seeing it in previous years, but it has been a simpler exercise in the last two.

Male bluethroats are particularly colourful, with a bright blue throat featuring a white or sometimes reddish spot, a white belly, and a combination of brown and orange on the upperparts and flanks. The primary component of the bluethroat’s diet includes insects such as beetles, flies, caterpillars, ants, and spiders and so the bird is often out of view and down in the reeds. Bluethroats typically forage on the ground, where they search for insects and other invertebrates among leaf litter, under stones, and in low vegetation.

We passed a birder coming the other way who confirmed the bird was showing - we walked on reaching the Shepherd's Hut and set up outside. As expected, the bird had gone to ground and we scanned around waiting for a view - reed and sedge warblers, and reed buntings popped up and down. A crane flew passed.

After quite a wait Kev spotted our bird on a post way off to our left - he alerted the assembled birders, and we all got our tick.

For the next half an hour it flew up and down this fence line, occasionally dropping from view for 5 - 10 minutes. Eventually it did the decent think and perched on a long twig protruding above the reeds and made a record shot a bit easier. Eventually it flew right at greater distance and out of view.

I was scanning with binoculars and pointed out where I was searching on posts in front of the reeds, away to our right; Kev scanned the area and picked up our bird again. It was too far for photos but soon it reappeared on another perch out in front of us. We decided to make our way back to the Visitor's Centre for some breakfast/brunch.

We made our way round past Rushy Hide having seen a report of drake garganey there just an hour before. Entering the hide it wasn't apparent that it was there at all but as we know they can go AWOL for long periods of time, sleeping/feeding in reeds or dense scrub. It took a while but eventually I saw it in a bay largely concealed by reeds, before it disappeared - Kev didn’t have a chance to see it. 15 minutes had passed when it reappeared at the end of the scrub and at the very far end of the pool. It is entering eclipse plumage and so not quite the stunning individual I'd been hoping for.

Talking of stunning birds, the gadwall is usually a rather plain species but at this time of year really ups its game. A number of these striking individuals were preening close in front. A male gadwall in breeding plumage has a finely marked grey head and neck, with a subtly mottled appearance. The body is primarily grey, featuring intricate patterns and a distinct black rear end.

Just in front of the garganey were two families of shelduck, the young looking particularly cute, quite a number with each pair of parents. They took to the water and looked very conscious that they should stay close to mum and dad. A little ringed plover dropped in very briefly.

We continued walking, and while I paused to watch a warbler in a tree, a kingfisher flew over the path between us and a woman approaching from the other direction. It headed towards a pool beyond a hide. Hoping it might stay around the pool, we entered the hide and spotted it right in front of us. The kingfisher perched for a couple of minutes before relocating to another branch on the left side of the pool. Before finally departing, it moved to the front of the reeds and scanned the water below.

Out in the fields beyond we could see an Egyptian goose on the edge of a pool, feeding on the grasses.

We toured around the rest of the hides and enroute Kev rescued a drinker moth caterpillar crossing a path where it was very likely to be stepped on - footfall traffic was very heavy now. I suggested that he should select an implement to lift it with as I'm sure I'd read that the contact with the hairs is an irritant and care should be taken if you handle one of these. Of course, Kev didn't listen - I know how his wife Karen feels 😂. Reading up on this species it appears that this large, fluffy-looking moth is on the wing in July and August, but that you might spot a caterpillar at almost any time of year. They're most often found in marshy places such as the habitat we were standing in at Slimbridge, the caterpillars feeding on a variety of grasses and reeds. The moth is called the "drinker" because of the caterpillar's habit of drinking drops of dew from grass stems.

Eventually we reached the Kingfisher Hide and found that there were no views of kingfishers to be had. Scanning around we saw a crane working through the meadow to the right, just visible above the long grasses. This crane became two as another raised its head above the height of the grass and followed the first as it worked further and further right.

As they got closer to one another, I had the thought to try and get the two birds in the same photo; as I focussed, I saw a juvenile working along between them. Now trying to get the three in the same photo, I spotted a second juvenile ahead of the leading adult. Like most cranes, this species displays indefinite monogamous pair bonds and their clutch usually contains two eggs, with seldom one laid and, even more rarely, 3 or 4. It was therefore great to see the successful fledging of likely both eggs. I got a photo with three birds, but never the four.

Trying to distract us were three roe deer (one buck and two does) also working through the meadow and dropping to the pool edge for a drink. One doe made the most of abilities prancing left to where the buck was largely concealed from view.

It was getting late in the day, and we could see reports of diversions on the road home, so made tracks encountering road closures and road works in a few places.

Year list: 213.

Ayrshire coast :: 03 & 06 June 2024

I was headed north to celebrate a significant birthday with my youngest brother and family, and as usual I took the time before breakfast to do a bit of birding. I hadn't had the opportunity to try and see a grasshopper warbler this year and so this gave me a site that I should visit as it is reliable for these.

Bogside Racecourse, located near Irvine in North Ayrshire, Scotland, was once a prominent horse racing venue. It opened in 1808 and held significant races, including the Scottish Grand National until 1965. The racecourse closed in 1965 due to declining attendance and financial issues. Areas of the old racecourse have been maintained for green space, walking paths, and wildlife conservation.

The area around here, especially given its proximity to Irvine and coastal wetlands, is rich in birdlife. The varied habitats, including marshlands, grasslands, and nearby coastal areas, attract a diverse range of bird species.

The grasshopper warbler is a small, elusive bird that is found in various parts of the UK, particularly during the breeding season, arriving in the UK in spring (April) and leaving for their wintering grounds in Africa (primarily the Sahel region) by late summer (August-September).

The males are known for their continuous, mechanical reeling song, which they often deliver from a hidden perch within dense vegetation. This song is most frequently heard from dawn ,and later at dusk.

I snuck out of the hotel at 05.00am, parked up at The Irvine Golf Club, walked through the golf course to the edge of the flats, and started my way along the trail on the perimeter of the marshland. I listened as I have previously even seen grasshopper warblers this far up but still hadn't seen or heard anything by the time I got to the woods. This corner is where I most regularly encounter this species here. UK breeding birds amount to 16,000 pairs but can be hard to spot as it moves like a mouse creeping through the foliage and grass.

I listened and heard calls from lesser whitethroat but nothing from my warbler. A willow warbler called from the trees behind. Twenty or so minutes passed, and I was beginning to wonder if I was going to dip when a bird flew low across the grass towards me - I thought willow warbler or chiffchaff but when I got a look it was a grasshopper warbler. It didn't make a sound and I wonder if it might be a female - their calls are generally less prominent. It showed carrying some food but dropped from view and reappeared close by in a fern before climbing up into a bush. working through and away. I had no further views despite waiting for another half-hour or so.

Eventually I thought I'd move on and perhaps visit Stevenston Point. However, as I reached the access point back to the golf course, I scanned the reedbeds and grasslands beyond, spotting a short-eared owl hunting at distance. It worked along the edge of the river and back a couple of times, dropping into the longer grass on a few occasions.

It wasn't the first time I've found short-eared owls around the Garnock River, and it is not surprising as the area provides very suitable habitats such as wetlands, grasslands, and marshes - ideal for these owls. It was great to watch the characteristic low, quartering flight as it hunted for small mammals, the flight buoyant and moth-like, helping to distinguish it from other birds of prey.

I walked further down the track towards Irvine but soon the bird was lost into the grass and out of view. I waited and hoped for another view, but it didn't come. As I waited a roe deer watched me from the grass, presumably thinking it was concealed.

Soon I looked at the time and had to make tracks to be back at the hotel for a shower and breakfast. I messaged my brother to wish him a happy birthday and say we'd see him later for dinner when he got home from work.

I played golf the following day (had two hailstorms) and so didn't attempt an early start, and then Wednesday morning was wet. Thursday, our final day arrived, and I went out at 05.00am again but this time to Stevenston Point - boy was it cold! There was a wind and occasional spots of rain. On the water I couldn't spot anything of note and the rocks held none of the usual suspects. Some gannets fed offshore and on a couple of occasions came closer, plunge-diving for their prey underwater. Most plunge-divers go relatively shallow, but gannets can dive as deep as 20 meters, using its wings and feet to swim deeper in pursuit of fish.

I watched and waited when eventually a couple of sandwich terns passed by, just once and then back down the shore and out of view. A rock pipit called and then appeared on rocks and seaweed at the foot of the bank, soon flying off to the most distant rocks at the point.

Some ducks approached from the south and stayed well offshore - I could see they were common scoter. Afterwards three flew past a bit closer in.

I decided that enough was enough and I started to pack up but noticed something far out but showing white highlights. I got my scope out and could see it was a single red-throated diver; not in full breeding plumage but nevertheless great to eventually find one. Too far out for a decent photo.

I packed the scope away, checked my watch and saw I still had some time so relocated to Saltcoats. I couldn’t locate any purple sandpipers but could see some birds way way way out over the water - Manx shearwaters (my first of the year). I'd talked to a chap who'd seen a handful when I visited in March but I'd not been lucky enough to see any then.

These black-and-white shearwaters track schools of small fish, including herrings and sprats, diving from moderate heights or chasing them underwater. Unlike other shearwaters, they often hunt in smaller groups and are active during daylight hours. After the breeding season, manx shearwaters depart their colonies, migrating from our shores to the eastern coast of South America, near the Antarctic fringe. The feeding grounds here are abundant, ensuring the birds can thrive and return for the next Spring.

I waited and sure enough some passed closer to shore, then a couple almost within range of the camera lens.

I decided to move down to the harbour and even from the car could see some black guillemots flying around. As I got into the harbour, I could see a couple of birds on the edge of the wall and another couple on the steps. I would count eight; they were spectacularly confiding. They relocated regularly but didn't seem to worry about landing close to where I stood. They typically nest in rocky crevices or burrows, sometimes even using old structures as nesting sites, these in the harbour walls.

I had to make my way back, stopping to fill up with fuel for the journey home later in the afternoon.

Year list: 210.