RSPB Snettisham :: 01 August 2026

Having been unable to travel up to Yorkshire with Kev @kev07713 and Karen, and consequently missing both buff-breasted and white-rumped sandpipers, it was rather fortuitous that a white-rumped sandpiper appeared at RSPB Snettisham in time for our regular Saturday birding trip.

We set off at 4.30am, hoping to arrive ahead of the high tide and catch the bird as it was pushed closer towards the shore. After arriving, we began the reasonably long walk from the RSPB car park down to the shore. Within minutes, we heard the unmistakable call of a turtle dove.

We quickly located it, only for two birds to fly over before one settled in a tree some distance away. We stopped to enjoy the views, and as I moved on, Kev dropped back to the car to collect his glasses, just in case he needed to phonescope anything, as focusing was so much easier with them.

I reached the shore and started working through the dunlin and ringed plovers along the water’s edge, hoping to pick out the white-rumped sandpiper amongst them. As I made my way along, Kev caught me up and we continued together, pausing to watch the red knot swirling in the distance.

There were an impressive 56,000 red knot recorded here during the Wetland Bird Survey (WeBS) count at the beginning of the month, and the sheer number of birds was evident as they wheeled above the Wash. Their flight patterns and constantly changing formations were remarkably reminiscent of starling murmurations.

As the tide pushed further across the mudflats, flock after flock of red knot lifted from the water’s edge, thousands of birds twisting and turning in unison above the Wash. The flock moved almost like a single living organism, constantly changing shape as the birds responded to one another, alternately flashing dark and silver as they banked and caught the light.

The sheer scale of the spectacle was difficult to take in. Wave after wave of red knot rose from the shore, filling the sky before settling back down onto the pool behind, only to erupt into flight moments later. It was an incredible display, made all the more impressive by the vast numbers involved.

No sign of the white-rumped sandpiper though.

We continued working our way along the shore, picking out two peregrines, six kestrels, and a buzzard quartering the land beyond the mudflats. Along the remaining shoreline was an impressive array of curlews, godwits, shelduck, redshank, dunlin, red knot, Mediterranean gulls, and more, all feeding along the water’s edge.

Out in front of us, streams of little terns and a handful of common terns headed out across the Wash, setting off on fishing trips as the tide continued to push in. The latest verified local eBird log for RSPB Snettisham recorded a specific group of 117 little terns on the reserve - reports suggest this area of the coastline supports an average of 314 breeding pairs.

According to the latest (unverified WEBS) count there were 56,000 red knot, 3,943 dunlin, 4,500 oystercatcher, 2,050 black-tailed godwit, 1,435 bar-tailed godwit, 1,560 shelduck, 1,270 curlew, 1,270 grey plover, 1,124 redshank, 662 sanderling, 424 ringed plover, 226 turnstone, and 40 Mediterranean gulls amongst the other species.

There are so many waders here at the moment because yit is the start of the autumn migration period, when The Wash becomes an extremely important feeding and staging area for birds returning from their Arctic breeding grounds.

A few things are happening simultaneously:

• Red knot are arriving back from the Arctic. They make the enormous journey south from breeding areas in places such as Greenland, Canada and Russia. The Wash's extensive mudflats provide an exceptionally rich food supply for them to refuel.
• Dunlin numbers are building too. Late summer onwards is an important period for Dunlin on UK estuaries and mudflats, with birds arriving from further north to spend the winter here.
• The Wash is an exceptionally productive feeding area. The huge expanses of exposed mud provide worms, molluscs and other invertebrates, allowing enormous numbers of waders to feed together. The RSPB describes the area as having "world class mud" - essentially, the food supply is what drives the congregation of birds.
• The tide concentrates them. At low tide the birds can spread across vast areas of mudflat to feed. As the tide rises, that feeding habitat disappears, forcing them towards the shore and Snettisham's roosts. The birds spread across The Wash to feed, then become concentrated at Snettisham as the tide comes in.

Looking back along the shore, we could see a group of birders gathered at the point where the path from the car park joins the coastal path. In front of them was a sizeable gathering of waders, although at that distance we couldn’t make out exactly what they were.

At this point, we checked BirdGuides and saw that a report had just been posted for the white-rumped sandpiper further back along the track, with the sighting subsequently confirmed by another birder who had seen it. Had we somehow missed it, or had the bird already moved from there, perhaps onto the pools or with the distant waders?

We headed back towards the group, only to find that they were already moving off. What they had been watching was predominantly sanderling, with a few dunlin, redshank, ringed plovers, and a couple of turnstones mixed in. The white-rumped sandpiper was still nowhere to be seen - we'd arrived 15 minutes too late for the close views described by others.

After a short while, we walked back up the path to where a growing group of birders had gathered, all scanning the mudflats as the tide began to drop once more. We worked our way through the flocks, commenting that each time we made a sweep, the birds seemed to have relocated further along to the latest stretch of exposed sand.

Some of the birders began making their way back along the shore, and we followed, step by step. Every so often they would stop and scan again, only to move on once more, with us gradually catching them up.

Then, at one point, a couple of birders came hurrying back towards us. They had seen the white-rumped sandpiper, but it had flown and landed beside a channel, where it had quickly disappeared from view. We had missed it again! We scanned and scanned but could find no sign of it. Apparently, the white-rumped sandpiper had left with a group of dunlins, and a small flock was later seen flying off to the right, which probably included our elusive bird.

We moved further to the right and began scanning the area, working through the dunlin and redshanks as more birds gradually filtered through from that direction. While I continued searching from this spot, Kev carried on along the path following a couple of the remaining birders.

About ten minutes later, my phone rang. One of the birders had located the sandpiper, and I immediately set off at a brisk pace along the path and a few minutes later, I caught up with them and, at last, was within reach of our target bird.

It took barely a minute to pick it out among the birds on the mudflats, but then there it was - first in my scope, then in my bins, and finally in front of my camera lens.

The white-rumped sandpiper is a rare but regular vagrant to Britain. It breeds across Arctic Canada and winters mainly in Patagonia, but its transatlantic migration route brings small numbers to Britain and Ireland, particularly during late summer and autumn. To make things even more challenging, it is roughly dunlin-sized and can be surprisingly difficult to pick out amongst hundreds or even thousands of its smaller counterparts. The combination of long wings, a relatively long bill, prominent white supercilium, and streaking extending onto the flanks can be particularly useful when separating it from dunlin.

With the Wash attracting enormous numbers of passage waders at this time of year, perhaps it is not so surprising that the occasional Nearctic vagrant finds its way into these vast gatherings of otherwise familiar species. For a bird arriving from the other side of the Atlantic, the rich feeding grounds of the Wash must provide an ideal place to stop, refuel, and continue its journey.

Walking to the next group of birders we heard that there were two little stints and it wasn't long before we located one, feeding amongst the seaweed and dunlins. The little stint is Britain's smallest regularly occurring wader, at only about two-thirds the size of a dunlin. It is seen mainly on spring and, especially, autumn passage. British birds breed in northern Scandinavia and north-west Russia and winter around southern Europe and western Africa.

The important distinction is that little stint isn't normally expected in the huge tidal flocks of dunlin at Snettisham in quite the same way. You're more likely to find one feeding around the edges of pools or amongst smaller wader gatherings. This makes finding one a matter of carefully checking the less obvious birds rather than simply scanning the main knot/dunlin spectacle.

On the way to the shore from the car park I'd seen a wall butterfly - a species that Kev had not knowingly encountered previously and so on the way back to the car we stopped regularly and searched. We were eventually rewarded by a couple of views, one relatively close. We struggled to get open wing photographs and the only individual that compiled was a bit worse for wear.

The wall is a beautifully marked butterfly, its orange-and-brown wings patterned with dark lines and prominent eyespots. The most striking feature is the large black eyespot with a white centre near the tip of each forewing, complemented by a series of smaller eyespots along the hindwings. When settled with its wings closed, however, it becomes much more cryptic, the mottled grey-brown underside blending remarkably well with dry grass, bare earth and stones.

The wall is a butterfly of short, open, sunny grassland, particularly where there are patches of bare ground. Typical habitats include coastal cliffs and dunes, quarries, railway embankments, grassy tracks and field margins. The caterpillars feed on various grasses. It is particularly associated with warm, sheltered places, and adults often bask on walls, rocks, bare ground and other sunny surfaces. Males can be quite conspicuous when they patrol low over the ground looking for females.

The wall has experienced a very substantial long-term decline. UKBMS data show an 82.8% decline since monitoring began in 1976. Interestingly, the national index has been more stable over the last 20 years and has increased over the last decade, although this doesn't undo the much larger historical loss.

With a three-hour journey home ahead of us, it was time to make tracks, but not before stopping at the café just outside the reserve for a well-earned spot of lunch.

Year list: 272.

Ups-and-downs, dips-and-lifers :: 02-06 May 2026

It had been a funny end to the week, with various appointments and events restricting me to little more than local birding, even as reports emerged of a tawny pipit at Landguard Observatory and Nature Reserve. By Saturday, Kev @kev07713 and I were heading east in the hope of connecting with the bird. With only around 10–12 individuals typically accepted each year in the UK, tawny pipit is now considered a national rarity. Although once a more regular visitor, its status has declined markedly in recent years, making this a potential lifer for both of us.

About 30 minutes from the site we pulled into a petrol station for a quick comfort break and a sandwich, keen not to lose time sitting down for breakfast somewhere. As we came back from paying, we heard the unmistakable song of a nightingale from behind a row of containers. Food and drinks were hastily abandoned in the car as we grabbed our binoculars and went in search of the bird.

The song was carrying well, and it didn’t take long to work out where it was, although the bird itself was buried deep within the centre of a tall, leafy bush. After a few minutes it climbed higher and briefly poked its head into view before slipping back into cover - Kev saw the bird but I managed to miss it. It continued singing for a while longer before flying between this and another patch of dense vegetation. The song then fell silent, but a couple of minutes later the bird returned to the original bush and began singing again.

We waited in the hope of something better than a flight view, but eventually the bird moved farther away and resumed singing well in front of us, at which point we decided to continue our journey.

Back in the car it wasn’t long before we reached the car park, paid, and began unpacking our optics and changing into walking boots when we noticed another birder approaching. As he drew nearer, he called out, "Hello Kyle" - it was Matt Dineen, whom I’d met in East Lothian a few weeks earlier while watching the black-throated thrush. He did well to recognise me; I have aged since then 😂.

We asked whether there had been any sign of the tawny pipit, as there had been no positive reports by that stage. Matt said he was heading off for breakfast after unsuccessful searches by himself and all the birders on site despite a thorough effort. The bird had apparently been favouring the approach to the end roped-off area first thing in the morning before regularly relocating into the roped-off section itself later on. With no sign of it, birders had begun spreading out and walking circuits of the area in the hope that someone would relocate it, but so far nobody had managed to do so.

We walked out onto the reserve and crossed to the far side of the grassy field, passing through scattered gorse before stopping at the ropes put in place to protect the ground-nesting birds. From there we began scanning the area, picking out woodpigeons, linnets, and a red-legged partridge within the roped-off section, while the gorse held blackbirds, whitethroats, more linnets, and several blue and great tits.

Working the area carefully with scopes and binoculars, we searched across the grassland and soon found two wheatears and a pair of yellow wagtails, along with more linnets, house sparrows, two ringed plovers, and several pied wagtails. Overhead, two shelducks circled briefly before dropping in nearby.

Singles and small groups of birders were scattered across the site, all scanning intently and trying to relocate the tawny pipit, which had been confirmed going to roost the previous evening. Despite the effort, things were beginning to look rather unpromising. We joined the search, methodically covering the area before eventually gravitating towards the spot where the bird had been showing most regularly over the previous few days.

Out over the sea we could hear the calls of Mediterranean gulls, but on the grassland we continued to find only the same species we had picked up earlier. Another birder approached and turned out to be Oli Beacock @olibeacock.bsky.social, who was also searching for the pipit. He had arrived before us, checked this area thoroughly, and completed two wide circuits of the site, but had also drawn a blank.

We chatted for a while before he headed off - he was planning to call in at RSPB Minsmere on his way home unless news of something else broke. Before long we too were making our way back towards the car, as many of the other birders had already done. With no sign of the tawny pipit since first light, despite birders searching continuously through the morning, it increasingly felt as though the bird had moved on.

We passed by the fort and headed down towards the shore, where we soon noticed a line of birders with binoculars and cameras raised. Joining them, we discovered that the focus of attention was not the tawny pipit, but a woodlark feeding on a stony patch of grass just above the shoreline.

Woodlarks are always a pleasure to see, though on this occasion there was a slight sense of disappointment as, for a moment, our hopes had been raised. After feeding briefly, the bird took off strongly, flew some distance away, and then returned within a couple of minutes.

With the tawny pipit seemingly gone, we decided to look elsewhere for something to salvage the day and made our way back to the car.

On the walk back to the car we looked out across the rooftops of the fort after someone mentioned there was a pair of black redstarts around. I soon spotted a bird fly across and land on a chimney stack. Raising my binoculars, I could see it was a female black redstart, and I quickly called Kev over so he could get onto it, and we could add it to the day list.

Although the black redstart was a nice bonus, Kev had also received an update from BirdGuides - a woodchat shrike had just been reported up the coast at Dunwich Heath NT, the very site where I had dipped the red-tailed shrike the previous year. Woodchat shrike has become something of a bogey bird for me; I’d already travelled to see one on four separate occasions and failed every time. Kev has grown rather weary of these unsuccessful quests and had previously vowed never to go for another one with me because he couldn’t face the disappointment again.

I turned to him and asked whether he fancied the roughly hour-long drive. Thankfully for me, he agreed - after all, what’s another dip between friends? Besides, I was driving, so I could always have taken him hostage and gone there anyway!

We pulled into the car park after a smooth drive and were greeted by glorious weather and a car park bursting at the seams. Kev wandered off to buy a parking ticket while I got myself organised and spoke to a few birders returning from the heath, who confirmed both where we needed to go and, more importantly, that the bird was still present.

When Kev returned, we headed down the path, only to encounter increasing numbers of birders walking back the other way. For a moment I feared the worst - surely, I couldn’t be unlucky enough to dip again? Thankfully they reassured us that the bird was still there, although distant and not ideal for photography.

Before long we reached the line of assembled birders and quickly got onto the woodchat shrike, perched on top of a distant gorse bush. Over the next half hour, it relocated several times, though it seemed faithful to the same general area, occasionally dropping to the ground before returning to the line of gorse.

Although distant, none of that mattered. I finally had my bird. The monkey was off my back - after four previous failures, woodchat shrike was at last a lifer.

Woodchat shrikes are considered a rare visitor to Britain, with most records involving spring overshoots or autumn migrants. They are recorded annually in small numbers, with typically around 20–60 individuals reported each year. Many are short-stayers, which is probably why I’d missed them previously. In the past I’d usually had to wait until Saturday to make the journey, only to find the bird had already moved on by then. It seems that with woodchat shrikes, if one turns up, you simply have to go immediately.

A first-year male woodchat shrike such as this can be a particularly attractive bird, showing a pleasing mix of immature and adult-like features. The most striking feature was the warm chestnut-rufous crown and nape which, although probably duller and less extensive than on a full adult male, looked superb to me.

We spent some time simply enjoying the bird and, before long, another familiar face joined us - Tom Hines @tomhines10, whom we occasionally bump into while out birding. He told us he had arrived the previous evening and had managed to connect with the tawny pipit before it disappeared, making the woodchat shrike an added bonus on his journey home. Conversation soon turned to the lesser kestrel that had just appeared in Cornwall, but Tom explained that he needed to be back home on Sunday and couldn’t face the prospect of a seven-hour drive from here, followed by the same journey back up to Sheffield. Instead, he planned to try and arrange some time off over the following few days.

I’d got my bird, and once again looking on BirdGuides we could see continuing reports of an Iberian chiffchaff not far down the road at Westleton Heath NNR. Although I’d already seen one in Durham back in April, Kev still needed it for the year list, and it’s never a disappointment to connect with one.

We returned to the car and drove the short distance, parking alongside another birder who turned out to be local and heading for the same spot. We followed him along the road, through a gate, and up a track towards a treeline bordering the heath. Along the way we met two birders just coming back who confirmed the bird was still present, and within moments we could hear it calling - unmistakeable.

Soon afterwards it showed, flitting frustratingly high in the canopy. We watched it for a while and were joined by another couple keen to tick the species, who added it to their lists before rushing off. Eventually, content with the views we’d had, we turned back and wandered down to the car.

Before we got very far Kev spun round to point out a woodlark perched on a low tree on the fenceline behind us. Two for the price of one today. It called repeatedly and we walked down the path until we were almost level with it. Soon it decided it was time to move on and flew back and away.

On the track I spotted a small butterfly with Kev and I stopping to take a look - a small copper butterfly. It appears Kev and I have started paying a bit more attention to them since seeing a green hairstreak last year, followed by our search for purple emperors. Not a minute later we saw another small species and this time we ID'd it as a small heath. This is an unobtrusive grassland butterfly that can be very easy to overlook, but it’s a great species for a heath if the conditions are right. It is one of the UK’s smallest butterflies, usually found flying low and fast over short vegetation rather than visiting flowers much. A key feature visible is the small, dark eyespot near the tip of the forewing, which is typical for this butterfly.

We returned to the car and crossed the road into the woodland opposite, beyond the Westleton Heath NNR car park, in search of nightingales. It wasn’t long before we were hearing several singing, and although we occasionally caught fleeting glimpses of birds in the bushes, none obliged with anything approaching a prolonged view or photo opportunity.

With nightingales, though, it is very much about the song, and we were content to stand and soak in the chorus from a handful of different individuals before heading back.

Back at the car park we bumped into Oli Beacock, who had remained in the area and also managed to connect with the woodchat shrike earlier. Soon after, it was time to pack up and begin the journey home.

After a rest on the bank holiday Sunday, I discussed the possibility of heading down for the lesser kestrel, but with Kev due to help his brother with work on Tuesday he wasn’t keen to travel on the Monday. Instead, he and his wife Karen planned to set off late on Tuesday morning and stay in Cornwall for Tuesday and Wednesday nights. I already had an evening appointment on Tuesday, so realistically the earliest I could join them would be Wednesday - the question was whether the bird would still be around by then.

On the bank holiday Monday, Charlotte was out playing pickleball in the morning, which gave me an opportunity to slip off to Farmoor Reservoir. The aim was twofold: to try for an Arctic tern, with a few having been reported moving through nearby sites over the previous couple of days, and to have another go at finding a grasshopper warbler, which had so far eluded me this year.

On the water there were just a couple of common terns, along with a few dozen swifts, a scattering of sand martins, and a couple of house martins - but no sign of any Arctic terns.

Out on the causeway I picked up a dunlin, which was associating with a sanderling that had been reported over recent days. Sanderlings are cracking little birds, and I always enjoy seeing them, especially when they’re in numbers on a beach, scurrying along the water’s edge, constantly in motion.

I didn’t wait long in the hope of Arctic terns and soon made my way down to the river, where whitethroats, sedge warblers and reed warblers were all in full song - but still no sign of a grasshopper warbler. The air was alive with noise, yet the distinctive reeling I was hoping for was absent.

I walked the river stretch back and forth a few times, even switching on the Merlin app in case I was simply missing it, but it confirmed there was nothing being picked up. After a good half hour, I caught sight of a bird dropping down on the far side of the river. It looked promising, so I focused my attention in that direction.

Eventually I picked it up, just perched above the reed line, and could see it was indeed a grasshopper warbler. I managed a few quick photos before it flew off to the left and dropped out of sight again.

At last.

Along the river again a common tern passed through, its flight showing a buoyant, elastic rhythm rather than steady flapping. Its flight alternated between rapid, shallow wingbeats and short glides, giving it a light, almost hovering quality as it worked over the water and eventually from view.

Charlotte would be home for lunch, so I packed up and headed back to the car, meeting Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby on the causeway. Nick was out doing what he does every year at this time - photographing swifts. He’s far better at it than I am; I really struggle to get anything decent of them on the wing, whereas he consistently produces top-notch images. He also took the opportunity to photograph the sanderling and dunlin on the wing as they were flushed by families out for a walk.

We had a quick chat as we made our way back to the car, then I headed off home in a bit of a rush so I wouldn’t be much later back than Charlotte.

Late on Tuesday morning an update came through on a WhatsApp group reporting an accident on the M5 south of Weston-Super-Mare, with the road closed and traffic already building behind it. It soon became clear that the incident involved a lorry, with fuel spillage meaning the road surface would need to be replaced; estimates of an opening time extended out, eventually to midnight.

Kev was already enroute and likely caught up in the closure, raising the real possibility that his arrival to see the bird that evening would be badly delayed. As it turned out, the journey took him just under seven hours, a terrible journey, and he eventually arrived a little before 6.00pm. He managed to get onto the bird and even captured a video of it taking off and watched as it flew off strongly. Reports from Kev, later echoed on BirdGuides, confirmed it “flew east at 6.00pm and no further sign by dusk”.

Despite a thorough search and a long wait, the bird had seemingly vanished. I spoke to Kev briefly as I headed to bed early, as I still planned to make the journey myself the following day in the hope it might still be lingering in the area and show again.

I left at 2.30am and had an easy drive down, and even with a comfort break en route I was on site just after 7.00am. Kev hadn’t arrived yet, but a handful of birders were already out searching and had been since first light - with nothing seen so far.

I chatted with one chap who had driven through the night to be there for dawn. He was concentrating on the trees where the bird had reportedly roosted on previous evenings, though apparently not the night before. He also mentioned that a woman had reported black-winged stilts on the pool up the road, so I decided to walk up and check that area, along with the fields on the far side of the trees where the main group was stationed.

As I returned from the pool - no stilts - Kev and Karen parked up and joined me. I’d only been on site about 45 minutes, though others had been searching longer, and there was still no sign of the bird. It was beginning to feel like it might be another dip.

We regrouped and searched around the trees and nearby fields, discussing where to go next. That seemed to involve crossing some very muddy ground, so we started heading back down to the car so I could put on my wellies.

On the way, I glanced left across the field and picked up a kestrel hanging in the air. I dropped my tripod and scope, called Kev and Karen over, and tried to work out what we were looking at. The bird was backlit against a bright sky, making it tricky to pick out key details. I grabbed a few photos, and between those and scope views I began to think this might actually be it. It was only after processing that the initial photos clearly confirm the identification.

A couple of minutes later it dropped onto a mound, giving much better views, and the details came into focus. It was our lesser kestrel. Get in there.

It is a genuine mega-rarity in the UK. Unlike the more familiar common kestrel, lesser kestrels have never established any breeding population in Britain and are only recorded as very rare vagrants. On average, only a handful of records occur per decade, with many years having none - in fact the last bird recorded was back in 2010 at RSPB Minsmere. There have been only around 22 accepted UK records, and this bird is only the second accepted record for Cornwall.

Lesser kestrels breed in southern Europe, North Africa, and parts of western Asia. The closest strong populations are in: Spain and Portugal (major strongholds); southern France and Italy; North Africa (especially Morocco and Algeria).

We moved through a gate and around the edge of the field that allowed access up to the trees on the northern side, where three birders were already stationed. The kestrel remained on the mound throughout and was still present when we began watching from this slightly elevated viewpoint.

Gradually more people gathered, and in due course we were all rewarded with views of the bird in flight, hunting low across the field. At times it disappeared briefly over the slope before reappearing again, drawing us all in to watch as it worked the area. Eventually it landed in a tree in front, apparently the same one Kev and Karen had seen it in the evening before. It had graced a number of nearer trees in past days, but this was good enough and allowed better views of the whole bird.

Our bird was clearly a male lesser kestrel, an exceptionally rare visitor to the UK. Although it closely resembles the more familiar common kestrel, this adult male can be separated by several clear features visible in the photos. It shows a pale blue-grey head and tail, and unlike the common kestrel it lacks a dark “moustache”, although in certain lighting a shadow can give a similar impression. There are also obvious grey panels on the upper wings, and pale yellow talons, in contrast to the black talons of the common kestrel. The underwing is strikingly pale, often described as almost unmarked white. This contrasts sharply with its darker breast. Unlike the common kestrel, which has heavily barred or spotted underwings, the male lesser kestrel's underwing typically has less to no barring, and fewer if any spots.

Behaviour is another useful clue: unlike common kestrels, lesser kestrels feed mainly on insects, which they either catch on the wing or drop to the ground to take.

On a couple of occasions the bird dropped from its perch into the field, picking off insects on the ground before returning to the trees. The flight out and back again was a real spectacle to watch. I chatted with a birder I recognised, Richard Tyler richardtyler.zenfolio.com, whom I’d also seen earlier this year when we were both out for the killdeer in Hampshire. Looking at his site I see he has some superb images in his May catalogue - he’s an excellent photographer and has some very impressive kit.

Kev and Karen decided it was time to head off for breakfast and take a look around Hayle, so we started walking back towards the cars. On the way we discussed their plans for the journey home, and they mentioned they would likely stop at RSPB Labrador Bay to see cirl buntings, avoiding the need for a dedicated trip later in the year. That sounded like a sensible idea, and it also made it seem like a good opportunity for me to do the same today.

We said our goodbyes and split up, as my car was parked a little further down the road. Before I reached it, I bumped into a few other birders, one of whom stopped for a chat and mentioned he had managed to photograph the lesser kestrel perched on a post on the far side of the road - presumably during one of the moments we’d lost sight of it earlier in the field.

We talked more generally about birds in the area for a good 20 minutes before I finally made it back to the car. I’d just started packing my kit away when a shout went up that the lesser kestrel had reappeared on the very post the other birder had mentioned, across the road. I grabbed my camera and hurried down to get a few more shots before finally setting off.

It was about a two-hour drive to RSPB Labrador Bay, but at least it was broadly on the way home and would break up the final leg into a more manageable journey. I’d never been there before, so on arrival I dropped down the slope from the car park, through the gate, and took in the view across the field towards the sea.

Turning left, I followed the footpath along the hedgerow, where I soon picked up the contact call of a cirl bunting, apparently coming from a patch of brambles. I couldn’t see the bird at first, but it eventually lifted out and flew across the field behind me into a taller hedge with scattered trees.

At the end of the field I went through another gate and turned left up a track enclosed by dense bushes on both sides, heading roughly in the direction the cirl bunting had flown. Near the top, where gates opened on either side of the track, I again heard cirl bunting calls - this time several birds.

I quickly located one moving in the hedge and paused to try for some photos, but it remained deep in cover and the best I could manage was a brief record shot before it flew out the back and continued along the track I’d just come up.

The others had fallen silent, so I made my way back down the track and picked up a couple of birds in a tree on the far side of the hedge. I tried to get them in focus, but they were quickly obscured by branches and foliage before disappearing and heading back up the track.

I followed once more, and this time could hear a male in full song. I located it high in a tree right beside the track - not an ideal photographic position, but giving excellent views through binoculars. After a short while it dropped out of sight, only for one (or possibly the same bird) to appear on a branch in front of me - absolutely superb.

I managed to fire off a couple of shots before it slipped away again, stage right.

I headed back down the track to check the rest of the site and surrounding fields before returning to the car for the 3½ hour drive home.

It had been quite a day - no dip this time, a lifer safely in the bag, and a couple of excellent year ticks to round things off nicely.

Year list: 246.