There had been a fair amount of travelling over the past week, so Kev and I began the weekend’s birding with something closer to home, heading into Northamptonshire. There had been regular reports of a whimbrel at Clifford Hill, a site I had never visited before and one Kev had only been to once, and not for birding. Armed with his directions on where to park, we made for the car park on the western side of the main waterbody.
Clifford Hill Country Park forms part of the Upper Nene Valley Gravel Pits, a mosaic of lakes, reedbeds, wet grassland and footpaths created from former gravel workings. Paths circle the pools, and our target bird had been reported regularly along the northern shore of the main pit, according to the Northants Birding WhatsApp group.
We followed the track from the car park to the water’s edge, where a decision had to be made: north side or south? Kev mentioned that on his previous visit he had walked the southern route and seen a couple of yellow wagtails, so we opted to go that way, reasoning there might be more to record while still allowing views across to the northern shore.
Just as we turned right, we checked the WhatsApp group and saw that “Pete” had posted moments earlier that the whimbrel was still present - a relief - along with a list of other species he had seen, though without updating the bird’s location.
Sedge warblers called from all directions, while sand martin and the odd swallow hawked over the water and surrounding fields. Along the southern stretch of the footpath we spotted a birder beside the water, scope set up, bicycle leaning nearby, scanning the pit; presumably Pete. We quickened our pace to catch up with him.
When we had covered about half the distance, Kev suddenly picked up a bird passing through his scope’s field of view and called it out so we could both try to identify it. As usual, he was quick off the mark, suggesting it was our whimbrel. We could make out features that supported the identification and watched as it first circled the far side of the pool, then climbed high and flew strongly away over the houses beyond, disappearing from view. Was that our bird departing? Had we caught it just as it was leaving?
We scanned the north bank and could not see a whimbrel there, then continued on until we met Pete, now mounted on his bicycle and heading our way. After greetings, we mentioned we had just watched the whimbrel fly off. He seemed a little surprised, saying he had last seen the bird on the east bank quite recently, and as far as he knew there was and had only been one whimbrel present over recent days - so perhaps we had been mistaken ...
But as soon as we put the scope down, there was a whimbrel on the far north-eastern corner. Had there really been time for a long flight and a return? It seemed unlikely. Which raised the question: was there more than one?
Kev and I then had a brief discussion about whether to make a full circuit or turn back towards the car park. Kev realised, and probably already knew, that I would want a better photo than I had managed so far, so we pressed on, leaving Pete to continue his circuit in the opposite direction.
As we rounded the eastern bank, we watched the whimbrel work back onto the north bank, with a single little ringed plover in the background, one of three we would see there. Then, unexpectedly, a second whimbrel walked into view. Was this the bird we had seen fly through earlier and apparently return, or another entirely?
Before we could post an update on WhatApp, Pete had already done so, and before long he came round to join us, quickly adding a photo of the two whimbrels to the group.
One bird remained closer to the water but slowly fed its way nearer and nearer to the other, until at one point it approached so closely that it provoked a reaction: the second bird dropped its head, lunged forward, and sent the intruder briefly into the air. After that brief dispute, they resumed feeding together, though now at a more respectful distance.
We continued our walk around the pool and watched as five boats were being rowed up and down the river - two men’s crews, one women’s crew and two singles - with a launch following them back and forth, coaching from alongside and monitoring the stroke. In the reeds along the river’s edge, sedge warbler continued calling and we saw several more, seemingly trying to drown out the song of skylark rising and falling in the fields behind. We had seen six wheatear, three males and three females, but they refused to come close enough for a proper photo, and I decided not to pursue them around the field in search of a better shot.
Back at the car we decided to visit Summer Leys Nature Reserve, despite our earlier discussion that the additional whimbrel might have been the bird reported there the previous day. It would make for a pleasant few hours’ birding regardless, and at this time of year there is usually a chance of seeing and hearing garden warbler - a species neither Kev nor I had encountered yet this year.
We arrived in the car park and chose to make our circuit in the opposite direction to usual, passing a visit to the Pioneer Hide and taking a clockwise route instead. Along the path, Cetti's warbler, sedge warbler and willow warbler called, while butterflies drifted past - first orange-tip, then a holly blue, and perched on a bush we found a green-veined white. We talked about making a few butterfly trips in summer, when some of the intensity of spring birding eases and the migrants are all in and settled.
Shortly after a chiffchaff called from the side of the footpath and it was impossible not to comply with his request for a portrait.
We stopped as Kev mentioned he had heard a bullfinch. I hadn’t picked it up myself, but he was sure of it and said he could still hear the soft, call coming from somewhere nearby - possibly from the two birds that had just dropped into cover behind a bush to our left.
We turned on the Merlin app to see if it would pick anything up, but it remained silent on the matter, even though both of us could still hear the call. Kev, as so often, was outperforming Merlin.
After a short wait, a pair of bullfinches finally emerged. The male slipped out first and headed further along the path, more wary and reluctant to stay, while the female paused briefly to feed in a tree ahead, picking delicately at buds before following after him. They moved quietly and unhurriedly, slipping back into cover as quickly as they had appeared - understated, compact birds, but unmistakably lovely to watch at close range.
Now out along the disused railway track we paused often, listening as warblers called from all around us, the loudest being Cetti's and sedge warblers, both belting out their songs at full volume. Looking out over the water we counted at least eight terns, at times possibly more, and through the scope confirmed them as common tern.
At the sand martin wall there was no activity at all, and we picked our way around the diverted path, currently blocked off to give the birds some protection. There was an effort in 2014, when around 50 nest holes were drilled into the old quarry conveyor loading-ramp wall along the disused railway to provide a more secure and stable nesting site for sand martin. The artificial wall itself serves as protection, offering nesting burrows less vulnerable to erosion than natural banks.
As we rejoined the path on the far side, we came across a Cetti's warbler calling from right beside us, though hidden on the far side of a bush. It then flew into a more open shrub in front of us, at first largely obscured, but gradually worked its way into view, giving Kev and me the chance for a few photographs before it slipped away again into a denser patch of bramble.
Now on the last stretch we stopped to listen to a garden warbler and were initially frustrated that it remained invisible from the path. Eventually we found a small gap through the vegetation where we could watch it, though the view was heavily interrupted by leaves and branches - still enough to claim our first of the year.
This is a good place to encounter garden warbler, particularly from late April into June when males are in full song - they can be elusive and are often heard long before they are seen, but they are regular spring and summer migrants here.
We reached the car park and changed out of our boots for the journey home. Another excellent day out, and it had been good to do some birding a little closer to home for a change, helped by the arrival of so many migrants settling in for the summer.
That evening we chatted and decided it would be prudent to make the trip down to Swineham, near Wareham, to see the red-spotted bluethroat. Our regular white-spotted bluethroat at WWT Slimbridge will fail to return one of these years; it has been around five years since its first appearance, and it seems increasingly unwise to assume we will always get another chance. The Swineham bird, meanwhile, had been giving remarkable views to those walking the narrow trail at the reserve.
So Kev, Karen and I set off at a leisurely 7.00am, driving straight there - not passing go or collecting £200.
We parked on the roadside just outside the entrance to Swanage & Wareham Rugby Football Club and started down the track. Visitors had been asked not to park along the lane itself - at first we were a little concerned by the volume of traffic heading that way, but it soon became clear there was an event on, probably a match, with most vehicles turning into the club, leaving enough roadside space without causing an obstruction.
Partway along the track there was a narrow muddy section to cross, and despite wearing walking boots I decided to leap it. As I took off, I felt a pull in my calf muscle - what an idiot. Over the rest of the walk, I resigned myself to cancelling my Tuesday night pickleball session and did so on the website; there was no way I would be playing with that injury.
It took about twenty to twenty-five minutes to reach the spot, where we found a line of people gathered along the path, waiting for the bird to appear. We joined the back of the group and soon spotted Graham Jepson standing off the path and in the water. He had brought wellies “just in case”, and it was now paying dividends, allowing him to stand where others could not.
Then the bird appeared, and we began to get views. As it came and went, some people drifted away or shifted position, allowing us gradually to edge further and further towards the front. And what a bird it was.
Red-spotted bluethroat are scarce but regular migrants to Britain, and they are generally considered more numerous than white-spotted bluethroats in overall British records. They are Spring migrants, chiefly in May (their classic time) but are also recorded in autumn, especially on east coast migration hotspots. Most red-spotted bluethroats in Britain are brief, furtive and can vanish overnight. A confiding bird lingering for days is much more unusual.
As we watched, a call went up alerting everyone to three glossy ibis flying away from us. Not the best views, or the best photographs I have of the species, but a record for the day nonetheless.
We then settled into a period of waiting, hoping an osprey might fly along the channel as it had done for others in recent days - perhaps even, ambitiously, a white-tailed eagle. There was no such luck.
We did, however, see a number of bearded tits moving through the reeds, their pinging calls carrying across the margins, though I never managed a usable photograph of them.
As we made our way back along the lane to the car, we heard siskin calling overhead and eventually picked one up as it flew across the track and into a tree above us - always good value for the money.
Back at the car we decided to make a diversion on the way home to Pig Bush to see if we could locate any common redstart, as our friends Adrian and Bryan had seen some there the day before. I did not have a hard stop today, as my wife was away playing a pickleball league match and would be home late, so there was time for one more stop.
We reached the car park and took the last remaining space, then made our way through the trees to the far side, leaving the people behind. Kev picked up a firecrest calling, but we did not linger - we were on a mission.
Walking the line between the trees and open heath, it was not long before we heard a common redstart calling, and within a couple of minutes Kev had located it high in the canopy. We followed it as it moved from tree to tree, and occasionally it dropped a little lower, offering a chance for a photograph, though usually with the sky as a difficult backdrop.
It was great to see these birds back. They must be among our most colourful breeding species, and this was a welcome year tick.
We decided to leave this bird in peace and walked further along the edge of the trees. Having lagged behind, I caught up with Kev and Karen, who were already watching another male common redstart, this one lower down and dropping repeatedly from the tree to the ground and back again. As we watched, a female common redstart moved through the shadows below, hopping quietly into view before departing stage right.
We stayed with the male for a while, enjoying better views than the first bird, until a group of walkers with a dog came along the track and brought our entertainment to an abrupt end.
Karen had yet to see a Dartford warbler this year, so we set off in the opposite direction to try to find her one. It took a few hundred metres and around 20 minutes, but eventually we came across two birds - one giving only vocal clues from deep cover, and a second that briefly popped into view on a couple of occasions as it worked through the vegetation.
There must still be good numbers around, as we rarely fail to connect with this species in this area.
Dartford warbler is one of the signature birds of the New Forest National Park, which remains one of its principal strongholds in Britain. Unlike many warblers, it does not migrate to Africa, instead remaining on the heaths throughout the winter, reliant on mature lowland heath with a mix of heather and gorse.
It is also a notable conservation success story. After crashing to very low numbers following severe winters, most famously in 1962–63, the species has recovered strongly thanks to targeted habitat management and increasingly mild winters.
Mission accomplished, we started back towards the car and paused in the trees as we once again heard the call of a firecrest. We scanned the surrounding holly, focusing on movement among the dense foliage.
After a few moments we managed to pick out a bird, and it held long enough in the open for a decent photograph. A great species to round off a great weekend’s birding.
Year list: 231.
