Crail & Musselburgh :: 08 - 09 July 2026

With birding largely reduced to short days out and the same species turning up on each visit, Kev and I have been spending more time watching butterflies and, inevitably, dragonflies and damselflies. We'd also taken in some tennis at Eastbourne for a week, travelling and spending time with friends. Everything changed on Sunday when news broke of a long-tailed shrike at Crail, Fife. Unfortunately, I was tied up on both Monday and Tuesday, leaving Wednesday as my first chance to go. Kev wasn't tempted by the prospect of the long drive, so this would be a solo trip. If time allowed on the way home, I'd also try to call in and see my mum and one of my brothers.

On Wednesday morning I was showered, packed and ready, waiting only for confirmation that the bird had remained overnight. Thankfully the early updates started appearing on the WhatsApp groups and BirdGuides, allowing for an early departure. At 5.31am the message I'd been waiting for arrived - the bird was still present. I grabbed my optics and overnight bag and headed north for Fife, stopping only once enroute for breakfast and a comfort break.

The bird had been discovered near Crail and proved remarkably faithful to the area, remaining long enough for thousands of birders to catch up with it. It was identified as a first-summer male, showing the classic combination of a black face mask and crown, grey nape, chestnut back and rump, pale underparts and a long black tail.

Its appearance was of huge significance. Before the Crail bird, Britain had recorded just one accepted long-tailed shrike, a first-winter bird on South Uist in the Outer Hebrides during November 2000. That individual became the stuff of birding folklore as severe weather made travel to the islands extremely difficult. Birders chartered boats and even aircraft in desperate attempts to reach it, but many failed before the bird disappeared, leaving relatively few fortunate enough to add it to their British lists.

The Crail bird was found by Ian Redfield, a visiting American ornithology student from Colorado who is spending the summer in Fife assisting with corn bunting surveys. While birding farmland near Thirdpart House, just outside Crail, Ian noticed a shrike that immediately struck him as unusual. Although unfamiliar with European shrikes, he recognised it wasn't quite right and sent photographs to local birders Will Creswell of Wild Crail and Chris Gomersall, who circulated the images with the cautious message: "Probably lesser grey shrike. Small chance of long-tailed shrike."

The photographs then caught the attention of experienced birder Jared Wilson, who suggested that the seemingly improbable possibility of a long-tailed shrike should be taken seriously. Once the bird was relocated and studied properly, its rich chestnut upperparts, long tail and other diagnostic features confirmed the identification, making it only the second accepted long-tailed shrike ever recorded in Britain and the first for mainland Britain.

The discovery is a reminder of just how important it is to question first impressions. The bird could easily have been written off as a more familiar shrike species, but sharp observation, combined with Jared Wilson's willingness to consider an exceptionally rare identification, resulted in one of the most memorable British birding discoveries of recent decades.

I arrived at the fruit farm shop, where a volunteer directed me to a parking space. A team of volunteers was doing an excellent job of managing the stream of visiting birders while ensuring the normal business of the farm shop could continue uninterrupted. With my optics collected, I set off along the track running parallel to the road before turning onto a tarmac path leading towards a house and outbuildings, where a gathering of birders had assembled. It was a walk of almost a mile from the car park.

As I approached, a couple walking back towards me delivered some worrying news: the bird hadn't been seen for over two and a half hours. What! After a seven-hour drive, that wasn't what I wanted to hear. Fortunately, before disappointment had time to set in, I noticed a ripple of excitement spread through the assembled birders. As I reached them, the long-tailed shrike appeared on the low branches of a distant hedgerow. I managed a quick look through a local birder's scope before setting up my own scope, then enjoyed another brief view before it dropped back into cover. A lifer ticked.

I crossed to the opposite side of the hedge, joining another 30–40 birders watching the same stretch of hedge, and settled down to wait. About 20 minutes later someone picked the bird up again, this time tucked inside the hedge rather than perched on it. Although partly obscured at times by leaves blowing in the breeze, it remained visible long enough (15-20 minutes) to enjoy some excellent scope views.

Photography, however, proved much more difficult. The combination of distance, foliage and constantly shifting branches made getting a clear shot a real challenge, although I persevered and managed a few record images.

Looking through social media during the afternoon, I realised just how fortunate the earliest arrivals had been. Anyone on site before 6.00am had enjoyed incredible, close and unobstructed views. A birder friend, Alan Boddington @alanbodd, had driven through the night and was among those lucky enough to witness the bird showing continuously for at least 1½ hours. He also captured some outstanding video footage of this amazing rarity.

Through the night drive to Scotland for Britain’s 2nd ever Long-Tailed Shrike. Showed continuously between 06.00-07.30 at Crail, Fife. pic.twitter.com/PC2iLnJHWf

— Alan Boddington (@alanbodd) July 8, 2026

Once the bird flew to our left it vanished and a long wait began, hoping that the bird would reappear and give some further views. Swallows and house martins swooped and cut across the crop fields between us and the polytunnels growing the fruit and in the field behind. Behind was also a clear view of the Isle of May - quite stunning scenery here. We watched the hedge where views had been obtained during the morning and the hedges beyond but for the next four hours there were "only" tree sparrows, corn buntings, yellowhammers, goldfinches, etc.

Eventually I booked some accommodation online and started to make my way back towards the car but stopped to chat with a birder and photographer who was watching the hedge from a shallower angle. I found him to be Tom Whiley from Norfolk (tomwhileybirdart.blogspot.com). Tom had been at the site for a couple of days and told me he'd taken around 2,500 photographs, having been fortunate enough to enjoy some superb views of the bird. We chatted for a while about the shrike and our respective years birding before saying our goodbyes. Unlike the prolonged performance enjoyed by the early arrivals, the bird had proved extremely elusive for most of the day following its initial morning showing.

Having seen the bird, I now had a decision to make. Should I return to the site at first light in the hope of enjoying closer views and perhaps coming away with a better photograph, or should I head round to Musselburgh and try for the surf and white-winged scoters? I'd missed both species during a family break in Fife back in April, despite spending time searching as the birds moved between Lower Largo, Leven, Methil and Wemyss, so this might be another opportunity to finally catch up with them - I decided on the latter.

After an early breakfast, and a brief stop for fuel, I arrived at the Musselburgh Lagoons car park just after 7.15am. From there I headed down to the coastal path and began scanning the sea.

There were plenty of birds on the water, but initially they all proved to be eiders. I made my way towards the area where the surf and white-winged scoters had last been reported, gradually picking up a couple of red-throated divers, a few velvet scoters and a handful of common scoters. Even so, the proportion of scoters was much lower than I'd expected, and the stretch of sea directly ahead appeared devoid of them altogether.

Realising I'd probably need to work my way back towards the mouth of the River Esk, I retraced my steps, continuing to pass raft after raft of eiders but surprisingly few scoters. After almost 15 minutes of walking, I met a young woman birder coming in the opposite direction. She had been watching the sea with another birder further along the path and pointed out a distant line of scoters offshore. She confirmed there were surf scoters among them and suggested I'd get much better views from where her boyfriend was still standing.

I continued and joined him, setting up my scope while he watched through his binoculars. A careful scan of the flock soon revealed three surf scoters, with two feeding together while a third bird kept some distance from the pair. I commented that they'd done well to pick them out at such a distance offshore. He replied that they had been watching the flock for around an hour and that the birds had been noticeably closer when they first arrived, only drifting much farther out to sea during that time. That surprised me, as high tide was still only about an hour and a half away - I'd expected the scoters to be moving closer inshore rather than heading farther out.

The surf scoters first appeared during late winter/early spring 2025 and remained through the summer, autumn and winter. Their position changes constantly with feeding flocks, so one day they may be comfortably within scope range while on another they can be several kilometres offshore. They breed across northern North America and winters mainly on both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts of the continent. It is an exceptionally scarce visitor to Britain, with most records involving single birds, usually associating with flocks of other sea ducks so finding three together is highly unusual and is one reason these birds have attracted so much attention.

Chatting to the birder, I discovered that he and his girlfriend were from the Czech Republic. They had travelled to the UK for Birdfair but had arrived a week early to spend some time birding around Scotland before heading south for the weekend.

As we scanned the sea together, small flocks of around a dozen red-breasted mergansers flew past, while eight red-throated divers passed in singles and pairs. Although spread out, the divers remained loosely associated, forming a long, straggling procession as they moved steadily along the coast. A single gannet worked back and forth across the bay, plunge diving from time to time but also at distance.

At this distance it was almost impossible to determine whether any of the velvet scoters concealed the sought-after white-winged scoter, so I waited until high tide in the hope that the flock might drift closer to shore. Unfortunately, they remained frustratingly distant throughout.

Eventually I said my goodbyes to the Czech couple and began making my way back. Along the path I stopped several times to chat with birders heading in the opposite direction. None had managed to locate the white-winged scoter either, although a couple of them had enjoyed distant views of the surf scoters shortly before reaching me.

My mum called to see where I was. After briefly turning the camera on my phone around to show her the blue sea and cloudless sky, I told her I'd drive across and visit for a couple of hours before beginning the journey back to Oxfordshire.

It had been a short trip, but a rewarding one. Two year ticks had been added, one of them a lifer, while the long-tailed shrike was the sort of bird I may never have the opportunity to see in Britain again.

Year list: 268.

Birding home from Fife :: 15-16 April 2026

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year list: 226.

Grimsbury & Staines Reservoirs, Seaford :: 08/09 November 2024

Velvet scoters are large sea ducks typically found in marine environments but on November 8, two first-winter birds were reported at Grimsbury Reservoir in Oxfordshire - a notable inland sighting, as these birds are usually associated with coastal waters where they dive for molluscs and other invertebrates. Their specialised diet of marine life, such as mussels, makes their presence in inland waters even more remarkable.

This species usually form large, tight flocks at sea and are rarely seen inland; records are typically during the winter months, when the birds may venture away from their usual coastal habitat. It is not typical for them to stray far from the sea, though some birds, particularly young ones, have been known to explore freshwater environments before settling back in coastal zones.

Velvet Scoters have a bulky shape and large bill, with males displaying a distinctive white 'tear drop' mark behind the eye and a white patch on the wing, while females are generally dark brown with paler facial patches.

I had seen hundreds of them at Musselburgh over the summer while searching for the Stejneger's Scoter (report here), but the chance to see them up close was too good to pass up. I only had a half-hour break from work, but luckily, the spot was less than ten minutes away.

I parked and headed around the west side, assuming the view would be better from there - a strategy that works about 75% of the time. Sure enough, they were there, gathered in the northwest corner but gradually drifting toward the middle. The overcast sky wasn’t ideal for photos, and the light wasn’t on my side, but I couldn’t complain - I was fortunate they had stuck around.

I snapped a few quick shots before turning back to return to the office, passing Paul Wyeth on the way for a quick chat. The birds were starting to settle down to sleep, and I didn’t have time to wait for them to return to the water's edge.

A Lapland bunting had been found at Staines Reservoir in Surrey on November 5, 2024; this sighting was reported by David Hutchinson and featured on BirdGuides. Staines Reservoirs, located near Heathrow Airport, are known for regularly attracting various bird species, making it a popular spot - it wouldn't be the first time we'd been there this year.

Lapland Buntings are slightly larger than reed buntings, characterised by a well-marked head pattern, chestnut nape, and chestnut wing panel. They spend most of their time on the ground and it has been reported that the bird has been showing extremely well, allowing observers to approach within 5 meters. It has also been hopping even closer to under a metre.

The ring-necked parakeet, also known as the rose-ringed parakeet, is a medium-sized, bright green parrot with a distinctive red bill and a long, narrow tail. Males feature a black and pink neck ring, while females and juveniles lack this marking. Originally native to Africa and southern Asia, ring-necked parakeets have established a significant population in London. Their adaptability to urban environments and the availability of food sources have contributed to their proliferation. The British Trust for Ornithology (BTO) estimated approximately 12,000 breeding pairs in the UK where the population has experienced significant growth, with a 2,154% increase between 1995 and 2022 - and with numbers continuing to grow.

In Staines, located to the west of London, they are also observed in areas such as Staines Moor, where they are listed among the resident bird species. Their presence here reflects the species' expansion beyond central London into surrounding regions and while their vibrant appearance adds an exotic element to urban wildlife, ring-necked parakeets have raised ecological concerns. They compete with native bird species for nesting sites and food resources, potentially impacting local biodiversity.

We continued onto the causeway and saw two groups ahead, two lines about 20m apart. The Lapland bunting was between the two and feeding back and forth - this little stunner was putting on a great show, coming too close for photos at times.

We watched as it pushed up against our line and then the other further west along the causeway.

After enjoying fantastic views of the Lapland Bunting, we decided to head over to Staines Moor for the rest of the day. Wanting to give others a chance to see the bird and reduce any pressure on it, we passed on our positions and began our walk. As we left, we both checked BirdGuides for any nearby sightings. To our surprise, a report of a pied wheatear at Seaford popped up! Although it wasn’t exactly close - around 75 miles away on the coast near Beachy Head - the prospect of a lifer was too tempting. With plenty of daylight left, we exchanged a glance, shrugged, and hit the road.

Usually found in southeastern Europe and western Asia the pied wheatear is considered a rare vagrant in the UK, with most sightings occurring during late autumn, particularly in October and November. Records are sporadic, with occurrences noted in various coastal regions - typically they inhabit open, rocky terrains and are known for their distinctive tail movements. They fit right in on the Sussex cliffs.

We pulled into the car park along the esplanade and saw reports that the bitd had been lost about 45 minutes before, over the edge of the cliff. We stopped for a coffee and then joined a group heading for the base of the cliffs - a female black redstart perched on the railings to the jetty, then flew across to the white cliff, stopping to watch us approach.

Two birders dropped down onto the beach to work along and see if they could spot the bird there but came back empty handed.

We watched as two black redstarts darted across the square boulders and up the cliff face, while meadow pipits flitted about on the cliff tops. A robin frequently caught our attention as it foraged, momentarily raising hopes it might be the bird we were searching for. Climbing to the top of the first cliff face, we spotted the female black redstart, offering phenomenal insane views to a couple of photographers.

We worked further up the slope stopping regularly and scanning the cliff edge and back onto the golf course behind. The views were getting better and better. A pair of stonechats showed on the edge of the golf course, dropping onto the ground regularly. A few rock pipits could be found closest to the cliff edge.

We worked along the clifftops and stopped regularly to ensure we wouldn't miss the bird if still there. I got a WhatsApp update from our friend Adrian Sparrowhawk to say he'd arrived and that he and Bryan Manston were having lunch. After a mile we stopped and scanned ahead but we couldn't find our bird and neither could anyone else.

The pied wheatear is characterised by its distinctive black and white plumage, with males displaying a black face and throat contrasted by a white crown and rump. Our bird was said to be a female and generally browner but still exhibiting the species' characteristic tail pattern. A few birders had ventured along further but came back empty handed so we decided our luck wasn't in today. We had a hard-stop to be back in Banbury and so worked our way back to the car and stopped for a late lunch. Despite the weather and temperature, some were venturing into the water - absolute madness.

On the way home the bird was refound, presumably pushed back up onto the cliffs by the high tide (scheduled for 4pm). Damn. Kev would go back and ticked it on the Wednesday while I was in Sheffield working.

Year list: 244.