North Wales :: 07 June 2026

The weather forecast for Saturday looked decidedly unsettled, so Kev @kev07713 and I had a chat and agreed to postpone our birding until Sunday, when conditions were expected to be rather more favourable.

Late on Saturday morning, however, news broke of a potentially extraordinary find at Foryd Bay, Caernarfon - a western reef heron. As the day progressed, the identification was confirmed as a dark-morph western reef heron, a species never previously recorded in Britain. If accepted by the records committee, it will become the first for the British List.

Western reef herons are medium-sized herons closely related to the little egret, but unlike their freshwater-loving relatives they are true coastal specialists. They inhabit rocky shorelines, sandy beaches, estuaries, and mudflats, feeding in shallow tidal waters on fish, crustaceans and other marine prey.

One of the species' most distinctive features is its variable plumage. Birds occur in two main colour forms: a striking dark morph, with slate-grey to almost black plumage and a contrasting yellow bill base, and a white morph, which can easily be mistaken for a little egret. Intermediate birds, showing a mixture of dark and white feathers, also occur where populations overlap.

The species has a broad but fragmented distribution, occurring along the Atlantic coast of West Africa, around the Red Sea and Persian Gulf, and along the coasts of India and Sri Lanka. Most populations are largely resident, although some make limited seasonal movements.

Although primarily an African and Asian species, western reef herons have reportedly established a tiny breeding population in eastern Spain, making them one of Europe's rarest breeding herons. Elsewhere in Europe they remain exceptional, with occasional records from Portugal, France and Italy, while birds are seen more regularly in the Canary Islands, where they occur naturally from nearby West African populations.

The appearance of one in North Wales is therefore a truly remarkable event and represents an exceptional vagrant far outside its normal range. Exactly what brought this individual to Britain is impossible to say, although unusual weather patterns or natural post-breeding dispersal may have played a part.

Whatever the explanation, the bird has already become one of the most significant rarities to reach Britain in recent years and on the Saturday drew birders from across the country eager to witness a potential addition to the British List. In one report a snapshot of the number of birders currently onsite was 400 with some having already departed and others still arriving. Our venue for birding on Sunday was agreed, and an early night was required.

An early alarm at 2.20am saw me drive round to Kev's, leaving Kev's house promptly at 3.00am, heading north and west past Birmingham and into the heart of North Wales. We opted for the shortest route, which also happened to be the most scenic, and according to the satnav it wasn't expected to take any longer than the alternatives.

Our only stop came around 15–20 minutes from our intended parking spot at Foryd Bay - the same place where we'd parked for the bufflehead back in late December (trip report here). A quick visit to the Co-op provided bacon rolls for breakfast and sandwiches in case we had a wait on our hands; while we were tucking into the rolls an update appeared on our phones.

The news wasn't quite what we wanted to hear. The western reef heron was no longer at Foryd Bay, with early-arriving birders having already searched the area. Fortunately, the update was followed by the information that it had been relocated in Caernarfon Harbour, beside the castle.

With renewed optimism, we reset the satnav and headed for the new location, hoping the bird would remain in place. In truth, it sounded like a better site for viewing anyway, with convenient parking right alongside the harbour.

We pulled into the harbour car park to find a line of birders already scanning across the water, with another couple of dozen spread out along the opposite bank. A footbridge beyond the castle linked the two sides, allowing people to move around in search of the best views.

As we rolled into a parking space, Kev pointed across the harbour and announced that he could already see the bird, and he hadn't even got out of the car! Tick! ... should we move on 😜?

We wasted no time jumping out of the car and heading straight for the harbour wall to make sure we had the bird in view - after all, with a rarity like this, you can never take anything for granted. After grabbing a few quick record shots, we returned to the car to collect our coats and scopes before heading back to the waterfront. This time we could relax, enjoy prolonged views of Britain's first western reef heron and really take in the spectacle.

The reef heron spent much of its time methodically feeding along the muddy water's edge, picking its way through patches of seaweed exposed by the low tide. It moved with deliberate, measured steps, pausing frequently to study the shallow water before making a quick, precise stab at unsuspecting prey. Occasionally it would probe amongst the seaweed searching for hidden worms, shrimps or crabs.

It seemed completely at home in this habitat, quietly stalking its prey through the seaweed-covered shoreline before striking with remarkable speed. The dark plumage contrasted beautifully with the glistening seaweed and brown mud, making for a striking sight against the backdrop of Caernarfon Harbour.

Suddenly the heron took flight, dropping down the shoreline to the right of a viewing platform where several birders had gathered on the opposite bank. Looking along the shore, it was easy to see why - one birder had ventured down onto the edge of the mud and, in doing so, had inadvertently flushed the bird from its feeding area. The culprit then made a slow walk back along the top of the shore to rejoin the group on the platform, although from our vantage point it wasn't obvious whether they could see the heron over the wall.

Fortunately, we had no such problems. It was simply a case of walking a little further along the harbour wall to the left, where we quickly picked the bird up again and resumed enjoying excellent views.

As we settled back behind the scopes, we were joined by Tom Hines @tomhines10. Tom explained that he had travelled up the previous evening, managing only a brief view of the bird out on the estuary before darkness fell and the bird departed, presumably to roost. He had then spent the night sleeping in his car before searching Foryd Bay from first light, eventually making his way into Caernarfon after news broke that the heron had relocated to the harbour.

Before long we were joined by Ewan Urquhart @Stormvogel99, who explained that he and Graham Jepson @GrahamJepson1 had been in Kirkcaldy the previous day seeing the white-winged scoter before dropping everything and embarking on the seven-hour-plus drive to North Wales. Like many others, they had initially expected the western reef heron to be down on the estuary, but news of its relocation had brought them into Caernarfon instead, with Graham still watching from the opposite bank of the harbour.

Not long afterwards, Alan Boddington @alanbodd and John Raven @greatrav1 arrived, setting up their scopes alongside us and quickly getting onto the bird. They too had travelled up that morning and made excellent time, receiving news of the relocation early enough to avoid an unnecessary detour to Foryd Bay before heading straight to the harbour.

After a short spell of feeding, the western reef heron paused to stand quietly on the shoreline, but its presence clearly wasn't appreciated by some of the local residents. A couple of gulls and two oystercatchers repeatedly harassed it, swooping low in an apparent attempt to drive the unfamiliar visitor away. The heron seemed largely unfazed, calmly sidestepping the attacks and continuing to survey its surroundings.

Off to the left, three grey herons were roosting in a nearby tree, prompting me to wonder whether the western reef heron might have spent the previous night there too, after being lost from view as darkness fell on the estuary. It seemed a plausible refuge for such an unexpected visitor, tucked safely away above the harbour until first light.

Then without warning the bird took to the wing again and flew to join the grey herons in the tree, perching facing away from us, but then walking back along the fallen trunk and dropping down onto the muddy shore where it started to stalk and feed along the edge towards the waiting birders on the opposite bank.

As the western reef heron gradually worked its way towards the birders watching from the opposite bank, and with Ewan having set off back around to join Graham, the bird suddenly took flight. It followed the harbour channel upstream, eventually dropping down onto the shoreline before disappearing around a bend.

Almost instantly, groups of birders set off up the road in pursuit, hoping to relocate it further along the harbour. Kev and I, however, decided to stay put. We'd already enjoyed superb views and, rather than joining the stampede, took the opportunity to catch our breath and start planning our next move.

While I had concentrated on taking still photographs, Kev focused on capturing video through his scope using his phone, and he absolutely nailed it. His footage beautifully captured the western reef heron's behaviour as it patiently stalked along the shoreline, picking its way through the seaweed before striking at prey with lightning speed. In many ways, the moving images conveyed far more of the bird's character than the static photos I managed to take.

When Kev posted the clips on X, they were an instant hit and perfectly showcased this remarkable bird in action. You can see the post below ...

3am start for @jkyles32 & I this morning, the Western Reef Heron was our target bird, it was a first for the UK so it was a nervous drive waiting for news, finally, it was still present, it had relocated to Caernarfon, we arrived and were straight on it, what a bird!@BirdGuides pic.twitter.com/5rHT2FHDEg

— Kev heath (@kev07713) June 7, 2026

With our main target safely in the bag, we jumped back into the car and headed for Holyhead Old Harbour, where there is always a good chance of seeing black guillemots. Although I had enjoyed plenty of encounters with the species during my visits to the Ayrshire coast this year, Kev had yet to add one to his year list, and being so close to one of Britain's most reliable sites was an opportunity too good to miss.

Pulling up alongside the harbour wall, we immediately began scanning the water. It didn't take long to pick out a couple of birds swimming over on the far side of the harbour, but before long an even better surprise awaited us as another black guillemot surfaced much closer, affording better views.

The black guillemots in Holyhead Old Harbour are one of North Wales' best-known birding attractions and provide one of the easiest places in Britain to see this attractive auk at close range.

Holyhead's birds nest amongst the crevices, cavities and gaps within the old harbour walls and breakwaters, where they are protected from predators and close to their feeding grounds. They can often be watched carrying small fish back to their nest sites, disappearing into tiny holes in the masonry before re-emerging a few minutes later.

The species is present around Holyhead throughout the year, but late spring and early summer offer the best views as adults are in full breeding plumage and frequently commute between the harbour and nearby feeding areas.

As we watched, a handful of black guillemots flew past in both directions along the harbour, their rapid wingbeats carrying them low over the water. The striking white wing patches flashed brilliantly against their otherwise dark plumage, making them instantly recognisable as they commuted between the harbour and their feeding grounds offshore.

The harbour also held a couple of sandwich terns, with the birds moving back and forth across the water. Their elegant flight, buoyed by long, graceful wings and punctuated by occasional plunges towards the surface, added life to the scene.

The day was still young, and checking the morning reports we saw that a woodchat shrike was still being reported at RSPB South Stack. With only around 20 minutes to go, it made perfect sense to head straight over for a look.

On arrival it was clear that many of those who had been at the western reef heron had had the same idea, with several familiar faces already in the car park. Ewan and Graham were first to greet us, soon followed by Wayne Glossop @WayneGlossop2, confirming we were very much on the right track.

Earlier updates had suggested the shrike was showing on the exposed hillside, where birders were apparently being battered by strong winds while trying to get onto it. In fact, the bird had since sensibly dropped down into the valley below the car park, where it was perched comfortably and in full view - a far more sheltered position given the conditions.

We joined the assembled birders, set up the cameras and scopes, and spent some time enjoying and photographing the bird. It was hard to believe that it had only been a month or so since I finally connected with my first woodchat shrike after a string of near misses, yet here was another - a 1st-summer female.

The bird had first been discovered on 30 May and had shown remarkable site fidelity, remaining faithful to the heathland around the visitor centre and becoming one of the reserve’s standout attractions. Unlike many migrant shrikes that can be frustratingly elusive, this individual was exceptionally obliging, often perched prominently on gorse bushes, fence posts and low shrubs before dropping to the ground to hunt.

At times it could be seen hovering briefly or making short sallies after bumblebees, beetles and grasshoppers, returning to a favourite perch to scan for its next opportunity. The plumage showed a warm chestnut crown and nape contrasting with pale underparts and a darker wing panel marked with bold white flashes.

Its behaviour - repeatedly scanning from a raised vantage point before launching swift, decisive attacks - perfectly illustrated why shrikes are often referred to as “butcher birds”. The prolonged stay was particularly notable given how scarce woodchat shrikes are in Wales, with most Anglesey records involving brief, one-day visits. This individual, however, had remained for over a week, providing hundreds of birders and photographers with extended, close-range views of one of Europe’s most charismatic migrants.

Alan Boddington and John Raven then arrived to complete the group from earlier.

With around 15 minutes still to go before the visitor centre opened, Kev and I dropped down to the cliff edge to scan the sea beyond. Out on the water and on the cliffs there was a steady passage of seabirds: kittiwakes, guillemots, razorbills and gannets, and Kev even managed a brief glimpse of a single puffin among the rafting birds.

The wind, however, was relentless, tearing caps from heads and forcing us into an impromptu chase back up the slope before resorting to stuffing them into pockets for safety. It wasn’t the most comfortable of watches, and after a short while we retreated back to the car park to wait for the centre to open.

It was a real joy watching the choughs making the most of the conditions, tumbling effortlessly in the wind. They seemed completely at home in the gale, twisting and dropping through the air with barely a wingbeat, using the strength of the wind to perform their aerial acrobatics over the cliffs.

Once inside, we grabbed coffees and took the chance to sit down with Ewan and Graham for a good long chat - something that doesn’t happen nearly often enough in a day that is usually driven by relocating to find the next bird.

Eventually, with the morning’s birding done, we packed everything into the car and pointed it homewards. As always, the journey back seemed that bit longer than the outward leg.

Year list: 262.

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.