WWT Slimbridge :: 07 June 2025

The UK weather forecast for this Saturday predicted heavy showers and thunderstorms moving eastwards, with a yellow warning issued across central and southern England for heavy rain, lightning, and thunderstorms. It seemed likely that most of the places we might consider visiting would be significantly affected by the rain. Kev and I talked about possibly giving birding a miss, but on days like this we usually decide to head out anyway — WWT Slimbridge is often our choice, as its many hides provide good shelter.

Kev checked the local forecast for Slimbridge, and it suggested it might actually stay dry first thing, with rain setting in by late morning. That gave us hope of enough time to catch up with the returning white-spotted bluethroat, a remarkable bird that’s now established a summer residency at the site. WWT confirmed it was back for its fifth consecutive year, and a couple of friends had already been down to see it again. It’s astonishing that a vagrant like this shows such strong site loyalty — I suppose it’s a bit like the great reed warbler at Ouse Fen, which seems to be doing something similar.

The white-spotted bluethroat is a striking and rare migrant to the UK. Males, like the Slimbridge bird, show off a glossy blue throat with a distinct white spot in the centre, bordered by a black band and a partial red chest. The numbers visiting the UK vary each year, ranging from none to over a dozen (as in 2013). Both the white-spotted and red-spotted subspecies appear as passage migrants in the UK.

Early morning at the Middle Point Shepherd’s Hut offers the best chance of seeing the bird, especially if the wind is light — and with the rain forecast to arrive later, this felt like a decent opportunity. One of the bluethroat’s most striking features is its song: rich, varied, and melodic, often compared to that of a nightingale. It combines clear whistles, rattles, mimicry, and repeated short phrases. Most fortunately, the song is usually delivered from a perch in reeds or bushes, particularly at dawn or dusk — unmistakable across the reedbed.

We arrived at the members’ gate to find it still closed — we were just under ten minutes early according to the sign. Luckily, a member of staff appeared from the car park and kindly let us in, checking our membership numbers as we passed through. He suggested we’d be unlikely to see the bluethroat given the forecast conditions, but we said we’d give it a try anyway. We felt more confident than he was, and as we walked along the Summer Walkway, we noticed a fair number of flies on the wing — would our optimism prove misplaced? - it didn't seem likely ...

At the Shepherd’s Hut, we immediately spotted a bird perched in the reeds on one of the bluethroat’s favoured perches — but it turned out to be a reed bunting. Kev edged around the hut and soon found the bluethroat perched closer, and called me over. We set up our scopes and took some record shots. Before Kev had time to get his phonescoping kit ready, the bird dropped from the perch and flew to the back of the reeds.

Over the next half hour the bird showed a handful of times and we were joined by a few other people. We got talking to one chap who was with camera, taking photos and some video - it turned out to be Lee @Wildwood_photos who posts on X under the username Wildwood Nature Photography; we'd seen some of his posts and photos before. On one ocassion the bird flew to some nearer reeds, perching in reasonable view. Although the photos appear to show the bird close, it was actually still pretty distant and the photos are heavily cropped.

In flight you could see the distinctive reddish coloued flash on its rump (upper tail coverts), contrasting with the otherwise dark tail and back.

During one of the times when the bluethroat was out of sight, Lee mentioned that in recent days kingfishers had been spotted along the water behind us. I took a look and sure enough, there was a kingfisher perched on a trunk spanning the stream. It was facing away from me, so I waited patiently for it to turn its head before attempting a photo.

We watched as the kingfisher relocated to a tree branch and before long, one bird became two, then two became three. One of them was actively fishing, while another flew out across the reeds and seemed to reappear a little later at the far end. As I stood at the foot of the slope, one of the two remaining birds dived for a fish, missed, and then settled on a perch a little closer to where I was, tucked into the edge of a bush. It felt like my best chance for a close-up. A sedge warbler called from the same hedgeline, adding to the atmosphere.

When I returned to to the Hut Kev asked if I had any idea why we never seem to see bitterns here — after all, the habitat looks ideal. I didn’t have an answer at the time. Later, reading up, I found that bitterns are actually regular winter visitors to Slimbridge, with records almost every season. The best vantage points are apparently the Zeiss Hide, South Finger reedbeds, Middle Point, and the Rushy Pen areas.

After a good while, we decided it was time for a coffee and a roll, so we made our way back to the Visitor Centre — the bread in particular was excellent. Refreshed, we set off towards the Zeiss Hide, where there had been reports of a spoonbill earlier in the day. Unfortunately, there was no sign of it by the time we arrived.

From the hide, we spotted four black-tailed godwits and more than a dozen avocets feeding down in the water. A Cetti’s warbler and a couple of reed warblers were busy working through the nearest reeds. The godwits took off, circled the area, and then settled back down on the water. Meanwhile, a group of about 15 redshanks flew up and hovered together over a patch near the far edge of the pool — though we never did figure out what had caught their attention.

Four common cranes flew past the hide and landed very distant from us but with good scope views - these birds from the Great Crane Project have been seen regularly on the Tack Piece, visible from the Holden Tower and as far along as the Kingfisher Hide. Since the reintroduction began with the Great Crane Project in 2010, Slimbridge has served as "crane school" for hand-reared birds destined for release in Somerset.

The Great Crane Project was a collaboration between the WWT, RSPB, and the Pensthorpe Conservation Trust, supported by funding from the Viridor Credits Environmental Company. The aim was to reintroduce common cranes as a breeding species to the UK's wetlands where they had been absent for about 400 years due to habitat loss, persecution, and wetland drainage. In 2010 eggs, collected from healthy wild crane populations in Germany were hatched and hand-reared at Slimbridge - chicks were raised in a special "crane school" where human carers wore crane costumers. After fledging the juveniles were released onto the Somerset Levels with the aim of establishing a self-sustaining population. 100 cranes were released between 2010 and 2014 and there is now a population of over 200 birds (including wild-born chicks) spread across parts of Somerset, Gloucestershire, Norfolk, Suffolk, and Wales. We've even had some breeding at RSPB Otmoor in recent years.

Out towards the Kingfisher Hide, we spotted five cattle egrets doing what they do best — hanging out with the cattle. Most of the time they were hidden, hunkered down behind the tall grass as they fed, but every so often they’d move and offer decent scope views. Off to the left and just as distant, Kev picked out a cuckoo that had been calling. One of the other birders was keen to see it but only had binoculars, so Kev offered him a look through the scope. Each time he got close, though, the cuckoo would fly to a new perch — it was quite amusing watching this play out several times before he finally managed to get it in view.

We eventually made our way to the Kingfisher Hide itself, where a cuckoo was calling from directly overhead. Kev and I tried scanning for it through the open roof. From Kev’s angle, he had a fantastic view, and as I shifted round to find a clear line, I glimpsed the cuckoo just as it took off — that would have been my best cuckoo photo of the year.

The cattle egrets weren’t showing any better from here, so we started heading back along the track towards the Visitor Centre, stopping first at the Hogarth Hide. On the way we passed the otters and plenty of chicks — cygnets, goslings, and young shelducks. There would be more fledged birds to spot as the day went on.

As we arrived at the Hogarth Hide, a light rain began to fall — not heavy enough to rush us on. We settled in and soon watched three cygnets gliding gracefully across the water in front of us. Nearly a hundred avocets dotted the two pools, accompanied by a handful of black-tailed godwits and numerous resting redshanks.

Some of the avocets fed close by, offering excellent opportunities for close-up photos — whether on the water, on land, or taking a break from incubating their eggs. Hopefully, they wouldn’t be off the nest for long. Checking the forecast for the coming weeks, it seemed unlikely that the nests would be flooded anytime soon.

We pushed on to the South Lake Discovery Hide and bumped into Lee again, editing a couple of photos of the bluethroat and posting them onto X. We chatted as we watched a black swan cruising across the water and making a relatively close pass. Native to Australia, black swans were first introduced to the UK in the 18th century as ornamental birds for estates, parks, and wildfowl collections. Today, there are small feral populations, birds that have escaped or been released from captivity and now breed in the wild. They are not officially classed as a native or naturalised species.

They breed occasionally in the wild in the UK, though not thought to do so in large numbers. They are not known to have established a stable, self-sustaining wild population at the national level, although local feral groups persist.

First seen on the far bank, but then closer, we saw a little grebe in rather spendid summer plumage - striking smart birds. They have rich chestnut-red neck and cheeks, a velvety black cap and back, and a bright yellow gape spot (the small patch at the base of the bill) - much darker and richer-looking than in their pale, and relatively drab winter plumage.

To the right, more black-tailed godwits were feeding intensively, some flaunting their striking summer plumage. Nearby, an oystercatcher sat quietly on a nest just outside the hide’s window. We lingered a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of a Mediterranean gull that had been reported here earlier, but there was no sign of it now. Out on the water near a distant island, we spotted a rather suspicious-looking duck, a decoy! Needless to say, it didn’t make it onto our year list.

Time was moving on, so we made our way back to the Rushy Hide, hoping to spot something unusual on the water. As usual, there was a gathering of redshanks, avocets, and a good number of gadwall — the gadwall looking particularly splendid in their seasonal plumage. Nearby, some shelduck chicks explored the shallow water, with one enthusiastically practicing its diving skills. Along the water’s edge, a group of geese appeared to be teaching their youngsters how to feed.

Just then, a shout went up as a bittern flew past on our left — well, damn me! We had just been talking about them. By the time I caught sight of it, the view was from behind, but we still enjoyed good looks at a species that had previously been elusive here. Shortly after, a great spotted woodpecker and a jay made flybys, and I managed to grab some record shots of both.

The hide had grown busier, now including a young lad with a camera and a few others we assumed were family. They gathered around as he proudly showed some photos he’d taken earlier, drawing lots of oohs and ahhs — maybe just to keep him motivated? But we soon realised this young birder was serious when he confidently called out a Mediterranean gull on the island ahead, and he was spot on. We’d scanned the birds several times, but this gull must have slipped in unnoticed while we were distracted by the bittern.

Soon after, a second Mediterranean gull appeared, and both began preening — one eventually settled down. Then a large gull flew overhead, causing all the birds to take flight in unison, chasing it away from the flurry of black-headed gulls, avocets, shelduck, geese, protecting various chicks nearby. For a short while, our Mediterranean gulls disappeared, but when they returned, there were now four of them — one sporting a ring. They busily preened and gave some impressive wing flaps, putting on a show.

One of the large gulls, a herring gull, flew low over the pool and seized its chance, opportunistically swooping down to snatch a black-headed gull chick. It carried its prey to the roof of a nearby building, where it stabbed into the chick, piercing the skin before beginning to feed. Not a pleasant sight, but entirely natural. While much of their diet includes fish, invertebrates, and human scraps, herring gulls readily prey on eggs, small chicks (including black-headed gull chicks), and vulnerable or injured birds.

Our available here time had come to an end, and we needed to head home so I could be back before my evening visitors arrived. On the journey, we ran into heavy rain and patches of flooding — we really had been lucky with the weather while we were out. A great call Kev!

Year list: 208.

Pewsey Downs & Salisbury Plain :: 31 May 2025

Kev @kev07713 and I headed up to Milk Hill on the Pewsey Downs, hoping to hear the distinctive call of a quail or catch sight of a stone-curlew, both of which we’d connected with at this spot last year. We waited patiently, ears tuned, but the quails remained silent, and the field that previously held stone-curlews was now cloaked in crops, making viewing impossible.

Still, the Downs were far from quiet. The air was alive with the songs of corn buntings, skylarks, meadow pipits, and whitethroats. Corn buntings, in particular, were present in good numbers, perching on posts, crop stems, and scrub. A few came in close enough for decent photos, though I suspect I’ve already got more than enough shots of them for this spring.

The whitethroats also perched prominantly and sang, constantly drawing our attention, moving around us and onto the crops in front of us as if checking us out.

Kev’s ears were definitely tuned in - he suddenly stopped and said he’d heard the distant reeling of a grasshopper warbler. It took me a moment, but then I caught it too. When we finally pinned down its location, the bird turned out to be much farther off than we’d thought. It was just visible, low in some sparse scrub and grass. After a minute or two, it hopped up onto a taller stem, offering decent views, but only through the scope.

The far side of the crop field runs along a public footpath, so I looped around the edge and made my way over to roughly where the bird had been showing. I crouched down and waited, watching corn buntings dart around the scrubby margins.

About ten minutes later, Kev joined me and, in doing so flushed a hare down the path toward me. I held still, not lifting my camera, hoping not to spook it. The hare came quite close before suddenly clocking me and veering off sharply into the crop, disappearing from view.

We waited and listened. Eventually, the grasshopper warbler began reeling again. Kev spotted it perched low on a green shrub — he’d noted it earlier and thought it looked like just the sort of place a 'gropper' might choose to sing from. He crept back up the slope to where his scope was set up to get a better view. I followed, edging back toward his position, which offered a clearer angle for photos. The bird reeled for a while, then unexpectedly flew towards us and into the crop — perhaps curious about the watchers on the field's edge.

We made our way back to the top of the slope and restarted our listening for quail - still nothing. Behind us a kestrel that had been hovering was moved on by a couple of guys paragliding. Paragliding on Milk Hill apparently offers some of the finest ridge-soaring in southern England. As Wiltshire's highest point (295m), the hill catches reliable winds and delivers long, smooth flights over the rolling chalk downs, with views over the Vale of Pewsey and beyond. I'm told it is a favourite spot for both seasoned pilots and beginners alike.

The fabric "wing" that inflatess to create lift and allow flight was a brilliant yellow against the still grey sky.

After patiently waiting in vain for a quail to call, we decided to move on to Salisbury Plain in hopes of seeing great bustards, an annual tradition we like to slot into the calendar. We pulled up at our usual spot and began scanning the hillside where we’ve often found them in the past. But after thirty minutes of careful searching, there was still no sign. How do you lose the world’s heaviest flying birds?

While the bustards remained elusive, Kev picked up another grasshopper warbler singing somewhere out in front of us, though out of sight. Way off to the left, I spotted a whinchat perched neatly atop a bush - a cracking little bird, but only visible through the scope. Corn buntings continued to come and go, and a pair of kestrels were hunting along the ridge.

Eventually, we jumped back in the car and drove round to get a view from the opposite side of the slope. Almost as soon as we stopped, we spotted six great bustards lumbering their way up the hill, moving steadily away from us. We managed a few photos and some video before they crested out of view, though by then the rising heat haze was making things increasingly difficult.

These birds are great to see as they have an amazing story on Salisbury Plain where they have been reintroduced after almost two centuries of absence in the UK - were extinct by the 1830s. Their reintroduction began in 2004 using birds initially from Russia and Spain. Bustard males can weigh up to 18kg and have a wingspan of up to 2.4m. These are fully wild, breeding, and largely self-sustaining birds, and one of the most successful reintroductions in British conservation.

The Plain is ideal as it is the largest remaining chalk grassland in northwest Europe. The area is surrounded by MOD training land making sure large areas are undisturbed and protected. Indeed, an MOD vehicle stopped and the squaddy lingered to talk to us - a very pleasant chap, but no doubt checking out what we were up to.

We spotted another male bustard in the distance and decided to press on for a closer look. Although this bird was nearer, the heat haze was now in full swing, making viewing tricky. As we scanned the area, we picked out another male and a female, bringing our total for the visit to around 15 individuals.

We stopped at a site where we’d had a tip-off that stone-curlews might be showing, but despite a solid half-hour of scanning, we couldn’t find a single one. We gave it a little longer before admitting defeat and deciding to try our luck at RSPB Winterbourne Down instead.

On arrival, we bumped into a birder named Chris, who we’d last seen a few weeks back at Wildlife BCN's Summer Leys. We began our search and made our way to the first screen, only to find that the usual ploughed patch, a reliable spot for stone-curlews, had been reduced. The viewing distance was long, and the heat haze didn’t help.

Frustrated, I figured it was worth checking further up the track and behind a line of trees, while Kev stayed put. But everywhere I looked offered the same distant strip of broken ground, and overall, there seemed to be far less suitable habitat than on previous visits. I headed back to Kev, still empty-handed.

We gave it another 15 minutes, then another — but eventually had to admit the birds weren’t playing ball today. Despite missing out on the stone-curlews, it had been a good day out birding all the same.

Year list: 205.

RSPB Pulborough Brooks & Woolbeding :: 24 May 2025

Over the past few years, Kev @kev07713 and I have made several attempts to catch sight of honey buzzards though, truth be told, largely with limited success. Recently, we heard about some sightings near Woolbeding in Sussex, so we decided to give it another go. The area also offers a chance to hear nightingales, a species we’d yet to tick off our for this year's list. Kev did the research (someone has to!) and found that the best chances of seeing honey buzzards seemed to be between 10.30am and 1.30pm. So, we planned to start the day at RSPB Pulborough Brooks for the nightingales, then head over to try our luck with the buzzards.

Nightingales are one of the great signs of spring in the UK, famous for their rich, melodic songs that brighten the woodlands in April and May. These long-distance migrants travel from West Africa to breed in southern and eastern England. In Sussex, climate change appears to be shifting their arrival earlier, from mid-April in the 1960s to as early as the first week of April more recently. They stick around through the summer before heading back to Africa between July and September.

Male nightingales are best known for their powerful and complex songs, used to attract a mate. Unpaired males often sing through the night, hence the name, while paired ones tend to sing at dawn and dusk. Their unmistakable song, a rich mix of whistles, trills, and gurgles, is one of the most celebrated in the bird world. And since they prefer to stay hidden in dense hedgerows and scrub, it’s often the song that gives them away.

We arrived at the car park before the Visitor Centre had opened and were quickly approached by a woman asking if we knew the site or where to go. It was our first time there too, but she decided to tag along as we made our way along the tracks and onto the reserve. From our vantage point overlooking the pools, we picked out little ringed plovers, dunlin, lapwings, and a few avocets. A garganey had been reported recently, but no matter how hard we looked, we couldn’t track it down.

We followed the track downhill and eventually lost our unexpected companion. A few hundred metres on, we heard the familiar call of a song thrush and then, unmistakably, a nightingale - almost exactly where our friend Adrian Sparrowhawk had reported one recently. Despite our efforts, we couldn't get eyes on it. Some goldcrests and long-tailed tits fluttered around the area.

We continued further along the track and soon came across a birder scanning the trees. We’d just heard another nightingale calling, but before we could catch up to her, she was off. Fortunately, Kev’s sharp ear picked up the song again, and before long, he managed to spot the bird through a small gap in the foliage, having seen it relocate. With a bit of manoeuvring, we get into a good position for a reasonably clear view, and even managed to get a few decent photos.

We eventually decided to loop back and try our luck again with the earlier nightingale, but once more came up empty-handed. With news of honey buzzards being spotted at Woolbeding already, we started heading back toward the Visitor Centre. On the way, we paused again to scan for the elusive garganey, but still no joy - though we did spot another jay, bringing our tally for the day to eleven. Right on cue, a male bullfinch appeared, once again in the exact spot Sparrow had recommended. Passing through the Centre, we noticed it was impressively well-equipped and definitely worth a return visit when we have more time. But for now, we were on a mission.

Following the directions, we pulled into the car park and immediately recognised that Nick @old_caley and Anne Truby were already on site, their car’s number plate gave them away. When we made our way up to the ridge, we bumped into Graham Jepson @GrahamJepson1 who was also there. They told us they’d seen a couple of birds earlier on, one with damaged primary feathers, but things had gone quiet over the past hour or so.

Honey buzzards are elusive summer visitors to the UK, migrating from sub-Saharan Africa and typically arriving around mid to late May. Woolbeding in West Sussex is a regular hotspot for spring sightings. With an estimated breeding population of only around 100 pairs in the UK, they remain a rare and sought-after species.

They are slimmer and longer winged than common buzzards, with a graceful, gliding flight often likened to a kite or harrier. In flight, their small head and flat-winged silhouette are distinctive, especially when soaring. One of the key identification features during spring is their wing-clapping display, two quick slaps of the wings above the body during a rising flight.

Their plumage is highly variable, ranging from pale to rufous, or dark morphs. They often show a dark carpal patch on the underwing, and their long tail typically features three to four bold dark bands.

We set up and joined the watch, but after a short while, Kev wandered off to chat with Nick and Anne, who had positioned themselves to the right of the main group. While he was gone, I spotted a honey buzzard way off to our left, the one with the damaged wing. We tracked it as it quartered across the distant hillside, but eventually it disappeared from view. Each time a buzzard appeared, we carefully scanned it, but they all turned out to be commons. Once again, we caught sight of a bird with a damaged wing to our left, but that too proved to be a common buzzard.

As the morning wore on, we picked up a hawfinch - a nice bonus, especially since five had been reported before we arrived, then followed by a couple of sparrowhawks. About five minutes after the sparrowhawks had vanished over the ridge, one reappeared, this time trailing behind a buzzard. I called the birds out, and Nick quickly confirmed the buzzard was a honey. We all started firing off shots as it drifted low through the valley - a challenge, as it often slipped behind the treetops. Eventually, it climbed higher into the open sky before dropping out of sight altogether.

It seemed an age before we got another sighting, again the honey buzzard with the damaged wing - it was above our head and circling. As we watched it one of the other birders called a second off to our right, which then flew over us and then climbed into the sky, higher and higher.

As the bird roses on a thermal, it suddenly snapped its wings together above its back in two sharp claps, a brief but striking display of power. The action was over in seconds, but unmistakable: a rapid clap-clap in mid-air, followed by a soaring glide. It’s a territorial or courtship display, and always one of the best ways to confirm you’re looking at a honey buzzard rather than a common.

Across the far hillside, we spotted a peregrine falcon and followed its flight for a while, though it remained frustratingly distant. We lingered a bit longer in hope, but eventually it was time to call it a day and head for home. Another fantastic day out.

Year list: 204.