Each of the past few weekends, Kev @kev07713 and I have ended up doing the same thing, talking about the weather and deciding where to head next. Over the last few days, a storm had been rolling in from the west, sweeping across from the USA and bringing heavy disruption to the north and west of the UK. By overnight, the wind had picked up in Banbury too, blustery and wet.
Since we had decided to stay local, there was no need for an early start. With winter drawing in, the mornings were still dark as we set out and still blustery. We made steady progress to the parking spot and were surprised to find it completely empty - we’d expected others, newly freed from the workweek, to be making the most of the day as well. From there, we followed the track past the feeder station tucked among the trees, the harsh calls of a couple of jays echoing overhead and made our way toward the Bird Club hide.
From the track and through our scopes, we could already make out a dense flock of ducks at the far end of the reservoir, with a scattering of waders mixed in. From the feeders, though, we couldn’t be sure if the bird we were hoping for was among them. Closing the distance by half, we set up again - and there it was, the American golden plover.
Inside the hide, we found ourselves alone. We chose the best angle for viewing and soon had the bird in sight. It remained distant, but through the scopes that hardly mattered. We watched as it fed steadily across the exposed mud of the reservoir bed, occasionally joined by three ruff, though they didn’t seem to associate closely.
Next came the more challenging part, trying to capture some record shots and video. True to form, I’d left my photo adapter in the car, so I used the camera on top of the tripod. The image quality was fine; only the magnification was lacking.
The American golden plover breeds in the Arctic tundra in northern North America (Alaska, northern Canada) and migrates to South America for the non-breeding season. In the UK they are a rare vagrant and show up most commonly in the autumn, and occasionally in spring. The species is now recorded annually in small numbers in the UK. Because adult golden love (the European species) are common and similar looking, their American cousins can be confusing. Juveniles such as this bird, and non-breeding individuals, can be hard to separate and observers look for combinations of plumage, underwing colour, structure and behaviour. Because records are rare, thorough documentation including good photographs are often required if the sighting is to officially be accepted.
Kev managed to capture some footage, recording through his scope and has posted it on X (Twitter) here. I struggled a bit more - a couple of other birders joined us in the hide and we helped them onto the bird.
Since the American bird is unfamiliar and differs slightly in plumage, size, and behaviour, it can draw the attention of lapwings, which are highly territorial and responsive. One lapwing from the flock along the water’s edge took flight to chase it away, having triggered an aggressive or investigative reaction.
We spent a considerable time watching and scanning the other birds, hoping to spot something noteworthy, but only observed returning migrants, such as a few pintails and wigeon. Early October often brings the first waves of migratory and wintering wigeon back to the UK. They arrive from more northerly parts of their range as the breeding season ends and conditions begin to deteriorate. The wigeon were mingling with other ducks, including teal and mallard, in this sheltered bay, presumably to rest, graze, and feel secure. As the month progresses, more birds will arrive, often responding to falling temperatures, shortening daylight, and, possibly, food availability - particularly the grasslands around the water on which they feed.
Day-by-day and week-by-week, rather than in a single massive influx, the numbers steadily increase. I expect that by mid-month, moderate-sized flocks will be well established here, with numbers reaching into the hundreds and, in some years, perhaps even thousands.
Eventually, we decided to make our way to the James Fisher hide to see if the bird was any closer from there. We could see that the sun was now breaking through the clouds, and although the bird might be closer, it could end up silhouetted against the light.
On the walk, we came across some goldcrests working through the tree canopy, with Kev hearing a call that sounded more like a firecrest. Unfortunately, we never located a bird matching the call before they disappeared. A treecreeper also worked its way up the back of a tree but was quickly lost from view.
When we reached the hide, we quickly spotted our bird feeding on the mud. As feared, the sun was directly behind it, so quality photos were out of the question - we would only have been able to pick out details from a silhouette. Around the main water body and in a small pool between the two hides, handfuls of great white egrets fed alongside little egrets, pintail, shoveler, and mallard.
By now, there were four of us squeezed into the little hide, and shortly afterward, a couple more birders arrived. Given the limited space and the likelihood that the photo opportunities wouldn’t improve anytime soon, Kev and I decided to leave. As we stepped out, I checked my phone and noticed a notification: someone had reported finding a camera lens hood and had placed it back in the Bird Club hide. I’d realised mine was missing in the hide and had been a little frustrated, but now I felt a wave of relief - someone had found it just outside the Bird Club hide. At least I wouldn't have to be quite so vigilant on the return walk.
We started back along the path, but our attention was quickly drawn upward. In the tree canopy above, a couple of common crossbills were working through the branches. Before we could even raise our cameras, they flitted away, vanishing almost as soon as we had located them. Undeterred, we continued scanning the trees, eyes constantly shifting across the foliage. Not long after, a small flock of birds dropped in, and we soon managed to identify them as siskins, bright and lively, flitting among the leaves. But within a few tens of seconds these moved on too, leaving behind a couple of goldfinches.
We made our way back to the Bird Club hide, retrieved my lens hood, and settled in once more to watch our bird and see whether anything new had appeared. The great white egrets were becoming more active, several taking flight across the water. One landed to the left of the hide, while three others continued toward the causeway.
A little later, we were joined by Dennis Woodward (well-known Warwickshire birder), and conversation turned to the bird out on the mud, possible supporter action at the upcoming Coventry vs. Sheffield Wednesday match, and the difficulties some of his friends were having getting north on their journey to Shetland.
A flicker of movement in the trees far to our left caught my attention. Scanning the branches, I found a sparrowhawk perched there, standing its ground despite the persistent attentions of a crow trying to drive it off.
We noticed the clouds beginning to darken and decided to move on toward Summer Leys. Along the way back to the car, we saw and heard both green and great spotted woodpeckers, as well as a stonechat, before stopping on the track beside the trees that hold the feeders. We scanned through the birds gathered there - greenfinches, goldfinches, great tits, blue tits, and a couple of chiffchaffs - but no sign of any tree sparrows. They’re probably still around, though their numbers have been declining. We knew a few had been seen here back in the spring.
Before long, Darren caught up with us and stopped for another chat, and then another birder came along the track behind us and struck up a conversation with Kev. While they talked, I kept scanning the water and noticed a solitary gull that caught my eye. Its features suggested it might be a yellow-legged gull. As I glanced away and then back, I saw it had taken off and as it passed overhead, I could confirm I’d been right, though too late to point it out to Kev.
We arrived at Summer Leys and headed first to the Pioneer hide, where a mother and son were already in place. Just as I reached the window, a water rail slipped quickly into the reeds - Kev was a moment too late to catch what the young lad had been trying to point out. The boy was knowledgeable for his age and proudly wielded a camera with a decent-sized lens, though his mum mentioned he was hoping for a larger one for Christmas. Kev, ever the entertainer, struck up a lively conversation with him until his mother reminded him of another appointment and they moved on.
With little else to see from that hide, we decided to continue to the Paul Britten (Double-Decker) hide. Jack snipe have begun returning to the country, and we’ve had good sightings from there in previous years. When we arrived, the hide was empty and almost as empty as the scrape itself, which was largely devoid of water. A couple of great white egrets and grey herons stood in the nearby grasses, and before long, one of the egrets took flight, presumably heading off in search of a suitable feeding spot. Aside from stretches of mud, there wasn’t much else to draw the eye.
In front of us the long-staying glossy ibis was feeding along a channel still with some mud - it waded slowly through dry bed and mud, often with its head lowered, probing the mud with its long, slender, downward-curved bill. The sensitive tip of the bill detects prey by touch, allowing the bird to snap it up quickly once contact is made. The glossy ibis has a dark, iridescent plumage that can appear chestnut, bronze, green, purple, or even metallic black depending on the light angle. Under flat or overcast light, the glossy ibis appeared mostly dark brown or black, and much of the metallic sheen was lost.
The glossy ibis left and I saw it relocated over towards the Pioneer hide where at least four photographers sat at the window with camera lenses hanging out the window. Kev's attention had been redirected to scanning for snipe and specifically a jack - he was very focused - if anyone would find one it would be Kev as he is amazing at picking out objects and birds in cover and/or at great distance.
Jack snipe are small, compact waders with mottled brown, buff, and black plumage - their streaked and barred pattern blends seamlessly with dead reeds, cut vegetation, and wetland detritus. When stationary, they are almost invisible, with only the subtle outline of their head or eyes occasionally betraying their presence. They prefer cut or trampled reed beds where water is shallow and cover is dense - typically, a jack snipe will stay crouched and motionless, relying on its camouflage to avoid detection.
Kev stopped as he scanned the far edge of the cut reeds and called me over. At first, it was almost impossible to tell, just a tiny, mottled blur among the browns and tans of the cut stalks. Then, with a practiced glance through his scope, he picked out the rounded shape of a jack snipe crouched low in the vegetation.
Despite the distance - well over 100 metres - the bird’s compact, cryptic form and its slight, hesitant movements betrayed its presence. Kev signalled again, and from so far away, the telltale streaked and barred plumage, perfectly blended with the cut reeds, was enough for us to confirm it - the black crown now showing "clearly".
The jack snipe remained almost motionless, unaware of the distant observer. Kev continued to watch, noting its tiny head, subtle breathing movements, and the way it adjusted its posture slightly, preening beneath the reeds. Every now and then, a tiny movement, a flick of the bill or a slight twitch of a leg, served as a reminder of the bird’s incredible camouflage and secretive nature. Then, after some subtle but unmistakable bobbing, the jack snipe revealed itself just enough - spotting it at that distance, so perfectly hidden among the cut reeds, was an incredible find, the kind that makes all that patient scanning worthwhile. Kev once again captured some great video, which he shared on X (Twitter) here.
The glossy ibis returned and repeated the feeding route but from further to our left, leaving before it reached directly in front.
Two Iron Age pigs, a cross between wild boar and Tamworth, have been living at the reserve for the past couple of months. They’ll be leaving soon, but they’ve reportedly been doing some fantastic conservation work during their stay. Their natural rootling behaviour has been used to turn up the soil and create patches of muddy, bare ground around the water margins. These areas provide excellent feeding habitat for wading birds, both resident and migratory, which probe the shallow water and soft mud for invertebrates and other small creatures.
The area they have been placed in had been choked with invasive New Zealand pygmy weed and Bur-reed, which offered poor conditions for waders. Thanks to the pigs, the vegetation has been cleared and the habitat greatly improved. I don't know if they are the same pigs (but highly likely) as those previously doing the same job at Lilbourne Meadows reserve, also in Northamptonshire.
It was now time to make tracks home, but as always, it had been a great day out.
Year list: 240.
