A Wintering Yellow browed Warbler -16th January 2026

A Yellow browed Warbler was found at Hurley Sewage Treatment Works in Warwickshire between Christmas and New Year and in the subsequent days must have become the most photographed individual of its kind ever in Britain. And why not, as it showed beautifully and anyone with a mind to and a camera could hardly fail to capture fabulous images of this waif from the taiga zone of Siberia,

Yellow browed Warblers normally migrate from their Siberian breeding areas to winter in southeast Asia but over the last fifty years have also become increasingly frequent in Britain, usually in October, with records rising from a handful to over a thousand a year.

There is a current line of thought that contra to being an aberration in the individual bird's internal compass that persuades it to migrate southwest instead of southeast, those breeding in western Siberia are now developing a new migration route to an unknown area in West Africa. We will have to wait and see.

The increasing numbers arriving in Britain, (in Shetland they are now almost common in September and October) has resulted in some birds remaining to spend the winter in southern and western parts of Britain. I can think of a number of recent records of birds being found in winter in my home county of Oxfordshire and the bird at Hurley, eighty miles north is but the latest example of this increasing trend.

I resisted going to see this bird as there always seemed something that I needed to do or the weather was not right but today with a 'weather window' of predicted fine weather my resolve weakened and I made plans to go and pay my respects. Even though they are no longer a notable rarity Yellow browed Warblers, hardly bigger than a Goldcrest, are both charismatic and attractive in appearance and well worth seeing if the chance presents itself.

Although the weather was predicted to be fine it was no surprise to find myself setting off from home in thick mist but I was confident it would clear as the morning progressed and was proved right, as on getting to the outskirts of Birmingham the mist had cleared and the sun was making desultory attempts to break through the clouds.

Leaving the motorway, a short drive through some pleasant Warwickshire countryside brought me  to the small village of Hurley and the well hidden turn off to the sewage treatment works.I followed a narrow concrete road downhill with open fields on my left and the works at the bottom.

Not quite sure if I should be driving on this road I asked two dog walkers if it was alright and they said there was no problem and I should drive to the bottom where the road stopped and park there by a small concrete bridge over a wide ditch carrying waste water from the works.The banks of the ditch were a tangle of dead and flattened vegetation

The waste water ditch, temporary home and salvation for the Yellow browed Warbler

The Yellow browed Warbler fed exclusively in the dead stems on the opposite bank of the  ditch

There were only two other birders present, both standing on a very muddy, waterlogged bank overlooking the ditch and on joining them they pointed to the opposite side of the ditch and there a vision of moss green loveliness overlaid with yellow bars and stripes was slipping hyperactively through a multitude of dead stems picking off insects as fast as it could.

It was as easy and simple as that.The warbler exclusively confined itself to the ditch, ranging between two concrete bridges less than a hundred metres apart, patrolling the edges of the ditch endlessly back and fore.

We stood on the bank and waited for the warbler to come to us which it did repeatedly on its endless treacherous underfoot, one misstep and I was all too aware of the potential to slip and fall in the mud.It circuitous foray for food.The continuous rain of yesterday had made the bank very muddy and has happened before.

I surmised that the water coming from the works must be relatively warm  and this in turn allowed insect and invertebrate life to continue to thrive. I could even see small clouds of tiny flies, dancing in calm air pockets above the water. This and other insects must be what has and is keeping the warbler alive along with three or four Common Chiffchaffs and a female European Stonechat all sharing the bounty of insects

European Stonechat - female

I spent a very contented hour and a half watching and photographing the warbler which was never really out of my sight, feeding non stop.Despite the number of insects it looked very hungry and doubtless had no choice but to continuously feed in order to survive. Hopefully the worst of the freezing weather is over but we are not done yet and the warblers existence continues to remain on a knife edge.

Unscathed and still upright despite the mud, after ninety minutes of admiring this avian jewel I slithered across to my car and made for home.

 

A Black Redstart at Christ Church - 10th January 2026

Saturday and the sharp, cold temperatures continue still in Oxfordshire but accompanied today by a return of bright winter sun in a clear sky. The keening wind and grey of the last few days a result of Storm Goretti now but a memory. So Mark and myself went to Woodstock to look for the crossbills that have been present all winter in the grounds of Blenheim Palace that so dominates the town in its capacity as a major tourist attraction.

We were successful in that I heard a crossbill calling and we found it, way up at the very tip of a conifer in the plantation they have favoured all winter, presumably a female as its plumage was a combination of green with a lemon yellow rump. Being sociable birds we hoped it would be joined by others of its kind but it flew in splendid isolation far across the parkland and that was that. After wandering the circumference of  the small plantation we could find no others nor indeed the hoped for Siskins. A subsequent visit to the Grand Bridge produced a couple of Great White Egrets patrolling the main lake and nearby a roving tit flock included a Treecreeper and Nuthatch. 

As we usually do, we had parked some way from Blenheim and walked in via public footpaths to save having to pay for parking which is expensive in both Blenheim and Woodstock, that is if you can find anywhere to park in the latter.

Blenheim is a very popular place to relax with a stroll or wander around and for the most part the grounds are free of charge with ready access from a number of gates which means that it becomes extremely popular with the public on weekends.

This persuaded us to retreat back to the car but then where to go? There were two options, either return to where we lived in rural northwest Oxfordshire to go in search of Bramblings and Redpolls that Mark had seen a couple of days ago or in complete contrast venture into the City of Oxford to try to see a male Black Redstart that for the second year running, if it is the same individual, has taken up residence on the honey coloured ancient walls of Christ Church.

We opted for Christ Church but not without reservations as at the best of times Christ Church is hugely popular with tourists and is forever busy with human footfall just looking or taking selfies with the venerable building as a background. In order to get into the city we took advantage of the free park and ride bus service into Oxford and forty five minutes later we were walking towards the entrance gates to Christ Church

Birding in busy cities is not really to my taste, the whole idea of birding for me being to commune with nature in relaxing surroundings but the Black Redstart was an adult male in its very attractive overall shades of grey and black plumage offset by a magnificent dark orange tail and therefore worth the angst of standing amongst crowds of my fellow human beings. If it had been a dowdy, grey brown, featureless example which they are more often than not then probably it would be a different story. see here

Also we had unfortunate recent history with this bird in that we had ventured into Oxford to see it three days ago when the weather had turned to freezing grey mist and looming cloud and after standing for an hour and a half looking at the building and becoming uncomfortably cold came away with nothing more to show for it than a Robin. It was particularly galling as the redstart had been seen daily up until then and was seen very well the next day. Sometimes you have to take it on the metaphorical chin.

However we knew from our local Oxon Birding Log the redstart had already been seen today so hopefully we would be in with a better chance, especially as the weather was much improved. Birders are eternal optimists, like a challenge and our innate competitive spirit was not to be denied. Covering our options, as an additional incentive we promised ourselves a nice coffee and piece of cake whether we were successful or otherwise.

My heart sank as we entered the gate leading to the Broad Walk, a wide all weather path  which passes in front of Christ Church and on which two large tour groups were gathered  in front of the ancient building being told all sorts of facts about the building's history and purpose, Harry Potter (yawn) and other such tourist stuff. We took up position on the path and the groups soon moved off to view and be told about other nearby Oxford places of interest.

Of the redstart, naturally there was no sign but we knew unless we were incredibly lucky this was to be, as always, a waiting game. Twenty minutes passed with us standing looking at the face of the venerable building and enduring passing tourists of many nationalities looking at us quizzically. Two ventured to ask us what we were doing 

Are you studying the architecture?

No, we are looking for a bird

Oh, where is it?

Good question 

I left  it to Mark to explain further about the Black Redstart.

Stood in the open on the Broad Walk with no cover whatsoever is not ideal especially when doing something that others are curious about and I began to feel very self conscious and even more so when Mark deserted me to go and get a hot chocolate from a nearby coffee stall. Alone and exposed on the endlessly busy gravel walk I had to  make the best of it.

Ten minutes passed slowly, very slowly and then came the briefest flicker of movement half way up the front of the building. This signified the arrival of our quest. It dropped down to a lower balcony, dipped, curtseyed and bobbed just like a Robin but its overall dark plumage, black on breast and face and grey otherwise with a quivering orange tail, told me otherwise .This was no Robin but our bird.

Tiny against the huge building it clung to the rough wall  amongst the skeletal branches of an ancient vine that was spread over the honey coloured stone, a wall that must have seemed to the bird like a rock face.  It was seeking any berries that were still left on the vine but was unsuccessful and with a flash of bright colour from its spread tail, it flew to perch on another stone balcony further along the building.

But where was Mark? I could not go to find him for fear of losing sight of the redstart so commenced photographing as it proceeded in a series of hops or short flights  up, down and along various of the stone ledges and balconies searching for insects and spiders.

Mark returned and related he had noticed me pointing a camera at the building and  put two and two together, raised his bins and seen the redstart from the coffee stall. I relaxed now, knowing he had seen it and anyway there would be no cause for concern or regret as the redstart was still very much present on the building.

Between us we followed its erratic progress back and fore along the face of the building before it dropped down once more onto a tangle of  vine stalks and plucked a berry, holding it briefly in its bill before swallowing it whole

Eventually it  swooped high up onto the slate roof. I thought it was about to depart but then it just as suddenly dropped down again and perched for a number of minutes, motionless on a balcony, looking content in the sun and secure on its elevated perch free from disturbance.

Here it remained for some time before, with a bob and flick of its wings it flew down, right to the base of the building to briefly search the grass for prey.

But even for this confiding individual the number of people present on this busy Saturday was too much to endure at ground level and  it rapidly ascended back to a balcony to pause a while and survey the scene below.

With a final flourish and a high speed re-examination of the face of the building it was gone in a long flight to the rear of the building and out of sight.

Time for that coffee and cake.

Frozen Out on Otmoor 5th January 2026

Mark and myself went to the RSPB's Otmoor Reserve in Oxfordshire this morning. A morning of freezing temperature and bright sun, the ground, frozen now for some days has acquired the constitution  of iron and the land, as it has been for some days is in thrall to a white hoar frost that coats ground and tree alike and will not relinquish its icy embrace until the rays of the midday sun cajole the air into a degree or two above zero

The sun remains very low at this turning of the year but nonetheless is dazzlingly, eye burning bright in a refrigerated sky, a white shimmer of luminosity that is uncomfortable to behold if looked at directly, bringing an unwelcome explosion of protest from one's retinas. Better to enjoy it obliquely shining through the branch and twig fretwork of hedgerow bush and tree, where it is ameliorated to a benign presence that turns the dead reeds in iced over ditches to the colour of honey 

Nonetheless the sunlight beaming unbidden is always welcome to enter and rejuvenate my inner being and I rejoice in days such as this, of rural cold and still air although it makes my eyes water in protest and cheeks harden to a stinging rictus.

Eschewing the reserve's car park we chose to enter the reserve from the north via a much less used bridleway from Beckley Village high on its gentle hillside overlooking the reserve below, its ancient  cottages now expensive homes that spill down the incline on either side of a narrow lane  until the tarmac ceases at the last house and becomes a traditional bridleway impassable to all but farm vehicles. We pass through a metal gate and continue downhill over a treacherous frost slippery, uneven, cow rutted pasture to pass through another gate at the bottom hedge and enter an oak wood, surprising a small flock of Redwings seeking survival in the frost free loam and leaves that lie below the trees and where perchance lurk life sustaining invertebrates. One of the smallest of our thrushes they are the first to feel the adverse effects of prolonged freezing conditions and will struggle if this weather continues but for now these winter visitors from Scandinavia and Russia possess enough energy to fly in alarm from our presence and melt away with soft chook calls of concern into the furthest reaches of the wood.They will soon return once we have passed by, such is their extreme hunger and with the ground frozen solid outside the shelter of the trees they have nowhere else to feed.

We passed through the wood to emerge onto the track that circumvents that part of the reserve going by the name of Ashgrave. The sun had yet to reach here if ever it does at this time of year and the ground was welded iron hard, the frost thick as snow where the track was shaded by the hedgerow.

There was a purpose to our visit in such extreme conditions, in that the expansive fields that comprise Ashgrave, are currently home to many geese and apart from the regular noisy rabble of multitudinous feral Canada Geese and Greylags there is an additional presence, something unusual and exciting amongst them that has brought us here on this winter's day. 

Ashgrave

In the last few weeks there has been a notable influx into southern Britain of indisputably wild geese in the form of Russian White-fronted and Tundra Bean Geese that are thought to have been forced out of their normal mainland European winter homes by the prolonged cold weather and as a consequence have moved further southwest to Britain's supposedly milder climate.

White-fronted Geese are regular winter visitors to Britain in decreasing numbers but Tundra Bean Geese are much less usual but now Otmoor harbours up to twenty while the White-fronted Geese are approaching around eighty in number. Both species are currently also to be found in other scattered parts of the county and it is fair to say the numbers of both species are unprecedented. 

Thus many of my fellow birders in Oxfordshire are making the most of this unexpected bonanza of 'grey geese' and today we too joined in the enjoyment, romance and thrill of seeking them out.

Canada Geese, a Russian White-fronted Goose and Tundra Bean Geese on Ashgrave

The Canada Geese, as ever were dominant, loud and restless, their ear grating, honking, tuneless cries forever rending the wintry air as they bestrode the fields. However it did not take too long to find the more demure whitefronts, the white blaze on their forehead bright and obvious in the sun, their smaller forms wandering casually amongst the bulkier Canadas and Greylags. 

Russian White-fronted Goose

Normally the sight of these whitefronts, unusual as it is would demand an entry into the notebook and mild celebration but this morning we sought the Bean Geese, an altogether much scarcer visitor to Otmoor and indeed Oxfordshire and only ever seen here in exceptional weather events such as this.

It took a few excruciating minutes longer, scanning the hundreds of scattered geese but eventually a likely candidate raised its head and there was the diagnostic bill pattern of a Tundra Bean Goose, dark  with a small splash of orange near the tip.

Tundra Bean with Canada Geese and a Russian White-fronted Goose

Tundra Bean Geese

Once discovered it did not take long to find others, some squatting and relaxed in the sun, others slowly moving forward with head down, plucking at the coarse grass.We ended with a very acceptable total of around ten .

This being the beginning of the year meant we were both intent on boosting our New Year birdlist, a harmless personal aspiration that many a birder commences each January and now we had two prized additions to our respective lists.

The cold air at this early hour was not sympathetic to any exposed flesh and my fingers, required to be glove free to operate my camera became so numb it was ultimately too painful to continue.Time to move on and seek some respite in The Wetlands Hide, to at least get out of the worst of the cold and indulge ourselves with the contents of Mark's thermos of coffee but first we made our way past the hide to the nearby bridleway to look for a Marsh Harrier, another potential addition to our lists. 

Overhead there came the slightest sense of disturbance, a sigh of rushing air through the wings of innumerable Starlings leaving their reedbed roost, thousands  upon thousands flying in a voiceless polkadot scatter, low across the icy sky, their black bodies forming and reforming into a swarm of living beings, enough to reduce one to marvel at such a spectacle.

A Marsh Harrier duly winged its way over a flat landscape of winter faded  grass and reeds, another of the reserve's extensive rough pasture fields going by the name of Greenaways, the bird following a distant hedgeline beyond which lay an eternity of blue sky, its horizon unsullied apart from the distant landmark of the 12th century square tower of St Mary the Virgin at Charlton on Otmoor.

Looking skywards a compact flock of fifty or so Lapwing hurried high southwest, alternately flashing black and white in the sun. They were not stopping, frozen out and instinctively heading for the milder climate in the west of Britain.

As we stood on the bridleway a Water Rail squealed from the reeds in the wide ditch in front of us, its water's frozen solid. The rail squealed again and we wandered to the end of the ditch to look back and along the ditch in the vague hope of getting a glimpse of this notoriously shy bird as it maybe crossed the ice bound channel. 

It would be a good one to get on our growing bird list. There was no sign of it but when it squealed again from the ditch on the other side of the bridleway, we realised it had given us the slip and crossed the bridleway after we had left.

We returned to the hide to admire a flock of fifty or so Chaffinches and Reed Buntings coming to the  seed especially laid out for them on the narrow track running below the windows of the hide. The opposite side of the track, bordered by a ditch of long dead reed stems, bare hawthorn bushes and frosted bramble sprays provided ideal perches for the small birds to fly up to as they periodically panicked at perceived threats, real or imagined.

Female Reed Bunting

Male Reed Bunting

These too were feeling the pinch of the prolonged cold spell and were reluctant to leave and soon descended to recommence their search for the life giving grains of seed.

Then came a big surprise. Mark whispered to me. Water Rail! 

There amongst the hunched shuffling forms of buntings and finches appeared a much larger bird with long legs and a long red bill, nervously flicking a short brown tail. A dark apparition against the shaded, frost rimed grass at the hedge bottom, it was palpably edgy and nervous.

This must be the Water Rail that had given us the slip just minutes earlier and presumably, hidden under the rank vegetation had followed the ditch along until it was opposite the hide, intent on seeking its share of the seed which was possibly the only food available, due to its normal aquatic existence being denied it, made inaccessible by the frost and ice. Emboldened by its hunger it came closer but never left to chance a means of escape whereby to hide and feel secure.

Open ground is anathema to a Water Rail and it resolutely kept to the very edge of the track where there was the security of encompassing grass that grew coarse and long, probing in the tangle for seeds and anything else it could find to eat. The finches and buntings were rightly circumspect about its presence as there are plenty of examples of Water Rails killing and eating small birds when in extremis in cold weather such as this.

Alone in the hide time became of no consequence as we watched the birds feeding and the stillness that was settled over the reserve became part of us as well. A mutual enjoyment and appreciation without need for comment and we too were silent and still. 

It could not last of course and eventually another person entered the hide and the spell was broken.

We walked out into the sun and cold and headed uphill to Beckley.

A Goose for Christmas 21st December 2025

For twenty five years (1987-2012) between the months of September and March I carried out a monthly WeBS count  on behalf of the BTO at West Wittering in Sussex.The main species to feature in this count was a large flock (up to 2000) of Dark bellied Brent Geese that frequented fields especially set aside for them.

Occasional excitement would come with the welcome discovery, twice, in 2007 and 2009 of a Red breasted Goose from Siberia, but otherwise it would be a single Black Brant, the North American cousin of the Dark bellied Brents, found on a number of occasions in the West Wittering flock and likewise also the odd Pale bellied Brent Goose caught up amongst its dark bellied cousins.

Pale bellied Brent Geese breed in Arctic Canada, Greenland, Svarlbard and Franz Joseph Land and come to spend the winter mainly in Ireland, with a majority inhabiting Strangford Lough in Northern Ireland whilst lesser numbers reach northwestern coasts of Scotland and England and a small wintering population is also present in Northumberland.

For Christmas and New Year we usually return to Scotland and this year we decided on Garlieston a small eighteenth century, remote  coastal village located on the Machars Peninsula in the county of Wigtownshire in Dumfries and Galloway.

Our cottage looks out to a tidal bay just a few metres distant and at low tide the evocative calls of Curlew and Redshank feeding on the exposed sands can be clearly heard from the house.

The bay can, like many in Scotland at this time of year in the depths of winter  look desolate and barren  but even  such an unwelcoming prospect possesses a raw beauty of both sound and aspect with the trembling anxious calls of Curlews coming from the distant sea's edge across an emptiness of sand and rock below an ice blue sky, the bird's wild cries an evocative adjunct to the cold and stark aspect of Garlieston in winter.

Garlieston

By noon the tide was full  and being so much further north the light was already commencing its descent into the golden hour before fading towards dusk. Amongst a scatter of Redshanks and Oystercatchers a small gathering of brent geese were guzzling weed from the rocky shore and a swift check in my binoculars revealed they had white flanks, the contrast with their darker upperbodies further highlighted as they caught the sun's rays. They were Pale bellied Brent Geese.

So familiar with the darker tones of the brent geese I had counted for many years in Sussex they appeared that much more attractive, the contrasting shades of dark and pale plumage bringing a pleasing variety denied to their darker bellied cousins.

There were eighteen of them and I stood partially concealed by a waist high wall to watch as they fed and bickered amongst themselves.At this hour I had the shore to myself, the dreaded dog walkers were absent on this Monday before Christmas, the village seemingly deserted of human kind and in thrall to winter when few come here to holiday but we are the exception this Christmas.

All geese  are, for most of the year sociable creatures and prefer to be with their own kind and the more the better.The brent I was looking at were no exception and kept in close company feeding but still with time for the ganders to mildly protest with extended neck and partially opened bill if another breached its personal space.

I could see no evidence of juveniles amongst them so this past year must not have been a good one for the survival of any young. Brents breeding success is cyclical whereby they have on average one good breeding year in every three and is dependent upon the number of Arctic lemmings which share their Siberian breeding grounds. The geese and lemmings have a number of predators in common the chief of which is the Arctic Fox with gulls, skuas and even Snowy Owls also partial to young geese as a substitute if there are no lemmings available. If it is a productive year for lemmings then they will form the bulk of prey and there is less attention paid to the young geese which means a fair proportion survive to migrate south with their parents.

I subsequently met a local birder who told me these Pale bellied Brent Geese originate from the large congregation that winter on Strangford Lough in Northern Ireland, not that distant as a brent goose flies, and have formed a regular winter feature in the last few years here at Garlieston.    

A Lesser Crested Tern at Dawlish Warren 4th December 2025

On the afternoon of Wednesday the 3rd of December a rare tern was discovered and photographed on the Exe Estuary at Dawlish Warren in Devon. Initially identified as a Royal Tern it was subsequently re-identified later that same day from photos as a mega  rare Lesser Crested Tern of which only ten have ever been recorded in Britain and the last seen was all of twenty years ago when one frequented the Norfolk and Suffolk coast from the 16th to the 21st of July 2005.

Lesser Crested Terns are similar in size to a Sandwich Tern but have an orange bill and their rump and tail are grey rather than white. They breed in sub tropical parts of the world from the Red Sea across the Indian Ocean to the western Pacific and Australia and there is a significant population on the southern coast of the Mediterranean, on two islands off Libya. In  winter they migrate to the coast of West Africa.

They are a rare vagrant to Europe but have occasionally bred in Italy, Spain, France and England.The last time this happened in England it involved a celebrated female that returned for 14 years to a Sandwich Tern colony on  the Farne Islands from 1984-1997 and paired with a Sandwich Tern to raise several hybrid young over a number of years.

Many birders went to see this bird but this was before I discovered twitching.  

Lesser Crested Tern has been a notable absentee from my British List so it was imperative that I made the effort to go and see this individual as soon as possible. Its true identity was established too late for me to go on Wednesday so I resolved to travel to Dawlish first thing on Thursday.

I rang Graham J who I knew also needed it and we arranged to rendezvous at 5am on Thursday morning in Bristol as Graham would be coming from near Heathrow and me from northwest Oxfordshire.

All went to plan and at 5.15 am I transferred to Graham's car, leaving my car  in a secluded residential road on the outskirts of Bristol.Our early start was in order to arrive at Dawlish before dawn so we had the best chance of seeing the tern if, as suspected it had roosted in the estuary.

One stop for coffee and surviving an unforecasted torrential downpour on the motorway found us driving into a partially flooded Dawlish Warren Seaward car park with a number of other, presumably birder's cars already parked there. It was 6.30 am and still dark but thankfully not raining.

Getting our gear together we set off on the mile walk to the disused hide which was the location of choice to look out over the estuary to try and locate the tern.At first there was an obvious track but this soon ran out and then I managed to lose sight of Graham and was on my own in semi darkness getting lost amongst the dunes, sandbanks and marram grass, trying to follow trails that went nowhere but eventually from the top of the dunes I could see the hide in the distance and set an uncertain course towards it across a golf course.

I found Graham already there and joined him at the end of a line of birders standing outside the hide all staring steadfastly at a bleak and cold Exe Estuary.

Any sign of the tern Graham?

Nothing yet.

Five minutes later there came a shout from down the line.

I have got a tern flying in. I think it's the Lesser Crested.

A brief moment of silence ensued and then came the words everyone wanted to hear.

Yes it's definitely the bird.

For once there was no panic as the number of craft and mooring buoys in the estuary made it easy to give directions as to where the tern was and everyone got onto it fairly quickly as it flew back and fore fishing. It was as simple as that and the time was just before 8am.

The tern caught a fish which it tossed into the air and swallowed whilst still flying and then glided down to settle on a large yellow buoy some way off from where we were standing. I tried a couple of shots with the camera but the dull light and distance ensured the result was far from memorable.

The tern looked set to remain for some time on its perch and actually went to sleep.There is only so long one can look at an immobile tern, even one as rare as this and not feel one's interest begin to wane. I scoped the shore line for other birds and found Dark bellied Brent Geese, Shelducks and Wigeon at the water's edge whilst Bar tailed Godwits, Oystercatchers, Curlews, Redshanks, Turnstones, Dunlins and even a single Knot probed the mud being exposed by the falling tide. A Greenshank called evocatively from far out in the estuary.

When we were driving down to Dawlish we had two objectives; to see the tern which was now achieved and the other to get some reasonable photos of it which was not going to happen unless we could get closer to the bird. The only way to do this would be via a boat but where to find such a thing?

We thought we had found the answer when via the internet we discovered Stuart Line Cruises based in Exmouth on the other side of the estuary that operate twice daily, hour long tours of the Exe Estuary.The first sailing was at 11am so I booked myself and Graham on it and a number of our fellow birders did likewise.

We all hoped this would get us nearer to the tern but unfortunately we were to learn that the tour was aimed more at general tourists and not specifically for birders and disappointingly it turned out to be a waste of time and money. Undeterred at this setback we spoke with some local birders on the boat shortly before we returned to the quay at Exmouth and asked if they knew of anyone with a small boat we could charter to take us out to the tern.

They directed us to Tom  who was a birder and also on the boat. He owned a small RIB  and we put our suggestion to him and being a birder and also keen to get a good photo of the tern, was up for it. He lived in Exmouth and suggested after we landed that Graham and myself go to a local cafe for a late breakfast and he would return in an hour with his RIB and we could set off from the slipway to try our luck with the tern.

An hour later we met up on the slipway and Tom prepared the RIB for sea and in no time at all we were heading for the moored craft and marker buoys we had seen from the shore earlier this morning.We were also fortunate with the weather which was benign with only a light wind and bright sunshine.

We cruised around the area the tern had been seen in but there was no sign of it.The last report was of it being perched on a mudbank but despite constantly scanning we could not see anything that looked like a tern. Rather than endlessly cruising about we moored the RIB to a buoy and waited for the tern to fly when it would become visible and we would know where it was.Wherever it currently was on its mudbank it was hidden but with the rising tide it would surely be pushed off and fly and that would be our chance.

For half an hour there was no sign of the tern as the tide slowly covered the mud and sand.

Then Graham gave a shout

There it is - its flying left!

Indeed it  was. Flying along the distant shoreline and then above and around the moored boats. It dived and caught a fish which it consumed on the wing before repeating its behaviour of earlier this morning by landing on another yellow buoy. This was perfect as we now knew where  it was, could keep an eye on it and best of all it would probably remain for quite some time perched on the buoy which would give us the opportunity to move closer to get some images.

Tom slowly and carefully manouevred the RIB closer but not so close that the tern would become alarmed.We took as many images of it as we wanted whilst the tern remained contentedly perched on the buoy.

We were now waiting and  hoping  for the tern to fly as a flight shot would be the ultimate photographic prize. It took a while but suddenly I saw it raise long slender wings, lift off the buoy and take to the air. 

However it could still go wrong but our luck held as the tern obligingly flew towards us and passing close overhead flew further up the estuary. 

We were not going to get better views than this and so, at 4pm made our way back to the shore and assisted Tom in dragging his RIB up the slipway.

Half an hour later we said farewell to Tom and headed for Bristol.

I was now feeling tired, very tired but nothing could dampen my spirits having seen the Lesser Crested Tern so well and added another species to my British List (541).

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