What's not to like about a Bluethroat? - 18th April 2026

On April the 8th a male Bluethroat was found along a narrow path called the Poole Harbour Trail at Swineham in Wareham Town Country Park, Dorset. The path, which really is very narrow passes  between a former gravel pit now a lake and the River Frome. 

The Bluethroat appeared not to have read the script in that it was ridiculously confiding and consequently many were the subsequent sensational photos of it that flooded onto social media after its discovery.

Bluethroats come in two forms, red spotted and white spotted which are classed as sub species.The bird at Swineham, in full breeding plumage, was obviously a male of the red spotted form but there is some interesting background to this.

A male Bluethroat was discovered in exactly the same spot on March 17th but was moulting from its dull first winter plumage into breeding plumage and photos taken at the time showed it definitely had a red spot appearing on its breast. Could the two birds be one and the same and the bird currently present is the individual that was seen in March, having completed its transition from first winter plumage to breeding plumage.That it is in the same spot as the  bird seen in March seems a remarkable coincidence. The chance of two vagrant bluethroats, both of the rarer red spotted form and being found in exactly the same location less than a month apart seems unlikely. 

It had also been assumed until the photos appeared that the bird in March was of the white spotted form as they migrate earlier than the red spotted form. The migrations of the two forms are very different.The red spotted breeds in the sub  arctic and winters in India and southeast Asia whereas the white spotted winters in southern Europe and Africa and breeds in milder areas of Europe. Logically one would think the white spotted form would be the more likely to occur in Britain but as often is the case with birds, the bluethroat at Swineham confounded expectations

Interestingly a male White Spotted Bluethroat returned for five years running (2021-2025) to Slimbridge WWT to set up a territory and sing but never found a mate.

I resolved to go and see the Swineham bluethroat, however a virus prevented any immediate departure but by Saturday I was feeling much better. I waited at home for news of the bluethroat still being present on Saturday morning and confirmatiom duly appeared on Birdguides at just after 7am.and so it was that I resolved to undertake the two and a half hour car journey to Swineham which lies just to the east of Wareham, near Poole Harbour in the fair county of Dorset.  

I arrived at Wareham at just after 10am and following the satnav found myself parking the car with some difficulty in Bestwall Road. a narrow residential road with cars nose to tail along one side and precious little space in which to manouevre.There was no shortage of birders to ask where to go, which  was to walk to the end of the road and then continue on what appeared to be a private road which eventually led to a gate giving access to an unsurfaced track that wound its way towards the marshes.and yet another gate through which I was required to take the left most path of four, going by the name of The Poole Harbour Trail. 

On the mile walk out to the bluethroat I met a number of returning birders who told me it was showing really well but the big problem was the extreme narrowness of the path and the number of birders crammed on it trying to get a sight of the bluethroat. My anxiety levels rose accordingly but there was little I could do about this but continue onwards and hope that I could find a space in the crowd through which to view the bird. Frankly it was inevitable that a rare and showy bird on a sunny Saturday would be bound to attract a crowd and I had known this from the outset so had no reason to complain.

Nearing the site I met two returning Welsh birders who told me the bluethroat had been showing beautifully not more than twenty feet in front of them. Excitement now joined anxiety in a mix of emotions as I increased my pace and hurried onwards.

There was no mistaking the spot, as rounding a bend  I came to a mass of bodies standing almost in single file on the path looking further along it. 

The restricted viewing conditions are all too evident

There was currently no sign of the bird so I gently managed to insinuate myself into the scrum and more by luck than judgement and the kindness of fellow birders found a position where I was able to see clearly down the path.

Both sides of the path were guarded by wind stunted, lichen encrusted hawthorns and thick stands of dead reeds. Overhead the sun shone from a sky that was like a blue sea with islands of fluffy white clouds, the sun creating dappled shadows along the path's length.

The narrow winding  path as seen from my crouched position on the narrow
bank to the left and that acted as a stage for the Bluethroat to perform on
from one end to the other

A wait of around twenty minutes ensued and then to hushed excitement and, it has to be said personal relief, the bluethroat hopped down onto the grass beside the path but at the far end. As is the custom these days dried mealworms had been liberally scattered all along the path and in the grass and it was feeding on these.

Someone beside me stage whispered 

We should be at the other end of the path

However the bird appeared to be slowly and purposefully making its way towards us along the path so we waited  to see what would happen.

Gradually it moved closer and ever closer and a frisson of pleasure and delight gripped me as I focused on the superb, radiant blue and orange red colouring emblazoned across its front. A shock of bright colours on  otherwise pale buff underparts. The blue feathers were luminescent in the sun, appearing almost metallic and even in the shaded areas of the path retained a distinct glow.

It continued to hop towards us on long legs with occasional diversions into the grass at the edge of the path. 

With my camera in overdrive I took image after image until it stopped no more than five metres from us. A short hesitation, a slow raising of its tail and then it flew up into the adjacent hawthorn to perch on a twig, fully in the open. 

Its actions and overall behaviour were highly reminiscent of a Robin and indeed a Robin was present for comparison.So often Robins chase off rarities such as this, creating a deal of angst amongst birder folk such as myself so I was gratified to note that the bluethroat was having none of it and would chase the Robin off aggressively and on a couple of occasions threaten it by extending its head and body almost vertically, the better to show off its blue and red colours, just like male Robins do to each other in territorial display.

Time went un noticed in a euphoria of excitement and anticipation as the bluethroat dropped onto the path about every fifteen minutes to feed. 

Exclamations from random voices behind me such as: 

There it is! or Its back! 

signified its return to the path. We gorged ourselves on sensational view after sensational view, accompanied by gasps of admiration from newcomers and sighs of fulfillment from everyone, once it flew out of sight,.

At one point it was no more than a few feet from us, we being crouched and contorted on the bank by the path so others behind us could see and then it flew up into the centre of the hawthorn and commenced singing, a quiet warbling subsong that persisted for some minutes, its body silhouetted deep in the bush amongst the sunlit branches and twigs before it once more re emerged and hopped along the path, still singing.

In between its appearances the explosive exclamations of Cetti's Warbers came from all around us in the reeds while overhead  from the sky came the tittering call of a migrant Whimbrel and the yodel of a Mediterranean Gull and I am sure I heard the melodic triple tew tew tew call of a Greenshank.

Time continued to slip by as people came and went. Despite the cramped and difficult viewing conditions there was no rancour or complaints from anyone. Everyone behaved sensibly and courteously so the day remained pleasant and amenable

There always comes a time in situations such as this when you know in your inner being that it is time to depart. Approaching noon I relinquished my place, rising stiffly and set off on the long walk back to my car, not a hardship after this morning's experience and with a final farewell bonus of being serenaded on my way by Sedge and Reed Warblers from the surrounding reedbeds.

Ring Ouzels on Cleeve Hill - 13th April 2026

Mark rang me last Friday about taking a trip over the county border into Gloucestershire with Ring Ouzels very much in mind, especially as we had dipped a pair of males on the Oxfordshire Downs at Lark Hill, on a cold and blustery Sunday morning, two weeks ago. 

With both of us having commitments over the coming weekend it was decided we would try our luck on Monday. Our destination was Cleeve Hill, at 330m the highest point in both the Cotswolds and Gloucestershire and situated above the town of Cheltenham, about forty five minutes driving from our homes in West Oxfordshire.

I'll pick you up from yours at eight Mark advised.

On a pleasant Spring morning with the cold wind of the last few days thankfully absent we set forth, charting a familiar course across the Cotswolds, now wryly re-christened the Potswolds due to the appalling state of our roads.

The rural lanes we traverse in our part of the world are now a major hazard to driving and a national scandal but there is little we can do but try and avoid driving into one of the countless potholes and incurring great expense trashing a tyre or even in extreme circumstances, a wheel.We followed a switchback of narrow roads southwest, descending and rising as if on a swelling terrestrial sea, crossing the Cotswolds benign, undulating and unthreatening landscape, now being rapidly transformed from winter brown into vibrant green. We descended the Cotswold escarpment into Cheltenham before ascending the side of Cleeve Hill, driving up yet another cratered narrow lane to its highest point, where a small and very full car park signified we could go no further.

A gate gives access to the wide flat expanse that is the summit of Cleeve Hill and we strode out straight and true across the sward, serenaded by countless Skylarks, although not quite sure where exactly to go. A vague memory of a previous visit suggested we needed to reach the far side of the flat plateau and then descend slightly on the  other side where there was a liberal scattering of golden flowered gorse clumps, hawthorn copses and occasional larger trees.

It was not long before we saw our first Northern Wheatear, a welcome new species for our year list and then, as often happens our eyes picked out several more until we estimated we had seen between eight and ten. Such attractive birds, possessed of a sturdy upright stance and bouncability, full of character and chutzpah, their pale ochre breasts made prominent by the sunlight as they hunted invertebrates in the short green grass.

A small group of Belted Galloway cattle were mooching around, cropping the grass amongst the gorse clumps, the beasts so named because they have a broad white band of fur encircling their rotund middles.

Up to this point there had been little sign of any Ring Ouzels but the sight of what could have easily been mistaken for a Blackbird fleeing into a gorse clump, followed by two others, signified we had found them. 

As ever, shy and ultra wary and never allowing anything remotely like a close approach, they disappeared into the fastness of the gorse, always one frustrating flight ahead as we followed but eventually they flew to perch in small trees, their dark bodies clearly visible amongst the branches or perched on isolated topmost twigs where they could more clearly observe the landscape and presumably us.

They remained as a group, sometimes emitting chuckles of alarm and it became obvious that there were five or possibly six individuals. A good count. Similar in appearance to their close cousin the Blackbird they however have an aura of true wildness about them, far removed from the cosy familiarity of the Blackbird. Not for them the benign confines of suburban gardens and parks but rather they seek the isolation of wild rugged places, where the wind blows across the moor and fell, mountain and stream. Forever wary and fast flying, today they tantalise and enthrall us with fleeting glimpses before slipping away.

Rather than pursue them which always proves pointless and futile we stood close by a clump of gorse and waited and soon enough the perched birds descended to the ground to feed very much in the fashion of a Blackbird.

Ring Ouzels look, to put it simply, very much like our Blackbird but look closer and when seen well both males and females have a prominent and large crescent of white on their breast. In the case of the adult male, pure and unmarked but duller white often sullied brown on the female. Males also show pale edging to their flight feathers which reveals itself as a pale panel on the closed wing. They are longer winged than Blackbirds too which makes sense as they are migrants that come here to breed in elevated areas of northern England and Scotland  and retreat to spend the winter in the mountains of southern Europe and North Africa. I once saw a flock of fifteen in November 2013 at Oukaimeden in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco.

In late March and April they often make a stopover in hilly areas in southern England where they do not breed and feed up before proceeding further north to breed. Cleeve Hill is one of many traditional stopover points in southern England that they use on their migrations. Other traditional locations where I have seen them are Linkey Down in The Chilterns on the border of Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire and The South Downs in Sussex. 

As you can see from my photos, the ouzels on Cleeve Hill remained at the extreme edge of my camera/lens capabilities but one adult male seemed slightly bolder than the rest and rather than fly off with its fellow ouzels chose to continue bouncing around in the coarse grass although still at some distance.

We were entirely on our own at this point and this undoubtedly helped as the disturbance to the birds was minimal and this possibly emboldened two males we found ourselves watching.

Eventually one male flew off but the other remained. We stood stock still and observed him feeding, his prominent white crescent almost gleaming in the sunlight and the pale edging to his flight feathers also noticeable. This was a full male in all his Spring finery and others we saw also looked to be males but at least two were duller, browner and less well marked, possibly being females or younger males.

For ten minutes the male we were looking at continued to feed and even began coming closer and I willed it to keep coming but it suddenly stopped feeding and became alert  with neck extended and head raised and then with a harsh call of alarm flew off. 

Something had troubled it but what?

A voice behind me enquired 

We hope we are not disturbing you. We are not in the way are we? .

A well meaning couple with two dogs had, un-noticed come up behind me and the ouzel on seeing them approaching was immediately on the alert and wary as ever, had flown off in the opposite direction

What can you do but contain your inner frustration and smile and say

No that's fine, carry on

The bird had gone anyway. Cleeve Hill is a very popular place with dog walkers but you always hope that its sheer size and expansiveness make it possible that people can find their own space.

We had one final view of the Ring Ouzels which, unknowingly flushed  by another birder flew to an isolated tree and perched as a group. I counted five.

There's another flying to join them Mark added. 

So then there were six Ring Ouzels.

More birders began to arrive, not many but we knew that for the undisturbed hour we had watched the ouzels we had already had the best of times and it would not get any better so we called it a day.

Coffee and cake Mark?

Why not.

Moth Magic - 6th April 2026

Sally and myself have a thing about Emperor Moths, Britain's only representative of the silk moth family, so much so that both of us have invested  in a pheremone lure, a tiny little  rubber bung that dispenses the irrisistible scent of a female on the air currents around our gardens.This can be picked up by the males from quite some distance and lures them in under false pretences.

April and May is the prime time to look for the day flying male moths. The female lies low during the day and flies at night. Although widespread throughout Britain they are never very common and you hardly ever see one unless luring it by deception and then it is usually only the males that respond.

Not that I am complaining as the males are sensationally adorned with four huge black eyes, one on each wing which act as a predator (birds) deterrent..The hind wings are a striking deep orange with a brown and rose pink border while the upper wings are patterned grey and white. The appearance is immensely attractive, even exotic.

Emperor Moths are large and satisfyingly chunky. Males are smaller than females being 60mm in diameter while females are a larger 80mm and differ from males by being predominantly coloured grey and white but again possess four prominent eye spots on their wings and unlike the male do not have feathered antennae  

My garden in a rural Oxfordshire village has yet to attact an Emperor but Sally in a slightly more urban setting has had remarkable success in her front garden not far from the busy A40 near Oxford. Emperor Moths like predominantly moorland, grassland scrub, heathland, hedgerows and field margins and have a large number of larval foodplants to choose from although the most favoured is heather.

Thus it came about on a sunny Saturday after meeting at Farmoor Reservoir that we agreed, on getting back to our respective homes around lunch time, we would put our lures out and await results. Sally won of course and called me to advise she had three, yes three males no less, fluttering around her lure.

They never settle but fly continuously, even one can say, frantically around the lure, fired by the desire to mate, so in order to pacify them for a photo it is necessary to catch one, in a plastic container, then cool it down in a fridge for ten minutes so it becomes comatose This does no harm to the moth but renders it inactive for five or so minutes before it warms up and recommences flying around. 

I drove over to Sally's house and there were two moths still careering around the lure by her front door with the third, courtesy of Sally having already been ensconced in her fridge awaiting my arrival.

Gingerly I took it outside and placed a finger under its legs and it clung on so I was able to transfer it to a small tree trunk for its impromptu photoshoot.Obviously newly emerged it was in prime condition.

For a few precious minutes it remained quiescent  and I got my photos as it clung to the thin trunk but normal service was rapidly resumed as the sun warmed the moth and it soon took to the air.

After a few exploratory flights around the lure it obviously sensed the subterfuge and departed.

Of the other two males, we never saw them depart and no more Emperor Moths came afterwards but it had only needed one!

Shopping for Dippers 1st April 2026

April Fools Day and I went shopping with Mark to a well known superstore in the neighbouring county of Gloucestershire. 

However the shopping we had in mind was not of the food variety but for a bird we do not get in Oxfordshire unless in very exceptional circumstances, having personally only seen two in the county during thirty years of living in Oxfordshire. I speak of Dippers, Britain's only aquatic songbird and suspect their absence in Oxfordshire is due to the rivers being generally slow flowing and not possessing the rocks and shallow stony rapids over which fast running water tumbles and that are so beloved of Dippers.

We parked in the superstore's car park, secreted deep in a valley and walked across a busy road and then downhill to a fast tumbling river running below an imposing brick viaduct, inevitably, being near to a town, adorned with eye jarring graffiti and across which trains regularly passed. 

We came to a natural hiatus at the riverside where the path continued over a narrow bridge spanning a waterfall of white disturbed water tumbling over a rocky ledge, filling the gorge with a roar of such volume and dominance that it rebounded from the high banks on either side of the torrent and deterred any attempt at normal conversation. 

Downstream the water swirled and eddied, calmer but remaining fast flowing. The only sound to penetrate the noise of rushing water was the strident song of a Wren, the volume coming from such a miniscule frame a marvel and trumping even the waterfall's rage. 

We are alone and immediately see the Dipper perched on a flat rock by the waterfall and which, on seeing us pauses briefly before flying low and fast upriver and out of sight. 

The best that can be said is that we have seen a Dipper, the first of its kind this year for both of us and consequently can be added to our year lists but we desire more from our visit than this.

Mark followed a narrow path that runs close beside the river and finds a Kingfisher.The banks either side of the river here rise high and steep, creating a cathedral like gloom where we stand at the bottom amongst the strap like leaves of hartstongue ferns and trailing ivy. Great trees have fallen, victims of the past winter's rain and wind that has undermined their root's shallow hold on the earthen banks. Enormous broken and contorted boughs and smaller branches lie like bones of some mythical creature, scattered down the banks from top to bottom. 

Still growing trees, each trunk embraced by a freize of ivy, bower the river with spreading branches, the tipmost twigs arching over the water, proffering this year's first vibrant green leaves in a delicate filigree while yet more fallen branches, faded pale and rotting lie aslant in the river, trapping detritus and forming ineffective dams which the irresistible water rushes under, over or around.

The river's close proximity to a superstore has thankfully not yet precipitated a christening with a supermarket trolley. I guess we should be thankful.

We returned to the Dipper's rock and find it is back but this time there is no evidence of alarm at our presence and the bird allows us to approach closely so long as our movements are unhurried and consequently will give no cause for concern.

The Dipper stands on its rock and feels so at ease it lifts one foot into the feathers of its chestnut belly to stand by the tumult of water, in total harmony with its surroundings. This is home for the Dipper, the topography become familiar, every nook and cranny of the river known, learnt and memorised to provide sustenance and a guarantee of sorts for its ongoing survival.

Eventually he commences singing. His song is loud and necessarily so in order to be heard above the exultant rush of water but the waterfall subsumes even the most clarion like of his notes. I can clearly see his bill opening as he sings but only an occasional  louder whistle penetrates the sound of the fast flowing water to reach my ears.

He sings on, happy and content, plumped up on his favourite rock, his positioning granting him surveillance of this particular stretch of river, his domain, his territory. At intermittent intervals the bird appears to wink at me but this is of course a misperception. A Dipper has distinctive white eyelids which contrast with the chocolate coloured head and act as both a means for the bird to clear its eyes and, I have since learned, act as a form of display.

This site is known to many people, birders and general public alike, who come to see and photograph the Dippers or merely stop a while to admire the waterfall and perhaps the Dippers too. For a brief moment he is joined by his mate, flying in from downriver and he goes into an ecstacy of display. spreading his wings and fanning his tail. Then the two of them fly to their nest site, inaccessible and well hidden.

We spent ninety minutes in the Dipper's company and left him as we found him, perched on a rock contemplating the rushing waters while we returned to a world far removed from this unlikely idyll.