Mediterraneans at Hayling Island 19th March 2026

I left Greenham Common (see my previous blog) around 10am having successfully encountered a Dartford Warbler and rather than return home buoyed by my success, decided to make a day of it and drive further south, all the way to Hayling Island on the coast of Hampshire.

It is a pilgrimage I make most years in March, to enjoy another of nature's spectacles, this one centred on the long defunct Hayling Oyster Beds, of which only the bunds remain, separated from the land by a narrow channel of sea which provides security from human or animal interference for a large concentration of gulls . In 1996 Havant Borough Council to their immense credit designated the bunds as a local nature reserve that is now managed by the RSPB. 

For a brief period in Spring the bunds are thronged with hundreds of both Mediterranean and Black headed Gulls, the former congregating to display and form pairs, before moving into nearby Langstone Harbour to breed whereas the Black headed Gulls will remain to nest on the bunds which attract birders and public alike to enjoy the sound and spectacle of a gull colony in its full exuberant flow.

Most of the noise it has to be said comes from the Black headed Gulls, forever squawking and complaining, creating an endless background of harsh sounds which although tuneless to our ears somehow feels an  appropriate adjunct to the birds breeding frenzy. The Med Gulls punctuate the wall of sound with overriding yelping, exclamatory 'meow' cries making them sound as if constantly surprised.

Hayling Oyster Beds and its congregation of gulls holds many memories for me, perhaps the most poignant being the time I went at a period of great fear and uncertainty as the country awaited the arrival of  the covid virus that was sweeping inexorably in our direction from China and no one knew what was going to happen but were left in no doubt it was going to be very bad and our human world would turn upside down and never be the same again.see here

I remember driving to Hayling listening to the early morning news just before covid arrived on our shores and a feeling of dread and anxiety enveloping me as I headed for possibly the last time to Hayling Oyster Beds to enjoy the beauty of the gull colony not knowing when if ever I would see this or any other such bird spectacle again. It was a time, as I said, of great fear and uncertainty but sitting on a bank of grass in the sun later that morning and watching the annual ritual of the gulls going through their unchanging routine brought a sense of stability to my scrambled brain and I felt able to face whatever was coming with fortitude.

Today, five years hence was thankfully different, although now the horrors and madness of war in The Middle East, driven by an indicted war criminal in Israel and a disgrace of humankind sitting in The White House was another cause for anxiety. From my covid experience I knew that the Med Gulls would again be my salvation and calm the troubled waters of my mind.

The weather was nigh on perfect, sun, blue sky and a gentle breeze from the north east. Arriving at the tiny car park I found it predictably full on such a pleasantly late sunny morning but after a short wait a space was relinquished and I parked my car.The sea and sky were almost as one in blueness as I took the track out to the bunds. As I approached the colony the shock of sound hit me amid a forever moving flurry of white above and around the bunds as birds flew back and fore or stood on the rocks or gravel. 

A scene of ceaseless, constantly changing activity was before me as gulls came and went, fought and bickered, displayed to potential mates or settled on the water as if to take a break from the freneticism on the bunds.You could easily sit here and never be bored as the movement and noise was an unending play that had no beginning or conclusion. And all for free!

The display of the Med Gulls mainly enacted by the males involves much bowing and ritualistic posturing, the poses exaggeratedly slow and deliberate and is forever entertaining.

Some of the Med Gulls have colour rings attached to their legs from various European study schemes.Today there was at least one with such a ring. and an inscription that indicated it had been ringed in either Belgium or The Netherlands.

I sat on the grass by the sea and looked over to the bunds and took as many images as I felt happy with, chiefly of the Med Gulls. 

Call me biased if you wish but in their breeding plumage they are for me one of the most beautiful gulls in the world and apart from all black heads and crimson bills, look angelic, almost ethereal in an overall white plumage and palest of grey backs, flying against the blue green of the sea or cobalt blue of the sky.

For two hours I enjoyed, nay revelled in this spectacle. An annual re-affirmation and confirmation if needed that despite the current awfulness of our human world and all the worry and concern it engenders, here at Hayling was the ideal antidote in the knowledge that whatever may happen, the natural world will continue regardless, whereas we may not and I take great comfort in that.

Dartfords 19th March 2026

Thursday and with the dawn came the promise of another Spring day of mild temperatures and sunshine. Last night I had mulled over how to take full advantage of this week of benign weather and decided to head for Greenham Common in the neighbouring county of Berkshire.

The incentive was to encounter the Dartford Warblers that have replaced the bombers, live there year round and now should be busy setting up territories for the upcoming breeding season.

It all seemed so simple and straightforward.

I set off early from my home, driving south for an hour on a chilly early morning in order to get to the Common at 7am which would grant me a couple of hours before the inevitable dog walkers arrived at around 9am. I have a theory that many of the dog walkers, being women, turn up at this hour presumably after having seen husbands or partners off to work and the kids off to school. It really is quite noticeable how many fit this profile..

I was in fact a minute early getting to the Common and had to wait for a warden to unlock the barrier to the car park at 7am sharp but once in I parked up and with camera and bins headed off into a virtually deserted reserve. My primary focus when visiting Greenham Common is on the former main runway, its 1.9 miles now reclaimed by nature and home to a profusion of fauna and flora and at this time of year a blaze of golden yellow flowering gorse as far as the eye can see.

Now one would not unreasonably expect Greenham Common with such a plethora of suitable habitat to hold many Dartford Warblers and it may well do but locating them for some reason, possibly unique to Greenham, is far from easy while other places such as Thursley Common in Surrey and The New Forest in Hampshire prove much easier places to encounter them.

Despite regular visits, only once before have I seen Dartford Warblers well on Greenham Common and that was through sheer luck and only for a few minutes see here

I wandered the considerable length of the runway but heard not a note of its scratchy little warble or sight of its tiny form atop a spray of yellow gorse. Why are they so silent and shy at this time of year when all other birds are singing for all they are worth?

Woodlarks and stonechats were not a problem, making themselves very obvious by singing from exposed perches or in the case of the Woodlarks also flying on high, in circles, broadcasting their beautiful song from the sky. Of the Dartfords there was nothing until I caught the briefest of glimpses of one perched in the bare twigs of a birch sapling standing proud amongst the gorse.It remained in the birch for a few seconds and then was scared off by a Meadow Pipit and dived back into the gorse.

That was the sum of it.

Another factor that inhibits any searching for the Dartfords is that much of the Common is quite rightly out of bounds from the beginning of March to the end of July to allow ground nesting birds to have a chance of breeding successfully, so pursuit of any Dartfords, should you see one in the gorse is usually not possible. It's just a shame that some dog walkers do not care to take much notice of the signs asking for restraint or make any attempt to control their dogs.

After an hour of aimlessly walking back and fore hoping to catch a brief snatch of song but hearing absolutely nothing I was in mild despair and considering leaving. The runway area with its main gravel track down the centre is very popular with the public especially dog walkers and maybe the Dartfords, skulking and shy by nature are deterred from making themselves obvious or maybe that is just the way Dartfords are, preferring a brief sortie to the top of a gorse bush or twiggy sapling, to sing for a minute and then retreat into the re-assurance of the dense gorse. They really are an enigma. Who knows. What is irrefutable in my experience, is that on Greenham Common they are extraordinarily difficult to find let along photograph.

I persisted with my searching but I was losing motivation fast as it looked increasingly unlikely I would be successful. I returned to the 'turning circle', a wide circular area of tarmac where in former times the planes would stop at the head of the runway before takeoff, adjacent to the control tower nearby which is now an exhibition centre and cafe manned by volunteers

The Common also runs for a long way in the opposite direction to the turning circle with a large area of gorse close by which is accessible and this was my last slim chance of finding a Dartford. I had found one here on my last visit a few years ago, again after a long, dis-spiriting search, so maybe lightening would strike twice.

There was only one way to find out.

For thirty minutes I saw or heard nothing.Twittering Linnets were busy reconnoitering the gorse and a Woodlark's mellifluous notes came from afar. I slipped down into a sun warmed alley of golden, pepper scented gorse and then I heard the unmistakeable song of a Dartford Warbler close by. It repeated its short song, over and over but where was it? Finally I saw it as it moved up to the top of a bare twig. I moved closer and it continued to sing. An exquisite tension took hold of me. After all the searching here  was a Dartford but would it remain as I crept closer. Please do not fly away. Please.

To my immense relief it remained where it was and eventually flew but only to perch atop a nearby explosion of yellow gorse flowers. 

The classic pose that embodies the very essence of the bird. 

Perfection.

It never remained in one place for long but moved around the gorse giving occasional bursts of song and mainly perching in the open as if to survey its surroundings.

It was briefly joined by a female, presumably its mate but she soon flew a distance away to another area of gorse while he remained and slipped down into a sheltered sunny alcove of gorse twigs to idle and commence a spell of feather maintenance, his brown upperparts and dull reddish brown underparts rendering him almost as one with the spiky tangles of dead gorse and convoluted branches. 

,

He flew to another fist of gorse flowers. perching there to give a brief snatch of song and then was gone.

It was over.

I never saw or heard him again despite waiting in vain for twenty minutes or more. Nor did  I see any other Dartford Warblers despite searching other areas of the Common for another half an hour.

It seems so strange that they sing and show so intermittently on Greenham Common or maybe I am just unlucky.

  

Forster's Tern at Poole Dorset 7th March 2026

Forster's Tern was named in honour of Johann Reinhold Forster, a German pastor and naturalist who first identified it in 1788. They breed in brackish and freshwater marshes in northern USA and southern Canada and migrate in winter to southern parts of the USA, Mexico, The Caribbean and northern Central America. Vagrants occur almost annually in western Europe.

They are similar in size to our Common Tern and also look similar in breeding plumage but in non breeding plumage can be told by the black bandit like mask extending over its eyes and ear coverts.

Forster's Tern is a very rare visitor to Britain with only 22 records up to 2023.The most contemporary record being of an individual first seen in and around Poole Harbour in March 2023 and which has returned every Spring since and is thought to be the same bird that winters off Brittany in northern France and uses Poole as a staging site on its migration in Spring to northern parts of Britain and in Autumn on its return journey to Brittany

This year it returned to Poole on the 22nd of February and latterly appears to have favoured the large saltwater lagoon at Poole Park, a 110 acre park that lies close to the town and adjacent to Poole Harbour consisting of ornamental gardens, play areas  two cafes, a freshwater lake and a large saltwater lagoon.

Recently several very nice images have appeared on the internet of the tern either flying around or perched on posts in the lagoon, indicating it was showing very well and I resolved to make a two hour drive south to try and see it on Saturday, Weather is always a consideration when making a birding foray such as this and checking the forecast for Poole on Saturday I learned it would be a day of light cloud and no rain.

Sadly it did not go as predicted  as Saturday morning arrived murky grey, with looming cloud and very misty conditions bringing low visibility and an oppressive gloom to the surrounding countryside but I resolved to press on in the hope matters would improve on the south coast. Sadly they didn't but there was nothing to do but make the best of it.

Winding through  the Saturday morning traffic in Poole I eventually came to Poole Park which was already busy with families feeding the ducks, gulls and swans while the free of charge car parks were rapidly filling with visitors cars.

I was unsure where to go at first but spotted a group of birders with scopes and cameras standing at the north east edge of the large lagoon. Parking the car nearby I walked over to them and was told that I was in the right place and the tern had been showing really well but currently was invisible as it was perched on a post that was obscured by a bank of reeds and sedge growing on a small island directly opposite and closeby in the lagoon. 

If I wanted to see the tern I would have to take a very narrow and what looked like perilous concrete catwalk that jutted out into the lagoon and join half a dozen birders at the far end who were currently viewing the tern from there.

I took the catwalk, mindful that with one mis-step I would be in the water.The one thing I did not want to happen was to meet someone coming the other way but of course I did.A man approached and very carefully we edged around each other. He was not a birder and asked me what we were all so interested in

There is a very rare american tern called a Forster's Tern perched over on those posts I told him pointing to the posts

Why is it called an american tern he enquired

It's not, it's from america but called a Forster's Tern I replied

He seemed completetely oblivious to my body language. All I wanted to do was get to the end of the catwalk and see the tern while he wished to talk further.

Somehow we parted, although it seemed to take an age as I answered his questions with as much courtesy as I could muster.

I walked on  and made it to the birders only to learn the tern had flown off into the harbour while I was otherwise distracted but was assured it would soon return. Not a great start to the day.

After what transpired to be a twenty minute wait the tern duly flew in from the harbour and passing us settled on one of the wooden posts amongst a group of forever squawking Black headed Gulls. Despite the gloomy conditions I managed to get some passable flight shots and had to hope that the various photographic technical aids now available would enable me to improve on my images when processing them back home on my computer.

We stood watching the tern preening on its post, interacting with the gulls and then flying back out to the harbour only to return once more after ten minutes. More photos were taken and more images examined for quality and most discarded.

Then the tern took to the air once more and eschewing a trip out to the harbour flew to the far side of the lagoon.My fellow birders headed off to walk around the lagoon to where it landed on another post but as my car was nearby it seemed sensible to drive  around the perimeter road and save myself a long walk.

On getting to the far side of the lagoon the weather now intervened as the skies turned a shade of even darker grey and a blur of oncoming rain could be seen heading my way from the harbour. I put the hood up on my jacket and endured a light soaking but the rain soon passed and I carried on watching and photographing the tern for another twenty minutes as it perched on its post.

Then it took off again and as was its custom headed in the direction of nearby Poole Harbour.

It was decision time. I could wait for it to return to the lagoon as I was sure it would.

I looked at the sky, still grey and decided it was enough. I had seen the Forster's Tern very well and thoroughly enjoyed my morning.There are, after all, only so many images of a tern perched on a post one can take without repetition. 

I made for the car and then for home as another rain shower threatened

I never did find the Mandarin Duck though!.

More on Frogs - 2nd March 2026

What a difference four days have made!

I returned to the same pools where I had watched a dozen or so lethargic frogs commencing their annual breeding cycle a few days ago but this time the favoured pool was alive with activity as the number of frogs had risen to a much more energised sixty.

The weather too had improved from last Thursday's chilly, grey and overcast morning with a northeast wind unhelpfully gusting down the valley, to one of sunshine and milder wind from the southwest signifying Spring had truly arrived. No doubt about it.

Walking down the valley a Blackcap sang from the surrounding trees, the pure notes of its song an exultant exclamation briefly dominating the stillness of the valley. A sulphur yellow Brimstone butterfly flickered an erratic course across the shiny heads of already flowering Lesser Celandines, each individual eight petalled flower a fallen yellow star, shining coyly in the damp fen at my feet.

Spring the sweet Spring.

Arriving at the pools it was a scene of ceaseless, restless movement in that particular pool I had stood over a few days ago. A myriad of frog heads poked above the water, all facing the sun which illuminated each frog's china white throat, swelling to produce an overall gentle purring.To call it croaking would be a gross slur on the soothing pleasant sound the chorusing frogs produced.

Truly a frog choir.

I looked down from the boardwalk on which I stood to the edge of the pool and noted that, unlike my last visit, jellied mounds of frog spawn now lay like grey clouds at the water's shallow edge whilst a multitude of frogs, driven by nuptial ardour, clambered heedless and carelessly amongst it.

The majority of frogs were males, barging and jostling each other in blunt rivalry and it was hard to discern an obvious female but by paying close attention we found a pair in amplexus (Latin for embrace) where the male frog clings tightly to the female in a mating hug, riding on her back and waiting for the moment when she ejects her spawn which he then fertilises as it emerges.

The difference in colour and size between the two was noticeable, the male grey and smaller, with white throat swelling and  deflating as he produced his gentle purring, the female larger, bulky even, her sides swollen with spawn and coloured a contrasting chestnut brown

They tumbled around in the water amongst the spawn and emerging green spikes of reed, their coupling rendering them clumsy and unbalanced, the pair constantly harassed by other males seeking to usurp the incumbent male but all were destined to failure as her mate, chosen for the quality of his purring, clung tightly and resolutely to her back.

We noted the variety of colours in the individual frogs, the majority bluish grey with white throats, but others in varying shades of olive with distinct barring and spots on body and legs while yet others, very much in the minority, were unmarked reddish brown and larger. Could these larger reddish individuals be females? My knowledge of frog ecology is sadly lacking but I read that Common Frogs  can vary widely in colour from green to brown and even red or yellow and all shades in between.There were certainly a mixture of colours in the pool today.The two reddish brown individuals I observed being particularly striking.

A variety of different coloured Common Frogs. Apparently all are males - see the comment at the end 

There are always questions and conundrums in situations such as this.The more you observe the more you realise how much there is still to learn. I know so little about these secretive amphibians, rarely encountering them apart from these few days in early Spring.

We stood for almost an hour, fascinated by the evolving activity as the frogs appeared and disappeared in the clear water, rising to face the sun, floating on the surface or sinking to the bottom of the pond, jostling and barging in sudden bursts of frenzied movement then to lie still and watchful.

                                       It will all be over by the end of the week