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 stream come river running below an imposing brick viaduct, inevitably, being near to a town, adorned with eye jarring graffiti and across which trains still regularly pass. 

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 echoed 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 upstream 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 so now it can be added to our year list but we desire more to come 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 strap like 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 steep 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 with a freize of ivy, bower the river with spreading branches, the tipmost twigs arching over the water, proffering the 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 inefffective 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

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 give no cause for concern.

It 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 surroundingd. 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 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 and reaches 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 wipe its eyes and, I have learned, 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 Dipper too. For a brief moment he is joined by his mate, flying in from downstream 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 male'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.

The Crayfish Cruncher - 30th March 2026

Great Northern Divers, almost invariably immature birds, are a reasonably regular visitor to my local Farmoor Reservoir during the winter months, usually only single birds but sometimes two together.

This winter it wasn't until five days ago that one graced the concrete bowl of delights, being discovered on the larger basin in the late afternoon of the 26th of March.Better late than never.

I went the next morning, Friday  to see it, a day of gloom, low cloud and blustery cold wind but forty plus Sand Martins flickering across the troubled reservoir waters and a singing Willow Warbler in the hedgerow were re-assurance that Spring, despite the cold and grey conditions was truly here.

At first I was unable to locate the diver as it demonstrated a remarkable facility for giving one the slip, travelling long distances underwater to surface unexpectedly far from where it submerged. A behavioural trait I have noticed before with this species.

Finally, once it was found I kept an eye on it but even so it managed to evade me once again. This  of course may say more about my observational skills than the diver's elusiveness.Later that morning after the yacht club took to the water the diver flew and relocated to the adjacent smaller basin the other side of the central causeway and here it has remained undisturbed ever since. Thankfully the strong wind and resulting waves have deterred the paddle boarders who use this smaller basin from taking to the water.When they do I suspect the diver will depart. 

The following day, Saturday, such is the reach of social media, saw many birders coming to view the diver and take its photograph and it was only today, Monday that I returned to the reservoir, not so much to see the diver as to discover what early migrants if any were out and about on the reservoir.

Hirundines have been making a welcome appearance these last few days mainly in the morning, chiefly Sand Martins but with a few Swallows amongst them and today I added House Martin to my year list as a couple flew in the lee of the strong north wind under the trees at the western end of the reservoir.

I stood here with Dave, another Farmoor regular and chatted and birded, glad to be out of the worst of the wind that had buffeted me on the exposed causeway. We watched a pair of Grey Wagtails, prospecting nest sites, their  beauty and elegance rendering them surely one of the most underated of birds.

Hirundines flew around us and above the nearby trees and water works, the Sand Martins churring calls a cheery counterpoint to the grey skies. A Cattle Egret and then a Great Egret flew south and north respectively, later a Sparrowhawk mobbed by a crow flew past at tree top height, the crow, emboldened, almost colliding with the raptor but the sparrowhawk's superior flying ability allowed it to evade the crow's unwelcome attentions with consummate ease. Later a repeated single note call came from the sky.It was naggingly familiar but at first I could not place it but then, of course, it came to me. It was a Little Ringed Plover, a newly arriving migrant that flew over us but was reluctant to land and disappeared to the south east.

It is little incidents like this that keep one enthused and coming back for more on what is after all an unexceptional and for much of the time unexciting inland reservoir.

The diver, meanwhile remained well offshore as more Farmoor regulars joined us but slowly we drifted away, each with our own priorities and preferences. I made my way down off the reservoir to the Thames Path by the river, glad to be out of the nagging wind. The blackthorn blossom still maintained a froth of white if a little battered amongst the slowly greening hawthorns as the wistful refrain of a Willow Warbler's song came from the tops of the trees to be answered by another a little further away.The songs were muted as if the strong wind deterred the birds from anything bolder but unequivocally it was the melancholy but welcome song of a Willow Warbler and a little later I saw one of the birds snatching flies from the twigs and leaves as it sang.

I returned to the perimeter track to find the diver was now relatively close in, diving and feeding on the alien Signal Crayfish that infest the reservoir to the detriment of our indigenous crayfish. It would surface with a crayfish in its formidable bill and shake it vigorously, softening it up, sending bits of disintegrating crayfish flying through the air before what remained of the unappetising crustacean was swallowed whole. One can only presume the diver's stomach must have powerful digestive juices to dissolve the carapace and armouring that protects the crayfish.

I watched the diver consume a number of crayfish before it settled, obviously with appetite satisfied and floated idly on the water. 

The sun came out briefly making the diver look very different
on the blue water

It closed an eye and slept and I ruminated on what a strange existence it must be to spend almost your entire life on and underwater apart from dragging your body a few feet onto land in order to nest at the very edge of the water.

This individual will not breed this year as it is only in its second year of life and as such retains its juvenile plumage of dull grey brown upperparts and silky white underparts.It will only be when in its third year next Spring that it will assume the glory of fully black and white adult plumage.

How long this bird will remain at Farmoor is unknown but surely will not be longer than a month, probably less. We will have to wait and see but in the meantime it is welcome to remove as many of the alien and invasive Signal Crayfish as it likes.

Black Grouse in Brief 23rd March 2026

A planned visit to a Black Grouse lek in North Wales did not work out as we planned. Mark has had some serious health issues, the treatment of which has resulted in the onset of an infection of his bladder that got progressively worse as we headed for Wales but we pressed on. The booked hotel was cheap and it showed and we were the only two guests on a Sunday evening in Llangollen. The town was dead but we nevertheless found a place to eat as the hotel was unable to offer us anything.

Neither of us slept much that night but as planned we left at 4.30am to be in position on the moor before dawn. Driving along the road that bisects the top of the moor Red Grouse flew from the car's headlights. Not the most aerodynamic of birds, one careered crazily towards us in the glare of the headlights and barely missed the windscreen, sheering off at the last moment.

The darkness was complete, not a light to be seen for miles and with the window open the air was cold on the side of my face.

We arrived at the approximate site of the lek and sat in a dazed silence and waited for sounds of the Black Grouse arriving unseen in the darkness.For a while all we heard were Red Grouse, calling from both near and far across the sensed rather than seen heather moorland and then a Snipe joined in. 

A wheezing, athsmatic sounding call signalled  the arrival of a Black Grouse to be quickly followed by others.Then the distinctive cooing bubbling calls commenced as the still invisible birds began to display.

The darkness lost some of its intensity and the grouse morphed into indistinct but visible black shapes, each separate  on its own particular lekking patch and woe betide any other grouse that trespassed.

The light of dawn began to penetrate the darkeness further and the white feathered bottoms of the grouse were visible as the birds moved and displayed. Slowly they materialised as the retreat of night gathered pace until we could see them clearly in our bins.

We counted eight males plus a greyhen (female) that soon departed. The last time I was here there were eighteen.I fear the worst as there is no protection for them on the moor apart from a voluntary code of conduct that birders and the public are requested to observe.

Their display seemed desultory from how I remembered it from my last visit.A couple of minor fights ensued but were quickly abandoned and then the birds seemed to go quiet with one bird apparently giving it up as a bad job, sleeking its feathers and commencing to feed. Maybe it was early in the season or the lack of any females that dampened the male's ardour.

Still it was too dark for photography. Mark was suffering and had to leave the car to relieve himself. It was no good and we realised that we would have to abandon our visit and drive home.

We agreed to spend half an hour with the grouse and then leave. The sun would not have risen by then and any hopes of worthwhile photos had to be forgotten but Mark's welfare was paramount.The grouse could wait until another day

With the light improving all the time I attempted to take some images but had to set the camera's iso to a whopping 26300. The result was just about passable and fifteen minutes later I could drop the iso to half that as the light improved.

Thirty minutes was up and we left. En route home Mark called his local surgery and it was arranged for him to go straight there and to give a sample and get some anitbiotics.The drive was a stop start nightmare as Mark had to try to relieve himself every thirty minutes but we got there in the end. 

We were home by 11am and once Mark was fully fit plan our return to Wales and hopefully get some decent images and spend some quality time with this now increasingly scarce bird

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 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 my troubled 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 pleasant sunny late 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 reached the colony a 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 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 Belgium.

The original ringer sent me details of the gull's history - see below

It was ringed as an adult on the 19th of May 2025 at PuttenWest,Kieldrecht,Beveren,Oost-Vlaanderen, in Flanders, Belgium. It was then seen from the 22nd of August to the 13th of November 2025  on various beaches in Finistere, Brittany, France before I recorded it at Hayling Oyster Beds on the 19th of March 2026.

I sat on the grass by the sea as a deep contentment settled over me, 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.