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 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 latest 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 appears to have favoured the large saltwater lagoon at Poole Park, a 110 acre park consisting of ornamental gardens, play areas  two cafes, freshwater lakes and a large saltwater lagoon and that lies close to the town and adjacent to Poole Harbour.

Several very nice images appeared 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 light cloud and no rain.

Sadly Saturday morning arrived with grey, looming cloud and very misty conditions bringing 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 and gulls and the refreshingly free of charge car parks rapidly filling with 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 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 reed and sedge growing on a small island directly opposite 

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 end who could see the tern from there.

I took the cat walk, mindful that one slip and 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 then 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

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 thirty minute wait the tern duly flew back from the harbour and passing us settled back on one of the wooden posts amongst a group of 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 back at the computer.

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

Then the tern took to the air and flew to the far side of the lagoon.My fellow birders headed off to walk around the lagoon but as my car was nearby it seemed sensible to drive  around the perimeter road and save myself a long walk.

The weather now intervened as the skies turned a shade of darker grey and a blur of oncoming rain was heading our way from the harbour. I put the hood up on my jacket and a light soaking ensued 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 to the air and as was its custom headed off in the direction of the nearby 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 headed for the car and then for home as the rain returned

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 a croak 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 and he fertilises it as it emerges.The difference in colour and size 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 contrastingly coloured 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 blue 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

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

An Arctic Wanderer - 28th February 2026

Ross's Gulls come from the high Arctic, breeding in the marshy tundra and deltas with low willows in the northernmost parts of North America and northeastern Siberia and despite their diminutive size must be tough as even in winter they usually venture no further south than to the edge of the pack ice along the northern parts of the Beaufort, Bering and Othotsk Seas.

They are a bird described as possessed of a mystical aura and ethereal beauty and for me encapsulate the romance of distant harsh and remote lands that I am unlikely ever to see. The circumstances of its discovery by the British explorer Admiral Sir James Clark Ross and subsequently named in his honour only enhances its romantic status. Ross shot the first specimen on the 23rd of June 1823 on the tiny island of Igloolik in the Canadian Arctic whilst part of an expedition searching for The Northwest Passage. The breeding grounds remained a mystery until May 1905 when the wonderfully named Sergei Aleksandrovich Buturin, serving at the time as a Justice of the Peace no less but with a reputation as an outstanding ornithologist, discovered it breeding at Podhodsk on the Kolyma River in northeastern Yakutia. A classic discovery upholding the grand tradition of amateur ornithology.

Very occasionally an individual gull will stray further south to temperate areas such as northwest Europe and today I went to see the 107th of this enigmatic species to be recorded in Britain and that has been delighting birders with its continued presence since being found on the 22nd of February at Newlyn Harbour in Cornwall.

Prior to today I have seen two Ross's Gulls. The first was at Peterhead, Aberdeenshire in February 2005 and the second also in February but in 2018 at the RSPB's Radipole Lake in Dorset see here . Both were adults whereas this bird at Newlyn was an immature in its second year of life and, never having seen one in this plumage before, provided me with an added incentive to go to Cornwall.

Ever since it was first found I checked each day and as confirmation of its presence continued I went on a roller coaster ride of indecision as to whether to go and see it or not. Cornwall is a very long way from my home in Oxfordshire and there was no escaping the daunting prospect of a four and half hour drive to Newlyn which I would have to accomplish solo as none of my twitching or birding pals showed any enthusiasm to join me. 

With news of the gull's presence at Newlyn on Friday I finally made up my mind to go to Cornwall,  planning to leave in the early hours (3am) of Saturday to arrive at Newlyn around 7.30am, shortly after dawn.

Unusually I managed to get a few hours sleep before waking an hour early at 2am. Lying in bed self doubt again assailed me. A voice in my head told me I had already seen two Ross's Gulls so why subject myself to the torture of yet another long and tiring night drive to Cornwall and an outcome that was by no means certain.

No one would care if I changed my mind.It was of little consequence.

I lay there for ten long minutes, rolling the twitching dice and then impulsively fell out of bed and commenced readying myself to depart for Cornwall. So tired and discomfited, I failed to register I was leaving the house well before my planned departure time of 3am.The drive was as ever attritional.Night drives are no longer straightforward as many roads and motorways are now closed at night to allow for repairs but being a Saturday the roads were not busy with commuting traffic and lorries and apart from the inevitable road closures, temporary traffic lights and an unfathomable diversion off the M5 motorway near Minehead, all was relatively incident free. 

I stuck at it for mile after weary mile. Devon and Cornwall seem to get larger every time I follow the dreaded M5/A30 combination west but at last I arrived in Penzance to be confronted by yet another road closure and subsequent diversion through a maze of confusing one way back streets in order to get to Newlyn that lies just to the west.

My earlier than planned  start from home meant I arrived in Newlyn at 6.15am in the dark. My early arrival had one benefit in that it meant I was able to find a free parking space (not easy) amongst the narrow car congested lanes of Newlyn and even better, very close to the harbour.

Four and half hours driving had taken its predictable toll and left me dazed and befuddled, so I granted myself thirty minutes of not hanging onto a steering wheel to sit quietly in the car with eyes closed, endeavouring to unite body and soul for what was to come. 

Semi revived and with bins around my neck and camera over my shoulder I departed the car and ventured into the early morning in an awakening, sunny Newlyn and headed up the North Pier of Newlyn Harbour

The North Pier looking towards the town

I was not the first and joined a few other birders standing half way along the pier. It was immediately obvious from their demeanour that there was no sign of the gull and we stood in the early morning sunshine morosely hoping the gull would put in an appearance sooner rather than later. Rather too often we checked the gulls on the surrounding warehouse roofs in the hope of a minor miracle of finding the Ross's Gull perched there amongst its larger cousins. Of course it wasn't. 

An hour later and the adrenaline brought on by hope and expectation had drained away and I felt flat in mind and body as tiredness and reality began to assert itself. It was almost unbearable as I contemplated the distinct possibility of dipping and the prospect of a four and a half hour drive of misery back home.

To add to my discomfort a chilly northeast wind had sprung up to blow directly into my face as I leant on a cold metal rail and stared across the sunlit harbour at Newlyn's colourful fishing boats moored alongside a short pier opposite and its houses ranged in a confusion of cramped terracing along snaking narrow lanes on the steep hillside behind.

It all looked so lovely and appealing in the bright sunshine but sadly that was not my, nor any of my fellow birders reason for being here. Another fruitless hour passed and my spirits sunk ever lower. Other birders were continually arriving but the gull was nowhere to be seen. The only vestige of hope we clung to was that it had not been seen in the harbour yesterday until around 10am and currently it was only 8.30am  although it seemed much later. I resolved to hang on until then. I had already been awake for six and a half hours.

I chatted to Kyle and Kevin, two birding colleagues from Oxfordshire who had also travelled west as gradually most other birders gave it up and quietly departed the pier, planning to go and look either for a very rare and elusive Pacific Diver reported on the sea off nearby Mousehole  or go to Hayle where a Ring billed and Bonaparte's Gull, a drake Garganey and a Curlew Sandpiper had been seen yesterday.

My vigil continued. The last thing I wanted to do was commence driving again to Mousehole or Hayle but even I reached a nadir and left Kyle and Kev at a little after 9am and walked back along the pier, glad to get some circulation going in my legs and be out of the wind. Outside one of the small sheds that lined one side of the pier and that serve as business premises or places to store various bits and pieces for the smaller fishing and pleasure boats in the harbour, a door lay ajar and I admired a  huge gathering of Turnstones, lingering by the door in anticipation of being fed, which they regularly are apparently.They were ludicrously tame and you literally had to wade through them, so reluctant were they to move out of the way, spilling over the concrete like an animated  brown tide albeit with bright orange legs.

I used to look askance at Newlyn but have grown to be rather fond of its slighty wacky and tacky combination of industry and tourism with the undoubted prime focus being fishing but complemented by the presence of small shops and businesses crammed into random corners, fronted by narrow paths or none at all, on the main thoroughfare that snakes through the town, while houses rise above the harbour on a steep hillside accessed by convoluted lanes. Pretty it is not but has its own charm combining a mainly industrial fishing base (it is the largest fishing port in England)  with a growing accent on leisure and tourism.

I went to check the adjacent Tolcarne Beach where the gull had been seen on previous occasions in the week but now on a sunny Saturday morning it was populated not by gulls but people and the inevitable dogs..

I checked every gull on every roof one more time and again there was no sign.

At a total loss, I had run out of options. I walked to a pleasant roadside cafe and treated myself to a coffee and sat on a chair in the small garden, sheltered from the wind and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. It was so tempting to sit there and close my eyes but resisting I resolved to give it ten minutes and then make the effort to drive a short way further west to Mousehole to try and find the Pacific Diver while waiting for any news about the gull if indeed there was to be some.

I walked to my car and instinctively checked my phone, just in case and there was a message on one of the WhatsApp Birding Groups I am a member of  ..................

'Ross's back in harbour'.

The message was timed at 1003

I was literally a hundred metres from the North Pier and power walked along the pier to join half a dozen birders photographing the gull, which was flying up and down the channel between the North Pier and the parallel shorter pier opposite.

Tiny, not much larger than a Little Gull I was struck by how delicate and angular it looked with its long pointed wings, wedge shaped tail and dove like head and bill. 

It was flying a circuit over  the wide channel of seawater between the two parallel harbour piers where the trawlers were moored, dropping to the surface to pick unidentified items from the sea or on at least one occasion plunging its head under the water to seize a small fish. It flew to the landward end of the channel and then flew back towards the harbour entrance, before crossing over the North Pier we were stood on and carrying on out into the broad sweep of Mount's Bay that lies between Newlyn and Penzance, heading across the turquoise blue waters to settle distantly on the sea by some rocks.

That was it. A three hour wait but I had seen and photographed the Ross's Gull and felt infinitely better for the experience. Any tiredness and low spirits were banished the instant I saw the gull but of course I wanted more and felt I deserved more having driven so far and taken such a gamble. There was no quitting now.

I just knew the gull would return. I was certain as this is what it had been doing for the days prior to my visit. Others left, happy to have seen it, the relatively prolonged time the gull was present enough to satisfy. I remained but walked around to the opposite shorter pier as I felt the light would be better for photography.

Standing there I looked through my bins across Mount's Bay and could see a crowd of birders in the distance looking at the gulls loafing on the roof of an Aldi Superstore by the coast road.It was obvious where the Ross's Gull was now and it was tempting to drive to the store but I held my nerve.Just!

I stood my ground and as I hoped the gull eventually flew back into the harbour and repeated its behaviour of earlier. It looked so small and inconsequential against the background of the pier, the clutter of boats and buildings and yes, its admirers.

After passing back and fore a couple of times the gull headed for the harbour entrance and flew around there. I waited, hoping it would come back but it remained at the entrance or flew out into the bay only then to return, heading into the wind to pass just off the end of the northern pier but no further.

I could see quite a crowd building up at the end of the North Pier and realised they must be getting fabulous views of the gull passing so close to them. It was obvious that I  needed to get over there and fast.

The entrance to the harbour as seen from the end of the North Pier

A ten minute powerwalk down the pier I was on, all tiredness and fatigue now long forgotten in the surge of anxiety and excitement that enveloped me, then back up the North Pier had me joining a throng of around thirty birders  enjoying point blank views of the gull as it flew past them, out across the bay and then back into the wind, dipping and swerving, soaring up and dropping low over the sea in a distinctly tern like flight that was both elegant and accomplished.

I would expect nothing less of this fabled Arctic vagrant.

The gull continued its to'ing and fro'ing past the end of the pier but I knew that the time had come when I had seen enough. I had watched it for pretty much an hour and was not going to get any better images or get any better views. 

This image clearly shows two remaining vestiges of juvenile plumage
namely barring on the back and a black spot on the tail

It was all done and dusted and at just after noon I left the pier to drive the short distance to Hayle to check out the gulls and waders that roost and feed on the extensive sandbanks that are exposed there at low tide.

The visit to Hayle was also successful in that I saw an adult Ring billed Gull, a North American species I have not seen in Britain for a very long time.It used to be fairly easy to see one in Britain but now it is a distinct rarity. A Curlew Sandpiper was also a nice surprise amongst a flock of a hundred or so Dunlin.

And that was my day in Cornwall.