Ring Ouzels on Cleeve Hill - 13th April 2026

Mark rang me last Friday about making 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. 

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 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. From a vague memory of a previous visit I thought we needed to reach the far side of the flat plateau and then descend slightly on the  other side where we encountered a 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 in 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 migration. 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 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 the 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 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. 

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 an 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 how up.

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 nd 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. 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 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 ornamental 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 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 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 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.

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, hunting insects 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 pumping station, 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 and 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 hard 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 darkness 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 males.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 antibiotics.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 is fully fit plan to return to Wales and hopefully get some decent images and spend some quality time with this now increasingly scarce bird