Frozen Out on Otmoor 5th January 2026

Mark and myself went to the RSPB's Otmoor Reserve in Oxfordshire this morning. A morning of freezing temperature and bright sun, the ground, frozen now for some days has acquired the constitution  of iron and the land, as it has been for some days is in thrall to a white hoar frost that coats ground and tree alike and will not relinquish its icy embrace until the rays of the midday sun cajole the air into a degree or two above zero

The sun remains very low at this turning of the year but nonetheless is dazzlingly, eye burning bright in a refrigerated sky, a white shimmer of luminosity that is uncomfortable to behold if looked at directly, bringing an unwelcome explosion of protest from one's retinas. Better to enjoy it obliquely shining through the complex branch and twig fretwork of hedgerow bush and tree, where it is ameliorated to a benign presence that turns the dead reeds in iced over ditches to the colour of honey 

Nonetheless the sunlight beaming unbidden is always welcome to enter and rejuvenate my inner being and I rejoice in days such as this, of rural cold and still air although it makes my eyes water in protest and cheeks harden to a stinging rictus.

Eschewing the reserve's car park we chose to enter the reserve from the north via a much less used bridleway from Beckley Village high on its gentle hillside overlooking the reserve below, its ancient  cottages now become expensive homes that spill down the incline on either side of a narrow lane  until the tarmac ceases at the last house and becomes a traditional bridleway impassable to all but farm vehicles. We pass through a metal gate and continue downhill over a treacherous frost slippery, uneven, cow rutted pasture to pass through another gate at the bottom hedge and enter an oak wood, surprising a small flock of Redwings seeking survival in the frost free loam and leaves that lie below the trees and where perchance lurk life sustaining invertebrates. One of the smallest of our thrushes they are the first to feel the adverse effects of prolonged freezing conditions and will struggle if this weather continues but for now these winter visitors from Scandinavia and Russia possess enough energy to fly in alarm from our presence and melt away with soft chook calls of concern into the furthest reaches of the trees.They will soon return once we have passed such is their extreme hunger and with the ground frozen solid outside the shelter of the wood they have nowhere else to feed.

We passed through the wood to emerge onto the track that circumvents that part of the reserve going by the name of Ashgrave. The sun had yet to reach here if ever it does at this time of year and the ground was welded iron hard, the frost thick as snow where the track was shaded by the hedgerow.

There was a purpose to our visit in such extreme conditions, in that the expansive fields that comprise Ashgrave, are currently home to many geese and apart from the regular noisy rabble of multitudinous feral Canada Geese and Greylags there is an additional presence, something unusual and exciting amongst them that has brought us here on this winter's day. 

Ashgrave

In the last few weeks there has been a notable influx into southern Britain of indisputably wild geese in the form of Russian White-fronted and Tundra Bean Geese that are thought to have been forced out of their normal mainland European winter homes by the prolonged cold weather and as a consequence have moved further southwest to Britain's supposedly milder climate.

White-fronted Geese are regular winter visitors to Britain in decreasing numbers but Tundra Bean Geese are much less usual but now Otmoor harbours up to twenty while the White-fronted Geese are approaching around eighty in number. Both species are currently also to be found in other scattered parts of the county and it is fair to say the numbers of both species are unprecedented. 

Thus many of my fellow birders in Oxfordshire are making the most of this unexpected bonanza of 'grey geese' and today we too joined in the enjoyment, romance and thrill of seeking them out.

Canada Geese, a Russian White-fronted Goose and Tundra Bean Geese on Ashgrave

The Canada Geese, as ever were dominant, loud and restless, their ear grating, honking, tuneless cries forever rending the wintry air as they bestrode the fields. However it did not take too long to find the more demure whitefronts, the white blaze on their forehead bright and obvious in the sun, their smaller forms wandering casually amongst the bulkier Canadas and Greylags. 

Russian White-fronted Goose

Normally the sight of these whitefronts, unusual as it is would demand an entry into the notebook and mild celebration but this morning we sought the Bean Geese, an altogether much scarcer visitor to Otmoor and indeed Oxfordshire and only ever seen here in exceptional weather events such as this.

It took a few excruciating minutes longer, scanning the hundreds of scattered geese but eventually a likely candidate raised its head and there was the diagnostic bill pattern of a Tundra Bean Goose, dark  with a small splash of orange near the tip.

Tundra Bean with Canada Geese and a Russian White-fronted Goose

Tundra Bean Geese

Once discovered it did not take long to find others, some squatting and relaxed in the sun, others slowly moving forward with head down, plucking at the coarse grass.We ended with a very acceptable total of around ten .

This being the beginning of the year meant we were both intent on boosting our New Year birdlist, a harmless personal aspiration that many a birder commences each January and now we had two prized additions to our respective lists.

The cold air at this early hour was not sympathetic to any exposed flesh and my fingers, required to be glove free to operate my camera became so numb it was ultimately too painful to continue.Time to move on and seek some respite in The Wetlands Hide, to at least get out of the worst of the cold and indulge ourselves with the contents of Mark's thermos of coffee but first we made our way past the hide to the nearby bridleway to look for a Marsh Harrier, another potential addition to our lists. 

Overhead there came the slightest sense of disturbance, a sigh of rushing air through the wings of innumerable Starlings leaving their reedbed roost, thousands  upon thousands flying in a voiceless polkadot scatter, low across the icy sky, their black bodies forming and reforming, a swarm of living beings, enough to reduce one to marvel at such a spectacle.

A Marsh Harrier duly winged its way over a flat landscape of winter faded  grass and reeds, another of the reserve's extensive rough pasture fields going by the name of Greenaways, the bird following a distant hedgeline beyond which lay an eternity of blue sky, its horizon unsullied apart from the distant landmark of the 12th century square tower of St Mary the Virgin at Charlton on Otmoor.

Looking skywards a compact flock of fifty or so Lapwing hurried high southwest, alternately flashing black and white in the sun. They were not stopping, frozen out and instinctively heading for the milder climate in the west of Britain.

As we stood on the bridleway a Water Rail squealed from the reeds in the wide ditch in front of us, its water's frozen solid. The rail squealed again and we wandered to the end of the ditch to look back and along the ditch in the vague hope of getting a glimpse of this notoriously shy bird as it maybe crossed the ice bound channel. 

It would be a good one to get on our growing bird list. There was no sign of it but when it squealed again from the ditch on the other side of the bridleway, we realised it had given us the slip and crossed the bridleway after we had left.

We returned to the hide to admire a flock of fifty or so Chaffinches and Reed Buntings coming to the  seed especially laid out for them on the narrow track running below the windows of the hide. The opposite side of the track, bordered by a ditch of long dead reed stems, bare hawthorn bushes and frosted bramble sprays provided ideal perches for the small birds to fly up to as they periodically panicked at perceived threats, real or imagined.

Female Reed Bunting

Male Reed Bunting

These too were feeling the pinch of the prolonged cold spell and were reluctant to leave and soon descended to recommence their search for the life giving grains of seed.

Then came a big surprise. Mark whispered to me. Water Rail! 

There amongst the small shuffling forms of buntings and finches appeared a much larger bird with long legs and a long red bill, nervously flicking a short brown tail. A dark apparition against the shaded, frost rimed grass at the hedge bottom, it was palpably edgy and nervous.

This must be the Water Rail that had given us the slip just minutes earlier and presumably, hidden under the rank vegetation had followed the ditch along until it was opposite the hide, intent on seeking its share of the seed which was possibly the only food available, due to its normal aquatic existence being denied and made inaccessible by the frost and ice. Emboldened by its hunger it came closer but never left to chance a means of escape whereby to hide and feel secure.

Open ground is anathema to a Water Rail and it resolutely kept to the very edge of the track where there was the security of encompassing grass that grew coarse and long, probing in the tangle for seeds and anything else it could find to eat. The finches and buntings were rightly circumspect about its presence as there are plenty of examples of Water Rails killing and eating small birds when in extremis in cold weather such as this.

Alone in the hide time became of no consequence as we watched the birds feeding and the stillness that was settled over the reserve became part of us as well. A mutual enjoyment and appreciation without need for comment and we too were silent and still. 

It could not last of course and eventually another person entered the hide and the spell was broken.

We walked out into the sun and cold and headed uphill to Beckley.