An Arctic Wanderer - 28th February 2026

Ross's Gulls come from the high Arctic, breeding in the northernmost parts of North America and northeastern Siberia and even in winter usually venture no further south than to the edge of the pack ice along the northern parts of the Bering Sea and Sea of Othotsk.

They are a bird that for me encapsulate the romance of far away strange lands that I am unlikely ever to see. It was first discovered by the British explorer James Clark Ross and named in his honour. Its breeding grounds were a mystery until 1905 when Sergei Aleksandrovich Buturin, serving at the time as a judge no less, found it breeding at Podhodsk in northeastern Yakutia. A classic discovery upholding the grand tradition of amateur ornithology.

Very occasionally an individual will wander further south to temperate areas such as northwest Europe and today I went to see the 107th to be recorded in Britain and that has been delighting birders with its presence since being found on the 22nd of February in 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 in February 2018 at the RSPB's Radipole Lake in Dorset. Both were adults whereas this bird at Newlyn was an immature bird in its second year of life and, never have seen one in this plumage before, provided 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 mental roller coaster ride of indecision as to whether to go and see it or not. Cornwall is a 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 continued presence at Newlyn on Friday I finally made my mind up to go to Cornwall,  planning to leave in the early hours (3am) of Saturday to arrive at Newlyn around 7am, just as it began to get light.

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 so why subject myself to the torture of yet another long tiring night drive to Cornwall and an outcome that was by no means certain.

No one would care if I changed my mind.

I lay there for ten long minutes, rolling the twitching dice and then impulsively fell out of bed and commenced readying myself to depart. So tired and discomfited I failed to notice 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 to allow repairs but being a Saturday the roads were less busy with commuting traffic and lorries and apart from the inevitable road closures, temporary traffic lights, 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 A30 west but at last I arrived in Penzance to be confronted by yet another road closure and diversion around 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 but already it was getting light. My early arrival had one benefit in that it meant I was able to find a free parking space amongst the narrow car congested lanes of the town and even better very close to the harbour.

Four and half hours driving had left me dazed and befuddled and I granted myself thirty minutes of not hanging onto a steering wheel to sit quietly 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 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, if at all and rather too often 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 from my body and I felt flat 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 lined along a short pier opposite and its houses ranged in a confusion of cramped terracing and snaking narrow lanes up the steep hillside behind the harbour.

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 hour passed as 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 chatted to Kyle and Kevin, two birding colleagues from Oxfordshire as gradually most other birders gave it up and quietly departed, planning to go and look either for a very rare Pacific Diver 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 a little after 9am and walked back along the pier glad to get some circulation going in my legs and get 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 was open 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 ornage 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 with 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 it has a unique charm combining its 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 now I had finally 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. 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 a 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 surface 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 carried 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 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 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 admireres.

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.

A ten minute powerwalk down the pier I was on, all tiredness and fatigue now long forgotten in the rush 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 Arctic traveller.

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. 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.

It was a success in that I saw an adult Ring billed Gull, a North American species that used to be fairly easy to see in Britain but is now a distinct rarity. A Curlew Sandpiper was also a nice surprise amongst a flock of a hundred or so Dunlin.