A Sedge on the Edge - April 2026

Six years ago I wrote of a very showy Sedge Warbler see here  making its summer home in a neglected area of scrub at the western end of my local Farmoor Reservoir and almost  inevitably the bird was christened Reg the Sedge. Sadly he sang his heart out to no avail and to my knowledge remained unmated and unfulfilled for the entire summer.

This year as always, I revisited this half forgotten area known as Pinkhill, an idyllic corner by the sweeping curve of the Isis, where the nearby lock keeper's house guards the lock and the long boats moored alongside banks thick with comfrey and flag iris, in a quiet backwater below towering green billows of full leafed horse chestnut trees.

l rarely encounter much human activity apart from the occasional dog walker and that is why I like it here, abandoned, neglected, left to nature and as a consequence immensely attractive to birdlife, especially at this time of year. Threatened by ' recreational improvement' with the creation of ponds and even a pond for dogs to especially jump into, a complete nonsense, as if the dogs and their owners would confine themselves to one specific pond, the folly of this exercise was pointed out to Thames Water who own the land and thankfully the plan was abandoned.

I fail to comprehend this desire, however well meaning for tidying up areas such as Pinkhill. It is as if any such neglected area cannot be left to fend for itself. Leave it be, there is already enough closely mown grass on  the nearby reservoir banks.  

The Jesuit priest and Oxford Scholar, Gerald Manley Hopkins wrote a poem about a burn in Scotland called Inversnaid,  the final two lines being: - O let them be left. wildness and wet: Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. Exactly!

It is always exciting to anticipate the arrival of the first migrant warblers of Spring and from early March onwards I visit Pinkhill almost daily to seek sight or sound of any new arrivals. Common Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps are always in the vanguard, closely followed by the Willow Warbler and its wistful song but it is the arrival of Sedge Warblers and Common Whitethroats that are the most keenly anticipated, at least for me anyways.

For some days I saw and heard nothing until, in the last week of March on an unexceptional Wednesday of persistent cold wind but pleasant sunshine I heard the unmistakeable scratchy jumble of notes that is the song of a Sedge Warbler. It sang quietly, not at full volume, hidden deep within a tangle of hawthorn and rampant bramble. Although completely invisible it was literally feet from me as I listened enthralled at the first Sedge Warbler to arrive this year at Farmoor. 

The day after it had moved on but now I knew it would not be long before many more would follow The days passed and in the second week of April the wind dropped overnight and the next morning Pinkhill was inundated with the songs of Sedge Warblers.The previously silent acres of scrub were transformed by a cacophony of sound as Sedge Warblers sang from what felt like every bush and ditch.

They had arrived! 

I stood in the early morning sunshine and absorbed this discordant chorus of natural sound. I tried to imagine the night before, as the warblers tiny forms dropped from the night sky into the still dark and waiting habitat that would be their summer home and at first light proclaim possession of a small patch of Oxfordshire, triumphant and rejoicing that they had successfully made the long journey from Africa and proclaiming their presence to one and all. 

I try to discern the mimickery included in their complex song, the notes of which are invariably delivered at high speed.They always incorporate other bird calls to supplement their own song and amid the jumble of notes the calls of other species from both their summer and winter homes are faithfully reproduced. Some of these calls are easily identified. For instance the alarm call of a Swallow is a favourite but there are many other calls that vary from individual to individual Sedge Warbler and often include unfamiliar sounds from species only found in the warbler's winter home in Africa.

Look closely and you will see Sedge Warblers are an attractive little bird of varying shades of rufous and buff with prominent long white eyebrows, a black striped head and an upperbody of light brown streaked with darker lines whilst its underparts are clear and paler, almost white. Its entire appearance replicating the stalks, stems and dead reeds it finds so desirable to inhabit.

In their ardour they  sing enthusiastically from anywhere. Low in riparian diches, often in bushes too and also will climb up the dead stalks of reeds or umbellifers to boldly give voice in the open, innate caution temporarily abandoned. Their white throats swell  and their bills open wide to display a fiery orange interior as they pour forth their song.

Occasionally in extremis they hurl themselves skywards, performing an aerial jig, seemingly unable to control the surge of energy that grips their tiny bodies, throwing themselves around in the sky and singing in an  exuberant brief abandon before, on spread wings, returning to earth.

It does not last long this initial frenzy of activity and song, energised by competing with fellow Sedge Warblers. However for the first two or three weeks of their arrival a torrent of song greets me each early morning but once they have found a mate they fall silent and become secretive and it will all be over until next year.