That Black winged Kite in Norfolk 18th July 2023

c.Adrian Webb

It always happens this way with twitching. One minute everything in your world is fine the next it's turned on its head and turmoil ensues.

On Monday evening I was very tired and, slumped on the sofa, was relishing going to bed early and having an extended lie in on Tuesday morning before going out to check some Barn Owl boxes near to my home in Oxfordshire.

July is by tradition a quiet month for birding around my way. A few early returning Common Sandpipers and a lone Dunlin were all my local Farmoor Reservoir could muster so I was fairly relaxed about life and looking forward to a trip with Mark (R) to the RSPB's Bempton Cliffs in Yorkshire next week.

Just before 22.30 that evening I checked my phone before heading for bed and there was a message from Mark sent at 21.59.

It consisted of three words 

Ring Mega Urgent

I sat up as this could mean only one thing.Thoughts of bed and blessed sleep were now on hold.

I called Mark and was informed that an adult Black winged Kite had been found in Norfolk in the late afternoon and had been 'mega'd' on the bird news services at 21.54.

The kite had been watched from the Stubb Mill Viewpoint at Hickling Broad NWT (Norfolk Wildlife Trust) Reserve from 19.30-20.45, hunting over fields and reported to be showing well.

If  correct and there was no reason to believe it was not, then this sighting would be immensely popular amongst birders and twitchers alike and bound to draw a huge crowd..The first Black winged Kite for Britain had been seen in Wales as recently as the 18th of April by only two people when it briefly flew over some farm fields at Newtown in Powys. It soon disappeared and was never seen again, even as Mark, myself and the rest of the twitching fraternity geared up for a mad dash to mid Wales only to then collectively sigh in resignation at what might have been.

Now here, unexpectedly in Norfolk, was a second chance to catch up with this ultra rare visitor to Britain. Could it be the same bird that was seen in Wales? It did not really matter. All that mattered was to see it if possible.

Black winged Kites  or as they were formerly called, Black shouldered Kites, have been expected to reach Britain, much as Great, Little and Cattle Egrets have done with the rise in global temperatures.They are normally found in sub saharan Africa and tropical Asia, but its range is expanding northwards with colonies in Spain (500-1000 pairs) and Portugal (100-1000 pairs) and now it is breeding as close to Britain as the Calais area of northern France. I predict it  will not be too long until they are regular in southern Britain. 

A speculative phone conversation between Mark and myself discussed the fact the Hickling kite had been watched well into the late evening and therefore was likely to have roosted in the area where it was last seen. We surmised that if we got there at dawn on Tuesday we might be in with a chance of seeing the kite as it left its roost. The worry being it would disappear as rapidly as the Welsh bird had in April.

I was in a quandary as conflicting emotions assailed me.Desperately tired all I really wanted was to go to bed, it was the sensible thing to do but when if ever did common sense factor in twitching. I was now confronted with a situation which suggested I do the exact opposite to being sensible. I struggled with my inner conflict and in the end told Mark I was just too exhausted to cope with immediately going to Norfolk, even for such a very rare bird.Having made my decision, for an all too brief moment I felt a sense of relief.

If only it were that easy. Almost immediately doubts set in. It was a new bird for Britain after all, how would I feel if it was seen by Mark tomorrow and not by me. I began to seriously waver.

Mark then sent a text saying we could wait for news on the kite until the next morning but that may well prove to be too late as the bird could leave its roost and be gone forever.

Ever more riven by doubt and uncertainty, a familiar feeling for twitchers, my resolve collapsed. 

I called Mark and reversed my decision.

'OK Let's do it!'.

Mark told me to get to his house in Bedfordshire at 03.00. It was now 22.30. This would give me two hours sleep at the most before I had to leave my house. Better than no sleep at all I supposed.

I got into bed and laid my head on the pillow with relief.

My phone rang.It was.Mark.

'What's up?'

'We need to go to Norfolk immediately to get there as early as possible as parking is limited and I do not fancy the long walk to the viewpoint if the car park is full.Also there will be hundreds of birders and we need to get a good viewing position.'

'I've just got into bed!'

It was useless as now there was no way I could get any sleep even if we stuck to the original plan..My head was buzzing with those familiar foes, anxiety and over excitement.

'I'm on my way.I will be at yours in  ninety minutes'.

The now all too familiar drive to Mark's house was a bleary eyed crossing of middle England, dodging the endless diversions and road closures as HS2 laid waste to great swathes of countryside.

My mind raced trying to justify what I was doing. It's just a bird after all but like an alcoholic I had to accept I am a twitcher and.I am addicted.

I got to Mark at around 01.30 and transferring to his car we were off into the night in double quick time, heading east.

Dog tired I laid my head on the car seat headrest and tried to doze.Half an hour later we came to the inevitable major road closure, now an added and regular hazard for anyone foolhardy enough to venture onto our  major highways at night.

Overtired, both of us suffered a temporary emotional crisis and melt down at the misleading diversion signs but after Mark calmed down I made a placatory consultation of Google Maps on my phone which put us on a course that took us around most of the City of Cambridge before delivering us back on track, having added thirty minutes to our journey in the process.

The sky was visibly lightening  as we crossed from Cambridgeshire into Suffolk. Finally we were in the right county, Norfolk, and now in the plain light of dawn headed for the small NWT car park at Hickling. Another worry arose. Would the car park already be full of birders cars who had got there earlier than us, leaving nowhere to park and as a consequence having to make a very long walk?

No, there was still space.Stepping out into full daylight we walked for a mile down a narrow lane towards the viewing point. It was going to be a nice day but it was damp underfoot from the rain showers of last night,.the wheat fields on either side of the hedgerows that bordered the lane were already ripening to gold as a Yellowhammer sang his simple and plaintive song.

We got to the viewpoint..There was no mistaking it as on top of the raised bank was a solid mass of birders and telescopes. I did not fancy looking through a forest of heads and tripods so positioned myself at the near end of the bank, slightly lower than most of my fellow birders but still with a view of the extensive marshy field in front. Mark being taller opted to force himself in amongst the throng. 

With a relatively clear view of the field in front of me I was confident that if the kite did appear I would be able to see it although some bushes in the middle might prove a problem.

Adenalin alone was now keeping me awake as I clung to my telescope tripod for support..I looked out across a landscape that I had only previously ever visited in winter to watch the large Marsh Harrier roost.Now in the height of summer it was a much more verdant landscape, the reeds and hedgerows covered by a layer of spectral mist that lay across the marshland and created a scene of translucent beauty, the distant tree line beyond but a blur through the veil of mist.

Slowly the sun arose, bright fiery red and then turning to gold, shining directly into our eyes and searingly bright.The birder beside me put on sunglasses.The mist slowly dissolved in the sun, becoming less opaque and there came from afar the distant bugling of awaking cranes.Ignoring about  fifty birders standing elbow to elbow to my left, one could almost imagine one had entered into another land and another time.

The cranes, seven of them, rose above the far treeline and flew higher, circling, their angular profiles stark against the pink tinted sky before they were gone from sight but still audible.Other.birds were awake too but it looked  too chill and unwelcoming for any raptor to take to the air. Latecoming birders were still arriving  and our number swelled to about a hundred, some spilling out onto the grass to the left of the viewpoint.

An hour had passed, then another,.with litttle excitement. Not a sign of the kite. I, with  others, stood waiting and hoping, a trifle morose maybe but more contemplative than disappointed. It still could go either way concerning the kite and all hope had not yet been lost. I looked at my phone. 

It was 06.30.

Ye gods. Is that all? 

It felt like I had been up for hours and on reflection I realised I had!

Everyone waiting.Everyone with the same thought and unanswered question. Was the Black winged Kite still here?The crowd remained expectant, not exactly hushed but with the passing of time, nervous, overloud conversations had lapsed into quite murmurings, even silence. The sun rose higher still, a burning white orb in a clear sky, warming the land and dazzling our eyes. If the kite did appear it would be difficult viewing conditions but little could be done about that.

During our vigil there had been much conjecture about the veracity of the sighting that had brought us  to stand here in rural Norfolk in the early hours of Tuesday..No one quite knew who had seen and reported the kite. Apparently there was a photo of it but no one had seen it. Could it be a hoax? Such things have happened before  As time passed so the speculation increased.

It was a few minutes before seven am when the kite was first seen, flying and hovering above the distant treeline.The transformation amongst us was startling and instantaneous.Everyone was energised. a buzz of excitement as, of one, we leapt to focus scopes or raised binoculars, trying to follow the finder's directions to the kite. It was at first impossible for me to locate as I was way out of position as well as  having to cope with the full on glare of the sun. Shouts for more definitive guidance came from along the viewpoint, everyone crowding towards the finder to try and point their scope at the right spot. I still could not see the bird and realised I never would unless I moved position. 

Desperate stuff. It was impossible to get higher onto the viewpoint due to the crush of over anxious birders. I let it go and relaxed, letting the initial panic play out. The kite was now perched and seemed settled according to others who could see it. Somehow I knew I would get to see it eventually.Easier said than done! Rescue to my fraught state came in the form of a birder to my left who had it in his scope and let me have my first look at this very rare visitor to our shores. I noted a small,  grey and white, falcon like bird, slightly bigger than a kestrel  perched below the tree line on the far side of the field.Not hugely satisfactory as views go but good enough for me to at least claim to have seen the bird. 

I decided it was not worth the hassle of trying to find a space on top of the viewpoint where I could endeavour to see it through my own scope and stood aside.Others had the same idea and we formed a breakaway group and walked behind and  past the viewpoint, through a hedge and out onto the edge of the marsh. Eventually most followed us.

This was much better as we had ample space and a clear view of the entire field and after some initial difficulty I found the kite for myself perched in the trees, fairly low down. It looked superficially like a small male hen harrier, dressed in similar colours of pale grey, white and black, also having a similar owl like face but with eyes of red rather than yellow.and was clear enough in the scope although still distant. Its upperparts were mid grey, with prominent black shoulders and wing tips.while the underparts were white.

It commenced preening and then overbalanced causing it to open its wings wide and display striking pure white underwing coverts and black tips to its underwings.

For twenty or so minutes it remained in its tree and then flew low to the left, below the treeline, before rising higher into the sky and at regular intervals stalling to hover with fast wing beats whilst looking down at the ground, very much like a Kestrel does.  It worked its way left and became ever more distant and we thought it was departing for good but then it returned to once more land in the trees where it was hidden from view.

We waited for quite some time, entertained by passing Marsh Harriers, more cranes and a couple of Great White Egrets, before the kite re-appeared and flew briefly in front of the trees, landed and became invisible once more.

Due to distance and the limitations of my camera and lens I could not get any pics so contented myself with just watching the kite which in a way was no bad thing.

It was only a short while after nine when we decided to make our way back to the car  park,triumphant in the knowledge that another huge gamble had paid off. Tiredness was all but forgotten now and we chatted to other birders, both familiar and unfamiliar, and came to the rescue of Sussex birders, Richard and Matt, who had suffered car tyre problems and needed a lift to the garage replacing the tyre. The twitch, as all successful twitches do, had slowly become a bit of a social occasion, one of happiness and laughter as everyone who had seen the kite relaxed and the tension eased.

The kite gave good and slightly closer views from the other side of the marsh at Horsey until around 1100am but then was seen to fly high to the north and was not seen again, although there was a report of it flying over Trimingham in the mid afternoon, after which there were no more reports and it was assumed it had left the area.The next morning, Wednesday the 19th of July,to much surprise it was found back at Horsey and watched in the early morning before once more disappearing only to be re-found there in the evening.The next morning Thursday the 20th, it was still at Horsey until around 0800am when it did a bunk and evidently moved south as it was  re-found in the evening at Felixstowe Ferry in Suffolk. It roosted there and was seen the next morning up until 0930am when it again was lost sight of and eventually reported in the late evening yet further south, from St Osyth in Essex..It was last reported from there at around 0830am on Saturday the 22nd of July but there have been no further sightings since.Its movements seem to suggest it is gradually moving southwards and although conjecture on my part it may well be making its way back to France or Spain where they are resident.

It is unusual for adult Black winged Kites to move far as they are assumed to be resident while juveniles are known to wander.This bird was an adult so maybe it was blown over the Channel by high winds..We will never know and yet again are left to ponder on why individual birds do what they do and often confound our supposed knowledge of their ecology.

I am rather glad, as I am sure are the many people who connected with it, some after enduring quite a run around, that this bird decided to break the mould.

c Adrian Webb

The above images were taken by my twitching pal Adrian when the kite left its roost at Felixstowe on 21st July. They are truly superb and I wish to record my extreme gratitude for his kindness in allowing me to use them to illustrate this blog. 

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A Rare Bird and Butterfly Day 9th July 2023

I arrived at Farmoor around ten this morning with the express intention of whiling away a morning in the hide waiting for a Kingfisher to turn up. No sooner had I opened the hide's viewing flap than my phone gave a discrete ping.

Such pings can signify virtually anything so often get left for later but for once I chose not to ignore it but check straight away. It was just as well as it was a message from local birder 'The Wickster' (Tom Wickens) informing everyone on the Oxon Birding Forum WhatsApp Group that while counting some roosting Little Egrets near Abingdon this morning he had found a Black crowned Night Heron amongst them.

The heron was hunkered low down in a willow tree on some floods adjacent to Peep o' Day Lane near Sutton Courtenay, a location vaguely familiar to me from a previous visit earlier this year to see some Garganeys. 

This find was going to prove hugely popular for a number of reasons chief of which was .... 

I have never seen one in the county.

A Black crowned Night Heron was photographed last month flying across a reed bed on the RSPB's Otmoor reserve near Oxford. A gathering of local birders the next evening hoping for a repeat flypast was to be disappointed and the bird was never seen again.

The last Black crowned Night Heron to be seen in Oxfordshire was, I think, in 1978 at Cassington, so many Oxonbirders needed to see this one to add to their county list.

On reading Tom's message I instantly abandoned the hide at Farmoor and made my way back to the car and set off for Sutton Courtenay, calling Tom on the way to get specific instructions as to where was the best place to park to access the lane.

Normally I walk in from the northern 'Abingdon' end but Tom advised it would be far quicker to park at the opposite southern end of the lane and walk in from there.The only problem might be parking which was very restricted..

The weather was rapidly changing from grey cloud to sun and blue skies and it was pleasantly warm as I made the thirty minute journey from Farmoor to Sutton Courtenay. Tom said he would meet me at the end of the lane to guide me to the bird  as I had never approached Peep o' Day Lane this way before.

For once it went according to plan and I even found a parking place  right opposite the entrance to the lane. Tom met me and we wandered fifty metres up the lane to view a somewhat  distant willow off to our right across the flood. This was very much a local twitch and assorted of Oxonbirding's finest were gathered here while others had already been and gone..

l-r Ben, Badger, Gnome and The Wickster at Peep  o' Day Lane

The Black crowned Night Heron, an adult, was perched low down at the side of a small willow.

Atypically it was easily visible, so much so I could clearly see its ruby red eye and at least one long and thin, white head plume.

Peep o' Day Lane doubles as a bridleway, footpath and cycle track and it being a sunny Sunday there were plenty of bike riders passing and for the most part we co-existed without any undue conflict.

The heron did very little apart from indulging in a wing stretch and making some minor adjustments to its position but basically remained where it was. This being the first Black crowned Night  Heron I have seen in Oxfordshire, it was a very welcome addition to my county list as no doubt it was to others, as this more obliging bird was a second chance after the frustrations of the non showing Otmoor bird. Many thanks must go to Tom for finding it and telling the rest of us about it.

Courtesy of Badger.

A half hour spent watching the heron and gossiping with my fellow local birders passed pleasantly enough before I decided to take advantage of the good weather and head for Bernwood Forest to try and see some Purple Emperor butterflies.

A  sunny Sunday is probably not the best time for trying to view rare butterflies in a small car park where it can get very busy with dog walkers and general public but there was little other choice.

These days I tend not to wander far from the car park which, although the main one for the forest, is not very large.My latest ploy is to stand by my car and wait for an 'emperor' to fly down to ground level from the surrounding tall oaks, which one obligingly did today but it can entail a long wait. It is always a heart stopping moment when one does descend and cruises about just above the ground searching for the minerals it wants to imbibe. It will usually be flying at speed and is exceedingly difficult to follow as it weaves in and out of the parked cars but nine times out of ten it eventually settles and assuming you have not lost sight of where it lands, you can approach with confidence.

Today it was around an hour before one descended to examine, of all things, the brake lights of a parked car.What it found there I cannot think but it seemed happy enough. feeling its way around with its yellow proboscis.

Emperors are a law unto themselves and at times can be totally unpredictable  as to where they will go and what they will do..It is what undoubtedly makes them so appealing, challenging and at times downright frustrating.

The emperor on the car brake light eventually flew off but returned twenty minutes later and seemingly with a penchant for cars  meandered around, for a couple of minutes, on another car's white paintwork before flying back up into the surrounding oaks. 

This male had some wear to its right upperwing which made it readily identifiable on the two separate occasions when it visited the cars.Note in the top image the angle of light precludes any sign of purple.

I saw two others which flew high and fast across the car park on separate occasions but were not interested in coming down.

Eventually the continual disturbance became too frustrating and I decided to call it a day. However three Purple Emperors in  the space of two hours was more than adequate compensation.

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Kingfisher Reverie 3rd July 2023

Monday morning came early for me. Sleep proving elusive I was wide awake by 4.30 and  already forming a plan to get out and about before my corner of Oxfordshire awoke.

By 5.30 I was well on the way to my local reservoir. to try my luck with the resident Kingfishers. It has been a while since I was out so early and leaving the car where the access road came to an end at the back of the reservoir I made my way along the Thames Path towards the hide from which I have seen so many Kingfishers.

The walk to the hide is always a joy and at this early hour in the morning I was very much on my own, wandering along the narrow path that follows the sweeping curves of the river.The surrounding vegetation is at its zenith, the hedgerows thick and heavy with leaf, the grasses on either side of the path almost head high, each feathery head bending to the will of a chill morning breeze.The path has in fact become a green corridor flanked by overarching grasses. The white trumpets of bindweed are held on high by tendrils that have entwined, in a vice like grip, the stems of grass and umbellifer, winding inexorably upwards to a prime position in order to proffer a fanfare of flowers to passing insects.

Families of finches, Goldfinch and Greenfinch, haunt the hedgerows, the recently fledged young keeping up an insistent twittering, beseeching their parents for food although now well capable of fending for themselves. Irrepressible, a Whitethroat throws his cheery warble to the sky as he launches into a bouncing display flight from the top of a hawthorn, a Sedge Warbler by the river adds its manic song and then lapses into silence at my passing while a Cetti's Warbler, as ever unseen, announces a hidden presence with  notes louder than even a Wren. In shallow water by the river's far bank, a heron stands up to its knees  idling, head sunk into hunched grey shoulders, an image of morose disinterest, contemplating nothing until hunger renews the urge to seek an unwary fish or frog.

My boots become sodden with dew as I dodge eye level bramble sprays, the saw toothed tentacles  reaching  across the path to catch at me. At times the hawthorns and blackthorns are so prolific they form a bower over the path and I walk through  a subway, purely of nature's making. 

The hide is, unsurprisingly unoccupied as I tentatively open the ancient door and renew my acquaintance with hard wooden benches and the not unpleasant odour of dank weathered wood.  This is my exclusive domain for probably a few hours if not more.I close the door on the outside world, seek out the far corner in the hide and look out onto the pond in front. Everything in sight, from tree to reed are multifarious shades of green, the only variation a lone spire of purple loosestrife. A beacon of pink and purple in a green sea of summer largesse.

The reeds have grown rapidly, the old withered  stems of winter past, now obscured by a fresh growth of stiff, grey green leaves, each leaf a pennant jutting from stems so thin that any wind sends them swaying  gently, creating an omnipresent soporific rustle as countless leaves brush one another.There is no visible sign of birdlife but brief chirps emanate from hidden places where the reeds are at their most dense.

The sounds come from a family of Reed Warblers which have bred here and the parents are moving with their fledged young through the reeds, the family calling to each other but contriving for the most part to remain hidden.I can track their hidden passage through the reeds, by the violent swaying movement of a reed as they  grip  the stem but I rarely glimpse them as the mouse brown birds remain low amongst the riparian tangle at the base of the reeds.

Occasionally a harassed adult emerges to perch slantwise on a reed stem, food for its young in its bill. Exposed for  these few seconds it is restless and uneasy away from the re-assuring cover of the reeds. 

Reed Warbler

The parent birds are pursued by their young into more exposed areas but sooner rather than later they all flee into the alders or willows on either side of the pond before dropping back into the reeds.

I sit on the unforgiving bench and scroll through  the latest emails and twitter feed on my phone to while away time but then feel it is almost sacrilege to ignore the tranquil scene before me. I put the phone down to sit contemplating the pond  and allow the sense of time and place to embrace me, resurrecting memories  of times past in this secluded hide. 

Almost an hour passes pleasantly as sunny spells come to illuminate the water, reed and rush, the sun spilling across the pond and grassland beyond in  ripples of golden light, chased by cloud shadows that contrive to extinguish the sunlight but never for long. I feel no sense of boredom or impatience.This is a waiting game, one I am well used to and while I wait I feel calm and at peace with myself.

A thin. shrill whistle changes the mood in an instant. I know that call and look up to see a Kingfisher approaching at speed, a meteorite of electric blue, an avian jewel streaking over the pond to pitch onto a post especially positioned in front of the hide for this very purpose. I am so close  to the Kingfisher, that for a moment I am frozen into immobility, scared it will notice me, willing it to settle and accept my partially hidden presence. Some Kingfishers, often inexperienced juveniles show no alarm at the hide's open viewing windows but others are more circumspect.

The Kingfisher faces me on its post, tensed and ready to depart in an instant, then with a small leap twists to about face, confirmation it is at ease, ready to fish and I know it will not leave now. It is a young bird, probably from a first or second brood, for Kingfshers can raise up to three broods each year.This quiet, secluded backwater is ideal as the young Kingfisher is hidden from its fiercely territorial parents somewhere on the nearby river. Parents that will show it no tolerance if they discover it.

The secluded nature of  this little corner of rural Oxfordshire suits me too, far enough away from the stark concrete and busy surrounds of the main reservoir to feel almost a sanctuary.

The Kingfisher bobs its head, a reflex action, focusing on the water below  and makes constant minute adjustments to its position on the post.It looks down with an intense stare when  movement in the water catches its unforgiving eye but then relaxes and sinks its head into its shoulders before something else attracts its attention.It is never really still, constantly moving its head to eye the water below, adjusting angles of sight, reacting to every minute movement in the water.

For ten minutes it finds nothing to cause but fleeting interest, then suddenly it drops from the post.I heard the splash rather than saw it, so fast, it was flying back up to its perch before it registered with me.There was now a small fish in its bill.

The Kingfisher was in business and much energised proceeded to manipulate the fish in its bill, at first holding it crosswise it delivered several hearty whacks on the post to subdue the luckless victim.Once this was to the Kingfisher's satisfaction it manoeuvred the fish  by tossing it between its mandibles so it was positioned  lengthwise in its bill.

Not as straightforward as it sounds for the fish was a Three spined Stickleback and the fish's main defence mechanism is to raise the spines on its back as a deterrent to being swallowed. The Kingfisher tossed the fish around some more trying to align it head first down its gullet and eventually succeeded.Then in a motion far from smooth the fish disappeared down its throat.in a series of gulps. It was over, and I found myself involuntarily feeling my throat, so uncomfortable had been what I had just witnessed. No doubt being a young bird it is still learning and its technique will  require some refining.This is a critical time for the young bird and it needs to learn fast or perish.Two thirds of all young Kingfishers do not survive more than a few weeks of independence, their inexperience leading them to death by drowning or starvation.

It sat quietly in the sun, cocking an eye to the sky to regard passing crows and a Red Kite, responding to the kite by raising its head and bill to point at the sky as if to reduce its profile to a perceived predator. A family of Magpies also caused mild concern and watchfulness but still it lingered. Half an hour has now passed, a long time for a Kingfisher to remain in the same position. 

For now, this individual is content and well fed, feeling settled, and as the sun shone even appearing to relax by fluffing its turquoise and blue feathers, drooping its short wings, and sinking down onto the top of the post to savour, if ever a bird can, the luxury of a few quiet moments in the warmth of the sun. 

It lasted but a minute. Evidently once again hungry it resumed its watchful vigil from the post before flying to a nearby willow that overhung the pool, a different position  where there might be another unsuspecting fish or water beetle below. It made a dive from there but was unsuccessful and flew back to the post.

Another short spell of inactivity ensued before, without warning, it silently departed, rising up and away through the willows, towards the river. 

I knew it would not return for an hour or two, maybe much longer.

Red White and Bluethroat 22nd June 2023

I called Mark(P) on Monday evening suggesting we make a trip to Slimbridge  to see a male White spotted Bluethroat that had returned there for a remarkable third year to sing, so far unsuccessfully, for a  mate. A mate that would surely never come as it was so far removed from its normal breeding range. 

There are are 11 recognised subspecies of bluethroat ranging from Europe and Scandinavia to the Far East and all are fundamentally similar in plumage apart from male birds having either a red or white spot in the blue of their breast or far less frequently no spot at all, just blue.The red spotted birds are the commoner of the two forms and are found more in the north and east of the species range.

The white spotted bluethroat being the more southerly form is found breeding discontinuously throughout Europe from northwest France, Belgium,The Netherlands and Germany to west and central Russia, Romania, then to west and central Ukraine and winters in southwest and southern Europe, North Africa and sub saharan West Africa. 

The hot weather would certainly suit the current incumbent at Slimbridge and make it feel at home but the chances of attracting a similarly overshooting female are, sadly, slim There are however five records of bluethroats breeding in Britain, four of the red spotted form in Scotland in 1968/1985/1995/2016 and one of the white spotted form in England in 1996. 

Single males like the individual at Slimbridge have occasionally set up territory in Britain, as for example, a White spotted Bluethroat that returned for two years in succession to sing at Welney in Norfolk in 2020/21 but like the bird now at Slimbridge failed to attract a mate. Normally bluethroats are scarce passage migrants mainly to be found on the east coast of Britain.

The Slimbridge bluethroat had made its home in an area of rank grass and reeds by the tidal River Severn, a typical habitat and after the previous two years of being highly elusive and hard to see this year it showed a marked change in behaviour with a willingness to show itself well at regular intervals, albeit distantly, singing and displaying from various elevated perches such as wooden fence posts, thin branches and the tops of reeds.

We arrived at 8.15am when the Slimbridge gates are first opened to members and made a pleasant half mile walk in already warm sunshine along what is called the Summer Walkway to a location called Middle Point where there is a hide called The Shepherd's Hut.  Most of us eschewed entering the hide but chose to stand outside on a raised bank that acts as a seawall to look over the reeds and grass that lay between us and the River Severn.

It took less than a minute to see the bluethroat which was singing from a thin branch rising out of the reeds on the far side of the reedbed.The heat haze, even at this comparatively early hour was already a hindrance  and posing viewing problems but the bird nevertheless stood out reasonably clearly in the telescope. Initially facing away from us we could only see its earth brown upperparts, a frequently cocked tail with bright chestnut flashes  and dull white underparts. It reversed on its perch to face in our direction and it was as if a coloured light show had been switched on. A transformation that left you almost gasping in wonder at the sheer jewel like magnificence of the combined colours The iridescent bright blue throat and breast  shone in the sun, with bands of unequal breadth, black and mostly chestnut dividing the blue from a white belly A broad pale eyebrow crossed each side of its head and in the midst of the blue a prominent white spot was visibly pulsing as the bird sang.

For Mark it was a lifer and for me a chance to once more enjoy another view of this spectacularly colourful bird. Its behaviour and the attitudes it adopted were reminiscent of a Robin as it dropped down into the reeds and then popped up again with much tail cocking and body  bobbing on long legs.Minor conflcts with a male Reed Bunting ensued as the two birds disputed who perched at the top of the branch. It eventually flew towards us and landed on a fence post to our left where it sang as it moved away from us post by post, before flying back to the far side of the reeds where it showed almost continuously for the next hour.

The heat haze was now burdensome, especially when viewing the magnified bird at distance through camera lens or telescope and the sun was surprisingly hot on our necks .More and more people were arriving and we decided that it looked like the bluethroat had every intention of remaining on the far side of the reeds, so we departed back to the main reserve for a welcome ice cream and to sit outside the cafe in the shade as a couple of Rooks hung about our table on the off chance of a scrap or two. 

We had nothing for them but doubtless as the cafe got busier their fortunes would change. Moving on we made our way to the South Lake and its Discovery Hide to see the long staying male Black winged Stilt.

Again the bird was on immediate view and in fact came quite close. Supremely elegant on its astonishingly long coral pink legs akin to knitting needles. Stilt is by no means a  misnomer as it stalked through the shallow water of South Lake on those amazing legs supporting a slim black and white body. The legs looked so incredibly fragile you feared they might break at the slightest opportunity.   

Black winged Stilts, formerly a real rarity are becoming an increasingly frequent spring and summer visitor to Britain in small numbers and are now breeding here successfully, albeit only one or two pairs.I predict this may well be one of those southern European species that will colonise Britain as have Great, Little and Cattle Egrets. Certainly our warming climate and our current heatwave will be an undoubted encouragement.

Other waders were beginning to build up on the lake as returning birds arrived from their northern breeding grounds, with at least three Green Sandpipers, two soot black, summer plumaged Spotted Redshanks hiding amongst some roosting Common Redshanks. Numerous Lapwings and Black tailed Godwits of various ages, were also scattered around the lake amidst over a hundred Avocets, both adult and young.

The sun was against us as it had been all morning, dazzlingly bright, reflecting off the water and making photography a lottery. Even just observing birds was difficult as they became mere silhouettes in the white reflected light.

We called it a day at noon. 

First of The Year 15th June 2023

It was noon when I turned into the tiny car park of the reserve with room for no more than four cars.The white heat of the midday sun, in this early summer heatwave, bore down on the land, oppressive and sultry, the wind of the preceding weeks now reduced to no more than an occasional whisper.

Bird song had all but ceased, apart from a Garden Warbler that persisted in singing loudly from the depths of a venerable oak, all other avian vocalists having retreated to the shade and shadows of the surrounding oak woods.

The managed meadows of the reserve had become a terrestrial firmanent, wild flowers substituting for stars; yellow rattle, buttercup, oxeye daisy and spotted orchid studded the summer grasses with countless individual points of colour. 

The particular meadow I had in mind was but a short walk from the car park.A meadow enclosed by thick blackthorn twice my height, the countless tiny leaves dark green, their hard surfaces shiny in the sun. Bramble grew through parts of the thick mesh of blackthorn but the flowers were still in bud and would not provide a nectar source for the butterfly I sought for a few days yet. 

I was searching for the Black Hairstreak, the rarest of the five hairstreak species found in Britain and restricted to an area of low lying clays, stretching from Peterborough to Oxford with only fifty or so known colonies. Black Hairstreaks are usually only on the wing from around the last ten days in June to the end of the first week in July,  allowing twenty days, give or take, to seek them out, so any opportunity to see them is not to be ignored.

They are frustratingly elusive, spending a large part of their time perched high and out of sight at the top of the blackthorn.It usually requires much patience and persistence to see one well and even more to photograph one but given time, often a lot of time, one or more will venture down to head height and pootle around on a bramble or blackthorn leaf, imbibing aphid honeydew from the leaf's surface.

I wandered along beside the blackthorn looking for this thumbnail sized dark butterfly with its distinctive jerky, jinking flight but found nothing but Meadow Browns and Marbled Whites.

I have visited this particular site many times, over the years I have lived in Oxfordshire, and have come to know the hotspots in the blackthorn where one can hope to have more than an even chance of encountering a Black Hairstreak. I  stopped at one of these and waited.

This is my preferred method but it requires some leap of faith and often an hour or more can pass with nothing to show for it.Today was different. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed and then at head height a Black Hairstreak jinked its uncertain way towards me and settled on a bramble leaf at eye level.

This minor miracle of chance was not about to be ignored by me and I took the insect's image many times, too many probably but the excitement of the moment can enthuse you this way. The butterfly was pristine, maybe just hatched today, not a scratch or bramble tear in its wings to disfigure its perfection. Judging by the upward angle of the tails on its hind wing it was a female. A miniature triangle of furled wings, it edged its way around the leaf's surface on thread thin legs, its alternately banded black and white antennae probing for the desired honeydew.

I was pleased with the results from my new camera but as I reviewed the images in the camera's viewfinder the butterfly gave me the slip, for on looking back to the leaf where it had perched there was nothing.I chided myself for taking my eye off the butterfly if only for seconds and now had no idea where it had gone, maybe some distance or it could be hidden in the dense foliage almost in front of me.I would never know unless it flew again. 

I stood for twenty minutes more and eventually saw the hairstreak rise from the blackthorn a few yards to my left and disappear over the top of the hedge. 

Ninety minutes had passed. I considered myself fortunate to have been granted this brief audience with such an uncommon butterfly and left it at that.