Black-tailed godwits, Leighton Moss

Wednesday, 1 July 2026

Second quarter 2026

Ruff, Marshside
It's always a treat to see the males in their full breeding plumage pomp.

It was one of those Springs with days that changed season by the hour. Overall April was dry and windy, most of the sunny days tempered by cool winds. May was cool, grey and windy, not optimal for the peak of the breeding season. Then suddenly, literally overnight, the end of May was full-on Summer. For nearly a week. The first three weeks of flaming June felt like late February with hay fever. Then it turned on a sixpence and the sun was cracking the pavements again. Sudden change has become a feature of our weather recently.

Black-tailed godwit, Marshside

The birdwatching was steady-ish. The statistics look fair enough but there were times when I felt I was frantically hurtling about not getting very far with anything or getting to All The Places, etc. and was giving myself a good nagging about it. Which is my normal frame of mind late Spring, early Summer. I could worry for England and I don't know how I have the brass neck to tell my father off for the same fault. This isn't a job, it's a pastime to keep body and mind active in the flickering light of early middle age. And by and large the pastime's doing okay. The birdwatching was steady-ish.

Mandarin ducks, Etherow Country Park
Yes, there are lots of photos of mandarin ducks in my blog. It's my blog, I can put lots of photos of mandarin ducks in here.

I got to lots of places, I got to visit some new places, I saw lots of birds and heard more which were hiding in the bushes and managed to identify a good many of both. As far as the birdwatching goes, all was well with the world. And I got to combine an exceedingly pleasant seaside stroll with a life tick.

Herring gulls, shelduck and Western reef heron (front right), Foryd Bay

Western reef heron wouldn't have been on my radar in a month of Sundays. A first for Britain within easy reach by public transport hanging round for days was irresistible, so I didn't resist it. The next week it relocated, shuffling about Conwy and Llandudno, which would have been an easier trip out but I'd have missed out on splendid Menai Strait landscapes. By the end of the month it had relocated to Pembrokeshire to make sure all the Welsh birdwatchers got a chance to see it.

Sand martins, Irlam Locks

And so to the numbers… 

The year list to date is 194, my life list 392, and British list 313.  And I got around a bit:

  • Caernarvonshire 47 species
  • Cheshire & Wirral 122
  • Cumbria 69
  • Denbighshire 34
  • Derbyshire 50
  • Flintshire 31
  • Greater Manchester 122
  • Lancashire & North Merseyside 147
  • Staffordshire 20
  • Yorkshire 86

I'm easily meeting my 100 species a month target and the 200 species year list looks doable. I think I'll try and spend the dog days trying to get a bit further afield to stretch my legs. Which will probably end up with my spending a month getting no further away than Cob Kiln Wood. Well, we'll see how it goes.

Pheasants, Leighton Moss

Pied flycatcher, Keg Wood

Gannet, Bempton Cliffs

Tuesday, 30 June 2026

Martin Mere

Black-headed gulls

Sure as eggs, one of the young blue tits has tagged onto the troupe of sparrows. That should see it through the Winter. I noticed it as I was getting ready to go out. I hadn't got round to visiting Martin Mere yet this month, after planning to do so last week, so I made sure to take precautions for the hayfever, slapped on the factor thingy and headed out that way.

By Red Cat Lane 

It was a cloudy and unpromising sort of day, ideal for walking at this time of year. Crowds of jackdaws and woodpigeons rummaged about in the fields beside Red Cat Lane. Skylarks sang in the distance, blackbirds and wrens sang in the hedgerows, house sparrows and goldfinches fussed about the gardens and farmsteads. I don't know what it was that made me look twice at a sparrow on a telegraph wire but I'm glad I did, it feels like lifetimes since I last saw a tree sparrow down this way. Five minutes later I was being given the raspberry by a corn bunting and escorted out of its patch. I had honestly given up on both of them here. I'm glad to be wrong.

Corn poppies

Curlew Lane

I had a quick nosy up Curlew Lane. Swallows and house martins hawked over the fields and a few dozen black-headed gulls and lesser black-backs were following the ploughed a few fields down. It wasn't my day for yellow wagtails.

The field across the road from Martin Mere was carpeted with black-headed gulls, adults and their tea-stained youngsters alike. There were plenty more to come as I walked in.

Black-headed gulls and shelduck

As usual, I headed straight for the Discovery Hide. A chap already in there said: "There's a sandpiper right in front of you if you're interested." It took me a minute to find it, from my angle there were a lot of dock leaves in the way. Ironically, I got better views when it moved away onto the little spit in front of the hide.

Common sandpiper

Common sandpiper

Common sandpiper

Black-headed gulls

There were still black-headed gulls nesting on the mere. Some of the chicks were tiny, most had fledged and were capable of at least some weak flight. Mallards and their tiny ducklings seemed intent on losing each other. The larger ducklings stuck to their parents (actually, this is a guess: as well as mallard ducklings wandering off at the drop of a hat and tagging along with whatever, the ducks have a habit of hedging their bets by laying a few eggs in other ducks' nests, and not always are they mallards'). Shelducks had near full-grown ducklings, coots and moorhens had everything from tiny chicks to full-grown in tow and some of the full-grown juvenile moorhens had been given babysitting duty. A few Canada geese and greylags mooched about over on the far bank with a couple of common terns and some oystercatchers and lapwings. Otherwise, besides all these crowds of birds, it was fairly quiet.

Juvenile moorhen and chick

Black-headed gulls and mallard

Black-headed gulls

By the Hale Hide

Blackcaps, wrens and a song thrush sang in the trees as I walked over to the Ron Barker Hide. Titmice and robins were shadows in the undergrowth. I popped into the Hale Hide to get a different perspective on the mere and see what was on the little pool there. A few mallards and their ducklings pootled about and coots and moorhens fussed. Way over in the distance I could see a heron perched on a gatepost in the reedbeds. It took a while to work out what the smaller, darker figure was on the adjacent gatepost — I will admit I got my hopes up that the glossy ibis had returned — but eventually it woke up and turned out to be a juvenile heron.

The Mere View Hide 

The Mere View Hide was very quiet indeed save for a Cetti's warbler singing in the brambles and a sedge warbler singing in the flag irises.

The Ron Barker Hide was quietish. Families of well grown mallards and shelducks drifted about on the pools and tiny tufted ducklings dibbled about with their parents in the brook. Swallows dashed about with gay abandon. I looked in vain for the whooper swans I saw last time. The large white shape on the bank was two great white egrets sleeping side by side. Families of greylags grazed the near banks, Canada geese were in the tall grass with the longhorn cattle. I could see no cattle egrets about.

Great white egrets, tufted ducklings, coot, moorhen and mallards

A female marsh harrier was busy, it flew in stage left and was greeted by two immature birds. She rose up in the air, the two young birds following. She dropped whatever it was she had in her talons and one of the youngsters caught it in mid air. She did a couple more food drops while I was in the hide. While she was away the youngsters joined another couple of young birds I hadn't noticed sitting in a tree at the back of the reedbed.

One of the harriers passing close by caused a sudden appearance of a white object at the top of the reeds in the pool on the right. I noticed it and had a look, expecting it to be the head of one of the whoopers having a look round. It turned out to be a cattle egret sat on the back of a cow hidden by the reeds. Another pass-by saw three cattle egrets stick their heads up and judging by the erect crests and jabbing bills of the two adults they weren't best pleased at the harriers.

Cattle egret

On the way back I had to stop a moment while a water shrew ran across the path and into cover.

The Harrier Hide from the Reedbed Walk 

The afternoon was young so I headed over to the Reedbed Walk. The path by the United Utilities Hide was closed for resurfacing so I followed the path round from the Harrier Hide. I was very conscious that I'd been a couple of hours in a wetland reserve and hadn't seen any dragonflies. I quickly bumped into a handful of common blue damselflies, thin gruel after yesterday's Hodbarrow banquet. There was a thin background songscape, a few Reed buntings, a couple of Cetti's warblers, a reed warbler, the clamour of black-headed gulls, and the quiet fussing about of mallards, shelducks and coots talking in their sleep on the pools behind the reeds.

Black-headed gulls

Gatekeeper

For all the weather was dark grey and a bit cool there were loads of butterflies about. The waysides between the Discovery Hide and Rob Barker's were busy with meadow browns with a few red admirals, small tortoiseshells and commas fluttering about. The reedbeds were heaving with gatekeepers. A few red admirals and small tortoiseshells were about and the excellent year for painted ladies continued but there were two dozen gatekeepers for every other butterfly. The dragonflies were few and far between and all black-tailed skimmers.

The Reedbed Walk 

A working party with strimmers passed by in their little off-road vehicle (not quite a car but significantly more than a golf buggy). I'm putting years on myself admitting I thought: "Daktari" as they passed. For once I felt a bit self-conscious putting my mask on as I passed them working, it looked a bit pointed. Unfortunately the hayfever had already kicked in badly and I didn't want to give it any more encouragement.

Teal and black-headed gulls

A few teal and lapwings fed on the remains of the pool at the Gordon Taylor Hide. Teal are so secretive this time of year I rarely see the males going into eclipse plumage, a couple of them were well into the moult here. A few of the nesting black-headed gulls still had very young chicks, nearly all the older birds were flightworthy if clumsy. I looked in vain for any waders that weren't lapwings or oystercatchers.

A lot of black-headed gulls were making a racket overhead. A different gull call stuck out from the noise, something more like the sound of a penguin at the zoo. I was quite pleased to find the pair of Mediterranean gulls almost immediately I looked up. I was running lucky today. Even luckier in fact: I heard a chaffinch-like song coming from the hawthorns in the out-of-bounds part of the reedbed and just at the point I'd convinced myself that no, it wasn't a lesser whitethroat, it was a chaffinch having singing practice a chaffinch started singing from the trees by the water treatment works to remind me what they really sound like. It never fails to surprise me that when you compare the songs of common and lesser whitethroats it's the lesser whitethroat that sounds like Tom Jones.

At the Rees Hide

At the Rees Hide the pool was a distant memory.

Walking back to the visitor centre I was accompanied by a Southern hawker. There were plenty of midges and mozzies about so I was happy for it to make inroads on any coming my way.

Red Cat Lane 
Winter Hill had disappeared behind a bank of rain. It should be behind those trees.

The cosmic balance has to be respected. I hadn't gone far once I left Martin Mere before the heavens opened. There's some shelter on the way to New Lane so I could have walked that way and got the slightly later train, the trouble there was that depending which site I checked that train may or may not have been cancelled and as they only run every two hours it was a chance I was unwilling to take. There's no shelter between Martin Mere and Burscough Bridge and its half-hourly train service so there was nothing to do but grin and bear it.

Corn bunting

I'm very glad I did: the corn bunting gave me another good telling off and I spotted why it was so agitated. It's more than twenty years since I last saw a juvenile corn bunting.

Juvenile corn bunting


Monday, 29 June 2026

Hodbarrow

Panic! I couldn't see what had spooked these black-headed gulls and Sandwich terns

With the passing of the heatwave I thought I'd best make an effort at picking up last week's itinerary. So I used up one of my Delay Repay compo tickets and got the trains to Millom for a visit to Hodbarrow. 

I had to get the busiest train of the day into Manchester so I could catch the Windermere train that connects with the Corkicle train at Lancaster, this being the train that stops at Millom. (It's still rail replacement buses from Corkicle to Whitehaven.) After this one the next connection less than an hour is late afternoon, which is one reason why I've been putting it off. The over reason is that the busiest train of the day into Manchester is also the one that only has half the number of carriages of the trains running the rest of the day. It must have been like one of Dante's circles last week.

Grange-over-sands Station 

Anyway… I got the Windermere train, got the Corkicle train and got to Millom. Along the way I noticed three spoonbills fast asleep opposite the Eric Morecambe Hide at Leighton Moss (they'd moved on on the way back); very little on the salt marshes of Morecambe Bay that wasn't a jackdaw, a carrion crow or a little egret; a few eiders by the viaduct over the Leven; and an osprey back at the nest by the track on Arnaby Moss (possibly the same one was sat on the nest on the way back). And the scenery, as always, was quite a bit better than pretty good.

At Kirkby-in-Furness Station

It felt like next to no time between getting off the train and arriving at Hodbarrow. Herring gulls, lesser black-backs and jackdaws sat on chimneys and rooftops and the presence of a pint-sized herring gull chick loudly begging on a house's pitched roof led me to wonder how it didn't roll down into the gutter when it was an egg.

Little egrets and cormorants 

Approaching the entrance to Hodbarrow I became aware of a peculiar creaking noise in the distance, like fairground machinery badly in need of lubrication. I wondered if there was a Summertime Seaside Spectacular happening at the holiday home haven but it became apparent it was coming from the nature reserve. In fact, it was the noise of the colony of little egrets at the landward side of the lagoon. The cormorants nesting beside them had their own repertoire of croaks and grunts but they were drowned out by the creaks and groans of the egrets.

A small raft of herring gulls loafed on this corner of the lagoon and mute swans cruised over on the other side. The colony of terns and black-headed gulls is hidden from view here, just hinted at by small white figures flying about in the distance.

Common blue damselfly 

The path from the entrance through the trees was fairly quiet. Blackbirds sang, chiffchaffs squeaked and goldfinches twittered about. A blackcap singing by the entrance on Maingate Road was the only one I heard. A way in, perhaps a hundred yards after the car park, a garden warbler in deep cover was in a hurry to get its song finished. The wayside sparked with common blue damselflies, red admirals sunned themselves on the path and a confusion of bees and hoverflies busied themselves among the vetches and brambles.

Black Combe from Hodbarrow 

A stiff, cool breeze asserted itself as I reached the more open country. The heathland was thick with bracken, bedstraw and rosebay, the areas of thinner soil carpeted with thymes, horseshoe vetch and restharrow. Sand martins flashed by at knee height, rising only to turn and swoop back for a fresh run over the ground. A couple of house martins flew higher, tending to skim over the trees and bushes rather than fly between them. Meadow browns and ringlets fluttered through the grasses and some vividly fresh painted ladies continued what has been an excellent year for them. Whitethroats churred and sang from hawthorn bushes and a couple of willow warblers sang from patches of scrub. And I started to hear Sandwich terns.

Duddon Estuary 

Hodbarrow Lagoon

I had come late to the party. Not many terns were commuting from the Duddon Estuary to the colony, and most of they common terns. The Sandwich terns passing over the sea wall were carrying their loads of sand eels at a leisurely pace, the common terns a bit more hurried. High overhead a few juvenile terns noisily chased after their parents out into the estuary.

The seabird colony on the gravel banks

A raft of Canada geese cruised about this corner of the lagoon. Eiders drifted over to join the dozens loafing on the edges of the gravel banks. A couple of bar-headed geese floated just offshore. There was a lazy high Summer feeling to the whole scene despite the cool wind.

Sandwich terns 

I joined the hide and had a look round. There seemed to be a lot fewer Sandwich terns than last year and they were further away than usual, to the right, from the hide. The youngsters I could see were nearly full-grown, it could be that I'd missed a lot that have moved on. 

The black-headed gulls, as always, were very vocal and were spread across the gravel banks. There weren't many common terns but they made almost as much noise as the gulls. Both were running the full gamut of stages of breeding: some sat on nests, some had chicks begging for food at the nest, some had juvenile birds running after them begging, and a few of the juveniles were capable of flight. Woe betide the wandering juvenile Sandwich terns that got too close to the gulls, they were soon bundled over and sent running back to their flock. Similarly, a couple of young black-headed gulls got a good going over from the common terns and their parents had to intervene and escort them to safety.

Red-breasted mergansers

A raft of red-breasted mergansers, mostly young redheads, bobbed about just offshore, socialising with the eiders, lapwings and shelducks keeping out of the way of the gulls and terns. A ringed plover dashed about between the flocks. Family parties of oystercatchers marched through like they had a free pass.

The nesting common terns kept their distance from each other, and they joined forces to make sure nothing else filled the gaps.

A couple of times a panic ran through the flocks and a cloud of gulls, terns, lapwings and starlings took to the air. Which is how I spotted there were any starlings about. I couldn't see what had caused the commotion and the birds settled back down within a couple of minutes. 

Sandwich terns, a young bird is on the left

All the time I was looking for, and failing to find, any little terns. Looking at the numbers posted on the observations board it looks like not many arrived here and for the second year running they didn't stay to breed, which is a pity. Has it been the weather? Has the habitat of the gravel bank changed? Is it competition from the other gulls and terns? I've no idea, I just hope their fortunes pick up.

Ringlet

I walked back. A small heath fussing about in the grasses on the seaward side of the path wouldn't sit still for the camera, the ringlets on the landward side were more obliging. Chiffchaffs sang in the trees, goldfinches and linnets bounced about the heathland and a handful of swallows had joined the martins.

Common darter
I had to look three times at this one, he's a very flushed shade of red for so early in the season

There were more dragonflies about. Black-tailed skimmers and common darters sunned themselves on the paths and an unidentifiable hawker shot past me and off over the lagoon.

Common darter

I walked back to the station and checked the train times. Even though the train back to Barrow was running late it would connect with the train back to Lancaster. I had a choice: I could hang about for an hour at Barrow or Lancaster waiting for the next train to Manchester or I could spend the best part of an hour at Leighton Moss.

Shoveler

I spent nearly all that time in Lilian's Hide, a Cetti's warbler providing the backing track to the experience. The black-headed gulls had nearly all moved on, just the one pair was sitting on a very late nest. The male's badgering any passing great black-back just seemed to be drawing attention to the nest for future pillage. A crowd of gadwalls had gathered in one corner of the pool, a few mallards and shovelers were scattered about. The drakes were all already well into the moult into eclipse plumage.

Shoveler 

Out over the reedbeds a female marsh harrier rose out of the reeds, flew a lazy circle and settled back whence she came. The great black-backs had a large youngster in the nest. The only things big enough and daft enough to try and rob a great black-back's nest would be a sea eagle or a couple of great black-backs and sure enough the parent at the nest kept a close eye on the couple of great black-backs circling nearby.

It was time to be getting back. I didn't have long to wait for the train and got home without fuss or incident after quite a full day's birdwatching.