The Manchester Birder

It was always going to happen: the first real big twitch of 2026.  Killdeer has been a bird I've wanted to see for some time and I had endured the frustration of seeing a couple appear in Western Ireland over the last few years.  This twitchable bird in Hampshire was associating with Lapwings at the rear of the tiny Ripley Reservoir and had spent five days happily doing its thing.  News on Friday broke that the farmer of the land next door to the reservoir was planning a shoot for Saturday 24th January; with Pheasant season ending on February 1st he will have been trying to maximise his return.  The palpable anxiety as a thousand twitchers searched for the legal start times of shoots (there is none) and tried to work out what time they would have to set off on Saturday morning to be there by first light but before the reasonable time of 9.30 when idiots with guns would scare the living shit out of everything in a mile radius lent something of a desperate air to this ...

Waxwing wasn't on my radar for the day of birding I had planned with Lee, but ended up being the star of a day dominated by geese.  In search of Ross's, Taiga Bean, Tundra Bean and any other species we could find, we drove north.  I've written before about the controversial place Ross's Goose has in the UK with almost no accepted records as of the time of writing despite the increase in movement associated with overpopulation of both Snow and Ross's Geese in North America.  The powers that be are probably right to be slow and cautious rather than shotgun acceptance, no matter how it seems to those of us outside the process.  Rather than retread old ground, I'll just stick a copy and paste caveat here: these geese might not be truly wild, will probably never be accepted because their wildness can't be proved, and I simply don't care.  Seeing a free-flying Ross's Goose in a mixed flock of Canadas and Greylags will never not be a thrill, regardless of s...

You'd think that Glossy Ibis is pretty unmistakable as a bird in the UK.  Nothing really looks like one; bigger than Curlew but not as tall as Egrets, iridescent plumage and a comical Gonzo-style bill.  Yet looking for one on saltmarsh meant moments of confusion with Carrion Crows, Ravens and even Cormorants as I searched in the misty distance.  This isn't really an ID problem, more one of scale and visibility.  Turns out the Ibis was a lot closer in than I expected. By time I'd set up optics, this Spotted Redshank had tucked its head away to sleep and remained like this for the next 45 minutes before flying away over the saltmarsh... Spotted Redshank is one of those birds I have a real blind spot about.  One of many, lots of people who have been birding with me would argue.  In full summer plumage it's an easy ID, and in winter when next to a common Redshank they look so different it's hard to ever wonder how they can be confused.  But when I'm search...

Saturday 10th January was nothing less than a bloody brilliant day out.  Setting off at 6am and heading west along the north Wales coast Kris and I arrived at Foryd Bay just after 8am to clear skies and a sunrise above snow-covered mountains.  Unlike last time I was in a vehicle at Foryd we managed to park in a place that wasn't a sinkhole of mud, and walking south we crossed a footbridge from which the Bufflehead had been seen the late afternoon previous.  A Kingfisher flitted back and forth along the channel which remained ice-free, a Greenshank was active on the far bank of the marsh, and wildfowl was present in good numbers, but no sign of the dapper duck we had travelled to see.  Wandering north we eventually bumped into familiar birders from close to home, three gents who are always encouraging and quick to share sightings and knowledge.  These guys are always a welcome sight at any birding location, and we tend to see good birds when we bump into them....

"You're spoiled on your patch," was not the phrase I'm used to hearing about birding in Greater Manchester.  It's easy to fall into the contempt that over-familiarity breeds, and to disregard the variety and quality of wildlife that squeezes into the last remaining green(ish) spaces left available in a county where the drive to build every town to 120% of its current population is primarily destroying green belt.  I suppose I'm used to the same 140-150 species of birds that pass through or live in the 10km circle that I inflict my birding upon.  I have this realisation periodically, usually when I meet someone new to the area or who has recently begun birding.  Last month it was Dinoj, a Sri Lankan nurse and birder who moved to my home town six months previously and is seeing all of the local wildlife for the first time.  He's literally finding it out as he goes.  His quiet, measured excitement at realising he's seeing Siskins for the first time, his j...

I call myself the Manchester birder but it's a bit of a misnomer.  I do most of my birding in Manchester, that's true enough, but, due to the insane and unreasonable amount of traffic in this little city, I rarely venture out to the east or immediate south of the county.  That's the part of the map marked, "here there be dragons."  I focus on a flattened-on-the-east circle centred around west Manchester and if I venture out of it, you better believe I'm venturing to Lancashire, Yorkshire or parts far to the south.  The counties to the immediate south of Manchester within an hour long drive have become "lands I must traverse" in order to get to places where I may see birds.  In fact, I've spent so little time in north east Cheshire, Derbyshire, Staffordshire, Shropshire and so on that it's all a bit of a mystery to me in terms of birds.  I have taught geography for quite some time, so I'm aware of place names and so on, but the reality of ...

January 1st 2026 at 6.52am and we pulled up at Leighton Moss.  Six hours earlier I'd been wishing my daughter a Happy New Year and trying to persuade her to go to sleep.  I was tired, but part of that was caused by the excitement of a new year of birding.  While 2025 was started alone, and New Years' Day cut short by a panic attack, 2026 started with friends and after the first two kilometres, a fervent desire for the gloves I'd left in the car.  We were making our way to Lower Hide on a quest to see as many species of birds as we could in one day.  Not for me this time, but for Lee; my year list is going to be a lackadaisical slapdash of hit and miss birding after last years' efforts - sorry if my Bubo total made you think I was going to be pushing hard again. Tawny Owls called back and forth around us as we walked, and the sounds of a wetland waking up were increasingly loud.  Water Rails, Coot, Greylags and the deep coughs of red deer carrying under a mi...