It was barely an hour into our day at Blacktoft Sands when my son was invited to look through another birder’s telescope. Somewhere across the mud and shallow water of Marshland lagoon was a bird no bigger than a sparrow. With a little help finding the right patch of mud, there it was: a Little Stint, busily feeding among the other waders. It was a first for me.
By four o’clock that afternoon, the same pair of hands would be holding something almost as unexpected: a Convolvulus hawk moth, one of the largest migrant moths we encounter in Britain. In between came Marsh Harriers, Snipe, godwits, a possible glimpse of a Water Vole, homemade cake and rather a lot of shared bird identification. Which, thinking about it afterwards, sums up much of what I like about Blacktoft Sands.
My son, girlfriend and I are regulars on the Chesterfield RSPB Local Group field trips. I had particularly wanted to come back to Blacktoft because it has always felt to me like a bird reserve for birders.
That doesn’t mean it is inaccessible to beginners, quite the opposite. It is the willingness of people to share what they have found, explain what they are looking at and hand someone else a telescope that makes it such a good place to learn. I also wanted my son to have a decent chance of seeing a Marsh Harrier.
We arrived at around 9am, an hour before the main group was due to meet. For late September it was surprisingly warm. Sunshine lay across the reedbeds and lagoons, with just a gentle breeze moving through the vegetation.
At reception we showed our membership cards and chatted with one of the volunteers about what was happening around the reserve. One thing to watch for, apparently, was the dispersal of Bearded Reedlings. They had enjoyed a good breeding season and some of the young birds were beginning to move in search of new territory. That immediately gave us another target for the day. Sadly, it was one that escaped us.
The other recommendation was much more productive: go to Marshland Hide.
There was already a fair collection of birders inside when we arrived but we managed to squeeze in. Almost immediately somebody invited my son to look through their scope at the Little Stint. Once we knew where it was, we were soon able to find it ourselves through binoculars. It was out towards the middle of the mud and remaining water, clear enough to identify, although getting towards the effective limit of comfortable binocular viewing.
The size was striking. Among the other waders it really was tiny, with a white belly, warm brown upperparts and a wonderfully busy way of moving around the mud. Having found it once, it became much easier to pick out again and we would return to it later in the day. One of my lasting images is simply watching this tiny migrant scuttling around on the far side of the lagoon.
The lagoon itself was noticeably dry. In fact, one of the sadder aspects of the day was seeing just how low the water levels were across Blacktoft. Notices explained that several lagoons were suffering from drought conditions. The extensive mud undoubtedly created feeding opportunities for the Little Stint, Dunlin and other waders, but overall it felt like a reserve badly in need of water. Hopefully suitable high spring tides will allow more water to be brought through the sluices as the autumn migration gathers pace.
Around us were Lapwings, groups of Dunlin and plenty of ducks, many of them apparently Teal sleeping with their heads tucked away beneath their wings. And there were Common Snipe. Lots of them.
One particularly strongly marked bird briefly sent my thoughts in a more exotic direction. In the bright sunshine its pale stripes appeared exceptionally white and for a while I wondered about Great Snipe. Reality eventually prevailed. With so many Common Snipe around, the rather more likely explanation was simply that the September light was doing particularly impressive things to one of them.
That sort of uncertainty is part of birdwatching too. You look, compare, discuss and sometimes discover that the apparently exciting answer is really just an unusually good view of something familiar.
We couldn’t linger because at 10am we needed to return to reception to meet the rest of the Chesterfield group; around a dozen of us altogether. Back in the reception hide I talked to the RSPB Volunteer about what we had already seen and the Little Stint was added to the sightings book. News of it quickly generated interest. So, having just walked back from Marshland Hide, we turned around and headed there again with everybody else.
That second visit added more species. A Barn Owl was occupying one of the nest boxes, although from our angle its contribution to the day’s sightings consisted largely of a pair of feet sticking out of the entrance. There were Redshank, Dunlin and a small group of Black-tailed Godwits, along with Great Spotted Woodpecker, Pied Wagtails and what was probably a Meadow Pipit.
It was also another reminder of why I enjoy going out with a group. Bird identification is hard. Having experienced birders around you makes an enormous difference. Someone notices a feature you have missed. Somebody else has a better view through a scope. Someone talks you through why it is one species rather than another.
The important thing isn’t simply adding another name to a list; it is gradually learning why the name belongs there.
We eventually left Marshland and began working our way towards Ousefleet, still checking the reedbeds for Bearded Reedlings. Lapwing passed overhead. At one point somebody else’s Merlin app detected a Peregrine. Almost immediately a mass of birds lifted from the fields; mainly crows from what we could see, with smaller birds mixed among them. I never actually saw the Peregrine, so it doesn’t make my visual sightings list, but the reaction of everything else certainly suggested that something had disturbed the peace.
Further along, a Kestrel flew towards us as we watched the ponies grazing. The ponies, of course, were quietly carrying out habitat management while presumably remaining completely unaware that they were part of a conservation strategy.
At Ousefleet we found more Pied Wagtails and more godwits. Then came Xerox Hide and lunch. With the upper level busy, we joined George downstairs. We had been told that Water Voles live in the bank and ditch in front of the hide. At one point a small mammal shot into view and disappeared again almost before we had registered it. Could it have been one? Possibly. Was the view remotely good enough to claim it? Absolutely not. We essentially saw a rapidly disappearing backside.
Still, knowing Water Voles had been recorded there made it an intriguing little encounter.
Then we heard people upstairs thanking Wendy. Cake had arrived. My son went to investigate and returned with a piece for himself and another for George.
Knowledge, community and cake. Mission accomplished.
Later, while passing reception again, we learnt just how successful the breeding season had been for the reserve’s Marsh Harriers. Three nests had produced five, four and three fledged young respectively. Twelve young birds from three nests. That made what happened later all the more satisfying.
At Townend Hide we were once again surrounded by Snipe feeding over the mud. A small bird among them generated a surprisingly prolonged identification debate before finally being recognised as a Dunlin. Quite why it took us so long remained something of a mystery.
And then, finally, a Marsh Harrier appeared. The first was fairly distant, but still perfectly clear through binoculars. A little later a male came through considerably closer. That was the view I had hoped my son might get. For me it was the flight that stood out: that characteristic effortless progress over the marsh, close enough this time to begin picking out individual feather detail rather than simply watching the outline of a distant raptor. It is difficult not to stop whatever else you are doing when a Marsh Harrier comes past.
Towards the end of the afternoon we also had Pink footed Geese moving through on a couple of occasions; another reminder that autumn migration was well underway even though the warm sunshine didn’t feel especially autumnal.
At around 3pm the main group began heading home. We stayed.
With the reserve becoming quieter, the three of us visited First Hide briefly before returning to reception. A hot chocolate and a final conversation with the staff seemed a suitable way to finish seven hours at Blacktoft.
Then somebody came in to say that a large moth had been found. One of the RSPB team immediately headed outside to investigate and asked whether we wanted to come too. Obviously we did. It was a Convolvulus hawk-moth.
Even after a day spent deliberately looking for wildlife, nothing had quite prepared us for its size. The long grey wings were covered in wonderfully intricate markings, providing the sort of camouflage that makes a resting moth remarkably easy to overlook despite its dimensions.
Before long it was sitting on my son’s hand. Afterwards commented on how clearly he could feel the moth holding on, particularly whenever the breeze caught it. There was something rather lovely about that being the final wildlife encounter of the day. We had begun with someone taking the time to show him a tiny Little Stint through a telescope. We ended with somebody else taking the time to show us an enormous migrant moth at arm’s length.
Eventually the hawk-moth was placed safely into a tree where it could remain concealed and resting. We had some tips on distinguishing between the two types of Godwits and we finally left Blacktoft at around four o’clock.