A Rich Diversity Wins The Day. Bird Report for August 2026

I associate the month of August with the dispersal of birds away from their natal areas. With that in mind there were eight Canada Geese at Loch Connell on the 5th increasing to 53 on the 16th, when amongst their ranks was  an oddity in the form of a Canada X Barnacle Goose hybrid. At the same site the pair of Greylags and their single fledged offspring  were joined by a roaming party of 41 other feral birds, also on the 16th.  

At Loch Ryan I logged 16 Mute Swans on the 1st, rising to 30 birds on the 30th. A pair with nine cygnets (which I presumed were the birds from Agnew Park, on the Stranraer waterfront) had paddled their way as far up the sea-loch as Leffnoll, on the 3rd. The pair at Loch Connell, along with their two cygnets, stayed put throughout the month. My only record of Shelduck was of three at the Wig on the 6th.

Field sketch of Mute Swan cygnet at Loch Connell, 2nd of August

I spent a memorable couple of hours at Loch Connell on the 30th of the month where, amongst others, was a fine array of waterfowl. There was a drake and duck Gadwall, 98 Mallard, three Shoveler, 23 Teal, plus a female with six ducklings (the first successful breeding of this species here in a long time), and six male Wigeon in their drab eclipse plumage.

On Loch Ryan, I noted but a single Common Scoter on the 26th and the 30th, which was less than I had expected. Eider were better represented, with a peak count of 209 on the 11th. A singleton Tufted Duck was at Loch Connell on the 12th, whilst 140 Red-breasted Merganser on the sea-loch was a most welcome entry in my logbook on the 29th.

Not unexpectedly, divers were absent from this month’s dataset. The two pairs of Great Crested Grebes at Loch Connell were present throughout the month. The appearance of the three youngsters of one of the pairs changed with each visit I made to the site, getting that little bit bigger with a corresponding alteration in plumage as their down was replaced by more resilient feathers. Come the end of the month they were close to juvenile-looking (as shown in the illustrations of many a field guide) but still retained a few downy plumes here and there, making them somewhat comical in appearance at times. The second breeding pair were still incubating at the month’s end but I suspect that for all their protracted effort and diligence the prospects of them raising a brood this year are probably slim. On the 10th, I noticed that an additional and ‘proper-looking’ juvenile had joined those already there: it, too, remained thereafter. Also at this freshwater site were several Little Grebe, with a peak count of nine adults on the 30th. It was on the 23rd however that Dabchick became a highlight of my visit when I noticed a pair of proud-looking parents tending a brood of four chicks. I saw my first Red-necked Grebe of the autumn period at Wig Bay on the 6th. It was a lone adult, handsome in its summer-dress. What I especially liked was that the observation provided me with the opportunity to try out a russet coloured crayon that I had recently added to my field box of art equipment. (Mental note: for the bird’s neck colour the addition of a tad of scarlet and a smidgeon of vermillion is required, with a splash of alizarin crimson in the shadow areas).

I recorded a fair selection of waders this month. Black-tailed Godwit are never the commonest of species on my local patch but what they lack in abundance they make up for in sheer elegance and beauty. Loch Connell held a singleton on the 2nd and ended the month with an impressive party of 30 birds (on the 30th) which flew in from over the intervening hilltop to the west (and Loch Ryan), alighting on the margins of one side of the pool before quickly removing themselves to the other side. They were all gorgeous adults sporting stunning brick-red colouration on the underside of their bodies from belly upwards. This feature, in combination with the striking black and white of the upper surface of their wings, their white vents and rumps tipped with a solid black tail, and trailing legs, created ever changing patterns of delight as they speedily winged across the loch. Oh, to be an artist capable of capturing such splendour: I dream on!

Equally pleasing to my eyes was the flock of 51 Curlew that loafed and foraged amongst the grass and rushy tussocks of the Pool Field on the 11th. Whereas the flight of the preceding species made for bold contrasting patterns that would confuse any would be predator, Curlew rely on more subtle tones of plumage to help camouflage them on the ground. To those readers who also have an aeronautical interest, then my analogy of godwits being the Red Arrows and curlews the ‘stealth planes’ equivalents might be better understood than by those that don’t.

Dunlin are fascinating small birds of the shoreline. Usually when I see one I home in on the length of its bill because, depending upon from what part of the world the bird originates the food supply and and the environment of that region is likely to influence its length. You are what you eat, or so they say. In realty, the situation is not as simple as might first appear for any prospective viewer contemplating such a task; there are other things to consider in attempt to distinguish between the ten races of this species that have so far been identified. Birds from the far north generally have longer bills than those from, say, Britain. Some birds from Greenland are known to have fairly short and less obviously curved beaks (plumage can also be paler than that of our birds, more silvery-grey like that of juvenile Sanderling). Then of course there are sexual differences, with females generally having longer bills than males, as often may be detected when studying groups of Curlew, for example. With a guesstimated worldwide population of 5.5 million Dunlin, and the great variably amongst races and individual birds, it is perhaps futile in trying to assign a race to those birds that I see on the beaches of the Wig. But where is the fun and education in not trying? And with such a small sample to contend with - a maximum flock size this month of just six birds on the 16th and 18th - a few moments spent looking just a little longer and harder at each subject cannot surely be without reward or merit.

It came as a surprise to me when checking over my records for the month that I had logged only one observation of Golden Plover: a singleton, still in handsome breeding plumage, at the Scar on the 7th. Perhaps I had forgotten to enter other sightings - a sign, I am told, of advancing age! Anyway, it happens, especially when there are many other temptations at hand to divert ones attention. I saw a Greenshank at Loch Connell on the 10th and perhaps the same bird there again on the 12th. A singleton was at the Scar on the 21st. The aforementioned site also held a princely three Grey Plover on the 11th - my first of the autumn. Here too was a party of 12 Knot on the 7th and four on the 30th.

Lapwings above Loch Connell on 30th August

Although I may have not logged many Lapwing (a not unusual occurrence) there was a noticeable passage of birds from the beginning to the end of the month. All of the records were from Loch Connell, a traditional stop-off location for the species. The peak count of birds was 46 on the 30th. As was to be expected the numbers of Oystercatcher about Wig Bay increased as the passage of waders gained momentum. 104 birds on the 21st was a reasonable enough count considering the changeable weather that marked the month. That same weather undoubtedly accounts for the the presence of 23 Redshank (a high number for this locality) at the Scar on the 21st and another party of birds there on the 29th.

Despite the fact that Ringed Plover are one of the commoner species of wader to be found on the shoreline of Wig Bay, their bold black, white and sandy-brown plumage (which make them so obvious looking in illustration on the pages of a field guide) is the very reason that this disruptive pattern effectively hides them amongst the pebbles and sand of the shore. I sometimes think that I have made a reasonably accurate count of the birds, only to discover my error when others seemingly emerge from what I had previously taken to be stones - a sudden twitch here, an impulsive preen, or a scamper across the beach all betray their presence to me. A tally of 80 birds on the 7th left me wondering how many others I had missed. Just two observations of Ruff were entered into my logbook this month. Both were of singletons: a bird at Loch Connell on the 2nd and another at the Scar on the 5th. The latter site held three adult Sanderling on the 4th, one on the 7th and two on the 21st. All of my records of Snipe were from Loch Connell, with four on the 2nd, five on the 16th and four on the 30th. Sightings of Turnstone, on the other hand, were restricted to the seashore: a high of nine birds was registered at the Scar on the 21st.

Birds that were either absent previously, or few in number, can quite literally increase overnight, particularly after a storm. For some species however their infiltration can be more subtle until, by chance, you think to yourself ‘crikey … where did they all come from.’ Well, that was the sense I got when my eyes were confronted by a flock of 84 Common Gull in one of the Wig fields, on the 11th. In the Herring Gull nest on the chimney stack of a property in the village of Kirkcolm, I saw two chicks on the 1st that were close to fledging. A day or so later, one bird whilst exercising its wings, fell off the roof and - not yet strong enough for sustained flight - remained on the ground, joining its brother or sister which had suffered a similar mishap a few weeks before. Both ‘grounded’ birds continued to be fed and defended from passers-by in the street. This I know only too well because I happened to be one of the folk who so rudely used the pavement to the disgust of the parent birds! Fortunately, Herring Gull are more about false bravado rather than actual intent to harm, with fake dive bombing attacks at trespassers, veering off before any physical impact can occur. Lesser Black-backed Gulls become more frequent visitors to my local patch during the month of August. On the 25th I was delighted to watch first, eight birds, then 16 fly past the Scar, heading towards Stranraer.

During the morning of the 5th a small group of eight Arctic Tern settled on the Scar. When they came in their obvious paleness against the grey of the sky and the sea drew my attention but as soon as they settled and hunkered down they were all but lost from sight. Had I not seen them alight then I probably would never have known that they were there. Sandwich Tern were seen in varying numbers most days. I confess, I was expecting to larger flocks than I did but that is the way the cookie crumbles, I guess. Upon reflection, a high of 41 at the Scar on the 11th was not so bad a tally.

So far this year I have seen very few Black Guillemot in Wig Bay, or indeed elsewhere on the parts of Loch Ryan that I can readily view from my home viewing station. There are multiple reasons why this may be so. It would thus be premature of me to cast a decision on the matter but my gut instinct is one of concern. With only a single record of just one bird seen on the 10th, I can only hope that my initial suspicions will be proved wrong as the year progresses. I had, unusually, more sightings of Razorbill than I did of the preceding species, with singletons on the 6th and 13th and two on the 23rd. Gannet were adequately represented over Loch Ryan, with a high of 20 birds logged on the 5th. There were 30 Cormorant (five of which were juveniles, instantly recognisable by their contrasting white bellies) at the Scar on the 10th, although my peak count of them on the sea-loch was 46 on the 16th. Shag numbered 81 on the dilapidated pier at Cairnryan on the 21st. Two juvenile Little Egret were regularly seen at the Wig throughout the month, ranging widely and catching the attention of many none bird orientated locals in the process.

A couple of the month’s highlights were raptors (birds of prey). A female Marsh Harrier at Loch Connell on the 30th had the lapwings in a state of constant panic; the Teal were also on the alert and wary, whilst the grebes submerged in advance of the approaching hawk; in contrast the large plump Mallards seemed to show no signs of concern, presumably thinking themselves too large to be on the harrier’s menu. I had to smile when this thought crossed my mind because many years ago I recall seeing a much smaller aerial predator - a female Sparrowhawk - attack and dispatch a drake Mallard: carrying off its prize was, however, a very different proposition entirely, I recall, requiring the utmost determination from the raptor. Ungainly it certain was, with the bird moving along in leaps and bounds under the weight of its prey. Eventually it conceded, overcome by the struggle, so ate its meal out in the open space of a field. But enough anecdotes and back to this month’s report. Four separate observations of Osprey combine to make up the second highlight. On the 11th a bird came from the direction of Loch Connell and drifted low over the burn outlet at the bottom of Fisher Lane. At the time my camera, which I often carry with me in the hope of capturing images of events such as this, was fitted with a long-Tom (a lens with a large focal length eminently suitable for capturing birds at a distance). Unfortunately, the bird passing over my head was so close that only a small part of it appeared in the frame and focusing, because of the short distance involved, was impossible. The next bird up was at Loch Connell, on the 16th: an all too brief sighting, glimpsed as it headed back towards the sea-loch over the intervening hill. The third bird I saw sat out on that spit of land known as the Scar during the early morning of the 25th. There it stayed for a considerable length of time eating the fish it had caught. It looked great through the high magnification of my fieldscope but, alas, it appeared as no more than a dot through the lens on my camera. A few days later, on the 29th, another Osprey sat on the Scar. It was even further away from me than the previous bird because this time I was enjoying views (again, through my ‘scope) from the comfort of home.

Field sketches of a female Marsh Harrier at Loch Connell on the 30th of August

In order for people to relate to a concept, such as the autumn passage of birds, logic dictates that there has to be a beginning, a middle and an end part. There also has to be a place, for reference purposes where to apply the arbitrary notions we have just devised can be applied. Enter the local patch where, through the act of regular monitoring, we can employ this aspect of our bold scheme to understanding nature. I use House Martin as this month’s example of how the princle works in practice. Anyway, readers, I’m sure you will get the gist of my endeavour. Thus, on the 2nd, I logged 28 birds, followed by 46 on the 5th, 86 on the 21st, 120 on the 23rd, which suddenly increased to 240 the next day (24th), and finally 253 on the 28th. An obvious build-up, there is no doubt, and which may continue into next month, to be followed by a decline as the passage period draws to a close. Numbers of Sand Martin at Loch Connell peaked at 28 on the 12th, while Swallows over the village of Kirkcolm rose to 80 birds on the 16th. A count of six Swifts on the 4th was an excellent record, with the last observation of the month being of two birds on the 7th.

On the 11th, I was both surprised and delighted to find a Cetti’s Warbler in a tangle of Himalayan Balsm that grows next to the seashore. Single Chiffchaffs were in my garden on the 5th, 14th, 18th and 21st, where also there were singleton Whitethroats on the 2nd, 5th and 7th and four Willow Warblers on the 6th. The latter species was also recorded from within the grounds of the Corsewall Estate, including an especially lovely juvenile (more accurately, a first-winter bird) with bright green uppers and yellow underparts, which was observed on the 25th.

To round up this month’s offering I give brief details of a few other birds. Black Redstart is of course notable in any part of. They are a distinct rarity on my local patch so I was more than pleased to having stumbled upon one flitting about the beach and car park at the Wig during the early morning of the 21st. At this time of year Carrion Crows often gather in loose-knit flocks along the beach; I saw a party of 20, on the 5th, which included three of the local hybrid ‘Hoody’ look-a-likes. August is also the time when House Sparrows flock, their numbers boosted greatly by juveniles of the year. In my garden I registered over 100 birds on the 26th and 28th. Often, when I am in the house, I hear their garrulous chatter coming from the densely leaved shrubs outside; sometimes that chatter stops abruptly and all goes deadly silent until the bushes explode into life as birds disperse in all directions at the presence of an incoming Sparrowhawk.

Sparrowhawk on the lookout for its next meal

The jewel-like Kingfisher that I saw at Loch Connell on the 23rd should not have come as the surprise that it was to me, given the season. I was just startled because perched directly next to the bird was a giant in the reptilian-like form of a Cormorant. The larger bird I had noticed first; it was a while later that curiosity drew my gaze to the tiny dazzling blob immediately to the left of the Cormorants huge paddle-like feet: with a quick re-adjustment of focus to my ’scope the bird, and its outrageous colouration was revealed in all its glory.

Like many other birds Linnet also form roving flocks, their numbers often swelled at this time by accompanying Chaffinch and Goldfinch, amongst others. It is therefore not always an easy task to separate and count the individual species that comprise a flock, especially when they appear as a swirling mass. Patience and perseverance is obviously the way forward in such circumstances but, often as not, entries in my notebooks just reads ‘finches’ followed by the estimated number of birds involved. I did however succeed in making a count of one flock on the 25th which solely comprised 113 Linnet. Lastly, I conclude with Wheatear, with my first sighting of the autumn period being a lone bird at the Wig on the 21st and the second, a singleton at Loch Connell on the 30th.

Content provided courtesy of the author, S. Grover

Forever A Surprise. Bird Report for July 2026

There are birds that are resident year round and those that are primarily visitors, which either come to our shores to breed or overwinter, attracted here by the prevailing mild conditions and habitats that satisfy their requirements. There are also birds that just pass through on route to destinations elsewhere - the so-called passage migrants. Then there are those birds whose presence here might be deemed accidental, acts of vagrancy. For the most part it is the common birds - those we encounter daily, or at least on a regular basis - that determine our impression of the richness of birdlife wherever we happen to be. In that respect, I consider myself well and truly blessed by the staggering variety of species (not only birds) that can be found on my doorstep, so to speak.

At Loch Connell, on the 12th, I observed a pair of Greylag with a single downy gosling. Come the 27th of the month that youngster was almost fully fledged. At the same site two pairs of Mute Swan were present up to at least the 12th, after which the pair that had successfully nested remained, along with their two offspring. On the sea-loch, just over the hill to the east, a pair of swans with eight large cygnets were at the Wig on the 24th, presumably having swum up from Soleburn earlier that day. 22 adults were at Leffnoll on the 29th. Shelduck were not unexpectedly few this month, with two adults at the Scar on the 1st, a pair with two juveniles there on the 4th (possibly the family unit that was at Loch Connell the previous month), and lastly, a male and a female at the freshwater site of ‘Connell on the 12th.

I’m not quite sure I was anticipating to log an impressive 102 Mallard at Loch Connell when I set out on foot for the site in the early morning of the 12th but that is the tally I entered into my notebook, along with an additional female and her three fully fledged young. This influx was probably the result of birds coming to use the site as a comparatively safe haven whilst undergoing moult into their eclipse plumage - a process which renders the birds flightless for the time it takes them to regrow their flight feathers. The few Teal present here were presumably doing the same: I recorded a maximum of nine birds, on the 22nd; I did however observe a drake and a duck with three juveniles, on the 12th. Away from ‘Connell my highest count of this species was a party of 24 birds seen resting at the Scar, Wig Bay, on the 6th. They were gone by the next day. Back at Loch Connell the same drake Wigeon reported on last month continued to be present throughout July.

Loch Ryan has long been known as an important site for moulting Eider, of which bachelor’s predominate. Many of the birds that use the site congregate at the Scar, where I am able to study their transition from striking-looking pied waterfowl to almost wholly black creatures as their moult into eclipse plumage develops. It is a fascinating progression to behold that forever leaves me in a state of awe and wonderment. 240 birds was my highest tally of the species, on the 6th, but on the 22nd I logged a flock of 209 ‘black’ males amassed on the spit. On the 24th I observed five juveniles at the Wig. Unusual at the Scar were four Tufted Duck, on the 4th. A male of this species, in eclipse plumage, was at Loch Connell between the 12th and 27th. Numbers of Red-breasted Merganser on the sea-loch ranged widely, with my peak count being 65 on the 6th.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I saw no species of diver this month. Five great Crested Grebe were at the Wig on the 8th; they were more obvious on Loch Connell, however, where two pairs had nests. Early on in the month one of the pairs was still in the process of nest building, before settling to incubate. The other pair had at least one chick, on the 27th, then three balls of fluff were observed on the 31st, with two riding, snug, on the back of one of the parents and the third doing the same on the other parent. The same site held two pairs of Dabchick (Little Grebe) on the 19th, with a juvenile noted on the 31st.

Sketchbook page showing Great Crested Grebe at Loch Connell

Fifteen species of wader were recorded this month: none were ‘rarities’, there were no ‘big numbers’, and at least one ’regular’ (at least, in the past!) never showed at all. Four splendid looking Black-tailed Godwit, richly coloured and strikingly marked in their breeding attire, were at the Wig on the the 3rd, followed by one at the Scar on the 6th, then four on the 29th and a delightful treat of 18 there on the evening of the 31st. Numbers of Curlew remained fairly low but for 78 that gathered in the fields beside the Wig on the 24th. My highest count of Dunlin came from the Scar on the 21st, when nine birds in handsome breeding plumage scurried between the stranded wrack on the shore, busily pecking up morsels of food as they went. A lone Golden Plover, also at the Scar, was something of a bonus on the 24th. A few days later, on the 27th, the same shingle spit hosted a Greenshank - perhaps the same bird that I saw earlier in the day at Loch Connell. A party of 20 Knot briefly alighted at the far end of the Scar on the 5th, with seven birds there the following day (the 6th). Eight Lapwing bunched together on the far shore of Loch Connell on the 27th. Presumably, I saw the same birds there again on the 31st. Oystercatcher numbered 57 at the Scar on the 22nd. Redshank were sparse about the Wig, with a high of just two birds observed between the 5th and the 15th - a poor showing but not totally unexpected. Ringed Plover were more abundant than the preceding species but still relatively few in number, with a peak of just 22 at the Scar on the 22nd. Also at this spit of land I recorded two Ruff on the 14th and the 18th. Sanderling, never the commonest of waders to be seen on passage through my local patch, are always a delight to encounter. At this time of year it is adults, mostly still in their summer plumage, that race along the shore at the frontier between land and sea. I saw six birds on both the 21st and the 28th. On the 24th I saw two, both very striking in their appearance and as different in this respect as chalk cheese, appealing to my artistic sensibility. One of them was a gorgeous red colour, the other a contrasting mix of grey, white and black. Foraging side by side along the beach they provided ever changing patterns of colour, shape, and form, which engaged my attention and discerning eyes for a considerable length of time and, alas,

kept me from reaching for my sketchbook in order to capture the moment. I had just one sighting of Snipe: a singleton at Loch Connell on the 27th. If I had been more active this month then I am certain I would have recorded more than just the three Turnstone at the Scar that I registered in my notebook on the 24th, especially so given that I logged the usually much scarcer Whimbrel on four occasions across the month: singletons at the Wig on the 1st, 21st and 24th, and one at Loch Connell on the 31st.

Sketchbook page showing Black-tailed Godwits, Gannets, Curlew and Black-headed Gull

On the 6th, whilst tea was simmering on the stove in my kitchen, I took a few minutes out to scan Loch Ryan from my viewing window, aided by the use of my ‘scope. When the Scar came into view I noticed a dark phase Arctic Skua winging its way down the loch. It was a gratifying reward that would otherwise have been missed. Black-headed and Common Gulls, often accompanied by a few of the crop of the year’s juveniles, tend to find their way back to the sea-loch during the month of July. Of the first mentioned species, I counted 119 in Wig Bay on the 21st, which included a mere 19 youngsters. Alas, the situation for the second named species was far worse, with a peak count of six adults and a single juvenile, on the 11th. Herring Gulls always seem to give me the impression of being the commonest gulls on my local patch. I suspect their daily occurrence  coupled with their large size - which generally makes them easier to see and identify at distance, compared with their smaller compatriots on Loch Ryan -  accounts for this; but whether it is real or not, I find difficult to resolve. I thought the 257 that I counted at the Scar on the 4th was reasonable enough for this location and time of year. Although the species is generally colony-nesting, if only loosely so, they also take advantage of that which circumstance can provide. A pair nesting on a chimney-stack of a property in the village held my interest throughout the month. On the 14th I noticed three chicks which, incidentally, didn’t seem to be bothered by the Jackdaws that often visited to investigate the stack in search of food. Eight Kittiwake flying past the Scar on the 15th were unexpected visitors. Lesser Black-backed Gull are typically scarce about my neighbourhood, so an adult on the 4th, followed by two on the 7th and another on the 18th were welcome entries to the logbook. Likewise was an immature Mediterranean Gull that I spied in one of the Wig fields at 1840hrs on the 21st.

There was a steady passage of Arctic Tern at Loch Ryan between the 5th and the 24th. As was expected the number of bird involved were few; their was a peak of 18 birds at the Scar on the 19th, whilst 11 on the 17th and 15 on the 20th and 21st were also notable. Common Tern were scarcer than the preceding species, with a high of 12 on the 23rd. Entries of Sandwich Tern in the logbook were almost daily, reaching a high of 24 birds on the 6th. The first juveniles of the year were noted on the 11th.

The calm that often occurs in the early morning at this point in the year is usually the best time to scan the sea-loch for passing Manx Shearwater. They are however neither frequent visitors nor predictable in their occurrence, which makes seeing even one a satisfying experience. I saw four birds leisurely making their way down the loch on the 6th, then a party of six, shortly followed by another 10, on the 9th. All of them were suitably registered in the logbook at a time well before 0700hrs. Gannet happily forage over Loch Ryan at almost any time during daylight hours, whether that be shortly after sunrise or approaching twilight. I saw one bird, from my home’s viewing station, fishing the loch shortly after 2200hrs: the white of its plumage stood out, stark against the darkening tones of the evening. My peak count of the species was 26 birds on the 21st. Several immatures were noted during the month, including a party of three, on the 22nd, that were all in their third calendar year. What surprised me was that they were near identical in appearance. Even within birds of the same age group there is usually some variation in plumage (sometimes obvious, sometimes more subtle but still apparent) that separates them and allows individuals to be identified … but not these birds!

Numbers of Cormorants at the Scar typically increase during July when local, and none local, adults and immatures are boosted by the year’s dispersing juveniles. This year appears not to have been especially great in that respect. The highest count of birds I recorded was 28, on the 19th: only four white bellied juveniles were amongst them. The Shag population at Loch Ryan generally builds up in strength a little later than the preceding species, so the high of six birds (including one juvenile) that were settled on the Scar on the 6th was not of undue concern to me, even if a tad on the low side.

Sand Martin numbers over Loch Connell increased to a rather unimpressive 16, on the 5th, but it did suggest either a dispersal of locally breeding birds or an indication that the autumn passage was underway. A similar conclusion could be applied to the 30 House Martins that I observed over Kirkcolm village on the same day. Swallow numbers peaked at 20 birds on the 20th. It was encouraging to both hear and see eight ‘screaming’ Swifts over the village on the 16th, making this my highest tally yet recorded within the rural setting I call home.

The continual and plaintive mewing of a Buzzard was a sound that I eventually could not ignore as I followed a woodland path on the morning of the 8th. I looked upwards through an opening in the canopy and saw three birds circling high in the sky. I presumed they were a family unit based on the cries of one of the birds. Later in the month, on the 30th, I saw a juvenile in the same area…silent, and perched in a tree. 

A rufous phase Cuckoo was an especial delight on the 21st. When caught in the bright light of a full sun its colour seemed to intensify, making it further stand out from the scenery through which it passed. Brown birds are not as common as the more usual grey type, but rufous ones are considerably rarer and, apparently, restricted to the female sex only. Anyway, it was a very nice bird which had me on high alert for another as I strolled homeward bound.

Two juvenile Little Egrets (recognisable by their greenish, not black legs) were at the Scar on the 9th and on the shore by the Wig car park on the 21st. Linnets began to form ever bigger flocks, the largest of which was some 60 birds at the Wig fields on the 25th. A bedraggled Meadow Pipit looked decidedly un-pipit-like on the 21st, having bathed and submerged itself in a puddle of rainwater on the track leading to the wartime observation hut at the Scar. A juvenile Rock Pipit was at the outlet to the Corsewall Burn on the 24th, thus making a welcome return to the logbook.

Meadow Pipit bathing

Moorhen rarely receive a mention in this blog; I couldn’t resist telling you, readers, about the family I saw at Loch Connell on the 27th. It appeared that the parent birds were accompanying their three offspring rather than the offspring accompanying their parents. The chicks - diminutive, black balls of fluff - darted in and out of view amongst the marginal vegetation. First they would scamper one way, then another, making the most of their seemingly over-sized legs and feet to effortlessly transport them at speed through the tangled waterside jungle. So much for me thinking those legs of theirs would make them ungainly! Yet despite the disproportional appearance of the chicks they were nevertheless sweet-looking, cute, endearing and engaging.

Several Skylark were still to be heard singing above the fields beside the Wig track: eight birds did so on the 21st, while others were seen to collect food - no doubt to be fed to hungry youngsters nearby. Seen on the 23rd of the month a flock of 106 Starling, which included many juveniles, was a clear indication of the autumn build up. A Tawny Owl heard hooting during the late evening of the 15th came as a surprise to me. This characteristic call is more typically heard from late-October onwards, at least on my local patch it is. Finally, to wrap up this month’s offering I thought I should mention the large, second batch of juvenile Jackdaw and Rook that I have seen about the village of Kirkcolm this month. Most readers will know that Rooks, in particular, are generally early nesters: March is the favoured time on my patch. Jackdaw often nest in close association with them. The local birds of both species acted in accordance with this tradition, producing many juveniles. However, either a second brood, or later attempts by birds that had failed earlier, have produced another wave of recently fledged offspring, which I first noticed on the 5th. Whether such practice is a regular occurrence elsewhere I do not know but it was sufficient to peak my interest.

An adult and juvenile Rook 

This article and the accompanying images were provided courtesy of the author, S. Grover

Quality, not quantity. Bird Report for June 2026

Of all the months in the year June has to be the quietest on the birding front. (Though you might not think so by the length of the present posting). With the breeding season in full swing there are fewer songsters to be heard and their activities are generally less conspicuous when there are eggs to incubate and young to feed and tend. The habit of birds keeping a low profile at this time of year is evident on my local patch in the reduced number of records of many species. But, every cloud has a silver lining, as they say, and compensation comes in many forms. Read on.

During a routine visit to Loch Connell, on the 7th, I felt privileged to watch the activities of a pair of Mute Swans at their nest. As you, reader, may recall the birds had been ‘sitting’ (presumably incubating) for what to me seemed like an age. Today, however, their general demeanour changed and the cob (male) became more attentive, never straying far from the nest and frequently revisiting it as if he knew a fundamental change in his circumstances was about to alter his life. The pen (female) remained sitting tight on the nest, although subtle movements in her body carriage revealed a stirring from beneath. After a considerable time spent watching through my ‘scope my perseverance was suddenly rewarded when a tiny, downy covered head appeared from beneath the feathers on her belly. The cob immediately lent forward and delicately touched the new arrival with his beak as if to say ‘hello’, and to gesture his approval and satisfaction of the new addition to the family. A week later (my next visit to the site, on the 14th), I observed two precious cygnets on the water, sandwiched between both parents for their protection, with the cob leading, to form a formidable defence at the front, and the pen guarding the rear. Over the hill, to the east, Loch Ryan was not without Mute Swans, although these birds were all non-breeders. My highest tally of them was on the 25th when I recorded 14 birds, of which 12 were at Leffnoll and two at the Wig.

Following on from the comments I made in May’s report regarding Shelduck, I am pleased to report that a pair with two ducklings was at Loch Connell, on the 7th, where they remained until at least the month’s end. The offspring were not however recently hatched but were well grown, though still downy. I assumed the family must have walked a considerable distance from elsewhere in order to reach their present location, rather than having bred on the site, although this is a possibility: but I like to think that I would have noticed at least one bird - adult or duckling - on previous visits to suggest otherwise.

The so-called ‘dabbling ducks’ are typically associated with freshwater sites at this time of year, so it will be of no surprise to readers that Loch Connell is where I logged my sightings of these birds. First up, Mallard, with 39 drakes and eight juveniles registered on the 21st. Next, three Teal were present on the 7th, along with the same drake Wigeon from the previous month; the latter species stayed throughout June: his appearance noticeably changing on each successive visit as his moult into eclipse plumage took effect.

The sea-water of Loch Ryan hosted 14 Common Scoter on the 3rd, representing my only record of this species during the month. Drake Eider were commonplace here, with a peak count of 208 about the Scar on the 28th. Prior to this, I noted on the 15th that 124 of the birds I saw were showing obvious signs of moult into eclipse plumage; also on this date I observed a female with six recently hatched ducklings in tow, at the Scar; another duck, on the 23rd, was accompanied by two small ducklings. Totally unexpected was my sighting of two Long-tailed Duck close in shore at the Wig on the afternoon (1545 hrs, to be exact) of the 11th. One of the birds at least was an adult male in summer plumage. Remarkable is that the record constitutes my first ever June sighting of this species at Loch Ryan in almost 20 years of coverage. Numbers of Red-breasted Merganser about Wig Bay were disappointingly low, despite birds being present throughout the month; a peak count of 27 was logged on the 23rd.

I never expect to see many divers in June because in this season most will be either on their northerly breeding grounds or summering out on the ocean. I therefore much appreciated the adult Great Northern Diver (in handsome breeding attire, I should add) drifting on the incoming tide at Loch Ryan on the 6th, and a second bird later in the month on the 15th. I had just one sighting of Red-throated Diver - a singleton on the 2nd, impeccably dressed in an immaculate-looking breeding coat that was complimented by the rich-russet coloured tie upon his throat. At Loch Connell, on the 7th, there was a Dabchick (aka Little Grebe), and a pair of Great Crested Grebes which had constructed a new nest (the first having been the subject of predation - by a cow, of all things!). However, come the 21st they were busy on their third attempt (the second having succumbed to a flash flood), well away from the previous ones (which had been close to shore) and placed near to the middle of the loch.

In all probability Curlew are never really absent from the shore and the immediate surrounds of Loch Ryan - they are just sometimes widely dispersed and exceedingly thin on the ground, especially during the period of high summer. I logged this species on seven days this month; most of those I saw were probably either non-or-failed breeders, or birds that had nested successfully and had departed for richer feeding grounds: females especially do this to give their offspring the best chance of survival by leaving them to be tended by the males alone, thus reducing the competition for whatever food might be available. This strategy certainly worked in favour of the species in the past but with today’s changing times the birds now face new threats and challenges. But back to the present report…My first Curlew of the month was indeed a female - recognised by a longer bill compared to males (familiarity with the species is essential for this determination, I should add) - observed at the Wig on the 14th. The peak count was 14 birds on the 23rd. Also on this date, my one and only record of a Dunlin during the month - a lone, handsome fellow, at the Scar: he sported a a large black belly patch and rich-brown upper-parts. Earlier in the month (the 7th) at Loch Connell a summer plumaged male Lapwing graced a muddy patch of shore whilst two pairs of Oystercatcher seemed to be continually defending their grassy nesting area from a couple of patrolling crows. If my records are any indication of the status of Ringed Plover at the Wig then it is likely that, as a breeding species here, they are experiencing hard times. A single bird on the 5th and two on the 23rd were my only observations of this species. One visiting wader that took me quite by surprise was the early passage of two Whimbrel at the Wig on the 12th.

On a pleasant day in June, the 23rd to be exact, I scanned the sea-loch from my house in the early morning. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon but there was ample light to see by and gauge the birdlife at large. Indeed, the early hours are often the best time for me to count birds such as Eider and Mute Swan because visibility (on a fine day) is usually good and, importantly, not impaired by heat haze which can be a real problem after eight-o’clock in the morning and lasting ’til seven-o’clock (or thereabouts) in the evening. (Heat in the atmosphere has a devilish effect on high powered optics such as spotting scopes, rendering their use virtually useless at long range). Anyway, I had just about finished counting a flock of Herring Gull at the Scar when a dark shape caught my eye, moving rapidly across my field of vision. There was no mistaking its outline and after a few moments of excitement had passed I entered the sighting into my notebook - a dark morph Arctic Skua! Through my ‘scope I followed its progress down the loch until I lost view of it in the distance.

I often see quite large aggregations of gulls from my home’s ‘viewing window’, but usually these birds are on the Cairnryan side of Loch Ryan (the opposite side to me!) and although it is possible to guess at their identity, this is not the same thing as knowing; consequently, such gatherings largely go unrecorded by myself even though the likelihood is that the larger birds will be Herring Gulls and the smaller ones Black-headed Gulls. Thus, regarding the latter species, my largest count this month was a mere seven birds (all adults in breeding plumage) at the Scar. Common Gull were similarly few in number with three adults and a second calendar year bird on the 22nd and 24th, and an immature seen on the 28th.

I recorded two Arctic Tern at the Scar on the 20th and 10 there on the 21st. A Common Tern was at the Wig on the 12th and 14th, with seven there on the 20th. Sandwich Tern were more frequently occurring (logged on ten days across the month), with the highest count of 31 birds on the 17th, whilst ten were observed mobbing the Arctic Skua, mentioned earlier, passing the Scar on the 23rd. A feeling of excitement, similar to that I had experienced with the skua, was again kindled during the early morning of the 28th, but this time by a party of seven Manx Shearwater that winged their way passed the very same spit of land at a surprising speed for no sooner had they appeared in view and they were gone.

Gannet, as to be expected, were a common sight both on and flying above the sea-loch, with a peak count of 35 on the 28th. Individuals were observed on the 5th and the 12th taking a short-cut across the Wig fields, thus avoiding having to fly down the loch and passed the sand-flats exposed at the Scar when the tide is out before looping back to reconnect with the sea in Wig Bay. Why only some birds do this and not others is a mystery to me…and seeing that I do not speak ‘Gannet’ to ask them, I guess will remain so! All but four of the birds logged during the month were adult: the immatures comprised a second calendar year bird on the 10th, the others being third calendar year, on the 12th , 13th and 29th.

I had presumed that the two pairs of Heron which, earlier in the year had attempted to nest locally, had abandoned all hope and given up. However, on the 17th, raucous calling attracted my attention and much to my surprise I glimpsed a fledged youngster at one of the nests. I watched as it flew to a tree, then to another perch lower down, where I was able to study it closer. Its gawky appearance amused me; in-between the tracts of juvenile feathers it still bore tatty, straggly-looking plumes of paler down, which served only to enhance its comical appearance to me.

Stating the obvious, birds of prey are predators; consequently, it stands to reason that in order for them to inhabit a viable territory there has to be available sufficient food of the right sort to sustain them. This in turn means that predators - being at the top of the food chain - will be fewer in number than their prey. This also accounts for why these birds are generally seen less frequently compared other species. Buzzard, Kestrel, Peregrine and Sparrowhawk were all given entry into my logbook this month, as indeed they are in most months. An additional entry, however, was also secured - a Hobby seen over the village of Kirkcolm, on the 12th. This species is a rare summer visitor to my local patch, so any that turn up bring me joyous glee. I must admit that I did have to double-check the bird’s credentials, so to speak, and tick off the salient features in order to avoid misidentification of similar-looking, confusion species, such as Red-footed Falcon (a species which I have yet to record in the locality but have not entirely given up hope of so doing). A Tawny Owl (an under-recorded species) was heard calling from within an area of woodland on the afternoon of the 26th. It might seem strange that this species should be voicing itself in the ‘heat of the day’, rather than in the evening but it is my experience that young birds, in particular, do not always behave in ways that we, as humans, expect of them!

Following on from my comments in the May edition of this blog, I anticipated there being few martins and swallows registered in this month’s logbook, and I was not wrong. There was a spike in the tally of House Martins on the 22nd when, funnily enough, 22 were observed. The same day also saw a spike in the number of Swallows, with some 50 birds over the Wig fields. The presence of two Swifts, seen throughout the month above the village, strongly suggests breeding by at least one pair, and in all probability the same birds from last year.

Although I am a regular visitor to woodland in my neighbourhood, I am still amazed at how silent and seemingly bereft of life this habitat can appear during the long months of summer. The wildlife is still there of course but its presence is low key. This, in part at least, is because the breeding season for many species is upon us and it is in their own interest of survival that they remain as inconspicuous as possible, both visibly and audibly; also, the advantage the leaves give to woodland dwellers is perhaps underestimated by the modern human - not only do they effectively suppress noise over even short distances but their distribution in the canopy and shrub layer disrupt the play of light falling on the forest floor where we people tread: light and shade is thus in constant motion making it difficult for our eyes to adjust to quickly enough to detect the quarry we seek. The consequence of this pretence and subterfuge is a round about way of me saying that I recorded few warblers. Three singing Blackcap on the 9th was the best I could muster, along with eight singing Chiffchaff on the same date and just a single Willow Warbler in song on a couple of dates. In an area of scrub, close to the shore of the sea, I did manage to confirm the presence of a pair of Lesser Whitethroat, on the 9th, which in many ways made up for the apparent paucity of warblers this month.

Hereon, I detail a selection of other species that in some way captured my interest this month.

The Bullfinch is a species that is very much under-recorded by myself during the summer months, probably because it is a quiet and unobtrusive bird at the best of times. It thus always feels good to reacquaint oneself, as it were, with a species whose presence is scarce on the pages of my logbook. The distinctive, subdued whistle of one bird caught my ear during a walk through one of the estate woodlands on the 9th.

In my youth - spent in a small village in Leicestershire - the call of the Cuckoo in April (if I was lucky) and May signified the arrival of spring far more so than that of the traditional harbinger, the Swallow. And like most folk at that time in our history, I took the species’ abundance for granted. Alas, here in KIrkcolm the birds’ silence portrays a different story today: so imagine my excitement when I heard one such bird calling from within the village on the 2nd. Ah,…echoes of a bygone age!

Some years fewer Goldfinch are entered into my records compendium than others, especially during the summer. This year seems to be one of the better ones with, apparently, breeding birds aplenty. A party of 20 of these delightful finches danced across the sky, on the17th; they were a splendid sight, the brevity of the moment enhanced by their gay twittering.

The generous (compared with some areas of the country) tracts of woodland about my home village belie the fact that there are perhaps no more than two or three pairs of Great Spotted Woodpecker in residence. A female, accompanied by a red-crowned juvenile, turned up in my garden on the 14th and has been frequent visitors ever since. I saw a family of four in the gardens of the Corsewall Estate, on the 17th.

It is heartening that Greenfinch appear to be making a modest comeback on my local patch, and while they are by no means common their calls have become a regular sound about the village of late. Indeed, there is a male whom frequently sings from the top of a mature conifer close to my garden; and whilst his characteristic ‘dweeze’ sounds might not make him a virtuoso when compared with a Nightingale for example, it is nevertheless a delight for me to hear. In the summer it is usual for me to encounter this solidly built finch either singly or as a pair but on the 23rd I logged a party of six.

There are just a few breeding pairs of Meadow Pipit on my local patch and they are widely scattered. This year a couple of pairs have been particularly obvious to me on account of them choosing to nest beside a well-trodden footpath that circuits the Wig. The agitated calls the birds give to passers-by, such as myself, is a clear indication that there are offspring to be fed. On the 23rd, when I entered the territory of one pair of birds, these calls of anxiety immediately greeted my ears. The closer I approached the more emphatic and persistent became their calls; the further away, the sounds lessened, eventually ceasing when I was presumably no longer considered to be a threat. I lingered in the area for a while at a safe distance away, hoping to get as better idea of where the nest was situated. Numerous people came and went, each time arousing the same verbal response from the birds, to which the pedestrian folk appeared totally ignorant. I can only assume that, from the birds perspective, choosing to nest in so public a place lessened the risk of predation from both ground and aerial assailants which might otherwise have taken advantage of their situation. A risky strategy, perhaps, but if it works for them who is to say differently. This symbiotic relationship (hmm!) had me consider that maybe people serve another purpose other than to desecrate the world in which we all live!

Raven are not often commented upon in these blog postings of mine, partly because these big black birds are still vilified within the minds of some of our society and, quite frankly, nature does not need that kind of prejudice. Nevertheless, these birds deserve mention once in a while, if only to affirm their continued presence in the area. I noted two of these splendid birds, on the 17th.

The Robin is a common bird but if a person were, for example, to rely solely on the number of records entered into my notebook for the present month, then the impression of its status may reflect differently. Why? The species is small and brown (excepting it vermillion face and breast of course…for those able to see the colour red, that is!) so merges well with its preferred woodland habitat. And outside the garden environment it can be elusive, or at least unobtrusive. The majority of my records of the species arise from birds in song, which is commonly heard from autumn through to mid-to-late spring. Thus, for the early part of this month my records were few and sporadic and it was only towards the month’s close that birds on my patch began to be more obviously vocal.

The Siskin population in my neighbourhood fluctuates widely and the number of breeding birds can be especially variable; this year would seem to be above average in that respect, if the amount of twittering I heard was an indication of things. On the 17th, alone, there were two pairs in the vicinity of my garden.

Lastly, I draw your attention to the humble Starling. When I see such a common species every day the changes within the population are not always or immediately apparent to me. It is only when the birds begin to form appreciable-sized flocks that I notice these, often subtle, seasonal changes: a post-breeding flock of over 140 birds on the 16th being an example.

This article was provided by courtesy of the author, S. Grover