The Bovey Birder

I can’t think of a better way to spend a Monday evening than on a beach, crouching metres away from a sizeable mixed flock of just about every wader species you would expect to find on a sandy shore, and then some. An evening walk through Dawlish Warren Nature Reserve had ended up with an unforeseen detour onto the beach, an area that I’d normally avoid when visiting here due to its tendency to be packed with people. However, when I was forced towards the other side of the dunes thanks to a path closure, I was met with an incredible sight. More on that later.

Dawlish Warren National Nature Reserve is an internationally important coastal habitat at the mouth of the Exe Estuary, and a key part of the Exe Estuary Special Protection Area. It’s the main roosting site on the Exe Estuary for thousands of wading birds, and hence is a crucial site for wintering bird populations, especially species like the Avocet. The mix of habitat within the reserve is another reason it has been designated as so many things; dunes, grassland, scrub, meadows, copses, reedbeds, ponds, saltmarsh all feature, and this array makes Dawlish Warren a unique site.

However, despite this jewel lying in apparent secrecy behind the dunes, the beach itself is one of the most popular tourist spots in the south-west. With its Blue Flag award, gently sloping sands and clean water perfect for paddling, you can see why its popular among holidaymakers and locals alike. We always make sure to visit outside of peak times as it can get very busy, and what birds decide to brave the beach are often scattered by dogs, toddlers and the like.

And so we arrived in the evening. The sun was low in the sky, and the beaches were gradually getting closer to becoming deserted for the night. But to start with, I had no intention of heading onto the beach. I was to spend the evening exploring the National Nature Reserve behind it. And it was brilliant. Crickets and grasshoppers were enjoying the evening sun, chirping like there was no tomorrow. Charms of Goldfinches roved through the scrub and the grassland, while Stonechats perched on prominent twigs and branches, affording good, if silhouetted, photo opportunities. But after a while I was met with a problem.

The path towards the bird hide on the point, where huge numbers of birds would be coming in to roost right about now, was closed due to erosion. Annoyed but understanding, I hesitantly stepped out onto the beach. The prospect of a visit to the hide had excited me, but I guess it wasn’t to be. It was still possible to access the hide from the beach, but there was a risk of getting cut-off by high tide, which was just under an hour away.

But it turns out I didn’t need to go anywhere near the hide. The beach was empty, except for the largest flock of beachgoing waders I had ever seen in my years of birding. Before me sat at least 100 Ringed Plover, another 100 Dunlin, dozens of Knot and scores of Sanderling. There were even two Grey Plovers in there, along with the jewel of the crown which I had in no way expected to see tonight, an early Purple Sandpiper. Both of these species were lifers, and because I had given up on any of those tonight when the prospects of the hide were dashed, I was understandably ecstatic. So much so that I started silently jumping around on the beach, although I was careful to remain a good distance away from the birds. I didn’t want to spook them when I had just stumbled across them.

Lots of the birds were roosting, however some were still up and about, feeding and racing along the tideline, retreating from the waves like little clockwork toys. I was impressed; the only was I can possibly be this active past 8PM is if I am out birding, which I was now (hence the celebratory dancing a moment ago). I had never seen anything like this in all my birding years, and it genuinely had my heart pounding faster with excitement. Only birders will know this feeling, just saying (no offence)!

As I crouched there for about an hour, just metres away from all of these incredible birds, I was astounded as I contemplated the transformation of the beach from tourist-filled and almost bird-empty to completely void of tourists and full of birds! The abruptness almost disturbed me; the conversion had happened over such a short amount of time and yet hear I was, enjoying more Ringed Plovers than I had ever seen in a single place before, along with a small group of Ruff which had just flown in and all the other birds I mentioned above. On top of this, almost directly above me hovered a Kestrel, intent on prey in the dunes. I’d almost missed it being so engrossed in the beachgoing waders.

Alas, the constraints of darkness soon crossed my mind, and before I lost all light completely, as well as my footing because the tide was fast coming in, I was forced to head off back into human civilisation. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face though. I’d just spent a whole hour with birds, and nothing else. No humans, no dogs, no nothing. Just me and the birds. It was incredible therapeutic. After all, there’s no better way to cheer yourself up than watching birds. Coincidentally, there’s also no better way to frustrate yourself either, but we’ll save that for another post.

I trudged up the steep path that traverses the dunes, and went for a quick scan of the adjacent golf course before I headed back to the car park. It was slightly more fruitful than I was expecting, heralding two Mistle Thrush, a Robin and even two male Cirl Buntings! I was pleasantly surprised to find them here, in such good habitat as well (not the golf course, but Dawlish Warren NNR). There was a fear that they wouldn’t spread from Labrador Bay after their numbers grew nicely following the RSPB’s purchase of the land and subsequent management of it specifically for the Cirls. But this sighting has put me at ease, as well as hearing reports of them being spotted elsewhere in the South West as well, often even further afield.

Before I leave you then, a word on the Exe Wildlife Refuge Scheme. Launched in 2017, it created two wildlife refuges on the Exe Estuary: The Exmouth Wildlife Refuge, which protects a large bed of eelgrass, the main foodplant for the internationally important wintering population of Brent Geese (they like it partially submerged in the water, with a little gravy if you will) and the Dawlish Warren Wildlife Refuge, which unlike the Exmouth Refuge (which is closed off for all humans from September 15th to December 31st every year) is closed to people all year round.

It protects an area of saltmarsh, inter-tidal mudflats and the most important high tide roost on the whole estuary. At high tide, wading birds congregate in areas such as Hide Island and Finger Point. The refuge is crucial for wintering bird populations, as the closer the food source is to the roost, the less energy birds have to spend on travelling between the two, and the higher the survival rate is in the colder months. SED (South East Devon) Wildlife even have a patrol boat that guards the boundaries of both refuges, so don’t even think about trying to gain access (I don’t think you anybody reading this will though, at least I hope not).

Dawlish Warren National Nature Reserve is a special place, and clearly so is Dawlish Warren beach, at least when all the people are gone. I learnt something new on this visit, and I hope you did too, whether that be about the importance of the Wildlife Refuges or that Brent Geese are stubborn, fussy things. But nobody mentions that because they’re smartly-dressed birds.

On Sunday, about two weeks ago, we returned to Global Birdfair, following an action-packed Saturday. We were in the heart of England’s smallest county, Rutland, on the south shore of the aptly named Rutland Water. The Global Birdfair is a celebration of all things nature, from birds to bugs and everything in between, but it also actively supports and fundraises for conservation efforts around these species. It’s a three day festival, with a packed schedule of walks, talks, workshops and entertainment, as well as hundreds of exhibitors. It’s a must-visit for any wildlife enthusiast, not just birders!

And, on the way to Lyndon Top Caravan Park (where Birdfair has been held since 2022), it must be said that I was really feeling the anticipation. I was excited for a day that could potentially top its predecessor, but there was also that ever-present sense of bittersweet, that all good things come to an end far too soon. Of course, this would be the last day of Birdfair, and despite looking forward to going home as well as the day ahead, there was definitely a twinge of sadness.

We spent the first part of the morning dashing from stand to stand, on a mission to complete the challenge devised by the Birdlife International team. We had been given a ‘Flyways Passport’, and we had to answer a question at the stand of each of Birdlife’s partners (those at the Birdfair), in order to collect a stamp. If you collected all the stamps, you were entitled to a free pin badge. The stands we had to visit were spread across three marquees, and we had to get around all of them fairly quickly. See if you can answer one of the questions we were asked; several birds migrate from England through to Spain in autumn, but there is one bird that migrates from Spain to England. What is it? I’ll post the answer at the end of the blog! Anyway, after cashing in our passports to collect our pin badges, we had to quickly run off for a walk with Luke Massey, Leica ambassador and one half of the incredible team running Wild Finca.

Luke Massey is a wildlife photographer and filmmaker, who recently embarked on the brilliant rewilding project known as Wild Finca alongside his wife, Katie and their two children out in Asturias, Spain. He and his family, since 2018, have been managing 10 hectares of pastureland, wildflower meadows, scrub, woodland and ancient orchard for both nature and the family’s self-sufficiency. But the site wasn’t always like this. It began as a dairy farm, nothing but overgrazed, monocultural pastureland. But now it’s a vibrant mosaic of biodiversity, home to hundreds of species. It just goes to show that both humans and nature can thrive easily alongside each other, if we allow nature the space to do so.

The walk through the grassland along the south shore of Rutland Water was fruitful, despite the unimaginable heat, with species such as Little Egret, Common Tern and Cormorant featuring prominently. The Whitethroats were also out in force, flitting between the sturdier stems and their highly concealed nests with insects to feed their young. A Green Woodpecker’s call betrayed its presence immediately, and we watched as it flew, undulating, over our heads. But the biggest surprise by far came as we were headed back, in the form of a Golden-Bloomed Longhorn Beetle hitching a ride on my back! These species, unlike most other Longhorn Beetles, lay their eggs in herbaceous plants such as hogweed.

We had another nature walk to look forward to later on, but for now we had a window of time to further explore the many stands exhibiting at the fair this year. We began by popping back to the Grant Arms stand, where we met Simon and Marion again and learned more about the recent fires that engulfed Dava Moor. According to landowners, the fires were the biggest Scotland has seen in its history, and with Simon and Marion both based in Grantown, a stone’s throw away from the moor, the effects were felt. The town was full of smoke, and anybody with an ATV was asked to help fight the fire. Though the full extent of the damage to local bird populations is not yet known, accurate guesses can be made. The fire hit at the exact time when birds were on the nest, eggs were being laid, chicks were being fed and fledglings were starting to come out. It’s heavy and saddening to think about, especially having been to Dava Moor when the breeding season was in full swing. But the quick reaction from everybody involved, whether that be the fire service or somebody living in Grantown with an ATV, was truly inspiring, and without that response, I dread to think about how much worse it could have been.

Marion told us to visit Chris Rose, an artist in the Puffin Marquee who was also based in Grantown. His paintings are absolutely incredible, probably the most realistic and stunning I’ve ever seen. And they’re all of birds, so that ticks another box in my book. Chris and his wife, Dogna, also told us about their experience of the fires, and how there was a wall of smoke that descended on Grantown. On a lighter note, he also told us about the process behind his paintings and about how many less people you see when out birding or even driving in Scotland.

We also paid a visit to the Curlew Action stand, where we met Mary Colwell, the director of the organisation, who is also a TV and radio presenter and a published author (Curlew Moon. Highly recommend a read). Curlew populations in the UK have experienced around a 50% decline since 1995. I should know better than most, as this enigmatic wader and its bubbling call were once common on Dartmoor. Now there are, at most, two pairs left, and I was lucky enough to see one of them at Emsworthy Mire last year. Curlew Action was founded in 2019, and aims to reverse this decline before its too late by raising awareness and coordinating conservation efforts such as headstarting. But the challenge remains a big one. If you want to read more into Curlew conservation on Dartmoor, check out my blog on it here.

And now it was time for our fourth and final guided walk of the weekend, alongside two Leica ambassadors that we had met last year. Harry Read is a wildlife photographer, ecologist and tour guide who is currently based in Norfolk. He is an incredibly experienced birdwatcher despite still being in his 20s, and is always willing to share his wealth of knowledge.

Elle Kaye is an award-winning bird taxidermist, who was selected as the taxidermist for the Natural History Museum’s recent exhibition ‘Birds: Brilliant and Bizarre’ (read my blog on that one here). She is also a TV and radio presenter, as well as the co-leader of the Feminist Bird Club. She can also identify many feathers at a glance, as I learned last year when we found a Kestrel feather on a walk.

By the time we set off, it was starting to cool off a bit, and there were high expectations for species to emerge, looking to enjoy the break in the heat. Again, out on the water it was largely Little Egrets, Cormorants, Common Terns and Gulls, with the occasional Oystercatcher. The Whitethroats from earlier had been joined by a group of Linnets, and both were taking advantage of the insect buffet on offer. But the big difference here was a special butterfly. The Gatekeepers and Meadow Browns were still around, just like earlier. But on the head of one plant, basking in the sun, sat a beautifully monochrome butterfly, striking against the background of green. A Marbled White, one of Britain’s most striking butterflies. They are an incredible species to see, and they were actually a lot bigger in person than I had expected!

But sadly, soon after the sighting of that butterfly, the walk ended, and that was our last hurrah at Global Birdfair 2025. I just managed to catch Henry, who I’d met yesterday, on our way back towards the car, and we had a quick chat. He’s been in Wales, so do go and check out his Instagram, @naturetasticwh. Of course, I’m going to miss spending a whole days surrounded by those who share the same passion as me, many of them my age as well. I’m also going to miss the learning experiences that I had from all the talks, walks, quizzes and shows I went to across the weekend. But I’m also going to remember it all, and use it in my journey to becoming a conservationist and an ornithologist. Watch this space.

Answer: Balearic Shearwater

On Saturday night, we went straight from a swimming gala to Brimpt Woods, managed by Forestry England. Brimpts Wood is very close to Dartmeet, where the two branches of the River Dart meet. The West branch flows alongside the Woods, increasing the diversity of species in the area. I would be doing a nightjar survey for Forestry England, with the Dartmoor Youth Rangers. From 8:30PM to 11:00PM, we would be out in the dim dusk light, listening and watching for these phantoms of the night. It was overcast, slightly drizzly and teeming with midges, but I was ready for it! By the way, this is not part of the ongoing Mallorca series, but the final instalment of that one will be out in due course!

But first, a little bit about Nightjars. Their defining trait is that they feed at dawn and dusk, coinciding with when their primary food source, insects, are most abundant. They migrate to our shores for the breeding season, and stay with us from late April to September in order to raise their young, taking advantage of our mild climate and the abundance of insects at this time of year. They’re ground nesters, camouflaging themselves against the undergrowth with their incredibly detailed, cryptic plumage, and on Dartmoor they typically nest on heathland, or in young pine woodland, with the trees around 5-7 years old. They have a clever way of catching their insect prey, in which they simply fly around with their mouth open. This creates some often erratic flight patterns, and if it was your first time watching them you’d probably wonder what on earth they were doing. This is why they only feed at dawn and dusk, because they needs to be an abundance of insects or else their hunting method is not as effective.

Such a secretive, mysterious species has naturally featured in folklore through the ages. The Celts viewed them with awe, but also superstition, believing them to be the spirits of unbaptised babies, doomed to wander the night forever more. In Medieval times, there was a belief, began by Aristotle, that Nightjars drunk the milk of goats, causing their udders to dry up and for the animals to go blind. This, of course, isn’t true. Nightjars are only attracted by livestock due to the abundance of insects around them. But during these times when science and knowledge was less advanced, people would have certainly been afraid of the birds and the damage they thought they might do to their livestock. Then again, Aristotle did also say that Swallows hibernated in hollow places during the winter, so despite him being a great philosopher, take his teachings with a pinch of salt.

And how to survey them? Well, the group of Youth Rangers and parents, who had to be there due to the fact that this session was outside of normal hours, split into four, and headed off in different directions via pathways throughout the woods. There were two ways that we could identify a Nightjar as being present; by their call, or actually seeing them fly past. If we heard them call, we had to note down where we’d heard them on the map, as well as the exact time to the minute. If we saw them flying, we also had to note down the time, but instead of the ‘x’ we’d put down for a call, we had to mark the map with an arrow pointing the general direction the bird had been heading. We were doing a dusk survey, but Forestry England also operated dawn surveys at Brimpts Wood, from around 3:30 to 4:30 in the morning. I must say, I’m very glad we were doing the former! But all of this research and monitoring pays off, as Nightjars on Dartmoor are currently considered to be steadily increasing. So hopefully, these magical birds will be around for a long time to come.

Nightjars, if you can spot them, are usually very easily identified by their mechanical ‘churrrrrrrrrr’ call, which is very distinctive of this species. And gone dusk, you are unlikely to see anything else flying. But just in case, look for pointed wings and a long tail, almost similar to a falcon. As I’ve mentioned, their flight pattern is also very erratic when feeding compared to other birds, so look out for birds changing direction quickly, and flying in strange routes through the air.

Our group, led by Forestry England representative and Brimpts Wood expert Shaun, took the right fork, heading up a slope until the path levelled out and we could see all the way to Bellever Woods from our vantage point. It was fairly exposed up there, and the wind was whistling through the gradually darkening air. The problem was, Nightjars are much less likely to fly in windy conditions such as the ones we were experiencing, simply because their prey won’t fly either. A gust of wind may not seem like a huge deal to us, but to a tiny moth it can be a considerable obstacle. Before us, the slope was a very open woodland of young conifers, with plenty of cover on the ground for the Nightjars to conceal themselves and their nests in. Quite the contrary to the patch of woodland behind us, which was so dense that even I probably would have struggled to walk through it.

The wind, after about 20 minutes, started to die down slightly, and the insects decided to come out from their hiding places. I was just starting to notice an abundance of moths around me when an electrical ‘churrrrrrrrrrrrrrr’ started up. It almost sounded mechanical, like a clockwork toy quickly unwinding. Nightjars can call at 30-40 notes per second, which was clearly evident in this masterpiece of music from one of Britain’s most mysterious birds. It was exhilarating to hear such a thing in the night, but it stopped as abruptly as it had come. Suddenly, a phantom glided silently from a tree behind us, performing an erratic flight full of agile turns and dives. The Nightjar went on feeding, its prey caught off guard by an avian ghost. I watched in admiration as the bird came and went, as quick to disappear as it had materialised.

Nightjars are a relatively understudied species of bird, compared to most species in Britain. This is, in part, due to their nocturnal habits, which make them trickier to survey than diurnal (awake during the day) birds. Another reason is their cryptic plumage, which provides excellent camouflage against the ground, in a bush or upon a tree branch. But there are also concerns about surveys becoming too intrusive, as with all ground nesting birds. Unlike garden birds, for example, there is a risk with getting the public too involved as they may not have the expertise to avoid the nests or the birds themselves. So Nightjars are very understudied, but from what we do know, they seem to be steadily increasing on Dartmoor.

It seemed that as soon as that bird dropped back into the undergrowth, the wind picked right up. A light, drizzly rain began to fall on us, and we made the decision to head down the hill in order to escape the elements and hopefully see some more Nightjars. As I said earlier, Nightjars will not fly in windy conditions, so finding a more sheltered spot flew to the top of our agenda. In order not to skew the data, we decided to pause the survey there, and in the hope of seeing some more Nightjars, we headed back down the track, and this time took a different path, which led along the bottom of the hill we had been stood upon before. There we met another group, headtorches illuminating the gravel track. It was getting a lot darker now, and I hadn’t noticed how little light was left now. Of course, in this more sheltered spot, the other group had seen around a dozen Nightjars, and even as we walked towards them another ‘churrrrrr’ started up.

Suddenly, the birds were everywhere, emerging soundlessly from the vegetation. They scythed through the air, feeding on the wing like Nightjars possessed. It was a true spectacle, with as many as seven birds being in the air at once, all gliding rapidly past our heads, pursuing the moths that were now out in force around us. Their flight patterns were completely random as well. They weaved through the nighttime, whether in a zigzag or a loop the loop. It was breathtaking, standing in the darkness watching ghost-birds zoom about the woods.

But soon there came a time when all the Nightjars just stopped. We turned back at that point after we’d caught our breath back, but why don’t Nightjars just fly all night if they roost for most of the day? Well, one of the main reasons is that the insects just aren’t anywhere as near abundant as they are at dawn and dusk, and as I’m sure I’ve mentioned somewhere in this blog, the Nightjar’s feeding method (flying around with its mouth open) is not as effective when there are fewer insects in the air. So when they become less abundant, so do the Nightjars. Also, flying takes a lot of energy, and even during hours when the birds are most active, they still need time to rest and digest their food.

So if they fly at dawn and dusk, what do Nightjars do during the day? Well, the obvious answer is that they just roost. But it’s not exactly as simple as this. They still have eggs to incubate, and their cryptic camouflage allows them to do this even in broad daylight. Typically, the female is in charge of incubation duties during daylight hours, and the male comes in to take over during the night. So, you may just be more likely to see male Nightjars at dawn, and females at dusk (according to my logic, which is not, by the way, solid fact). Of course, being strict ground nesters, these birds are highly susceptible to disturbance, which was a reason for their previous declines. So, at this time of year, please make sure to keep dogs on leads and stick to paths when walking through areas such as these.

I feel so privileged to have had such an experience, which is up there with some of my most memorable birding moments. To experience such a secretive bird opening the door into its life, calling, feeding and flying around us, could not compare to little else. Soon these birds will be off again, migrating back to Africa in a matter of months. So let’s enjoy them while they’re here. Huge thanks to Forestry England and Dartmoor National Park for organising this event!