Tuesday 20th October 2026.
It didn't take long for my fears of a mega to materialise. I had a morning meeting, before an evening flight to Inverness. The meeting finished at 1.30 and when I came out there were way too many unread Whatsapps and notifications. It could only mean one thing – mega time. The unwelcome news was of a massive and much-wanted rarity. There was a Rufous-tailed Robin at Flamborough. Nooooooooo!!! Aside from lucky finders, almost no-one has seen this species in the UK since (and including) the first record on Fair Isle in 2004. This species breeds very far east, breeding and wintering in eastern China. On the face of it an unlikely, almost unbelievable, vagrant. Yet since 2004 there have been a further five records, along with an increase in apparently unlikely species from the same part of the world. Of the other records, all had been on the northern isles bar one. The latter was in Norfolk and controversially news was slowly released – pretty much everyone dipped including those who could have seen it. This, and Siberian Blue Robin, make up a mythical eastern duo.
But I was scheduled to fly to Thurso, not arriving back for 2 days. This bird would have to stay an unprecedented four days for me to see it. Surely it wasn't going to happen. I stuck with my work obligation and carried on with my day, trying unsuccessfully to put the robin to the back of my mind. My mood darkened further once other birders started to connect, albeit it was clearly extremely challenging to see in the densely covered woodland of Flamborough's South Landing. I boarded my plane and travelled to Inverness as planned, taking a taxi to the hotel where I met Graeme before retiring early-ish for a restless sleep.
Wednesday 21st October 2026
The work plan was to drive 2.5 hours north to a project site not far from Thurso. Graeme is a birder (but not a twitcher), so he understood how gutted I was when news of the robin's continued presence came through just after first light. Still we had work to do, of sorts, so set off as planned.
There was a nearby small consolation though. For the last few days, a ROSS'S GOOSE had been present amongst the throng of Pink-footed Geese that roost just east of Dingwall, on the Conon Estuary. Our route took us right past the area (with a Red Kite seen from the car on the way), and we decided to have a look from a convenient spot if we could. That turned out to be the back of a Halfords, where we were quickly picked up the bird at about 500m range amongst huge numbers of pinkfeet on the water. Views were good through the scope, and I was pleased to see this bird – another species I'd not seen in a very long time; my only other UK bird was in 1991 in Lossiemouth, Moray (whilst en route to Shetland for the legendary albatross). Back then it was thought an unlikely vagrant, and the record was pended until a 2024-2025 review of all records, leading to the species' elevation to Category A (i.e., wild occurring species). The change in status was largely due to an apparent huge increase in breeding numbers in Canada, combined with an eastward expansion of the breeding range. This was matched with an increase in European records, so the link was clear. In the last few years there have been two Canadian rung birds in Europe, proving natural vagrancy beyond any doubt. The numbers of pinkfeet were incredible, with flock after flock taking off to feed and presumably head south for the winter. Graeme picked up a lone Barnacle Goose amongst them, and then it was time to get on the road.
A couple of hours later we were at the site of the proposed Tormsdale Wind Farm. The purpose of the visit was partly to familiarise myself with it (in advance of a planning inquiry) and partly to help identify possible ways of improving habitats for Short-eared Owls. It was raining so we opted to drive the site initially, as thankfully it was easy to view from the car. A small loch held 19 Whooper Swans and a few Mallard. We paused at the end of the road where a fantastic immature White-tailed Eagle flew past us at close range. Superb as that was, the robin was still on my mind as it continued to show to those fortunate enough to be there and in the right spot at the right moment. The site was large, but pretty much entirely viewable from the by car. Both Graeme and I quickly realised we didn't need another 1.5 days on site – we knew what was there already. That didn't help my robin despair as we had to meet surveyors and the gamekeeper on site tomorrow, or at least I thought so. Graeme, who understands twitcher mentality, was sympathetic to my cause and very kindly suggested I wasn't needed for the meetings and that I should head south. Could I? If so, how? I had no car and there were no Wednesday flights back to Manchester today. Train? Nope. If I was going, I had to be there for dawn to give me a decent chance of seeing an incredibly elusive bird in a very restricted location.
Such a ridiculous plan wouldn't have been possible in the pre-internet days. But I sprung in to action mode. It was around noon. There was a bus from nearby Halkirk to Inverness at 2.45pm, easily do-able, arriving around 6.30om. I briefly looked at train options from Inverness, but it was far too complicated and slow. That left me with the on- way car rental option. A call to the Avian office quickly ensured there would be a car waiting for me at Inverness Airport, and that the desk would still be open. I was in twwitch mode now.
Still there was time for scampi and chips in the hotel with Graeme before boarding the bus (for an outlandish £2!!). I watched the Caithness coastline from the bus questioning my sanity whilst admiring it's rugged beauty. We passed a large flock of pink-footed geese and whooper swans in a roadside field, before it started to darken and endured the first half of MUFCs away game at Como (another disaster) on my phone. We were more or less on time at Inverness, and I took a cab to the airport.
After some initial faff, I set off from Inverness Airport at around 7.30 p.m. The journey south was a long one, dogged by roadworks, road closures and lashing rain at times. But eight hours and a couple of coffees later, I finally found myself at South Landing car park in Flamborough.
Thursday 22nd October
I managed to grab an hour’s sleep between 4 and 5 a.m. but was woken by the sound of car doors and a growing sense of restlessness. People were already heading into the woods, so I decided to join them, knowing full well that securing a good spot was going to be crucial.
By 5.30 a.m. I was in position, fully kitted up and leaning against a rail post in the pitch black, alongside a handful of other birders and a couple of familiar faces. Somewhere amongst the tangled undergrowth was a bird that had travelled an extraordinary distance and attracted birders from far and wide. We chatted quietly in the dark as more and more people arrived.
At around 7.20 a.m., the first Robins began to 'tick', their sharp calls breaking the early morning silence. It was time to start using the thermal cameras. Fortunately (or perhaps inevitably) I'd packed mine before heading to Scotland, 'just in case'. A robin was visible in the thermal, briefly raising hopes before disappearing back into the undergrowth. Everyone was focussed but it was still too dark to see much.
By 7.30 a.m., the crowd had swelled to perhaps 200 people, all packed tightly along the viewing area. I was glad I’d made the effort to get in early, having secured a spot in prime position overlooking the small open area where the bird had been seen yesterday. The rest of the gully was dense bramble and scrub, with almost no chance of seeing it.
Then, at around 7.45 a.m., another small bird appeared through the ghostly monochrome image of the thermal cameras. It was hopping beneath the sycamore. At first it was obscured and others with thermals thought it may be a wren, but it quickly hopped into view, head on but clear enough for me to shout 'that's it', before it flitted away and into the dense bramble. It had been brief, and the light was poor, but it was clearly the bird. Thank f++k - it was still here!!
And of course, RUFOUS-TAILED ROBIN, OML!!
Get in!!!!!!
The long exhausting overnight journey had been worth it. A mythical mega had fallen.
Most people had missed that first appearance. It was a reminder of just how difficult these skulking rarities can be, and of how helpful thermal cameras can be. But I wasn't going to leave on that initial view, so held my spot and waited, and scanned. And scanned. And kept scanning. Over the course of the next 7 hours, the bird would disappear completely for an hour or more, them appear frustratingly briefly before doing a vanishing act. Sometimes it would be chased by a Robin, while on other occasions it would appear in the binoculars for barely half a second before vanishing again. Lots of people had failed to see it at all, I had at least seen it, albeit unsatisfactorily. This bird was tough, and there was plenty of frustration amongst the assembled birders. Still, people waited patiently.
By mid-morning, things improved slightly. I managed a decent look at the bird perched for about 5 seconds, back-on in the shallow stream. It was better, but still not enough.
Then, around noon, things finally came together. I picked up the bird sitting right out in the open to the left of the sycamore, where it remained for several seconds and showed exceptionally well (to me at least). At last, a proper, unobstructed view! Phwoarr!!!
Better still, just a few minutes later it appeared again, this time amongst the brambles in a gap in the ditch to our right. Here it lingered for perhaps thirty seconds, giving some lovely views and the opportunity to properly appreciate this charismatic and enigmatic little bird.
After hours of fleeting glimpses and near misses, it was brilliant to feel I'd finally nailed it. It was time for me to vacate my spot. The crowd throughout the morning had been large, but it was good natured and I found it a thoroughly enjoyable occasion, not least because of the number of familiar faces.
Rufous-tailed Robin has long been one of those almost mythical rarities, a bird that so many British birders have dreamed of seeing for years. Few would ever have imagined one turning up and remaining available to such a large gathering, even if getting good views of it proved far from straightforward. This made up for the pain of my very recent dip on that other Asian robin (at least partially). Hopefully one of those will fall too, eventually.
Despite the difficulties, I think most people eventually managed to connect with it, and the delight amongst those who did was obvious.
It had been a very long night and morning, with precious little sleep, some dreadful driving conditions and seven hours standing in the same spot. Now there was the small matter of the long journey home, but I made it with a smile on my face.
Amazingly this became my ninth new bird of 2026, all since May. An incredible year which moved me up to 579, and apparently into the top 20.
