Russian White-fronted Geese-74 in fields on the east side of Tetton Lane Flash with 94 Pink-footed geese; park in the dip on Tetton Lane, then walk north for c 400m to view-Sandbach Flashes
Some trips are plotted months ahead, pencilled carefully into diaries and built around tides, weather systems, and the slow drift of rare birds across maps. Others begin with a single phone call.
On the afternoon of 23 February, Dan Pointon rang with a proposition: Ireland, immediately, for the long-staying female Redhead at Lough Yganavan. He had just returned from a month in Australia and, by his own admission, “needed” it for his British list (Ireland included under his chosen parameters).
I didn’t, at least not strictly speaking. I had seen the drake at Bleasby Gravel Pits back in 1996. But late winter in Ireland carries its own pull: the possibility of additional Nearctic wildfowl, Atlantic light over western loughs, and, most compelling of all, a long-staying Double-crested Cormorant, unreported for weeks somewhere in the west.
Flights were booked within the hour. A hire car followed. The alarm was set.
Day One – A Kerry Valley
We touched down in Dublin shortly after 08:00 and pointed the car south. By 12:15, we were scanning Lough Yganavan, a quiet Kerry valley lake holding eight Ring-necked Duck, but, initially, no Redhead.
A full circuit by car produced nothing new. Returning to the south-west corner for what felt like a token final scan, I parked up. Then Dan rang.
The Redhead had appeared; clearly, it had been roosting in the reedbed. The tension dissolved instantly. It was on the list.
If accepted, this individual will constitute only Ireland’s second record, the first involving an adult at Cape Clear in July 2003. There has been some suggestion that the current bird may have been overlooked earlier in the winter, perhaps dismissed as a Common Pochard back in October. Whatever its backstory, a transatlantic Aythya on a secluded Kerry lough is not something to treat casually.
With prolonged views secured, the trip had momentum.
Northward we drove towards Galway, pausing at Tralee Bay where an adult Ring-billed Gull loafed confidingly at close range.
As dusk approached, Blennerville Estuary delivered a final flourish: Dunlin stitching the tideline, Eurasian Curlew and Bar-tailed Godwit probing the mud beneath a darkening western sky.
Two Nearctic species on the first day, a respectable return for a hastily conceived Irish dash. The evening was rounded off by watching Manchester United grind out a win, accompanied by a couple of Guinnesses. Birding days rarely close more satisfactorily.
Day Two – Corvids and a Long Shot
Dawn found us at Cregal Art on the outskirts of Galway, scanning for a long-staying Pied Crow present since early January.
At first, there were only Hooded Crow and Rook, and a growing sense of déjà vu familiar to anyone who has searched for a conspicuous rarity that simply refuses to materialise.
A circuit of the city’s gull haunts, including the pontoon at Waterside, formerly host to a first-winter American Herring Gull, and Nimmo’s Pier, where a Vega Gull had been recorded, proved unexpectedly quiet. A female Red-crested Pochard drifting along the river provided modest consolation.
But the true test still lay ahead.
The Last Look
The Double-crested Cormorant had not been reported since 18 January, though it had frequented the region since November 2020. By late February, relocating it felt optimistic at best.
Blank stops at Lough Doon and Lough Colgagh did little to lift confidence. Lough Gill, when we reached it, seemed almost absurdly vast, five miles of cold water and scattered islands. The odds of picking out a single Nearctic cormorant among wintering flocks felt remote.
A tern raft held five roosting Great Cormorants. Through the scope, each appeared entirely typical. We repositioned via the grounds of St Angela’s College for a marginally better angle. Still nothing.
Eventually, with the light beginning to soften, we turned back toward the car.
“Have another look at that raft,” I suggested, more habit than conviction.
Dan lifted the scope once more.
There were now six birds.
The newcomer stood out not by flamboyance but by nuance: a smaller head, finer bill, subtly different structure and posture. The distinctions accumulated until doubt fell away. Against considerable odds, the Double-crested Cormorant had flown in and settled precisely where we had already been scanning.
This represents only Ireland’s second record, the first occurring at Nimmo’s Pier in the winter of 1995–96. Britain’s sole record dates from Billingham in early 1989, with Western Palearctic occurrences otherwise largely confined to the Azores. To encounter one on the Irish mainland is exceptional. To find it ourselves, after weeks without reports, made the moment sharper still.
We left it roosting calmly among its congeners as evening drew in and began the long drive back to Dublin.
Two days. Every target secured. A gamble rewarded.
And a reminder, timely and emphatic, that in birding, as in much else, it is so often that last look which makes all the difference.


