Some birds are legendary for testing your patience, but the Kentish Plover had become my ultimate bogey bird. I’d missed countless opportunities over the years—either arriving too late or the birds departing just hours before. When news of a female Kentish Plover breaking on the pager on Friday afternoon, I immediately plotted my next move.
I set off at 6.00 am the next morning, first calling in at Farndon. There, in a ploughed potato field, I connected with a female Dotterel that had arrived the night before—perfect for my Cheshire yearlist. Buoyed by that success, I began the long drive south.
The journey was tense. No updates came in on the Kentish Plover, and by the time I reached Dawlish Warren, Joe from Plymouth delivered the dreaded news: the bird had gone. Gutted doesn’t even begin to cover it. I wandered the site, hoping for a miracle, but the plover was nowhere to be seen.
Late afternoon, resigned and frustrated, I took a break on the beach. As I stood up, a Ringed Plover landed nearby. And then, like a miracle, there she was—the female Kentish Plover, showing beautifully. My despair evaporated in an instant; the elation was indescribable. The bird lingered for an hour, allowing plenty of other birders to connect, and I could finally exhale.
It was a day that perfectly captured the highs and lows of birding—from total deflation to complete ecstasy in a matter of hours. Moments like these remind me why I love birding so much.
Picture of the Kentish Plover kindly emailed by Lee Collins, one of the Dawlish regulars.
