A Tiny Treasure and a Secretive Shadow at Slimbridge

This morning, Paul Joy and I made our way to WWT Slimbridge — that great cathedral of wetland wildlife where every visit seems to deliver something new and remarkable. The autumn light was soft and silvery, the air alive with the gentle chatter of wildfowl and the squeaky toy calls of Lapwings echoing across the reserve. As always, we armed ourselves with cameras and an unreasonable amount of optimism — the perfect combination for a day’s birding.

Our first real treat came from the Rushy Hide, where we were lucky enough to enjoy close views of a Temminck’s Stint. This tiny wader — no bigger than a sparrow — pottered delicately along the muddy margins, flicking its tail as it fed. The Temminck’s Stint (Calidris temminckii) is one of those understated migrants that could so easily go unnoticed among the teeming ranks of Dunlin and Little Stints, but for those who take the time to look closely, it’s a gem. 

A Temminck’s Stint is tiny—about 13 to 15 centimetres long, with a wingspan of around 30 to 34 centimetres, and weighing only 20 to 25 grams. To put that in perspective, it’s roughly the same size as a House Sparrow, but much slimmer and more delicate in build.

Named after the Dutch naturalist Coenraad Jacob Temminck, it’s a bird that travels extraordinary distances. Many breed in the Arctic tundra of Scandinavia and Russia, then migrate to wintering grounds in sub-Saharan Africa and southern Asia. The one we saw today is likely to have strayed off course and is refuelling before resuming its long southbound journey — a fleeting visitor, pausing briefly before resuming its great odyssey.

Despite its miniature frame, it manages astonishing long-distance migrations between the Arctic tundra (where it breeds) and Africa or southern Asia (where it winters). That’s several thousand kilometres on wings barely longer than your hand—an impressive feat for such a small traveller. Image created using ChatGPT.

Our second treat of the day was when we made our way to the Van de Boven Kamp Hide, and there the day’s second highlight unfolded in the most thrillingly understated way imaginable. From the reedbed, a Bittern emerged — or rather, melted — into view. 

These elusive herons are masters of camouflage, their streaked plumage blending perfectly with the golden reeds. For a few magical moments, it stood statue-still before slipping back into the reeds like a phantom. Moments like that feel almost stolen — rare glimpses into the secret world of creatures that prefer silence to spectacle.