The Bill Boys, a Bird, a Storm and a Possible Murder!

 Three days at Portland Bill with the Gwent Ornithological Society

Friday 23rd October – Sunday 25th October 2026

There are certain things you hope for when planning an autumn birdwatching trip to Portland Bill. A few passage migrants, perhaps a rarity or two, some decent photographic opportunities and, if you're particularly lucky, a spot of sunshine.

What you don't necessarily bargain for is a named Atlantic storm, winds exceeding 60 mph, waves resembling something from a biblical disaster movie, and the possibility of being murdered in an old lighthouse.

Welcome to another Gwent Ornithological Society adventure!

The Bill Boys versus Storm Austen

On Friday 23rd October, members of the Gwent Ornithological Society descended upon Portland Bill for our second visit of the year. Our accommodation was the Portland Bird Observatory, housed in the old lighthouse, which sits rather conveniently at the southern end of Portland.

Convenient, that is, unless a monstrous Atlantic storm happens to be heading straight towards it!

Storm Austen, the first named storm of the winter, had apparently heard that the GOS boys were coming and decided to arrange something of a welcome party.

My travelling companion for the weekend was our esteemed GOS Treasurer, Steve Roderick. Steve is a keen birder, a wizard with numbers and, rather remarkably, possesses the ability to whistle through his nose. A useful talent, although I'm not entirely sure what practical application it has in the field of ornithology.

Steve also has another invaluable quality. He can navigate.

This was particularly important because my own navigational abilities are legendary, although not necessarily for the right reasons. Even with satellite navigation, I managed a few wrong turns.

In my defence, Steve was telling me so many interesting stories that I became distracted. That's my excuse, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.

Eventually, despite my best efforts to take us somewhere completely different, we arrived at Portland Bill.

And what a sight greeted us!

The sea was absolutely furious. Enormous waves thundered against the rugged coastline, sending clouds of spray into the air. The water churned and boiled in a spectacular display of raw natural power.

It was magnificent, terrifying and utterly mesmerising.

Naturally, our first thought was to go birdwatching.

Snow Business Like Bird Business

At the observatory, we were greeted by familiar faces, good-natured banter and the reassuring knowledge that several of our fellow GOS members had already been out battling the elements.

They informed us that a Snow Bunting and a couple of Black Redstarts had been showing near the track leading towards the coastal footpath.

Our room wasn't ready, so Steve and I set off to investigate.

After a little searching, and some helpful directions from two fellow birders near the quarry huts, we found our quarry.

A beautiful Snow Bunting!

Despite the rather ominous weather forecast, the sun had actually made an appearance. Apart from the wind attempting to rearrange our facial features, conditions were surprisingly pleasant.

The Snow Bunting was wonderfully obliging, allowing me to take some pleasing photographs.

When I eventually examined the images at home, I noticed something interesting. The bird was wearing a metal ring on its right leg. Unfortunately, the numbers were unreadable, so its origins remain a mystery.

Perhaps it had come from somewhere in the Arctic. Perhaps it had travelled hundreds of miles to spend the winter on Portland.

Or perhaps, having experienced Storm Austen, it was already considering turning around and heading back north!

Further along the coast, near the Lobster Pot Café, Roger, another birder staying at the observatory, called me over.

He had spotted a solitary Purple Sandpiper feeding amongst the rocks, remarkably close to the enormous breaking waves. 

The little wader seemed completely unconcerned by the chaos surrounding it, happily clambering over the slippery rocks in search of food.

I couldn't help admiring its determination.

Meanwhile, Steve and I stood watching the monstrous waves crashing against Portland's coastline. Nature was certainly putting on a spectacular performance.

Sandblasted at Chesil Beach

After lunch and a reunion with our fellow Bill Boys, we discovered that our accommodation would be Room 5, inside the old lighthouse itself.

I was delighted!

Sharing our room would be Chris Perry, the GOS County Recorder.

Three birders sharing a room in an old lighthouse during an Atlantic storm. What could possibly go wrong?

Before finding out, Steve and I headed off to explore.

Our first stop was the Fleet Lagoon and Chesil Beach.

Now, I've experienced windy conditions before, but this was something else entirely. The gusts were so powerful that I genuinely thought my hair might be blown clean off my head!

The lagoon held a selection of waders, including Bar-tailed Godwits, Ringed Plovers and Dunlin. Brent Geese were also feeding and paddling around the edges of the receding water.

Watching them, however, was proving something of a challenge.

The wind was driving sand directly into our faces with the enthusiasm of an industrial sandblasting machine.

Binoculars, scopes and cameras are wonderful pieces of equipment, but none of them comes with a built-in windscreen wiper.

Earlier in the day, a friendly photographer known as Rustic Photos had suggested visiting Moonfleet Manor, so we decided to follow his advice.

Behind the manor, a footpath winds through attractive arable fields and eventually joins the coastal path overlooking the Fleet.

It proved to be an excellent suggestion.

We encountered several Brown Hares and what seemed like hundreds of Red-legged Partridges and Pheasants.

There were birds everywhere!

As the afternoon progressed, however, the weather began to deteriorate. Storm Austen was gathering strength and clearly had no intention of leaving us alone.

With daylight fading, we made our way back towards the manor and eventually returned to Portland for our evening meal and some welcome company.

Saturday – The Lighthouse of Doom

By Saturday morning, Storm Austen had well and truly arrived.

The rain was hammering down, the wind was howling, and the old lighthouse was taking an absolute battering.

Naturally, Steve, Chris and I decided to go outside.

After breakfast, we wrapped ourselves in waterproof clothing and ventured into the elements.

The Snow Bunting was still in its favoured location, apparently demonstrating considerably greater resilience than the three humans attempting to watch it.

Steve wandered off to explore, while Chris and I made what I considered to be an extremely sensible tactical decision.

We retreated to the Lobster Pot Café.

There, sheltered from the increasingly dreadful weather, we enjoyed coffee, bacon sandwiches and a long conversation about artificial intelligence and the Gwent Ornithological Society.

A bacon sandwich, I have always maintained, is an essential piece of birdwatching equipment.

Unfortunately, we couldn't stay there forever.

By the time we emerged, the weather had deteriorated even further. We made a hasty retreat to the observatory, where warmth, shelter and good company awaited.

And this was where things began to get interesting.

Outside, the storm was raging. Rain lashed against the lighthouse windows, the wind howled around the building, and the sea had virtually disappeared behind a curtain of grey.

It became so dark and gloomy that the whole place took on a decidedly sinister atmosphere.

Earlier, I'd been catching up with the latest episode of The Traitors.

Perhaps that wasn't the wisest choice of television programme under the circumstances.

Suddenly, sitting inside an isolated old lighthouse, surrounded by an assortment of interesting characters while a violent storm raged outside, I realised we had all the ingredients of a classic murder mystery.

Imagine the scene.

Fourteen members of an ornithological society, trapped in an old lighthouse on a storm-battered peninsula.

The roads are deserted.

The wind is howling.

The lights flicker.

Someone announces that the last chocolate digestive has disappeared.

And then...

MURDER!

Well, perhaps not murder.

But there was certainly an atmosphere worthy of an Agatha Christie novel.

I began mentally examining our fellow residents for suspicious behaviour.

The Treasurer could whistle through his nose. Surely that was suspicious?

The County Recorder knew the whereabouts of every unusual bird in Gwent. What else did he know?

And with all those binoculars and telescopes lying around, there was no shortage of potential witnesses.

I decided it was probably best not to investigate too closely.

After all, I was sharing a bedroom with two of the suspects!

Tales from the Lighthouse

One of the great pleasures of these GOS trips is spending time with people from such different backgrounds.

Anyone who knows me will appreciate that I enjoy telling stories. Some might even suggest that I'm rarely quiet.

A scandalous accusation, obviously.

But I genuinely love listening to other people's experiences too, and the observatory was full of fascinating characters.

Arthur Pitcher proceeded to give me a crash course in quantum mechanics, astrophysics and mathematics.

Now, I have a keen interest in astronomy, but Arthur operates on an entirely different intellectual plane.

By the end of our conversation, I was reasonably confident that several of my remaining brain cells had packed their bags and left.

I understood some of it.

I think.

Possibly.

Andrew Baker shared his considerable knowledge of conservation issues, explaining complex subjects with admirable clarity. His son Jonathan impressed me with his understanding of sophisticated weather modelling.

If only we'd had Jonathan controlling the weather rather than predicting it!

Steve Butler, a firefighter, entertained us with some wonderful stories from his time in the fire service.

Sian, a veterinary surgeon with a career spanning some forty years, had a seemingly endless collection of fascinating tales involving animals.

One story concerned a constipated elephant.

Unfortunately, I never got to hear the full account.

I can only imagine it was a rather substantial problem, and one that required considerably more than a couple of prunes!

Lyndon shared an interesting fact about lighthouses. Apparently, each lighthouse has its own characteristic sequence of flashes, enabling sailors to identify it and establish their position.

I found this particularly fascinating.

If only my car's satellite navigation had such a system, Steve might not have spent quite so much time correcting my route!

Keith Roylance, Arthur and Bob Potter regaled us with stories of birdwatching adventures in some of the world's most remote and extraordinary places.

Between them, they must have accumulated enough air miles to circumnavigate the planet several times over.

Listening to their adventures, I began to wonder whether there was anywhere on Earth they hadn't visited.

Probably my back garden in Pontypool, although I wouldn't bet against it.

Everyone had stories to share, and the afternoon passed remarkably quickly.

Despite the appalling weather outside, there was something rather wonderful about being tucked away inside that old lighthouse, surrounded by laughter, friendship and tales of adventures from around the world.

Eventually, however, hunger forced us to venture back into the storm.

Our destination was the Pulpit Inn.

Even the most dedicated birdwatcher has to eat, and no amount of wind or rain was going to stand between this particular group and a decent evening meal.

A Sunrise Worth Waiting For

That evening, I climbed into bed in Room 5, listening to the wind roaring around the lighthouse and the rain battering its windows.

It was quite an extraordinary experience.

There was something strangely comforting about being warm and sheltered inside such an old building while the storm unleashed its fury outside.

The forecast for Sunday promised some improvement.

I went to sleep dreaming of a spectacular sunrise.

And perhaps slightly relieved that nobody had been murdered.

Steve and I rose early on Sunday morning, well before sunrise, and made our way towards the modern Portland Bill Lighthouse.

The wind remained fierce.

Clouds raced across the sky at extraordinary speed, and powerful gusts occasionally made it difficult to catch our breath.

But there were gaps in the clouds.

Patches of blue sky appeared overhead, while the eastern horizon began to glow with hints of orange.

We positioned ourselves behind the lighthouse and waited.

For a while, it looked as though the clouds might win.

But then, almost as if nature had decided we deserved a reward for surviving the weekend, the sun finally broke through.

Golden light spilled across the eastern sky, illuminating the clouds and transforming the stormy scene into something beautiful.

It was magnificent.

After two days of being battered by Storm Austen, we had finally been treated to a wonderful sunrise.

A fitting finale to a memorable weekend.

The Bill Boys (and Girl)

Looking back, this certainly wasn't the autumn birdwatching trip we'd originally envisaged.

The weather was atrocious for much of the weekend, and opportunities to explore were limited.

But we still managed some enjoyable birdwatching, including that delightful Snow Bunting, the hardy Purple Sandpiper, waders on the Fleet and plenty of wildlife around Moonfleet.

We witnessed the extraordinary power of the sea, endured enough wind to test the structural integrity of our waterproofs, and spent two nights in an old lighthouse during a major storm.

Most importantly, though, we enjoyed some wonderful company.

The GOS Bill Boys — and Bill Girl, as I mustn't forget Sian — are a fantastic group of people.

We come from different backgrounds, have enjoyed very different careers and possess an extraordinary range of interests and talents.

Some can explain quantum mechanics.

Some have travelled to the remotest corners of the planet.

Some can model the weather.

Some have fascinating stories about constipated elephants.

And one can whistle through his nose.

But we all share something special.

A love of birds, wildlife and the great outdoors.

And perhaps that's the real magic of these trips.

Even when the birds are few and the weather is determined to blow you into the English Channel, the friendships, laughter and shared experiences make it all worthwhile.

A huge thank you to everyone who made the weekend so enjoyable, and particularly to Steve Roderick for being such excellent company and, more importantly, ensuring that I actually found my way to Portland and back.

Without him, I might still be somewhere on the A37 wondering why the sea had disappeared.

As for Storm Austen?

Well, you certainly made your presence felt.

But you didn't defeat the Bill Boys!

And I'm pleased to report that all fourteen of us survived the weekend.

Not a single murder.

Although I still have my suspicions about that missing chocolate digestive...

---

The GOS Portland Bill expedition team: Keith, Arthur, Lyndon, Steve B, Steve D, John D, Sian, Bob, Ian, Andrew, Jonathan, Blair, Chris P and Steve R.

Until the next adventure, keep your binoculars handy, your waterproofs closer, and never trust a birder who can whistle through his nose!

** I would also like to thank Dave Brassey our Outdoor Secretary for arranging the trip.