Wildlife

James Lowen

My only niggling concerns were about some smudgy white on the forehead and whitish irides (rather than yellow) - although both might indicate immaturity. But I am doubtless overworking. So the only substantive questions is this: if Little Egret and Western Reef Heron are so closely related, shouldn't the latter be known as Western Reef Egret...? Better pass me the skins, mate: I might need a doobie to help me work than one out.

The 'Reefer' was a sexy little number indeed, and proceeded to give excellent views hunting along the muddy shoreline and in the shallows.

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8 June 2026 Reefer

In May 1992, I took part in the 'National Student Bird Race'. My team comprised four, one of whom is now one of the UK's top pan-species listers, another is one of the world's top conservation scientists, and the other is an internationally recognised chemist. Because we were doing odd things (birding) in odd locations (woods known for dogging etc), we found ourselves confronted by flashing blue lights three times that day. A case of "What you doing here?" from the boys in blue, on repeat. By the third time, I was thoroughly hacked off. Especially when this third set of suspicious policemen searched the car and "found reefers in the ashtray".

We were then body-searched. There were no drugs to be found: no reefers, joints, hash, grass, bongs or anything else. Three of us, the cops realised, were non-smokers, which confused the police. When a packet of Old Holborn and some Rizlas were found in the pockets of the fourth, he explained very clearly that he smoked roll-ups with roaches inside. Deprived of any cause to arrest us, the cops grumbled off.

Two summers later, when living in France, I saw my first Western Reef Heron - a regularly returning blue-phase bird prancing round a small étang in the Camargue. I nicknamed it 'Reefer', partly in honour of that Bird Race incident. And have thought of the species as 'Reefers' ever since.

Fast forward to Saturday 6 June this year. As I am putting the final preparations to my kit for that afternoon's cricket match, the 'Breaking Mega News' WhatsApp group alert goes off on my phone. 'Oh fuck,' I think. 'Better not be something I need.' It was - as it was for everyone, for Britain's first Western Reef Heron had been found on an estuary neighbouring Anglesey, in Gwynedd. I could barely concentrate on the cricket (as my single run in three balls faced, plus a dropped catch, rather show) but by midway through the match had managed to secure a lift leaving late evening. Accordingly dawn on Sunday saw Paul Nobbs, Jim Lawrence, Mike Buckland and I scanning the east side of the Ford estuary, with Stu and Finn Butchart, Joe Tobias and David Bradnum all nearby.

With a complex taxonomic status - occasionally mooted as conspecific with Little Egret, with hybridisation not uncommon, there was a fair chance of this bird being a hybrid. In the feather, however, it looked pukka.

Three Goosanders were pleasing, three Black Swans incongruous. But of a dark grey heron there was no sign. An intermittent current of Little Egrets beavering southwest into the stiff breeze prompted us, after an hour, to go and check out some coastal grazing marshes beyond the estuary. Some egrets and an odd-looking Common Buzzard aside, here was nothing there either. But we carried on searching, ever hopeful. Just after 06h30, news came through that the bird had been relocated a few miles away at Caernarfon. Being at the dead end of a bumpy track, a few minutes even from a narrow road rather got the adrenalin going, but by 7am, we were stood opposite Caernarfon Castle, and the bird was safely UTB.