Scilly Reset

A fortnight ago today, we arrived home from a short holiday on The Isles of Scilly with a couple of old friends. It was our first visit to the islands for ten years. Now why would any birder in their right mind choose to spend a valuable week of their life on Scilly in late April? I mean, apart from the eye-watering cost, there is absolutely no guarantee of rare birds, right? If you really must go to Scilly rather than Shetland, then October is the month, surely?

Well, if rarities are what you want, fine. But for me and many others, that is not what Scilly is for.

Bumping into a fellow birder on Tresco, we asked how he was getting on. His response was a glum look and slightly exasperated 'I just seem to be chasing birds...'

We thought, but didn't say, 'Mate, you're doing it wrong!'

A late-April holiday on Scilly should be nothing but balm for the soul. How could someone muck it up so badly? Unfortunately I think I know the answer.

Our previous spring holidays on Scilly were in the days before smartphones and WhatsApp groups, and you rarely met another birder. If there was any news at all, it was minimal and wa-a-a-ay after the fact...

'Any good, mate? What you seen?'

'Nice Woodchat on Bryher two days ago, and Night Heron at Porthellick last Thursday week. You?'

Back then, nobody seemed to bother much with rushing about in the spring. That was for autumn, and the young thrusters. Well, now of course the young thrusters of yore are old blokes like me, and a fair few have evidently decided that Scilly in spring is where it's at, and have brought their rushing-about type habits with them. As a result, in late April 2026 Scilly was liberally peppered with elderly birders, slowly creaking their way from dip to dip by means of the Scilly Rare and Scarce Bird News WhatsApp group (849 members and counting) with its instant dissemination of information about birds that were showing well until ten minutes ago.

Paul and I tried very hard not to be sucked into this joyless game. Rather, our doddery progress around the islands would inevitably involve a stop at every gateway, a scan of every hedge. We certainly stumbled across a few nice birds that way, and still managed to get in on some of the headliners.

What follows is a parade of photos depicting many of the week's highlights. A few that avoided the camera were a singing Nightingale, a close but too-quick Wood Warbler, a Purple Heron that only Paul saw, and a male Golden Oriole that we all saw, but all too briefly. I did get a ropey shot of a Night Heron in flight, but it's too ropey even for this blog...

Young White Wagtail on Porthellick

Lapwing, ditto.

American Wigeon, Porthellick again.

Willow Warbler on the Garrison.

There was a mass arrival of Painted Ladies quite early in our stay. They were everywhere.

St. Agnes is my favourite island, so I was chuffed to find this Ring Ouzel there on our first morning, at Browarth, a quiet spot beyond Porth Killier.

Ring Ouzel in classic Scilly scenery. Despite what someone on Bluesky thought, that huge rock in the background is not the iconic lump of granite situated at the north end of Wingletang Down! If you know, you know...

Wheatear, granite, lichen.

Short-toed Lark on the airfield. A rather dark and scruffy-looking individual.

The early-morning arrival of seven Black-winged Stilts on St. Agnes was probably the rarity highlight of the week, especially when they relocated to Porthellick on St. Mary's. In this shot an adult male, plus female in submissive posture.

Bonus Wood Sandpiper on Porthellick

A migrant Diamond-back Moth sneaks into the photo sequence...

Black-winged Stilts are outrageous birds anyway, but in flight, even more so!

All seven...

...and again, beautifully picked out by the evening sun, just prior to departure.

Probably a Dark-barred Twin-spot Carpet. Apparently far commoner on Scilly than Red Twin-spot Carpet. A new moth for me...probably.

One of four Red Kites on Tresco. If I kept a Scilly list, probably a tick.

I've seen quite a few spring Woodchats on Scilly. This one was on Tresco.

Turtle Dove on Peninnis, St. Mary's. The first I've seen since 2020.

Great Northern Diver off Peninnis.

Male Whinchat from the coast path below the Golf Course.

Spotted Flycatcher on coastal rocks at Porthloo.

Dunlin, Porthloo.

Common Sandpiper, Old Town.

In its final year of service, the venerable Scillonian III passing Peninnis.

Holly Blue

This thrillingly brown micro is a fine example of Eastern Detritus Moth Opogona omoscopa. It is something of a Scilly speciality. Paul found it on the wall of the Sally Port tunnel beneath the Garrison wall on St. Mary's. It is one of those 'accidental import' type moths. Very unlikely to turn up in my Axminster garden. Which is a bit gutting of course.

Peninnis lighthouse on the right, Porthcressa and the Garrison on the left.

Porthcressa and Peninnis.

View of the harbour from Porthloo beach.

The Longstone Cream Tea experience. No complaints here. Generous portion of cream, massive scone. Expensive? Natch.

I could go on quite a bit about Tresco, my least favourite island. Tresco's beauty is unfortunately sullied by a vast temple to Mammon.

Our last day on the islands coincided with the first day of this. We first encountered the World Pilot Gig Championships back in the 1990s. It was a lot smaller then, with the 'World' comprising little more than Scilly, Cornwall and a couple of other seaside spots.

Nice to see a couple of Lyme Regis gigs here. There were Bridport boats too. They are a regular sight off the coast local to us, propelled back and forth in all weathers by earnest rowers embracing their pain cave.

More than 150 gigs and 480 crews apparently. Getting that lot to the islands must be a logistical nightmare!

Just a few of them on Town Beach...

...and a few in the water.

The Scillonian III arriving to take us home.

In many ways the islands were exactly as they have always been: a beguilingly beautiful haven. But I am seeing them now through older eyes, and there is less of a rosy tint to my spectacles. Thankfully that didn't really matter. It was still possible to sit on a wild, rocky coastline, drugged by the scent of gorse, and feel the cares of everyday life shrivel up and fall away...