Exploring Spurn Point’s Wildlife and Coastal Views

As we stood on the windswept tip of Spurn Point, our site map flapping in the gusts, I felt a little intimidated.

Spurn is legendary among birders, a place where experts rack up incredible sightings. I arrived with a camera and enthusiasm, but worried I wouldn't know what to look for — or that I wouldn't fit in with the seasoned veterans.

I hoped to see amazing birds. But honestly? I mostly hoped I wouldn't look like a total novice.

If any of that sounds familiar, this story is for you.

Photo taken on our second visit when we reached Spurn Point itself

Day 1: Finding My Feet

We'd timed our September trip for the autumn migration, arriving a day early and navigating winding roads to England's easternmost tip.

Our first port of call was the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust Discovery Centre and homemade soup at the Blue Bell Café. Then we headed to the Sea Watching Hide.

Inside, volunteers called out sightings in a language I barely understood. "Five Gannets just passed the platform." "Red-throated Diver in front of the fives!" Their calls were quick and confident.

I followed their gazes to the distant wind turbines — the "fives" — and squinted at specks on the horizon. The birds were too distant for my eyes and certainly too far for my camera.

It was in that moment I felt the gap between me and the true birdwatchers.

But here's what I learned later: most of those volunteers started exactly where I was standing. Nobody arrives knowing what a "Red-throated Diver in front of the fives" means.

Sign giving information about the Wash Over at Spurn Point

Day 2: The First Small Wins

After a mix-up, we arrived at the Spurn Bird Observatory for a guided walk with minutes to spare. The wild weather had deterred everyone else — we were the only two.

This turned out to be a gift. Our guide, Johnnie, could focus entirely on us, pointing things out at our pace. He led us around "The Triangle," where a lone Curlew probed the mudflats with its extraordinarily long, curved bill and a late Hobby cut across the sky.

Curlew on the Humber estuary

Back at the Sea Watching Hide, I saw a Short-eared Owl flying low over the shore. Not a distant speck — real and tangible. No specialist equipment needed, just patience and being in the right place. It was my first reward for braving the elements.

Later, a Wheatear caught my eye on the beach, and despite heavy rain, I spotted a Roe Deer moving through a field of sunflowers.

Close views of a Wheatear on the beach at Spurn Head

By the time we retreated from the stinging rain, I was starting to see the magic of this place. The weather had been terrible, but I'd still come away with sightings I was proud of. I was learning that bad conditions don't mean a wasted day.

Day 3: Growing in Confidence

Sunday dawned wet and wild. In my earlier birding days, I might have stayed in. Instead, we layered up and headed out.

At Kilnsea Wetlands, we spotted waders — Redshank, Knot, Dunlin, and Turnstone.

I couldn't name them all at first glance, but I was getting better at noticing the differences: the Redshank's orange legs, the Turnstone's busy feeding style.

My attention was caught by a Grey Heron we nicknamed Shakespeare, who repeatedly picked up a feather as if it were a quill. You don't need to know every species to notice behaviour like that — and those quirky observations often become the memories you treasure most.

Shakespeare with his quill.

A female Kestrel hovered directly above us. Unlike the distant Gannets from my first day, this bird offered clear views, its focus on the hunt mesmerising. It was a sighting I recognized as these birds of prey were common at home.

We also saw Reed Buntings and Meadow Pipits, birds I was beginning to recognise by shape and movement even before I confirmed them in my field guide.

After the walk, cold and wet, we retreated to the Crown and Anchor for lunch and watched the waders on the mudflats through its big picture windows.

Day 4: Ambition and a Lesson in Humility

I'd noticed that the best light at Kilnsea came early. So we arrived just after sunrise to capture the golden hour.

For the next hour, I photographed Curlew, Shelduck, a flock of Pink-footed Geese, and a Little Egret. The soft light transformed even common birds into something special. I made a mental note: arrive even earlier tomorrow.

Curlew during the Golden Hour

Shelduck flock

Flock of Curlew (with a single Avocet) over Beacon Ponds

One of our goals was to walk the three and a half miles to the end of Spurn Point. As we set out, the sun finally broke through.

My legs grew tired, and I collapsed onto a bench at the refuge shelter, just past the Washout, while my husband pushed on towards the lighthouse. He returned later, defeated. "It was further than I thought," he sighed.

We didn't reach our goal. But the walk itself taught me something: the tip isn't where all the birds are. The bushes and hedges closer to the Discovery Centre often hold more life than the exposed end. Next time, I'd spend less energy walking and more time watching.

One unexpected sight was a tractor which rumbled past us on the sand, its trailer loaded with furniture heading for some unknown destination.

A tractor acting as a furniture removal vehicle on the sand of Spurn Point

A tractor rumbled past us on the sand, its trailer loaded with furniture heading for some unknown destination

The remains of military buildings from world war 2 at Spurn Point

World War 2 remains on the seashore

On our way back, we detoured up the Big Hedge Footpath, where birdwatchers were huddled.

"Rustic Bunting," one whispered. We scanned the branches but couldn't distinguish the rare bird from its common cousins.

I could have felt defeated. Instead, something shifted. Even without a sighting, we felt the shared thrill of the hunt. I was learning to count the experience, not just the ticks on a list.

Female Reed Bunting

A Whitethroat in the reeds beside the field gate

Female Stonechat

Male Stonechat

As the light faded, a trio of Roe Deer appeared at the edge of the path. The low light made my photos grainy — but the encounter stayed with me. I later used one as the basis for a coloured pencil drawing. Sometimes the camera struggles, but the memory doesn't have to.

Roe deer buck (male)

Buck side view

My coloured pencil drawing of the Roe Buck seen at Spurn Head

Pencil drawing by Carol Leather

Days 5 & 6: Enduring the Storm, Finding the Spectacle

An email from our host brought a flood warning. We spent the evening moving our gear off the floor. The storm was intense, but the floodwaters never reached us.

The next morning, the wetlands put on a show.

Large flock of waders

I'd read that storms can push unexpected birds onto the coast, and now I understood why. As we stepped into the reserve, the sheer number of waders was overwhelming. Suddenly, the entire flock erupted — a pair of Hobbies darting through with incredible speed.

I raised my camera, their movements too quick to track effectively, but managed one decent photo. Not perfect, but proof I was there. That's often enough.

Hobby in flight

Later, we saw the full power of the spring tide. The car park had vanished, its tarmac completely submerged. The path we'd walked just days before was gone — a stark illustration of this ever-changing land.

I was beginning to understand Spurn's rhythms: weather, tide, time of day. Each affects what you'll see. A quiet morning doesn't mean you've failed — it means the conditions weren't right. Come back when they shift.

Day 7: The Final Test

On our last day, we returned to Kilnsea before dawn — earlier than ever, building on what we'd learned.

Otuside the hide, a Brown Hare sat serenely in the golden light. At the Canal Scrape, a Little Egret put on a fishing display. Quiet rewards for patience.

Brown Hare sitting in the early morning golden light

A sitting Brown Hare

The Hare soon raced off

Heading for a final visit to the Sea Watching Hide, we saw a crowd hurrying in the opposite direction. "Booted Warbler amongst the sunflowers!" they gasped.

My husband, legs tired, opted to wait. But a new confidence spurred me on.

At the gate, I felt that old familiar anxiety. I had a problem: I'd never seen a Booted Warbler and had no idea what to look for.

A week earlier, I might have hung back, hoping to spot it without revealing my ignorance. Instead, I took a breath and turned to the experts around me. "Could you show me where to look?"

The response was immediate and kind. "See where two sunflower heads are behind that patch of mauve flowers?" A hand gently guided my camera lens lower. "You're aiming too high."

Then the Booted Warbler flew up, perching in plain sight.

The rare Booted Warbler in the sunflower patch

Their words weren't just directions — they were an act of inclusion. They weren't gatekeeping; they were opening the gate for me.

It was my first rare bird. As I turned to leave, I found myself smiling. Perhaps I was becoming a proper birdwatcher after all.

An Invitation

If you've ever felt intimidated by a destination like Spurn Point, I hope my story helps.

The secret wasn't in having the best gear or knowing every bird call. It was in showing up, being curious, and not being afraid to ask for help. The community of people who love these wild places is often its most wonderful discovery.

Here's what I'd tell myself before that first visit:

You don't need to know everything. I couldn't identify half the birds being called out on Day 1. By Day 7, I was finding my own.
Your kit is probably fine. I used a mid-range camera and a 100-400mm lens. No spotting scope.
Bad weather isn't wasted time. Some of our best sightings came on the roughest days.
Quiet days still count. You're learning to read the place, even when nothing performs.
Ask for help. People want to share what they love. Let them.

We returned the following October — taking the Spurn Safari, exploring the lighthouse, and meeting two red foxes so used to people they came close enough to photograph with my phone.

You don't always need a long lens for a magical wildlife encounter. You just need to be there.