Spending a month as night shorebird warden on a UK beach helping protect our vulnerable shorebird population was an unforgettable journey - one filled with daily learning, profound connections to nature, and unexpectedly, a deep sense of purpose. Below, I share my highlights, the difficulties and rewards of my conservation experience, offering insights into the critical work the whole team (staff and volunteers) carries out.

So, what is the shorebird sanctuary?

Gibraltar Point is the last breeding site in Lincolnshire for little terns and thus a vitally important area to protect. It’s not just little terns, however, but also ringed plover and the occasional oystercatcher that choose this area to nest and raise their young. 

The little tern, small and agile with a distinctive yellow bill, is a red-listed species in the UK due to habitat loss, disturbance, and predation.

The Gibraltar Point wardens (the amazing Rich and Beth) close off the sanctuary area to the public from the start of April, putting up new informative signage for beachgoers and erecting fencing to deter any access. The dedicated team of staff and volunteers monitor this pretty much 24/7 over the closure period and engage in gentle but firm conversations with the public about the importance of keeping dogs off the beach during this time and respecting the exclusion zones.

And who exactly am I ?

I’m sure many people would call me many things and a few of those would undoubtedly contain a few expletives, but that aside I’m a volunteer ranger at Gibraltar Point and an amateur wildlife photographer.

Back in June 2025, I was asked by Rich (head warden at Gib) if I’d like to help out with the shorebird sanctuary, monitoring for a few nights here and there over the month. I jumped at the chance (I’m one of those strange individuals that much prefers the company of animals and nature to that of my fellow humans - sorry friends and family!). That in turn developed into spending most of my July nights alone on the remote southernmost tip of the reserve - and I loved it!

What is involved?

The brief is quite simple – monitor and protect. Check on the nesting areas, look out for new scrapes (the nests are not a typical twigs and grass construction, more just a gentle scrape in the sand and shingle), repair any fencing issues, report any concerns and deter any public or predator incursion. 

On my first night driving to the reserve around 9pm I felt quite apprehensive, not quite knowing what to expect, but that soon evaporated as I made my way across the saltmarsh. The sea lavender was in full bloom, giving a gorgeous iridescent purple haze as I looked back at the Visitor Centre in the low setting sunlight.

About a mile down the beach I arrived at the designated site, tucked away in the dunes between the two nesting areas. I was greeted by a small blue tent, a brisk sea breeze and sweeping vistas of unspoilt beaches and saltmarshes. The isolation felt comforting, and the rhythmic sound of waves and cry of seabirds created a beautiful soundtrack.

After setting down my rucksack containing my camera, binoculars, packed lunch and the largest flask I could find filled with strong coffee, I began my nighttime routine – every 10-15 mins walking up to the highest dune and scanning the nesting areas, the intervening saltmarsh and the beach using a thermal camera and a strong-beam torch. The time between these sessions was spent listening either for alarm calls from the birds or telltale sounds from unwanted visitors.

The singing

No one told me about this. Around 2am, with the night at its darkest except for the gorgeous horizon-to-horizon blanket of starlight, I first heard it. A close-by, agonising wail. What could only be described as the kind of sound an aging ex-opera singer who has smoked over 40 a day her whole life might make when she stubs her toe on a large, heavy coffee table. I froze and actually said to myself, “What the...”. As it carried on I walked up the dunes and scanned south over The Wash. Seals! About a dozen of them, 50 yards or so south from where I was, on the remaining bit of beach left by the high tide. I stood and watched them for what felt that ages but was probably only a few minutes. The singing (wailing) became a nightly routine that I welcomed and felt lucky to hear. Sometimes a little closer – more often further out in The Wash. One night I heard snuffling and grunting really close by. I went to the edge of the dune grass and there, no more than 10 yards down the beach, was a seal, rolling on its back having a good scratch. I stood and watched silently before gently backing off, grateful and with a huge daft grin on my face.

Unexpected

Both Rich and Beth had mentioned I’d see lots of hares. I assumed this would be from a distance. I’m not the smallest of people and have a heavy footfall so in daylight I normally only get to see a hare’s backside as it scarpers off about 100 yards away. Here though, in the dark, it was completely different. Pretty much on every viewing session there would be hares visible, sometimes two or three, on occasion over a dozen, the nearest no more than 20 yards away, some eating, some chasing each other around the dunes, others just lying in the sand. My fave hare moments were when I’d catch them on the beach, often meandering up and down but every now and then one would just sit and stare out to sea or up at the stars – and not just briefly but for 10-15 minutes. Whether it was for pleasure or just tranquility I don’t know, but it was lovely to witness.

The other thing was the weather. Even in July, between 2am and 4am the temperature drops quite a lot and is definitely more noticeable when one isn’t moving around too much. The hot coffee really becomes something to look forward to and after the first night, there was always another layer of clothes in the bag.

The one disappointment

Trawlers. On a few occasions whilst rangering or out with my camera I’d see trawlers quite close to the Gib shoreline. What I didn’t expect was just how frequent it would be under cover of darkness. On average three times a week a small trawler would come within 80 yards of the shore and trawl right through the feeding grounds of the little terns. It's hard to put in polite language just how much this aggrieved me. On one night when they came particularly close, I’m not ashamed to say I ran down the beach spouting the kind of language that would have earned me a clip around the ear if my mother had heard me. In hindsight it was probably wasted effort as I doubt they would have heard me above the noise of the engine but I just couldn’t sit still and watch. These nets do so much damage to the immediate ecology and really should be banned from a protected area like this.

Predators and humans 

Thankfully I didn’t see much of either. I only saw a fox on one occasion and that was on a far-off dune ridge not close to the nests. The following day we saw some fox footprints in and around the north part of the sanctuary but again this was some distance from the eggs and the young birds. On a couple of nights, we had owl visits, but these were unsuccessful and chased off by little terns and oystercatchers. We found people camping on two occasions on the beach - they were politely informed there were better places to set up their tent. 

All in all we had a successful season with all the nests monitored producing chicks and fledging youngsters, thanks in no small part to the immense efforts of the wardens and team of volunteers who all help and protect this area around the clock.

Looking back

This month-long immersion for me was transformative. Obviously old dogs can, occasionally, learn new tricks. I developed a keener eye and ear for the subtle signs of wildlife activity and learned to trust my instincts in both routine tasks and unexpected situations. The dawns were amazing. I miss sitting under the starlight listening to the sea and wildlife for hours at a time. The solitude was comforting and encouraged reflection, giving me space to reconnect with nature and reconsider my own impact on the environment. Above all, seeing the chicks scamper around the beach and fledgling birds take their first flight brought an immense sense of fulfilment, reminding me that even the smallest acts can yield lasting benefits.

For me it proved to be a deeply rewarding experience and I’ll be forever grateful for being asked to take part. It reinforces the importance of hands-on conservation and the value of protecting our natural heritage. The lessons learned and memories made will stay with me, fuelling my commitment to wildlife protection for years to come.

And one last thing

If anyone is thinking they would like to do a bit more for nature, please consider becoming a volunteer. You’ll find it so rewarding and discover a great sense of belonging and camaraderie among fellow volunteers, wardens and reserve staff all united by a shared mission. The more people that become part of the story – the greater the story will become.