Ruth walked in the front door after a busy day at work to be greeted by her bins and a fleece.  “You’ll need these!” said Alan.  “There’s a mega bird down at Abersoch on the Lleyn Peninsula and Marc is picking us up in a few minutes!”  Sure enough, Marc Hughes drew up as he spoke and we sped off down the lanes to the Lleyn.  A mega bird all right, a Royal Tern no less and a second for Wales!  The first was only seen briefly by one lucky birder so this was must see bird for all UK birders!
It was a glorious evening, the sun glowing on the hills as Snowdon standing out crisply against a cobalt-blue sky, wearing just a wreath of clouds around its peak.  But the atmosphere inside the car was tense with an hour-long drive ahead of us, made worse by the news as we drove that the bird had flown off high, heading east and hadn’t been relocated.  Marc put his foot down a little more as we worked out our strategy.  Abersoch was well covered, so there was no point in heading there.  If other birders picked up the bird again, they’d be sure to ring, so we played a strategic game and headed for the point at Pwllheli.  This vantage point gave us a good view west along the coast towards Llanbedrog and Abersoch as well as east towards Criccieth.  If the bird was here or passing, we’d be sure to see it.  The conditions were perfect: flat calm sea and clear visibility for miles as we checked the shoreline in both directions as well as scanning out to see.  Just one thing was missing: the bird.  A few gulls gathered and we checked them closely but no sign of a tern.
After a long search, pleasant enough in the warm evening sunshine but not producing the goods, we decided to try another site.  Now it was time to gamble!  Which way to go? West and closer to Abersoch in the hope it would return to its previous site, or east towards Black Rock Sands near Porthmadog, the site of many a good find in the past, and potentially a tempting roosting place for a lone Royal Tern?  On such a toss of a coin, fortunes have been won or lost!  We chose east, and we piled in the car again as Marc drove like the clappers to get us there.  The evening was passing fast and we couldn’t afford to waste time on the road.  We paused briefly to catch up with two friends, Steve and Martin, who were checking a few gulls on the pool and estuary in Pwllheli.  Nothing doing there so we left them to it, telling them we were heading for Black Rock Sands. 
Foot to the metal, we headed eastwards fast.  Local knowledge is a useful thing, and we dived down a back double which would bring us out closer to the beach.  It’s a twisting, turning lane with hairpin bends and marked with arrows on the map, but Marc’s no stranger to chasing birds and he wasn’t going to let a few bends get in the way!  Alan was constantly on the mobile to the other birders in the area, checking to see if they had any news and telling them where we were headed.  The Wirral crew were amongst them, and Alan suggested that Black Rock might be a good bet, at least that’s what we were hoping.  You can drive right out onto the open expanse of sand and there’s often a gull roost there.  Just the sort of place a Royal Tern might choose to hang out! 
We were just minutes away from the beach ourselves when Alan’s mobile rang again.  It was the Wirral crew again.  “Got it! Black Rock, by the campsite!”  The campsite was just ahead of us and the excitement was unbearable.  Cue for a tourist to drive out in front of us and crawl slowly along, admiring the view, the wildflowers growing along the banks, the fluffy clouds in the sky, anything but getting out of our way.  Didn’t he realise there was a crisis here, a mega bird just ahead of us and he was between us and it! 
At last there was a slight widening in the road and we shot past him and down the access road to the beach.  Miles and miles of empty sand were in front of us.  No car, no Wirral crew, no Royal Tern!  Where was it?  Back on the mobile again!  Wrong campsite, there’s another one further east, so we turned the car and tore along the beach, sand flying up in our wake.  Luckily few beachcombers or dogwalkers were out on the beach as we thundered along, flattening abandoned sandcastles in our way.  The Wirral crew talked us in, black car, men standing behind it, two scopes.  Got it!  Alan already had the door open as Marc slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt next to them, making deep grooves in the sand.  We ran over to their scopes and each took a millisecond look in case the bird took off.  Phew!  What a relief.  There it sat, a large bulky tern, with a funky black crest, and most obvious of all, a striking thick orange bill.  A Royal Tern, happily sitting on the open sand in full view, preening.
In slow time now, panic over with the bird safely seen, we set up our scopes and relished the view.  Two more cars appeared and Alan waved them over, but they turned away and drove to the far end of the beach.  Clearly not interested in birds, they obviously wanted to get as far away as possible from the overfriendly locals!  More cars turned up at top speed, and skidded to a halt beside us.  Doors were thrown open and people ran for the scopes already set up to get their first view, sighs of relief and whoops of joy all round once they’d seen the bird.  Celebration for Fred who had Royal Tern as his 500th UK bird, not a bad milestone!  Pregnant wives, birthday celebrations, important meetings, all were abandoned at the drop of a hat for such an exciting bird on our shores!  Must admit, even after seeing one or two of these birds in our travels last year, it was still pretty special to see one here on a beach in North Wales.
Soon the beach looked like a car rally, or perhaps better, an optics demonstration, with scopes of various makes, sizes and heights lined up and all pointed in one direction.  The bird was totally unfazed by this attention, and tucked its head under its wing to sleep.  Even a Landrover testing out its all-terrain capability at the water’s edge didn’t disturb it, and neither did a Herring Gull which strutted past providing perfect material for size comparison.  But where were Steve and Martin?  Why was it taking them so long? Had they stopped off for a snack on the way?!  Around 50 birders were gathered on the beach and at last Steve drove up, cursing more slow-driving tourists on the roads as he and Martin leapt out for a first look through the nearest available scope.  Birders were busy digiscoping, photographing and videoing the bird as the sun inevitably began to dip behind the hills and good viewing light faded.  It was time to head for home as darkness fell.  What an evening, what a bird!