Another grey wet morning covers the park. Squelching my through the mud I head through the large copse. A Cock Pheasant struts his way through the woodland oblivious to everything else around him.
The branches of Hawthorn and Blackthorn smothered in Old Mans Beard sag under the weight of the wet plant. A flock of five Goldfinch fly up out of a nearby patch of scrub before being promptly blown of course, they struggle against the wind to get back on course.
Over the top of a damp oxeye meadow a Raven flies into the wind quietly calling to another behind. From here I can just make out the outline of a Gannet out to sea. It sores over the top of the rough sea in a smooth zigzag pattern.
I head down past the mile markers to the coast path. A flock of 20 Feral Dove bursts from the cliffs and flying erratically inland before dramatically turning and flying back towards the cliffs. One straggler struggles to keep up with the others as they keep perfect formation.
The sea relentlessly crashes into the bottom of the cliffs, though three Guillemots sit on the water completely unbothered. In the cave 30 plus Guillemots have come for a short winter break. Some fly out to sea small wings flapping feverishly to propel them.
Overhead Herring Gulls and Great Black Backed Gulls soar elegantly high in the sky scanning the cliffs.