Silhouettes of Jackdaws rise up towards the stratocumulus clouds drifting eastward, with patches of rainfall out to sea. The low sun sits just upon the horizon at 0800, but below the cloud. It’s golden rays alight the park, and stain the sky like a watercolour, blended pigments blurring between orange, pink, and mauve.
I walk out towards Anvil Point Lighthouse; it’s white-washed walls coming into view across the downs dotted with patches of scrub. It’s from within these thickets of leafless Blackthorn the dawn chorus emanates; a raucous Robin, babbling Blackbird, and singing Song Thrush.
Emergent strands of Honeysuckle have sprouted untimely fresh-green leaves, probably confused by the exceptionally mild winter. I also find a large Buff-tailed Bumblebee, possibly Queen, slowly sauntering across the path. I pick her up and place her behind a dry-stone wall, in lee of the bitter wind.
It blows from the Atlantic and whistles through the mile markers, drawing me down the hill. I descend along a beaten cattle track, lined with dead heads of quivering Teasel and Knapweed. Paw prints, boots tread, and Roe Deer tracks are imprinted along the sections of soft clay.
The sea boils over at Tilly Whim, and a Shag passes close to the flurry of whitewater. A full colony of Guillemots can be seen along the cliffs; mostly huddled together upon the cliff ledge, but with a good number floating on the water in an elongated raft. Just a single Fulmar to be seen along the cliffs, using its airfoil wings to fly without an ounce of effort.
Festive feels can be found all around the park – from the herd of Reindeer which graze in the woodland for our Christmas Activity Trail, the morning parkrun’ers which assemble adorned in Santa hats, to the gentle jingling of Goldfinch, piping as they pass overhead.