The winds have arrived. The second storm of the season has been named Storm Bert. This seems fitting for Durlston; an estate developed by Victorian entrepreneur George Burt. And today, the mediterranean Holm Oaks that he planted take a battering. I feel a little uneasy, with the heavy branches dancing fluently around above my head.
Winds gusting 46mph blow in from the South. It’s the type of wind that knocks you back, I actually jog down past the Mile Markers enjoying the ease at which I could descend the steep hill.
I reach Tilly Whim, where the blow-hole pumps at the cliffs. Clouds of sea spray carries on up through the gully. The taste of salt on my lips. One by one humungous waves pummel into the cliffs, yet, floating calmly between them, a lone Shag, unphased by the surrounding chaos.
I turn East towards Durlston Head, Herring Gulls high in the sky. Some Guillemots have returned to their ledge, through binoculars I can identify a few juveniles amongst them: white breast feathers that continue up to the bill.
The swells roll into the headland at just the right angle, to pump the water vertically up like a geyser. A huge white sheet rises to 100’ before dumping the mass volume of water onto the grassy clifftop. Jackdaw and Woodpigeon erratic in flight. A parcel of Oystercatcher pass by, my ears unable to hear their usual distinctive piping.
A few Great Tit provide my first splash of colour in the woods, a flash of blue and green feathers. More colour follows in the autumnal leaves: lime-green Hazel, and lemon-yellow Beech, which turns ochre once scattered across the ground. The usual green still shimmering upon the Wych Elm.
My brain freeze begins to settle as I check upon the showing on Red Cage Fungus on the Entrance Road – look out for the bright red ‘flesh’ and white ‘egg’ ready to pop.