A bright sunny morning with a cold north easterly breeze cutting through the warmth of the mornings sun. Heading out through the meadows I’m greeted by a Chiffchaff calling from the to of an Ash Tree, with another replying from a nearby Hawthorn, just starting to come into leaf. Bright green leaves are starting to unfurl on a Sycamore. Below Bracken is starting to emerge on ground level the curled-up stems starting to unfurl.
Cowslips are popping up all over Centenary, the drooping pale-yellow flowers standing just above the height of the grass. Above the meadow a Skylark beats its wings feverishly against the wind, managing to sing at the same time. Another comes over a wall to disappear into the grass. Hiding somewhere in the scrub to my back a Song Thrush can be heard calling, its continuous song following as I head through the field.
Above the bottom mile marker, a Cirl Bunting sits atop a patch of Blackthorn. Its stripped eye markings helping me to identify it, its also joined by another duller in colour female who sits a little lower on the bush.
The wind whips the sea into a frenzy, as I watch a Shag struggle to fly back to its cliff edge nest with a stick in its beak. A Kestrel zooms past seemingly pushed off path by the wind, it turns around and try’s again to head in its desired direction before once again being blown off path.
Small rafts of Guillemots sit on the water seeming unfazed by the rough conditions, more join them as they crash into the water. The ledge stands half full of none of the usually jostling for space needed and no one having to resort to sitting on the large rock.
Heading up the diagonal path I admire the patch work of bright yellow flowering Gorse and white flowering Blackthorn, sloping down to the water.