Mercifully, the heavy rain that accompanied my commute this morning had lifted by the time I arrived for this morning’s patrol, and the sky was painted in a cool palette of greys and tantalising hints of blue.
Also appreciating the meteorological respite, Swallows and Martins were swooping in the air above the Learning Centre, seizing the break in the wind and rain as an opportunity to feed on any airborne invertebrates they might find.
As I began to descend the hillside, Wood Pigeons effected low glides to avoid the worst gusts, likely glutting themselves on the wealth of fruiting Brambles, Haws and Rosehips available at the moment.
Following the meandering loops of the Lighthouse road, I spotted a pair of Jackdaw on the telephone line, engaged in call-and-response in their distinctive flint-like 'tchacks'.
Later, I spot a “clattering” of at least twenty of these gregarious little corvids wheeling together.
From the tangled undergrowth of the Gully below me, I hear the rough shriek of a Jay, a corvid unusual for its attention-seeking plumage of rose, blue, black and white. Just ahead of a Purbeck stone bridge, a Crab Apple tree sits heavy with fruit, a food source that will prove vital to our wildlife in later months.
As the Lighthouse once again moves into view, I observe Carrion Crow and Herring Gull alike fighting the south-westerly head-wind.
Skirting the Lighthouse compound to join the South West Coast Path, an upturned Garden Snail shell acts as an impromptu rain gauge, evidencing the previous night’s showers.
Descending the steep path, Golden Samphire shivers in the breeze above the mining adits, accompanied in their movement by the seed heads of Thrift, the pretty flowers of the ‘Sea-pink’ now but a memory, for this year at least.
Surveying the rock platforms below Tilly Whim, I spot a Grey Wagtail, distinctive with its yellow ‘vent’ and metronome movements. The bird is then drawn into a territorial skirmish with a Rock Pipit, a tiny turf war dwarfed by the surrounding cliffs.
Below that, a Shag makes a steady traverse at the waterline, heading West for a day’s fishing.
As I reach the distinctive silvered leaves of the White Poplar, our resident Ravens appear, ‘cronking’ and somersaulting in the air. More vocal than usual, the reason becomes clear as a rapid keening announces the arrival of their some-time nemesis, the Peregrine Falcon.
The Ravens make a quick exit and to my great excitement, the falcon deigns to land on the cliff edge just below me, slate-grey plumage perfectly coordinated with the water beyond.
Taking a moment to survey its domain, this lord of the skies then launches into the air, drifting with perfect grace back towards the Castle.