A bright but breezy morning greets me as I arrive for patrol, shadowing a Jay up Lighthouse Road, the corvid’s distinctive white rump flashing in the early light as it jinxes between the Sycamore trees.
Arriving within the Country Park proper, the susurrating crowns of the Holm Oaks are a mirror of the herds of white horses galloping offshore. Ducking into the Bird Hide, Great and Blue Tits take turns on the feeder, while a trio of Chaffinch skulk in the browned-off Buddleia.
Goldfinch chime in seeming protest as they are buffeted the strong gusts above, while a multitude of croaking Carrion Crows and Rooks seem to relish the opportunity to ride the winds.
As I hop atop a stone bench to snap a picture, my hat is stolen by a particularly strong gust, requiring a careful scramble over a dry-stone wall and into the mass of sickly-scented Ivy, and Bramble beyond.
Hat retrieved, I descend towards the Lighthouse and reach the relative shelter of the Gully, where the liquid burble of a Robin can finally cut above the roar of the wind, joined by the high, dry trills of Goldcrests.
Leaning on the bridge parapet, I spot one of these diminutive birds picking its way through the tangle of Hawthorn and Wild Clematis below.
Skirting the Lighthouse, a ‘clattering’ of twelve Jackdaw pick their way across the tight, cattle-mown grass sward, their compatriots wheeling above.
On the sheltered and sun-kissed Northern flank of the South West Coast Path, Rock Samphire forms a fleshy, verdant carpet, at odds with the increasingly late season.
As the Tilly Whim caves draw into view, the lowest stone platforms are easily submerged by the rolling waves, while the strongest swells succeed in topping out and pebble-dashing the highest ledge, leaving the Purbeck limestone glistening in the November sunshine.