A brighter arrival in the Country Park this morning, with pink-tinged cirrus clouds scudding across the sky, propelled by the tail-end of Storm Ingrid, while the sun rises hazed by a fine sea mist.
Our resident Carrion Crow family are patrolling the car park on arrival, the leucistic primary feather of this year’s young bird bright white against their usual pitch plumage.
Robins continue staking their claims to their winter territories through liquid song, while Wrens rattle with irritation from the Bramble scrub.
Descending the Lighthouse track, the vigorous sou’easterly sets the yellow-flowering Gorse ashiver. Set back from the cattle-poached verge, the orange berries of Stinking Iris glow in the gloom beneath the wind-sculpted Hawthorns.
A black shape high above the coast prompts me to lift my binoculars - the distant dot resolves into a high-flying Shag - perhaps diverted from its usual sea-level traverses by the rough swell offshore.
A chattering of ten Jackdaw skulk on the Lighthouse telephone line as I reach the Horseshoe Bridge, though the prevailing wind means the tangled Gully is not its usual refuge, and only a single Wood Pigeon scatters at my approach.
Descending towards Tilly Whim caves on the South West Coast Path, a perfect alignment of wind and tide sends waves roaring straight towards the seaward end of the Gully.
Roaring breakers throw spray high into the air, topping the cliffs and drifting hundreds of metres up the meltwater-cut ravine, filling the air with rainbows.