Perhaps a relief from the atmospheric extremes of February, today’s March morning is dull and still, the Hawthorn scrub barely stirring under leaden skies.
A curious congregation greets me as I arrive at the Learning Centre, with three different corvid species all sitting atop the Sycamores.
One tree plays host to a chattering of ten Jackdaw, while its immediate neighbour is crowned with a raucous Carrion Crow. Curiously, the Magpie pair whose work-in-progress nest sits just below their larger cousin seemed nonplussed, despite most corvids’ propensity for thievery.
Ducking into the Bird Hide, the scrub surrounding the wildlife pond is the busiest I’ve seen it for months, with the quick movements of Blue Tits, Great Tits and even a duo of female Chaffinch, an underappreciated favourite of mine.
Reaching the Lighthouse track, the fluffy, yellow catkins of the verge-side Willow waft in what breeze the morning offers, while just the faintest susurrus emerges from the Holm Oak canopy.
Beneath the trees, the songs of passerine birds rise in competition, the bouncing cacophony of two rival Blackcaps possibly pulling ahead of the high wheeze of Firecrest, liquid melody of Robin and even famously bellicose Wren. Failing to be drawn, the bassy burble of Wood Pigeon rumbles on as a steady, dependable counterpoint.
As usual, the tracksides are busy with the nocturnal excavations of Badgers, though the stunning flowers of an emerging Primrose are thankfully left undisturbed.
Breaking out onto the open hillside of the Clifftop Trail, a russet-backed Kestrel jinxes between the trees on the hunt for morning prey, the falcon too small to perturb the Blackbird singly proudly from the woodland edge.
The creamy-white blossom of Blackthorn sits as a delicate contrast to the sunny shades of Gorse, though if folk wisdom is to be believed, we shouldn’t put our ‘big coats’ away until after this thorny scrub’s flowers have gone over.
Reaching the clifftop proper, regular visitor Brian reports the first Wheatear of the season, the species’ name an Old English reference to this migrant’s white posterior.
As we amble along the Trail, a pair of Fulmar effect their familiar wheeling circuits. While I only spot two of these compact cousins of the Albatross, Brian confirms the second of our three nesting pairs have also been out and about.
As I bid Brian farewell, a brown-backed female Sparrowhawk rushes overhead, traversing the clifftop with powerful strokes.
As I reach the Castle and begin my ascent, the deep croak of a Raven below the headland completes the set of Durlston corvids for the day.