Another glorious spring morning for a park patrol, sunlight dancing on the waters of the English Channel, and just the faintest gossamer clouds in the sky.
As I arrive on-site, a staple of car parks everywhere bobs and dips across the tarmac, the Pied Wagtail strutting about in search of breakfast.
Whitethroat scratch and Blackcap burble in the Blackthorn scrub of the Wildlife Pond, as Chaffinch flit to the feeder and Goldfinch drop to sip at the water’s edge.
A small flock of Linnet pass overhead as I enter Lighthouse Field, passing the crop of Early Purple Orchid and Cowslips I reported on Saturday. As I draw level with the old quarr, the lilting song of Skylark reaches me from Saxon Field, as the delicate blossoms of Wild Apple burst from the trackside tree.
Reaching the Horseshoe Bridge, a pair of Jackdaw make for the Sycamore, pursued in a territorial rage by one of our Peregrine Falcons. Seemingly at the sight of me, the smaller, more compact tiercel banks about, wheeling to land atop an old spoil heap, before powering away as I move for a better view.
Comparing notes on the bridge, former Durlston Ranger Hamish as usual sees what I do not, reporting two Whimbrel and Redstart on his morning perambulation.
Arriving at Anvil Point, an incongruous patch of Bluebells have emerged from the sward of Buck’s-Horn Plantain, as I spot my first open bloom of Sea Thrift of the season. Atop an unfurled Sow Thistle flower, a jewel-like Flower Beetle with the impenetrable name of Psilothrix viridicoerulea basks in the warmth.
Taking in the rollercoaster-dip of the Gully by Tilly Whim, a pair of Stonechat bounce on the Gorse as a Wren belts out its territorial claim with gusto.
Gaining height on the steady incline of the Clifftop Trail, I face a severe rebuke from the Blue Tits as I enter the Holm Oak woodland, the evergreen canopy seething with these pugnacious little birds, as Chiffchaff play out their self-referential loop-track from the Bramble thicket.
Cutting across the lighthouse track back toward the Learning Centre, I flush a Speckled Wood butterfly from the verge, its speckled wings flashing in the warm sunlight.