A cooler morning compared to yesterday’s patrol, with a full drop of two degrees in air temperature even before wind chill, though the springtime sun is still shining through a patchwork of high cloud.
A charm of Goldfinch are in full voice in the Sycamores as I recce the pond area from the Bird Hide, with one finch on the feeder firing off an agitated rattle at a Blue Tit that lands just a little too close.
From the top of the lighthouse track, white horses can be seen racing along the English Channel beyond Anvil Point, driven by the robust nor’easterly. A Buff-tailed Bumblebee rumbles between the Blackthorn blossoms as a Whitethroat scratches and rattles from its perch.
As I stand amid the Early Purple Orchids, I spy a Cirl Bunting atop a thicket of Bramble, emitting its lisping, single-note contact call. Checking in on the Early Spider Orchids by Pat and John’s bench above the quarr, I rejoin the Herston Trail and head west, the ‘teacher teacher’ of Great Tit drifting from Small Copse.
Dropping down to a stone stile offering sheltered views over the Gully, I look out over the meltwater-cut valley, now lush with regenerating Hawthorn and busy with Whitethroat and Chiffchaff, while Linnet pass overhead.
As I sit, one of Durlston’s Ravens comes powering down the Gully, using the lip of the ravine to avoid the headwind before passing the lighthouse and disappearing beyond Tilly Whim.
Rejoining the Herston Trail, a crop of Charlock has exploded from the drystone clitter by the gate into Ox-Eye Field, yellow flowers wafting in the stiff breeze.
Ox-Eye itself is flush with both Cowslips and Skylarks, while from the scrubby tangle of Saxon Field Chaffinch, Wren and a Lesser Whitethroat can be heard, fuller-voiced and less hoarse than its larger cousin.