After a trip upcountry for an Essex wedding, on which I heard both my first Cuckoo of 2026 and the liquid majesty of a singing Nightingale, I return to another glorious springtime patrol.
As I lurk in the Learning Centre bird hide, a pair of Wood Pigeon clatter down to drink from the pond as a Goldfinch goes piping overhead. A trio of Magpie bounce in the Sycamore as I emerge, one emitting a curious wheeze to the resident nesting pair.
Pausing at the weather station to record another 24 hours of benign temperatures and dry weather, a pair of Linnet chase over the Bramble thickets nearby. Reaching the lighthouse track, a Robin bounces about the drystone wall, collecting errant fur from a passing canine visitor and piping out low contact calls to its partner.
Heading down the tarmac, the low-lying yellow blooms of Horseshoe Vetch have emerged trackside, as well as proud-standing florets of Salad Burnet.
Conspicuously absent back up the hill, the scratching of Whitethroat is now all about me in the Gorse scrub, as well as the rich, underappreciated song of Dunnock.
Approaching Horsehoe Bridge, the burbling descent of Chaffinch can be heard, as well as the strident tones of Wren, Chiffchaff and Skylark in Saxon Field above. Another pair of Magpie are rattling higher up in the Gully, making me wonder if a Sparrowhawk or Red Fox has given them cause for concern.
I’ve headed to Anvil Point Lighthouse with intent today, and amid the cattle-cropped turf, I find what I’m looking for; a scattering of Green-winged Orchid, accompanied by the delicate blues of Common Milkwort.
Skirting the boundary wall, Tilly Whim opens up beneath me, as a flock of four Gannet power their way west along the coast. The Sea Thrift is nearly in full bloom, the candyfloss flowers heavy with the emerald sheen of Psilothrix viridicoerulea Flower Beetles.
Gaining height on the South West Coast Path once more, a smartly-suited Stonechat chips proudly from a fence post. My first Durlston Swallow of the year banks and wheels as I ascend the Clifftop Trail, and a Greenfinch wheezes on a Clematis-tangled Hawthorn.
Entering the Holm Oak woodland, a pair of Speckled Wood butterflies gambol in the dappled light, as the high trill of Firecrest washes over me. Though the paths are now far too dry to betray the nighttime movements of Durlston’s Roe Deer, a regurgitated pellet tells me a bird of prey rested on the oak bough above, perhaps the resident Tawny Owl who haunts Reservoir Copse.