It is a stunning evening for a walk at Durlston Country Park. The position of its headland on the south-west coast of England makes it a fantastic place to observe bird migration in action. As I stroll along the coastal path, taking in the panoramic sea views, barn swallows arrive from across the Channel.
Below, a cacophony of sound emanates from the cliff edges. This section of the Jurassic Coast hosts a breeding colony of seabirds, with last year's survey recording 1,377 guillemots, 179 razorbills, 12 fulmars, and just six puffins. The puffin population here is incredibly precarious, and the National Trust, aided by dedicated volunteers, is working to understand why the three pairs are unable to successfully fledge their young. Unsurprisingly, I am unable to spot a puffin myself this time.
Despite the riches below, something on the grassy clifftop catches my eye: a small, grey-streaky bird with an unmistakable accelerating song flight. It lifts into the air, rising higher and higher before parachuting back down, wings held slightly open, all while singing its trill-like song. Landing in front of me, it offers a close view of its long, dark bill and legs, and buffish underparts.
My first encounter with this species was back in 2017 when I was birding on the Dorset coast. One walked beneath the picnic bench I was sitting on at Portland, picking up crumbs from my lunch — clearly a fan of my jam sandwich.
This individual is likely a male, performing aerial displays to defend its territory and attract a mate, as the breeding season is well under way. Its nest will be tucked away in a nearby crevice or on a rocky ledge, hidden among vegetation. These underrated birds can be found along our coastlines throughout the year, with the largely resident UK population bolstered in winter by migrant birds arriving from Scandinavia.
Further along the path, the rock pipit performs once again, its grand display stopping me in my tracks and outshining the superstar seabirds below.
