Two Harbours

 The long spell of cloudless skies and warm temperatures has run its course.  Cool clouds and a fresh breeze race into the cliffs.  The air carries a threat of rain.

A meadow pipit pipes my path down to the harbour, where a solitary eider paddles.  My old friend BCK33 brings her usual colour to the scene.  The still waters belie the sounds of crashing spray beyond the harbour wall.  I take the path back up, through the Green Castle.  Lumpy waters broil below.

Along at Bow Fiddle Rock the seabird colony seems worryingly quiet for the breeding season.  Two handfuls of shags deny the wind, standing in silhouette on the ridge of Shitten Craig.  The path through the whins is rich in the heady smells of coconut, but quiet.  I hear a lark ascending, but little else.  The tide is well up and I consider whether the outward or the return should be the one for the low road, by Jenny's Well.  Down the steps I go.  The tide has a bit further to rise yet.

There is no tinkle of water from the Well.  However the path of the burn is clearly marked by the rise, and the spread, of the Himalayan Balsam.  I reach the ninth green, where the balsam also thrives.  The beach is quiet, with only two walkers and one dog, plus a jogger, this side of the Three Kings.  I wander along the edge of the surf.  The distant viaducts are occluded, and as I recall the optician's words earlier in the week, about cataracts, I realise it's only the spray, swept from the surf.

As the bay curves so the roar rises in crescendo.  Above the sound of the tumbling surf is the roar of the wind.  Constant.  Driving.  The last tide has left smatterings of little jellyfish across the strand.  They should be back in the water shortly, if not pushed further up the beach.

From the Sauna at the Kings, three hardy souls emerge, striding to the surf, gloved against the cold, to rinse the pink and the dirt away.  This is wild, wild swimming; and a quick return to the steam of the coals.  The open doors of the Loons and the Quines provides a timely welcome.  Rare it is to find public loos still open these days, though a notice inside suggests that more volunteers are urgently needed if the seasonal facility is to remain available.  So, long since past the days of council funding, and now over to the community to dig deep.

The Blue Coast surf school prepares for an invigorating session.  They head along the sand, instructor in washed-out orange, pupils in bleached blue, quite possibly goose-pimpled blue in the parts the neoprene doesn't reach.  Each totes a blue board, which the wind would like to turn into a soaring sail.

The harbour is not busy.  Louise sits on the periphery of a clutch of eight mixed working and leisure craft.  There are only two others.  

Once again there are calm waters inside; maelstrom out.  Through the field glasses I watch the distant surfers, as they are powered up the sand, rising, tumbled.

For the return I head up through the town, and the path through the grounds of Cullen House, and on to Castle Hill, before joining the viaducts and the cycle path.  

Pinks and yellows on both sides, greenery above.   Rosebay willowherb is already reaching full height, soon to add to the palette.  The golf course below has all the evidence of the fine weather, though today's players adopt woolly hats and outer layers.  The fairways are browned, the greens watered and fresh.  

On the quieter stretches, as we rise, the sheltered cuttings of the old railway track are a haven for birdlife, in the whins and the trees rising on both sides.

Merlin joins me.  In the space of a mile or so he tells me I have been listening to 17 different species.  Not only do I hear the willow warbler, but I stand and watch as he trills in the treetop.  I know now what I watch, and might recognise that song next time.  Of the less familiar, I have been walking with a sedge warbler, and a spotted flycatcher too.  It's a wizard wheeze; don't leave home without Merlin.  Though I don't need him to tell me of the stonechats I chase along the fence posts as we go back into the deep and coconut scented gorse, or to hear the yellowhammer singing for his cheese.

As I head back towards the harbour, wondering if the eider might still be there, so I feel the first smattering of rain for some weeks.  It won't be just the golf course that needs it.  Selfishly I'll be glad to see it break this week.  So long as the warmth returns next week.  My Favourite Place awaits.  Meantime here's that Invasive Species that's about to spread even more.