This Island, This Thrust out Spit of Land, At the End of Miles of Stone.

 The days are getting longer. It's early May and sunrise is around 5.30am, which coincidentally, is the time I meet Chris at the B&Q car park in Totton near Southampton, madness I know!
The reason for this unearthly hour rendezvous was to reach our destination of Portland Bill at a sensible hour to catch the early bird.

Portland Bill is, as the name 'Bill' suggests, a narrow promontory, jutting into the English Channel.
It is one of the first ports of call of migrating birds incoming from the continent. April and May are two of the best months to witness something different arrive on our shores here.
It's a strange peninsular. Very much out on a limb and isolated but all the while intriguing. 
 Having parked close to the peninsular edge, the soft morning light gave great opportunities with the camera.
Thrift had just begun to flower along the coastal cliffs.

 The viewpoint obelisk became our home for an hour or two as we looked out to sea for any passing or incoming activity.

 The conditions were near perfect although with the skies so clear it can drive migrants up and over our position and further North without making landfall.

 Some birds were moving through the channel however. Especially Gannets looking for food.

 Great Black Backed Gulls too...

 The occasional Fulmar also. While I hastened to catch them with my lens, Chris assured me of the opportunities to come. It was my first time here so I was unaware of the sights before me.

 More Gannets poured through..

 They are quite large sea birds with a wingspan of around two metres.

 They glide with slow undulating flight and very little wingbeat. Such elegant birds and quite spectacular when they dive for fish.

Around us Rock Pipits were setting up territories and Wheatears mixed among them.

The rocky cliffs are excellent places to watch Ravens gliding and 'cronking' their way around you.

The Isle of Portland is famous for it's stone, as is much of the neighbouring coastline such as the adjacent Isle of Purbeck. The old rigging that once lifted rocks from the quarries lay abandoned and have become museum pieces. There is still a prevalent stone business in the area however. 

Along with passing Gannets, Manx Shearwaters flew backwards and forwards in reasonable numbers.
These seabirds are much smaller but use long wings like the Gannets to ride just above the waves with little effort.

Herring Gulls and Shags occasionally swept past. The latter is a cousin of the Cormorant. A little more delicate looking and only seen at sea. Cormorants will use inland lakes and rivers to feed as well as the sea.

After a fairly quiet sea watch we agreed to walk the cliffs in search of other treasures.
Immediately a Wheatear hopped around before us.

The angry looking fencing to the MOD areas here gave it good vantage points to swoop down and pick any insects on the ground. 

As we walked the cliff path we could see Guillemots zipping around the cliff faces below. Some were bobbing around on the surface. These two were indulging in some mutual preening.

Then the Fulmars slipped into view, gliding on the thermals about the cliff face.
They are easily defined, flying with stiff outstretched wings with a stubby looking beak. 

Along with the Guillemots and Fulmars, Razorbills nest on the precipitous cliff edges too.

We found occasional predated eggs. Quite possibly taken by a Raven and consumed on the cliff path. This is an egg of a Guillemot. It has a pronounced conical shape and for many years was considered to be this way to help prevent them from falling off the narrow cliff edges.
This theory has been rejected only recently in a study by the University of Sheffield. It is now widely agreed that the shape makes the egg much stronger, thus providing a better survival rate. Guillemots are notoriously poor flyers and neighbouring birds can often crash into one another.
Clearly it isn't enough to deter predators from taking these stunning eggs.     

The views from the cliffs were quite spectacular.

Many of the surrounding fields are arable farmland. Crows,Rooks and Jackdaws take advantage of this and inbetween an occasional Raven can be picked out.

Along the line of posts Chris picked the odd one out. Considerably larger than it's smaller Corvid cousins. 

Prior to lifting off sky bound on its ascending musical journey, a keen eye could spot Skylark in the grassy unploughed fields.

As we switched path to head inland a scrubby patch of land with low scattered shrubs gave up at least four Whinchat. Passage migrants to this area, they breed predominately in Wales, the Midlands and Scotland with just a few areas in the South West.  

Kes was nearby keeping a close watch on matters.

Alexanders are one of the first hedgerow plants to flower in Spring, starting as a fresh green and turning slowly tired yellow. The season is quite late all around I have noticed. The cold early start keeping growth and migration back a good couple of weeks.

Linnets twittered along the path bordering the rape seed field as we began to turn full circle back towards the lighthouse.

A rocky outcrop just before the car park has a colony of Little Owls allegedly. We searched high and low in the rocky crevices that are perfect habitat for this diminutive little raptor with a big personality.
However hard we looked, they seemed out of sight but this is a bird that can lie inconspicuously. I'm sure they were watching us.
I haven't seen one in some fourteen years but Chris assured me he knew a better place to find them and led me to a quarry along the coast path.

Near to the lighthouse is the bird observatory. Birds are caught and ringed here by the RSPB.

More Ravens appeared. This seemed to be a family unit. Two parents and two young.

On the rocks below, Chris thought he saw movement in the quarry. I kept lookout as he ventured slowly further in. A bird shot up and around the corner. Only small, could it be our intended target ?
As we cautiously crept along the valley floor Chris picked it out on the rocks above.
From here it looks impossible to see but as I zoomed in it revealed itself to be a Little Owl...

We scrambled up the opposite side of the quarry to gain a better viewing position.

It fixed it's gaze on us and wouldn't let us out of it's sight, never moving.

We'd struck a seam of gold in a Portland quarry !

We left it in peace and scrambled our way down, satisfied.

The Ravens' still sat sunbathing on the posts above.

Once more back at the cliff edges where the seabird colonies were at their most concentrated, better views of Shag, Fulmar and Razorbill presented themselves as the light was shifting round.

Where there are concentrations of birds you will find raptors at the feast.
A Peregrine shot into view climbing into the sky ready for a lightning fast dive at the cliffs.
We lost it beneath us but then another hoved into view. Clearly a pair and no doubt with a nest on the cliffs nearby. Possibly with young to feed.

The Shag remained unmoved. That is just a little too big for a Peregrine to take.

The Wheatear was still around. I lay on the ground to gain some eye level views.

It was just after lunchtime. Having spent some five hours on the peninsular we jumped in the car with a destination of the edge of The Fleet Lagoon just a few miles on the edge of Portland Bay where Chesil Beach begins.
The Fleet is a large narrow body of saline water which is landside of the Chesil ridge.
The ridge and beach itself stretches for some 18 miles from Portland to West Bay

Great Back Blacked Gulls  stood out impressively in the bright light.

Thrift was plentiful, probably a couple of weeks away from full emergence but breathtaking nonetheless.

Out on the lagoon edge, Dunlin were feeding along with Ringed Plover. The Dunlin would be leaving soon for more northern climes. These are overwintering stragglers coming into their summer plumage.

Kidney Vetch proliferated too along the stony beach.

On the opposite bank two Whimbrel were pointed out to us so we walked around to the bridge that links Portland to the mainland for better views.

Out in The Fleet, Little Terns used the buoys as roosting rafts when they weren't out fishing in the lagoon. There is a fenced off shingle area further along where they breed. There has been a concerted effort in the last few years by the RSPB and Wildlife Trusts to help these smallest Terns that breed in this country. Numbers were dwindling but have started to recover slowly.  

Above the boatyard a pair of Ravens had taken up lodging just beneath the closed circuit TV.
We made our way back to the car for the journey home, via one more little diversion.

Longham Lakes are inland and what I would imagine would have been shingle extraction at some point, now taken over by nature.
There had been reports of a Scaup Duck and a rare Bonapartes Gull. As it was on the journey home we dropped in.
The track leading to the lakes had Whitethroat in residence.

On the water a couple of pairs of Great Crested Grebe had begun to display in front of us. This proved to be a little half hearted but still great to witness. Their full blown choreographed routine is one of the sights of Spring.

Many gulls where zipping around low over the water catching the plentiful insects. Many of them were Black Headed Gulls. The Bonapartes' are almost identical, so catching sight of it proved extremely difficult. Only after trawling through the photos afterwards were we certain of a positive identification.

Swifts were taking time of the insect bounty before them also.

The Scaup was distant which was a shame but the Great Crested distracted us closer by.

We trudged back to the car after such a long day. Limbs were tiring by now.
The Bonaparte wouldn't leave us alone...

Newly emerged Damselfly lay sunning themselves on the path before us. This is probably a female Large Red.

And so back along the track to the car, past the Cow Parsley and Germander Speedwell while overhead House Martins and the Whitethroat serenaded us home.
Really fantastic day. My first visit to Portland and certainly not my last.

 The title of this post is a line taken from the poem 'Portland' by Andrew Shiston