The tide is in and instead of my usual walk down the Paragon steps and on to the beach, I walk through Cob Lane, turn right at Equinox and follow St Julian’s Terrace down to the Harbour and the bottom of Castle Hill. The wind whistling up St Julian’s Terrace is cold, but it’s not raining, which is a blessed relief. What’s more, the sky is clear and blue, with a low winter sun hinting at longer, warmer days to come. I pass the bird-lady, who’s wrapped up with just her face showing through a cocoon of coat and scarf. ‘You look nice and warm’, I say as I pass her. ‘This wind is cutting right through me’, she replies, ‘but at least it’s not raining’. In some parts of the world, people pray for rain, any rain, even a fleeting shower. But here in the west of Britain, we pray for it not to rain. It might be cold and bright today, but we’ve come through several days of mizzle, that strange combination of mist and drizzle that looks benign enough, but soaks you to the skin if you’ve been foolish enough to go out without your waterproofs.
I let Sparky and Gizmo off their leads and we walk towards the lifeboat station. We pass the old lifeboat station, now privately owned, towards the new, modern, state-of-the-art lifeboat station and continue on round the bottom of the hill to the bandstand. The view from here is spectacular. The view from any point on the hill is spectacular, but looking out at St Catherine’s island, with Caldey and the headland at Giltar Point in the distance, the vista is truly stunning. St Catherine’s island is dominated by the Victorian fort and is accessible at low tide. This outcrop of Carboniferous limestone is riddled with caves, which are fascinating to walk through, not just for the geology, but also for the rock pipits that can be seen hopping from rock to rock in search of invertebrates. Today, I am interested in the cormorants, standing as erect as sentinels on the rocks just off the south side of the island. I count six on the largest rock, all sleek, dark, and reptilian-looking, like primitive birds from prehistoric times.
I make my way up past the side of Tenby Museum and Art gallery and follow the path to the right, making my way just below the brilliant white, old Coastguard House. The wind is ferocious here and slices through my four layers of clothing, making me shiver and wince. Sparky and Gizmo appear oblivious to the cold wind and are busy racing up and down the grassy slopes, turning this way and that, in a fast-paced game to catch me if you can. Needless to say, I can’t.
Further round the hill, looking down on to the new lifeboat station, I spot a movement in the bushes, about 10 feet or so away. I stand still, trying to locate the source of the movement. And suddenly, there is the culprit. Small. No, not small, but tiny, with a flash of yellow on its head. Wow! It’s a goldcrest, weighing in at just six grams, it’s the smallest bird in Britain. It stands still just for a few seconds before it disappears into the bushes once more. This is the second time I’ve seen a goldcrest on Castle Hill and brings to four, the total number of times I’ve seen a goldcrest. My first sighting was many years ago, while I was walking from Tenby to Saundersfoot on the Pembrokeshire coast path. I had our first two dogs with me, Chip and Taffy, a Cairn terrier and a Jack Russel – Corgi cross, and I was mesmerised by this beautiful bird. Just a few seconds, but enough to make the walk unforgettable.
And here I am again, some 35 years later, two different dogs, but with that same feeling of pure joy, and gratitude, for having the opportunity to see a goldcrest once more. Like Sparky and Gizmo, I’m now oblivious to the cold wind, and instead of a shiver and grimace, my face is creased by a smile. Fantastic.
