Damn you, Packham, for your flights of fancy

The Teen, who is Ringwood’s answer to Darwin and can correctly name every bird and mammal worldwide, convinced me to brave the elements and take her to the Jurassic Coast for a spot of wildlife watching.

She had pinpointed the exact location for the best view of porpoise, dolphin, seal and puffin, which bring great joy to a nature lover, so we were headed for Tilly Whim caves at Durlston.

Apparently, taking a pair of binoculars and a small bird book isn’t enough for a small sojourn into the next county. Oh No.

I was forced to make soup, find the flask, charge up the battery for her beloved camera (which is as big as a small Barratt home and equally as heavy), bring several extra fleeces and jumpers (just in case), locate the appropriate OS map, pack the iPod (in case I get boring), two phones in case I get even more boring) and sandwiches plus a collection of CDs created that morning... oh, and wellies.

And then I had to cram everything into two huge rucksacks minus Packham and Strachan, who wouldn’t be squeezed into canvas.

However, the path leading to Tilly Whim (love the name) is certainly not for the faint hearted especially in gale force winds. On one side we were faced with a sheer rock face boasting a zillion feet drop, on the other side a steep rocky cliff.

The only thing separating us from the deadly drop was a tiny, rubble walkway with a very low wall on one side.

I cursed those darned fact-tastic Springwatch presenters, as we negotiated the slate path which, thanks to my wellies, felt more like an ice rink.

We were weighed down under our one hundredweight backpacks, which would have made soldiers from the British Army proud and were forced to battle these treacherous winds that not only had us teetering on the cliff face like little sparrows but deafened us, and hurt our skin as our hair lashed our faces like a cat-o-nine tails. Not funny.

It brought terror into the pit of my stomach but of course, I kept a brave and stoic expression plastered on my face for the sake of the Teen, especially when I suggested that we scooted down a rather large hill on our bottoms instead of the usual foot and leg method. We took our lives into our own hands as we trudged along the cliff to reach the oasis of the bird hide. Hurrah we made it.

And were we rewarded for our efforts? Well the Teen got some good sea spray shots and we saw a few guillemots and shags and oh yes, a Chihuahua mating with a Pekinese.

Next time (and there will be a next time) I’ll try to convince the Teen to head for some safer lowlands to see the nesting nightjars or something.

Readers who submit articles must agree to our terms of use. The content is the sole responsibility of the contributor and is unmoderated. But we will react if anything that breaks the rules comes to our attention. If you wish to complain about this article, contact us here