Constant rain is just about perfect weather for a Bank Holiday in Rangerland - keeps the coast quiet, and yet another monster tide meant the beaches were closed to cars again.
A Sandwich Tern dropped into the submerged parking area on Ainsdale beach at about 1.30pm, before heading out onto the gentle grey swell for a spot more fishing.
Looked like it was wondering why it ever left Senegal, as the grey brown surge lapped around its splitty-splatties.
Still Great Crested Grebes offshore, and a single Eider heading north, but otherwise the sea was pretty empty, apart from flocks of waders displaced from their roosts.
Yesterday, both Merlin and Peregrine were hunting these flocks, the Merlin tearing along inches above the waves, using the element of surprise; the Peregrine stalling and power diving, using the element of terror.
The singing male Wheatear (or another one that also sees the potential of the frontal dunes as a breeding site) was chuntering away again on the sands, although it was a bit on the damp and bedraggled side.
Starting to get the hang of this "digi-binning" lark - as long as the subject barely moves and you're in a steady vehicle, you can get (just) usable record shots.
I know they ain't great, but blame Julian Bell, he was the one who got me into it.
Hopefully the rain will put some water back in the parched slacks (Natterjacks of the world rejoice!), although I guess we'd need a month of the stuff for the "Birkdale Nightingales" to have any hope of a successful breeding season this year.
A survey last night, in perfect conditions (warm, cloudy and light drizzle), gave up just four singing Natterjacks on the Ainsdale LNR.
In the early morning drizzle today, my patrol around the Ravenmeols woodland produced singing Chiffchaff, Willow Warbler and Blackcap, but not a great deal else.
I was back down there to pick up the guys working at Formby Point late afternoon, when a long-winged, powerful dark thrush rose out of the willows at the end of Lifeboat Road, chacking as it flew, to perch briefly on top of a pine, and predictably drop off and out of sight before I got my bins on it satisfactorily.
Closest I've got to a Rouzel this spring.
Eyes to the skies everyone, eyes to the skies...