Quiet paths. Lonely stonechats, November gloom. Sneakily, late autumn is my favourite time of year to be by the Dorset coast.

You can’t argue with the verdant furore of spring, of course, but there’s something to be said for the melancholy of a dank autumn day. Slow days with soft light, dark vignettes licking the edges. The days are shorter, now, and there’s a fresher bite in the breeze. Winter’s coming and the fish know it… Especially the bruisers.

There won’t be many more of these gentle days. Soon it’ll be tireless turbidity, wind and churn. The littoral won’t be a place you’ll want to linger. Get out there while you can… The cold’s creeping closer.