The town is quiet, almost unrecognisable to when I usually visit in summer. Christmas lights are strung along the pier, the harbour deserted, and the beaches pristine with vast swathes of untrodden sand. Here, in the absence of sunbathers, sandcastles and surfboards, shorebirds forage undisturbed.
The empty beaches attract a plethora of species who pick through the knotted debris on the shoreline and scavenge among the rocks which will soon be consumed by the returning tide. I spot a sanderling, a common ringed plover and a variety of gulls. Then, the bird I came to see - the ruddy turnstone.
To me, turnstones are as much a part of this place as the lighthouse, cobbles and fishing boats. Throughout the year, there are always turnstones in St Ives. Fewer in summer, as generally only the juveniles remain. Those mature enough migrate to the High Arctic to breed, travelling back to locations such as St Ives to overwinter, a chance to fatten up for their next great journey.
I watch them until I'm chilled through, transfixed as they speedily flip strands of washed up kelp and wrack, snapping up any morsels uncovered. Occasionally a disagreement breaks out and there's a brief burst of rowdiness, but for the most part, the only noise is the rush of the waves and gentle churring calls as they feed.
Surprisingly, the beach isn't always the best place to view turnstones in St Ives - you’re likely to get a better view of them in the town itself, should you choose to sit on a bench looking out across the harbour. The St Ives turnstones, like the infamous herring gulls, use the influx of tourists to their advantage. They are opportunistic, not at all fussy about what's on the menu - from pasty crusts and ice cream cones to chewing gum and dog mess! For this reason, swarms of turnstones, often exceeding fifteen individuals, rush around the feet of snacking people, waiting for some dropped delicacy.
With their orange legs and beautiful tawny plumage, the turnstones delight benchgoers. In the weak winter sunshine, many seem happy to share their food.
Passers-by pause to watch as one gentleman arrives with mealworms - there's a flurry of excitement as turnstones run towards him from all directions. I overhear several discussions as to the name of these birds and on two occasions proudly offer ruddy turnstones.