You have to know it’s there. A scramble down narrow paths, brushing aside overhanging branches, then out on to the rocks before a short descent to the fine shingle. The reward? A deserted beach, curving into the distance. Channel to the left, chalk cliffs to the right. Human count: zero. Perfect. Two hundred gulls huddle together by the shoreline, choosing that particular spot for secret gull reasons. Occasionally one lifts off and does a short go-around, a flurrying pixel in my binoculars. The soft white water-on-shingle roar is punctured by a double sound. Skree. Gronk. Soprano versus bass, shrill versus coarse – peregrine versus raven. I look up. The two birds approach each other directly above me, their silhouettes stark against the blue sky. It’s a brief skirmish. No contact, just a fleeting rattle of avian sabres. Honour satisfied, the raven descends to a nearby rock, from where it announces its imagined supremacy. Gronk gronk gronk. A big bird, powerful and raw, a bulky beachside hood ornament. It unfolds itself and flaps away. And now, manifesting from thin air, four more join it. They row their way through the air in loose formation, companionable and unhurried. The nearest breaks away, half closes its wings, and executes a short, playful tumble with an agility that belies its size, before rejoining the group and leading them to the top of the cliff. Meanwhile, over the water, the peregrine soars on angled wings, wheels round, enters a shallow dive. This is not the hunting “stoop” that might conclude with the violent death of an unsuspecting pigeon. It seems to be diving just for fun. Wouldn’t you, if you could? The speed of it. Strength and grace combined. Anthropomorphising wildly, I imagine it’s showing off to the raven. Look at this, mate. Can you do this? Thought not. Despite their differences, ravens and peregrines have much in common. Widely distributed and fond of a cliff, both suffered a severe decline in the 20th century, a mixture of persecution and – in the peregrine’s case – the ravages of pesticides. Since the 1950s, both populations have grown, ranges expanded. Here on the secluded beach they live side by side, a rare and welcome example of comparative success in a widespread story of avian decline. Country diary is on Twitter at @gdncountrydiary Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 (Guardian Faber) is published on 26 September; pre-order now at the guardianbookshop.com and get a 20% discount