Nothing seems simple on Portland. This is the face of a Portland sheep, a breed that has been on the island hundreds, or may even be thousands, of years (almost without a break). The males have this distinctively coloured face, and the young are born a foxy red-brown colour, an indication of their ancestry and isolation from mainland flocks, something which they grow out of as they become adult. The sheep I visited feed on plants which grow in the few inches of soil that covers the limestone underneath, that contains an underground bunker from a Cold War radar station, the above ground part of which is now being used as the farm building. Nothing is what it seems! I have also heard of an archaeological dig on the island a few years back that revealed sheep horns, perhaps pre-Roman Portlands. Something to follow up. One thing is apparent: Portland plays with your sense of time and space. I am not even sure if it exists in the present any more.