Here comes the rain again

The rain ran down the forest's trees in streams this morning, a testament to it's intensity. The video's on it's side (I couldn't work out how to reorientate it), but you can see the persistent flow.

Hot pants

The forest's graffiti comes in all shapes and sizes, here the shape is comely if not somewhat exaggerated, and the size is quarter scale-ish. It's a weird one for sure. No doubt a fantasy image of a woman, although the way the carver has proportioned the body and something in the stance lends the graffiti a strange masculinity. It's notoriously difficult to age tree carved graffiti, so many factors at play, though I'm going to suggest 70's/80's by the style of hot pants. Another carving I'll never know the story behind and another addition to what's becoming quite a collection of images.

Southern discomfort

 

When the forest's like this it always puts me in minds of the film 'Southern Comfort', a thriller set in the swampy woodlands of Louisiana; of course difference being Hampshire's New Forest is colder, and doesn't have any alligators or angry Cajuns with guns. Unless you stay on the main paths and forestry tracks moving cross country when the forest is like this would be more aptly described as Southern discomfort.

Rhinefield Bridge

Rhinefield Bridge

Black Water

For years since our boys were young we've enjoyed our Christmas feast on Christmas Eve, continental stylee; logistically it made sense, I couldn't cook a Christmas dinner and put together three children's toys at the same time; it became our family tradition. Another tradition is our short Christmas day walk, which in recent years has been along the stretch of Black Water between Black Water Bridge and Gravelly Ford; it's a nice stretch of stream with a high meander ratio, picturesque and easy walking, set amongst the open mature Oaks in Vinny Ridge enclosure (1859). As you'd imagine, the forest was very quiet this morning. 

Wet wilderness

Winter's inclement weather changes the forest, turning it into a totally different beast from it's usual welcoming environment. It's at times like this, with swathes of the forest inundated and impassible or at least unnavigable, I imagine the forest of yesteryear; less formal or managed, a real wilderness where keeping to a route or travelling at a reasonable pace is near impossible. Year on year since the stream restoration project began over 20 years ago you've seen the forest's stream environs regain some of that wildness; its not just the streams themselves either, all the rivulets that feed them back up too, filling the surrounding woodland, creating an even more extensive obstacle. It makes for interesting walks.

Solstice blessings

Well, the wheel's turned, and the promised new Sun was born; another cycle has begun as we initiate our slow march towards the warmer longer days of summer. Although I was up and out well before dawn this morning there was no sunrise to be seen; though the horizon was obscured by clouds, I'm sure it was there. Solstice blessing to y'all; let's toast our forthcoming trip around the Sun and may it see us bountifully blessed with flags, flax, fodder and Frigg, and all we'd wish for ourselves. /|\

Winter Solstice

Being deeply connected to the natural world our ancestors knew the importance of the Winter Solstice and it's pivotal point in the turning of the seasonal wheel, as a consequence many of their prehistoric monuments have alignments which mark the midwinter sunset; most notable locally being the 10km long Dorset Cursus. Today many pagans favour the following morning's sunrise to celebrate their Solstice and the birth of the new Sun. I used to only observe the latter though for some years now I've observed both. So today I did my bit for the ancestors by observing what I could of the shortest day's sundown over the harbour. Personally, the winter Solstice has always been one of my most important celebrations, it marks the end of a period of refection begun at Samhain; whilst tomorrow's sunrise marks the chance of new beginnings. Over the period since Samhain I've reflected on how the year's gone, where I'm at, what I've achieved (all very meh if I'm honest), and what I want for the coming year. My conclusion has been that after the last few very thin years in isolation I really need to reconnect; reconnect with valued people/communities, with activities/interests and especially with creativity. I'm sure it's going to be easier said than done, stuck in a deep rut as I am, but I fear myself disappearing into the long grass permanently if I don't.

Murky

Overnight the weather changed, this morning gone was the icy crispness and dry cold which defined the last week or so, and today could best be described as damp, dank and dull. That said, we still enjoyed a good walk in an empty forest. 

Wood eddies

 Wood eddies.

Forest ride

Some of the broad paths through the forest's woodland are known as 'rides', typically as they've traditionally been used for horse riding. Although established routes these are often less formal (unmade, natural surface, not gravelled) than some of the other tracks in the forest, and always have lovely aspects to them.

Ice flow

Ice flow nowhere to go, lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra (Boosh 2004). Well, it's not actually that bad, though still at -4 degrees and with many of the forest's smaller tributaries, even stretches of the bigger streams frozen, the ground solid under foot and walking through the frozen leaf litter sounding like walking through corn flakes, it feels very Baltic...to a soft Southerner's sensibilities anyway.  That's not to say it's not nice out, because it is; the Sun, although shedding little discernible warmer, shines in a clear blue sky and the forest's wonderful walking. Just bloody cold.

Oh happy day

 

Have you ever had a much loved/listen to album that's either given up the ghost or disappeared? I'm sure you have, it's a bummer. Back in the mid 80's a friend did me a recording of an album someone had done him a recording of (as was the way of the times), proggy as f*ck, I loved it, and it became a regular listen. Over the years the tape, as tapes often do, degraded until it became unplayable. The cassette just had 'Gandalf' scribbled on it; I'd always thought Gandalf had been the name of a band, and searched for it as such, always coming up with either a 60's American psyche rock band or on later searches a Finnish death metal band; I'd also searched 'Gandalf' as album title, again no joy. Roll on the years, whilst yoga-ing this morning listening to 'Veterans of the psych wars' a favourite Youtube channel, my ears pricked, I looked up from downward dog and to my surprise saw 'Gandalf', another album but certainly drawn from the same well. My mistake was it turns out Gandalf wasn't the name of a band, nor of an album, but rather the pseudonym of Austrian musician/composer Heinz Strobl. Who'd have thought! Short of it is, I've found a much loved and thought lost album, along with a whole library by the same artist. Oh happy day.

Knight Wood - Warwick Slade

Knight Wood - Warwick Slade

Ringed pine

Something new, I've not seen this practice in the forest before; a loose spread of just over a dozen conifers set amongst the mixed deciduous stands of the lower reaches of James's Hill have had their trunks broadly ringed by the forestry. Known as 'ring barking' or 'girdling', the aim of ringing a tree is to kill it, or sometimes to stimulate coppice growth, it this case I'm saying the former; removing the band of living bark stops the essential movement of fluids around the tree causing stress, promoting dieback and/or disease. I'm imagining the reasons for using this method are the difficulty moving machinery over/through this terrain without causing damage, or maybe the desire to create dead upstanding wood - once dead these trees could remain standing for years. Whatever, an interesting and unusual sight.

Brass monkeys

I thought it was cold yesterday morning, though I hadn't considered that that was at 0930 after the Sun had risen and taken the edge off, dawn this morning was so much colder. Dusted in frost the forest was quiet and still, little stirred; there were very few animals about, I imagined them hunkered down somewhere out of the worst of the chill; very few people about too, also probably avoiding the chill. Nice out though, worth the effort. A bracing walk was had; 13 miles of bracing walk in fact.

Old Ford to long gone wood

 

You'd be forgiven for not recognizing it, though this was once the site of a well used track from Red Rise into Red Rise Furze Brake; at this point the track crossed what was the old course of Red Rise Brook (now the restored course) and was the site of seasonal ford. Now open heathland back in the early 90's Red Rise Furze Brake was all tightly packed conifers, a dark claustrophobic companion to the open and airy deciduous stands of Red Rise. Even though nearly 30 years have passed, the stream's been restored and the conifers have gone, when ever we pass by my minds eye still sees the spot as it was all those years ago, and I'm looking into a woodland that's no longer there; it's funny how vividly images can stick in your mind.

Frosty Scrape Bottom

This morning, with an icy frosting under a clear blue sky, Scrape Bottom was the epitome of a winter landscape. It was bloody cold too! You'd better be wrapped up warm, Jack's frigid fingers are probing for any exposed spots; don't be misunderstanding me, this is what winter's supposed to feel like and I for one embrace it. Well, outside I embrace it; this cold snap poses a challenge for those of us doing our best to keep the heating off.

Harbour sunset

 Harbour sunset

First proper frost

The wheel's turned and autumn's given way to winter, and winter's leaned into it's duties with relish; this morning saw the first proper frost of the year, and Jack's dusting endured throughout the day.

Berry Wood quarry

The forest's underlying geology is sand, gravel and clays, all useful resources and as a consequence the landscape is pitted with redundant quarries from a variety of historic periods and of all sizes. Many of these hollows will seasonally fill with water creating reflective pools that'll endure into early summer the following year.

Burley Old

 I never tire of visiting Burley Old.

A hard winter ahead?

I've seen a lot of heavily berry laden Holly (Ilex aquifolium) trees on our recent walks; folklore says that a glut of berries is a sign of a harsh winter to come, and that the Mother Goddess is ensuring ample foods are available for her winged charges. Time will tell. Separately, Holly's a traditional staple of Yule/Christmas decorations, commonly wreaths and table centrepieces, and those licensed to harvest the forest's Holly are out at the moment filling giant sacks with it.

Park Hill Heathland restoration

As part of this morning's long roam we walked through Park Hill enclosure; we'd last passed this way back in January when signs proclaimed that the area was to undergo Heathland restoration. Well, that project appears well under way; cleared mainly coniferous timber lays neatly stacked on the sides of the enclosure's tracks; the landscape beyond cleared except for the occasional clump of or solitary deciduous tree; felling debris litters the cleared land, ready to be raked and burnt. It all looks a bit disruptive and messed up at the moment, though it wont be too many years before the restored heathland will be teeming with diverse flora, birds, reptiles and insects; and you'd never know it had ever been any different.

Heads up

Depending on who's teaching, there are either 5 or 7 S's of successful camouflage and concealment, our friend the deer here broke 3 of them; with a sudden movement she caught my eye, the shape and colour pattern of her head were incongruous with the surrounding heather and coupled with the silhouette she created popping her head above the flora she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Over there

Throughout our walk this morning the Sun always appeared to be shining somewhere else, somewhere over there, through the stands over there, across the open ground over there, never quite where we were walking. I don't know what I'd done wrong, or why the Sun refused to shine on me. But it didn't.

Beech avenue

 Beech avenue, Wilverely.

Highland Water

Highland Water running through Holmhill enclosure.

Wilverely

Fall is nearly done, as autumn comes to an end and the deciduous canopy grows increasingly naked and skeletal, I'm starting to be drawn into the evergreen glades of the forest. This morning it was into one of my favourite coniferous blocks of Wilverley's mosaic; entering it is like entering a foreign world. 

Berried Mistletoe abounds

Our roam this morning took us through an area populated by numerous trees harbouring clumps Mistletoe (Viscum album), their clumps are certainly laden with berries this year. They're quite the sight.

Old road

I enjoy walking along this old section of road, I like seeing the views once common, though now invisible; to the road users that is. I think it's the archaeologist in me. I enjoy exploring the phenomenology of how people experience/would have experienced landscapes, be they ancient or less so; the difference in aspect between the old and new road courses in this case. This is a 500m or so former length of the A35 sweeping down Markway Hill; the new course of the road now running through a cutting a couple of dozen meters to the left of this photo, the former over the brow of the hill with expansive views across the forest...how different the forest looks from the old course. I don't know when exactly (I'm imaging the 60's/70's) or why the road was changed, though I'd imagine it was a combination of the sweeping corner in front and the blind summit behind me; still, this section of old road is remains replete with stone curbing, residual metalling and even the occasional cats eye. I'm amazed sometimes at the mundane things that interest me, but they do.

Bombe

You'd be surprised at how many World War Two bomb craters there are littering the forest, for the most part (beyond Ashley Ranges) dropped by the German Luftwaffe; whether dropped in anger on purpose/target or dumped before returning home for safety is often less certain.

Denny Lodge flood

A pipe carrying a drainage ditch under one of the forest tracks running through Denny Lodge enclosure has collapsed and flooded the woodland behind it. Weird to come across flooded woodland well away from any stream; an unusual occurrence.

Highland Water

Highland Water way up in Highland Water enclosure, only a couple of miles or so from it's sources. Without a doubt my favourite of the forest's streams. Lovely walking too.

Today the rain reigned

It was raining we began our walk this morning, it continued to rain as we walked, and it was still raining when we finished our walk. Today the rain reigned.

Roe

The day didn't start like this, in fact for the first nearly 8 miles of our walk (15 miler in total) the sky was grey and overcast, though by the time we'd reached Roe enclosure the clouds had broken and sunlight began to flood the stands. Lovely. Roe's another of the forest’s older enclosures with it's nucleus dating from 1700 (later expanded in 1811); many of the enclosure's original trees have long gone, replaced by tall coniferous stands themselves now marked for harvesting. Following some of Roe's lesser walked paths my mind flooded with memories of previous wanderings here; the main tracks are great for covering distance at speed, and yeah you can see some lovely forest from them, but you can't beat the smaller, more obscure, ephemeral paths, they're the ones that allow a more intimate connection, the ones that get the synapses sparking. As I walked a particular path I fondly recalled walks with friends some 30 years ago, and later ones with my children; and of other paths in Roe I'd like to walk again...if I can find them, if they're still there. I did say that some were ephemeral, and maybe now they're only walk-able through my memories. 

Parky

This morning was the first one of the season to feel proper cold; parky as it was though, I was dressed for it, I was moving and the Sun retained a good degree of warmth to it, so I was still warmer than I've been sitting at home. Which was nice.

Red Rise Brook

The waters have subsided and the forest's streams flow calmly within their banks once more; on Tuesday Red Rise Brook rampaged across it's flood plain and through the stands, this morning it's the image of tranquillity.

Highland Water

The signs of the extent to which the forest flooded during last nights rain were clear to see, the environs of Highland Water above Millyford Bridge have been scoured of detritus, replaced instead by slick viscus surfaces which make walking quite treacherous. The woodland detritus which once littered the forest floor now forms impromptu dams along the length of the stream; the one filmed had formed at a particularly narrow choke spot between some trees, we could hear it's song long before we could see it. The excess water which created the floods may have subsided, though still Highland Water only just runs within it's banks in places.

More fallen

I see them with such frequency that I thought I'd grown immune to seeing uprooted, truncated and otherwise slighted trees, I'd become hardened to the inevitable consequences of our erratic weather on the forest's veterans; I haven't though. The face of the forest is changing so rapidly. The trees in the photos above are just a couple of examples, two good sized oaks, one of them a veteran, both stood on the meandering bank of Highland Water not too far from each other, both had subsided and toppled over and into the stream. There were so many fallen or damaged trees, so many innumerable ripped and severed boughs on our walk  through Great Huntley Bank and Brinken Wood this morning; a good number of them large enough to have caused additional collateral to the trees about them as the fell; it was impossible not to be affected by the sight of such carnage.   

Insurmountable inundation

Our route from Spy Holms to Burley Old was blocked this morning by an insurmountable inundation; Red Rise Brook had breached it's banks and now covered swathes of it's environs. There were no crossing points to be found, and we looked; the bridges were inaccessible, the fords deep under water, jump spots had splashdowns rather than landings, and any overhanging boughs were untraversable. I considered wading to a bridge, it would've only been knee deep; I ummed and ahhed, then asked the coin - the coin said no, so our walk was truncated. I should've known better really, and approached from a different direction after heavy rain. On a positive note, it was always an intended outcome of stream restoration that the forest flooded as it would've historically; so, nice to see the plan worked.

Keep off the tracks

If you want to find the real forest, those secluded glades rarely visited by human feet or lesser seen views, you've got to free yourself from the forest's regular tracks and paths; pursue instead one of the multifarious animal tracks that criss cross heath and stand, they're sometimes so ephemeral you may need use the 'force' to follow them, though the rewards are always worth your efforts.

Smokin'

I love the smell of distant wood smoke in the air, it reminds me of camping, festivals and of sitting around a fire with friends; I'm not so enamoured though when the wood smoke dominates the air, especially as suffering a degree of seasonal asthma/chestiness. The forestry were burning off the detritus remaining from previously thinned or cleared areas amongst The Knowles which border Acres Down. Plumes of smoke rose above the tree line, although due to the still nature of the morning they immediately slumped back into the stands, choking them, and making for difficult breathing. We altered our route accordingly, and made haste for fresher forest climes.

So why not keep it simple (profanity alert)

  

In the words of esteemed presenter Roger Mellie (the man on the telly) 'so why not keep it simple, how about cunts!' I mean seriously, what wankers get their jollies fucking up disabled toilets, I mean, there's not that many public amenities in the forest as it is. Arseholes! Geoff and I were on the return leg of our Sunday long walk, it had been a lovely walk too, when as we approached Anderwood I noticed a large bough down in from of the toilets, the mystery was where had it fallen from, on getting closer it became apparent it hadn't fallen at all; some fucktard had randomly chainsawed a tree down, cut into another larger tree behind (which will now need removing), cut through and down the rails around the public toilet block, cleaved the men's and disabled doors in half; I didn't go in so don't know what damage may have been done to the interior. Fucking pricks. I regularly moan that the New Forest National Parks Authority don't maintain the forest's infrastructure, shit like this isn't going to help; I'd imagine the bill for repairs will run into the thousands, not to mention the man hours; or maybe they just board it up or knock it down and another public amenity will be lost.  Any wonder Britain's broken, we really are a country of turds.

Black Water

 Black Water above Gravelly Ford.

Nik Turner; Stonehenge 1984

I don't normally comment here on a musician's death, though I'm going to make an exception; today I heard of Nik Turner's passing at 82. Nik Turner, space rocker extraordinaire, vocalist, sax player, and flautist of such influential bands as Hawkwind, Hawklords, Sphynx, Inner City Unit, Space Ritual, with more solo projects, quest appearances and collaborations than you could shake a stick at. I first saw Nik Turner perform with Hawkwind on the 'main' stage at Stonehenge Free Festival in 1984. By the early 80's I'd become what would've been colloquially described as a 'hippy'. I'd seen festival legends the Here and Now band in the autumn of 83', and they'd knocked on a door for me, though it was at  Stonehenge 84' that that door was kicked wide open. Without doubt Stonehenge 84' was one of the most influential, life shaping events of my youth; Hawkwind and Nik Turner's performances were foundational in that period of personal, creative and spiritual evolution. As you'd imagine, there were a variety of drugs available at free festivals, and it would've been rude not to indulge, so to be honest a lot of the bands and events of that week remain more as feelings than definable memories, not Hawkwind though, my memory of them endures. I remember the music and the atmosphere of their performance, though it's Nik Turner and his dancers that are seared into my memory most vividly; Turner dressed in a full body white leotard, white face with broad black band across his eyes and a forelock of orange hair protruding from what looked like a skateboard helmet, a striking figure; whilst the dancers cavorted in white dresses with white faces and blacken eyes. I'd say the music, atmosphere, and drugs combined to create a heady almost magical ritual environment that night; as night gave way to day and the sky lightened Hawkwind performed a second 'dawn set', continuing the magic. I remember listening to their improvised tripped out psychedelic set as I watched, in an altered state, the Druids gathering amongst the ancient stones to welcome the solstice sunrise; for me a spell was cast. I returned from the Stonehenge festival changed; my horizons broadened, with new paths and worlds to explore; drawing, archaeology, druidry/paganism, all things I cherish now grew from seeds sown then. That was the last free festival allowed at Stonehenge, and I feel truly blessed to have been able to experience it. So, thank you Nik Turner for your part in my transformation, thank you for the music I still enjoy today which connects me to my past; may your ancestors welcome you in the Summerlands, and let your song raise the rafters of their great halls. Hail and farewell.  

New causeway

Credit where credit is due. I'm regularly berating the New Forest National Parks Authority for their failure to maintain the forest's infrastructure, therefore in the pursuit of balance I commend them on crating a new causeway across a notoriously seasonally impassible wet area which feeds Duck Hole Bog; so bravo. Now I going to sound churlish, though, and it's a criticism I've recently voiced, knowing this spot I fear the causeway, cool and welcome as it is, may find itself inaccessible in aforementioned wet area when wet proper; I think it may have benefited from having longer raised approaches. Time will tell.  Still, it was very useful today, replacing as it has a jumble of wooden flotsam and jetsam that you used to have to try and negotiate.