Tales from the riverbank

We spent some time by Red Rise Brook on this morning's walk. The forest's streams have always drawn me to them, some of my favourite walks involve following their courses; streams have always drawn people to them, for practical and spiritual reasons. Around the world watercourses are often revered, seen as places where connection or communication with the divine or the otherworld can be facilitated. Throughout prehistory here in Britain waterways and wet places were the site of ritual and ritual deposition, those folk memories endured through making offerings to and the ceremonial dressing of springs and wishing wells, a practice which still persists today. So today being Samhain, spending time with the brook seemed apt; that and the weather wizards had predicted incoming foul conditions so with my plans for a fire this evening scuppered I'd decided to follow the ancestors and perform my seasonal observance at the water's edge. Very nice it was too.

Samhain

 

Samhain and last harvest are upon us; it's a proper time for us to remember, reflect and take stock. Firstly, far beyond the veil to the otherworld we'll call; hail, well met, know none of you are forgotten, we still remember and love y'all. Can we call on your wisdom, the years of knowledge that you store; we fear we're travelling backwards, reliving dark times that have been lived before. You withstood, survived them, pray lend us the strength of your endurance as we live through them once more. For now with last harvest safely gathered in; it's clear by all metrics that this year has been very thin. We know and understand, this isn't what nature planned; but more the work of devious heartless human hands. I'll be honest, and need to say; I fear a gathering darkness slowly creeps our way. If that sounds mere hyperbole, believe me that it's not; there are literally millions of souls at risk of simply being forgot. Before we continue I feel I need to say; notwithstanding, I still can find things to be grateful for each and every day. Take the rich earth below me or the blue sky above; take the clear waters which surround me, or life, or friendship or love. Finally, we besiege you oh Goddess, pray take our hands; aid our weary travels, through these ever thinning lands. If you could just hold us warm, whilst our hearths remain stone cold; and at least if we must go hungry, we know you'll nourish our soul. Then we'll make through the winter, make it to spring; and later around the Bel fires our gratitude we'll sing. So, as we enter the darkness of deep winter, awaiting the return of the Sun; I've one last thing say, Samhain blessing everyone. /|\

Out of time

 

Out on Spy Holms the Parasol Mushrooms (Macrolepiota procera) are coming up all over; their usual season is July to September, fresh specimens at this quantity shouldn't be about this late on in the year.  Yeah, you've always seen the odd one outside their recognised window, but this year there are dozens. I've noticed that the season has been experiencing creep over the last few years, though this is unusual. Things aren't right in the natural world are they, if you can't see it, and the evidence is there, then you must definitely be able feel it; the signs that the seasons are all askew can not be denied. However you want to frame it doesn't matter, the climate is changing; that is irrefutable. The only pertinent question is, what are we going to do about it? We're running out of time, and I've yet to see a convincing, cogent, inclusive or detailed road map for humanities future.

Red Rise

Red Rise

Galloping

 

We were just breaking Red Rise Shade and after chilling by the brook I was lost in thought, when out of nowhere about a dozen galloping ponies passed within a few meters of us, followed by handful more, then shortly after a further two small groups and finally a two pony rear guard*.  They charged through the stands into the open gorse pocked heath and up towards the sunken trackway on Rock Hills and on to Spy Holms without pausing or deviation from purpose. Geoff was all of a dither, he didn't know what to make of it or do, I'll admit to feeling similarly; their sudden appearance so close, and my concerns for Geoff's safety was quite the adrenaline rush; as they vanished into the distance I felt as if I'd absorbed some of their energy as they'd passed. Clearly my fight or flight response had been triggered; moments like this and your instinctive reactions to them reminds you you're a human animal. A few minutes later upon reaching Spy Holms ourselves we found the ponies now tranquilly grazing without a care in the world.

*I noted that 'tail end Charlie' was a stallion, just an observation

Babbling brook

Is there anything as soothing as the sound of a gently babbling brook; I could spend an age listening to their song.

Connections

I've always felt a deep connection to the natural world. Most of my childhood was spent outside building camps, exploring, having adventures and wild camping (initially not with great success mind); once whilst visiting the Lake District experiencing the strangest feeling that I even wanted to be part of that landscape, not live in, but actually be it. On reflection that may have been the dawning of the realization that I was part of it. Socialization to nature is essential; it was through exposure and play that my love of the natural world, it's inhabitants and mysteries was kindled and nurtured. In recent times I've leaned heavily into my connection with the natural world, and have taken refuge in it and solace from it. As for many, one way and another the last few years have been tough, and through necessity and my natural proclivity to withdraw, I've become complicit in own social erasure. Where once I had a rich and rewarding social life, now I've lost connection with cherished people, special groups and valued communities; the distance caused through shielding and isolation having bled into disconnection, a loss of confidence and identity. I'm sure it's a situation experienced by many. I'm lucky though. To have access to the natural world, and such fine facets of it too, so close a hand as I do has been a blessing; I don't know how I'd have fared without it. I will say that the last few years have further developed and deepened my connection to the land and seasons; I would one day though like to rejoin the world.

Ceps

I'm going to suggest that barring any surprise late flushes or the occasional rouge individual, the Cep (beletus edulis) season is over; around my roams at least. Of course I'll give my usual caveat that that's not to say they're not out in other places. Personally I've seen less than a handful of fresh Ceps pop up in over a week now; and I’ve been lookeding. So what's this season amounted to? Well, it's not been a bumper year though nor has it been a total washout either. Over the last few weeks I've collected enough for several tasty fresh mushroom brunches and an ample quantity to dry for soups and stews; which is always my primary goal. So you'll be hearing no complaining from me; I'm just grateful for what I've collected. 

Saplings

A nursery of sapling deciduous trees, predominantly Oaks (Quercus) though including Beech (Fagus sylvatica), Sweet Chestnut (Castanea sativa) and Silver Birch (Betula pendula), tucked away amongst the mosaic of Burley New enclosure. Good to see. A strange environment to wander through and nice space to spend time in too; like being in an art installation.

Chestnuts!

 

So, we passed through the stand of Sweet Chestnut (Castanea sativa) trees I mentioned yesterday, and good news, the available crop of chestnuts was far superior to the trees I'd been seeing. Yeah, you still have a lot of empty nut sacks and and loads of small Hazelnut sized nuts, though with a root about you also have a good amount fair sized nuts and a reasonable amount of corkers (not conkers, don't eat conkers they'll fuck you up); what was striking was the huge number of fallen cases and nuts already eaten by wildlife; all around the trees the ground has been churned by horses feasting on chestnuts, they really seem to like them. Why might these trees have good fruits though so many others don't; all I could come up with was the age of the trees, these trees are old, they were old when I first collected here in the 1980's. Maybe that's it? What I can say is, we passed many Chestnut trees on our 12.8 mile walk today and none displayed the quantity or quality of nuts these trees did.  And yes, I did return with a bag full for roasting; well, it would be rude not to.   

Loafing about

From a distance this Mosaic Puffball (Lycoperdon utriforme) looked like a neat loaf of bread sitting in the horse manicured grass of Backley Holmes. It's an edible species though I've never tried it; it's said to be very mildly flavoured, have a 'marshmallow' texture and is slimy when cooked, as well as that it has to be perfectly white inside, any yellowing will cause 'serious gastric distress'; some things although edible really aren't worth bothering with, and I'd suggest the Mosaic Puffball fits that description, and best avoided.

Intermittent weather

 

Today the Sun rose clandestinely behind a blanket of damp grey cloud which dragged itself across the landscape, and we began our walk out on the open heathland where the grisliness of the morning was most apparent and most inescapable. Eventually though we entered the cover of woodland, which ironically was wetter than being out in the open as the canopy created larger droplets which continued to rain down on us even after the rain outside had desisted. It wasn't until we were 5 miles out making our way through North Oakely enclosure, with the day being no lighter or brighter than when we started out, as if the forest had over slept, that all of a sudden the clouds broke and stands were flooded with dazzling  radiant light. And on the head of a pin the morning had turned, and warm bright sunlight reigned. Until the afternoon that is, when loud cracks of thunder, flashes of lightning and torrential rain/hail brought flooding and a power outage.

Nut sacks

Well, the season is upon us and the spiky green cases of the forest's Sweet Chestnut (Castanea sativa) trees have been falling for a couple of weeks now; sadly if those that have fallen (and a lot have already fallen) are anything to go by this year you wont be roasting chestnuts on an open fire unless you buys some. For the most part the examples I've seen lying about have been little more than empty nut sacks and small fruits, slim pickings for both man and beast.  I suppose this could just be the trees discarding the chaff, the weaker fruits and the best nuts are yet to come; though that sounds like wishful thinking. Tomorrow we'll be passing through a stand of mature Sweet Chestnut trees that I've gathered from for 40 years and are usually a solid bet; that should be a tell.   

Pannage

The pigs have been out to pannage for a few weeks now, we've seen them all over the place. Although this was the first time we'd got close, on a couple of previous occasions it was big old sows with expansive litters in tow; experience has shown they really don't appreciate you getting too close to their piglets, and certainly object to dogs doing so. These two were cool, happily snuffling for acorns and chestnuts, and happy to say hello. It's always lovely seeing the pigs out and about, and on the whole they're inquisitive and friendly, they always bring a smile to your face; personally though I'd be happy to see them in the forest all the time.

Autumn proper comes to Red Rise

Autumn proper has come to Red Rise; the brook flows with more vigour and determination, whilst crossing points again need forethought as does your route as a whole; the autumnal tints of the woodland canopy are more easily dislodged by the seasonal winds and have begun creating a colourful mosaic on the forest floor;  amongst the stands an eerie quiet is apparent, complemented by ones ability to move near silently across the landscape due to the softening underfoot. Autumn's transition, like Spring's, is defined in part by the similarities in the changeable weather that accompanies them both, you'll get all seasons in one walk at the moment, not complaining mind, it's lovely; beyond the dilemma of appropriate clothage.

Quiet returns

What a difference a week makes, last week the forest was alive with deer participating in the rut; every thicket rustling with does, whilst the calls of stags echoed through the stands and out over the open heath. Today, not a sight, not a sound; we've not seen or heard a deer so far this week. In nature everything has it's time. I imagine the successful stags will no doubt be sleeping it off somewhere before they try and regain the weight they've lost before winter sets in; then both stags and does will herd together mostly in single sex groups until next rutting season.

Manicured forest

As I've mentioned before for the most part the forest is far from a 'natural' landscape; the chocolate box images you'd associate with the New Forest don't come without constant management and meticulous manicuring. That's most evident on the heathland created by early prehistoric farmers clearing for agriculture, which without constant attention would rapidly disappear under re-colonization by shrubs and trees. As we approached Red Rise Shade we could hear the machinery way before it came into view; I said manicure, though it's sometimes more of a mauling, the machinery pulverizes the gorse and heather, as well as small trees, and even churns the ground in places. It's not an attractive look. A positive aspect is how clearing the 2m plus high gorse opens up new vistas, I like that.   

Studland dawn

As much as I love the forest, and I do, it's ease being as it is on my doorstep sometimes leads me to neglect the other local landscapes in my holy trinity, Cranborne and the wonderful Isle of Purbeck. With the summer dog walking restrictions lifted we rectified that, and this morning we watched the Sun rise on Studland beach. As we made our way around Shell Bay, with a grey mass of cloud hanging on the horizon I wondered whether we'd see the Sun rise at all,  although as we approached Studland Bay the clouds yielded at the appropriate moment, and very nice it was too. We were early enough to be the first ones on the beach and so had the broad sands to ourselves from the ferry all the way to Knoll Beach, about 2.5 miles; after that it was up on to Ballard Down, round Old Harry and back along a beach by now well populated; lots of dogs so Geoff was happy.

Red sky

This evening at sundown for the briefest of moments flaming clouds licked at the sky as the Sun said goodnight.

Red Rise Furze Brake

 Red Rise Furze Brake

I see ya

Rutting season continues and although we stay well clear of the rutting grounds, deer can be found skulking everywhere; Geoff's ears prick up at every clump of bracken we pass, often with good reason as a deer will usually break cover bolting off only to disappear again as quickly as it appeared. Geoff and I watched the stag above for a minute or two as it watched us before trotting off deeper into the woods. It's a busy time of year out here in the forest as the inhabitants conclude their year and prepare for winter's closing.

Foraging

 

Foraging is never guaranteed to be successful; yes, you can improve your chances of success with knowledge and experience, although you're always at the mercy of a myriad of factors beyond your control or understanding. Of course it may simply not be your day and someone else is returning home after having a successful days gathering, it could just be right place wrong time, or maybe it's that others needs are greater; this year I've seen a lot more Ceps nibbled by tiny teeth than I'd usually, I imagine it's been a difficult year for many of the forest's inhabitants and I'm certainly not going to begrudge them their fill. I used to be disappointed if I returned from a foraging mission empty handed; not so much these days though, I'm just grateful for whatever I get to put in my bag. Anyway, even an unproductive forage isn't a fruitless exercise; you connect with the land, you connect with the seasons, you connect with the ancestors and with a facet of what being a human used to be about. Of course I'm aware that I'm talking with the luxury of being a human removed from necessity by modernity, and I may well view things less philosophically if compelled by necessity. Which I've been thinking a lot about lately in light of societies direction of travel, and the growing possibility of food insecurity and food poverty; it may be that an understanding of wild food resources and foraging skills once again becomes valuable knowledge to hold.

Cauliflower fungus (sparassis spathulata) maybe?

I've seen a lot Cauliflower Fungus (Sparassis crispa) about the forest this year, although I not sure if this isn't something rather special, it's form suggests it could be an example of the much rarer sparassis spathulata; with S.crispa the leaf like lobes are usually looser and more irregular. S.spathulatais is edible too, though whereas I'd likely pick me a chunk of fresh Cauliflower Fungus, I left this beauty on account of it's possible classification as rare. Nice spot though.

Bracken basket

Walking through Mark Ash Wood we came across evidence that someone had been practising their bushcraft skills. Perched on the mushroom covered hulk of a fallen Beech an incomplete basket woven out of bracken (Pteridium aquilinum) stems; it may have been rough, that's just the nature of the material, but you could see how effective a container could be constructed on the hoof from such an abundant forest resource. Even in it's unfinished state, I was impressed; nice work.

Autumn morning in the forest

 Duck Hole Bog dawn

Lego

 

Who'd have thought that the Gods/Godesses played with Lego? But clearly they do, as one of them dropped a block on their way back to Asgard or Mount Olympus or the Otherworld or where ever the high level deities hangout these days. As if human lives weren't enough to play with, eh.

Common Puffball

Common Puffballs (Lycoperdon perlatum)

Yoga and walking

 

I've practised yoga sporadically for years, and regularly for the last few years; and I'm aware I can be a bit of an annoying yoga evangelist. Bear with me though. Breathing is foundational to your yoga practice, particularly common pranayama, regular, deep, in and out through your nose, it under pins everything. I've found developing breath work beneficial way beyond my yoga practice; so much so that most of the time conscious breathing has become my default. It's calming affects have even transformed my walking experience, turning our forest walks into almost moving meditations, nullify the perpetual mental static of my over thinking mind, allowing me more bandwidth to take in the surrounding environmental stimulus and therefore facilitating a deeper connection to the natural world. I recommend everyone has a go at conscious breathing, it's f*cking magical.

Fly Agaric

 

As you walk through the forest you'll see a fair number of Fly Agarics (Amanita muscaria), it's been a really good year for them. Though if you go off the tracks into any one of the many blocks of closely planted Silver Birch you'll see just how good a year it's been; in some blocks I've seen dozens and dozens of these red and white toadstools, of all sizes too, from golf ball to dinner plate sized.

Doors of perception

 

There are several keys that open the doors of perception.

Training day

It's got to that time of year again, when autumn begins to bed in and you sense winter's chill slowly approaching, that I feel it's time to brush up on my bushcraft skills. Number on that skill list is fire; and it's been a while since I've sparked up a small fire. So with a stream side location in mind I sought the components required as we walked; a bark tray to build the fire on, some dried bracken and flaky Sliver Birch bark for tinder and an array of small dry twigs as kindling and fuel. The forest's still rather dry so it didn't take long to get afore mentioned materials together, the forest's a good provider; although of course it's easy to gather for a fire in perfect conditions, and a much harder task in poor weather, which always needs bearing in mind. With the chosen location reached, it took only moments to prepare my gathered materials ready for a fire on a gravelly spot adjacent to the water (for safety); then it only took 2 strikes of the fire steel and the fire was kindled. Again as with gathering the materials, getting a fire lit is quick and easy in perfect conditions, not so in the wind and rain. Incidentally, the fire steel I'm using is a 'Strike Force', which I think I've had for more than 20 years(?), that's a lot of sparks created, and although the ferrous rod is worn concave it still produces a solid spark every strike. A quality tool.

An odd thing

What an odd thing, 4 packets (maybe crisps or similar) folded up and wedged between the scaly bark of a mature Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) in Burley Old; what's all that about? It looks purposefully done and you 'could' imagine that it's some kind of marker or message, although life isn’t an espionage novel and it's probably the work of some slacker/s too lazy to carry the packets home. Whatever their story they're covered with a thin veneer of green algae, are slightly faded and look quite weathered, suggesting they've been wedged there for a while. The things you come across if you keep your eyes open, eh.

Grizzly and unusual find

A grizzly and unusual find. Pigeon kill sites are commonplace amongst the forest stands, you regularly see them in double figures, and from a distance I thought this was one. Though as we got closer I noticed the feathers were bigger than those of a pigeon, some dark one too, then I found what remained of the carcass, wings, legs and skull, and to my surprise it was clearly a Heron (Ardea cinerea). In recent years Herons, along with Egrets, have become a common sight along Mill Lawn Brook, Red Rise Brook and Ober Water, some times two or three can be seen on a walk between Mill Lawn and Markway Bridge; a testament to the health of the stream, teeming with small fish. I've always found them very wary birds, taking flight having seen you way before you've seen them; although we have taken them by surprise emerging from cover only meters away once or twice, and I'd imagine whatever was predating would be able to get closer through stealth; it's a possibility that it was taken out by a wild Otter, which have been sighted in the forest in recent years. How ever you look at it, it was an adult bird with as you can see a formidable beak, a challenge to any predator I'd surely. That said, I suppose it could've been already injured or sick or dead making it a softer target for a range of woodland opportunists. Whatever, I was very surprised by this find, having never seen a sight like it before.  

Due to it's unusual nature, I reported the find to the New Forest National Parks Authority.

Sack o shrooms

Mushroom season continues; it's not a barn stormer though nor is it a damp squib. If you're after some fungi treats you needn’t look too far or too hard, that said, they're not going to jump out at you so you still need to put some work in, and if you do, and you're lucky, you'll be rewarded. Over our walk I collected a medium sized pouch worth (enough for mushroom/egg butty, and for three A3 sheets drying), easily leaving behind more than I cut; they're nice eaten fresh, although their real value flavour wise is when they're dried and added to soups, stews etc. There's never a guarantee as to how long or how bountiful a mushroom season will be; I'm just grateful for whatever nature gifts me, and try and use said gifts to best effect.