Ringstead

What a day. The air is clean and crisp, the sky is pale azure blue, few clouds are present and those that are are no more than ephemeral apparitions and the sea, all but empty of craft, is a Prussian blue mill pond. The nature reserve of Ringstead Bay, below the towering buttresses of White Noth, is wild and wind swept, untamed by the extremes of winter, it bides its time, preparing to burst forth when spring beckons. Tangles of brambles between tussocks of browning grass block our way, a new track's found, all animal tracks, over chalk bluffs, amongst the limestone boulders and stacks down towards the rocky shore and the sea, appetizingly glistening below.

The atmosphere was a juxtaposition of tranquil beauty, stillness, of absolute perfection; punctuated by the roar of fighter trainers, passing overhead before the sound wave indicating their arrival has reached you, loud explosions and heavy machine gun fire emanating from the nearby Purbeck ranges and the occasional distant toot of a hunters horn and excited barks of hounds eagerly chasing scent.

Bratley Wood

Douglas

The Lovers

Whether by accident or design paired trees can frequently be found around the forest, not common, yet not uncommon. Here entwined lovers support each other against the elements, here on the woodland fringe, facing the force of the southwesterly winds in each others arms; a Beech wife, with her Oak husband in union, their limbs tangled as lovers in an eternal embrace.

Ridley Wood

Ridley Wood is one of the wilder patches of woodland in the forest, the wood is ancient, coppiced from the 1500's until 1698 when the practice of coppicing and pollarding Beech and Oak was forbidden in the forest to safeguard timber for the navy. The remnants of these once managed trees and their irregular inclosures can be seen throughout the wood. Set on an exposed knoll on the edge of Ridley Plain and surrounded by open, wet and wild heathland, it is subject to the full measure of the elements and bears the scars of countless encounters. The walking is wet underfoot and hard going, obstacles frequently block the way, the decaying hulks of long fallen leviathans. Where fallen trunks have opened the canopy, regeneration has been swift, with self seeded Beech, Holly and Birch leading the assault with the occasional smatterings of Oak. I should imagine a night walk in these woods would be fraught with unseen noises, sinister shadows and eerie spectors only seen in the peripheral vision; even in daylight on a grey and windy day, the bare canopy sways violently creating a plethora of squeaks, creaks and strange sounds, whilst the winds also swirl through the understory filling the stands and shrubs with movement.

Graffiti, what's it all about ?

No white nor red was ever seen

So am'rous as this lovely green.
Fond Lovers, cruel as their Flame,
Cut in these Trees their Mistress name.
Little, Alas, they know, or heed,
How far these Beauties Hers exceed!
Fair Trees! where s'eer you barkes I wound,
No Name shall but your own be found.
Exert from 'The Garden' by Marvell (1621 - 1678)

Where as I understand and concur with Marvells sentiments on the beauty of trees and, in part, his views on graffiti, I do have a fascination with the latter. Beech is favoured by the graffitist for her smooth grey regular skin, a surface made for carving; next is the Holly with its similarly smooth surface and rarely any other. Often found at favoured picnic spots or other accessible locations, graffiti is frequently found on trees that are well off the beaten track, deep in the forest, at the most isolated places. The nature of this graffiti is not restricted to signs of love, although they are of course plentiful, and even covers the base, such as the crudely cut 'Fuck u'; the age range too is broad, dating from the late 1800's onwards. They set my mind thinking, what's their story? Take the photo above, why, who, would take the time and effort to go out into the forest to write that message? Who is the message meant for? What does it meant, other than the obvious?

Great Huntley Bank

It continues to rain and the forest continues to absorb all the water dropped on it; swelling and softening, almost at saturation point, a firm dry footfall is a rare find indeed. Throughout the woods lay fallen leviathans, victims of high winds and in the case of Beech notoriously shallow roots; although, in some places it appears more than a mere isolated case of physics and more like a post combat battle ground. In a glade in Great Huntley Bank the sight is more akin to a terrible battle; a battle between Earth bound trees and airborne elements, it would appear that the trees won as they still hold the ground, but at some cost. The trunks of fallen trees, victims of combat, lay heaped upon one another throughout the place; the woods bear testament to the power of both stand and gale. Events probably took place a decade or two ago and it never ceases to amaze me the endurance of these recumbent behemoths, retaining a precence in the woodland long after the sap has stopped rising.

Strange Days

The woods feel very up beat, above, the Sun periodically breaks cover from the racing clouds and floods the bare stands, while above enthusiastic bird calls emanate from the bristly canopy. As if there's a glamour on the woods, there's a strange feeling abroad, it feels like spring, yet spring is a long time coming. Anomalous days out of season have become increasingly common place. Again, as of recent, the warmth of the Sun feels unseasonably warm, warmer than it should be. Tree moss, allowed access to light by the clear canopy, flourishes, vibrant and green, it coats many of the trunks, both upright and recumbent. Across the meanders of Highland Water and through the mix of shrubbery and trunk, a fair sized group of Deer spy our approach and, more reactively than usual, make haste in the opposite direction. Strange days.

Avon Water

Avon Water, between Homlsley Bridge and Wootton Bridge, sports some of the few remaining straightened sections of stream in the forest, running parallel with the former path of the Ringwood to Brockenhurst railway, it skirts the interface of woodland and wetland. Numerous, shallow rooted, bank side trees have succumbed to erosion and the elements, fallen across the flow and become ad hock bridges between the two opposing environments. As the fallen trunks slowly sink into the flow they frequently become the focus of log jams and dams, common in these parts, flooding swathes of adjacent woodland. Avon Water will shortly leave the forest, travel through farmland punctuated by copses and wooded corridors, before joining the Solent at Key haven.

Tyneham Cap

Perfect

Grey clouds cleared, carried on frigid winds and a warmer than expected Sun shone on the Purbecks from a azure sky. Clear of any unpleasant tints or taints, no nasty hues, the tells of our poor industrial practices, the ridge above Kimmerage is bathed in clean air and rich light. Two birds of prey spar via aerial combat for dominion or dinner against the tranquil backdrop. Clouds still bubbled threateningly on the horizon, the shape of things to come, but for now everything is perfect. On either side of the curving ridge can be seen the picturesque ruined remains of what must have been well loved farmsteads, country cottages and family homes; 'borrowed' from the local population by the Ministry of War in the forties for military exercise purposes, they were never returned and even today remain within the overshoot area of the gunnery ranges. From the high point of Tyneham Cap, where Townly Sheltons memorial bench offers respite for weary legs, the impressive Gad Cliffs stretch round to Worborrow Bay and beyond to Mupe and Lulworth looking to the West and Chapmans Pool and St Albans Head to the East. Surely, one of the most perfect walks in the Purbecks.

Mogshade

The Sun made a welcome, although brief and weak, return to the forest today; low in a predominantly blue sky it warmed and illuminated the the land. Ponies, recently to be found sheltering amongst shrub and shade, again graze in the open, absorbing any heat they can whilst it's on offer. The Suns presence doesn't alter the ground or walking, the ground remains spongy and yielding, the brooks and streams continue to flow with vigor. Highland Water, below Ocknell Arch, flows through a diverse mix of tree species including some mature Oaks and Beech; there are many fantastic examples of ancient trees, amongst which are several outstanding ancient trees of well over 300 years.

We usually walk the less trodden path, we see few others and more often none, today, as obscure as our course was, we found today it frequently corresponded with a orienteering route; the route was well off any beaten track, still, there's enough wild wood for all of us.

Town Common

Damper

The woods became damper today as the march towards saturation and submersion continues. Every shallow ditch and gully, engorged with rain water run off, flow with purpose through the woods and heath, creating a myriad of obstacles of varying size and form. Through Red Rise the flow of the Brook has increased and now, bolstered by the mass migration of water from the surrounding land and continuing rain, challenges its banks in several places. The nature of the rain fluctuates between light drizzle and intense deluge, when heavy the noise is intense and fills the senses as the rain drops rattle through the naked boughs and strike the sodden floor below. The shape of things to come.

Dampness

Whether it was the thick mists, intermittent drizzle or the persistent low cloud, dampness hung over the forest like sodden gauze, combined with the cold wind it penetrated your armour and touched your bones; the only way to negate this was to keep moving and build up some heat, to that end the walk moved at a brisk pace. Periodically the grey clouds massing in all directions swooped in low and being able to hold no more, swelled to maximum capacity they'd relinquish some of their burden and add to the predominance of damp. The ground is now well on its way to saturation, with the low laying tracts wet with the constant threat of sucking mud; the hill top plateaus don't escape the wet, due to the nature of the forests underlying geology of clays and hard pan, Fritham Plain, as with other forest plateaus, hold the water well and future walks will become increasingly wet affairs. Through Sloden Wood the tracts of beautiful mature ancient woodland are some of the most appealing with a plethora of splendid tree specimens, such as this big boughed Oak near Ragged Boys Hill.

What about cycling proficiency!

ABC, easy as 123

The ABC Warriors remember their exploits during the Volgan Wars in the 'Volgan Wars book1' and the special forces robot 'Zippo', who always happened to be at hand at the vital moments. Mills writes a engaging text and the art by Clint Langley is lovely, a top read.

Brown

Lush green fingers threat their way between the stands, filling shallow coombes and wet gullies, penetrating deep into the heart of the now predominantly brown woodland. These wet fingers, like veins, feed the forest; they can be deceptive, swallowing a foot, maybe up to the knee with swift ease. The woods are now bare and open, naked trees allow views deep into previously hidden places; the forest is mostly shutdown for the season, resting, planning and preparing for the coming burgeoning.

New year

A new year dawns, though it means little to the land, the flora and fauna ride on different cycles; their year is dictated by the seasons; decades and centuries are their markers. The forest appears timeless, or at least out of time, the forest is eternal; it may change its shape, its species matrix, its form, but the forest has always been.

3 Rivers meet

At Bolderford Bridge, near Brockenhurst, the 3 streams that make up the headwaters of the Lymington River are united; first Fletchers Water merges with Highland Water, shortly after Ober Water joins for the final stretch to the sea. They represent the longest streams in the forest. All 3 streams originated in the high central plateau of the forest, the head waters of Bratley and Highland Waters are less than a kilometer apart on Ocknell Plain and Mill Lawn Brook near Pickets Post.

Fletcher Water

The only remaining straight section of Fletchers Water, about a kilometre long, between Fletchers Thorns and Highland Water, looks marked for 'restoration', spray can pink dots and pollarding instructions adorn those chosen to fall. The rest of the stream, all the way from its beginnings as Bratley Water, through Blackensford Brook to Black Water and sections of Fletchers Water have been remodelled, their surrounding stands restored to bog woodland. It's always been a bit of a weird walk, unnatural feeling and unlike other sections its restoration wont be lamented.

Fletchers Winter

Damp mists fill the stands of Fletchers Thorns (1829), sweeping amongst the trunks, through the naked canopy and along the course of the recently remodelled Fletchers Waters; Fletchers Water, now shallower, with restored meanders, flows vigorously towards its destiny, swelled by melt water and recent rain. As intended, the remodelling of the stream has encouraged water to flow beyond the banks, spilling into the surrounding woodland, filling any shallow gully or hollow and creating a new alien landscape. Changes necessitate frequent and awkward diversions from my chosen path along the bank in order to negotiate the newly created watery obstacles. Above a pure white Egret glides through the canopy, using the stream to navigate deep into the forest hinterland; their presence a testament to the improving water quality of the forest streams and the increased fish stock there in.

The light is fading, it's easy to forget how quickly the darkness draws in. If you allow your mind to wander, which is easy, the mists, the silence, coupled with the unexpected obstacle set in a once familiar place, now so foreign, lend themselves to the creation of a eerie atmosphere.

Choo Choo

Snow still lingers in the fields and on hillsides of the Purbecks, ice still crusts puddles and a chill wind swirls through the land. From the heights of Nine Barrow Down a speeding steam train can be seen racing along the restored line towards Harmons Cross, between Corfe and Swanage; a sight of yester year.

Line in the sand

Poole Harbour is cold and forbidding, its icy waters lapping upon a frozen shore whose sandy matrix has surrendered to frost and now displayed the characteristics of set cement. Icy fingers augment this shoreline, the paths of water draining from the wet heathland, now resembling thick weathered bottle glass melted then re solidified. Around us a cold wind blows through the shore side shrubs and grasses, off across the mill pool still waters of the harbour, whilst residual snow can be seen on the distant Purbeck Hills.

The remains of a defencive line of formidable square concrete anti tank blocks extend into the harbour, now gradually undermined by nature, several have succumbed and now lay at jaunty angles. The rest of the line, which once extended across the headland to an impassable wetland, was blown in the late 1940's, other than this section of 18 and 3 at the edge of the wetland all that remains are clusters of regularly spaced concrete fragments.

Birkin Chill

Still -2 in the afternoon and although the snow stopped falling several days ago now, its remains endure in the sheltered parts of the forest, while where water stands or covers any open land it has frozen solid; winter retains a firm grasp on the land.

Solstice greetings

Winter Solstice, the shortest day, the longest night. Snow blankets the ground; Jack frost plies his mischief over hill and vale. Boughs are bare amongst the skeletal stands and little stirs. Seeds lay waiting for their moment, while the land sleeps and darkness rules. Dawn sees the wheel turn on its tireless transit, the new sun is born from the horns of the moon. Our march to spring has begun; light will increase whilst darkness retreats. Solstice greetings and hopes that your journey is filled with all you'd need.

Winter Solstice card 2010

Fletchers Brook

Mill Lawn Brook

Markway

Magical land

The direction of the incoming freeze is clearly visible on the trees and shrubs of Wilverly Plain and Enclosure (1809); their eastern faces dusted with a crispy white icing sugar like glaze, whilst the western sides retain their natural hues. With crystal clad heather, lustrous bracken fronds and solid patterned puddles, the plain has taken on the aspect of a wild and magical land. Walking across Holm Hill is a mix of crunches, as you break the thin ice which covers even the most ephemeral of water and slides, as you slip on the greased glass like ground surfaces where the saturated earth has frozen solid.

Descending into the Ober valley the forest reverts to the traditional hues of winter, where browns rule, although most standing water remains frozen, even if the ground below and around yields. The Ober looks cold and uninviting as it snakes its way along Clumber Enclosure (1843), racing to join Highland Water.

As if passing between separate world, as you ascend Markway Hill towards Spy Holms the scene returns to the winter wonderland of white clad flora and crisp ice. The sun is going down and the sky comes alive with a final burst of cloud and colour. Nice.

Teazle

Sun beams

What a difference a day makes

What a difference a day makes. The over night rain has all but decimated the the snow, which only yesterday blanketed the land so successfully. Now the ground's becoming increasingly saturated as the melted snow again rejoins the watery cycle. The snow may have all but disappeared, but ice is still common place where ever water stands and in some places remains 30mm thick. Rising from Red Rise Brook a mist or light fog floods the out over the land, hanging over the open places and lurking amongst the skeletal stands. Whilst Ponies graze, other forms are visible shuffling about the woods; Pigs still roam the forest. Usually by this time the pigs have returned to their regular stomping grounds, although this year pannage has been extended for a few weeks due to the dangers posed to the ponies by this years bumper crop of acorns; sadly there's been an increase in pony deaths due to acorn consumption. A small family of British Saddle backs are doing their bit for pony preservation, searching through the fresh leaf litter of Red Rise Hill woods and along the banks of the brook.

Red Rise

Snowmore

Well hard!

Snow falls

Powdery white snow fell through the night blanketing our region with up to a depth of 15cm or more of the white stuff, bringing everything to a stand still and bringing joy to everyone who took the opportunity to enjoy the many pleasures afforded by snow. Snows power to transform the usually mundane or complement our already beautiful woodland never fails to stir the soul and raise ones spirits.

Snowscape

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