The shape of things to come

The clouds that scudded across the sky earlier in the day have consolidated into mighty towering banks of grey foreboding; it's clear to see the shape of the weather to come and it looks wet (and getting colder too). 

Knowlton

Driven by frigid winds, clouds scudded across the sky, periodically releasing the Sun to shine down on those gathered at Knowlton Henge to celebrate the Spring Equinox, Alban Eilir or Ostara, which ever takes your fancy.  The warmth generated by the circle more than matched the chill winds, although they tried their best, and another beautiful, uplifting open ritual was had, thanks to the Dorset Grove, Druid Order.  A lovely bunch of folk, whose open rituals are worth seeking out.  Always come away feeling better than when I arrived, even if I felt good when I arrived.

Alban Eilir

The Goddess of spring is abroad, her lands are bathed in warming light, new life stirs in the hedgerows and the fields, along sparkling streams and through wooded glades. A time of preparation, a time to plan, for the burgeoning will soon begin and the race begun. Blessing to all at Alban Eilir. 

South Egliston

I've looked down on ruins South Egliston, from the ridge of the hills which surround Kimmeridge, for over 20 years and wondered what they might be like; shrouded by trees, even in the winter it's hard to get a clear impression.  Seconded during World War Two as part of the militarys' preparations for D Day, they still remain inside the range boundaries controlled by the army.  Although, it's unlikely being so close to Kimmeridge Village that many rounds were fired in its vicinity; the areas inclusion in the range, I feel, was more for safety in case of overshoot. Today curiosity got the better and a recon mission was undertaken, down the hillside and across the fields we went, towards the woods and buildings of South Egliston; crossing the fields was undertaken at speed, aware that the ranges are off limits. I don't really know what I expected to find, although I wouldn't have been surprised to find similar remains to those of the Tyneham valley; shells of former buildings, nothing more. Some of the outer buildings were indeed mere crumbling shells. Though, what I found in the main buildings was a surprise and had me exited like a child.  As we entered the woodland it was clear that the buildings had not suffered the same damage during or after the war as Tyneham valley.  It looks like the building were evacuated in 1943 and just left, 70 years of abandonment, neglect and the elements have certainly taken their toll and what remains are building with collapsing roofs and floors; no longer inhabitable but not yet mere shells with doors, fireplaces and other fittings still in situ.  If only I had ventured down to South Egliston 20 years ago, what would I have found then? I should imagine then the building would have still have had all their roofs and floors at least.  As this mission was merely for recon purposes I took a quick look about some of the main house and some of the other buildings, but it was only a quick look.  What I gathered was that the main house would have been quiet posh, most of the other buildings I looked at from a distance.  It must have been an idyllic place to live.  There is little to nothing about the site online and so I'll return soon for a deeper, fuller investigation and to create a visual record of what remains before it's all gone.

A walk on the coast

Back to the coast again today, and why not!  With clear skies,  a radiant Sun and all that beauty on offer, it would be rude not to. Starting at the quarry which eats into the Corfe Hills  near Cocknowle, we made our way along the Ridgeway Hill high above Creech Wood, on through the Great Wood and out along Creech Hill towards Povington Hill then onwards to the spectacular views at Flowers Barrow fort.  About 5 miles. Again the Hillfort afforded fantastic views in both directions along the coast. After a while, minds drifting over the visual feast in front of us, we made our way down the steep hill to Worbarrow Tout. Worbarrow Tout, on a sunny spring day, I can't think of better place to have stopped for lunch.  Although the wind still harassed at times,  you could have been forgiven for thinking it was the summer today; clear blue skies met a deep blue sea all crowned by a golden Sun, a Sun whose  strength is steadily growing, and which warmed the land and all upon it. Lunch finished, we moved off inland towards Tyneham, though turned and took the steep hill up to Tyneham Cap before we reached the village. The track between Worbarrow and Tyneham was crowded by folk moving between honey pots. From Tyneham Cap again we were afforded wonderful views; the sign on the seat which crowns the Cap remarks that 'Townly Shelton, loved this view' and it's not hard to understand why.  As we walked East along Egliston Hill, I looked down towards South Egliston, a cluster of buildings abandoned in 1943 when the area was acquired by the military, and decided today I'd investigate them, so down the steep sided hill we went.  After a snoop around we rose back on to the ridge and continued down the other side of Egliston Hill, crossing the Corfe River as we approached Steeple Leaze Farm, nestled in the valley at the base of the hill. Ahead of us Creech Hill was to be our final climb of the day, and strenuous it was, although once conquered it was down hill all the way.  Another magnificent day in Purbeck. 

Location?

Two trees, about 5m apart, well of the beaten track. Are they connected? It feels like they are. And if so, what do they represent? The tree with the 2 arrows points towards each other appears to represent a marker or location,' a 'it's here', 'x marks the spot' type thing.  The other tree actually has a cross on it, a cross and two sevens. I don't think it can represent a date, because that would be 1077; the forest and trees are old, but this tree is certainly not.

That's the thing with graffiti found out in the forest, it gets you thinking and it's very unlikely that you'll ever get an answer

Cake tree

I've seen King Alfreds' Cakes many times before, growing on trunks or fallen boughs, but never in such profusion as on this one tree.  This useful fungi covers the trunk of this mature tree as well as one of its large boughs. As a useful resource, I certainly make a note of this tree.

Highland

The effects of winter's torrents can be seen on all the forest streams, none more so than on Highland Water, which appears to have taken quiet a battering.  Reshaped, redirected and changed, the deeply cutting meanders have been breached at several spots creating new island; islands though that will no doubt be short lived as the old courses become oxbow lakes and then begin to silt up.  The fringes of the streams have been covered with light silts washed down during flooding, in some places these silts extend some way into the adjacent woodlands; a testament to the extent the of flooding endured in recent months.

Chocks away!

I'd not visited Ibsleys World War 2 control tower in years and was surprised by what I found.  The last time I was here it was dilapidated, but open and accessible.  Not anymore. The ground floor windows are all blocked in and a metal gate bars you from access, although a level of concrete blocks had been removed from one window and with some difficulty, and a stack of concrete blocks, I managed to squeeze through.  The inside, like the outside had become a canvass for graffiti artists, who sadly had left all manner of detritus behind them, doing themselves and their creed no favours. Though, some of the graffiti was quite good, particularly the Churchill piece in the picture, most wasn't more than tagging or bollocks.  That's just how it goes. What I found sad wasn't the actions of a few youth, but that the building has been left to fall further into dilapidation.  An indictment of our varied and fickle attitudes towards our history and heritage, bearing in mind, this was a Battle of Britain Airfield, a period of our history that is made so much of when desired and yet we do little to preserve relics of that period. 

War, what is it good for?

Walking about the remains of the World War 2 Ibsley Airfield and pondering on war, particularly with the 'celebrations' of the First World War getting into full swing, I did wonder 'war, what is it good for?' and came to the same conclusion as Edwin Starr, absolutely nothing!   Furthermore, that appears to be what we learnt from the 'War to end all wars', 'The great war', absolutely nothing.

Harp Stone

Tucked away on the edge of fields, in a dense hawthorn/shrub thicket and adjacent to what looks like a heavily overgrown sunken track of maybe a seasonal stream as there's water slowly flowing down through it towards the Corfe river 50m away, is the Harp Stone or Hurpstone.  The Harp Stone is a standing stone or Menhir, late Neolithic to Bronze Age in date, one of only a few known in the county. The stone is local rough limestone 2m (about) high, 1m by .8m, deeply cut vertical grooves created  by rain and weathering run down the east and west faces (the narrower faces), these faces are also holed like Swiss cheese. It would've been a prehistoric ritual/ceremonial site and is still used today, a crystal could be spied set in one of the many holes and a piece of ribbon/cloth is tied through 2 joining holes. I too sat a while in tranquil contemplation and lovely it was. The practices or beliefs of those who erected these monuments maybe lost to us, what I find more important in a site like this is the continuity of use. Through the millennia all manner of folk will have visited this site and/or used it, say 4500 years of use; that's impressive. It maybe off the beaten track, but the Harp Stone is well worth a visit. 

Smedmore Hill

I can't articulate, as I would like to, the feeling of well being I get from nature; physical, mental and spiritual. The ranges were, unusually for the weekend, closed and so a hasty alternative route had to be considered, a route as it happens with more ups and downs than I had planned for.  Though the day was fine, so what the hey. The Sun may have gained dominion over the chill winds, for the first time this year, but it has not done so against the sea and a light sea mist shrouded the distant coast and hills, which added a degree of mystery and the exotic to the views. Birds sung in joyous expectation of the season now arriving, while the banks and hedgerows rustled with invisible activity.  The walk took us through more new tracts, as well as some well trodden ones and as we approached the top of the Kimmeridge ridge at Swyres Head a rest was called for. As we sat high on the side of Swyres Head, just below the ridge line, I was totally taken by the view before me, lost in wonder. Before I knew it 30 Min's had passed, so absorbing were the views.  Another beautiful day on the coast.

Primrose

When Primroses brighten the country hedgerows and verges, you know that spring is at hand. These beautiful little flowers can live up to 50 years or so, although even with such longevity sadly they appear to have become far scarcer than than say 20 years ago.  Or that could just be coloured by my pessimistic vision of our negative effects on nature.  Still, always joy to behold and a lift to the spirit.

Clearbury

A skeletal Clearbury, trees still bare and undergrowth subdued, allows for a better view and understanding of this hillfort, its structure, design and features, as well as an rough assessment of the condition of its remains. Conditions, I'd say were rather good. The defencive banks and ditches remain substantial, for the most part, and the interior although wooded with neglected coppice, appears to be level and unchanged from the period of occupation 2000 years past; I didn't explore the interior, I shouldn't have been on the banks as it was and as there were signs of pheasant rearing within, I thought it best not to test my luck and just enjoy some time taking in the ambiance sat on the inner rampart. If it were not for the pheasant feeder, I'd note this site as a good wild camping prospect, as at Buckland Rings, but with far superior views over chalk downs and as far as the sea.

Purple Sky at night

Tripped out delight.

Sinking sentinel

Silently slipping below the brackish peat stained water this slighted wartime sentinel slowly sinks from view and undoubtedly from memory. 

Grass lines

Millennia of slippage, centuries of cattle grazing and of human activity have sculpted this hillside, which caught in the right light reveals all its detail. 

Chapmans Pool to Dancing ledge

 

The wind took you by surprise as you approached the ridge above Chapmans Pool. The wind coming in from the west scrapes across Emmetts Hill, a chill wind which reminds you of how mild the winter has been as you're taken a back by its deep chill. Westwards the coast is fringed in white foam created by forceful waves.  There was evidence of several cliff slippages, where fresh rock and soil had cascaded into the scrub below. The path was slick with viscus mud, it did not feel safe as your feet frequently slipped from below you.

From St Albans head looking West, back towards Emmetts Hill and beyond to Swyres Head and then Flowers Barrow on the horizon.  The view was beautiful, time for another slack jawed repose moment.

Although the sea hadn't appear too rough, looking East from St Albans Head you could see waves crashing against the limestone cliffs in the distance, waves hitting with such force that on occasion they nearly sent spray up and onto the headland. As with Emmetts Hill the path towards Winspit was slick, if not slicker.  The path is narrow here with only a brief, steep grass verge before sheer cliff and after several scary slips there was no alternative than to get off the path and into the adjacent field. Level safe walking was acquired. I passed a large group of walkers who'd stayed on the path, it looked slow and arduous going; with their looks of envy and comments on my choice of path, I knew I'd made the right decision. 

Getting closer to the sea at Winspit you could now see how rough the sea was.  Well, it wasn't really rough, the sea didn't boil or anything, more that strong bands of wave were regularly hitting the coast. These waves turned to spray upon crashing the hard rocks and in turn filled the air with damp mists.  I wonder how it must have been here during the height of the recent storms, it must have been a terrifying sight to behold.

Climbing the hillside beyond Seacombe and through some rough scrub we came upon an unusual dry stone feature tucked away in a dip in the hillside. Just below the ridge of the hill and well hidden is a sub oval dry stone building (?), a meter and a half high, open for most of the inland side and with a built in stone seat at one end. The stone work is clean and well formed, and although it looks very recent it appears on Google Earth and so has been here for at least 6 years. It's probably been there for years and its position and the elements have kept it looking brand new.  There were old earthworks about the summit of the hill, and with scrub, I think this could be a good spot for a wild camp.

Eventually we reached the hilltop above Dancing Ledge, I remembered how wet it was last time I visited and therefore forewent a trip down to the quarry.  Instead we turned inland to take the, flat and firm under foot, Priests Way back to Worth.  Lovely walk was had.

Barton Beach Boulders

Hundreds of 60 million year old Septarian nodules litter the inter-tidal beyond Chewton Bunny. Washed out of the Barton clays and exposed by the recent storms, they create an unusual foreshore feature.

Quinch?

An obscure reference I know, but upon seeing 'DR' cut into the bark of this mature Beech in White Shoot wood, my first thought was 'where's Quinch?'.

The spawning

Spring must be on its way, as the spawning has begun. The side waters of the filigree of small streams and brooks which criss cross the forest and feed the bigger streams, are filling with blooms of frog spawn.

Warwick Slade

The forest is still inundated, standing water fills every undulation, every hollow and walking is like stepping on a vast sodden sponge.  And still the rain falls, not as vigorously and not as persistently, but still far too frequently.  Warwick Slade is a wetland, impassable without getting wet to some degree. So we move into the fringe of Brinken Wood, where the ground is just high enough to remain dry, though still watery hollows block you path and call for alternative routes to be sought.  You can't escape the water, no matter how hard you might try.  Another all too frequent obstacle are the fallen hulks of mature Beech and Oak, supplemented by many smaller species, their humbled crowns crowd the woodland floor. Looking about I can see seven mature Beech, all of which once towered above me, prostrate, splintered and broken on the forest floor.  The forest has certainly suffered this last year.

Tyneham Cottage

It was Tyneham villages isolation in, as Dorset in the 1940's was then a quiet backwater, that sealed its fate.  It was often quoted that people frequently bypassed Dorset in favour of the better known holiday destinations of Devon and Cornwall; their loss really.  Though, what better place to locate your secret military training ground, especially if the training you're going to undertake is for the top secret and pivotal invasion of Europe.  It's so peaceful in the Tyneham valley, and you could say that that's because nobody lives here and it hasn't changed in 70 years, that would be true, but only to an extent. Yes, there would have been more activity and the bustle of life if a community was still active here and you can only imagine how the valley and coast might have changed if left as was; although by all accounts Tyneham was always a peaceful place to live.  Looking through the small cottage windows you wonder what activities went on beyond and how was life played out in this tight community. Walking around the village ruins and reading the testimonials in the individual cottages, the school and church by those who lived here, it would appear a real tale of paradise lost.

Still in the hills

We continue to be draw to the Purbecks whenever the Sun shines. Well you would.  It's blessed with boundless wonders and veritably crackles with natural energy and magic.  It never ceases to strike me how close we are here to the South coasts biggest urban conurbation. A brief 5 minute ferry journey offers such a transformation in environment.  For part of our journey we took a route new to us, whether it was an actual footpath or even permissible, I'm still uncertain. Nevertheless it took through land, along a track we'd previously not walked. Always a buzz, seeing new perspectives on familiar land marks.  At times the Sun shone brightly and afforded us a reasonable degree of warmth, although as you climbed the hills a brisk wind rose.  Though whilst taking breaks this wind could be negated by finding the right spot to rest in.  There tucked away, closing your eyes, you could drift away, immersed in natures embrace and the Suns warmth, all accompanied by the beautiful song of birds preparing for change. Lovely.

Spring skies

Spring

He said hold on it's coming, hold on it's nearly here. That's Spring that is. You can feel it's approach. When the Sun's out and the birds are singing Spring could already be here, only when the Sun's out and the birds are singing mind.

Bits of hut

Piles of splintered beach hut, the ones which until recently were along the prom at Friars Cliff, are regularly spaced along the under cliff at Steamer Point and Highcliffe castle. Victims of the recent storms, the wind and sea have spread them over the shoreline for nearly a mile. Those were some crazy weather conditions we've experienced of late; possibly something we'll need to get used too. So many holiday memories would have been locked up in those weathered wooden beach houses.

Black Ears

The fresh Jews Ears I found a few weeks ago don't look so good now or do they?  You can dry Jews Ears and they look like this; have they been naturally dried? I'll have to look into this. 

Worbarrow Bay

The coast was magical today, the coast is always magical, but today it was even more so.  In every direction a view that stopped you and commanded you to look on in awe, not that you needed commanding. You find yourself smiling like a slack jawed fool, uncertain of how long you stood planted, absorbed in natures delights.  I've seen these views so many times and yet the wonder never diminishes.  Each time I look out across this undulating landscape is like the first time but better, more intense, with more depth, over time you appreciate new facets, subtleties you'd not previously registered. Finding the new in the familiar always gives me a particular buzz.  Today the magic in the Purbecks was tangible.

Milky Mupe

As the winter seas erode the softer bands of chalk geology along the Jurassic coast, great plumes of milky wash cloud the waters, growing, travelling along on the currents before dispersing.  The cycle is complete, starting in the sea, it's only proper that chalk should find its way back there, even if it takes many millions of years.

Flowers barrow

If I had to choose a Iron Age Hillfort to have lived in it would be Flowers Barrow. Perched high on the end of  the Purbeck hills, overlooking the Jurassic coast, it would appear ideally located both defencively, with only one reasonable approach, and to exploit a wide range of environments each containing a myriad of valuable resources. Life here could have been easy, probably, by Iron Age standards anyway.  And the views.

Road block

One of a group of large evergreens has fallen across a nearby main road, sending a street lamp crashing to the ground in the process, leaving a section of the road in total darkness.  Through the fallen boughs the moon was visible in the clear night sky. Is there no end to this wind, too many trees have already fallen.

Douglas

The Douglas Fir, a majestic tree and easy to spot in the forest, especially at this time of the year, when the other trees are mostly bare and its natural great size makes it stick out. The Sun played amongst a small stand of Douglas this afternoon and if you closed your eyes you could be in spring; the smells, the increased bird song, the gentle warmth all conspired to trick the senses. For when the clouds rolled in and you opened your eyes, spring had been spirited away and you were back in winters dank cold embrace. I feel I need spring, more this year than I can remember, perhaps it's the perpetually leaking leaden skies weighing heavy on my mind or that we've had no proper cold snap to clear the air. Maybe.

Hardy mushrooms

I'm not certain what species these fungi are, but they're hardy, to survive winter and in particular this wetter than usual winter, is no mean feat. But thriving they are. Hues of oranges and yellows, climbing up the rich green moss covered Ash trunk like a sprawling miniature fantasy mushroom city, among a forest of young ferns, they create quite a spectacle in this subtle hued season. Nature's great.

A milky sea

The sky had been mainly blue and the wind, although noticeable, was still slight; but all of a sudden the sky turned ashen and the wind, now deeply chilled, rose to quiet a force. Rain could be seen falling in the distance and occasionally the odd stray drops made you pay closer attention to the movement of the sky and had you scanning ahead for shelter. Then just as quickly as it arrived, it was passing by out towards the Isle of Wight. The light breaking to the rear of this heavy grey block of cloud, gave the impression that the sea had turned a milky blue grey and allowed the strong shadows cast by the low late afternoon Sun to be clearly reflected on its surface.