Beltane sunrise from Glastonbury Tor

 

What a magnificent dawn, a flawless Beltane morning. Rising majestically from the surrounding landscape Glastonbury Tor, a sacred hilltop crowded with smiley faces, people offering warm embraces, folk of shared purpose, here to greet the Sun. Rollo led the Beltane ceremony in his inimitable style, and people followed enthusiastically, as is the way. There's definitely something special about collective ceremonies, and made more so when diffuse and, for the most part, unconnected participants gather for a fleeting moment. Ceremony over, an accordion starts up, and the sticks of the Cam Valley Morris clash as the sun cracks the dawn to a collective cheer. Perfect. I felt a deep sense of reconnection after too long a period being disconnected. Beltane has always been my favourite festival of the eightfold year, a time of such potential and hope for a fertile season to come, and fertile by any metric you wish to employ too, spiritual, physical, material. It was only as I descended the Tor that I realised how I'd needed this morning, and how much it had affected me.  It really was perfect. Beltane blessing y'all.

Just before dawn

Just before dawn on Beltane morn.

Moody's Gore

 Ramsons in Moody’s Gore.

Ebble at Faulston

The River Ebble beside Faulston House.

Almost a castle

There's a rather grand dovecote in the garden of Faulston House, a circular tower of bands of dressed stone and squared flint. Although a dovecote now, the wall suggests a long history of alteration and a series of phases of use. Indeed, the tower is one of four build in the 14th century when the owner was granted licence to defend his manor house with dressed stone and squared flint crenelated walls, towers, moat and drawbridge. Almost a castle. By the mid 17th century after the Civil War the moat was filled, the walls and 3 towers pulled down, with only the tower we see today still standing.

Bluebell wood

Bluebells reign through Knighton Wood and Reddish Gore. Is there any sight more uplifting than the countryside in spring; our temperate land blesses us with  springs of unassailable verdance and gentle beauty. 

Eh chuck

The first burgeoning of Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus) I've seen this season. I was quite taken aback spotting the unmistakeable sulphur polypore in the cracks of a weathered trunk deep off in the stands.  It's the right season, though I'd thought it too dry to see any fungi action. Nice to be wrong.

Floods

 

Not a sight we've seen as much as we should've, a forest stream overflowing into the forest around it. It was a particularly dry winter and continues a particularly dry spring too. And although a force nature today, Black Water will be back within banks by tomorrow; the water's running off the land so quickly not because the ground is saturated, rather it's so dry.

Ants

The ants are out, with frantic energy innumerable Wood Ants (formica rufa) busy themselves around their nest. Aggressive little buggers.

Frame Wood

 

Frame Wood

Knightwood enclosure

Knightwood enclosure, early doors.

Broomy

 Broomy enclosure. The season of dappled light approaches.

Good morning

So far this year the mornings out in the forest have been near consistently lovely. It's worth remembering that it's not always like that. We're enjoying a good run, we've been lucky.

The Flat Oak

The Flat Oak stands out as ancient amongst the younger veteran trees of Wood Crates. We always say hello if we're passing through this region of the forest. Well, it would be rude not to.

Up and away

A Heron (Ardea cinerea) rises gracefully through the canopy above Highland Water. Herons are becoming a more and more common sight along the forests streams and wet places, a testament to the streams growing health and fecundity. We're blessed, there are plenty of signs of good health in the forest.

Portable antiquity

 

Glancing down whilst walking the edge of a ploughed field on the ridge of the Kimmeridge Bowl, something caught my eye. A prehistoric flint scraper. Common in the tool kit of the Neolithic farmers who first settled Purbeck. This example appears well worn, with signs of damage, possibly both ancient and plough. As finds go, flint is a particular favourite of mine, it feels such a personal artefact. That feeling of being the first soul to handle a prehistoric flint since the person who probably crafted it never dulls. I'll record it under Portable Antiquity Scheme; an item like this may seem insignificant, though it adds to our broader understanding of our ancestors who walked this land before us.

Kimmeridge

 

I've said it before, the Isle of Purbeck stands outside of time. A landscape appearing to have avoided the worst ravages of modernity; I imagine for the most part unchanged for centuries. Mere minutes from the sprawling urban expanse of BCP, it's an entirely different world, a natural wonder. A landscape rich in monuments, the stories of a millennia of human activity carved into the fabric of the isle, so much so that every walk can be a walk through time.

 

Tyneham valley

Laying out her tapestry of vibrant seasonal hues, Spring has arrived in the Tyneham valley. Stunning.

Blackthorn blossom

 

Where ever you look the Blackthorn are in blossom, bringing hedgerows and woodland fringes to life, and it's now that you realise just how common this thorny shrub is. Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) comes into flower throughout early spring, though really comes into its own around now.

Camel Green

 

Bathed in spring sunshine Highland Water wends through Camel Green, the stream through here was restored to its' former course some years back, the landscaping scars from which have almost vanished, almost. It's a lovely stretch of river. For my money Highland Water is by far the most consistently attractive stream in the forest, from Ocknell where it begins to where it becomes the Lymington River. 

The opportunist

Nature, the great opportunist. How long do you reckon it would take for nature to completely obscure the works of man if left unchecked. I'd wager not so long.

Elcombe Down Holloway

 

After Sundays' walk I returned home minus a piece of kit. I thoroughly searched the car and thoroughly searched my rucksack, then thoroughly searched them both again. Nothing. No matter how forlorn a hope I make a point of searching for any items I loose, and the Gods are often kind. So we where back in Cranborne this morning walking with a purpose. Sundays' walk had been just over 13 miles, so there were plenty of places to look, and a handful of distinct possibilities. Halfway through we made our way along the holloway snaking up Elcombe Down to one of those possibilities, the spot we'd stopped for lunch. Nothing. In fact nothing all round, and I returned to the car empty handed and disappointed. I really do hate losing things, though sat in the car I accepted it as a lesson I obviously needed to relearn, and hoped someone found my piece of kit useful. Then for no conscious reason I reached into the door tray, where surprised I pulled out aforementioned missing item. I had to laugh.

View from the Old Salisbury Drove

 

View from the Old Salisbury Drove down into the Chalke Valley.

Lichen

 

Lichens are bioindicators revealing the quality of the local air, and by their abundance about the forest I feel confident suggesting the forests' air quality is good. Lichen festoons the trees in some stands, giving the woodland an ancient fairytale feel. I'm sure it has increased in prevalence during my time wandering the forest, as have the wealth of mosses which blanket trunk and bough, forming plush carpets amongst shaded coniferous stands. I'm not sure what the term is for the woodland not quite classifiable as Temperate Rainforest, but the New Forest has a lot of contenders.

Danger!

 

For sure the highest grade of danger.

Samways House

 

An avenue of trees directs your eye to Samways House circa 1700's, one of Cranborne Chases' countless fancy houses. 

I see you

 

Suffering from leucism, a partial deficiency in pigmentation, this fallow deer sticks out like a sore thumb. I wondered if it knew it was a different colour from its peers, or it's peers knew, though they don't seen to mind or ostracise it, even though they're a total give away and surely a liability. Often if it wasn't for the white deer you'd miss a tucked away rangle of deer altogether.

Highland Water

 

Highland Water

 

Witch mark?

 

I'm wondering whether this piece of graffiti set of a beaten track, or at least away from current beaten tracks, could be a simple 'Witch Mark' carved for protection; or I've seen a similar piece described as a carving to trap demons. If a Witch Mark, maybe it could be unfinished, left missing the central hexafoil or daisy wheel. I reckon it's got some age to it, mid 20th century, quite possibly earlier maybe.

Coastal path

In part our walk back from White Nothe was along the undulating coastal path, back towards Durdle Door. It's a well worn route as shown by it's multiple narrow deep cut paths. At this point of the walk both the ups and downs were taking a toll on tired legs. But the views. Man, the views. And on such a smashing day too. Have I ever mentioned how blessed we are living in this part of the country. 

White Nothe smugglers path

White Nothe is a 160m high chalk headland overlooking Weymouth and Portland, it marks the western end of the high Cliffs which begin in Swanage, the coast beyond known as the Weymouth lowlands, although lovely, is far less dramatic. The headland is most famous for its zigzag smugglers Path up from the undercliff, which is thought to be the smugglers path featured in the 19th century novel Moonfleet. The path is one of the best on the Purbeck coast. Mind, the smugglers path is not for the weak hearted or those with a fear of heights, it's really steep and at one point buttock clenchingly scary. Even though I've navigated the path countless times over the years it still gives me the willies, the exhilaration and views though on completion are worth it.     

White Nothe undercliff

White Nothe undercliff

Gorse burning

 

Running from November to March gorse burning is an annual sight across the forest, it's a main feature of heathland management and conservation, apparently it has several fauna and flora benefits. I don't know, man. I'm quite convinced by Monbiots' description of conservation in Feral 2013 as keeping land in a state of heavily managed degradation. As I've previously said, lovely as it is, very little about the forest is natural, rewilding it has to be a better course.

River Ebble

 

It's been quite a while since we've walked the chase, May of 2023 in fact, and it was good to be back in archetypal England, a region of chalk hills and chalk streams. The latter a rare beast indeed. They reckon there's only about 200 chalk streams in the world, and 160 of those are in South and East England. One is the beautiful crystal clear River Ebble which runs through the Chalke Valley. This morning we crossed the icey cold Ebble via a clapper bridge at Fifield Bavant, a manor mentioned in the 1086 Doomsday Book as Fifehide held by Alvred of Marleborough. On its' way to join the River Avon, the Ebble quietly rushed through the valley.

Otter?

 

You know, I'm by no means certain, but I think these could be otter tracks left in a muddy bank on Highland Water. I want it to be otter tracks, because that'd be cool.  Eurasian otters have established themselves an active community along the coastal region of the New Forest, and have been known to follow streams inland in the pursuit of food. So. Maybe? Of course the tracks could be those of a badger, both otters and badgers have 5 toes leaving prints roughly the same size, though normally the claws of a badger are more pronounced. You see myriad tracks this time of year, these caught my eye as different, though I am no expert.

Black Water

We've enjoyed quite a few misty mornings in the forest this winter, and I for one am not complaining. The presence of mist only adds another layer of mystery to the forest and therefore to our roams.

Markway in the mist

 

Markway in the mist

Primrose

The Primrose (Primula vulgaris), surely the most beautiful of our new year flowers, its' sunny demeanour reminding us of warmer days to come. We tend to think of the Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis) as our traditional first sign of spring, although it wasn't always so, in truth the Snowdrop only arrived in Britain from France in the 1500's to grace Tudor gardens and wasn't recorded in the wild until 1770. So really it's the Primrose that should rightly hold the title of first sign of spring.

Frosted glass

Jack Frost continues to haunt the forest, this morning the puddles and pools were as frosted glass, I mean they looked just like it. 
 

Below Wilverely plain

Another bright start to the day, the sun was really trying, though it was too cold for him to make much of an impact, everything remained dusted white, an icy glaze crowned puddles and pools, and as a consequence mists lingered over the mires and in the hollows below Wilverely plain. You know, beyond the heather canvas of the photo all the flora present are deemed 'invasive', mostly native though not in keeping with the chocolate box image created of the forest. Personally I'd love to see nature recolonize the landscapes it's been previously evicted from.