Pony power

Snow fell in the woods today, not soft and fluffy, more like tiny hard hail stones, cascading through the almost bare canopy, the sound is reminiscent of a hundred rain sticks. There's a sharp wind too. The forest continues its silent vigil, bracing itself for the winter to come; all the tradition natural portents suggesting it will be a harsh one.

With laudable dignity and resolve, Ponies, who through all the adverse weather thrown at them, continue to stalwartly hold their ground. Tirelessly they grazing on anything they can find; grasses, spiky gorse and even Holly bark become tasty treats to see them through the lean times.

Winters march

Winter marches on through the forest with determination, Cadmans pool is already capped by a crust of thick translucent ice, while the ground is now hard under, rough and uneven to walk on, although in the more sheltered tracts the frost has formed a crusty glaze, giving the illusion of solidity, whilst really merely disguising gloopy mud below. Latchmore Brook flows with an icy chill, its many obstructions and dams preparing to endure the surge which is surely to come. Now though, the jumbles of fallen trees and boughs, hanging just above the water, have become platforms for frigid sculptures; frozen water fingers dangle, reaching out to rejoin the flow. Island Thorns (1852) and Amberwood (1817) Enclosures are quiet other that the occasional fleeting movement viewed from the corners of your eye and foresters chopping and gathering fire logs.

Ice bubbles

Break in

Today chilled you to the bone, the ground is beginning to harden as ice penetrates deeply and any exposed water is sealed with a thickening layer of ice up to 15mm so far. Thankfully there is no wind or it may have become intolerable. The stands of Rhinefields Sandys Enclosure (1775) are almost silent in the still that blankets the forest, other than the occasional subdued tweet or distant rustle nothing moves and no sounds are made. About 10 years ago well over half of Rhinefields Sandys was fenced off with Deer fencing, its gates locked and access denied. We used to walk there frequently; today fallen tree offered the opportunity to walk there again. The enclosed area, other than maintenance of the trackways, has been left to develop unhindered by grazing Cattle, Ponies and Deer; a crowded understory of self seeded saplings and shrub species has developed and the ground is densely covered. Covertly and alert, we moved slowly through the restricted woodland, taking in the forbidden sights, before slipping back into the accessible part of Rhinefields Sandys and out into heathland beyond.

Beyond the enclosure Ober Water threads its way through the valley, it too has succumbed to the freeze in places; the banks fringed by an icy pelmet. It must be cold for even flowing water to freeze. A line of Ponies process gracefully through the browning heather and tussocks towards the banks of the stream and the lush green grass grazing which awaits them.

Ocknell

Ocknell Enclosure (1775) always appears to have a different air to anywhere else in the forest, a strange eerie place, no matter what the season, what the time of day or weather, the woods have a foreboding feel, most unnerving, as if you're being watched by unseen eyes. Although a planned enclosure, the mature oaks and Beech have a wild feel, interspersed with Birch and Holly the woods have taken on a natural aspect. At the Northern edge of the woods are the head waters of Highland water, later to become the Lymington River; where these waters meet the main track passing through the wood, a fallen tree, fallen many years ago, yet still budding each spring. The trunk of this recumbent tree is covered in graffiti, more so then any trunk yet encountered. The marks left cut into the bark range from the 1980's to present and probably represent bored youth staying at the nearby Ocknell Camp Site, part of the former Stoney Cross Airfield.

Crisp morning

Jack Frost has dusted each individual blade of grass or sedge, each browning fern frond and bough on the lawn beside Ober Water below Markway bridge. A favourite spot for Deer, they lurk amongst the trees, waiting for the sun to reach out and warm them on this crisp cold morning. Ober Water is crystal clear, flowing swiftly through the valley, engorged by the recent rain. Winter's surely coming.

i c u, u c i

Red Sphagnum

Tiny ice crystals bedeck each delicate frond of the red and green sphagnum moss around Soarley Bottom.

Mark Ash

The huge Beech stands of Mark Ash are sight to behold, huge trunks, now bereft of foliage, rise majestically towards the sky. Mark Ash is undulus, a network of bluffs and gullies, feeding into moss filled valleys, the origin of brooks. The canopy is not complete though, there are localized and more substantial voids, lingering reminders of the great storms of over 20 years go. In 1987 a hurricane strength storm ravaged the South, wreaking chaos throughout the forest; scores of ancient leviathans were toppled. Evidence of these fallen leviathans still litter the woodland floor, while the tall stumps of trees ripped in half by the howling winds, rot like mammoth termite hills. Giant decaying hulks, returning, finally, to the earth to nourish the next generation, eternally recycled, a permanent feature of the forest. Dry compressed patches are visible in the deep beech leaf mass, evidence of the overnight rest spots of Deer, common about these parts.

1836?

The graffiti says 1836, although the tree, a beech tree, appears to be too small at only 1.25m in circumference, about 110 years old, taking into account it's growing in close proximity to other more mature trees. The number style is consistent with other graffiti of the 1800's identified elsewhere in the forest. The tree is in close proximity to the site of Holm Hill cottage and several other nearby trees sport interesting graffiti.

Mill Lawn Brook

Again the damp is penetrating, chill fingers jab relentlessly at any exposed skin, a brisk wind blows amongst the trunks. The woodland floor is now blanketed in a thick layer of newly fallen leafs, softened by the rain, yet still exuding a gentle crisp sound when trodden on and compressed. The woods feel closed for business, all the jobs completed, every harvest collected, (nearly) every leaf fallen, another good years work well done and a rest now well deserved. Amidst the stands of the Old Enclosure early victims of the seasons weather have crashed to the ground, a huge Beech bough has fallen taking down several small Holly trees; the Holly trees are now accessible to the hungry horses who have gathered to feed on the evergreen spiky fare, whilst others graze beyond the wood along Mill Lawn Brook. The brook has retreated back with in its banks after flooding the open lawn, although not completely with several areas of standing water remaining, some knee deep! Detritus carried by the recent floods and left during the waters retreat pay testament to the extent and power of the flow; and the wet season is only just beginning.

Juniper

Amongst the trees which flank Red Rise Brook above Markway bridge is a Juniper tree, boughs heavily weighed with berries, some dark purple, ripe for picking, others still juvenile and green. The berries aren't really berries, rather cones with fleshy and merged scales. The Juniper (Juniperus communis) is becoming an increasingly rare evergreen species in the British countryside, suffering from changes in farming practice, rabbits and uncontrolled grazing by livestock and deer. This is the only one I know of.

Red Rise Furze Brake

The forest today was cold, really cold, the coldest day thus far. Mist covered the land, swirling amidst the stands, racing over the heather, becoming thicker as you descended into the valleys, a chill mist, it embraces you, penetrating your cloths and chilling your bones. Dampness clung to everything, filling every space. A filigree of small water courses run between the tussucks of tough grasses, feeding into gullies which channel through the woods to feed Red Rise Brook. The landscape, what could be seen of it, was silent, nothing stirred; any woodland inhabitants that could would be tucked up.

Night walk

The forest is dark and foreboding, not surprising as it's night, the sky is heavy with rain laden clouds, mist hangs in the trees and the scene is reminiscent of a Hammer movie set. The ground underfoot is sodden, the down pours of the past few days have inundated the land; Red Rise Brook has swollen beyond it's banks and now covers swathes of the surrounding valley. Although normally a gently flowing brook, Red Rise takes on a far different aspect when engorged, it's deep pools, log jams and hard to define channel, pose a formidable obstacle and a serious danger. Together the dark and flooded landscape stirred a primeval fear deep inside. As if on cue an Owl hoots and amidst the trees of the break, all dripping creating a sound like a hundred faulty taps, something stirs, Deer, disturbed by our approach break from cover and disappear out into the open heathland of Red Rise Furze Brake. It's easy to spook yourself on night walk like tonights, not until you climb up Rooks Hill do the imagined specters fade back into the darkness .

Jacks back!

Jack's back! The land this morning was covered with his overnight labours; each blade of grass, each bud and stem, glistened with iced jewels; he and his minions are hard workers. Though much of his works were undone by the rising Sun, bursting with unseasonal warmth. The ground and foliage steam like a hot bath, sending steamy mists swirling through the stands of mature Oak and Beech, filling the nearby densely planted Pines and Firs like fog. The swirling plays tricks on you, creating persistent glimpsed shapes and movement only visible through peripheral vision, vanishing when looked for directly. Or maybe they're Mythagos. Suddenly guns sound through the woods, echoing through the trees and in the distance between the semi naked boughs dogs can be seen working; what their quarry is is uncertain. A beautiful day.

Stag in the mist

Damp mist hangs amongst the mature stands of Brinken Wood and the adjacent heather cloaked shade. The ground, now rapidly becoming sodden, is wet under foot with standing water filling every hollow or low patch, seasonal ponds refreshed; both shade and woodland are criss crossed by gently flowing shallow gullies feeding nearby brooks. All sounds are muffled, the woods are quiet, still, throughout the woodland groups of Deer move gracefully as they graze, occasionally pausing to survey their surrounds for dangers. Suddenly, the Sun is exposed by the retreating clouds; the unleashed heat quickly begins to burn off the mists; it's sure to return at dusk to reclaim the land, but for now the day takes on a welcomed warm glow.

Birken shade

Autumn Sunset

Horses stand silently amidst the fading Oaks of Warwick Slade, resigned to the changing season, they gently graze in the face of the adversity they will likely endure through the thin times ahead. They watch us pass with suspicion. Warwick Slade, indeed the whole forest, is wet under foot, standing water is visible throughout filling any hollow or low ground; walking can become increasingly arduous. Again, walking in familiar regions we traverse previously untrodden paths; tracts of wood, brooks and hollows as yet unseen. As evening draws closer the bland damp grey sky gives way to a sunset of blues, pinks, oranges and reds. Any warmth from the fading Sun that had permeated the blanket of cloud, disappears along with Sun; the air cools and fine mists rise from a myriad of small brooks and gullies, filtering through the the stands of silhouetted trees to spill out, retaking the night landscape.

Ch Ch Ch Ch Changes

Change in the forest is tangible, your senses are overwhelmed; the sound of change heard through the sounds of water coursing, the smell of damp fills your nose and all abouts change is clearly upon the land. How swiftly appears Autumns transit, there is no mistaking winters approaching. An increasing number of skeletal forms amongst the canopy herald the opening of the woods, boughs which until recently masked views between stands sway naked, seasonal vistas revealed. Other trees will retain their finery. Douglas Firs are the most agreeable of the introduced tree species, their strong, sweet, heavy scent fills the air*, their massive forms, striking and impressive, never fail to bowl you over. Thick, tall and imposing trunks stretch out of sight, piercing the canopy with ease.

Throughout the open area around Milliford Bridge cows and horses vie for the lushest, tastiest patches to graze, moving amongst each other gingerly, there are occasional confrontations; it's a turf war, literally! There's movement amongst the woodland fringe, a band of pigs move through the trees like marauders or pillaging Vikings; it's akin to the plains of the Serengeti, although a touch smaller and damper. The rain continues to fall silently.

*The strong smell of this species arises from the sticky resin which exudes from the bark; a good burning (incense) resin.

Houns Tout

Shelter

Nestled into the side of the head of a valley adjacent to farm buildings and the former site of a World war 2 Radar Development Establishment at worth Matravers is this beautifully camouflaged air raid shelter. Shielded by an old Elder tree, the exterior of this shelter is reinforced by feet of dry stone walling, inside the prefabricated concrete shelter is about 3m square and remains in fantastic condition.

Red Rise

Inundation

Red Rise Brook saw its first flooding of the season, gorging itself on the recently dispensed waters of life. There's a melancholic air amongst the trees, the damp and drizzle coats everything, the ground underfoot is soft, making arduous walking. The deluge of water has created numerous formidable obstructions, many of the well used stream side trails are unserviceable, with any ideas of traversing the landscape 'as the crow flies' to be abandoned. The increasingly aquatic stream side woodland of Red Rise is testament to the effectiveness of the streams remodeling, returning it to its course of 150 years ago. Woods have become filled with hazards, water filled hollows, frequently disguised with leafs, rejuvenated seasonal gullies and streamlettes; bog woodland. Care must be taken, as many of these hollows could have the potential to swallow whole and breach boots, some could see you wet to the knees! Red Rise Brook races though this scene at a good bore, a impassible obstacle; the main channel easy to locate by the rough bubbling flow. The whole valley floor is becoming impregnable and the stream will rise further yet.

Range Marker?

Part embedded into one of the main forest trackways, near Gorely Bushes, are the square to rectangular remains of a concrete and brick building. Nearby, adjacent to the track, is a displaced shuttered concrete footing, possibly for a large post, judging by the square void in it. The concrete components of both these features appear, by nature and matrix, to be of Second World War period. The track runs through Island Thorns and Amberwood Enclosures from Fritham, through Ashley Cross and the old World War Two ranges to Godshill Ridge. I would suggest that these features relate to the wartime uses of the area and represent a guard house or range gate. It's staggering how much of the forest was utilized during the war

Ferny

In Dockens Water valley, below Freeworms Hill, the National Parks Authority stripped and harvested the dried Fern; once such a prized resource, its removal was strictly controlled and individual quotas assigned. It would be good to see this practice return to the forest, as the Fern communities are virulent and have become invasive; huge areas of the forest must have looked like this in the past.

Windy out!

Canopies across the forest are rapidly thinning, strong winds wrack the boughs, stripping the forest of its coat of many colours and the leafs fall like rain. Already, amongst the still patially clothed trees stand the naked skeletal forms of the season to come. Today the woodland fringe is alive again with diverse bird song, spured in to action by the ticking clock; the birds prepare frantically for the lean times. The small woodland streams struggle under the weighty influx of leafs; both of the main tributaries of Latchford Brook have sucumbed to a developing multicoloured leaf blanket with long sections almost completely carpeted in golden tones. It's been a good year for woodland, tree/shrub berries, through Free Worm Hill wood many of the Holly boughs are bowed with the weight of bright red berries. Moving times.

Laaaaaarch

Autumn Tints 1

A brisk wind blows through the rainbow hued canopy of the Old Enclosure; the colour range is something to behold, every conceivable shade of yellow, orange, brown and green. The woodland floor too is carpeted in a similarly colourfully flushed medley of freshly fallen leafs. Somewhere amongst the canopy a bough or trunk creaks with a sound reminiscent of squeaky gate blown on the wind, beyond that the woodland's quiet.

Soarley Beeches

Gnarly

North Oakley

They're thinning the stands through sections of North Oakley Enclosure, along the banks of Blackensford Brook, opening up the wood and creating new or restoring old bog woodland habitats. Some of the rides have been renovated, they've cleaned and re cut ride side ditches, depositing the removed clay and gravels on the ride surface in order to level it. The new surface is wet and viscus, making for a slip sloppy walk.