Pinnick Spring

The forest air displays the unusual paradox of being both thick and thin; thick, heavy and muggy and at the same time so thin in oxygen that a deep breath hardly satisfies the lungs. All change. A welcome cool breeze rushes through the stands, swirls of fresh, invigorating air flood the forest, stirring the dense silent carpets of Blue Bells which fill Pinnick Wood. As we breath in the refreshed air a Cuckoo begins a lengthy repetitive call from high in the crown of a nearby ancient Oak, the upper boughs of which extend upwards towards the sky above. Glancing aloft sees a myriad of caterpillars repelling from the branches via invisible silken threads or taking the plunge and giving themselves to gravity. Their arrival on the leaf litter below is marked by a quiet cacophony, akin to a distant rain stick slowly turned. It's raining caterpillars and on inspection I find myself covered in frantically wriggling greens, browns and black cm long larva. Natures great.

Fletchers Water cleared

Where Fletchers Water breaks from the shade of the enclosure of the same name it takes on the straight course of an altered waterway. The water was flanked by a dense thicket of young trees and hedgerow shrubs; was past tense, for now 9 out of every 10 tree and shrub have been removed during forest maintenance. The vista is completely altered. I must confess that in one cropped section in particular, the views are much improved. My usual reaction to such cutting would be to resent the interference and change in the forest, although I didn't feel that here; maybe it was the shock of such wholesale destruction, or that the water course was unnatural anyway, or maybe I'll return to my senses and be filled with nostalga pangs for what was.

Rhinefield

A strong spring sun retreats below the tree tops silloetting Rhinefield bridge, the point where Black Water becomes Fletchers Water, spreading golden light through the stands of Fletchers Thorns and Vinney Ridge Enclosures.

Stour above Iford Bridge

Green

Burley Old dressed in the resplendant greens of fresh spring burgeoning.

Hurst revisted

Hurst Castle

Highland Water

I still fear that the forest streams are showing too much gravel bed for so early in the season; a bad portent for the season to come, maybe a hard time to come and certainly if the drought continues a dangerous time ahead

Return to Handfast

Mondays mission to Handfast Point and Old Harry was cut short by the tides, which as we're all aware 'wait for no man' and rescue by the coastguard could be embarrassing. Today though the tides were with us as we undertook our unsteady ramble over the rock strewn, seaweed covered shoreline out the Point and our rewards were manifest.

Burley sprung

Naked no more, the canopy of Burley Old Enclosure is slowly developing its verdant spring cloak, bit by bit the unhindered vistas through the bare stands retreat as the woodland withdraws from view; born a new in hues of green to be enjoyed by the traveller, in singular seclusion the secret pockets and shaded groves. The crisp leaf litter under foot loudly announces our approach. Deer now spy us from a far, on a rise a white doe watches our passage; white deer are strikingly visible at any time of year, but on closer inspection one, two, four or more regularly coloured companions become visible. Ready to bolt at a moments notice, they're off, concerned at our presence they disappear into the dusk. As evening fills the stands the dusk chorus sings last post for an egg yolk orange sun glimpsed through ancient Beech and Oak retreating below the horizon; all around is movement and noise as the night shift prepares.

Handfast Point

Burley spring

Invader!

The Harlequin ladybird is a recent invader to our shores, first recorded in the east of England in 2004.

Free at last

Nearby is an apple tree, an apple tree which still yearly offers up fruit and yet over the last few years we've watched it become encroached upon, under siege and finally conquered by aggressive brambles, as thick as your thumb with thorns like razor wire. No more could be taken and after a couple of hours chopping and cutting, with its damaged limbs trimmed and invasive ivy removed the apple tree is free at last. There should be a 'before' photo, yet enthusiasm for the task at hand meant there is only an 'after' photo.

Lotty

This is the 2011 before photo, still visible are the remaining crops from last season, leeks and celeriac; this years herbs are all shooting up and tonight it's rhubarb crumble. Sweet.

7 Spot Ladybird

Old School

It's funny how ideas get 'recycled'. We're all encouraged, cajoled and in some cases bullied to recycle what we can, dutifully separating our waste items ready for collection. Finding an old bottle along Red Rise Brook , I was transported way back in to the 1970's, when I can remember enthusiastically collecting returnable bottles. We didn't know we were recycling, we didn't know much about the environment, in fact, back them it was just known as 'outside'. We liked outside, it was cool, and we knew that if we could get my hands on a Corona bottle or two and return them safely to our local corner shop, we'd be rewarded with hard cash; I say hard cash as it were only pennies, yet pennies could buy you plenty when you're 8. This bottle must have been languishing, unreturned in the forest for 40 years, as its reward is 3d, old money, and so must date from before 1971 and decimalization. It's survived well.

Holidays Hill

It's raining in Holidays Hill Enclosure 1681, it would appear that my recent comments regarding the dry nature of the forest may have been a bit previous. April showers, a quintessentially English thing. The forest is subdued, shrouded; although still the moisture filled air and grey leaden skies can't suppress the riot of bird song which continues to swell through the high tops of ancient trees or the frequent groups of deer processing through the stands, as all nature waits restlessly on springs starting blocks.

Burley Old

Spring

A bright warm light which is periodically released from behind the ominous grey clouds racing over head, is enough to envibe, the still naked for the most part, wood and heath. Masked once again by the fleeting clouds, bereft of sun rays, the woodland returns to somber hues, while the air chills and dampens. Throughout these frequent elemental changes the joyous songs of a myriad of birds endures and remains constant, filling the majestic crowns of 300 year trees with activity and dense sound. The trees have seen and heard it all before; soon it will be their time to join the march. Some trees can't wait and tentatively vibrant green young leafs begin to unfurl; a glimps of what's to come.

Spring Morning in Ober Valley

Marker?

Where the plateau of Wilverly Plain gives way to the low boggy heathland flanks of Ober Water, amongst the undulating slopes and huddles of gorse, where several paths transect as they traverse the land, is a small clump of Daffodils. These Daffodils aren't our small native variety, rather the commercial strain. You can't but think that their positioning is purposeful. The chosen location is an open natural hollow, a spot where paths from every direction cross; being the only blooming flowers amidst seas of myriad shades of orange and brown hues which mark the previous season, their bright nodding heads naturally draw the eye. No matter from which path or direction you approach this tiny stand of gold is clearly visible. If they where planted with purpose, what was the motivation, what were the circumstances? Why? Or, maybe it's purely a random natural occurrence and I think too much.