St Aldhelm's Head sunset

Undefined clouds had hung on the horizon all day, it wasn't until sunset they came to the fore to create a soft hued end to the day. Though, parked way off on the ridge, it was not the end of my walking day, as I had a further 3 miles or so to walk. So off I set inland. Mist was filling the combes which run down to the sea as a veil was drawn over the coast. The initial part of the walk was on the high plateau of St Aldhelm's Head, though halfway you descend into tight combes which snake towards and up the ridge. Although unseen creatures moved in the undergrowth, strange noises and eerie sounds filled the thicket choked valleys and owls hooted from their high perches, there was something in walking through the darkening landscape, I felt at peace, a strange tranquility, I was the most relaxed I'd been all day. Soon I rose up onto the ridge and my car; happy to be back at the car, a piece of me would quite have liked to walk to continued. 

Sika

I understand that there are a relatively high number of Sika Deer (Cervus nippon) in Purbeck; I see them regularly, although I usually only see them either singly or in pairs. Down amongst the tumbled rocks, impenetrable thicket and thin grassland below St Aldhelm's Head today I saw 8 or more; accepted, they were in groups of two's and three's, but I can't remember seeing so many in such a restricted area. On my approach they darted quickly away, agile over the rugged terrain in a way a human could never be. I marveled as they traversed acute angled hillsides, more cliff than hill and was amazed at how quickly they disappeared again; masters of camouflage and concealment. Just before I started up the scree, I took a last look over my shoulder and caught a Sika doing the same.

St Aldhelm's Head

The tumbled rock and scree below St Aldhelm's Head makes for rugged terrain, add areas of slippage, wet and viscus, and the spikiest of dense thicket, no more that a foot or two high but posing impenetrable obstacles and you have the ingredients for an interesting walk. Though, the views you were afforded by far made up for any inconvenience. I don't know for how long quarrying took at St Aldhelm's, but I know the headland was busy throughout the 19th century and probably into the 20th; rusting steel cables still run from near the cliff top down to the rocky plateau below, cut galleries and scree are all that remain of this industry today. There's other material too amongst the jumble, what looks like ivy covered rock, is on closer inspection brickwork and concrete, what's left of the Second World War radar station which operated on St Aldhelm's Head in the early war years. Nature though is taking back what's hers and year on year there is less human enterprise to be seen, and soon you wouldn't know anything or anybody had been here. I can remember 30 years ago, there was plenty of visible evidence of human activity here, you could see brickwork, drainage pipework, concrete and lots of pieces of rusting metalwork. All gone, all but a few pieces, returned to the elements or camouflaged, consumed by creeping undergrowth.  It's easy to lose a couple of hours exploring, I've visited here many times over the years and still there are parts I've not explored, new things to see and secrets to find. Climbing up, out onto the quarry gallery on the cliff top, I look back, I mustn't leave it too long before returning.

Autumns end

Although an autumn Sun brightened the woods this morning, there was no denying that winter is eagerly waiting in the wings to take main stage and that now autumn draws quickly to an end. The leafs have all but gone from most of the crowns, the bracken lays bowed and browned, and throughout the forest the ground is becoming increasingly sodden. It's been a good autumn, filled with all the gifts the season should bear and now I'm looking forwards to a proper winter; well, more hoping for a proper winter, cold days with frosts that bejewel the land and all that. The forest in winter is still, there's a calmness and tranquility you can't help but absorb; even on the most boisterous of days you have a sense of serenity. Each season in the forest bears its own gifts and winters gift is peace.

Jurassic sunset

Last nights red sky certainly was a portent for a shepherds delight as throughout the day the Sun shone from a mostly clear sky, but for the wisps of tissue paper thin cloud that floated about the periphery. What a lovely sunset too, fantastic colours, the range of hues; it really was a sight.

Godlingston Hill

Dug out, hauled to the edge of the field and left abandoned, are these concrete footings and iron mast mountings, all that are left of tall radio masts which stood on top of Godlingston Hill during World War Two.  There were three radio bunkers on Godlingston Hill all with towers, two are filled in now, whilst the third is still used for modern communication equipment. Below the hill is a command bunker and the ephemeral remains of occupation. It had me thinking. This was a unique site which played an important part in important historic events, it's hardly been recorded, for the most part destroyed and all but forgotten; this must have been the fate of so many important historical sites that are missing from the historical/archaeological record. There must be so much we don't know and will never know about the past.

Kings Wood

The air today was chilled, you could feel it breathing in and, for the first time this season, puffed it out like snorting dragon; Winter's just around the corner and Jack is staking his claim. Still, it was clean and felt good. Entering the woodland was like entering the woodlands that inhabit so many fairy tales, still, empty and with just an air if foreboding; maybe that's an ancestral memory talking to me, talking of time when winter and its landscapes were foreboding. A lot has changed since we last walked here at the beginning of the Summer when these woods were choked with verdancy.  The Ash crowns of Kings Wood are now bare, their fallen leafs combined with the wet ground creating a slippery surface akin to walking on ice. To add to matters, Kings Wood occupies a steep hillside and traveling across such a hillside, devoid of tracks or traction, was somewhat of challenge. Though, we made up amongst the trunks, and with their help made it out onto the down above, where we were afforded the most wonderful views of the Jurassic coast.

Sun for sundown

After a day of wall to wall grey and rain the clouds just broke enough, and the Sun decided to show his face, or rather his retreating glow, so just as the day ended and the sun went down, we had a show of vibrant colour. Still, it's a good omen for tomorrows weather.

Feral by George Monbiot

George Monbiots Feral is a fantastic exploration into the state of our landscapes and rewilding, pointing out how unnatural our landscapes we often view as natural really are, how many species are missing from them and just how much of our natural environment we've lost.  He points out the damage government policy does, the destructive nature of agricultural subsidies, how ridiculous and unfair our farming and land use practices are, how conservation can be misguided, myopic and hide a multitude of sins; and imagines how this situation could be changed to the benefit of all (or at least the benefit of most). Archaeology taught me how man has manipulated, altered and in some cases effectively destroyed the landscapes I roam, and although I was aware, I had never really thought to what extent or how far and wide ranging our actions had been on the structures and interactions in nature. Monbiot provides examples which really make you think to what extent we live in a pale shadow of a what our natural environment should be, but more, it's getting worse.

Although I've made it sound a depressing read (and it is in parts), it's not all grim reading, not by a long way. It's full of hope and optimism. Things could change and as soon as we stop intervening negatively, either by choice or other agency, things will change and nature will heal herself and hopefully return to the diverse and fecundant state she enjoyed before our meddling. He gives examples of people and enterprises who are working towards that goal and other successes.  It's a book that sets your imagination soaring; a book about what could be.  Go on, read it, you'll enjoy it.

Ackling Dyke

Not as its name would suggest a dyke, Ackling Dyke is the Roman road which ran between Badbury Rings and Old Sarum, from where it became the Portway leading eastwards to London. Though much of its length has been truncated over the centuries or absorbed into later roads, there are sections which remain visible. On the Hampshire Wiltshire border at Bokerley junction its raised aggar still stands nearly 2m high and in some sections the drainage channels either side can just be made out. Once a major artery transporting troops and traders in what was the most far flung region of the Roman Empire it would have buzzed with activity, now though the invasion of tree and shrubs would impede any movement along it.  When think it would have seen 400 years or more of use and has survived a further 1600 years of neglect, it really is a testament to Roman engineering...I doubt any of our modern roads would be recognizable in the landscape after so many centuries.

Martin Down

Looking out from a robbed out Bronze Age barrow on top of Martins Down, Bokerley Ditch snakes off across the the chalk downland landscape. As it happens, another landscape created by thousands of years of human activity and reliant on human intervention to stop its succession to woodland.

Verditch Chase

Walking through Verditch Chase, a mosaic forestry commission wood with plantations of young Beech all under 100 years, I was reminded that much of the mature Beech woodland I walk in the New Forest once started like this; easy to forget when marveling at the leviathans we see today.  The stands are close, the trunks uniformly straight, with most side branches cropped; the woodland floor is spartan, deep in years of leaf litter and as I walk, a new layer is forming all about as the brisk winds rustle and loosen the remaining leafs. The leafs which remain form a golden hued canopy, which even on a drab day lighten the woods and lift the spirit. The place is almost silent, almost, but for the mournful cry of a bird of prey circling up above out of sight, beyond the canopy. Tranquility.  Winter is almost upon us and even though the wheel still turns it will appear to stop; for a while at least.

Regeneration

Another landscape we see as natural, though is frequently not, is heathland. The lowland heaths found in this region are anthropogenic heathlands and are classified as a cultural landscape; being the result of successive generations of human activity. Granted, after the last ice age a tundra type landscape developed and that heathland plants were part of that, this was merely a transitory period and extensive woodland quickly became established as the climax community covering most of Britain. It wasn't until the introduction of farming with its associated woodland clearance in the Neolithic that we see heath as we know it developing; pollen analysis of soil samples from the period attests to a reduction in tree pollen and an increase in heather. And it's only through the continued intervention of man that lowland heath, and other heathland too, continues to exist; it's a totally unnatural landscape. Left alone, trees such as Pine and Birch quickly invade and establish, other plants too take the opportunity to move in and before you know it succession has begun the march towards diverse climax community woodland.  Some years back a heath near me was razed by fire, first the heather returned and thrived, though there's been no human intervention and Pine and Birch saplings have taken hold. Yearly more and more trees have established themselves and now the plant communities are beginning to change; you can see succession in action.

It's brinken wet

Brinken's wet, increasingly more wetland that woodland, it's near impossible to walk a straight path. I found myself being cut off by engorged streams and the water filled hollows which snake and criss cross the woods; at several points I was forced to give up and back track until I found an alternative dry route. Brinken has always been wet, though in recent years, after stream remodeling and 'bog woodland restoration', it's become much wetter.  I'm currently reading George Monbiots 'Feral' and if I had reservations about the 'restoration' being undertaken in the forest before, Monbiots book, which discuses rewilding vs. conservation, has lent credence and more to my concerns. I've voiced previously that I found the aims of the restoration, to remove drainage and return the water ways and woodland to a pre-Victorian state, puzzling; why was that point in history chosen? If the purpose is to reverse human manipulation of the forest, why stop there, all it achieves is to turn the clock back 100 years, whereas the forest as we see it is the result of over 5000 years of human intervention. All that's being created is an artificial shadow of an arbitrary past environment, set in conservation aspic. Still, I digress. The woods were warmed by the last of the autumn Sun, which, in conjunction with the watery surroundings, have created wonderful and colourful reflection of autumns majesty. A joy to wander through. Though the leafs are almost gone now and soon these inundated woods will become bare, and wetter, becoming inhospitable and taking on quite an eerie air. That said, I fancy getting some wellies and coming out for a night walk sometime; might be fun, and certainly interesting.

Autumn waters

The forest was so quiet today and so so still. There was a tangible air tranquility in the stands so powerful and omnipresent, you breathed it in and before you knew it, you're blissed out wandering with a contented smile on your face.  The forest has done well, after a years hard work all the woodland folk have closed shop and have either left or are tucking up for the winter. Those who remained went slowly and thoughtfully about their ways. Damp coated ponies search out food, deer move into cover on our approach and overhead in the disappearing canopy a few birds could be heard occasionally calling. The leafs, now wetted, no long crunch under foot, allowing for deft quiet movement amongst the stands. The forest streams rise and fall as the rain comes and goes, though gone are those easy fords of Summer, now a crossing has to be sought out and thought out, unless you want to chance wet boots or worse a good soaking. The lower ground around them is slowly easing towards saturation, the hollows and seasonal water ways of the adjacent bog woodland are filling, making the woodlands near impassible. Though stick to the high ground, as it is, and you'll stay dry. Autumns drawing to an end and soon enough winter will be here, as with all the seasons, you must enjoy them while they last, for they don't last long.

Penbury knoll

I like Martin Down, I like the chalk grassland landscape, it's an open book if you can read the language. I'm sitting on the crest of one of the later monuments to human activity, a large World War Two rifle range butt surveying Martin Down, a landscape created and marked by man since man made marks. Directly in front of me is Bokerley Ditch, a 3 mile long Roman bank and ditch defencive work which cut through the landscape, built, it's believe, on an earlier Bronze Age defencive feature. To my right, Ackling Dyke, the Roman road connecting Badbury Rings and Old Sarum.  Just beyond are the wooded mounds of Neolithic long barrows, which house the remains of the earliest static human residents. In the fields all about are the ploughed remains of Bronze age barrows, burial mounds of a later elite. Whilst, criss crossing the land are hedgerows, hollow ways and well trodden tracks, all that remain of a Post Medieval agricultural landscape. Finally, crowning the horizon, Penbury Knoll Iron Age hillfort* and enclosed field system. It's clear the land here has always been favoured and a land that's been toiled over since the introduction of farming. And that's only the monuments we can see, aerial photographs of the area show a landscape denslt covered in ploughed out features.  I'm lost for a while, deep in thought about the past of the land. Until a flock of birds, making the sound of rustling leafs, fly overhead and I return to the present.

*I've mention Penbury before, I don't Penbury as a hillfort, I think the RCHME categorized it wrongly. I think Penbury was something else. 

Autumn colours

The Beech trees of the forest are decked out in their finest autumnal colours, their last show of colour before the final fall and the arrival of the skeletal winter months. How beautiful the forest looks in her finery. 

Remembrance

Remembrance day is upon us again and over time, as people remember less what its message should reflect, it has become a different affair; a nationalist affair with a very narrow bandwidth of remembrance all saturated in politics.  I wonder what the fallen would make of it; not much I'd imagine. Anyway, walking in the forest remembering, and passing this 200 year or so old Oak which had survived a German bombing of a nearby searchlight position, got me to thinking about who and what else we overlook when remembering war. Beyond all the people we remember or choose not to remember. I thought of all the animals, domestic and wild, that must have been killed, all the birds, all the fish, in fact, all the creature caught up in war. Then there's all the trees splintered and woodland flattened. The vast tracts of unique and beautiful landscapes scorched and leveled. Swathes of precious environments poisoned and laid waste as a consequence of war itself or in the pursuit of the minerals to support it. Fuck! As Edwin Starr put it 'war what is it good for........absolutely nothing'.

Clouds

Such wonders are set before us daily and yet on the whole they pass us by, omitted from our experience, as we scurry about our busy complicated lives. But stop and look awhile and it all comes flooding back, as I stand amazed, lost in the moment, as nature plays her finest cards and my spirit soars in wonder.  For a moment I feel connected in a way I can't articulate. As, as if by magic, majestic cloud formations morph into a myriad of textures and shapes, all illuminated by the rapidly changing colours created by todays retreating Sun. Every day it's different, you'll never see these cloud formations again, nor this sunset, yes, there'll be similar shows to amaze and delight you, but never the same.  I'm watching the eternal transience of events which are simultaneously repeated yet unique. Too often we miss these unique moments, lost in our world of illusions.

Jelly ear

The Jelly Ear, formally known as Jews Ears, (Auricularia auricula-judae) are starting to appear more frequently, although they can be found all year round, I find jelly ears prefer the wetter seasons and are one of the few mushrooms plentiful in winter as they can withstand frosts. They look like you'd imagine from their name, jelly ears, reddy brown and velvety on the outside and smooth on the inside, often the outer surface will have vein like folds across it and will grow to about 8cm or so. Jelly Ears will grow on the branches of several hardwood species, although more commonly on old Elder, where they are found in groups, some quite large. Although they don't have much flavour, jelly ears are an interesting addition to meals and are believed to have medicinal properties.  A very recognizable mushroom. 

Parsol mushroom

I've seen a lot of Parasol Mushrooms (Macrolepiota procera) out and about this season, both in the woods and out in the open places. Starting with a ball shaped cap, the Parasol soon opens to explain its name, opening into a large round plate shaped cap with a raised brown center with brown scales emanating from it.  The gills are white and loose, the stem thin, often hollow, with almost snake skin markings. A very recognizable mushroom and if you find one, often you'll find more close by.  Best picked when freshly opened just prior to becoming totally flat as they can deteriorate quickly. Cook them whole flat in a pan, use as with other mushrooms or a nice recipe I remember was to quarter, batter and deep fry them.

Parasol Mushrooms can be confused with the Shaggy Parasol (Chlorophyllum rhacodes) notably though, the flesh and gills of the Shaggy Parasol will tinge red when cut or bruised. You may see the Shaggy Parasol listed as edible, although other sources state that it will cause stomach upsets or even serious illness; in such cases of conflicting listing I always err on the side of caution.

Autumn

Autumn is a wonderful season, as the Sun starts to set on the year, you can feel nature settling down a well deserved rest.

Coppice

I've mentioned it before, I see it all the time, yet it never ceases to amaze me how widespread hazel coppicing must have been at one time.  From small clumps to whole areas of woodland, I come across neglected coppice where ever I walk.  I spied a neglected stool today, long overgrown, which had recently been cut back to the ground and with luck will, come next spring, sprout new rods. It's great to see coppicies rejuvenated. Looking down at the pattern created by the grown out and merging Hazel rods of the stool, I thought I saw a tortoise, then it looked like a bear and finally I settled on a dinosaur.

Corfe

What a day. A fading Autumn Sun sweeps across the landscape as it brakes from banks of cumulus clouds which glide majestically across the sky, driven by a brisk wind. A brisk winds which tells of Jacks approach, carrying clean and fresh which air fills your lungs and is a joy to breath in. Today was Autumn in all its glory. Walking the great ridge which arcs across the the land from coast to coast, creating and protecting the isle of Purbeck, was like walking a huge defencive rampart trown up by giants in an age long forgotten.  What a walk.

From high on Rollington Hill I looked down on Corfe and its once mighty castle, during the medieval period, one of five royal castles; so strong and impregnable, that King John though it wise to keep the crown jewels there.  A castle never bested in battle, it was only slighted after betrayal and even now, in ruins, it remains a mighty presence in the land.

Waterworld

It's amazing how quickly the forest streams will break the confines of their banks. The recent rains have created a water world in the low lying forest hollows, as the rain quickly drains from the still rather dry surrounding land turning quiet streams and brooks into torrents. No doubt after a few days with no rain the streams will abate. Though the ground's getting wetter by the day and soon enough the stream plains, being big sponges, will become sodden, the streams unfordable and the summer path I'd take will be all but impassible; so it'll be time for the winter roams through, for the most part, high and drier forest. 

Jacob

Is that a date or fraction?