Sky on fire

Wow! What a Sunset, the sky was on fire this evening.

Nettles are coming

The nettles are coming. Yesterday I noticed amongst the hedgerows and under the bare crowns, small clumps of green were popping up, heralding the arrival of that most useful of spring herbs the Stinging Nettle (Urtica dioica). I'm going to have a look locally and if enough are about to collect, it'll be stinging nettle soup time.

Townly Shentons seat

Situated high on Tyneham Cap Townley Shentons seat commands spectacular views along the coast in both direction as well as out to sea. It's position makes it well inside the military ranges and so is only usually accessible from Friday evening through to Sunday. I never knew Townley, though he certainly knew a good spot when he found one, and I'm sure his hope that 'we love this view too' must have been realized thousands of times by now and will continue to do so. When ever I'm this way, and I can, I take the opportunity to visit, take in the views and say how do. If you're in the area, pop up, enjoy the views, that's why Townley had his seat put here.

Gad Cliff

The under cliff and shoreline below Gad Cliff have always held a certain allure and mystique for me. I've always wanted to explore them. Deep within the ranges and difficult to access, with signs telling you there is no access beyond this point, it's always appeared off limits. Years ago we were even hailed by a military helicopter and told to leave after passing the first Danger sign, admittedly the range was in use. I say in use, we didn't hear anything, but Monday to Friday afternoon the land within the range is closed to the public. Even if it were open, access around the shoreline from Kimmeridge is precarious, with the chance of being cut off by the tides in Brandy or Hobarrow Bays. You can get to the under cliff from the base of Tyneham Cap, but that too is precarious, this time due to a shifting land surface of Kimmeridge Clay.  So, we've never walked here. Today though that changed as I ventured around the coast, past the signs and into new territory. We'd gone as far as Brandy Bay before and up the slides to Tyneham Cap, but no further. I've decided to walk out along the beach and return along the higher under cliff. Care is required. The beach is strewn with rocks of all shapes and sizes set amongst the odd clay slide. There is no direct simple track, it's all climbing and jumping or more like scrambling and slipping. As I walk I look up and wonder at the new views, new perspectives. It feels so wild, so open and empty. I'm feeling naughty, a transgressor and wonder if my progress is being watched. It is, but not by people, as far as I'm aware anyway. Deer run in groups along their thin trails directly under the cliff up above me were the under cliff begins its sweep down towards the sea. More Sika Deer than I have ever seen in Purbeck, 50 plus. They watch me closely, I can't imagine they see many people, not along here. I don't see a single human foot print anywhere along the beach. I don't make it all the way to the end, about 2/3rds of the way along I turn back, saving the rest for another walk. I return along the under cliff. The under cliff is all rough grass and stumpy wind bent shrubs, with some bigger trees forming a wood at the Brandy bay end. The ground is soft in some places and covered in fissure in others. You could do an ankle if not careful. There are no paths beyond Deer trails on the under cliff; it's all hard going. But so beautiful, so wild. I stumble on through spiky shrub and razor sharp bramble. Occasionally I pause at a notable sized boulder to climb up and take a look about, before soldiering on towards the wood. Walking/climbing though the woodland above Brandy Bay, it's clear this is where the Deer hang out, the ground is churned by their hooves and you can smell them. Then, finally I emerge out of the slides at the base of Tyneham Cap. What a fantastic walk. Gad under cliff and beach were every bit as cool to explore as I though they'd be. I felt more in nature today than I can remember, and I always feel at one with nature. It just felt so wild, so untouched and so isolated. I didn't see a human foot print anywhere, not a one. There's still plenty to explore too, and I look forward to more walks here. Now though, the steep climb to Townley Shentons seat.

Jack Attack

Jack had attacked last night and the common is covered with his icy dusting. This is winter as I like it, cold and clear.

Stonedown Wood

Arrived out at the Chase in a bad mood today. Pointless arguments and unnecessary stress, what stupid monkeys we are. I took off at stomping pace through the woodland. Walking as with purpose, yet with no destination in mind. Just to walk was my purpose today, maybe with the subconscious aim of out running my problems. If only life were so easy. They always catch you up. The only chance of defeating your problems is to confront them; and even then there's no guarantee. Nature gives you time to think, to reason. It wasn't long before my head began to clear, rational cognition returned and perspective achieved. The healing nature of nature. Wonderful stuff.

Coal Fungus

King Alfreds Cakes, Coal Fungus, Cramp Balls (Daldinia concentrica), a fungi known by many names. This fungi may not be edible, or even pretty, looking like a black boil, but it still can be useful.  These hard purpley black fungi can be found on most decaying wood, although they favour fallen Ash wood and Elder trees in my experience. When young they appear in a Purpley brown form, becoming black with age. They can grow from a couple of centimeters to about 7 or 8 centimeters and have a hard shell like exterior. As the Latin name implies, when cut through the fungi shows concentric circles and has the appearance of charcoal which is quite soft and powdery. Collected when they are old and completely dry the black variety make for excellent tinder and will take and hold a spark easily, they can also be used to carry an ember from one fire to start another. So, although inedible this fungi makes for a valuable bush-craft resource.

Stripy Sunset

Tonights sky was banded with multiple stripes of varying colour making for an interesting sunset over Christchurch Bay, Hengistbury Head and distant Purbeck.

Knowlton Henge

Neolithic Knowlton henge with it's ruined Medieval/post Medieval in the center is always a magical place to visit, always full of atmosphere and this afternoon was no different. Since it's construction in the Neolithic (around 3000BC to 2,000BC) as a ritual monument according to current archaeological though, it has been the focus of spiritual activity; there originally three henge monuments, though two are only visible from the air, having been ploughed our over the centuries  Each successive period would have had their own motivation and ritual use for the site. The church, whose earliest construction was in the 12th century clearly exhibits Norman feature; the church remained in use until the 17th century and serviced a nearby village which has since disappeared.  It is possible that the church was sited where it is as the site still held importance to the local populous; who knows. Though we can say that it went from a Pagan focus of use to a Christian, and now centuries on it's back to predominantly Pagan use.

Location, location, location.

The air is clean and clear over Martin Down, chilled so you feel it breathing in. It feels great. Centrally heated houses are good, but the air they create isn't so and to be out here is refreshing. The Chase is bathed in sunshine, not yet strong but enough to counter the chill. It's a wonderful landscape. We rise to highest point of Bokerley Dyke, from where we can see it's bank and ditch snaking off through the down. We follow it.  Up and down it crosses the land, past barrows, banks and ditches, past the giant abandoned range butt, and on towards Verditch Chase. Here where the prehistoric dyke crosses the Roman Ackling Dyke, which is not a dyke at all, but the old road from Badbury to Sarum, we leave Bokerley and vanish into woodland.  At first it's thicket, then shrub woodland of the type common on chalkland, then into the woodland proper with its older trees and the, relatively, modern mosaic plantation of Verditch Chase. As we've walked we've collected the natural material to start a fire, now seems like a good time and place for a bit of fire starting practice.  The material are prepared and the trusty sparker deployed; the Travellers Joy employed to take the spark was too damp in parts, but the reliable Birch bark ensures success and with the addition of the other tinder we have a fire going in 3 minutes. Not bad at all. The fire smokes at first and carried by the breeze it fills that stands, though soon clears to a clean flame. It's good to practice your skills, and easy to become complacent. Wandering deeper into Verditch Chase we spied a ramshackle shack in a open area set in overgrown woodland. No track led to the shack, no paths, it is just there. Nice location though. It looks like nobody has used it for some years and it's beginning its decent into ruination, the timbers are rotten and the whole structure leans. Inside it's dry and mostly bare but for the usual mix of oddities you find in such places. Old bit of this and that, old pots, containers, old wire spools and stuff.  We leave Verditch crossing Ackling Dyke again. We're now in open grassland. In the distance we can see Bokerley Dyke and the route we had taken out. The days walk was nearly complete.

Witches Butter

Witches Butter, or Yellow Jelly Fungus (Tremella mesenterica). Witches Butter can found throughout the year as long as there's plenty of rain, it likes it wet. Found growing on decaying wood, it's a parasite growing on the mycelium of another fungus which has already established itself and is rotting the wood. I've read that it's edible and is commonly used in foreign climes for soups and such, though other sources site it as inedible. Edible or otherwise, I rarely get 'that' hungry.  As with all fungi care is to be taken.             

Reflections

Magical sunset this evening and I just manage to catch it.  I'd been out and about, and as I drove homeward I could see the sky changing, though was not able to park anywhere that would have afforded me a good view. I thought I'd miss the sunset, disappeared below the horizon before I'd reach home. At the last moment a parking opportunity arose and grabbing my camera I raced towards the flooded meadows which border the engorged River Avon. This is what I caught, the sky exploding into a warm orange mass, filling the horizon and reflecting on the watery meadows, just as the Sun sank out of sight. Lovely.

The Knightwood Oak

One of the older trees in the forest and certainly one of the most well known, the Knightwood Oak stands majestically set in open forest and dwarfing all about it. At 600 years or so old this huge pedunculate oak (Quercus robur) is a forestry veteran. It is believed it was first pollarded when it was 200 years old, say around 1600 and was last pollarded in the 1850's. The pollarding of Oak and Beech was forbidden in the forest from 1698, so precious was New Forest timber for the navy and admiralty marks can still be seen on many of the remaining older trees. So the pollarding of the Knightwood Oak 150 years ago was unusual, or illegal, as some trees were still cut unlawfully.  The Knightwood Oak is one of the more accessible of the ancient forest trees. A lovely tree to visit, although during the busy season it can become, ..... busy.

Root crossing

During the winter months, no scratch that, during wet periods is more accurate with weather as it is, the forest can become difficult to traverse. Miles of bog woodland and wet heathland with a network of numerous shallow valleys and hollows carrying water from the watershed down to the streams, means the you can't go far without hitting natural barriers. These wet valleys can be just passable during dry periods, though become impassable obstacles during wet periods. They often don't look like much, after all most carry only tiny tributaries. Don't be deceived though. The runnels maybe slight, but it's the wide band of spongy ground on either side you should be concerned with.  These wet hollows will easily swallow a boot, a knee or higher. Maps won't help you unless you stick to the paths, if wild walking you're relying on animal tracks, experience and local knowledge. Years of walking these areas have taught me that these roots represent the only crossing place on this runnel for some way in either direction; above and below them is boot sucking bog. Knowing where to cross certainly makes your journey easier, less convoluted, frustrating and most importantly dry.  When the forest's like this I feel you can glimpse how the area must have appeared to folk hundreds of years back. Difficult and foreboding terrain, full of mystery and legend. When you'd have thought twice about venturing through, unless forced by need.

Lookout

The lookout.

Losing battle

Where the cliffs are backed with exclusive housing at Barton, civil engineering has been employed to try and halt the lands seaward shift. A fools errand on geology as unstable as this. You can't better nature, she's in it for the long game. As is attested to by the solid failure of the engineers enterprises. The instability and weather disruption associated with climate change will only serve to exasperate the situation. I did notice that over some areas of, what is wide scale slippage, quick growing trees like willow were establishing themselves in good numbers. It could be that left to flourish these young trees could do more for stabilizing the cliffs than all the clever plans of man have. It wouldn't halt the slippages, though would negate them to a degree and return the cliffs to a more natural state. Mother often knows best.

Barton Cliffs

All along the section of Barton which is exposed directly to the rasping sea the cliffs are slowly making their way back to the waters from whence they came. As well as the sea the recent rains cascade down the 40 million year old deposits, easily cutting channels through the sticky clay. In other places the water has mixed with the clay which now oozes like a lava flow towards the beach.  It's a good time for fossil hunting and the area is well known for its broad range of shells and sharks teeth, amongst other things.  The mud slip landscape can pose hazards at any time of the year, with people frequently requiring rescue from a dangerous situation, but the wet season is by far the most hazardous. Care should always been take. A few weeks back the cliffs were right angled to the beach, now they slump at the base with great heaps of oozed mud. Slumps in which one could easily loose a boot or find themselves stuck knee deep. I eye them with suspicion as the waves rolling in forced me closer to them. The tide is in and there is hardly any beach and in places none, making you to run, during the waves temporary retreated, to the next stretch of beach.  The sky is a beautiful blue today, a deep and intense blue. It's not completely empty, with decimated clouds above and more menacing formation on the horizons. This is an interlude, there have been a couple today between rain or hail episodes. Still, enjoying while it's here.

Purbeck Sika

Fading in and out of view with ease, this Sika Deer (Cervus nippon) is perfectly camouflaged to disappear even in the openness of a bare Norden Wood.  It's only his movement that gives him away; if he hadn't moved we'd have passed by unawares. He watches us wearily as we move through his wood. It's a private wood but still has a well defined and well trodden path running through it, it's a lovely forbidden path. Whilst walking this path, as I have so many times, I wonder how I'd placate the landowner/gamekeeper/or whoever if rumbled.  I'd apologize of course, maybe add the woods beauty as mitigation for my trespass, you know, what could I do? Then I wondered if they'd go for a proposition of me doing so many hours helping in the wood as trade for access through the wood. That could be a trade that would benefit both landowner and walker alike. Though today was not the day and we moved through Norden Wood and up onto an open and exposed West Hill un-accosted. 

Ramsons

Though Norden Wood retains its winter emptiness there are signs of what's to come poking through the deep leaf litter.  Here and there amongst the open stand clumps of young Ramson (wild garlic) leafs are making themselves known. Although early it wont be be so long until the entire woodland is carpeted in verdant garlic smelling greenery. As much a joy as foraging, is looking for the signs of what's to come forage wise. You look forward to different seasons, different parts of the year for the short term foraging treats they bring. A transient abundance, then nothing until next year.  You also associate different locations with the resources available there and so frequently your visits to those place are dictated their particular season of abundance. Thinking about it, there are some places that I've only ever seen in one season.

Through the hedgerow

In the wood it's still, a few birds chatter quietly not wanting to disturb the peace and beyond that nothing stirs. The woodland still sleeps cradled safe in winters embrace. Through the hedge though it's a different world. A bang, followed by another and another, a volley of shotguns shatter the silence, followed by the laughing and inaudible chatter of the shooters, close by but still out of sight. They call it sport, though I don't think the birds in their sights are equally armed.  I move along the woodland fringe, still hidden as I'm not sure if I'm trespassing or not. I move into a position from where I can see the shooters stood next to their fleet of black, what look like, range rovers. I have no objection to folk hunting for food, with respect that is.  It's only natural, you know, one for the pot. But this, this is something different, people who see themselves as entitled, blasting away willy nilly at foul for a laugh....sport? No, I don't think so.

The Sun went down with a bang.

As sunset approached I took up a position on the edge of the woods with good views out over the rolling scenery of the Chase. It had been quiet all day, although now it's notably quieter and the land has taken on an eerie stillness. Strange. There was an unusual atmosphere, you could feel it. Still, it was developing into a rich sunset and I became lost in it. It had been 20 minutes in the making, but now the Sun was about to disappear. Suddenly there's an explosion, or thud or tremor, or something, I don't hear it, I feel it rush up through me with a jolt, whatever it was that happened, happened directly below me. It shocked me and I jump. I've adopted a threatened pose, slightly crouched, arms out to my side. I feel uneasy, for a second dislocated. I look around expectantly, waiting for more or for something, but nothing happens. Just the stillness. I turn towards the horizon and the sun's now gone, disappeared below the hills, though the sky's still beautifully illuminated.  Whatever happened, happened just as the Sun set. Had I imagined it? I doubt myself without reason. It happened alright, and it was weird. The feelings of unease stayed with me and I feel a strong desire to leave this place, to move on. I feel intimidated and a bit unsteady. Anyway, no time to dither, twilight is fading and I've still half a mile or so of woodland to navigate.

Hazel Doorway

What magic will we encounter through the Hazel doorway?

A Bone Forest

Todays walk is all through woodland, different woods, though all adjacent to one an other and all connected. You could walk for miles in the interconnected woodland in the area and rarely be under open sky. It seemed that where I ever we walked there were bones; a skull here, scapular there, some vertebrae, loose bones big and small. Bones all over the place. Some of the bones were laying scattered in situ where last left by whatever scavenging beasty had had them, others were set out on displayed. A collection of vertebrae equally spaced on a wooden bench; in another part of the wood more vertebrae scattered around the base of an Oak.  On the boundary of two woods a skull on a stick like some totem or warning, further into the wood another skull.  It's a bone forest if you will. Speaking of bone forests, have I ever mentioned the 'Mythago Wood' cycle of books by Robert Holdstock? A splendid writer, who knew woods and understood their magic and mystery. He published a novella called 'The Bone Forest', great story conjuring up some strange imagery which pokes at that part of our ancestral memory that remembers a very different woodland, the wildwood. All the Mythago Wood books are well worth a read. I've read the first in the cycle 'Mythago Wood' more times than I can recall. 

Honeysuckle on Hazel

A vigorous honeysuckle shoot snakes its way up along a Hazel rod, determined to reach the light.  There are several rods like this amongst the coppice. None appear much bothered by their constricting companion in the climber and simply carry on growing around their hitchers embrace. This combination creates quiet striking twisted rods and I'm always on the look out for that perfect one. It will make a great staff when I find it.

Scars

They say weather's coming. The weather prophets tell us it's going to be bad. Whether it will or not has to be seen; I feel the weather people don't want to get caught out again, as they have in the past, and tend to overplay rather than under. Anyway, it came to mind whilst walking along the base of the cliffs at Steamer Point, where last years torrential rains had brought about some major slippages. The scars of the slippages are still mostly bare, exposed with little flora yet colonizing them. More storms, with more rains, will ensure these scars stay open, and continue to make it hard for any plants to get a foot hold and stabilize the slide. so more cliff will go. 

Harvest

Pine harvest time in this plantation. Stack after stack of graded timber, all marked by height and length ready for sale. Whether the land now freed is returned to timber or left to re-wild we'll have to wait and see.

Ower Quay

Like so much of the land I walk, there's a sense of desertion. Like times changed and moved on, leaving what was to fall into disrepair and decay.  Ower Quay has a grand name, a name it may or may not have deserved in the past, although now there is little too see.  A house, too low set and too close to the water for my liking; especially with climate change and rising sea levels.  Some stonework, which may be of some antiquity, and decaying wooden posts extending into muddy flats the rusting remains of barbed wire twisted about them; nothing to do with any quay I'm sure, more to do with wandering cattle no doubt. Though the current appearance my be a deception, as it's said that during the medieval period Ower was indeed the site of an important quay used in the Purbeck stone industry. Recent archaeological research suggests there may be some truth to this. There's an air of isolation around Ower, even on a lovely day like today. I'd imagine it's desolate in bad weather. There's an air of isolation about all the land on this side of the harbour. It may only be a stones throw away from the major Bournemouth/Poole conurbation, though you'd be forgiven for thinking it's more than just distance that separates it, it's time too. 

Green Island

Green Island from Ower Quay.  I wouldn't mind living on an island like Green Island.

Harbour Wreck

This boat, or what remains of it, has been here for 25 years to my knowledge at least and more than likely a great deal more years than that. As I remember when I first saw it, it was already a wreck. Over the intervening years I've seen its remains reduced to merely its bow and a piece of hull.  Although it doesn't seem that long ago that a good half a boat could easily be made out. It must be. I wonder how it came to be left, marooned on a sandy spit on the quiet side of Poole harbour. What was it's history or that of the folk who used it?