Common Spotted Orchid

I'm no expert, but I think this is a Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii), at first on seeing its shape I thought in could have been a Pyramidal orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis), though on closer examination it clearly wasn't; the flowers are all wrong for that. I find the thing with many of our orchid species is that unless they're very distinctive, like the Bee or Burnt Tip orchids, they can vary so much within their species in colour and form, that it's hard for a novice to be certain. 

Twilight walks

I've tried to get into the habit of a short walk over the common around sundown; it's a lovely time of day, it's calm allows an opportunity to gently sieve through the days events and attempt to create some semblance of order and sense out of it all; if any is to be had, that is.

Mistleberry Wood

The Ramsons still hold sway over Mistleberry Wood, even though in many other parts, including the adjacent Garsten Wood, the petals have dropped showing their triad of seeds developing. Interestingly, in Mistleberry there's appears a well defined demarcation between the realms of Ramson and Bluebell communities; Mistleberry Iron Age fort (and you know my view on that) appears to be the Ramson stronghold, whereas the Bluebells definitely dominate the land beyond the forts ditch. I wonder why that is? They're both ancient woodland species. I'd not walked this way for some weeks, at a time when life was only just returning; now though the woods of Garsten and Mistleberry are transformed, decked in lush green from ground to canopy top. This in turn transforms your walking experience; the aspect which I find most striking is the reduction of line of sight, gone are the long open views right through the woodland, now your views are restricted and directed, and in that they're more focused, you see more details; each season has it's own merits. A lovely walk.

Have there been fewer Bluebells?

The last of the Bluebells are losing their flowers; is it just me or have there been fewer Bluebells about this year? It certainly feels that way to me. The woods near Cranborne, usually a dense sea of blue, appeared lessened; Resource Woods, although lovely, didn't enjoy the show it normally had and in other woodland too the Bluebells, one of the defining features of the British spring, were scarcer. I wonder if it's part of a natural cycle, although of course in these times, Climate Change comes fast to mind as a potential culprit; Bluebells have been identified as vulnerable to climate change and warmer springs, they depend on cold winter/springs to thrive and to allow them an advantage over other species, which if appearing earlier due to warming would compete with the Bluebell. We're living through a time of sad changes.

Black Bom Baim, You're smiling now but we'll all turn into demons, Melt Dunes @ the Fat Fox.

This evening, on the suggestion of a good friend, for he's in the know in such things, I joined him and another friend and ventured East to Southsea to see three bands: Black Bom Baim, You're smiling now but we'll all turn into demons and Melt Dunes; all were performing at the Fat Fox, what appears to be a fine and friendly venue of the type much needed here locally. We arrived in plenty of time, so passed the pre gig time by quaffing a couple of beers, talking shit and enjoying the ambiance until the first band came on.

First up were, Melt Dunes: fronted by a chap sporting a cardigan and foppish hair, respect to that, and a guitarist who if he doesn't straighten up soon is going to develop an awful stoop; this young local band had a pleasing rocky droney sound, which they all bashed out brilliantly with gusto; they've plenty of potential for development too; one to look out for in the future, most enjoyable.

Next up were, You're smiling now but we'll all turn into demons: bloody long name, but I'll forgive them as played some mighty fine rock music; you know, the sound reminded me of good quality 70's British rock brought into the 21st century; a deep sound full of substance, which filled the room; always a good thing. For the first number the guitarist and drummer swapped places, which was novel, both were no doubt competent on both instruments, although when returned to their respective main instruments their real talents, of which they both had in ample measure, shone; the drummer particularly rocked, so much energy, really quite an exceptional drummer; not that the other band member weren't half bad either. Bloody good stuff and another great band I'll be keeping an eye out for.

Ah, finally, the piece de la resistance, Black Bom Baim, all the way from sunny Portugal: I'd heard some Black Bom Baim before and liked what I'd heard, so I was excited at the prospect of seeing them live and hearing more. I wasn't to be disappointed; their sound was so clean, man, and so clear, each instrument was beautifully separated, no muddiness at all and when blended together what you got was a stream of fast flowing psychedelic rock grooviness; from three really great and very competent musicians; lovely stuff. Not being too familiar with them, it appeared to me to be one long jam and a bloody marvelous one at that. If I had one complaint it would be that their set went too quickly for my liking, it seemed like only 15 minutes; I could've happily listened to a lot more. Bearing in mind there were so few people in attendance, which was a bit weird what with such talent playing at so little cost, I thought all the bands played as if they were playing to a full house; good show and kudos to them all.

All in all a top night of fine music spent in good company; nice.

Unhinged

 

Always with the questions; it's funny the things you find amongst the stands.

Hidden histories

A sunset walk over the common saw me engage in conversation with some fellow dog walkers; apparently the guy had lived locally as a child, though left during the 60's to go to sea; now all these years later he and his wife have recently returned and he was describing how much the area has changed. To me, this is the value of oral histories, here was someone who'd information on the area I'd never known and fleshed out other snippets of local history I was aware of. He was a child here through the 50's and told of how he and his chums had played in the then very different landscape; he told of a more open landscape, more grassland and heathland, of less development and of stands of mature deciduous trees, of which only remnants remain; he told of scrumping in the orchards of the big houses, now long gone, only the occasional building and their gate houses enduring; of playing on the baseball diamond and field left by the Americans who billeted here during the Second World War and of a crater on the edge of the common left by the Luftwaffe, and of the shrapnel stuck in nearby trees; and of digging up trophies where the soldiers had buried unwanted equipment and detritus when they vacated. I think he was shocked by what had become of his old stomping ground; all the bungalows and people; of how over grown the common has become and how neglected, he said when he was a lad the old Lord Meyrick, an owner of the common who took his responsibilities as custodian seriously, used to care for the land, but his sons, the current Lords, don't appear bothered unless there's profit in it for them. It was great talking to him; I hope to listen more to his reminisces and build a clearer picture of our local past; I love oral history, too often our history is that of those with power or notoriety, it's real life that interests me. 

Later, listening to some soothing trip-hop, I stood for 20 minutes as I marveled at the stunning sky and rippling cloud scape, as orange through to fiery red spread across it until day finally gave way to night. Nice.  

Burnt Tip Orchids

The Burnt Tip Orchids are beginning to flower and they're exquisite, each stem crammed with flower buds, each flower a marvel of intricate detail and rich colours. I've seen them nowhere else on the down and feel blessed to have stumbled across this group; I counted 18 stems today, all in a linear grouping no more than 10m by 3m; they really represent an isolated community. 

Adonis Blue

Adonis Blue's (Polyommatus bellargus) darted about Martin Down this afternoon; this chalk grassland species is restricted to the South and Southeast of England where it's often spotted in large numbers. When its wings are closed it's near impossible to see, but when its wings open its shock of blue stands out clearly amongst the prevailing greens.

Martin Down

Windmill Hill from Bokerley Dyke, as it crosses Martin Down; nice.

After the rain

By early evening the rain's stopped, the air is fresh and clean, in fact everything appears freshened, there's a quietness and a stillness too, as if everything is taking a moment just to enjoy; luckily there's time for a quick walk before the Sun bows out. Rain drops still cling to the Aspen (Populus tremula) leaves and soak us as we pass; we don't mind. The Aspen, or Quaking Aspen as our local variety are, are lovely trees; their gently toothed leaves are a rich variety of colours, within each leaf a range of colours can be found as they mature, copper when young, to green when mature and finally yellows through oranges to reds in autumn.  The Aspen can be a noisy tree too, they shimmer and quake in the breeze; even a gentle breeze has them whispering, and in stronger winds they're heard to shout. Folklore says that a crown of Aspen leaves will allow the wearer to journey to the underworld and return safely. A lovely and magical tree.

Clearbury Ring

The univallate Iron Age hillfort of Clearbury Ring crowns a high point overlooking the Avon Valley between Downton and Salisbury, commanding wide ranging views in all directions; seen from a distance you'd not know there were any ancient fortifications there, for so heavily wooded are they that they appear as just another clump of woodland, of the type common in these parts. Although private land, if you push through the undergrowth or cross the barbed wire fence, which is easy enough, you'll soon find yourself wandering within the hillforts shady bounds; I understand it's private land, I respect that and act with due care and consideration, not entering the central area where pheasants are being reared; but it's also our shared heritage of which these landowners are merely custodians, I think as long as people act with respect they should be allowed to visit any heritage sites. Once inside we scale the rampart, which still retains a good height for the most part, once on top we follow the narrow path which circumnavigates the fort. The dappled sunshine through the gently swaying boughs cast a ever changing patterns of light and dark; as if a mirror ball hung high above us. The woodland is lovely today; as we walk I wonder about those folk who threw this site up all those years ago, the landscape they knew is long gone, altered by centuries of agriculture; although, I'm sure the Iron Age occupants would still recognize many of the prominent landmarks.

Caligula by Suetonius

Blimey! It all started off so well for Gaius Caligula, doing all these seemingly good and groovy things as emperor; reinstating this, giving out that, building stuff, I began to wonder if my impressions of him as a complete nut job were over inflated. Then, Suetonius writes 'so much for Gaius the Emperor; the rest of this history must needs deal with Gaius the Monster', after which all the weird, violent and sadistic stuff starts happening; he really was an unpleasant and deeply twisted individual by all accounts; if he'd been born to ordinary folk he'd have been bad enough, I'm sure; but to be born into the position of ultimate imperial power, well, his depraved excesses knew no limits, nothing was off limits to him. It's incredible and really quiet scary as to what depths people can sink to. As you'd imagine, it didn't end well for him; although I'm sure it couldn't end soon enough for all those Gaius Caligula took umbridge against or a fancy to.

Last light from the lighthouse

An impromptu walk found us taking in last light from the lighthouse out on Hurst Spit; a very mellow end to the day.

Canopy

The green canopy is complete.

Hawthorn blooms

The Common Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) is one of our most beautiful shrubs and also a valued plant; it's blossom, synonymous with the arrival of the May Queen, signifies the beginning of the growing season and nature fecundity; it's flowers, it's leafs, both edible when young; later it's berries are edible too, used to make jams, jellies, wines and syrups as well as that it's known to contain beneficial medical constituents and a is valued wood for small woodworking projects. 

A walk on the wild side

Our walk today was full of adventure and alas, injury. It started off marvelously, great weather, with the Sun set in a clear blue sky, superb views and great walking; it was set to be a challenging walk 15 or 16 miles up and down the Purbeck hills. We started with a scented walk through the ramson filled Norden Wood, rising up the steep path to the top of Knowle Hill, whereupon after stealing some views we disappearing down the other side into the lush green expanse of the Corfe valley; through which we followed a meandering path through field and over stream, past old stone buildings in a landscape soaked in history, before beginning our climb up on to the coastal ridge, which was an effort in the midday Sun, though a rewarding one; now along the windswept ridge over looking Encombe and out to Houns Tout, where we rested and took lunch. After a welcomed break we set off down to South Gwyle and Egmont Falls, then off towards Kimmeridge along the undulating coastal path, after a while we turned inland and up the steep and arduous hillside to Swyre Head. From here we could just see the crest of Norden Wood beyond the ridge of Knowle Hill, still some miles off in the distance; so, without further ado we headed back down into the Corfe valley.

And that's where our walk got a bit tricky. About 10.5 miles in to our walk, following a footpath, we crossed into a field of what turned out to be young bulls, they were a ways over in the field and didn't appear to pose a problem; so we continued walking and talking. A couple of the young bulls began to walk slowly in our direction, no problem, they stopped, we carried on; I told my walking companion not worry. Then from the rear of the herd a young bull charged, head down and at full speed towards me, his charge brought the rest of the now excited herd with him; I shouted run! Well, run, and a few expletives if I'm honest. We bolted towards the field boundary, the young bulls hard on our heals, they weren't going to stop; I was proper scared. We reached the boundary, with its barbed wire fence, with the beast right upon us; I tried to leap the barbed wire, getting one foot on the top wire, flinging myself forward, letting gravity and motion finish the job. I was over, I was upside down but over, with the young bulls straining against the barbed wire. I checked myself, nothing broken, although I'd acquired some nasty and lengthy barb cuts from boot line to buttocks, which were bleeding; I was covered in scratches and had numerous Blackthorns protruding from my hands and arms, bruised knees, not to mention 100% stinging nettle coverage on all exposed parts of me. For what we'd dived into was a 3-4m wide, 5m deep rivulet channel choked with bramble, thorn and nettle. I laid back and laughed. My laugh was premature though; I'd not come off worst; I couldn't say how my companion made it over as he was about 10m or so from me at this point and was complaining of ankle pain. We were now stuck though, we couldn't reenter the field, the young bulls wanted to fight us and the other direction was as before mentioned meters of spiky thicket. In the end, I had to throw my rucksack onto the brambles and nettles, fall on it, push myself up, move my rucksack forward a bit and do the same again, inching my way forward; finally I was out and able to help my chum out into the field. Indeed he hadn't fared well, his ankle was swollen and he couldn't bear weight on it; bummer, we were still some miles from the car and there was no way he'd be able to walk it. So, I cut him a staff from a nearby Hazel stool and slowly we made it, after some time, to a point with vehicular access; here I gave him a couple of pain killers and left him, telling him I'd be an hour or so. 

I set off towards the car, still some miles ahead. Due to the nature of our situation I dispensed with the planned route and sought a more direct route; through the Corfe valley, up over and down the other side of Knowle Hill; I made it back to car in good time. Now off to collect the wounded party; I found him slumped in the entrance of a field looking pasty after having 'whited out' from the pain and shock. After x-rays at A&E it transpired he'd suffered a nasty spiral fracture and would be in plaster and out of the game for several weeks.  And the moral of this tale, well, there are two; firstly, it's a reminder of how quickly situations can change when out hiking and secondly, don't trust cows, they can be bastards.

Egmont waterfall

We've walked long this stretch of the coastal path many times, but never before have we explored Egmont waterfall; it's easy to forget it's there. Yes, we've seen it from below on the beach, but not really known where it'd come from; the stream which feeds the falls hidden. We now know that the stream runs through a lightly wooded gully or 'Gwyle' as known in these parts, passing through circular dressed stone culvert for about 30m, which is where the coastal path crosses it, making it invisible and easy to pass by unawares. Though with a little determination, we made our way through the undergrowth, over a barbed wire fence and out onto an open grass terrace with a fine dressed stone wall marking the cliff edge; there's the remains of a stairway which once led to the beach below, now long eroded, and on the edge of the grass where it becomes light woodland, there's a flight of dressed stone stairs leading into a circular domed room, which appears to house an old pump of some kind. I've no idea what function it served. From this grassy terrace you can see where the stream emerges from its culvert, runs through a stone lined channel and off the cliff edge and onto the beach below; it once flowed over the end of the grey promontory known as 'Freshwater Step' and into the sea, probably contained by a continuation of the stone lined channel which has since disappeared over the edge.  Off the track and nicely secluded, the grass terrace would make a great place to chill; I bet it was a favoured haunt of the wealthy who'd have lived up along the gwyle at the impressive, Encombe House back in the day.

Grim's Ditch

Grim's Ditch appears to be a generic name given to several lengths of prehistoric earthen bank and ditch works from around the country; why they're named such and what the origins or purpose of these sections of earthwork were, remains a mystery. This Grim's Ditch runs through Martin Down on the Hampshire/Dorset border, near to where it joins Bokerley Dyke; though there's some conjecture as to whether they represent different features or are part of the same bank and ditch monument, just one (Bokerley) being more developed or reworked at some point. It's thought to have it's origins in the Late Bronze Age or Early Iron Age, a time of developing conflict, with a growing population and territorial disputes; interestingly, during the same period we see the early development of that iconic of Iron Age monuments, the hillfort, develop. What  the exact purpose was, and land tenure would sure have been part, Grim's Ditch is a great prehistoric feature running through some stunning landscape. From up here on the down, it's easy to see why this landscape, rich, varied and bountiful has remained so desirable and popular since prehistory. 

Burnt Tip Orchid

The Burnt Tip Orchid leaves I posted last month have just begun to spout flowering stems; a good sign for a rare flower.

Bluebells

Well over half of Resource Woods (not its real name, rather the name I gave it due to the wide range of natural resources to be found in it) remains carpeted in bluebells; a really lovely sight to behold as well as making for a magical walk. The woods are on the edge of town and yet they hold an ability to make you feel you could be miles away from anywhere; which in todays all too frenetic world, is welcomed.

Time please

A stiff wind and time will run out for this Dandelion clock.

Rempstone revealed

I've posted before that they'd cleared the overhanging trees and invasive shrubs  that had become invasive and had swamped Rempstone stone circle; at the time it looked quite desolate and unsightly. Now though, with the arrival of spring and opened again to the sky, the stone circle is swathed in spring blooms as ramsons, bluebells and other natives begin to recolonize. A chord of Rempstone stone circle has been truncated some time in the past, with that robbed out section remaining within a modernish coniferous plantation, the remaining intact crescent of stones are now all accessible and out in the open; this physical transformation has facilitated a tangible spiritual transformation, there's a totally different feeling about the stones and their environs, as I say, it's tangible; it also appears this new openness has seen the circle see more use too, with more offering left about.  All in all, a positive improvement.

Norden ramsons

Long before you see Nordon Wood a growing sense of excitement rises in you as the smell of garlic intensifies as you approach; then with your first sight of the woods, so magical at this time, your heart and spirits soar; the Ramson carpeted woods are something else to behold. Nordon Woods range over quiet an area of the inland side of Knowle Hill, west of Corfe, and throughout Ramsons rule. We took some time out to rest whilst we picked a few leafs and flower tops for the pot, nibbling on a few flowering tops is we went; throughout, a chorus of birds filled the stands with their cacophonous songs, whilst grazing deer spied us uneasily from the woodland fringe as the woodland went about its business, lovely; a feast for all the senses.

The chickens are hatching!

Walking through Great Huntley Bank, the sites of last seasons Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus) were clearly identifiable through their now bleached remains, either still clinging to their hosts or on the ground below. We'd hope that even though the season was still young, we might have come across some, although after an exhaustive search, covering a couple of miles of woodland, it appeared our search would be fruitless and forlornly we turned for home. The friend I was walking with is only back in the country for a couple more days, now living on the other side of the world; he and I had been regular foragers for years, since the late 80's in fact, before his move abroad and it would've been nice if he could've had the taste of home he'd been looking for. So, I asked for help from the woodland Goddess Flidais (pronounced Flee-dish or Flee-dash), offering to help her by collecting some bags of rubbish from the woodland in return; boom, 2 minutes later this fine clump of Chicken of the Woods. Now, some folk may say, 'yeah, that's just coincidence', but I'd like to think otherwise.  The fungi was harvested by my companion, with a big smile; whilst I duly got out a bag to collect any rubbish I saw, and it wasn't long before that bag was filling up. I still owe a few more bags, which I'll dutifully fill; if you make a bargain, you've got to stick to it.  

Sad times, desperate times.

So, the nation has spoken, the nation has decided and sadly, either through willful ignorance, greed, sociopathic disorder or plain stupidity (for really, with the evidence available those can be the only reasons) voted for another 5 years of Conservative misrule. What does this say about British people? I'm sure we'd all have different views, mine scathing and acrimonious, though one thing must be true: that's that Britain is indeed in deficit, though not financially, but spiritually. I've only one thing to say to those conservative voters: don't hide your lamp under a bushel, take ownership of the policies you've mandated and celebrate them; too often people vote for a party, and therefore its policies, although then try and distance themselves from them. So to Tory voters: when a disabled person has their dignity taken away or another family is forced to beg for food, raise a glass; when a homeless person dies in the gutter or an unemployed person takes their life in desperation, give a cheer; when our public services lay in tatters, our NHS bled dry, shout huzzah!; when a fox is ripped apart by baying hounds or another badger's shot, thump the sky; when climate change ravages our country, when people lack secure housing or secure employment and their right to appeal injustice has been removed, celebrate what you've achieved; you must be proud, so shout about it. As make no mistake, you'll have facilitated it all, the government couldn't do it without you. The rich will get richer, the poor much much poorer, but you know that. And don't worry, the government may not have got around to hurting you yet, but they will, they will; your time will come.

Richard Hakluyt's adventures

They say history's written by the victors, and reading Richard Hakluyt's, The Voyage of Sir Francis Drake Around the Whole Globe, written first hand in the late 16th century, it is. Our view of Francis Drake, and his contemporaries, would appear to be somewhat sugar coated, indeed purposefully deceptive; it seems that rather than the dashing explorers and gentleman adventurer  types, Drake and his ilk were little more than a bunch marauding bandits and pirates, who with his men, and with the blessing of the Queen, robbed everybody they came across; makes you proud to be British. Thomas Candish on another voyage around the world; was even worse than Drake; Candish was even more brutal. In essence Hakluyt's accounts of his journeys with Drake and Candish read; saw a ship, boarded it, robbed it, killed some folk, sunk it; visited a port, landed, robbed it, burnt it, killed some folk; saw some fellows, robbed them, possibly kidnapped, tortured or killed them; saw some native types, exploited them and maybe killed them; returned home ladened with riches for tea and cake. No wonder so many peoples hated us so, essentially we were bullies; okay, I know, this was all undertaken in the context of a period of war with Spain, but still, clearly the British were somewhat different to decent wholesome heroic chaps which our history books portray; they were morally indifferent to friend or foe at best.

Still, I'm loving these Penguin little black classics; they're great!.

Oak before the Ash

There's an old saying which goes along the lines of; Oak before Ash, we’re in for a splash, Ash before Oak, we’re in for a soak; well, I'd say this year the Oaks have it.  Though, I wonder how long these traditional folklore sayings will continue to have relevance, or even if they endure as truths now; climate change is really kicking in and you frequently see plants and wildlife well beyond their traditional boundaries, both geographical and seasonal. Some species will adapt and survive, whilst sadly, too many others will disappear, their spaces in the landscape either left bare or colonized by migrating wildlife from elsewhere. Either way, change is coming and it certainly wont be to the benefit of our indigenous flora and fauna, nor to ourselves.

The smell of Spring

One of my favourite things to do in Spring, is take some time to stop and smell the Apple blossom, it's sweet fragrance is transporting; to me Apple blossom is the smell of Spring.

All hail the giant snail!

 

All hail the giant snail! A rare find indeed, and one I'd never seen one before, an adult (they can take up to 5 years to mature!) Roman or edible snail (Helix pomatia) and I'd have probably passed it by with my head in the clouds if it hadn't been pointed out to me by my friend. Helix pomatia has recently been afforded protected species status (2008); it's a species which favours open woodland or rough grassland, particularly chalkland and is most likely spotted between May to August in, or just after, rain. Introduced by the Romans after the conquest it's quiet apt that this one should be living so close to the Badbury Rings to Old Sarum Roman road; I wonder if his/her family have been here all that time? They're known not to travel far, they may well spend their entire life living within a 30m radius. It was common place for roadside stalls to spring up along the course of Roman roads to service travelers, maybe there was a roadside fast food outlet nearby in the early centuries AD; no, really, titter ye not (I wonder how accessible that reference is?). 

Ebbor beasts

If you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise! Why? Because there's some weird wicker animals hanging about. Imagine walking through here in the half light of dusk and coming across these beasts lurking amongst the stands, you'd crap yourself.

camouflage

I find you can lose yourself gazing down into this woodland, it's almost like looking at a rainforest, or what I imagine from pictures rainforest is like; every now and again a bird of prey glides past or a small group of birds are disturbed from their roosts and scatter or your eye catches something unknown, and only partly seen, moving through the stands below. Beautiful; and we'd, man that is, destroy such wonders.