Russula

I saw a fair few of these mushrooms amongst the Birch clumps scattered through Brinken Wood and Camel Green today, testament to our current mild wet climate, no doubt. Yellow Swamp Russula (Russula claroflava). Frequently found in Birch woodland, particularly wet Birch woodland in late summer through to autumn. As with many of the Russula family it's listed as 'edible'. I usually stay clear of collecting Russulas, many are similarly coloured and the subtle variations in colour between edibles and inedible are so numerous and commonplace have always put me off. Although the Yellow Swamp Russula doesn't suffer from this problem. 

Bleak House

The winds whipped around Hurst Castle this afternoon, and above its battlements towering grey slabs of cloud sped east, whilst around its walls the Solent and the sea wrestled with the tide, the waters thrashed, the castle was completely surrounded, engulfed in the elements. I felt uneasy, aware of my remote location and its potential dangers, and this was a relatively gentle day, I imagined how the area would be transformed into a nightmarish environment by a fierce storm. I've always had a healthy respect for the sea, well, that's not strictly true, it's more a mix of a fear and respect.  I wondered what it must have been like to have lived here, in one of the early garrisons, when the site would have been even more exposed. In a storm it would have been a bleak house, no doubt. The walls of the original Henrician Castle are forbidding, matching their location, and they may sport thick walls with small windows and embrasures, but even so, being inside whilst nature threw her wildest at you for days must have been a grim duty. The isolation too. The spit is long, thin and exposed, trying to negotiate it during a storm would have been (and still would be) treacherous at the least. I imagine you'd have been cut off for days at a time sometimes. And the seas!  Man, the waters are always boiling menacingly here, where the forest rivers gather to meet the sea.  What I'm trying to say is, I wouldn't want to get caught out here in proper bad weather. Still, Hurst is a fascinating multi-period fortification in an beautiful location. I've painted it grimly as today dictated, although on a sunny day, with a warm breeze, blue skies and great panoramic views for miles, it's lovely. Honest.

Hurst spit

A view of Hurst Castle from out on the furthest most point of Hurst Spit at North Point.

Eye in the sky

Me oh my, there's an eye in the sky. The Oak Moon, so called as the Oak king now reigns, others know it as the Long Night Moon or the Cold Moon. Whatever you'd call it, it's the last full moon of the year and the first time in 38 years that a full moon has fallen on this day. 

Light at the end of the tunnel

The light at the end of the tunnel.

Chalke walk

I feel there's something distinctively English about the landscape of Cranborne Chase and no part more so than the Chalke Valley. It's sweeping chalk flanks are a tapestry of pasture and crop divided by strips of broad hedgerows or wind brakes of trees, dotted throughout with clumps of mixed wood and coppice. Along it's long bottom nestle picturesque villages whose origins lie in the Middle Ages and the crystal clear chalke stream from which the valley takes its name. It's a timeless place, a lovely area to walk and loose yourself in thought. Wandering through the bare fields and naked wooded ways today we saw deer, they crossed our path on several occasions, stopping to ogle us before disappearing deeper into the woodland, and hare racing for cover at our approach. In the distance orange flags swept slowly in lines across the hillside accompanied by a familiar country sound and scattered pheasants flying low to avoid the bangs and bursts of shot which echoed around the bluffs and rained down through the shrub. To avoid being accidentally shot I waited for the shoot to be over before continuing on my course and heard one of the keepers remark on how many got away, more than got shot, made me smile. Then I saw the shooters, which also raised a smile. All the gear, but little idea. I continued on my way, pondering the whole shooting thing.

Winter Solstice

I'm certain the new Sun rose this morning, although I basing this solely on the sky brightening 'slightly' on the horizon. Though for me standing in anticipation on the wind raked cliff top this morning at sunrise the Sun sadly remained hidden behind a thick blanket of grey cloud. Still, I raised some awens acknowledging and celebrating that the new Sun is reborn and with it the hope of the possibility of brighter times to come.  Solstice blessing to all.

Bog woodland

The rains we've been experiencing of late have made the forest hard to navigate, with swathes being wet under foot at best and other areas being completely inundated. The strange thing is, on the whole, the forest streams still bare their gravel bottoms. I'm used to the forest being seasonally wet, with the rivers overflowing and flooding their environs, or the lower wetland areas and pockets being wet. But this feels like a different type of wet, the ground is sodden, although it doesn't appear to be draining of when there's capacity in the streams to allow it. It appears to be holding on to the water. I suppose it does illustrate the benefits of trees in relation to holding water, as well as showing that NPA's program of reestablishing bog woodland is working. Still, whatever the cause, I'd watch your path and footing or risk some seriously wet feet.

Ignorant bastards!

What is wrong with people? I don't know why I ask really, as I already know... people are, on the whole, ignorant bastards. An example to support my assertion is the pile of toxic shite I stumbled across in Bolderwood amongst its majestic stands. Someone, too cheap to pay to dispose their waste at the tip, has dumped this sack of poisonous asbestos in the forest. I say too cheap, at first I was going to say 'too lazy', although on reflection the effort involved in driving out into the forest, opening up of their truck/van, tying a rope to the waste sack, with the other end tied to a post and driving off again, made me think twice. As I say, these people are just, cheap ignorant bastards!

Hungrey horses

About the forest gnawed trunks are common sight at this time of year as the forests ponies endeavour to find food. Usually it will be the Beech and Holly which suffer most, I assume that their barks are the softest, most easily gnawed, or maybe they contain the most nutrition and importantly fiber (interestingly, both trees are also the favourites for graffitists). Some trees, as the with the one in the photo, will be returned to in subsequent years; the previous years gnawing having scared (you can see the old scars from gnawing). A tree can, and will, survive such attentions as long as the gnawing isn't too severe or extensive, in which case disease will do for the tree. This behaviour isn't just seen in wild ponies, domesticated animal too will gnaw.

Old bone

Green and soft, its honeycomb structure exposed, an old deer pelvis slowly returns to the earth. The pelvis is small and I feel sure to say that the young deer hadn't seen too many years. Walk off the well worn tracks and into the woods, and you'll find on end of bones, rarely whole skeletons, just an isolated bone or two. Reminding you that nature can be harsh and cruel. 

Roof

With the canopy now gone the forest is wholly open to the elements. Through the boughs the endless grey of our current weather creates the feeling of perpetual twilight, and with it a strange unquantifiable menace.

The pigs are still doing their thing.

The pigs continue to do their thing amongst the Oak stands of the forest, snuffling and grubbing through the leaf litter as pannage continues. It was hard to get a still shot of them today, so frenetic their actions, as if they know that pannage wont last for ever and is indeed drawing to an end.  It's great though to see them out and about, it really adds something to a walk in the forest.

She sculpts sea shells

Or rather, he sculpts sea shells high above the sea shore. The 'he' being Peter Randall-Page and the shells being a series of carved Purbeck stone sea shells, set in dry stone niches high on the chalk grassland known as 'The Warren', along the Old Daggers Gate Road, with its commanding views both east and west along the Purbeck coast. The sculptures were commissioned by the ecology group 'Common Ground' as part of a larger project in 1985. This piece is Wayside Carving III.  I found an old photo of this site when new on the Peter Randall-Page web page http://www.peterrandall-page.com/about/sculptures.html and it's clear that in the proceeding 30 years since its installation, Wayside Carving III has sadly fallen into a semi ruinous state, well, not the carving, more the dry stone niche. I think it still looks cool. I thought about contacting the artist and seeing if would be okay to have a go at repairing the niche ( I think a lot of things), but then I though maybe this is what he intended. I could see that. I quite like viewing it as the material/sites journey back to nature and their origins. It's nice to see art in these environments.

Windy out?

The wind fair whipped in from the west today, stirring up the sea and raking in over the high cliffes at White Nothe and along the rock falls, scree slopes and overgrown landslides of Ringstead Bay. It's so strong the wind allows you to lean out so far as to defying gravity on the steep grassy slopes. And the air, man. The air is so clean and fresh. I breath in deeply. It feels fantastic, and after the recent days of dank damp grey nothingness, it is a welcomed relief. The coast really comes alive on days like these, and that energy is contagious.

Harbour light #5

Christchurch harbour, from the mouth of the River Mude.

Serene sunset #4

Tonight in the daily battle between the clouds and the Sun at sundown, the clouds again had it; all too often a bank of cloud arrives on the horizon at the turning of the day. Although that's not to say that it wasn't a magical transition. No, tonight serenity held sway over the harbour, and beautiful it was.

We had joy, we had fun....

We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons...now they're gone.  Yes, I know, it's a play on the 1974 hit by Terry Jacks, but nevertheless pertinent to our current predicament of climate change and our racing down the road towards our and our planets destruction (as we know it, that is, as the world may well continue and even flourish, although we and many other species may well not). What happened to seasons? There used to be a time when you knew where you were with the seasons, each had a unique character which was defined by its sights, sounds, smells and weather. Now though you open the door and can never be sure that you've not had a Rip Van Winkle moment, as one morning you can have the crisp chill of winters embrace and the next the bright sun and promise of late spring; though more likely the indeterminate dank warm grey of seasonlessness. The climate prays more on my mind nowadays, as every day, on every walk, I see its effects. Weirdness, a knowing, without definition, that something is very wrong. I don't like it. A very good and trusted friend of mine is a respected climate scientist (for want of a term), a professional in the field of climate change and what he says about the state of our climate, and I have no reason to doubt him, does not make for a positive future.