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.