Down but not out

In contrast to yesterdays post where the trees were down and out, this tree had refuse to go down and had continued to struggle on. Having been uprooted in some past storm, with 75% of its roots truncated and exposed, it fell into the supportive boughs of a neighbour.  At which point the tree re-evaluated its options, and decided to send a couple of its side boughs up through the hole in the canopy left by its demise. Nice plan. These side boughs are now about 30cm in circumference, suggesting this all happened some years ago. This tree is tenacious and although down, is in no way out.

Down and out

I walked for about 250m across Little Holm Hill through one of the coniferous plantations which form an expanse of mosaic coniferous/deciduous woodland in this part of the forest. The devastation caused by storm damage was remarkable. The woodland is all but impassible, a jumble of trunks, canopies and upturned root-balls, leaving the walker disorientated and confused. I'd say around 40% of the trees were down. This wasn't done in one storm, though nor had this extensive damage been done over years, no, most of this looked like in had occurred over the last 2 years, say.  I've seen this happen in other parts of the forest.  First a tree or two goes down, weakened by the extremes of wet and dry they're easy prey for todays' stronger and more persistent winds, now a chink has been exposed each following storm has a way into the stands and once in they wreak havoc creating more weak points to exploit. And, so the pattern goes on until the woodland is decimated. I fear as climate change intensifies we'll only see more of this. A sad sight.

Is that you, Mr Turner?

Tonight the sunset was brought to us by Mr Turner.

Isles of the dead

I've often wondered whether the water filled ditches of ancient Bronze Age round barrows influenced our later myths and legends around Isles of the Dead, Isles of the Young, Summer Isles and such like.  Were these stories born from the remembered tales and half truths of ancient ritual, practice and perceptions around death and the beyond, which had been passed down through the generations orally? Are other elements within our myths and legends also derived from the periods ritual, practice and perceptions? If so, what could we learn? We know that a barrow wasn't just a burial, and would have played an important part in community cohesion and reinforcing the shared narrative, amongst other things. As Timothy Darvill wrote, 'Individual barrows witnessed extended and complicated ceremonies and rituals. There were clearly many rules, precedents and taboos surrounding the ways barrows and their burials were created'. So, did these Bronze Age barrows symbolize the original Isles to which the the dead travelled? Was the builders intention for the ditches to fill with water symbolizing an island?  Are the journeys which the dead often take in these stories symbolic or an echo of  the burial ritual? Do the ancillary characters in these stories represent the main protagonists, after the deceased, in the burial rituals of the Bronze Age, members of the family/priests/shaman? Where's a Bronze Age person to ask when you need one! 

All these questions whirred around my head as I lay atop this forest barrow, surrounded (all but for a causeway facing South East), by a water filled ditch. At which point, bathed in the Suns' promise of what's to come, I promptly fell asleep. I awoke none the wiser.  Sadly, those in the mound were keeping schtum.

What got me thinking, was an article I recently read about fairy tales being much older than the 400 or so years we thought. In fact, dating as far back as the Bronze Age. Makes you think.

http://www.theguardian.com/books/2016/jan/20/fairytales-much-older-than-previously-thought-say-researchers

Rawlsbury Camp Hillfort

Rawlsbury Camp is a small strategically important Iron Age Hillfort sited on an imposing spur of Bulbarrow Hill in North west Dorset, commanding spectacular views. Rawlsbury is a sub rounded/oval multivallate hillfort (although, it's believed to have developed from an earlier univallate hillfort) of double ramparts and ditches with additional elaborate rampart and ditch defences around its entrance, the area contained is about 1.6 hectares. I don't believe it's ever been excavated, well, I can find no reference anyway.  Set in Hardy country, when you sit on its grassy ramparts, you really do feel far from the madding crowd. It's one of those places where you can escape the noise of modernity, and soak in the silence. Well, not silence really, there's still the sounds of nature, but you know what I mean.  Worth a visit.   

Wartime remnants

Being the second highest hill in Dorset, Bulbarrow Hill has always been of military and strategic importance. The Iron Age peoples had a hillfort here, it was the site of an Armada warning beacon in the 1500's, during the Napoleonic Wars there was a telegraph station here, and during the Second World War and beyond the RAF had a radar station on the summit, RAF Bulbarrow. There are still radio transmitters active today, although the military have long gone. Much of the wartime equipment too has gone, leaving a handful of buildings where the masts were and the accommodation, Naafi and other ancillary buildings tucked away in an adjacent wood. These can be seen from the roadside, although I think I'd need to get permission to explore further, as they're now in private hands. Though whilst walking back along the ridge towards Okeford Fitzpaine, I spied something in the roadside undergrowth.  On inspection it was a rectangular (almost square) concrete feature, open ended (at both ends), with a series of deep recesses in the walls; I couldn't make out the floors construction due to soil deposition, although I imagine that too was concrete. The site looked to me to be an anti aircraft position, it exhibited several common features with anti aircraft I've visited before.  On my return home I checked online and found a guys wartime recollections of being station on Bulbarrow as part of a Bofors unit, so maybe. Further investigation of these sites and, no doubt, others on Bulbarrow is required. 

Christchuch Harbour #8

I never tire of a sunset.

Oh Deer

Let this be a warning to all and any of the woodland folk who seek to meddle with my rule, said the giant stag as he place the bleached skull of his rival on the stick, high up for all to see. The woodland folk cowered and averted their eyes, they knew it was true, and that obedience was not a option, but the rule. All except the Squirrels, what with them being gobby bastards.  True story! Well, that's what I heard anyway.

The illusion of choice

So, we're off! It's time for us to decide which end of the shitty stick we'll grasp. Today the political pantomime around Britains' position in Europe has began in earnest. The actors, as with any good performance, are well versed in their lines and have taken to the stage with all the gusto of members of an armature dramatics company.  Don't misunderstand me, I didn't expect more, I long ago resigned myself to the nature and purpose of our political charade and its participants.  The charade was always most clearly visible around Europe. For the British Europe has always been a performance, a slight of hand using tried and tested set pieces, all spurious, all tired. Our leaders telling us angrily about ridiculous European rules (most of which didn't exist) we needed to fight against and how they'd stand and fight for us, whilst simultaneously doing shady back room deals to support their corporate friends and invariably being the first to sign the motions and treaties they shouted so loudly against. Europe has always been an exercise in smoke and mirror politics for the British establishment, so how could we expect that a referendum on the subject would be any different. I think it's a done deal, no real debate will be had and the real threats from what's developing in Europe will not be aired, nor will the real threats of leaving.

In my mind Europe was always a good thing, a hopeful thing. Europe gave us protection from the worst excesses of our political elites, it gave us stronger employment rights, environmental protections and human rights, it stood up for people over elite establishments and corporate interests, it would give us peace, prosperity and be a road to better more egalitarian future. I was all for it, who wouldn't be. Although sadly I have to say, in recent times I've seen Europe mutate, losing its way and its lustre. Slowly its motivations began to shift away from the good of the people to a more business orientated position, new allegiances with corporate interests were forged and blind eyes turned. The need to be competitivity was mooted, as was the need to water down some of our employment rights and environmental protections. Then Europe rounded on and destroyed Greece, and from the dark corners of Europe the right and nationalists spied their opportunity.  Whilst all the time in the background secretly European institutions worked on TTIP, hidden from the people TTIP will destroy all that is good about Europe and shift the notional power from the will of the people, to the will of the corporation. Corporations who will reign unhindered from the rule of law or sanction. Think of every despotic, dystopian scifi book you've read, that's it. Europe now doesn't appear so good, and the direction it's travelling in scares me, it should scare others too, but who knows? And, where's the real debate? All we're given are polarized half truths and blatant lies, delivered on the main by suited Marmite characters designed to divide and enrage; polarizing politicians and personalities, most with strings attached.  Even those politicians whose words I like and who I trust like Caroline Lucas appear to lack credibility on this topic, although I'm certain they're coming from a good place. There will be no working from the inside for change, merely hoping for better, and I see that as a forlorn hope. Love them for it though.

And if we leave Europe, do I think we'll fare any better? Bollocks do I! The arguments put forward by the 'Brexit' brigade have been examined, re-examined, dissected and found wanting on countless occasions. Enough to say It'll all be great. Of course. We'll need to be competitive, mind, we'll have to water down some of our employment rights and environmental protections. It's a free market out there, survival of the fittest, we'll need to be hungry. Of course we'll see the rise the right, you see we'll have to have national pride if we're to get on. And no one does national pride like the right. No dissenting now, or are you one of them! And TTIP, we'll need to embrace that if we're to trade freely. No, don't look at the detail, it'll be fine. Trust us, the government will say. Our notional power, that will have to shift from the will of the people, to the will of the corporation, we need them. It'll all be for our good and the good of the nation. Hang on, isn't that what Europe’s mooting, the direction they're travelling and what's actually happening now?

We can 'choose from phantom fears' Neil Peart told us and that will certainly be the case in the coming weeks, as the real things we should rightly be scared of will remain hidden. That's not the right type of fear, it's non profitable fear. So,  choice we've been given is, as I see it: we leave Europe, see the power of corporations, lobbyists and political elites run riot as our environmental safeguards, employment protection, human rights and public services are whittled away and our entire lives commodified; a dark scary Orwellian/ Dickian future of oppression, slavery and forever wars, for sure. Or, we stay in Europe, and see the power of corporations, lobbyists and political elites run riot as our environmental safeguards, employment protection, human rights and public services are whittled away and our entire lives commodified; a dark scary Orwellian/ Dickian future of oppression, slavery and forever wars, for sure. On the tick of a box we'll decide our futures, this is our 'choice'! It's not much of, if any, choice really. Though of course we've our freewill to decide. Which is nice. 

Neil also said that 'if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice'. Sounds good, I'm really in no hurry to grab either end of this shitty stick.  

Magic Bus @ The King Arthur 20.2.2016

The day may have been washed out, but this evening the Magic Bus pulled into Glastonbury, stopping at that most unique of establishments, the King Arthur. Now, I have to confess I'd not heard of Magic Bus prior to them appearing on the King Arthurs' events page, but they sounded cool and after a quick search on Youtube I decided to take a punt. And, I'm glad we did. 

On arrival at he King Arthur we sat in the bar for a while, imbibing beers, fine whiskies and talking bollocks, whilst watching in wonder at the folk about us and their antics, so different from down our ways, so uninhibited and natural.  I swear there's a portal somewhere in Glastonbury which allows people of a certain mind to slide between the ages, and by some strange gravitational pull they appear all to be drawn through the King Arthur. Well, it's always been like that when I've visited. At the allotted hour we made our way from the bar to the performance area at the rear and gave our money to the smiley door lady (who was later up and dancing herself). Do you know, it was only 3 quid. Mental, aye! As we entered the room the band began to play, and a smile spread across my face, I never thought I'd hear music like this being played live. What do I mean? 

Well, Magic Bus are a 6 piece psychedelic, proggy, folky, jazz type combo. The band are Jay Darlington whose superb organ (amongst other key based instruments) drives many of the pieces.  Above this soars the magical fluting of Viv Goodwin-Darkes' which dances with the organ like a mischievous sprite (Viv also plays a whole load of other instruments). Paul Evans on guitar, conveys finely crafted songs with great vocals. Terence Waldstadt delivers some masterful lead guitar. Rhythm is supplied by Benny Brooks on bass and Connors' (last name unknown) frenetic drumming. Each band member putting in a highly polished performance on their individual instruments, which when combined together created a incredibly tight performance, a rich and mellow tripped out musical sound-scape with a fantastically uplifting and danceable groove.

No doubt influenced and inspired by the sounds of late 60's early 70's from both sides of the Atlantic, Magic Bus are keeping that vibe alive and running with it. Every now and again there’s a nod to the likes of Caravan or  Gong or the echo of west coast harmonies. Don't get me wrong, the Magic Bus are no period tribute band, no sir, Magic Bus are doing their thing very much in the here and now.  You just can't hear organ and flute combined over guitar without being reminded of the early 70's 'Canterbury sound', and that's no bad thing.  I suppose it could be suggested that Magic Bus drink from the same inspirational spring as the afore mentioned, though they've freshened the sound, modernized it, given it a contemporary feel and play it with gusto.

As the band played the room was filled with smiling faces and the dance floor began to fill. First the obligatory ambling hippy type performing the standardized head down zombie shuffle, then a young woman strode purposefully onto the dance floor, flung her coat and proceeded to get down, and before you knew it the floor was filled with bimblers and groovers. One guy must have come through the Glastonbury portal from the 70's, sporting the full corduroy look, jacket and matching cap, he looked like a young Jeremy Corbyn; don't misunderstand me, not everybody can get away with corduroy, and he was rocking it. Respect.  Magic Bus played two sets with a small break in between, each one a real joy. When the second set began nearly everybody was up frooging and dancing, and at the end were left wanting more. Which Magic Bus provided by way of 2 encores, nice!   After the gig we had an opportunity to have a quick chat with the band, they were all lovely and what was nice was that it appeared that the band too had had a really great time; enjoying us, enjoying them.

As for the venue. Well, I love the venue. The King Arthur in Benedict’s Street in Glastonbury is somewhere things happen, it's a pub, you eat there, meet there, hear bands, do stuff. Really, it's a social hub as much as a pub.  I  look forward to the opportunities to visit, keeping my eye out for interesting bands. Both the staff and locals are great, the King Arthur has a unique atmosphere and is well, worth a visit.

All in all a fine time was had by all. I can't wait to see them again. By the way their latest album is 'Transmissions from Sogmore's Garden', and it's great. 

Day in the Muddips

The weather wizards were well off today. Cloudy they said, only a 20% chance of rain they said, a nice day for walking they said (well, they didn't say that really, it was me, still)... liars! Over the Mendip Hills the water hung in the air like a sodden grey blanket, not mizzle, not heavy rain, just perpetual wet. I'm being a bit dramatic really, there were short rainless intervals, but it was wet. The ground around Cheddar Gorge was so sodden it didn't matter. Poor souls wandered through the dank, clad in wet weather gear and looking heavy and forlorn, for the most part eyes fixed on the ground under their feet.  And with good cause, it was like an ice rink and I lost count of the number of walkers showing signs of being floored at some point. The Mendips had become the Muddips. We didn't walk for long and were soon on our way again, back towards Glastonbury, where we took advantage of one of the drier interval to climb the Tor.  Well, it would rude not to. The rain may have temporarily abated, but the winds had more than taken their place. A chill wind raked the Tor, and some people were in real danger of being blown over. That said, as always the Tor is well worth the climb, its views always breathtaking and magical, no matter. We sat and took in the sights and the clean air for some time before gingerly embarking on the decent. Off to continue our adventures, after all, we had a Magic Bus to catch.

Sky holes

Holes filled with sky! Was I looking down through the holes onto the moving sky of another world below? A doorway into another world I thought, a better world maybe. Or, at least a glitch in the matrix which would allow me to enter an alternative operating system, hopefully one less buggy and corrupted. Should I chance it, I thought, would I find the egalitarian world of which I dreamed? Or, would it be a Dickian world, worse than the model we have, or one where cybotic dinosaur zombies roamed. What to do? Maybe this time, I thought. I took a punt and launched myself into the possibilities.  Sadly though, all I got was wet. Will I ever learn.

Show of hands

Hands up, who's looking forward to Spring?

Deep grooves, man.

I was talking to a friend the other day about music, extolling the virtues of, and my love of, vinyl. He said to me, 'yeah, but you can only play them so many times as each time you play them you mine a tiny piece of the vinyl away'. I told him he should take the penny off his headshell, and we laughed. But, how true is that, do you think? And if it is true how many plays have you got? I ask because I've just listened to my copy of Here and Nows' ''All over the show'', the record was pressed in 1979, I bought it from Snu Peas records in 1984 and I've played it more times than I can remember (really I've played it loads) and it still sounds like it always has. And that's with me not being the most diligent of record collectors, yeah, it has some surface marks and some crackles (or as I like to say character), and the cover, well, my records used to be stored near floor level and we had cats, but still.  So, if my Here and Nows' ''All over the show'' is anything to go by, even if you do mine a piece of the vinyl every time you play it, it'll still last a bloody long time (said with fingers crossed). 

If you haven't listened to Here and Now, you don't know what you're missing. I'd recommend all their albums, and their cassette/bootleg recordings, and to see them live is a joy.  As an intro I'd suggest ''All over the show'' and ''Fantasy Shift''.

Drain

There are few of the Victorian 'drains' which criss crossed the enclosures remaining, they used to be a common feature, until their remodelling, meandering and filling in the pursuit of re-establishing bog woodland, a rare environment.  Six or seven feet deep in places, these drains were essential if the New Forest enclosures were to remain dry enough for growing timber, still a vital resource at the time. You can tell a drain, they're usually straight, or run in straightened lengths, they're deep with a flat bottomed 'v' sided profile and there are spoil heaps along the tops of the banks from their construction and subsequent maintenance.  This one in Bramshaw Wood is a good example, exhibiting all the features mentioned (although not in the photo).  Whereas I thoroughly agree with rewilding (although it's questionable whether the re establishment of Bog Woodland is rewilding), I think it would be sage to retain some of these features, they are after all part of the forests history and archaeology.  The NPA and the Forestry Commission are not good in that respect as can be seen in, what I see as, their short sighted approach to the World War Two archaeology of the forest. I'm primarily speaking about the wholesale destruction of every period airfield and their associated features throughout the forest.  A great loss to the collective archaeological/historical/educational resource, both locally and nationally.

Rampart Ramsons

The predominantly Oak canopy of Mistleberry Wood is still bare, as is its coppiced Hazel under-story, but as the ground warms the woodland is coming to life.  All over new life is preparing itself. The two most dominant plants in this particular woodland are the Ramson and Bluebell, the former by far the leader. Even at this early stage of the year the ramparts of Mistleberry Woods' prehistoric bank and ditch feature are swathed in young Ramsons, with even more just poking through the leaf litter.  It'll still be some time before flowers fill the woods, but when in full flower these woods will be filled with their pungent garlic aroma. Ramsons (Allium ursnium) are a really versatile wildfood resource, often found in damp ancient woodland, use them in salads, as a vegetable or just as a flavouring herb, add them to soups and breads, make wild garlic pesto, all the parts of the plant are edible, and where they grow, they often flourish, so are in bountiful supply when in season.  Two notes of caution, mind. Firstly, the have been confused with Lilly of the Valley, although all of the parts of the Ramson smell of garlic which help allay any confusion. Secondly, be careful when using, how much you use, I have found to the cost of several meals, how powerful a flavour Ramsons have and how easy it is to use too much.  All the constituents of  a wild spring green soup are coming together nicely, not long now.

Jupiter's Legacy

I've always loved Frank Quitelys' artwork, ever since I first saw it, and most of Mark Millars' work I've enjoyed.  So Jupiter's Legacy seemed a good choice. I wasn't wrong. Millars' writing is on good form in this story of two generations of flawed superheroes, incorporating plenty of traditional elements. There's the conflict between the two generations and how they see their powers, conflict within the older superheroes as to how they see their powers and what the future should look like, corrupting power, egos, messed up families, and of course forbidden love. We're briefly given the origins of the original (older generation) heroes, and see how the younger generation have become decadent and lost. Then it all kicks off. I can't say much more without going into detail, and that would spoil your read. Familiar themes or not, it's a good read. Really, if Quitely's the artist I'll by the graphic just for that. Quitelys' art is, as always, just marvellous, I don't know what it is about it, it's just right. I think that it remind me so of the art from the early 80's 2000AD. Every line is sharp and clean, no excess, space is well used to create atmosphere and sense of scale, everything you need is there.  The characters faces and postures impart so much about them and of the story which isn't written on the page. Lovely. And Quitelys' line art is beautifully complemented by Peter Doherty's exquisite subtle colouring. All round a visual delight.

This is volume one, roll on volume two I say. 

Nettles

The nettles (Urtica dioica) are just starting come up. I've not seen enough for a meal yet (not without clear cutting which I don't like to do when plants are just starting out) although it wont be long. It struck me that frequently when I write about plants I'm taken by how many uses so many of them have and how nature provides us so much. Take the humble nettle here, the 'stinging nettle', enemy of the bare legged; an invasive, enemy of the gardener. Yet this common plant can not only provide nutritious food (and can be re-cropped several times in a season), it provides fibres for clothing, string and rope, a wool dye (yellow from the root and green/yellow from the leaves), as well as having medicinal properties. And people call it a 'weed'... silly people.

The Queens head

Leaving Hedbury Quarry yesterday something green caught my eye sticking out of the mud. A bronze Penny coin of Victoria, minted in 1895, nearly 5.4 million were cast that year.  I suppose they'd have remained in circulation until 1971 and decimalization, pennies with subsequent Kings and Queens heads on them were produced until just prior to decimalization. It's worn, but not so much that you can't easily read the lettering and see some of the detail. I've seen much worse. I have a mid Victorian gothic style silver Florin which I use when I 'ask the coin', the details are worn smooth in part, the national shields and Queens Head especially.  I reckon this penny could have been out of circulation for some years. I like to think that this coin, being as old as it is, was dropped by one of the quarrymen maybe, dropped in much ground conditions we have today, and quickly swallowed by the mud. Or maybe by a child playing here in a summer of the middle part of the last century, lost in the long grasses. There's always a story, though rarely to be told.

Stand fast.

Some years ago I undertook an archaeological survey of Seacombe Quarry for the National Trust to identify and record any possible World war Two features. There are several archaeological feature from the period, although most would go unnoticed, trenches always easy to overlook, the most striking and noticeable period feature is the rusting cupola of a rare Allen Williams Turret. Only 199 were ever commissioned, after the war most were salvaged for scrap metal, and it's believed that now only 33 remain, making this a very important archaeological site. Although in rough shape, it's not done that badly with many of its original features remaining.  Worth a visit if your this way and like old stuff.

Rocky coastline

It was a glorious day along the Purbeck coast. The sky was blue, with just enough cloud to make it interesting, the air was clean and fresh driven by a chill wind, and above a sun which gave a hint of better weather to come; perhaps, you can never be sure these days. Todays' walk was to be along the coast between Winspit Quarry and Round Down and back along the ridge. The heavy clay soils of the coastal hills are sodden and the paths are slippery, making walking difficult and, at times, slow. I lost my footing on several occasions and nearly ended up on my arse. It could have been worse, the coastal path is close top the cliffs and the cliffs are sheer.  

First stop Winspit Quarry.  I couldn't count how many times we've walked this way, and still after all the years I never bet bored of the views or the terrain. What I did find noticeable this time was that the fissures and cracks in the fragile rock faces and roofs of the quarry galleries looked to have expanded, everything looked loose and fragile, giving the galleries an even more foreboding air than usual. We didn't venture in. The last time I entered any of these coastal galleries was a few years back at the Seacombe Quarry, and I was genuinely scared. 

Talking of Seacombe, that was our next stop. The clear water rivulet that seasonally runs through the valley is flowing well, its crystal water cascading over the rocky steps which lead out to the sea ledges. Cutting through time as it goes, at one point cutting through a 100 million year old ammonite.  The quarry was last used in the early 1940's to produce hardcore for the runways of the New Forest airfields, today it's a tranquil spot, a haven for wildlife and a great place to bath in the summer. 

Next was Hedbury Quarry, one of several smaller quarries than the previous two and one which makes a good spot for a nights wild camping. Which reminds me, we must camp here again soon. A group of climbers were preparing to attack the quarry wall, the quarries along this section of coast are popular with climbers and on a busy day the quarry walls are as fly paper stuck with brightly coloured human flies.

Soon enough we were off again along the viscus coastal path path. Of the quarries on todays' walk, finally it was Dancing Ledge.  We made our way down into the quarry and then down onto the dancing ledge, so called as in certain seas the ledge appears to dance.  So they say.  This afternoon there was no dancing only white foamy waves which rolled up over the large rocky ledge, filling the rock cut swimming pool and thumping into the adjacent caves.  The quarries galleries have been blocked, with only steel grill covered accesses; this has been done to create safe roosting areas for local rare bat communities. 

Back up again and on the path.  We continued along the coastal path, through rough grass covered terrain, past the most enormous cows, before rising up on to Round Down, with its spectacular views in both directions along the coast. The walk back to Worth Matravers along the ridge was little better than the coastal path, wet, muddy and slippery.  Tiring of the walking quite quickly, we decided to make for further inland at Spy Barn and the far easier walking  of  the Priests Way, the path the Medieval priests would have taken between the Churchs in Swanage, Worth Matravers and the chaplel out on St Aldhelm's Head. 

All in all a very nice walk in very nice weather in a very nice part of the world.

Nearly

It wont be long now, nature is beginning to wake up, and the early Blackthorn buds are just starting to open.

Obstacles

The forest at this time of year presents plenty of watery obstacles and it wasn't long before I was afforded this opportunity to get wet.  No doubt at one time a reasonably solid wooden crossing was in place, although it has now become a far more fluid structure, see-sawing or half floating, it affords little stability. I knew it wasn't going to go well, but still took a chance (really I had no alternative, the ground is saturated for tens of meters in each direction. I trod on the long piece of wood in the middle it spun, twisted and see-sawed all in an instant, and a wet foot was the result as I stood shin deep in peaty water.  I laughed, it's just the forest having fun with me.  Ten minutes later I had the opportunity to soak my other foot by slipping into a ditch. Of course, I took it, it would be rude not to. So, with two soaking feet, in soaked boots I continued for a further 3 miles. Good walking.

Eroding coastline

The tide was coming in as I walked the foreshore below Barton Cliffs and the Barton beds, a rich source of fossils which extends well inland beneath the New Forest, occasionally showing in the banks and beds of the forests streams. Soon sea'll be lashing the soften clay and 40 million year old lagoon deposits, long aground will be returned to whence they originated. Above us the sky was grey, the wind roared, the sea was grey and all in all there was a foreboding atmosphere about the place this afternoon.  On a bright day, with a mill pond sea, it's easy to forget that the sea can be unforgiving; on a day like today it's easy to imagine. I didn't hang about.

Spotted!

A medium herd of Deer roamed about the wet heath between Holm Hill and Ober Water. I'd managed to get quite close to them after a while, though I knew I was on a loser from the start; I was approaching up wind. The Deer smelt me long before I'd seen them, or they'd seen me, I was still a ways off (don't misunderstand me, I don't smell or anything, beyond human). As soon as I saw them I ducked down and changed my course, luckily the ground is undulous and as the deer were gathered just beyond a small rise on the edge of Crab Tree Bog. I was afforded some cover. Also, the heather on this part of the heath is old and leggy, and with all the ditches and hollows it was easy to move through. When finally I put my head up, the deer were not to far in front of me. Had I been a hunter, I reckon I'd of had a good chance of bagging one. Well, I would, wouldn't I. Although, in reality, I'd more likely be chewing heather for my meal. Still, it's a good exercise, stalking, you take in more of your surroundings, your senses are come alive. It's exercising that primal part of us buried deep deep beneath layer of modernity and disconnection. 

Mudeford sunset #7

Getting a head start

Imbolc is just upon us, and already the frogs have got with the program. 

Imbolc

Imbolc

The wheel of the year is invisibly turning.

Deep in the Earth there stirs a yearning.
And though Winter still holds us in its sway.

We know that warmer days are on their way.

Our youthful Sun now warms the land.

And times of change are close at hand.
'In the belly' is Imbolcs' Celtic meaning.
And below the surface lives just beginning.
Roots and seeds go searching forth.

Eager to embrace the soils growing warmth.

Soon the white Blackthorn blossom will show.

Throughout our roams new life will grow.
And, in the gardens of our mind.

Tilled soil from dreams and plans we'll find.

For new beginnings we'll raise a cheer.

The promise of spring is nearly here.

Imbolc blessings y'all.

Up turned

Still the forest suffers from the effects of our erratic climate with its heavy rains and incessant strong wind. You can't visit the forest without seeing more destruction. More trees who've succumbed to the elements, roots so sodden make easy victims for the winds, and are upturn and humbled. And, more trees with their limbs ripped from them. It's terrible sight. Especially so when it's multiple mature trees, Oaks, Chestnut, Beech, which have been torn down. So many years growing and so many years to replace, gone in no time at all.