Samhain

So here we are again at Samhain (pronounced Sow-in or Sow-en), and even though this mighty forest Beech is sporting a spooky 'Scream' mask, today has  nothing to do with Halloween and all that nonsense. Samhain is real, and has it's origins way back in the mists of human history. It's the end of the yearly cycle, all the crops are gathered in, the fruits have fallen, it's the last harvest (the meat harvest), it's a time of reflection after the years toil. It's the herald of a new year, well, not quite, it's a time to take stock, it's a time of rest and of dreaming, dreaming of plans some of which will become the seeds we plant in spring. It's the dark part of the year, before the sun returns at Winter Solstice. Samhain is also a time when the veil between worlds is at it's thinnest and we can commune with our ancestors and those who passed beyond. Though, it's not a scary time of ghouls and monsters, or any of that shit, it's a beautiful time, when those who've gone, return and join me by the fire, at bit like the end scene in 'The Return of the Jedi'. There's food and a welcome for them, I say my piece, I remember, then slump against the woodpile, to watch as the fire licks at the clear night sky, and fuelled by Calvados, I reminisce on the year past and drift off on flights of fancy into the year to come. A blessed Samhain to y'all. I hope your year was good and the year to come surpasses it.

The Incongruous Beech

I call this tree the 'Incongruous Beech', surrounded as it is by a sea of coppiced Hazel and Ash. A tall veteran/ancient Beech, of a few of hundred years old or so, with the grooviest of branches which twist and corkscrew off in all directions, it stands alone, one of its kind, and strikingly out of place. A carpet of coppered leaves mark the extent of its canopy, and are visible through the stands Hazel rods from quite a distance. A distinguished tree commanding its surroundings and your attention.

Matley Pannage

The pigs are still out throughout the forest at pannage. These British Saddleback's out at Matley were much friendlier than those I ran from at Mill Lawn, more inquisitive than anything else, they'd come right up to you, though scatter at your slightest move.

Fall

The 'Fall' was an apt description of the forest today, a wind heralding winters approach stirred the canopy, loosening leaves sending them in swirling cascades earthwards. Amongst the stands individual trees shone out, radiant in autumn hues, whilst most of their friends still cling to dulling greens. The developing colour has been slow to come this year, so far it's been a muted affair. I wonder if we'll see much of a show of colour, or whether the leaves will be blown before that can happen.  Still, these isolated pockets of radiance are a joy to see. Autumn's a wonderful time of year here in the forest.

Holes

All over the forest you'll spot holes like these, differing sizes, though displaying similar features, notably the irregular bank like lip which surrounds them. These are Second World War bomb craters. They reckon over 2700 bombs were dropped in the New Forest through the war years. There were plenty of targets for the Luftwaffe too. Throughout the war the area saw intense military activity, the nature of which changed as the war progressed; initial defence soon turned to training, then to preparation for invasion, and constantly seeing action, were the forest airfields.  For some of the craters the target's clear, others though were ephemeral targets, maybe mobile targets, whilst I reckon a few (at least) were never targeted, rather jettisoned before turning for home.  These craters are in woodland at Pignal Hill, and there are several potential targets locally including, the Balmer Lawn Hotel which was a divisional headquarters, the main rail line and Beaulieu Airfield.  I wonder how long it'll take for these monuments to World War 2 to disappear, well not disappear, as they'll remain in the archaeological record, but not to be visible any more.  It's over 70 years, and still these craters are pronounced features.

Forest ditch

Shiny chemoautotrophic bacteria in a ditch.

Home

It's taken time, 40 million years in fact, but this Eocene shell has made it home to the sea at last. To think this little shell last enjoyed bathing in a sun drenched sea 38 million years before our earliest earliest ancestors stood upright. Crazy. 

Eocene beach

I was walking in the Eocene this afternoon under the unseasonally warm sun, which reminded me that when these layers were laid down this area was a tropical lagoon. It's been a while since I'd walked these ancient horizons, and the landscape has changed noticeable. There are still land falls, slips and slides, and some are quite substantial, though for the most part the fluid landscape has been temporarily stabilized by colonizing plants and shrubs. Very successful colonizers are the Cat Tails, which now cover swathes of the wetter areas, Willow trees who I was surprised to see growing in quite some numbers, their canopies filled with bird song, and many of the areas which were exposed clays are now covered in a layer of tough grasses and horsetail. Still, there were enough exposed Eocene horizons to keep my eyes occupied. The entire surface of these exposed horizons is covered in shell fragments, as well as plenty of complete shells in various sizes and of various types, and the occasional sharks tooth. The 'Barton Beds' as they're called are well known in palaeontological circles, are an important research resource and some impressive specimens have been collected here. The best time for fossil hunting are over the coming months of bad weather, when land movement is common and virgin horizons exposed. Care needs to be taken as the area is dangerous and you can find yourself knee deep or even waist deep and in need of rescuing with one careless step; even today when the surface is still quite dry and stable, care was required. A great walk though, so much to see and think about.

In a rut.

So many deer in the forest right now, more than I can ever remember, their population appears to have mushroomed in recent years. At the moment they're very visible. It's rutting season and throughout the woods the Fallow stags roar and bellow at each other, and occasionally lock antlers in displays of prowess, as they go through their mating rituals. Today I was in Amberwood again and you could hear the bucks bellowing wherever you walked, you could tell they were all around you, all staking their claims and shouting their worth. Throughout the enclosure bucks with small groups of does, bucks with harems and lone bucks show out. The stands they choose to rut in are worn bare and muddy with activity, the bigger the group the more extensive the damage. The rutting stand in the photo is quite a large one, you can see another one behind it, and all through the wood are small rutting platforms where lone bucks call. Usually around these rutting stands are stumps which have become the focus of antler rubbing, being mostly coniferous stumps their bright orange inner punk wood sticks out amongst the muddy stands. It's quite a spectacle out there at the moment.

Pot

As I made my through Amberwood Enclosure, through the fading bracken and over fallen limbs, I passed a toppled tree, and the archaeologist in me just couldn't resist having a look at the root ball and bole. As peered through the hanging roots I spied the shape of human agency in the form of a small pottery sherd. It's was what I'd been hoping to find looking into the root ball, and what I expected I might find. I knew Amberwood had been a site of pottery production during the Romano-British period, specifically in the 3rd and 4th centuries AD. I'd found the occasional pottery sherd over the years walking here. A series of Roman kilns had been identified in the area, and excavated after timber extraction through 1969 to 1971. As I looked closer I found 2 more sherds, 1 reasonable sized and 1 fragment, none displayed any diagnostic features, and all I can say is that all were a sandy grey fabrics, the larger sherd and fragment are a sandy dark grey/brown fabric and appear to a have a black slip applied to them, the fragment also appears to be burnished, the small sherd (top and middle) is a sandy light grey fabric, though finer, and may have a thin white slip. I  need to give them a proper clean. Some of the pottery from these kilns may have travelled far across the South of England, although most sherds of Roman Mortaria (mixing/grinding bowls) produced in the New Forest identified on archaeological excavations have been in a fairly limited radius of say, 40 miles. These sherds represent wasters, and I imagine an investigation would show the area covered in a liberal distribution of these type of finds. You'd never know it today, but this area of the forest was once an industrial landscape, years later it's industry of another form which covers the land.

Patterns

A visit to the illustrated tree over in Pinnick Wood. Lovely patterns and textures on this wonderfully unique dwarf Oak tree, a tree with real presence.

Twist and brake

Well, shake it up, baby, now, twist and brake (twist and brake).  The forces that must be required to cause this type of damage to a strong veteran/ancient Oak are staggering. This Oak must have been thrashing about, shaking and twisting, before it finally succumbed and splintered apart. What must that have sounded like? It must be a singularly terrifying and exciting spectacle/experience to behold. This part of Pinnick Wood is quite elevated and exposed, and it's clear is regularly scoured by storm winds. The woodland floor is littered with the torn boughs and discarded branches of the inhabitants, few of which don't exhibit damage to some degree, and a few which are little more than damage. 

Bilröst

The Bilröst is opened and someone/something crosses the rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard, or......... it could be the reflection, refraction and dispersion of light in water droplets. Your perceptions are your own. Though, I'm sure I heard the Gjallarhorn echo through the stands.

Wax Caps

Wax Caps look like the kind of mushrooms which lurked in the backgrounds of fairy tale illustrations, appearing as they do in a bewildering array of vibrant colours and hues.  Sometimes they even look artificial.  They're a common sight in the autumn forest on the exposed short grass lawns and around the woodland edges. This example 'I think' is a Hygrocybe miniata or maybe a Scarlet Hood (Hygrocybe coccinea), though I think the former is most probable.  Of the extensive Wax Cap family some are edible, some are not, and some are classified as 'edibility unknown'; even the edible group varies, for example  H. coccinea 'edible good' whereas H. miniata 'edible not recommended'. Any mushroom group like Hygrocybe which are easily misidentified through subtle colour changes and weathering are most definitely off my wild food menu. Groovy things to see, mind.

Black Water

Autumns dappled light falls on an old meander of Black Water's, now a small oxbow lake, the old tree lined bank is easy to see.  Autumn's a lovely season in the forest.

Warwickslade Cutting

Not a cutting any more. Warwickslade Cutting, once a straight, deep cut, forest drain, now meanders gracefully between the open stands of Warwick Slade, a beautiful and vibrant stream.  You'd not know, the transformation still amazes me every time I walk here. Already the Slade is becoming boggy, and care is needed when walking the course of the stream, or before you know it, you'll be shin deep with wet feet. I got wet feet. There's no doubt the forest is much wetter, and for much longer, than it was 20 years ago. The affects of bog woodland restoration have been pronounced in this part of the forest particularly. During the wettest periods the open areas, and woodland, are underwater for days or even weeks at a time, and areas of that standing water will endure until late spring. Calm walking today, lovely, the air was clean too.

Silent walking

The forest felt proper autumnal this afternoon, it was warm and dank, a light rain blanketed the landscape, softening everything, it had moistened the leaves on the woodland floor just enough for you to move unheard through the stands. Periodically the tiny raindrops which clung to the canopy way up above, would merge and tumble earthwards in isolated down pours.  I became aware that I made no noise as I walked, I listened for any give away sound I may make as I move, though heard nothing. Nothing but for the drip drop of the rain and the occasional acorn, Burley Old was silent and still. And I moved silently through it. I'm fairly invisible too in my usual forest toned cloths. Though clearly not invisible enough, as although I freeze as soon as I see him, a fine white stag has clocked my approach, disappearing through the bracken he moves off with his girls at speed, and is lost in autumns jumble. A couple of ponies looked up, though realizing there's nothing going on, quickly return to their chomping.  And the stands are silent and still again. Burley Old is beautiful today, subtly lit through the holes in its canopy left by the fallen. I stand a while in tranquillity and take in the beauty of the woodland, I breath it in, it's magical, it's an antidote to some of the crappier elements of modernity, it's reviving and rejuvenating. Nice. Restored, I continued on with my damp walk leaving Burley Old and its inhabitants in peace. I'm grateful for the forest.

30 years fallen

It was 30 years ago today that the 'Great Storm' ravaged the South Coast, wreaking havoc and destruction. The forest suffered, especially the older trees. Swathes of adolescent timber plantation were felled, sad, though easily replaced. Not so easy to replace were veteran and ancient leviathan trees who'd watched over the forest for centuries. They'd seen the works of man in the forest come and go, coppice, pollard, graze, enclose, bound, drain, plant, extract, repeat. Standing firm and resolute these ancients had weathered countless previous storms with maybe only a battle scar, though this storm was to be their downfall, quite literally. Bratley Wood, exposed as it is on high open ground, took a pounding in the storm. I remember the prostrate hulks, shattered trunks and fallen boughs of many of it's inhabitants. Bratley felt like an appropriate place to walk today. Bratley Wood's a beautiful open woodland, never enclosed, it's old and knows it, it holds an air of timeless tranquillity, along with the memory of the forest in it's huge Beech and Oak. It also holds a history of storms in its rotting relics, a history which extends well before 1987 and right up to the present day, and some of those stumps of trunks and fallen remains are the result of 30 years ago. 30 years and still a presence in the woodland. Some of the trees were truncated in the style of a brutal pollarding, though even some of these still produce leaf each year, and some have become fertile homes to seeds from other species, and live on. How cool are trees.

Great Huntley Beech

Veteran Beech in Great Huntley Bank, timeless.

Waterside Rocks

I climbed one of the wooden shooting towers on the edge Great Huntley Bank and Camel Green. It's an older tower and the tops of the uprights have hollowed through weathering, in one of the hollows was a stone painted pink with a pair of blue and yellow eyes. On the underside of the stone creature was 'Find Waterside Rocks FB Have Fun'. Apparently it's a thing, a community based around Southampton who paint rocks and leave them places for people to find. Cool. I like the idea of leaving art for people to find, and I like the idea of the connections that can create and the community which could develop.   

Fatties

I saw these couple of fatties out in the forest. Mad looking bikes. The frame clearances look outlandish, though they have to be to fit the tyres, tyres which are huge, 4.8'' fitting as they do 100mm wide rims. The guys said the great for mud and sand, and are a lot of fun. Must be slow riding though, and hard going on the road. The top bike is a Surly Moonlander, and the bottom a Cube e-fatbike, the Cube also had a motor.  If I had loads of money I'd have a range of bikes to fit terrain, conditions and mood. Though I haven't, so I think I'll stick to my Santa Cruz, it may not like the deep mud or sand, but it's versatile on and off road. It's funny what you see out.

Underground art

A nice piece of subway art found in the subway under the A31 near the Spreading Oak and Winding Stonard. Simple and effective colours used well in classic NYC style. I have no objection to art like this, it brightens a dull concrete subway and adds something unexpected to your walk.

St Aldhelm's Head to Emmett's Hill

The path between St Aldhelm's Head to Emmett's Hill.

St Aldhelm's Head and Chapmans Pool

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We were over Purbeck today, exploring the rugged terrain of the Jurassic Coast, and to make it more challenging, for most of the walk (walk really being a misnomer) we created our own route over, or followed animal tracks over, a rough boulder strewn landscape, across acute slopes of loose dried clay or through a dense carpet of bramble and thorn.  It made for an interesting outing. It started with a bracing stroll out to Houns Tout with its beautiful views into the Encombe Bowl and the Jurassic Coast as it unfolds west, before we descended to Chapman's Pool. Between Chapman's Pool and the western slope of St Aldhelm's Head there has always been a narrow path, it's course would occasional change, through the path remained a constant, not so now. Although some sections of the path remain, for the most part the path is gone; the sea has eroded so much in recent years, the coast is raw and fluid, blasted with pebbles flung by the waves. There's no path to follow. There's something primeval about making your own way through nature, you are forced to take notice of your surroundings more, to look ahead as well as your footfall. Over the years, as with everywhere else, the brambles here have invaded and colonized the boulders, rocks and quarry waste beneath St Aldhelm's Head, they tangle your feet or rap themselves around your legs with incredible efficiency, they really are a pain the arse.  Though the views we were afforded as we moved up and around the headlands were more than compensation for our injuries. Eventually we climbed out of the old quarry mouth, turning to take in the dramatic view back into the quarry and the sea a 100 meters below us. It struck me how green the post industrial landscape had become, when we started coming here in the 80's the scene was one of starkness a bare stone landscape. How much its changed. The views from St Aldhelm's Head in all directions are phenomenal. Kicking back in a depression of long rough grass, I think, I could lay here all afternoon soaking in the autumn sun and scenery.  Though we're not sat for long, before it's off west in the direction of Emmett's Hill and Chapman's Pool. This time the paths are defined and well kept, easier walking but for the deeply cut blunt valley between the two headlands, which is all steep stairs and aching. The light catches the cattle lines which mark the valley's steep grassy sides. It's not only the cattle tracks which are picked out, but also depressions and hollows, and a track which cuts diagonally across the slope and which once would have reached the tiny bay below, though now ends abruptly meters above the sea. A testament to the erosion of the years. Once around Emmett's Hill we drop into Hill Bottom, it's wooded core holds a secret. Over the fence (for sometimes you just must) and you're into a deeply cut wooded gorge through which a stream flows. A gentle stream today, though in the wet season a torrent. It's a magical place of gnarled trees, waterfalls, sparkling pools and luscious ferns. If you chose to get off the path and roam, nature will always show you her wonders.  We left Hill Bottom and made our way up through grassy fields and nettle choked footpaths until we'd returned to our start point in Kingston. Fabulous walk immersed in natures glory, in good company and under a generous Autumn sun.  

Dirty protest

And what are they protesting? Their apparent right to be shit thick and ignorant. I mean, really! What is wrong with these people?  Their ignorance and disregard for others and the environment dumbfounds me as much as annoys me. The worst bit about picking up dog poo, is picking it up, and if you've got a dog you know you get used to it, once you've picked up the rest is easy; or so you'd think. Obviously not for these morons, and they're out there in huge numbers too, no, they choose to festoon trees with their bags of shite. Why! I don't understand. I'd be ashamed if I left a bag of poo, though they appear proud and want to display their ignorance for all to see. It's bad enough when you see their dirty protests in the local park, but out here in the forest it just seems weirder and worse. What the f*ck is wrong with these people?

Going nuts

The forest is going nuts at the moment. It's been a really good year for nuts all round, and the moment now belongs to the Sweet Chestnut (Castanea sativa). Recent winds have dislodged the cracked open spiky cases, littering the woodland floor around the trees with hundreds of fair sized nuts and empty cases. That's a thing I've noticed this year, 2015 and 2016's nutting seasons saw the chestnuts unfairly divided between a portion of very good sized nuts (30%) though with the bulk of the nuts being of a poor size or near hollow (70%), whereas, this season the nuts appear to be predominantly (70%) a more uniform size, a reasonable and still useful size. This situation isn't restricted to one site either, it appears to be the same wherever I've walked in the forest of late. If you wanted some sweet chestnuts now is the time to get out there, you'd collect your fill in no time at all.

Holmhill Cottage

If you look carefully around the forest you may spot incongruous features which could be clues to past activity or events. It's astounding what history hides from us in plain sight, only seen if we really look. It could be earthworks of some kind, hidden footings, boundaries, pieces of masonry or in this case non native plants. At Holmhill you'll see a plantation of non native Eucalyptus trees, and in the spring, clusters of daffodils, these mark the site of Holmhill Cottage. Holmhill had seen occupation from at least the 1600's and was described in 1670 as a place ''very much delightful for the feeding and harbouring of his Majesties deer'' (New Forest Notes by Anthony Pasmore), and a cottage stood here right up until the late 70's when the last occupant died and the buildings were demolished. The only physical remnant of the cottage is a significant piece of brickwork, possibly a chimney, about 100m down hill wedged in a drainage ditch.  When the cottage, stables and out buildings were gone the Forestry Commission ploughed the whole site and planted these Eucalyptus trees. So you're looking at what Eucalyptus trees growing in Britain look like after 40 years. Holmhill Cottage must have been a magnificent place to live back in the day, rudimentary maybe with no services and limited amenities, though set as it was in such splendid isolation, I'm sure you could overlook those. 

Ocknell Arch Oak

In the valley through which the head waters of Highland Water flow, the Ocknell Arch Oak towers above its surrounding neighbours. A majestic ancient Oak, the Ocknell Arch Oak is reaching the end of its leaf bearing days. For the most part it's naked, a few branches have the fading semblance of leafing twigs, but only a few. The last 10 years have seen it decline markedly, I wondered if it would leaf at all next year. Though even if they don't and no more leaves burst from its boughs, it will still have a presence in the forest for decades to come.

The sound of silence

The hushed woods were a paradox, they were so still today, so quiet, that you could hear everything.

Gills

Gills.

Saga Vols. 4 to 6

I've just binge read volumes 4 through 6 of Saga, and it just keeps getting better as the characters, universe and story grows and unfolds. Written masterfully by Brian K. Vaughan and illustrated beautifully by Fiona Staples, it far exceeds most of it's contemporaries in consistency and quality, and really is a graphic masterpiece. The story continues to engage and moves at just the right pace, not rushing the story, nor not getting bogged down. If you don't know the story. It's a story as old as stories get, boy and girl from different warring sides meet, one has horns the other wings, they fall in love and everybody's pissed off about it. Vaughan tells it in such an original and imaginative way, and Staples illustrates it sumptuously, every page is a visual feast of line and colour. It never fails to surprise, and often shocks. The universe Vaughan and Staples have created is complexed and colourful, a universe engaged in an ages old war, every star system and race enlisted, a universe where technology and magic blend seamlessly. When our main protagonists fall in love and have a child (Hazel), the entrenched sides see the offspring of their union as an abomination rather than a blessing. I'm tickled that the afore mentioned main protagonists bonded and built a relationship, a dream, over a pulp book by underrated writer Mister Heist; inspiration can come from anywhere. The characters have depth and originality, you just accept them, no matter how weird or outlandish. You accept that Prince Robot IV is essentially a human with a tv screen head, there's a cat that knows if you're lying and a spectral half bodied girl Izabel is a member of the family; it's a wonderfully rich universe populated by endlessly weird characters. These 3 volumes continue telling the story through Hazel's narration, of her recollections and perspective. There's separation, reunion and loss, there's sadness and humour, good helpings of humour both in the writing and the illustrations. There's soap opera shenanigans, drugs, bounty hunters looking for revenge, revolutionaries, deception, loyalty, sacrifice and a quest for healing monster jizz.  I can't go into any detail without giving spoilers. So, you're just going to have to read them yourself. And hey, you'd be mad not to, this is comics at their best.

Corfe

Corfe, the castle they couldn't take, one of the most formidable castles in the realm and one which was never taken nor slighted in battle. The romantic ruins set in the Purbeck hills you see today are the consequence of what happened after battle, not through it. The castle was held by the Royalists during the second Civil War to great effect, untouchable and unaffected by the Parliamentarian attacks and siege, the castle only fell through an act of betrayal. Afterwards the Parliamentarians set about ensuring the castle could never be used against them again, with mining and explosives, though still it remains defiantly.  Corfe has a fascinating history and is well worth a visit and read up.