Stop!

That's it, it's snowing, everything has to stop. We must a never ending source of amusement and bemusement to the world. A country that obsesses about the weather, constantly talking about it, though when it comes it's still a surprise and we can't deal with it, being ill equipped and ill prepared. That's Britain over though, isn't it. A country that puffs it's chest and talks the talk, though there's nothing there to substantiate it, and when it comes to walking the walk, all we've got are excuses and a note from our Mum. Rule Britannia, and all that. 

Frozen

The early spring flowers may be popping up all over, but winter's not done yet. As you walked you could feel that ice has taken in the wet ground, the usually yielding surfaces of the seasons forest are solid, the ditches and pools have an icy crust. I like it when it's like this, it makes getting around the forest a lot easier, a lot firmer under foot. As I wend through the stands periodically light flurries of snow filled the air, only to disappear in the blink of an eye.  But the icy cold, that stays. It's clearly still winter. Though the wheel turns and with it the seasons, with March comes spring and promise. 

Carlton Melton @The Winchester Gate 25.2.18

It was just over two years ago that we'd seen American psyche-rockers Carlton Melton perform in Salisbury, and tonight they were back. Anticipation was high, as their performance in 2015 was an extraordinary evening, really, something else, and the opportunity to see them again had been a long time coming. Tonight they were playing at The Winchester Gate, a great little venue, no really, it is a little venue, though with great charm, atmosphere and low beams; Andy (Duvall, drummer/guitarist) came a cropper on one of them, gave himself a nasty knock. The Winchester Gate is one of those venues where the stage is barely higher than the floor, and being set in a small room, it makes for an intimate performance. Support was local psyche band Carpet, who may have only played one track, but it was a bloody long one, and good too.  Unfortunately being at the back I saw nought, though what I heard I enjoyed. After the support, as folk went off to the bar, we took the opportunity to secure a position front and centre. Of course, it was a good choice, allowing us to see the band working their magic at close quarters. And magic it certainly was; I suppose you could describe them as musical shaman. These three unassuming guys are accomplished masters of the deep psyche sound-scape and hypnotic drone, and there's more, their heavy psychedelic meditations are punctuated by tracks with solid rock riffs and rhythms; a fantastically complementary juxtaposition. Take their most recent release 'Mind Minerals', a beautiful album which from the opening track grabs your imagination, hypnotizes you, then four sides later you're back in the room, wondering where you were for the last hour and a half, but knowing you were all the better for it.  Don't take my word for it, buy it!  Anyway, I digress.  Interlude over, three guys with guitars take to the stage and immediately work on opening the portals to their somewhere out there musical dimension; Rich Millman (guitar/synth), Andy Duvall (guitar/drums) and Clint Golden (Bass). The scene set, we're off on our magical journey.  Andy is now behind the drums (he'll periodically move forward with his guitar again) and is bashing out some driving rhythms. Clint is doing what bass players often do, staying in the shadows, ensuring the rhythms are maintained and clean, an anchor in this reality, which he does with masterful understatement Whilst Rich plays sublime guitar, periodically twiddling knobs and pushing keys creating a synth canvas for his guitar to glide over. These guys are skilled professionals, but more importantly than that, you can see and feel the passion for their music in their performance. I know the venue was small, but still, their sound filled it to bursting, you weren't so much listening to the music as immersed in it. Standing directly in front of Rich I got to really appreciate his skill as a guitarist, as seemingly effortlessly he made his guitar make the most wonderful sounds. Andy too, moving with ease from guitar to drums and back again, looked blissed out (I suppose that could have been concussion, kidding!). They all looked like they were enjoying performing as much as we were enjoying the performance. I couldn't tell you the titles of the tracks they played, I'm rubbish like that, though be assured it was from start to finish solid gold, not a minute was filler, with each track receiving enthusiastic applause. As with all good things, all too soon it was over, safely returned to the room the audience was all smiles.  What a fantastic evening, and what lovely guys, no pretension, happy to chat with the audience, sign stuff and importantly for a band of their calibre and standing, prepared to play an out of the way tour date in a smaller venue. Kudos.  Thanks to Carlton Melton (and The Winchester Gate) for a memorable evening, I hope it's not so long before their return this time.  

Crystal clear

Nestled in a hollow, right next to the Ackling Dyke Roman Road (course of) is the Crystal clear pool of an emerging chalk spring. So beautiful, water so clear it's as if it's not there.  These chalk springs and the streams they feed are a feature of the Cranborne Chase landscape, and are always full of life. They always look so inviting, give your aching feet a refresh, though even on a hot summers day, coming from deep underground as they do, the springs and streams numb your toes in moments. Not that I'm trying that today. 

Tarrant Rushton

What a glorious day for walking, I was out trampling the paths and tracks around Tarrant Rushton this afternoon. All around are the signs that Spring's imminent, catkins, forming buds, green shoots, they're all appearing in abundance. In Sing Close Coppice the brick and concrete remains of the Nissen hut foundations of dispersed site 5 (probably an accommodation site) are islands in seas of Snowdrops. Snowdrops have really come into their own of late, most of the woodlands around here have swathes of them, and many of the wooded footpaths are lined in clean white flowers. There are signs of the next wave of flowers too, as the Bluebell shoots become increasingly numerous. Tarrant Rushton was a big wartime airfield, made noteworthy by being the airfield from which the six Horsa gliders that famously attacked Pegasus Bridge on the morning of DDay took off from, and the remains of its dispersed sites litter the woodlands and fields. As the years go by though, apart from a couple of the large hangers, the signs of Tarrant Rushton's aviation past fade as they're consumed by nature. Leave litter forms a purchase for flora and shrub on the low foundations, and year on year they get harder to spot, although the trackways between these sites often fare better, and their wartime heritage is easy to see. 

Crocus

Crocuses are a lovely sight in burgeoning spring, especially when they present themselves in numbers. Soon though the grassland of the chase will be flushed with yellow as the Primroses and especially the Cowslips bloom. Now, that really is something to behold, acre upon acre of flowers. Far out.

Slip sliding away

The cliffs at Hordle are moving so fast that you can almost hear them moving, in fact frequently you can actually hear and see them moving, as randomly a section of the upper gravels cascade towards the sea, like pennies falling from the 'push the penny' arcade game.  Whilst the cliff base bulges as the viscus layers of ancient marine clays slump into the waves under the weight above them. They've had to move the fence line back a few meters for a new path, as the path has disappeared in some sections. I reckon up to 1.5m to 2m has gone down in the last couple of years. I've seen whole archaeological features disappear in my time walking this path, just beyond this point only one of the many gun platforms which made up a gunnery school range remains in situ, and that only tentatively. The majority of the platforms a strewn across the cliff side or disappearing into the sea. A little way further again there was a line of World War 2 ATO's, Anti Tank Obstacles blocking Taddford Gap, a short valley which accesses the beach, have, all but for a couple displaced in the intertidal, gone. There's nothing to be done. Back a ways major coastal protection works have succumbed to natures desire for change, and even as they're replaced, you know it's an exercise in desperate Cnutism. You wont win again nature, and that's humanities biggest mistake, trying to flout nature rather than working with her. 

Beech Avenue

Originally there were over 730 beech trees in the Avenue created to flank the new toll road built in 1835 and leading towards Kingston Lacy House. Time and disease may have done for over a quarter of the trees, single missing trees or spaces created by two or more trees succumbing have left noticeable gaps, although the Avenue's remains an impressive feature in the landscape, a straight feature extending over two miles. I've mentioned before the layers of history in  Dorset's landscape cover most of human history, and today’s walk took in many of them. As I walked along the 19th century Beech Avenue I passed Bronze Age burials, Badbury Rings Iron Age hillfort, I crossed Roman Roads, and a forgotten Roman town I had the opportunity to dig on some years back, on past medieval farming landscapes and over Tarrant Rushton's taxiways which saw the Horsa Gliders take for the assault on Pegasus Bridge on the dawn of DDay.  I recommend Dorset if you want to walk through time.

More ''44''

I do like a nice piece of graffiti, and have a particular fondness for war period graffiti, especially American, so far from home, and all that.  I came a cross two examples today whilst walking one side of the Beech avenue which runs past Badbury Rings, one merely said 'USA' and then this one USA ''44''. If there's a date ascribed to American wartime graffiti I've come across it'll always be ''44''. The American army first arrived in 1942, though it was late 1943 into early 1944 that huge numbers massed in preparation for DDay.  Dorset having two embarkation harbours, one being Weymouth, where the Americans embarked for Omaha Beach saw huge numbers pass through in early 1944. Was the scribe in this case one of those who crashed on to 'Bloody Omaha', and did he survive the war? Did he return home with fond memories of the England he visited?

Uniformity

Uniformity

Swan song

Why do we still use overhead power lines? Why isn't all that shit buried, it's ugly and dangerous. A beautiful swan, a big bird too, done by an unseen power line down the lanes. Cycling the lanes recently I'd noticed a few groups of swans settled in fields, apparently they enjoy grazing in them.  You'd have thought with the rivers and harbour nearby, and the high numbers of waterfowl, migratory and otherwise in the area, that more lines would be marked with bird diverters. Or even better, put overheads underground, like the other utilities; pylons and expanses of wire appear so archaic.

Ivy, or not Ivy?

Ivy, or no Ivy? That is the question. Whether it is better to leave Ivy growing on a host tree or to cut it down. I had always thought that Ivy was harmful to the tree, though it turned out I was wrong; Ivy doesn't harm healthy trees, nor does it aid the tree, it just utilizes it, it does though support quite a number of wildlife species, making it a definite positive addition when growing on conifers. It can hide disease though, and overwhelm a weak crown leading it to topple, although a healthy crown should limit Ivy growth to a sustainable level. This one looks like it's holding the balance right, at the moment.  

John Ironmonger

You come across as manner of oddity whilst out wandering. There's a cutting through Ackling Dyke, the Roman road, at Harley Gap, and on one side, set into the Roman road's Agger, is a memorial stone to 'John Ironmonger 1919-1986'. I wonder why John has a memorial here? It's a rather cool spot. I don't know who John was, I don't know whether he was an ironmonger or not, but I know someone cared a lot about him, it's in beautiful spot for a memorial stone. Well placed on the top of Harley Down, a hill with good views across swathes of the chase, across it's history, and close to many of the areas most important prehistoric sites. There's continuity in it too, when you think about it, it's little different to the Chase's barrows in motivation, the permanent memorialising of a person at a significant place in a landscape significant to that person. It's well old school, really. 

I've done an internet search on John Ironmonger 1919-1986 and turned up absolutely nought, he shall remain a mystery, like Townley Shenton.

On the road...

On the road back in time. I though I'd explore a different aspect of Cranborne Chase on today's walk. I parked up between Gussage St Michael and Gussage All Saints and took 'Ackling Dyke' the Roman road the 4 or so miles to top of Wyke Down, where I sat a while on one of the prominent barrows and took in the full majesty of a landscape steeped in millennia of human activity. Well, it would be rude not to. But for an ever so slight kink just before you reach Harley Gap, the course of Ackling Dyke is, as you'd imagine, quite quite straight.  Build around the mid first century AD Ackling Dyke is your standard (ish) Roman road, it's constructed on a substantial Agger (embankment), about 15m wide at the base, with the road surface would be about 6m wide, and on either side would have been a broad drainage ditch. The section which runs for nearly 2 miles through the Drive Plantation is stunningly well preserved. The Agger shows few signs of degradation, the road surface still, for the most part, flat and the drainage ditch and low outer bank are clearly visible (on the woodland side, other side mainly ploughed out). Quite wonderful. The road would have given the local population a strong message, 'we are Rome, and this is all ours' type of thing. The road cuts through all manner of prehistoric features, features which although probably not visited any more, still held sway in the folklore and imaginations of the people.  Just like our colonial railways, the Roman roads weren't benevolent gifts to improve the lot of the locals, they were for communication, military and exploitation purposes. Ackling Dyke was certainly made to impress, and two thousand years on it still does. I really recommend this as a walk, I've not seen a better preserved length of Roman Road. 

Pelvic bones

As I took a short cut through one of the younger blocks of conifer mosaic on my way to Mogshade Hill, I stumbled across a greening pony skull. If you walk off the tracks and through the woods enough it's not uncommon to come across disarticulated bones around the forest.  About 6m from the skull were the 2 pelvic bones, again, not uncommon for the bones of fallen animal to be scattered. Though these bones were weird, these had definitely been purposefully positioned, I'm certain this isn't how they were left via natural process. There was symmetry in their placing.   On closer inspection, the needle litter in area encompassed by the positioned bones had been notably compressed, something had sat/been placed there for some time, and recently. I wonder what the motivation for these acts was. Of course, the positioning of the bones, and the episode compression may represent different events. You 'll often come across something out of the ordinary out in the forest. Still, what's it all about.  Riddle me that?

Mogshade Hill

I imagine the view eastwards over Lucas Castle and the wooded fingers of Highland Waters upper tributaries from Mogshade Hill hasn't changed much in centuries. For me it's a view which epitomizes what I imagine much of the forest looked like pre-forestry; wood fringed brooks, thicket clumps and open woods, set in swathes of open heath and mire. You know, thinking about it, some of these trees that crowd together on the eastern lip of the Mogshade probably remember those times.

Vernditch stands

Vernditch Chase beech stands, a naked army ready for action.

Wooded paths

Although often shown on maps as merely footpaths along the edges of fields, you find many paths about Cranborne Chase are much more.  Many of them are paths running through slithers of, a sort of, woodland, 6m to 8m wide, though in nature not so much woodland, the flora they contain make them more like hedgerows on steroids. During the summer months they afford you welcome shade in the more open and exposed parts of the Chase landscape. In windy weather the debris that frequently litters their floors brings the fear. Though whenever you walk them they've always a magical aspect to them, as if you're walking old lines. I'd imagine they're busy nocturnal highways too.

The 'terracotta' hedge defender

Not as grand in scale or in numbers as his Chinese namesake, still, Terry the 'terracotta' hedge defender stands proud. Terracotta is shown in quotation marks as the warrior, or more accurately a broken half a warrior, is not terracotta at all, rather cheesy fibreglass type stuff.  Terry's just another example of the weird stuff you find in the hedges and fields down the lanes. 

News-lite

A lot's being made of 'fake news' at the moment, and yeah, there's a lot of it about. Though fake news is usually easy to spot, it's created to push buttons and therefore it'll be so far up the chosen confirmation bias scale as to intuitively set the alarm bells ringing in rational folk. And of course there's the other use of the 'fake' label, truth labelled fake to discredit it, though that's less talked about. Whatever, it does what it's intended to do, muddy the waters. The thing is, we know it, so we can compensate. Something I find equally worrying, if not more so and just as problematic is 'news-lite', a story with some of the inconvenient truth removed. It's becoming common place, particularly when relating history, and it's the supposedly trustworthy media who are most frequently guilty of it.  A good example is today’s main story, '100 years since women get the vote', a great story, and obviously a step forward on the road to women's emancipation. But..., we were only given half the story, with the inconvenient aspects ignored.  Yes, women got the vote, but ah, only about a third of women were given the vote in 1918, and those women had to be over 30 and possess substantial property or wealth. So, the real story was, 'some' middle aged middle class (and above) women were given the vote. Okay, it was still a start. Though, why weren't we told that? Why weren't all women given the vote in 1918? Well, it was because the government/establishment of the time feared the power that women would have in light of the number of male voters who'd died during World War One.  Little has changed there then. Many of those denied the vote, the two thirds of women, were those who'd worked so hard in the dangerous and health destroying war industries invaluable to the war effort, though their effort and work was not to be rewarded.  Little has changed there then either. It would take a further 10 years for them to get the vote, and a further hundred to breach the bastions of the government/establishment, and that war is far from won. I answered my own question, why was the story edited, why weren't we given the whole story? Because really very little has changed. So, we'll spin the story. I listen to the media today, and but for a few occasions where the whole picture was alluded to, none of the reports honestly reflected what happened in 1918.  I can guarantee that the majority of people now believe that 'all' women were given the vote in 1918, which just isn't the case. Though to many it's now actual history, the beeb said so. History can be dangerous, especially when it differs from the historical narrative on which an establishment has built a nations psyche. Man, this is just one historical event to be presented to the masses, doctored. Dunkirk, Churchill, the Empire and our colonial past, to cite a tiny few, have all been edited to the benefit of the establishments 'benevolent, heroic Britain' narrative. Isn't not telling the whole truth, just more damaging fake news? 

Slufters

It's easy to see the forest as permanent, an unchanging landscape preserved in aspic. And, yeah, there are parts of the forest which are ancient and unchanged, though there are also parts of the forest which are used as they were for centuries, for the production of timber. Not so much these days for the deciduous hardwood of the majestic Oak and Beech, but for the quicker growing cash crop coniferous trees. Slufters was originally enclosed and planted in 1862, though the Oaks first planned have long gone (accept for those which flank the brook which runs through Slufters Bottom), to be replaced in more recent times by conifers which themselves are now being harvested. I'm not uncertain what will replace them this time, though I think the enclosure might be being returned to open heath. It's easy to forget that a fair proportion of the New Forest is in reality treeless exposed open heath with wetland heath and mire filled hollows; and would have been even more so in years gone by.

Did they get you to trade?

Hot ashes for trees.

Snowdrop

Those heralds of spring, their heads bowed to the new sun, the dainty Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis) are now out in abundance. In plant folklore the Snowdrop, being one of the first blooms after the dark barren months symbolizes hope, and assures us that nature hasn't abandoned us. Which is good.

Cursus's end

The Dorset Cursus would have been a magnificent monument and expansive feature in the Neolithic landscape. Comprising of two joined sections, the Cursus is a linear feature of two parallel banks and ditches running for 10 km north east/south west across the undulating north Dorset landscape. For the most part nothing of this vast monument remains visible above ground. Though some of the associated features still remain visible. The earliest of these features are the Long Barrows, the focus of collect burial, these monuments pre-date or are contemporary with the Cursus, with one being incorporated in the bank. At the north eastern terminus of the Cursus are several Long Barrows, a couple of which are tree crowned, and when approached from the right direction create a striking silhouette on the rise. I love walking these archaeologically rich landscapes, and they don't come much richer than Cranborne; although the Cursus and Long Barrows are Neolithic, all the ages are represented. Bronze Age Barrows, earthworks and enclosures, Iron Age settlements and earthworks, a Roman road, right up to the mid 20th century military firing ranges, and evidence of the hunting and farming practices in-between. Fantastic. I really feel I'm walking in footsteps of the ancestors, in their landscapes, their monuments and activities come to life in my minds eye.

Return to Cranborne

It's been a few months since I walked over Cranborne way, and I couldn't have chosen a better day for my return.  Weather wise, it was my favourite type of winters day; the sky was clear, but for well spaced blobs of candy-floss cloud, which allowed the sun to show off it's growing strength, and the air was suitably chill, chill to the point where you could really feel it going down. Lovely. I approached Martin Down from the hamlet of Martin, I love the view or the chalk grassland as it rises up from this direction. Reaching the top of Martin Down's rough grassland, I could see the world of the Chase laid out before me, it's a splendid tapestry of mixed farmland with broad hedge lines, chalk downland and pockets of woodland. And it feels timeless. Criss crossed with rights of way, it's a landscape of boundless walking opportunities, and always the possibility of the surprising. 

Imbolc

The wheel turns and now with Imbolc upon us the promise of new life is manifest in the shoots of spring just poking their heads through last autumns fall. This is just the beginning. It wont be long before these Ramson shoots cover the woodland floor, and then fill the stands with their garlic scent. This is a time of preparation and readying. A time spiritually and emotionally to clear the decks of those unwanted and unhelpful things in our life; the negative attitudes, the doubts and self constructed barriers to fulfilling our dreams, or at least striving for them.  A time to clear the home of clutter, easier said than done for a hoarder like myself, who as is the way of hoarders, really believes that I'll find a use for the draws, boxes and jars of things I know I should have thrown away. Tidy house, tidy mind, yeah right. And in our garden and/or allotment, a time for clearing the ground ready to receive the seeds of future harvests. It's a lovely time of year, a time of unbound potential and possibility. A blessed Imbolc to y'all, enjoy.