Cotton Grass

Cotton Grass (Eriophorum angustifolium) is a common sight in the wetter parts of the forest, whether in vast swathes or smaller patches in isolated hollows, it's a nice plant to see when in flower. Well, that's not necessarily true, it's the pollinated seed heads which are white and fluffy, not the flowers which are quite plain green and brown. Still, it's a lovely plant to see. They're good too, acting as a natural warning. If you understand nature she'll often give clues as to the nature of her terrain and what to expect there...cotton grass means you're likely to get wet if you're not careful. Cheers Mother, I'll choose my path carefully.

Highland Water

Above Roman Bridge Highland Water flows between a lower wetland area and higher dry ground, here sections of the bank are unusually high, for forest standards anyway. These higher banks abutting the stream create a perfect environment for one of the forests more elusive inhabitants, the Kingfisher. I didn't see any sign today, though when you do, the slightest glimpse or flash of the Kingfishers electric blue plumage, set your heart racing and spirits flying, even the chance of a sighting adds excitement to a walk. 

Awen

There are a few quiet spots deep in the woods and away from the well used tracks which traditionally I've used as spots to chill, think or meditate. Places far enough removed from the noises of our modern human world for you to really hear the forest, well, apart from the occasional invasive plane flying overhead. As I've mentioned, although not formally trained (something I'm contemplating changing) I follow a Druidic spiritual path, and have done for over 2 decades. In recent years as our society has continued to take the wrong path, spiralling into a hate filled space for intolerance, racists, bigots and extremists, I've become mired in insecurities and fear, which as Yoda rightly predicted led me to anger, and I've increasingly sought rebalance and solace in my spiritual leanings. I've delved deeper, meditated more, and sought a path through the madness of now. To be honest I've stumbled many times (and continue to stumble), consumed with  anxiety and stalked by the black dog unleashed by insecurity and social marginalization born of government policy and media stigmatization.  Just to sit in these isolated natural places is a refreshing tonic, a blessed relief. In Druidism 'Awen' is the term given to the flow of inspiration, wherever than may originate from, it's used as a chant similarly to the eastern 'Om' in Druid ceremonies, or when meditating. Used to doing it during ritual, for many years I shied away from using it when meditating out alone, cowed by perceived social norms. Not so much now days.  Sat today in the shade of a young tree, by the side of a babbling brook, I slowly chanted the Awen, stretching the three syllables into one extended sound, I did three sets of three.  The sound fills your head and senses, resonating through you, and when you stop, man, it's magical, it's as if you've cleared all the clutter that stifles connection, and you hear the forest and all its life with new clarity. The forest is turned up to 11. You're really connected as we should be, as you're meant to be. Wonderful stuff, and so simple to achieve, a connection which only grows more profound the more you practice. You can feel the weights of modern life ebbing away, a taste of freedom in our increasingly claustrophobic world.

Tree Penis

Childish I know, or maybe it's just the way it had been positioned, but the first thing that came to mind when I came across this section of cut tree was a tree penis. It put me in mind of one of those broken pieces of classic period Greek or Roman statue you see in museums or on ancient archaeological sites.  Or it could just be that my mind is the product of 1970's British humour.  Be honest though, it does look like a tree with a penis, doesn't it.

Chicks

More Chicken of the Woods. It appears the forest is full of it this year, it must be a good season as I'm seeing it wherever I'm walking. One of today's finds was very fresh, and has yet to develop into the recognizable orange yellow spreading bracket of its mature form. Fungi is parasitic in nature and this Oak trunk had blobs of young Chicken of the Woods exploding all over it.  Young, it looks like this, blobby and wet, quite alien and strange, and not something that naturally shout 'eat me!' at you.

Remember to look up

They say chickens can't fly, though this beauty was way up on an gnarled and weather battered Oak hulk in Camel Green. Chicken of the woods (Laetiporus sulphureus) is surely one of the easiest to spot mushrooms in the forest, especially when young and their colours are so fresh and vibrant. I've seen it growing from the base of trees to way up in the crown, so when searching them out always remember to look up. Though as I said, they're so easy to spot you can usually see them from quite a way off. And you know, chickens can fly, they're just shit at it and so don't bother, true.

Seeds of time

''If you can look into the seeds of time, and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak, then, to me, who neither beg nor fear your favours nor your hate.'' Macbeth Act1 Scene iii

Pilot Officer Allen

Walking through Field Grove woods I was lost in an immersive dappled worldof dancing light and shadow, when I was stopped in my tracks by a pair of incongruous curved and manicured hedges. Very puzzling. I wasn't on a main path or anything, more an overgrown back water of a path, making the sight even more surprising. It turned out to be a memorial to Pilot Officer John Frederick Allen situated on the spot where his Spitfire crashed into a tree/the ground on the 29th November 1940. Even though it was wartime this wasn't a combat death, the spitfire flight he was with had been scrambled from nearby RAF Warmwell in the late morning and rapidly ascended to 25000 ft, out of the blue Pilot Officer Allen sent a garbled message before his planed dived vertically at speed into the ground. Because the plane was completely destroyed on impact, no mechanical fault could be ascertained, and it is suspected that he could have passed out from lack of oxygen, which was common. Sad stuff, man, war's a waste at the best of times, though somehow events like this seem even more of a waste, he was only 19. The memorial also has plaques to Pilot Officer Allen's parents, whose ashes were interred here too.

Dorset

Dorset used to be known as the forgotten county, as people tended to pass through it on their way to Devon and Cornwall, rather than see it as a destination in its own right. Man, they clearly had no idea what they were missing. Dorset is a fabulous county of such diversity, it really does have everything a walker could want, both coast and country. Today I was inland, just west of Blandford, starting off Okeford Hill (near the beacon) and headed into Blandford Forest, which crowns Shillingstone Hill and was still flush with Bluebells, following the ridge for a few miles until I descended into Hedge End, I headed up through the valley (a scary section of road walking) up to Turnworth before ascending the other side of the valley to Bell Hill and the ridgeway between Bulbarrow Hill and Okeford beacon, finally arriving back to my start point. 10.7 miles, all in the blistering sun, with little to no breeze, a wondrous view at every turn, through open wood and flora choked coppice, over ancient grassland and along the edge newly ploughed fields, up hill and down, and every step of it pure bliss.

May

The delicate beauty and intricacy of nature never ceases to create wonder. It doesn't matter how many times you see stuff in nature (Hawthorn blossom in this case), it's always magical as if you're seeing it again for the first time. Thanks nature.

Horse Shrine

It was years ago I first read Robert Holdstock's 'Mythago Wood', I've read it many times since and would honestly say it had, and continues to have, a powerful effect on how I experience the natural world, myth and legend. I know it's a work of fiction, though I found aspects of it resonate, and anyway, there's often truths to be found hidden in fiction. Reoccurring features throughout the books (there several books and short stories in the Mythago Wood series based on the mysterious Ryhope Wood), are the horse and horse shrines, the horse has always been a important and powerfully symbolic animal, important to human cultures all over the world, they have helped us so much, and in so many ways. From beasts of burden, wood and field labourers to revered, respected and feared war-machines, and everything in between. The horse has been our companion throughout our journey from way back when to now. The New Forest is famous, amongst other things, for its rugged ponies, 5000 of whom range free, living and dying almost wild as they have done for over 2000 years, and whose ancestors arrived here after the last ice age. As I say, they live and die wild in the forest, and I regularly find horse skulls and my mind wanders back into the mythological landscape of Mythago Wood. The horse shrines in the stories always feature skulls.

Quacky Racers

Ober Water, below Markway Bridge, was in the early tranche of forest streams restored under the wetland restoration program, 15 or so years later you wouldn't know (unless you knew, I have photos of the old stream taken in the mid 90's, now historical records) that the stream had once flowed 50 meters east. Now greatly narrowed it bursts with life and vigour, wetland has developed on its environs and diversity has exploded, that's not to say that the area wasn't rich in flora and fauna before remodeling, it was, that richness was augmented by the restoration of the wetland elements removed by Victorian forestry. As I walked I disturbed a family of ducklings, who took to their heels, grouped with mother and made off at haste, firstly along the stream, then off into the wetland where they knew most predators would be reluctant to follow. I'm enjoying watching the forest change as the effects of restoration beds in, I suppose I'm lucky to have frequently visited the forest throughout the last 50 years and to be able to have seen the before and after of longterm environmental projects.

Broad Bodied Chaser

If you pay attention when you're out and about you'll get an insight into the depth of life in the forest, even if you don't nature will often enlighten you anyway. I was wandering in daydream along the banks of Black Water when I was freaked out by something big and yellow flying directly in front of my face, I thought at first it was a Hornet, though ito my relief it turned out to be a Broad Bodied Chaser. The Broad Bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa) is a large dragonfly, a common inhabitant of the forest wetlands and streams, this one was a female, the males have blue abdomen. Isn't natures diversity and beauty a wonder.

Rhinefield Bridge

Rhinefield Bridge, where Black Water becomes Fletcher’s Brook.

Donkey Bottom Brook (profanity warning)

Donkey Bottom Brook is one of a couple of gravel bottomed streams flowing through Gus common. Beyond a single ford, you wouldn't know Donkey Bottom was there, it's so well hidden in dense flora, which grows right up to the banks. Anyway, the name Donkey Bottom put me in mind of an old Viz cartoon. If you're not familiar with Viz, Viz is a comic started in the early 80's as a very DIY grass roots affair which has, over the years, grown in to somewhat of a household name. Based on double entendres, brutal comic violence and course language, the early issues very much suited the mood of the times. Viz is still funny today, though less so and in a different way. I still think the visceral nature and directness of those early issues, stand out as original and unique pieces of social comment delivered with as much offence as could be, as well as so laugh out loud jokes. So, here's the cartoon that sprung to mind at Donkey Bottom. Enjoy.

Sunset

Ride a white swan?

Ride a white swan Bolan said in T.Rex's 1970 hit. Have you ever tried to? They really don't like it. Though I enjoy the music of T.Rex, I always thought Bolan was a a bit of a twat. Seriously though, you can watch swans gracefully gliding on a river for ages, it really quite relaxing. Did you know all the swans belong to the crown, and only the crown can eat them.

twilight blossom

30 years ago when we first started coming to Creepy Woods there was an already  neglected and overgrown walled orchard, many of the fruit trees had gone, though 4 apple trees survived. We cleared their part of the orchard, including stripping the trees of invading bramble, and for a few years we collected the fruits of our labours. Then the wheel turned, our visits became less frequent, and finally, again neglected, we ignored the the trees, abandoning them to their fate. Now, some years on, only one apple tree remains, I'd imagine that too is living it's twilight years. Fallen, with most of it's roots truncated or exposed, and slowly disappearing beneath the undergrowth, this solitary tree keeps on flowering. Respect.

Nea more

Some years ago the Primary School had a 'local history' week, and one of the days we took a year group down to Nea Meadows, a local nature reserve. There was an old guy waiting for us by some ancient trees, Lesley, I think his name was (if it wasn't, I apologize), he'd always lived in Highcliffe. Lesley had lived in one of the local large houses of which few still exist, many have been demolished and those that remain have been remodelled, though if you look you can find several of their gate houses. Lesley described the landscape he'd known as a child as open fields, bustling hedgerows and clumps of coppice and woodland, his eyes widened and watered as he reminisced on what was; he was clearly moved. It's striking the power and depth of emotion which reminiscing evokes. The crux of his talk was that now Nea Meadows was all that remained of that open landscape he knew, a landscape consumed by piecemeal housing development since the war.  The children asked questions, and lesley regaled them with tales, beautifully described.  As he walked off after his talk (in the direction of sunset, as it happened), I couldn't help think what a melancholic figure cut, and I suspected that in his heart and minds eye, he still walked in those boyhood fields and copses. Lesley always comes to mind when I pass through Nea Meadows, and I ponder on the changes I've seen locally.

Jurassic

Walking in the footsteps of dinosaurs today, the Jurassic Coast. Rugged and timeless, the Isle of Purbeck is a landscape of wonders. Not a long walk  though a walk taking in some stunning views, Chapmans Pool, Emmett's Hill, St Aldhelm's Head, a perfect day for it too.

Orchids

Orchids are cool.

Norden Wood

For me, May and Norden Wood are synonymous with a sea of Ramsons extending the length of the wood, their pungent scent filling the air and stimulating the senses, dappled light dancing across their clustered flowers as a breeze sways them, movement on the slopes above as deer move through the sea of green and white, the sun on your face and high up in the canopy a vast chorus sings sweetly; may it ever be so.

Ferny revealed

Hidden within the modern coniferous spread of Markway enclosure was Ferny Knapp enclosure, 1843. The harvesting of Markway's conifer wood is revealing what remains of the older enclosure. Now free again, Ferny Knapp has returned to a woodland island surrounded by wet heathland. A nice spot. The forest is always changing shape, putting on new faces and renewing itself. That's why it can sometimes be hard to recognize the places you visited as a child, things can change that much. 

Making way in Markway

Markway has nearly all been cleared of it's coniferous plantation, the trees having come of age, have been harvested block at a time over the last few years, now few remain. I think the long term strategy is to return this area to heathland, whether that's now or after another conifer cycle, I don't know. It looks like Silver Birch have planted in some areas or maybe just staked their claim naturally, what that says, again, I don't know. Time will tell. Though for now the landscape is churned, cluttered with debris, and the trackways are lined with piles of timber.  One change which is immediate are the views which have been opened up by the clearance. 

Tenacious tree

You have to be a tenacious tree to live by the sea.

Magical mendips

Well, it would be rude to be at Glastonbury and not visit the Mendips, it would be like visiting Glastonbury and not visiting Burns the Bakers...unheard of. And anyway, what better way after a lovely dawn ceremony to continue celebrate Beltane and spring than a walk in natures majesty. Cheddar Gorge has been cleared since last we visited of 'invasive' flora, opening up new views and a clearer look at the ruggedness of its limestone faces. Exhilarating walking, and it's only 0830!

Morris

The Morris have been a feature of Beltane up on the Tor for years now, 30 I think. The Cam Valley Morris have performed their dances to the old ways every time I've been here for Beltane. Sometimes their number is supplemented by members of other Morris, this morning there were a couple of folk from the White Horse Morris. I noted one of them had 'Hong Kong' on their sash, and I had to ask why. It turned out that the dancer had live in Hong Kong for many years and had been in a local Morris, she described herself as White Horse and Hong Kong Morris 'British Chapter'. It transpires that morris dancing is very popular in Hong Kong with the the local populous. Crazy, ay? I found that funny and sad. Funny, that a people from so distant a culture could love something so earthy British, and sad, that we don't love our traditions more, on the whole we support the establishment traditions that bind us (house of lords, fox hunting, monarchy, elitism, class, that sort of thing), while we neglect the traditions that bound us, that joined us to each other, our communities, the seasons and the nature, real things. I've long believed that our national outcry and hand wringing with regards to 'others' destroying our culture, is merely projected guilt at how we've turned away and neglected our cultural and cultural heritage, and when we see other communities holding on to their traditions our guilt really tweaks us as envy bites. Tht said, there were three Morris up on the Tor this morning, Cam Valley, White Horse and (newly formed, I think) Glastonbury Morris, all served as fitting entertainment for the occasion, continued tradition, as did a dispersed community gathering to celebrate nature and her seasons. Hope?

Beltane

It must be 28 or 29 years since I first made my way to Glastonbury Tor to celebrate Beltane, since when it's become a regular pilgrimage; other than two years I missed, one when I was unwell and the other foot and mouth, when the majority of the country was off limits. You never know what the weather Gods have in store for you at Beltane, I think over the years we've stood up on the Tor in most weather conditions, some good, and some not so. This morning was one of the former, in fact it was one of the best, bloody marvellous, it was. As I climbed the Tor a full moon still hung in the clear sky, a good omen I thought. About a 150 people gathered on the Tor, all sorts of people, from all over the place, a mixed of languages and accents, all here to welcome in the sun. Rollo, arch-druid of the Glastonbury Order was here to celebrate 30 years of the order, and their first Beltane on the Tor. Rollo's ceremonies were the first druid gatherings we attended, they always had a certain character and never failed to raise a smile, so I have happy to be here to celebrate with them. As is the way, there was an explanation of the day, some um's and er's, ceremony, communal chanting, some more um's and er's (druids love a bit of confusion), there was a song, a call and response poem, a hand fasting and more than anything, smiles. Three cheers to Beltane and the sun broke cover, to the sound of whooping, horns, drums, and this morning a Scottish piper, magical, it was a most splendid sunrise. As the sun rose higher various Morris danced before the sun, while the Green Man pointed the way forward. Fantastic. Beltane Blessings y'all, may the seeds you sow find fertile ground.