Martin Down

The Chase (Cranborne Chase) is a versatile landscape, a mosaic of woodland, grassland  and farmland, mostly arable, though some grazing. Today we were roaming Martin Down, an extensive tract of chalk grassland. This landscape has been favoured by our ancestors for thousands of years; they've hunted it, farmed it, occupied it and ritualized it, their works litter the land, layer over layer of rich history.  The photo is taken from a robbed out Bronze Age Round Barrow, whether robbed by 'archaeologists' in antiquity or by treasure hunters, I don't know off hand, although the scar left by their endeavours is clearly visible. Lovely day for walking, I was glad to have got out early, mind, as it was really warming up by late morning.  

Bracken

With the bracken at it's zenith the forest is finally fully transformed. Gone are the wide vistas through the stands, those long lines of sight, the openness. The forest has now closed in on herself, creating myriad hidden spaces, for the most part you can't see more than a few meters around of you, and even in the woods you know well, it's easy to loose track.  The woods are different place when they're like this, full of secret places and magical spaces. Love it.

Camel Green morning

Loving these earlier morning walks we've been doing to exercise Geoff, though avoid him getting to hot. The woodland at this time of day is already so alive, crackling with the anticipation of a new day. Sets your day nicely.

Highland Water

To my mind, the stretch of Highland Water which runs through Great Huntley Bank, Brinken Wood and Camel Green represents some of the best stream walking in the forest. This section of forest stream is about a mile and a half long, a mix of high cut banks where the Kingfisher can be seen fishing and low bank floodplain where the deer and ponies graze, along the banks gnarly exposed roots keep a tight grip as the trees come down to drink, sometimes they're careless and topple across the stream, and throughout, frequent gravel beaches appear and disappear as the flow  decrees.  It feels wonderfully natural as it meanders wildly through a geography partly of its own creation. And, although much of the Camel Green section was restored in recent years, it too feels natural. I suppose that's because it has been restored to it's natural course. Highland water has run through the landscape for,....I don't know how many years, for ever (relatively of course)?  Throughout the streams environs are the meander scars and withered oxbows created over the centuries of subtle course change which have shaped this river corridor. It's a lovely bit of stream, especially in the dappled light of the stands. That's what really sets it off, the predominantly deciduous ancient woodland through which Highland Water runs, open woodland with occasional clearings created by tree falls, mostly of oak and beech, although with diverse shrub and ground flora communities.  It's a rich environment, perfect for immersive walking. Love it.

Poppy

Currently, bright red swathes of poppy flowers are common in the fields.

Badbury orchids

It wasn't just a wonderful sunrise which was on show at Badbury Rings this morning, the ramparts were thronged with orchids. Man, there were just so many of them, it was a wonder. Not just in numbers either, on the cursory observations of an untrained eye, I saw five different types. From top down: Common spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii), Butterfly Orchid (Platanthera chlorantha), Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera), Common Twayblade Orchid (Neottia ovata), Pyramidal Orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis). How bloody marvellous is that!  Proportionally the Common Spotted was indeed the most common, then a ways off was the Pyramidal, then way way down in numbers was the Butterfly, with only a handful of Bee and Twayblade; as I said though, I only made a cursory observation, being blown away by the spectacle of it all.

Badbury solstice

I'd pondered over the last few days as to where to watch the sunrise this summer solstice. I wanted to take Geoff for his first sunrise, and I fancied going for a dawn walk too; so didn't fancy the palaver of a site with lots of people where Geoff would certainly get too excited, nor any site that may restrict exploration or necessitate driving too far. Badbury Rings came to mind as the perfect choice, in a perfect wandering landscape, and that it was.  The sky was lightening quickly as we made our way up a drove towards the deep ditches and huge ramparts of Badbury's Iron Age defences, as we were serenaded all the way by an very vocal pre-dawn chorus. Geoff was loving the early morning country smells, I knew he would. Just being out here this early in the morning, the day yet properly birthed, is a magical experience in itself, prompting that perennial thought 'I should do this more often'.  Of course, the chances are the next time I'll be up this early and thinking this thought wont be until lughnasadh. Still, the intentions there. Reaching the ramparts I could see a scattering of like minded folk had already taken their positions, we exchanged solstice blessings as we passed, before finding a suitable spot and waiting in meditative peace for Bel. Mists hanging in the pre-dawn Allen Valley only added to the magic of the moment, as slowly an orange hue developed on the horizon, then on cue Bel showed his face. It was beautiful, man, a perfect sunrise, and I felt my spirit lift; if there's one thing we all need, it's to have our spirits lifted and our life affirmed more often.  It's quite a thing to see the sun come up, you don't imagine it would rise so quickly, though it really does. Before long the hillfort and its surrounding landscape were bathed in glorious golden sun light, the longest day was here, and it shone brightly, casting long shadows through the hillfort's tree filled interior. Walking around the rings we enjoyed a continuous panorama over the patchwork landscape of rural Dorset, with the Chase to the north and the Purbeck coast to the South, and it all shimmered with life. Our world is a wonder. Solstice blessing y'all beautiful people.

Sunset up Gus

I've neglected the sunsets of late, too busy languishing in a treacly malaise or running in my hamster wheel shaking my fist and grumbling at the world. A situation that required rectifying. The sky looked like it had potential this evening, so off I rode towards Gus (by coincidence, another uncomfortable, eyes always upon you type of place like the Common). Unfortunately the sky didn't develop as I thought it might, wrong spacial proportions, all the right pieces in play, they just didn't meld.  That said, it was a pleasant sundown, some lovely colours,  and still worthwhile getting out for, after all, every sunset is unique.   

June's Moon

I said the common was a magical place, and it is, although it's also a very eerie strange place too, and I understand that's a commonly held feeling by people who've walk here. I walk a lot and only a handful of places fill me with the uncomfortable feelings that the common can. It often has an subtle air of foreboding about it, hidden away in the background, just out of sight. There's the feeling of eyes always upon you, and the frequent need to look behind you is overwhelming, unlike anywhere I've ever been. Most people who know the common would say the same.  Weird, it's ostensibly a lovely tract of common land, that's well trodden and much loved, though there's always something that stimulates your alertness, often taking you to the edge of flight or fight it can manifest so intensely. So with that in mind, you can imagine what the common feels like at night, yup, it's a proper scary place. That's where I went tonight to take another poor full moon photo, and it was proper scary. June's full Moon.

A sense of place

I've mentioned before how lucky I feel living where we do, blessed to be next to the New Forest, an hour west to the Jurassic Coast and an hour north to Cranborne Chase, all enchanted and magical landscapes. Though last weeks OBOD 'Tea with a Druid no77' on the magic of local places reminded me of how blessed I am with what's on my doorstep in the shape of 'The Common', a local expanse of common land. Well, not just the common itself, although that is the largest tract, but all the smaller pockets of woodland scattered throughout the neighbourhood, which allow us, if we're canny, to move about through a semi rural landscape doing our regular tasks. Always with one foot in and an eye on the nature world. The common is a fascinating tract of land, with an incredible diversity in form and habitats, coniferous woodland, deciduous woodland, heathland and grassland are all represented as are virtually all the trees, and a huge range of flora and fauna too. You can see old boundary ditches crossing it indicating past domestications, though improved land now long neglected. There's plenty of history you can't see too, I've learned that from local elders, of what it was like 70-80 years ago when Highcliffe was still 'The Village', of troops billeted here just before D-Day, of post war prefabs and an baseball field left by the soldiers, of picking shrapnel from a German bomb out of an old oak in the 50's, or of the fondly remembered play park of the 60's-70's now long gone. Those stories are the history of the common land, told by the common people, too often overlooked in history. All those things now disappeared under nature's recolonization. We walk here most days, to some extent or another, I see the seasons change in the common's face, over the last 20 years I've seen the common change too, more trees, less heathland and grassland. I'm not complaining we need more trees. And as you can imagine, it's a packed store of natural resources; a wide range of seasonally available resources which I frequently avail myself of. It's really quite wondrous place, natures magic right on my doorstep. 

Fuligo septica

 

 Yellow Slime Mould (Fuligo septica)

Wet summer woods

Were there such a thing as a 'greenometer', it would surely explode if turned on in the forest at the moment. The rains have the streams up, seasonal channels flowing and the ground sodden, they've brought a unusual green glow to the stands too, there's an iridescent verdancy saturating everything. It's like spring on steroids rather than summer, though the flora tells you it is in fact summer. It's an otherworldly woodland at the moment, Elfin-esque, an unreal seasonal mix, and quite magical for it. The forest drinks deeply...its been a long time coming. 

Sunken Sentinel

Sunken Sentinel on a stormy shore.

Bough down

I know unseasonal weather has always been a thing, it's a regular retort from the climate crisis naysayers, though it's different today, our intervention in the last 250 years is a dangerous variable. One of the aspects of change I've noticed most over the last two decades is the increasing wind speeds we get throughout the year. It's one thing strong winds through the winter months when the trees are bare, though through the summer months when the canopies are full is another thing altogether, a frequently destructive thing. Combine that with a noticeable increase of extremes, see-sawing from saturated to desiccated, weakening many trees tenure, stressing them and making them vulnerable. After yesterdays winds (which weren't really that strong), there was damage to be seen, only a couple of trees over (that I saw), though plenty of bough damage. Here, on the edge of Brinken Wood, a huge Oak had lost a mighty bough. Well, more than just a bough, it represented about a quarter of the tree's canopy. Bummer.

Storm clouds threaten.

I do love the clouds, no matter threatening, they are a wonder.

Burley Old again.

I was forest bathing (the Japanese art of shinrin-yoku), in Burley Old again today, well, why wouldn't you? They say it originates in Japan, and maybe recognizing its benefits and creating an associated philosophy did, although really it's just coming home, accepting that we have always had a connection with the natural world, we are part of it, and it's our disconnection from it that lies at the heart of much of societal malaise. Up until a couple of hundred years ago, time with nature wouldn't be something that had to be sought out, it would have been our lives. The turning wheel of the year and seasonal changes, these would have been the only clocks and calenders we required, 'a time for everything and a season for every activity' as put in Ecclesiastes 3. I know that's an Old Testament reference, and me a pagan too, although as with much Christian doctrine, on inspection its roots lie in pre-Christian beliefs, so strong, so undeniable, that they and several of the pagan figures had to be incorporated. It's a shame that Abrahamic religious paths, with their dominion over nature nonsense, lead people away from natural connection in many respects. One of humanities Achilles heels is to see itself as separate to nature, or worse, much worse, above or even better than the natural world. For me, even as a child unable to express philosophical ideas, I loved being immersed in nature, I felt at home, connected to it, a love that has never waned, and a love that I feel reciprocated every day.

Great Huntley Oak

Great Huntley Oak

Flow

It hasn't taken much rain to have the forest streams flowing again. Only a week ago I was thinking how low Highland Water was, it was more bare gravel beds than stream, you could cross it at will for the most part.  Today it was flowing well again, and all of those easy crossings were gone, back to slippery fallen trunks or leaps of faith.

Remembering history

Maybe it was the same when I was a kid, though I really don't remember it being so, that remembering D-Day was such a politicized event. The act of remembering almost overshadowed by the rhetoric and jingoism of today’s political agendas, politicians and media commentators falling over themselves to lord the sacrifice of the Second World War generation, whilst conspiring to systematically dismantle and sell their legacy to the highest bidder. I despise it, it's an ugly spectacle. Even more so in our current political climate as we, and many more countries, flirt with the ideology that this wartime generation fought and died to thwart. I have deep respect for the elders of that generation, indeed my father was one of them (Burma), but little time for remembrance in its current weaponized form. Still, the gravity of the days history is not lost on me and I sought to recognize it, and them, through some ephemeral monuments left in the forest. The forest was heavily utilized throughout the war, and especially during the build up to D-Day, as a consequence over the years I've come across many examples of World War Two graffiti, with the majority of it being American graffiti...testament to the D-Day build up in the area. In Burley Old enclosure there are a cluster of pieces, there used to be more of them, although in recent years a couple have succumbed to time and the elements, whilst others I remember disappeared before I started to record them. I have no idea what units they represent nor how long they hung about, although one tree has 714th carved in it, and that was a American Tank Battalion... and parts of the enclosure show historic mauling by tracked vehicles. Anyway, that's all supposition. Today I visited a few of the remaining pieces to say hello and pay my respects, and one example in particular, carved in a veteran Beech beside a broad shallow ditched forestry track, it reads 'O.K.Reel, 1944, OC'. I've passed O.K.Reel frequently over the last 30 years and often wondered how he fared. I like to think Reel survived the war and went on to have a long a fulfilling life, maybe he's still going, I hope so. War looks shit.

Foxy

Beautiful Foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea), reign throughout Brinken Wood, Camel Green and Great Huntley Bank, their wonderful purple flowers like amethyst jewels when caught by the sun, punctuate the verdant greens of the stands. They're putting on quite a show this year.

Meadow

The front lawn has never been up to much, I think it's been neglected for years, and since we've lived here all I've done is keep it tidy so not to annoy the neighbours. Lawn has always appeared a bit of a waste to me, the sterility of  it is not for me. I'm usually quite lax with mowing anyway, but this year I decided to expand on that, and I haven't bothered cutting the lawn yet this year, and it turns out it wasn't really a lawn after all, it's a meadow of flowers with only occasional intermittent grasses.  I don't know what the neighbours think, but the insects appear to love it...which is nice to see.

The dump

I've seen Christchurch grow and change over the years, in some respects beyond recognition as time and unrestrained urban sprawl marches on relentlessly. Often the changes feel negative, as if something is being lost, which is usually true as pockets of nature are nibbled, bitten off and consumed. This afternoon I cycled into town, along the coast, past Mudeford Quay and over Stanpit. When I was a child Stanpit was the site of the dump, an open council rubbish tip. I remember grubbing about amongst the rubbish like 'Stig of the dump', finding all manner of curiosities, well, it was the 70's. Years later the whole site was buried and landscaped, and subsequently turned into a 9 hole golf course. That golf course has now gone, and the landscape turned into a wildlife area, only in it's infancy the area has massive potential and is a fantastic addition the natural character of the harbour. From the former golf course's raised position you've got great views over the reed flanked rivers of the Stour and Avon, across the marshes, and over the tidal harbour to Hengistbury Head, and all around you nature has already begun to exert dominion, reclaiming what's rightfully hers. This is a positive change I can happily embrace.