And breath

Our walk through the forest was undertaken at a fair pace; we completed 5.3 miles in 79 minutes; not bad eh. We took the all weather forestry track from Wood's Corner through the broad leaf and conifer mosaic of South and North Oakley enclosures, which finishes 4 miles later atop Mogshade Hill; although we only made it as far as Smokey Hole before turning back on ourselves. But for the chatter of birds high in the canopy the forest was all very quiet and still; walking was proper meditation this morning. A reliable walking surface allowed me to work on my breathing; practising what I'd describe as my version of box breathing on the flat, breathing through my nose, inhale 3, hold 2, exhale 3, hold 2 (more like rectangle breathing), and inhaling through my nose and out through pursed lips on the climbs; all the time trying to maintain a calm relaxed posture whilst sustaining reasonable cadence. I found myself a good rhythm; legs and breath working in harmony. A good walk.

Ice wings

 

The puddles which pock the tracks that cross Bratley Plain looked as if dozens of pairs of huge insect wings had been discarded in them. Cool.

Broken

The broken disarticulated parts of a storm damaged beech lay jumbled and heaped around it's trunk in South Oakley; this ancient beech, I'd suggest easily old enough to pre-date the enclosure of this land in 1853, has succumbed to the ferocity of the elements. I notice from the perspective of the photo that it's hard to gauge scale, giving the tree the impression of appearing much smaller than it is; that horizontal branch is actually about 2.5m or so from the ground. I wonder if she'll struggle on? Many do; I know it's been well and truly slighted, but several smaller lower branches, like the horizontal one, remain unharmed and viable; I've seen trees come back from worse.

Foulford Bottom

Foulford Bottom, not the most inviting of names, though from Picket Post what a smashing view down through and out over the western most edge of the forest; a view over the fertile Avon Valley and into Dorset beyond. Picket Plain is the gateway to the high ground which divides the forest; a high ground of connected open plains (Picket, Ridley, Handy Cross, Backley, Bratley, Broomy, Ocknell, Janesmoor, Stoney Cross), edges riven with damp shallow valleys, and ringed by large tracts of ancient and enclosed woodland.  It's lovely walking up here on a fine day like today, with expansive views in all directions; although it's an exposed and unforgiving landscape in poor conditions. 

Gorse

Due to the overlapping cycles of Common Gorse (Ulex europaeus), Dwarf Gorse (Ulex minor) and Western Gorse (Ulex gallii) there's not one day a year that gorse isn't in flower somewhere in the forest.

Roe

 Roe Enclosure

Hardwood extraction

Hardwood extraction and thinning in South Oakley enclosure (1853); the nearly 170 year old beech and oak trees are cropped, trimmed, graded, stacked or laid out. Really a large part of the New Forest is a tree farm, and has been for hundreds of years (that's what the enclosures are all about); South Oakley here was created on a landscape of open heath and scattered clumps of ancient unenclosed woodland, the remnants of which are represented by scattered ancient pollarded trees; pollarding was banned 1698 to ensure timber for the Navy; admiralty arrows are the most common mark/graffiti found on forest trees. I like the foresight of planting a crop not to be harvested for generations; that's belief in humanities persistence that is. 

Blackensford Brook

 

At this point Blackensford Brook is little over a mile in length, still in it's infancy as it flows through North Oakley, it'll shortly be joined by Bratley Water and soon after that become Black Water. Away from easy access people are sparse, I'd say that this is one of the quietest part of the forest, you'll rarely see folk beyond the gravelled track; diverge from that and you have the stands to yourself. A lovely place to spend some time. I thought another black and white take on the forest this morning would be apt; the colour's already been drained from a naked landscape; the light's been consistently flat favouring black and white; and the overall palette of our times is definitely on the grey scale. 

Rowbarrow pond

Reflections at Rowbarrow.

For trees?

 .....for trees?

Red Kite?

 

Three birds of prey circled each other as they glid smoothly around the contours of the hillside; I think they were Red Kites (Milvus milvus). Red Kites were once a persecuted species seen as vermin, by the end of the 18th century their numbers  were reduced to a few pairs in Wales. Thankfully years of successful reintroduction programs have seen their numbers soar to 1800 breeding pairs, still mostly in Wales, through present in increasing numbers in parts of England and Scotland too. Beautiful birds, and wonderful spectacle to observe.

Broad hedge or narrow wood

I can't make my mind up as to whether these represent broad hedges or narrow woods? You'll come across a lot of footpaths like this, shown as open paths on OS maps, although upon visiting you'll find a path running through a couple/few meter wide band of shrub and tree. I'm not complaining or ought, they're handy for crossing this exposed landscape under a relentless summer sun, particularly with your hound in mind when the more shaded walking the better. We took this example this morning; a branch off the Ackling Dyke which crosses the Ox Drove before descending through Church Bottom into Broad Chalke and the Ebble Valley about 2 miles or so. A lovely route.

Burley Old

 Broken, naked, and exposed; Burley Old, a winter portrait.

Wolf Moon

The Wolf Moon, the first full Moon of the new cycle, and what a doozy; a radiant Moon high in a crisp clear sky, with not even the gentlest of breeze, perfect conditions for a fire. I've always found, no matter the reason, sitting round a fire such a natural act, a real human act the transcends time or place, and one of a suit of activities which connect us to the ancestors; people have sat/gathered around a fire since people mk1. Fires have always been an thing in our social group too, frequent happenings, and it was rare to spend time by a fire alone; I tried to remember the last time I sat with others round the fire; I couldn't; nor could I remember a lot of other 'last times' I.......whatever. That led to musing an uncomfortable thought I'd had bubbling; I've had a plan throughout the pandemic, a strategy, although, I haven't a cogent exit strategy. And why would I? You have virologists saying we're entering a period of a few years when covid'll be endemic, a media narrative of getting on with it...living with covid, and the government's suggestion it could soon relax restrictions; Whilst at the same time, my wife's being invited to have a forth jab and the government's behavioural advice to the clinically vulnerable remains unchanged; think Jonah Hill in 'Take him to the Greek' gif.  I'm getting the feeling like the helicopter's leaving the embassy and some of us are going to be left behind.

Cranborne

The Ebble Valley looking eastwards from Marleycombe Hill; we'd just climbed the steep track up from Bowerchalke, and watched a silent bird of prey gracefully glide around the contours of the hillside. I don't think we've roamed these ways since summer or even earlier last year; it was capital to be back tramping Cranborne's ancient tracks, and we couldn't have wanted a better morning for it. Today's sky was pale blue, cloudless and near still; early on it was very cold mind, especially on the exposed hilltops, though you soon warmed up as we and the day got moving. A section of our route took us through the Ebble Valley, following the river between the hamlets of Broad Chalke and Bowerchalke; both lovely villages, I particularly enjoy the architecture of the older buildings, some looking unchanged in centuries, others tapestries of change, all enchanting. 

Murd

Geoff's indignant expression may be on account of me having just called him a wanker.....jokingly! And he is. I don't think he could've found a muddier puddle, nor one whose mud was of such a black silty consistency, perfect for infiltrating a retriever's hairy coat. Of course, he was happy as Larry; not so much though when we reached Dockens Water and we had to go through the dance of washing the mud of his face...he's not a fan, nor I, we both always end up wet.  

Broomy

This morning's walk began under a heavy grey sky, though as we progressed the clouds slowly broke releasing a radiant sun whose light probed the woodland and raked the open heath; the sun cast beams as seen through the lingering woodland mists which hung amongst the stands of Broomy enclosure made for quite the magical walk; and had any mythago wandered in to view, it would not have appeared out of place.

Orange sunset over Christchurch harbour

Orange sunset over Christchurch harbour.

A perfect end to the day.

Poole Harbour

Poole Harbour; at 14 square miles, said to be the second biggest nature harbour in the world after Sydney Harbour.

Studland

We returned to Studland this morning, this time for a more pedestrian roam that yesterday's 9.2 mile speed march from Shell Bay over Ballard Down and back; exhilarating as that was. I love this sandy peninsular, it's deeply layered in memories for me; I remember summer days here as a child, I've walked it's beaches and dunes countless times over the years, had my first psilocybin experience amongst it's dunes, slept in it's dunes, spent years meticulously recording the areas unique Second World War archaeology, and most memorably, the endless happy hours on adventures with my kids. It's beyond a doubt one of our regions most precious gems; you know, it blows me away when I mention Studland or Purbeck to local people, or at least people who've lived here for years, and they either don't know either or have heard of them though never/rarely visit! Today was a perfect winter walk.

The Pinnacles and Old Harry

 

Ballard Down and the eastern end of the Purbeck Ridge, and the furthest point eastwards of the Jurassic Coast, are famous for the bright white chalk stacks and arches of the Pinnacles and Old Harry rocks.

Frame Wood

 

Frame Wood; old unenclosed New Forest.

Wet today

Man, it's bloody wet out in the forest at the moment. To clumsily paraphrase Ripping Yarn's Eric Olthwaite, 'forest's wet today, Mother, even the dry bits are wet'. Avon Water must be in the running for the most extensively restored stream in the forest; from the A35 to the base of Boundway Hill, the stream has been returned to it's pre-Victorian course; and the slowing of the flow has had the desired effect, water is being held back in the forest longer, subsequently the woodland which fringes Avon Water are becoming increasingly waterlogged, to the point of becoming seasonally impassable...especially after a period of rain. It's at times like these that I'm reminded what a forbidding landscape the New Forest must have been to the traveller in the past.

People Under The Stairs ''O.S.T.''

Now, I'm by no means a 'hippity hop' aficionado, but I know what I like, and from the first time I heard People Under The Stairs I was immediately taken by the quality of Thes One and Double K's work. So when I heard there'd been a repressing of People Under The Stairs' 2002 release ''O.S.T.'' available, I had to snap a copy up. The album arrived this morning and moments later disk one was spinning; compared to mp3 the vinyl is a whole different listening experience, man, a far richer and more textured listen. Ostensibly a traditional straight up hip hop album, it's apparent simplicity belies the genius and beauty of it's meticulous crafting, keeping the sound of O.S.T simultaneously classic and fresh; employing the best samples, all masterfully woven, deepest laid back grooves, and the finest old skool breaks and beats, ''O.S.T.'' is just so good. I thoroughly recommend this enjoyable album; an album that's impossible not to move to; hip hop at it's most organic and purest. Perfect!

All that glitters

All that glitters isn't necessarily gold, no, sometimes it's just shite left behind by morons! I mean what the f*ck, man! I never fail to be bewildered by people's proclivity for the illogical; in this case that 'they' can carry the full, and therefore heavier, cans out, though find it impossible to carry the lighter crushable empty cans home; or more pertinently, that 'they' must, I imagine, choose these spots for their unspoilt beauty, and then effectively do a big shit on them by leaving their crap behind when 'they' leave; you find this weird behaviour replicated at so many of our beauty spots. So lazy, such ignorance; it's all about 'them'. I mean what the f*ck, man!

1837

1837, that's an old piece of graffiti. I like the way the carving's expanded as the tree's grown, with the one probably being close to it's original size and the subsequent numbers being increasingly stretched, leaving the seven considerably enlarged. Nice.

Rowbarrow

You'd be mistaken if you though the new Forest was a 218 square mile block homogeneous woodland and open heath, far from it; although broadly the floral matrix of the New Forest is uniform, I mean you'll see the same mix of trees and plants throughout, though each region of the forest appears to have a unique feel to it, each a certain individual je ne sais quoi. Rowbarrow here should be like any other New Forest open deciduous woodland, and ostensibly through many metrics it is, but at the same time it's not, it has 'it's' something that marks it out; I'm not making sense, I can't find the right words to articulate what I mean.  Must try harder. Anyway, I'm enjoying reacquainting myself with this beautiful tract of forest.

Oooh, it's nippy out.

Oooh, it was nippy out in the forest this morning, a proper frost covered all exposed surfaces; it's good to see Jack active amongst the stands. That said, the weather of late has been a proper roller-coaster, cold followed by the warmest New Year on record, followed by an icy snap; it's not right, whatever happened to seasonal predictability and consistency. Forest winters are always best when they're cold.

Worts gutter

They're replacing the road bridge on the A35 at Holmesley, as a consequence a couple of mile section of the A35 is scheduled to be closed until April, denying us easy access to our usual roams; as such, alternative roams need rostering.  So we find ourselves walking in parts of the forest I've not regularly walked in years; in fact, not since around 2012-ish when Norris was young, so 10 years. It's quite exciting to see how much the landscape has and hasn't changed, and whether or not I remember the lay of the land and it's paths; so far so good. I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself, and acquainting Geoff with this wonderful tract of the forest and it's inhabitants. Today's initial foray was a joy.

Bishop's Dyke

Gnarly trees grow on the bank of Bishop's Dyke, a medieval bank and ditch covering 4.5 miles and enclosing 500 acres of, what today is, very boggy ground. Legend has it that earthwork marks a packet of land held by John de Pontoise, Bishop of Winchester in 1284, which he acquired after Edward 1st told him he could enclose any land that he could crawl around in a day; whether that's true or not is uncertain, other suggestions are that it was a 13th century deer park or cattle farm; both would require the ground to be far less sodden than it is today...surely.