Bratley Wood autumn

 

Nice out. Bratley Wood.

Bushy Bratley

Bushy Bratley

Bratley view

 

Autumn in the New Forest; really, what's not to love.

Deer Geoff

Dear Geoff, he's a good boy. Well, he was a good boy, until the deer, who'd been blissfully unaware of our presence, became acutely aware of our presence and done a runner.  Geoff triggered an instinctive response in the deer, and they in turn triggered an instinctive response in him, though in was good to see Geoff's learning quickly, abandoning his somewhat lacklustre pursuit, returning at my call. We'd been there a while too, Geoff just sitting a watching. Unexpected meetings and moments like this in the forest are priceless.

Imbolc song in Bratley Wood

The high crowns of the ancient and veteran oak and beech of Bratley Wood were alive with song this morning, as the assembled birds celebrated Imbolc, and heralded Spring's approach...they feel the subtlety of the seasons more keenly than we do. As the young sun grows and the soil warms, out in the forest the seeds and embryonic buds of potential begin to swell, closer to home, our hopes and dreams for this turn of the wheel are awakening. Imbloc blessing y'all. /|\

(I neglected to focus the camera, so the picture's not all that, but it's really for the bird song I posted.)

Storm damage

Only just entering the bad weather season and the recent winds have already slighted another of Burley Old's veterans, a mighty one too, a huge three trunked beech that's now reduced to one trunk. It was only the other day, whilst walking through with a friend, I'd mentioned the growing holes in the canopy, one of those holes is significantly bigger now. It's a worry. Over the last 10 years I've seen these holes develop, and below them, in sharp contrast to the rest of the leaf litter floor, green oasis’s of grass, bracken and bramble thrive. Seeing how Burley Old is going puts me in mind of Bratley Woods with its open aspect, I imagine (and the hulks and stumps scattered about support the idea) that Bratley was once like Burley Old and that in years to come Burley Old will be like Bratley. The woodland really is a scene of weather wrought destruction, it's impossible now to walk a straight path through...which at one time you could have easily done.      

Springs advance guard

Fruiting trees are beginning to blossom, in the garden it's the cherries, out here in the forest it's the Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) who are the first of the woodland cohort to show. Walking in Bratley Wood I noticed one tree in the wood was far more advanced in flowering terms than the others, it's buds were full to burst and clusters of clean white flowers were already on show. What was interesting, to me anyway, was that the advanced tree was a stressed tree, one that had suffered storm damage a season or so ago and was listing at 30 degrees. One of the stress responses in plants is to produce more flowers and therefore, hopefully, more seeds to increase the trees likelihood of reproduction and survival of its line. I've seen this in other trees, one in particular is that rarest of trees, in these parts anyway, the Juniper. I only know of two junipers, only one that fruits, and that fruiting one is highly stressed and always heavy with berries. The Blackthorn is common throughout the forest, especially along the stream corridors and amongst the open ancient deciduous stands, this one's going to be a riot  of flowers soon. One of springs advance guard. Hail and welcome.

Dinner table

It was never going to be a bright day, the weather wizards had stated such, and the elements weren't going to contradict their predictions. Flat grey was the order of the day, along with an occasional side helping of mizzle, through this we made our way tacross the Bratley valley from Mogshade to Bratley Wood. Bratley Wood I've described before, ancient and veteran trees, with the odd block of juveniles, all in an open setting (sadly more open in recent years), many of the trees have suffered from storms and the ravages of time, though rather than fall they stand their ground in gnarly obstinance. The most glorious of woods, and in the right circumstances enchanting to the point of moving. Eventually even the most resilient trees must fall, still though, when they bud no more, and they return to whence they came, they retain their place in the wood.  Here a once proud leviathan, now little more than a hulk, serves as a dinner table, the site of last nights feast. On the menu, pigeon, it's invariably pigeon, they appear the fast food of the woods. But, whose dinner? For a moment the sun breaks through, it warms and transforms the whole scene, the stands come to life. This is more like it. The light brings out the rich palette of a damp woodland in winter, all greens and browns, earthy colours, apt really as the remains of our tree are literally turning to earth. The burst of sunlight is fleeting though, soon grey triumphs and Bratley somehow fades as the light flattens. Still magical, although its beauty hidden beyond a veil.  

Solstice walk

From the depth of Winters cold embrace.
Between the horns of the moon we glimpse an infants face.
Tis the birth of the new Sun.
Giving us hope of a Summer to come.

Out in the forest for a Solstice walk, it had to be somewhere that really channels the forest's spirit, for me there are several places in the forest which do that, though none more so than Bratley Wood. Bratley Wood is surely one of the forest most beautiful woods, ancient and open it has vistas that steal your breath away and touch your spirit. So beautiful, man. Majestic wooden behemoths hold the land and reach for the sky, amongst the stands today deer and pony graze, whilst an inordinate number of tiny birds moved erratically through the maze of fallen trunk and bough. You see, the open aspect of the woodland which makes it so endearing, also, sadly, makes the woodland vulnerable to the elements, elements which in recent years have wrought destruction. It started in '87 when the Great Storm knocked chunks out of the stands, the holes left in the canopy allowed for more destruction, and so on, and so on. This has certainly accelerated over recent years, as the winds have increased in severity and frequency. Very sad, man, the mass of fallen trees, smashed and scattered, gives the woodland a melancholic edge.  Though it's beauty still endures and shines through. Anyways.

Solstice blessings y'all beautiful people. We hope the birth of the new sun brings in abundance flags, flax, fodder, frigg and all else you need and desire for the coming cycle, and may this cycle be more radiant than the last.

Bare naked ladies

No, not a follow on from yesterdays post on that 'sex' graffiti, these bare naked ladies are the forests beech. The queens of the forest, now bereft of their cloak of autumn hues, they stand proud silhouettes again the cool winter skies. The canopies may have fallen though these majestic trees are just as stunning.  I've mentioned Bratley Woods beauty before, a never enclosed open deciduous semi ancient/ancient woodland, it has a timeless quality about it.  It really is beautiful at any time of the years; it makes you sigh.  You'd imagine it always being there, both in the past and into the future, although even the most cursory glance around you will show a stark reality. Once one tree succumbs to the ravages of the elements the woodlands armour is weakened, storms get inside and more trees are slighted, and so on, and so on, until the woodland is no more. This wouldn't be a problem naturally, as as old trees fell, new samplings would take advantage and  prosper. The woodland renewed. Though as I've mentioned before, due to overgrazing by increasing numbers of deer and ponies, there are few saplings to fill the gaps.  Sadly, this afternoons walk, stunning as it was, saw more recent casualties in Bratley Wood, more ancient trees laid waste. I know nature is ever changing, and ever renewing, but this is different, none of the actions effecting the forests trees are natural (as such), our overstocking and manipulation (too many deer and ponies, with no predators), coupled with climate Change (erratic weather with increased episodes of extremes) is destroying the forest I know.  Still, if I thought about that too much when out in the forest, I'd be walking around crying. So I embrace what I see and I'm thankful I get to see it. I hope for change, even though at times I may feel it a forlorn hope. I hope because to loose these ancient woodlands would be too unforgivable a crime.

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.

Bratley from Backley

Across the wet valley in which Blackensford Brook is born, the ancient Bratley Wood as seen from Backley Enclosure. The forest was wet today, wet just hung there in the air and clung to everything, every fern and tuft of grass. The wet air muffled the forest, all you could hear was water, dripping from the boughs, flowing through the gullies, rattling over gravel and bursting over the detritus dams which frequently appear in the forest streams. That and the noise of your feet splashing with every step. Did I mention it was wet. Still, it was nice out.

Bratley Wood

I never forget how lucky we are living as we do in such a fantastically diverse party of England. At the weekend we were walking the world heritage landscape of the isle of Purbeck to our west, the area of outstanding natural beauty of Cranborne Chase is within easy access to our north, and of course, the wonder which is the New Forest stretching to our east, on our very doorstep. A golden triangle of landscapes.  Today we were roaming the open woodland of Bratley Wood in the New Forest, an area of woodland pre-dating enclosure and filled with ancient pollarded Beech and Oak, venerable leviathans. The woodland is more open now, as over the last 30 years old trees have succumbed to the elements; there are rotted hulks scattered here which were felled in the Great Storm of '87. It's wonderful walking. Bratley's towering trees of ancient date have a majesty unlike any of the other forest woodland. That's a thing about the forest woodland, although usually a mix of similar species and often within a similar age range, each has a unique air and quality. Bratley is one of those with a timeless quality. Amongst the wooded fringes which flank Bratley Water (which flows below Brately Wood) I disturbed a resting stag, who startled, rose, barked and watched me intently.  We stood watching each other for a few minutes, he'd occasionally bark and I'd reply, he'd stamp a foot and I'd do the same...stalemate.  Eventually, we'd both had enough, and went our separate ways. It was an interesting interaction, though I fear I'm no Doolittle. Shortly after I found a shed antler bathed in Autumn sun, lying ready for me to find. Dropped amongst the thin straight trunks of a Beech and Birch block (one of several) planted some years back to fill the holes in Bratley's canopy.  There was a lot of deer activity in the woods today.  A lot of energy in the woods all round.

Last leg

Some trees are just tenacious in their determination to cling on to the very end! Nothing remains of the fallen upper portion of this tree, long returned to the earth. Yet, with only a small fraction of its original girth remaining this tree stands defiant to the last. You've got to respect such endurance, man.

Fearless

For the most part the New Forest deer must be either fearless, reckless or complacent; I go for the latter.  The consequence of predator-less environment, no doubt. If you were of a mind, I'd imagine taking a forest deer would be a breeze. I got to within meters of this group of stags before they ambled away; it wasn't the first time on today's walk that I got close to deer. 

The first Oak leaves

One Oak today, clearly an early adapter, was showing signs of spring and the blooming which is about to erupt throughout the forest. I can't wait.