Orange Oak Bolete

 

An Orange Bolete (Leccinum aurantiacum), sometimes known as the Orange Oak Bolete pushes up through amongst a loose group of Oaks on the edge of Red Rise.  They and their close cousins the Orange Birch Bolete (Leccinum versipelle) are usually a very common sight around the forest, though like others of their kin they've been scarce this mushroom season. Both boletes look very similar, and share a broadness in cap colour, one of the noticeable difference is that the stem of Orange Boletes have orange/brown scales floccules, whereas Orange Birch Boletes have small black scales. Both are edible, both require a very thorough cooking. Remember, 110% on identification or leave well alone.

Mast

 

The forest is experiencing a bumper mast year, wherever there are oaks the floor beneath them is liberally covered in acorns, to the degree that walking has become a crunchy affair. In light of the glut, I've been surprised as to how few pigs I've seen about the forest this pannage. They're going to need more pigs if a meaningful reduction in acorn mast is to be achieved. Years ago I had a go at making acorn coffee; I learnt that earthy burnt is an acquired taste. That said, if processed properly to remove toxins and tannins (it's a lengthy affair) they'd keep you fed in a crisis, very nutritious.

Leave no trace

I never fail to feel disappointment when coming across a sight like this. With just a little thought from the builder you'd never have known that anyone had a campfire here. That's all it takes, a little bit of thought. Leave no trace, principle 5, minimize campfire impacts; you should aim for the site of where you've had a fire to be very hard, if not impossible to spot. Not obvious.

You shall not pass

It became clear as we approached Red Rise Brook that we would not be passing this way this morning. I knew it, Geoff knew it. The flow of the engorged brook expanded way beyond the bounds of Red Rise and well into the furze break beyond. The bridge up stream was inaccessible too. It was a mistake to have come this way today, I should've known better, the speed at which the forests' streams can ebb and flow after a downpour is remarkable.

Red Rise

Sun beams through Red Rise

Red Rise Shade

 

Shade in the Shade.

Light and shade play in Red Rise Shade

Red Rise

 

A naked or near naked Red Rise this morning. I love the energy of this time of year. It's now right before the new growth of spring that the forest finally approaches peak bare, with last years growth thoroughly battered and broken down the land appears forlorn, though just beneath the surface the energy of the land slowly grows, almost tangible now. You begin to feel springs' approach before it becomes perceivable.   

Brrrr....

Coldest day of the season so far, with temperatures registering -2c on your roam this morning. Brrrrr.....

The woods are the place for me.

 

Of outdoors sorts I think there are loosely two types of people, those who favour woodland spaces and those who favour open spaces. Myself, it's woodland all the way. I enjoy walking whatever environment is afforded me and love all that nature has to offer, although there's something special about the embrace of woodland. I feel my deepest connection to nature is achieved whilst walking or sitting in woodland. I know there are those who find woodland claustrophobic, not me, I find comfort in woodlands' caress; the woods feel like home, they always have. You?

Pigs!

 

This morning the forest appeared quiet on the surface, although underneath that quiet there was a lot of natural energy amongst the stands. We could hear stags growling, barking and clashing racks somewhere off deeper in the woods as they vied for mating rights; cattle watched us pass with suspicion as they mooch and graze the open woodland; a stampede of a dozen or more ponies thundered through the Rise towards us, only veering off at the last moment; whilst a troop of pigs eagerly at pannage grubbed up the woodland and riverbank with their noses in search of acorns and mast, only pausing briefly to investigate us and say hello. It's fascinating to watch the pigs at pannage and their antics, they're real characters. This is natures last hurrah before our current cycle ends, and the welcome rest until the new suns' birth when the cycle begins again.    

Orange Birch Bolete

 

One member of the Bolete family which has done particularly well this year is the Orange Birch Bolete (Leccinum versipelle), wherever there's open rough grass and heather edged woodland you'll find dozens fruiting, all shapes and sizes; they're always a prominent autumn mushroom, though this year they're that and some. There are quite a few similar looking mushrooms in the Leccinum family that you'll see out and about, some much rarer than others, but the Orange Birch Bolete is by far the most common. They're listed as edible good; personally I'm not a fan. Firstly, because you have to cook them good and proper (20 minutes) as they're mildly toxic creating common gastro issues associated with fungi; I'm not that hungry. Secondly, they turn black when cooked, and can colour whole meals; again not that hungry.  Looking good out there though.

Whittle

It's amazing how one's eye can so often pick out what's not natural in the natural world. As we walked through the stands this morning a piece of wood or a stick about 10m away amongst the leaf litter caught my eye, ostensibly a piece of wood, though as I drew closer it was a whittled piece of wood. Turned out to be a half finished wooden spoon. Some one had been practising their bushcraft skills, they'd completed the basic blank, though not yet begun in the bowl. Definitely wasn't carved this year, could be a few years old in fact. Nice.

Tangle wood

Tangle wood

Stampede

Not my best photo, though in my defence the stampeding ponies came out of nowhere; they converged on a ford through Red Rise Brook from three different directions, and moved with purpose up through the shade towards Spy Holms. 

Sixth sense

The forest had been quiet throughout our roam, as if holding it's breath in anticipation; until, not far from the car the distant rumble of approaching thunder caused the canopy to erupt with urgent bird calls and in the blink of an eye the forests' atmosphere had changed completely. They say wildlife are sensitive to such things don't they.

Drying out

 

This morning the ponies had the right idea; in Red Rise a group of them congregated amongst a cool shady stand of Yews. The unseasonally warm weather continues and the forest continues to dry out; right when we should be looking forward to the mushroom season too. Bah! (shakes fist)

Natural engineering

On the floor amongst the stands on the edge of Red Rise, a beautiful small nest probably dislodged by the recent strong winds. A simple combination of horse hair and moss fettled so masterfully as to produce a structure light and strong, insulated and protective, Just perfect for its purpose. Mother nature at her best.

Wood Sorrel

 

Back from Glastonbury, Geoff and I went for a wander in the forest, pausing a while to mark Beltane at a favourite spot on the bank of Red Rise Brook. All about the forest is coming to life, numerous small flowers bejewel it's woodland floors and one of the most attractive is the delicate and subtly coloured Wood Sorrel (Oxalis acetosella). Emerging from the mossy floor, opening and closing as the intensity of light dictates, and indicator of an ancient woodland, Wood Sorrel is common amongst the forest's stands.

Blossom

Every year this tree on the bank of Red Rise Brook puts on a magnificent display of blossom, and this year's no exception; what a sight. Being early out, before much else has stirred, the pink flowers really stand out, even at a distance.

Blackthorn

One of the earliest to shine, the Blackthorn (Prunus spinosa) is coming into blossom all over the forest.