White Nothe undercliff

White Nothe undercliff

White nothe

Today's Purbeck perambulation was from Daggers Gate to White Nothe and back. The path out following the contours of the cliffs and hills, whilst the return path followed the crest of the hills. It's an open landscape, close to nature and close to the elements, we were lucky today as the elements were kind. It's a landscape all about sweeping shapes and grand views, it's a place that moves you, and in many ways depending on the elements mood. Today's was mood sublime serenity. I laid on the rough grassy hillside which sweeps steeply towards the cliffs, looking out to sea, and it dawned on me that all I could hear was the sounds of the insects in the grass. It was as if all the channels of the world were faded down, except the grasshoppers and small buzzy things.  The unusual breadth and depth of the quiet was noticeable by its rarity in modernity, and as I say quite sublime. 

A day on the bay

I can't remember the first time we walked the rugged section of Purbeck which is Ringstead Bay, though I know whenever it was it stole a piece of my heart and there after countless memories have been created in its steep and roughly folded rocky terrain. Always on the 'A' list of places to walk, its walks have featured friends and family, as well as many solo missions. Today I was walking with my middle yoot and a couple of his chums, who were amazed to hear how we scrambled about these steep grassy slopes and along this rocky coastline before my boys were into double figures. It warms me that my boy feels a connection to this place, and wants his friends to experience it too. The idea that I may have sowed a seed, and that seed could be an annual and that he too may bring his children here, makes me feel good. Giving our children a love for and respect for and of nature was something we'd always hoped to do. It struck me today, thinking of all the years of missions here, how much the landscape had changed. I remember on our earliest walks a lot of the western section of the Ringstead folds area being bare soil after substantial slippage, though now it's all covered in flora. The folds were grassy, with a few hollows of bramble and bush, with the occasional clump of primary colonizing shrub, now the folds are becoming choked.  Those hollows are now established thorn thickets, and bramble and bush continue to spread. More careful consideration is now required when choosing a route. Some of the paths we used to follow have been swallowed, all but disappeared, nature has no respect for our nostalgia, change is its engine.  The Deer who made the tracks we followed still inhabit the thickets that nestle amongst the folds, though now they forge new paths for us to follow. Time marches on, nothing stays the same; but it does if you zoom out, it does.  The same, but different, is an apt phase I heard someone use once.

A love of lichen

I love a bit lichen.

Ringstead

The Jurassic coast is wonderful throughout, though some places have that little bit something extra, Ringstead is one of those places. A wild landscape of overgrown landslides capped by limestone outcrops and crowned the impressive chalk headland of White Nothe. We've clambered over this landscape for many years, making our way along the pebble and boulder beach or down the steep grassy slopes into the undercliff to explore the thicket filled folds and their limestone and chalk block cappings. Over those years, those countless visits, I've seen the grassy landscape increasingly colonized by a thicket of thorn, bramble and stunted trees. Many of the rock blocks which we used to sit up on have now disappeared under a blanket of ivy. Paths on the undercliff we used to use are now increasingly impassible, not surprising really, we tended and still tend to walk the paths less trodden, yeah, and when I say 'paths' I really mean animal tracks. I'm not complaining, mind. I like the 'off road' way and to see nature retaking her land. The sun really beat down today as I slipped down the slope from the cliff top, questioning how sensible I was being, but still continuing. Down in the folds of the undercliff, where the breeze couldn't touch you, it really hotted up, lizards sunned themselves and scampered off as I approached, surprised deer raised their heads, alarmed to see me, whereas a basking Adder alarmed me as I moved through the clumps of grass, making me jump. I was in their world now.  After a long sweaty struggle, a bit of clambering and several bramble scratches I'd navigated the slides and reached the beach, where a cool and refreshing breeze made for welcome relief.  I thought about a swim, then thought better of it, too early in the season. I sat and chilled for a while, taking in the views, particularly White Nothe high above me and the winding smugglers path which snakes up to its summit. There was no alternative, no putting it off, that was the path I'd be taking.  If you know the path in question, you know it's a bit of a beast. Starting off gradually, it undulates as you traverse the folds in the undercliff before it rapidly pitches upwards, a thin path zigging and zagging. A one particularly scary section you look down a smooth very steep grassy slope which end abruptly with cliff; I don't like that section, not one bit. Folklore has it that smugglers used to negotiate this treacherous path with a barrel of Brandy or similar on each shoulder. Mental! Finally the summit was upon me and I was afforded spectacular views in both directions along the coast. Man, I feel so lucky to live in such a beautiful part of the world. I sat for some time taking it all in, well, to be honest I sat for some time taking in the views and then fell asleep in the sun for a while. All good.  After such an exhilarating walk (and the power nap) the 3 miles or so back along the ridge to Daggers Gate flew by, I was buzzing, man. A top walk in an outstanding location.

Windy out?

The wind fair whipped in from the west today, stirring up the sea and raking in over the high cliffes at White Nothe and along the rock falls, scree slopes and overgrown landslides of Ringstead Bay. It's so strong the wind allows you to lean out so far as to defying gravity on the steep grassy slopes. And the air, man. The air is so clean and fresh. I breath in deeply. It feels fantastic, and after the recent days of dank damp grey nothingness, it is a welcomed relief. The coast really comes alive on days like these, and that energy is contagious.

Reflective oasis

Whilst walking we came across this pond, tucked away in a hidden valley, swathed in woodland and fed by a clear spring which rises up through the Purbeck Hills, a sun drenched oasis surrounded by semi tropical flora. A magical find; it's amazing the things that lay hidden, just waiting to be found.

Ringstead

So he climbed a high hill and he looked out to sea.

And he heard a voice calling out softly to him.

Open your heart boy for it needs to be free.

And the next time you're crying come running to me.  

(Elation by The Levellers)

I remember first hearing what was to become my favourite Levellers song, Elation.  Feeling as I do about nature and following my pagan path the songs lyrics resonated and moved me. I understood. Nowadays it's common place to hear nature, her wooded dells, rolling hills, rugged coasts and wilder places referred to as 'green prozac' alluding to the healing properties found in embracing and immersing yourself in nature. I can certainly attest to its positive effects. When I walk with nature the treacly malaise which so afflicts me these days and through which I struggle to retain me dissipates, the grey clouds lift, the air clean and fresh fills my lungs and I feel free. I am indeed elated. I feel empowered, my head is cleared of all the worries and negativities which dog me. I resolve to fight the demons and doubts that plague me, I know that many are real, although I'm also aware that many of them are not and are more akin to the windmills at which Don Quixotic tilted; conjured from the minds of those who feel outside, downtrodden or disenfranchised on the fringes of hopelessness. I really mean it too, if only I could hold on to that found positivity on my return. Though sadly no. To say I love these wild places and how they make me feel would not be too strong.