Frozen

 

Amongst the veteran oak and beech stands of Burley Old all was quiet and still on this mornings' roam, many of the woods' inhabitants have shut up shop completely until spring, others conserving their energy for the essentials only. The fall is all but done, there some stubborn trees are determined to hang on to their leaves, but it wont be long before they litter the forest floor too. We've stepped through the door into winter. Our roam threaded the wood on paths well trodden, to us anyway, and  took us passed the 14 pebbles, it was so cold that the pebbles were frozen to their trunk, a crust of ice visible between them. I wonder if winter's starting as it mean to go.

Brrrr....

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

Winters' gate

 

We stand at winters' gate, across the threshold we'll enter what are notionally the hardest months of the year, so it was apt that light snow and frigid conditions accompanied us on our roam this morning. When I say 'light' snow, although it was visible it really was ephemeral, instantly evaporating on contact with any surface. I don't so much mind the cold, so long as it's dry, wet and cold on the other hand, that's just nasty.

Late to the game

 

Just as the buds begin to fatten, and the canopy prepares to come into leaf, a touch late the forest finely looks comfortable with being wet. It's been another in a growing parade of weird weather winters; no rhyme or reason to the weather, instead a constant whack a mole of unrelated weather types.

Holmhill

 

Holmhill woods

Studland beach

You know it must be bloody cold out when Jack Frost is able to leave his mark on the salty environment of coastal sands; but this morning he did, and in spades. Nice out though, and as usual with an early start on our outward stretch we had the beach to ourselves. It was an early start too, as yet again the chain ferry between Sandbanks to South Haven Point is out of action and we had the long drive around Poole Harbour (25 miles or so); the ferry was supposed to be back running weeks ago after a service, although it was badly damaged on it's journey to Falmouth for aforementioned service so wont return until the end of February at the earliest. It's fated to troubles, man, it seems to have suffered issue after issue in recent years.

Here comes the rain again

The rain ran down the forest's trees in streams this morning, a testament to it's intensity. The video's on it's side (I couldn't work out how to reorientate it), but you can see the persistent flow.

Southern discomfort

 

When the forest's like this it always puts me in minds of the film 'Southern Comfort', a thriller set in the swampy woodlands of Louisiana; of course difference being Hampshire's New Forest is colder, and doesn't have any alligators or angry Cajuns with guns. Unless you stay on the main paths and forestry tracks moving cross country when the forest is like this would be more aptly described as Southern discomfort.

Wet wilderness

Winter's inclement weather changes the forest, turning it into a totally different beast from it's usual welcoming environment. It's at times like this, with swathes of the forest inundated and impassible or at least unnavigable, I imagine the forest of yesteryear; less formal or managed, a real wilderness where keeping to a route or travelling at a reasonable pace is near impossible. Year on year since the stream restoration project began over 20 years ago you've seen the forest's stream environs regain some of that wildness; its not just the streams themselves either, all the rivulets that feed them back up too, filling the surrounding woodland, creating an even more extensive obstacle. It makes for interesting walks.

Winter Solstice

Being deeply connected to the natural world our ancestors knew the importance of the Winter Solstice and it's pivotal point in the turning of the seasonal wheel, as a consequence many of their prehistoric monuments have alignments which mark the midwinter sunset; most notable locally being the 10km long Dorset Cursus. Today many pagans favour the following morning's sunrise to celebrate their Solstice and the birth of the new Sun. I used to only observe the latter though for some years now I've observed both. So today I did my bit for the ancestors by observing what I could of the shortest day's sundown over the harbour. Personally, the winter Solstice has always been one of my most important celebrations, it marks the end of a period of refection begun at Samhain; whilst tomorrow's sunrise marks the chance of new beginnings. Over the period since Samhain I've reflected on how the year's gone, where I'm at, what I've achieved (all very meh if I'm honest), and what I want for the coming year. My conclusion has been that after the last few very thin years in isolation I really need to reconnect; reconnect with valued people/communities, with activities/interests and especially with creativity. I'm sure it's going to be easier said than done, stuck in a deep rut as I am, but I fear myself disappearing into the long grass permanently if I don't.

Murky

Overnight the weather changed, this morning gone was the icy crispness and dry cold which defined the last week or so, and today could best be described as damp, dank and dull. That said, we still enjoyed a good walk in an empty forest. 

Ice flow

Ice flow nowhere to go, lost in the blinding whiteness of the tundra (Boosh 2004). Well, it's not actually that bad, though still at -4 degrees and with many of the forest's smaller tributaries, even stretches of the bigger streams frozen, the ground solid under foot and walking through the frozen leaf litter sounding like walking through corn flakes, it feels very Baltic...to a soft Southerner's sensibilities anyway.  That's not to say it's not nice out, because it is; the Sun, although shedding little discernible warmer, shines in a clear blue sky and the forest's wonderful walking. Just bloody cold.

Frosty Scrape Bottom

This morning, with an icy frosting under a clear blue sky, Scrape Bottom was the epitome of a winter landscape. It was bloody cold too! You'd better be wrapped up warm, Jack's frigid fingers are probing for any exposed spots; don't be misunderstanding me, this is what winter's supposed to feel like and I for one embrace it. Well, outside I embrace it; this cold snap poses a challenge for those of us doing our best to keep the heating off.

Backley

The Sun may have been out over the forest this morning, and lovely it was too; the winds though were bitter, coldest for a while I reckon. With the beautiful days we've enjoyed recently it's been easy to imagine winter vanquished; it isn't though, and we should remember we're not yet beyond the reach of winter's icy fingers.

Ivy

Winter in the forest is a thin time for grazing, and the ponies will take any opportunity to snack down on a tasty morsel; here they've taken great care to strip clean the soft outer bark off a filigree of Ivy (Hedera helix) wrapped around a fallen veteran oak.

Ridley Wood

 

Ridley Wood in winter.

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. 

Burley Old

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

A portent?

Folklore has it that when Rowan (Sorbus aucuparia) berries are out early, that a harsh winter is on the horizon. Well, they're not only out early, but they're also present in huge numbers, the boughs hang low under their weight. My fingers are crossed for harsh winter, it's been too long since we've had one, and I'm so bored of these bland featureless winters we've endured of late. The forest takes on another face in harsh winter.

Naked

Just as it's coldest just before dawn, the forest is at it's most naked just before the spring. By this point the bracken's been levelled by winter's rains, any leaves that clung on after the fall have been dislodged by the winds and the forest stands are truly bare.