Rough string in a stump

Fletchers water

Black Water runs shallow and swift through Fletchers Thorns Enclosure (1829); exposed gravel beds testament to the reduced spring flow and its impact on this section of particularly shallow stream.  Partly this is the result of the forests ongoing program of stream restoration; the section above has been returned to its pre Victorian meandering course, whilst the broad section through the enclosure has had tonnes of gravel introduced, the stream wasn't that deep along this section prior to remodeling.  The stream is changed, the detritus of the winter has been washed, unheeded by obstructions, further down stream, where it narrows.  In some areas adjacent to the bank, some degree of clearing has taken place, opening up the canopy and the floor.  The wood and stream are particularly fresh and bright.  Black Water becomes Fletchers water as it exits Fletchers Thorns Enclosure (1829) and enters and extended open area of grassland and heather beds, the openness only punctuated by small clumps of Oak and shrub and the corridor of woodland that framed Fletchers water, as it takes its almost perfectly straight course.  

Two rivers meet

Two rivers meet, well two streams meet to become a river; east of Brockenhurst Fletchers Water joins Highland water.  Fletchers brook, still a narrow shallow gravel bedded brook, fast moving and light, truncates the site of a Medieval hunting lodge prior to its merging with the deeper and slower moving Highland water. 

Western Skunk Cabbage

Western Skunk Cabbage (Lysichiton americanus),  is a plant usually found in the swamps and wet woods, along streams and in other wet areas of the Pacific Northwest of America. There are several discreet patches, of a couple of plants, in the damp woodland the borders Mill Lawn Brook as it passes through the broad stream valley.  

Rubbish!

I was faced on arrival in the forest with sight of disposable BBQ detritus spread liberally about; what's wrong with these frak wits, they make the effort to get out to the forest, presumably because they find the natural surroundings congenial, then leave the same place in a state.  As I continued walking I was struck by more rubbish and made a note to self to remember a bin bag next time.  Visiting the young isolated Oak, whose surrounding supplied many Ceps in autumn, I found that the Oak continued to provide... at the base of the trunk, caught in low shrubbery, was a recycled bin bag, new and folded.  A sign? I set about collecting any rubbish I could access as I processed; the bag filled.  Picking up the paper came naturally, although collecting bottles and cans was accompanied by a strange mix of feelings,  including guilt; I knew that clearing up was right, although my profession is involved with searching for ancient rubbish to interpret, analyze and learn from and here I was removing it from the record for future archaeologists.  Funny how your mind wanders. 

The sun was warm and bright, the colours vivid, contrasting.  Red Rise Brook flowed clear, no longer the torrent of the previous seasons, now clear waters moved briskly over gravel beds, occasionally forming dark pools around tree stumps and bends in meanders.  The ponies looked happier with the improvement in weather as the grazed the brook banks. 

Sundown over the harbour

Highland water; Great Huntley Bank

Highland Water is the only stream in the forest to retain the same name for the entirety of its length.

Winking Berry

The spring is really here, the forest is coming into bloom, slowly at first but it's blooming.  The Sloes are coming into flower and adding colour to the landscape drained of diverse colour for so long. 

Mill Lawn Brook

Wood Sorrel

Wood Sorrel which favours growing in damp woodland areas is used in herbal medicine to heal wounds and to reduce fever.

Eyeworth

Eyeworth wood is an area ancient woodland where giant aging Oak and Beech jostle amongst younger pretenders and the thick clumps of smaller tree species which huddle around them; the wood is dense, shrubs and trunks, bramble and thicket, impassable in places for tree debris, much of which dates back to uncleared victims of the '87 storm.  Adjacent  to the natural randomness of ancient wood is the order of Island Thorns.  Island Thorns Enclosure (1854) has been thinned over the last couple of years, the regularly spaced adolescent Oaks given space to grow and mature; the enclosure takes on a less formal air.  The creators of these great enclosures must have had belief in their wooden ship technology and that it would endure, as growing timber for ship building is a long game, covering several generations.  The enclosure, as ship building timbers, was outdated almost at the time of its creation; by the end of the 19th century iron was cheap enough to take the place of wood in hull construction, although wood remained favoured as decking. Island Thorns Oaks are tall, straight and true, and would have surely made for fine globe trotting ships.  The difference between the enclosed and the ancient woodland is striking.  We follow the path of Latchmoor brook, now nothing more than a very light flow compared with the bank busting torrent of winter. 

A large herd of deer, containing several young stags, grazes the lush green emerging shoots of spring; more alert than usual, they spook easily and can only be viewed from a distance. 

Beechs

Even by 0900 the woods were warm, bathed in rich bright spring sunlight; the woods felt clean, fresh, renewed and full of vigor and possibility. The tree top orchestra is in full swing, a full range of pitch and melody are offered up; the calls are mesmerizing and I listen to see if I can discern any patterns, any conversations amongst the brush telegraph; alas the more I focused the more I lost, so I stopped listening and just enjoyed the flow. Beautiful light.  

 

St Albans Head

Trying to describe the coast today would be beyond me, yet still I'll try. The best day of the year so far, the spring has possibly sprung; the sky was clear and blue, the sea glistened, reflecting the suns rays like crystal glass and the air was clean and fresh. Chapmans Pool was serene, the seas almost still as we descended between in crack in the cliff face above the the small secluded bay and made our way, with some difficulty, through the undergrowth and along an under cliff animal track; still a good 80m above sea level. Deer, previously unseen , spooked by our arrival, darted from cover and made their way around the headland ahead of us and bird song filled the air. The going is hard, footing unstable and steep; but the views, the views are all you'd expect and desire from the Jurassic Coast. St Albans Head is the high point, 102m AOD, the detritus of quarrying and the wartime Radar and gun emplacements litter the scree which flows down the steep slope to jumbled boulders and the sea. Stunning.

Red Shoot Wood

Song Thrush

Red Shoot Wood is filled with the most exquisite bird song as individuals and couples compete to be heard.  A wood peckers repetitive drilling sounds out from a high bough in a mighty Oak; as I approach it  takes flight deeper into the woodland; it's a 'Spotted Woodpecker', great or lesser I can't tell.  I stop a while and take in the sounds in the bright spring sun. The trees are old and gnarly, misshaped by time and elements, some more shell than solid tree, with hollow hearts and yet still foliage in their crowns.  Age and size range of trees is wide ranging, self seeded young and adolescent to the mature,  some must be 4 or 5 m in circumference, history trees. A sense of permanence, of place and of timelessness is tangible in these woods, their form and shapes created by nature...a 'Wild Wood'.   A 'Song Thrush' egg has hatched, the first egg I've seen this year; its colour vivid compared withe faded hues of its surroundings. 
 

Nemesis

Millar and Mc Nivens Nemesis introduces us to a violent criminal mastermind out looking for challenges, and finding a worthy opponent in a police officer in the US.

Old Enclosure

Was drawn back to the Old Enclosure, the colours, the shapes, the sounds and that which can't be explained.

Old Burley

The woods had a mischievous feel to them, playful and full of life, it could be the bright sun that dances through between the trees when the breaks in the mottled cloud sky allow, so refreshing, so needed; or it could be the wind which resides at tree top level, flittish and skittish it makes eerie sounds as it rushes past. The light through the tree cast new shadows, playing tricks, giving false perceptions, creating mythagos amongst the myriad of illuminated trunks; the forest comes alive. Burley Old Enclosure is pure magic, its antiquity and long established place in the landscape is tangible; it's a place of real presence.  The trees are tall and majestic, Oaks and Beech, small under story trees, amongst them,  Holly, Yew and Sliver Birch flourish in the enclosures open woodland. The floor of the enclosure is littered with the fallen of many decades, limbs, boughs and trunks lay discarded all about; there are fallen trees, which remain substantial, although succumbing to stormy winds over twenty years ago, many older conflicts too.  The woods are vibrant. 

Des?

Moss which had been obscuring some World War 2 graffiti has either weathered or been removed by wildlife, revealing the complete graffiti. It now appears to d read either 'DES 1944' or 'DRS 1944'. Also revealed is another, more elaborate, piece of graffiti; unfortunately the nature of the localized growth on the tree, it is all but obscured.  I know there is more, or was more, graffiti amongst these mature Oaks and Beech; I remember seeing it, maybe 20 years ago and remarking that it represented both American and British wartime graffiti ( I can't remember how I could identify the nationality, but I could).  As yet, I can't find it.   

Out of Range

The forest holds many mysteries, tucked away from the crowds deep into the hinterland or hidden right under your nose, or out of the way just enough to be missed.  A strange brick built nook, nestled at the base of a fern covered hill, is one such mystery; at first it appears out of context with its surroundings, purposeless.  Although, on further investigation one finds it's associated with the remains of an adjacent firing range butt.  It was used by target  spotters and changers to shelter whilst firing was underway.  The nature of the brick work and building style suggests that it was constructed either in the late 19th or early 20th centuries; it was certainly used during both World Wars. On the exposed ground surfaces around the butts .303, 45 cal and 38 cal projectiles are bountiful and I'm certain that if the firing platforms could be identified, cases could be retrieved. If you didn't know these features were here you could easily pass them every day on any of the nearby paths.    

Hengistbury WW2

Dense mists drift in from the sea, cold and clinging, blanketing all before them; softening the multifarious, multicoloured, cliffs which rise up from a boulder strewn beach mauled by powerful white breakers which thundered ashore relentlessly.  Hengistbury Head, a long finger of low heathland and grassland leading to a prominent headland over looking both bays,  has always been a site of human activity from the Mesolithic hunters camp on the top of the head to a World War 2 gun battery and training ground.  As the head rises from the broad low promontory, of which it is the culmination, some shallow depressions near the cliff edge have been filled with concrete fragments of World War 2 features; this section of the cliff is eroding revealing the fill, the number of fragments and the angles of the visible faces, appears to suggest the fill represents more than one feature. The concrete fragments now lay tumbled down the cliff side, coming to rest at the base.  I've often wondered why we show so little care and consideration to World War 2 monuments and features;  and yet we rave on about older monuments, frequently describing them as defining some aspect of being 'British', when surely the war period, it's monuments, it's make do in the face of adversity attitudes is so definitively 'British'.

Wood Ants

Blackenford Brook

Blackenford Brook tears through North Oakley (1843) and Anderwood (1811) enclosures as it races from the rain soaked plains of the forest hinterland; brown, stained with peat, the brook is a force; Jeckle and Hyde, a normally benign ambling babbling brook, shallow and peaceful, now a dangerous torrent, deep, swift, impassable and a barrier. These woodland waterways can be deceptive. 

Flares

The submarine pen at Ashley Cross, and the area around it, has been subject to controlled heather and gorse burning; this has cleared the mound, giving a better view of it as well as exposing the ground surface.  Amongst the resulting ashes several World war 2 artifacts could be identified; fragments of ordinance, some substantial and  the bakerlite cap of a trip flare.  The cap reads 'Flare trip wire MK1, 9/43, code mark N149', interestingly this type of trip flare, used by the British up until the late 1970's early 1980's, is still manufactured in India, if it ain't broke, I suppose.

Crater

I've mentioned before the Ashley Ranges in the north of the forest, the area is pock marked by craters of varying sizes, from a meter or two in diameter to 7 or 8m.  On the heathland plain of Leaden Hall are two particularly large craters.  Leaden Hall was a massive bomb testing target known as,  No. 2 Wall Target, a target wall stood off centre in a circular area and was used to test bombs; all that remains today of the huge reinforced concrete structure is grassed area in the definable shape of the concrete apron which was removed in 1991.  The military still use the area today;  helicopters, Apache and Lynx,  often train abouts, coming down low, hugging the contours of the land. 

Ditchend Brook

A day of some contradiction, thin ice clung to several shallow puddles out on the exposed heathland of Leaden Hall, threatening grey clouds bubbled on the horizon  as a radiant spring sun shone and a pair of entwined Adders bathed on Hampton Ridge.   Along the grassy banks of Ditchend Brook you could be mistaken for thinking that spring was truly here as the waters shimmered in the gentle sun.  Strange days indeed.

Groynes

Type 22

A bracing wind wracked the coast this morning, above in grey skys sea birds hovered, glided and swooped amongst the chilling turbulence, as below wind driven waves, rushed, muddied brown with disturbance, creamy crested, towards the sloping shore, then crashed against the tumbled limestone groynes and roared up the pebble beach.   The cliffs here are historically unstable, requiring massive civil engineering works to retain them; the geology is gravel deposits capping a variety of clay horizons, these viscus with fluid lateral movement.  The area is important to both geologists and palaeontologists, with thousands of fossils 30 to million years old, deposited when the area was part of a large tropical lagoon.  A concrete type 22 pillbox rests a jaunty angle after years of slippage down the cliff side; the pillbox is a remnant of the coastal anti invasion defences which once protected the whole bay, a myriad of , bunkers, anti tank / anti personnel scaffold, barbed wire and mines.  Today only a handful of artifacts remain visible between Mudeford and Milford. 

Bartley Water

In to uncharted territory, through Rushpole Wood and Busketts Lawn Enclosure (1864),  following the course of Bartley Water, which will eventually flow in to Southampton water.  The section of stream through Busketts Lawn Enclosure is flanked by enormous Douglas Firs.  Bartley Water is fairly narrow in places only about 2m to 3m or so in places, broadening in others to 4m to 5m; it runs fast and deep with rich vibrant green mosses covering the top of the banks and waterside fringe. Amongst the moss fresh  fine water deposited sands are testament to the severity of the winters floods, as to reach theses mosses the water would have had to have risen 2m or 3m; making the total depth of flow over 4m.  The stream meanders wildly, at one point a set of meanders has been truncated, leaving an irregular oxbow lake now fed by much smaller water course.  As I turn a meander a pair of strangely coloured ducks take flight. Looking down at the water is like looking into a gorge, over vertical sides, even concave in places; frequently gullies and small tributaries feed the flow, after one fording place, Bartley Water takes on the guise of a proper small river.  I'll wander this way again. 

Primrose.

Primrose (Primula vulgaris) is my favorite spring flower, a native wild flower, always a joy to behold; that joy is enhanced many fold when finding them in the wild.  

Highland Water

Mark ash Wood

This part of the forest used to be a regular haunt, although of recent years it appears to have frequently dropped off the walk radar. The trees here have grown tall and proud, many over 3m in circumference; sadly though, the exposed yellow orange subsoils indicates another victim of the winter weather and in this section of Mark Ash several mature trees have succumbed.  The land undulates, gullies and shallow valleys stretch like fingers up from the lower ground surrounding the wood; seasonal watercourses flow through them, becoming permanent wet bog areas as they reach the lower stretches where they feed into one of the many tributaries, which themselves feed the woodland brooks and streams.   The land here feels old, the woods appear eternal, no uniformity found in the enclosures, even the old ones, just natural beauty.  Deer frequent the wood and several small groups are seen browsing; I creep up on a group of 3 deer and I'm doing well until a poorly placed foot brakes a fallen stick and the deer are gone, their white rumps disappearing into the thicket. 

Graffiti

It's dawned on me of late how much graffiti there is on the forest trees; some modern, others much older with some even dated; many are there due to location, close proximity to a picnic area or camp site other though appear out of the way or isolated.  All must have a story to tell and all set my mind on journeys; some have an obvious purpose marking or naming others though........  Recording them would be a good project. 

Redrise

Redrise Shade

Daffers

Linford Bottom is sodden, the clay paths badly churned, sloppy, making walking difficult; it's better to walk off the paths, the ground is firmer, easier going.  Through the loose woodland that fringes Linford Brook flashes of yellow and white amongst the tired browns and greys of winter; Daffodils, not the shop bought ones, rather our native, smaller, variety.  The brook darts through, moving with purpose, flushed with water from the recent rains.  Every now and again enclaves of spring have established themselves, a beach head for the burgeoning life waiting to burst forth.  A buzz saw roars from nearby Pinnick Wood as a broad swathe is cut, clearing the banks of a tributary of Linford Brook and creating an avenue of open space up towards Akercombe Bottom; it's not clear cutting mind, there are the occasional tree or small group of trees left.

Vinny Ridge

The sun is evident today, light streams through the trees, rays warm the land, adding brighter colour where for so long there has been only the subdued drained tones of last years pride; the sun, light as it is, brings the landscape to life.  Amongst the maturing Oaks of Vinny Ridge (1859), alongside Black Water, the winter flood waters have cut a myriad of channels, some shallow, no more than depressions, other deep cut through the clay heavy subsoils.  On the waters edge the turbulent flows of the season passed have exposed the roots of bank side trees, whose roots appear to cling to the bank like wooden fingers maintaining a tenuous grip. The water passes by burbling and bubbling, add the sound of many birds, of a woodpecker rhythmically pecking  and you have the sound track to the woods today.  Has spring sprung? not quite but it's ready. 

Archie

The smell of smoke still lingers amongst the trees and in the hollows from distant spring heath burning, mixed with fine mists, it clings to any surface.  Through the sodden branches dripping with liquid sunshine, grey clouds race across the skys. There are some crazy trees throughout the forest.  Today I met Archie, a  150 year oldish Beech who had this arch thing going on viva la difference.

Mr Blue skys

What a difference a day makes.  From yesterdays grey, cloud strewn skys to clear blue, other than a few fluffy clouds.  Yesterday on Picket plain the rain, driven by the wind, had soaked me only minuets into the walk. Today, the sun warms and spring is tangible in the air; bird song fills the trees, daffodils are open and all feels calm. 

Dolmen Grove Stonehenge