Bottom

Long Slade Bottom from Hincheslea Wood

Azalea

The woodland around Fletchers Hill is filled with an exotic scent, searching for the source of the intense aroma I spy bursts of golden flowers nestled amidst trees. The vibrant yellow flowers are those of escaped Azaleas from the nearby gardens of Rhinefield House.  

Coming soon

Linford Bottom

The view from Pinnick Wood across Linford Bottom and over into Great Linford Enclosure. 

Lotty

Great Huntley Bank

It never ceases to amaze me how an area walked regularly over years can still reveal new vistas with such frequency. Great Huntley Bank runs along the eastern bank of Highland Water below Roman Bridge, a mix of mature Oaks and Beech with an emerging under story of Holly and other small trees. We don't come this side of the stream very often and although walked frequently over the years, the woodland remains fresh. The sounds of human activity disappeared, to be replaced by beautiful bird song, unlike the frantic sounding calls of recent, this song sounded relaxed, as if the birds were kicking back with some Barry White. We walked with wonder through this wonderland of the new, broad green paths transect the woodland, then thin single track until we arrive at Highland Water.  

Highland Water, like other forest streams, is flowing at a greatly reduced rate, its nature being between deep dark pools, some over 1m deep, where the water passes slow and silently and fast and shallow, no more than a few centimeters noisily babbling and bubbling over the gravel bed; a gravel bed exposed in some quantity along this

section of stream.  In places the newly leaf burdened stream side trees cast dappled shadows on the dark waters in the low soft light of early evening. 

Beyond the stream was Brinken Wood; this part of the wood is loosely clustered Silver Birch, the floor covered in a green carpet.  The colours are striking.  After a period taking in the soft Birch wood we became aware of a new sound, the combined humming of thousands of Mosquitoes; soon to begin feasting on us, they hovered surveying any exposed flesh.  Time to move on.  Close Birch woodland gives way to open mature deciduous woodland, grass floored, with beautiful views in all directions.  Nice. 

Brinken

Rooks Bridge

Like a shallow moat defending a woodland fortress enclave, Mill Lawn brook surrounds a fat finger of dense woodland at Rooks Bridge. The brook now greatly reduced in flow still bubbles along happily; it looks clean, alive, the life blood of the land. The woodland at the down stream end is filled with debris, fallen branches, toppled trees and the detritus of the wet winter forest laid strewn about, chaos, amongst this maelstrom of wood, shrubs, some in flower, filled the under story; the result was a dense, close and intense wood, which appears to have depth beyond itself.  Amongst the trunks and debris a clump of bright green leafs stands out as unusual, it's the Western Skunk Cabbage, the bight yellow flower has been replaced by large leafs. As we walked along animal paths that dodged and weaved between the obstacles, the woods opened up slightly and the debris subsided, until the wood opened enough to create spaces, the peripheries still dense; in the center of the largest space a old Oak, 250 years or more. There is no sign of human presence here in this wood, no foot prints, no paths other than those of the woodland inhabitants, few would walk here and I felt lucky to be one who did. Beyond the wood the brook runs through Mill Lawn valley, shallow as it is, through deeply cut meanders. The sun is getting low, the ponies are active, individuals and pairs joined together forming small groups, then merging to a herd which galloped through the valley towards Red Rise Hill, like a cavalry column minus their mounts; we saw them later, their numbers swollen, they headed for the Old Enclosure as night crept in from the East.  

Pinnick

Dandy

Resting on a grassy knoll, I spied a Dandelion seed spinning gently on the light breeze which graced the day; as it spun passed me and I watched it land with precision and control, I wondered if the seed would succeed. I thought, 'I'll remember this and check back in a while', knowing instantly the words came out, that I would forget.

Ghost Box

Astonishing X Men continues to astound, Elliss' writing is top shelve as usual, whilst Bianchis' art is sublime.

Red Rise Brook

The former route of Red Rise Brook, now running a previous course, the brook meander along the edge of the shade leaving the former course a green grassy road through the trees.

Pony

A very young Pony kept close to its mother, mimicking the adults moves and postures; the two were lazily grazing the thick new green glass that flanks the banks Red Rise Brook; as if  offended by our presence, they reluctantly meandered away towards the stand of mature Oaks which nestle together on the rise above the shade, abutting the open wet heath.  The leafs are becoming dense on many trees, although some trees are slow to cover, noticeably the Oaks.  

sunset

Warwickslade

The evening forest is flooded with the warmth and light of a low sun, orange hues are projected on to the majestic trees, tall and bold, happy in the positions they have held for hundreds of years. Brinken Wood was full of unseen movement, noise of that movement frequently heard and yet nothing; constantly drawn to scan by noises distant and nearby, although never identifying the perpetrator. Warwickslade Cutting, a small waterway, formally ran through Brinken Wood parallel to Warwick Slade, an open area of heather and grass, heretofore a straight cut drain  is now returned to its older meandering route; 100 year plus Oak trees through one area drastically thinned, to continue the open area of the Slade, create a beautiful grass covered space.  The area of Brinken Wood between the current and old courses of the cutting is returning to wet woodland and remains waterlogged in places. Warwickslade cutting will soon join Highland Water and travel on to the sea through Lymington. 

Ober Deer

Ober Water was a hive of activity; Ponies lazily grazed the lush grass while nervous Deer scanned for threats, a pair of Canada Geese rested, until disturbed by our presence when they strode away and a Heron surveyed the babbling stream for tasty morsels; above pairs of birds swooped and swirled through the damp grey skys, noisily going about their business.  Amongst the  fallow Deer herds a few white Deer are clear to see; there numbers appear to have greatly increased over the last few years.  The recent rain has fed the burgeoning forest and everywhere is vivid green, lush and fresh; the seasonal water courses still flowing with water, retreating but still there.

Cow

Under current management plans Cows graze the open deciduous woodland again maintaining the woodland floor and its unique flora.

Pinnick Plants

Bluebells
Wood Anemones
Wood Spurge

Pinnick again

Linford Brook is teaming with fry of various sizes, darting through the shallow waters and disappearing into the deeper pools if anything approaches; it's good to see the brook looking so healthy and full of life. Pinnick is an old wood, a wild wood, a jumble of self seeded trees and shrubs vying for the dappled sun which floods through the open canopy. Several of the older trees are losing their bark as they slowly return to the earth; the missing bark reveals intricate patterns and strange shapes. Sitting under one of the mature Oaks I drifted in the woods, lost in the sounds and smells. Unlike many of the enclosures, old or new, where the tightly packed trees create an impenetrable shield to the sun, leaving the floor bare but for last seasons leaves, other than where a leviathan has fallen; Pinnicks floor is covered with plant life. Amongst the trees, Bluebells, Wood Sorrel, Wood Spurge, Wood Anemones and others carpet the ground with lush green punctuated with spots of colour; Pinnick is a wood at peace with itself, mature and well seasoned, a special and a magical place.

Green

Today the woods (Burley Old 1700) appeared furtive and mysterious, possibly through the introduction of new shadows and shapes cast by the newly clothed trees or maybe the abundance of life that floods the glades and groves. The green of the freshly opened Beech leafs is intense, a vivid light green, almost fluorescent in the bright spring light. Out of the corner of your eye, movement everywhere, undefined, ephemeral, strange and beautiful, all over the landscape; the woods are alive. A small group of unaware Deer run towards us, not seeing us until they were merely meters away, stopping, a lengthy Mexican stand off ensued before the Deer could take no more and broke for the cover of the deeper wood; more Deer where seen throughout the walk, their abundance noticeable. An Owl took flight from a nearby sheltered branch and swooped gracefully through the broad leaf maze, disappearing into a sea of fresh green to a noisy chorus from the other birds perched high amongst the boughs. It was one of those walks when you can't help be smile, beautiful.

Rooty

Returning to Anderwood today the sun shone brightly and the woods had a inviting feel to them. Anderwood Enclosure (1811) a strange wood, at once open, airy and closed; the mature Oaks have thinned through lose, stumps and trunks are frequent, the spaces created now occupied by birch, holly, naturalised young Oaks and others. I had come to collect a piece of wood for a teacher doing a topic on nature, the ideal piece was spotted last evening, a 2m mass of Ivy which once smothered a young tree; the tree had all but disappeared, leaving the skeleton of Ivy. The side branches were removed to leave a piece of natural art. The ends needed to be lashed to stop the Ivy mass unravelling. I made for nearby coniferous woods; on the way, picking up a stick, I fashioned a digging stick and on arrival at the conifers, grubbed away in the soft peaty soil searching for stringy roots. I tried a couple of different tree types and the Pine came out best, providing two meter length roots of near continuous gauge. Returning to the Ivy, washing the roots on the way, I set about splitting the roots to produce flexible binding material; bound the ends of the Ivy and was off.

Gnarly trunk

This gnarly old tree is frequented by an Owl, ideal perching for a hunting mission.

Chucky

The first Chicken of the woods I've seen this year. This small clump of mushroom magic is growing on a stump on the boundary bank of Anderwood Enclosure (1811); a couple more days and it'll be ready for collection.

Blossom

The old enclosure (1700) is greening quickly, closing in, creating spaces in between; if there was sun the light would now be dappled, although since May arrived the sun has become shy, hiding behind clouds, furtively appearing infrequently. Even without the suns golden beams, the old enclosure appears regal dressed in it's new cloths; deer hiding amongst the fallen boughs, leave the security of their hides as we approach and disappear quickly now that the woods afford them shade and shelter. The Oaks still hold back, buds visible yet nowhere near fully formed; when the Oaks come into full leaf the transformation of the woods will be complete. A beautiful blossoming tree shines on the bank of Red Rise Brook, as the only colourful blooms amongst the fresh greens of new leafs its impact is immediate; what tree it is I am unsure, although the colour of the blooms is apple like.

Burley Old

Beltaine Glastonbury Tor

Leaving this morning at 0245 the sky was dark, the stars hidden by thick clouds through which occasionally the glow of the moon could be glimpse;  it remained dry, that is until I reached the base of Glastonbury Tor and it began to rain.  The rain stopped after 30 mins and I began my assent.  Around the base of Glastonbury Tor, the fields are filled with the colours of spring; whites, yellows and blues contrasting against the vibrant green of lush new grass; blossoming trees of many types spread colour along the hedgerows and stream banks. In contrast, above the wind blew through heavy grey skys as below on the Tor Beltaine was celebrated with ceremony and morris men dancing, whilst the curious looked on. It's a time of fertility, the planting of seeds, of hope as the sun returns; although the sun stayed shrouded today. The May Queens time, the Goddess in form of a maiden adorned by white hawthorn flowers, a symbol of purity, growth and renewal. Here's hoping all our seeds and hopes for the coming months come to fruition.
 

Wild Wood

Across Linford Brook, the wild Pinnick wood

Oak

Nettles

A large brown Owl swoops from a branch directly above me, disturbed by my movement below its perch, it takes an effortless glide through the greening boughs of the surrounding trees to rest again unseen.  Holm Hill Enclosure is bursting into life, the recent sunny weather and last nights rain have brought out the leaf buds and the woodland is rapidly greening, filling out, all the views through the woodland are contracting, blurring, soon to disappear; the trees full of leaves will create dells and secret groves.  I stopped on a dry gravel bank, exposed as Highland Water has reduced to a shallow gentle flow, that said, there are some deeper stretches and where trees have fallen in to the stream deep holes have formed.  The banks of the stream are covered with the detritus of the winter floods; as the water has resided it has left a jumble of branches and stumps, frequently causing obstructions. On the gravel I laid a small fire; papery birch bark and dry fern for tinder, so wood shavings I collected in Pinnick wood and brittle dead birch twigs for kindling; half a dozen strikes and it was off.  The Bush craft muscle was exercised again by gathering Nettles for soup; at the site of Holm Hill Cottage, long since gone, two patches of nettles flourish; I've found it unusual to find nettle patches of any size in the forest, so these are a boon.  After a couple of nettle tops collected my fingers began to tingle as the formic acid got to work, I persevered until I had gathered sufficient for dinner; these nettles are strong and the tingling sensation will remain into tomorrow. The site of the old cottage has a distinctive scent due to the Eucalyptus trees, today it was complimented by the addition of the scent of cherry  blossom blooming nearby. 

Cart wheel

The metal rim of a wooden cart wheel endures far beyond the wheel; now laying half buried and forgotten against a particularly gnarly Holly tree, the rim is one of a few items which remain to indicate this site was once occupied. 

Pinnick again

Cows with their calves graze the lush green belt between Pinnick Wood and Linford Brook, soaked throughout the winter, now green and verdant with fresh grass tops. The brook, now down to a slow and often very narrow shallow flow, teems with fry of varying sizes, startled by my approach into one of the deeper dark pools found in the meanders.  Pinnick wood is a wondrous place, ancient, managed and wild, the woodland feels alive, it exudes  history and sense of place; Oaks of mixed age , self seeded  and wild, share the spaces with Birch, Holly and other familiar shrub trees.  Lovely.

White Nothe

Pinnick

Camp craft

It would appear some folk have been practicing camp craft skills in Pinnick Wood; two shelters were clearly visible, one particularly well made, the other only the skeletal frame, like a rib cage, remains.  The well made structure was serviceable, with room for 3 or 4 people to sleep comfortably and a good position at the entrance for a warming fire.  Close to the rib cage shelter is an arrow stuck in the ground at 45 degrees; the shaft is if straight holly, clearly distinguishable by its pale nature, attached to the piercing end of the arrow was a glow tube, used presumably for weight and possibly for retrieval, split feathers attached with tape acted as flights.  This is not the first time I've identified bush craft activities in these woods, although the serviceable shelter is the largest. 

Linford Bottom

Dear Deer

Noticeably over the past few years the Deer population has grown significantly; they have also become less alarmed by human activity and you can get closer to them than I've ever known.  This in part due to the reduction in culling, which used to be undertaken by rifle; this has mean the deconstruction of established shooting positions, sited in th trees adjacent to several open areas which fringe the woodland.  Here the remains have been sawn up; the hide must have been quite new when destroyed as remains of the carved notice are still clearly visible.  The notice read 'Not for public use', although I've often rested aloft the woodland, sat in a shooting position.

 There are still shooting positions throughout the forest, as with this one nearby beyond Warricks glade gutter.

Tanks alot

Second World War tank tracks run from the direction of the A35 through and the skirting the edge of Brinken Wood; more evidence of the forest wartime occupation.  I often question whether my interpretation of forest tracks (left by vehicles) is accurate; vehicle will have been used throughout the forest since their introduction and are still used during forestry work.  The tracks I interpret as World War 2 vehicle tracks exhibit certain features which set them aside from tracks representing forest activities: Their size corresponds with tracks from the Studland training area, used from 1939 to 1945; these tracks have been confirmed from aeriel photographs from 1946. The nature of the tracks, their paths, distribution and grouping don't conform to observed forestry practices. Often you have one or two well used tracks of some depth representing the passage of several vehicles traveling in the same direction, then the tracks diverge forming several shallower tracks representing vehicles traveling forward in a line. The tracks are old exhibiting well established plant communities.  It would be nice to see wartime aeriel photos of the area for confirmation.

Sunset pony

A softer light bathes early evening, throwing an orange hue over the forest landscape; the ponies easily blend in.

Fire Bow

The light was harsh in the forest, white and intense, the contrast set too high; although taken in a semi shaded dell, resting against a moss covered truck, the sun warmed through you and the gentle breeze, itself softly warm, breathed fresh life into the land.  No trails in the sky, just pure blue, less noise, the impact of human activity reduced, if only for a short while nature has a degree of respite. The honey pots I passed were thronged with the less adventurous enjoying a sanitized, post card view of the forest; and why not, it's just not for me, the less walked path, the quiet dell or secret grove, that's where I gravitate too.  New life is burgeoning, whether tadpoles developing or the small fry filling the brooks, all parts of the forest are blooming.  It's easy to become absorbed, lost in time and place, unaware for a moment of the wider world outside that moment; waking from your absorption, just slightly disorientated and taken a back.  At the base of an Oak, tucked away, I found the partial remains of a fire bow set I made last spring; if the remains are still serviceable I'll have a go next time I'm this way.  Around the forest, squirreled away, I've secreted all manner of useful materials.

Highland water

The lower reaches of Highland Water, where the small brook emanating in the high plateaus of the Forest at Ocknell, becomes a river; soon it will break from the seclusion of the woodland glades and emerge near Brockenhurst at the visitor honey pot of Balmer Lawn.  A few miles more and Highland water becomes the Lymington River and enters the Solent.