Crab Apples

It looks like a good season for Crab Apples (Malus sylvestris), many of the forest's compact shrubby trees are festooned with small green and red fruits. The small apples are bitter to say the least, although that doesn't rule them out as a wild food resource; most commonly they're made into jelly to be served with pork, or roasted also to be served with meats; they're also a good source of pectin so a great addition to jams. The bark and wood are none too shabby either, the bark for creating a yellow dye and the wood is very good for turning. Though the tree and it's fruits are most valuable to the forest's wildlife; the flowers are a boon for pollinating insects, the leafs provide food for caterpillars, especially those of moths; and all manner of birds and woodland mammals enjoy the tart fruits. All round it's quite the forest provider.

The Illustrated Tree

Our route this morning took us past the illustrated tree; a wonderful old man of the forest, and undoubtedly a tree of note. It's always a pleasure to reacquaint oneself with such a magical forest inhabitant, especially one so gnarly and magnificently patterned. It's also a relief to find him still standing it these stormy times; that said, he is fairly well protected by the surrounding trees.

Berry Wood

 

We were 4 miles out by the time we reached Berry Wood this morning, the early rays of the sun were just beginning to stream through the stands, and the forest was stunning. Sunday walks are our early doors walks, we're literally out walking at the crack of dawn, which means we have the forest to ourselves, particularly through the summer months; there's not many folk out and about that early, we've just the forest's wildlife for company. Suits us just fine.

Mill Lawn

Mill Lawn Brook is the only forest stream that I know that has continued to flow throughout this arid summer. Teaming with small fish and fry it's a popular haunt for Herons and Egrets; there were three on the hunt here this morning, a testament to the brooks health and abundance. 

CFC Canadian Forestry Corps?

I stumbled upon two interesting pieces of graffiti on the same tree, and both similar are in nature; J.Liafe CFC, and on the opposite side W. (the other initial lost to bark scaring, although possibly a T, as part of the top remains) CFC. CFC, eh? The nature of the graffiti gives me the impression that it's a good few decades old, and the fact that both CFC's are carved in the same unique style suggests that they're contemporary with each other.  After an internet search I came to the conclusion that CFC may well stand for the Canadian Forestry Corps; the corp was active in Britain (mainly Scotland) during both world wars; the nature of the graffiti ie. how it's stretched, scared and aged is very reminiscent of other Second World War examples. The Canadian Forestry Corps, nicknamed the 'Sawdust Fusiliers', was a corp of the Canadian Army who although given basic training were not expected to participate in combat, all things forestry and timber was their bag. There was a saw mill close by in Denny Enclosure between 1939-1945 which was said to be the only mill in the forest capable of handling 'large diameter timber', so although primarily stationed in Scotland, it is conceivable that Canadian Forestry Corps members with their experience and knowledge of dealing with large timber could have been employed in the area (I know some were stationed in Surrey). More research would be required to confirm that any members were stationed in the forest, and of course it could also be they were just passing by* or on leave. 

* During a cursory search I did come across this interesting reference:  'After the landings in Normandy in Jun 1944, ten companies eventually moved to the Continent to continue operations there; 77 square timber rafts and 54 round timber rafts had been created in Southampton to moved timber across the English Channel with them.' www.canadiansoldiers.com/corpsbranches/forestrycorps.htm  

Another bare bottom

Well, the fleeting rains did little to refresh or replenish the forest's brooks and streams. Linford Brook is yet another waterway currently identifying as a gravel track, and has done for a number of weeks now; this photo was taken quite close to the brook's source too in Milkham Enclosure.

Small fruits

The Common's apple trees are again well laden with fruit, although this year they're noticeably smaller, more like over sized crab apples or large plums, that said, they may now be bite sized but they're still just as tasty; the same can be said for our neighbour ancient cooking apple tree, usually laden with gorgeous fruits, the source of countless pies and crumbles; it's going to take a hell of a lot of them to fill a dish this autumn. This is another aspect to consider about climate change, how will it affect the size, quality and quantity of our wild harvests; a resource I'd taken for granted in my societal/food supply breakdown modelling. As I've probably mentioned before, these apocalypses we're enduring continue not to shape up to be the ones I'd been envisaging, planning and prepping for. No zombies either....yet (Shawn of the Dead zombies, not World War Z zombies, please).  

 

Black Water reborn?

Geoff and I were walking North Oakley ways this morning and happened across Blackensford Brook, one of two head waters which feed Black Water, and it was flowing, or at least giving that impression if you screwed up your eyes. Oh I thought, Black Water has been reborn...barely; then I thought, has it though? Or has Blackensford Brook been flowing weakly like this throughout, and the water's disappearing below the gravel long before it becomes Black Water; this point being just beyond Stinking Edge Wood, is only a matter of a couple of hundred meters from the dual sources of the stream in Backley and Blackenford bottoms, two hollows where water has been present throughout. Considering that I came to the conclusion that we'll probably need a lot more rain before we see Black Water flowing again.

Early fall

You'd be forgiven for thinking you were walking through the early autumn forest out there now. The bracken is draining it's colour, turning yellow to orange brown in hue; and the trees appear to have thrown in the towel early too, their leaves also adopting autumnal tints and even beginning to fall; it's mainly the Silver Birch though not exclusively by a long way. It's not right, nor does it feel so. It's quite chilling to consider how climate change could change our green and pleasant land, change it's very essence, it's flora and fauna, and of course it's seasons. You could argue that the changes we're witnessing this year have been the consequence of a dramatic heatwave, a once in a however many years event; you 'could' argue. Although the message that this is just the beginning of a climate crisis and that irreversible change is under way is quite compelling. I've noticed for a long time now that the seasons are changing, and have thought we'll end up with longer transition seasons of spring and autumn, whilst summer and winter contract becoming far shorter. Or of course that could just be wishful thinking on my part as I favour spring and autumn, so it's more comforting to imagine that rather than the season-less total climate breakdown that possibly awaits us. Nice out though. 

 

Petrichor

As a persistent though light rain fell, so light that a t-shirt still sufficed, it was if the woodland sighed in relief. So cool, so fresh, and ah, that sweet smell of petrichor, made all the sweeter by the length and intensity of the arid period preceding it. The stands were lovely this morning.

Forest heath oasis

Even with the forest as arid as it is, and it is, even when the streams have stopped flowing, which they have, you can still find watery oasis if you know where to look. Walking with a hound, particularly a thick coated one, you build up a mental map of watering points, here in the forest it's usually the springs that emerge in the boggy hollows; if I'm out in a rural setting, such Purbeck or Cranborne, it's knowing where all the water troughs are.

Black Water (less)

This week's bare naked bottom is that of Black Water, another tributary of the Lymington River; photo taken looking upstream from Gravelly Ford. This drought is dragging on now, it's been a couple of weeks so far that the streams have been dry. The only stream I've seen that's still flowing in the forest is Mill Lawn (which becomes Red Rise Brook, and then Ober Water), the third of the Lymington River tributaries. You have to wonder how the forests wildlife are coping, it's got to be difficult, and you can't help think about what the forest will look like once climate change's impacts begin to bed in; the forest is home to some internationally important habitats that will no doubt be adversely effected.  

Evening colours

I never cease to be struck by nature's ability to capture and move your soul simply by being and doing what she is and does. No picture, no matter how good (and mine aren't) can replicate those moments the senses capture; take this evening's walk through Burley Old, the warmth of the colours, and the sounds and smells of the twilight forest was affecting in a way no media could reflect. 

Highland 'no' Water

 

This week's bare naked bottom is that of Highland Water. Highland Water is one of the main tributaries of the Lymington River. Now I've seen it this low many times before, and so am not too worried at present, it's more for what duration it remains this low that's my worry; in the past it's been for a matter of days, fleeting, whereas this could be for weeks which is a very different matter. Whether this is entirely the consequence of climate change or a combination of that and natural weather fluctuations is moot, there should be no doubt our climate crisis is accentuating weather events. Even now though some pools still remain in the meanders and deeper spots, although already the water quality in these pools is murky, and they can only deteriorate from here out; and that will no doubt be detrimental to the forest's wildlife.

So say we all.

Well indeed; though the chances of Mr Putin seeing this out here in the forest is unlikely; although I think we can all heartily concur with the sentiment. The Azov battalion symbol on the other side of the trunk, not so much though; before being integrated into the Ukrainian National Guard the Azov battalion originated as a nasty paramilitary militia with open and forthright xenophobic Far-Right and Neo-Nazi sympathies; we appear to have forgotten that. There's never circumstances in which we should have time for Nazis; even when they're our enemy's enemy.

No Man's Walk

 

I have no idea why No Man's Walk is so named, it's always appeared quite a innocuous stretch of land, nothing visibly or emotionally disconcerting to the place. For years the woodland through here which bordered a narrow deep cut drain, the headwater of Warwickslade Cutting, was a really great spot for Hedgehog mushrooms; though a decade or so ago, the drain was restored to it's original course, the environs now becoming much boggier, and as a consequence the woodlands are not such a great spot for Hedgehog mushrooms. Looks nicer though, more florally diverse, more organic looking; it's natural look is far better. One note: it's not at all boggy at the moment, oh contraire, the forest continues to desiccate as our heatwave continues. 

Subway graffiti

I like this. Simple though effective, both in form and colour palette. More please. It's surprising how stumbling across colourful graffiti, no matter the subject or size, can lift your spirits and put a smile on your face; it amazes me that people can object to dull grey, often neglected, concrete surfaces being brought to life with art.   

Chucky in town

I was surprised on our visit to Burley Old this morning to see an abundance of Chicken of the woods (Laetiporus sulphureus); a glorious sight to behold. Of course, it is the proper season for them, though we'd only been walking here last Thursday and then there were nought about; so to find over a dozen good sized, firm, fresh and vibrantly coloured clumps had appeared, was unexpected. Nature doesn't hang about though; the wheel turns, after all. A good, and always popular, edible fungus, Chicken of the woods' distinctive orangey hues make it hard to miss or misidentify. As always though, remember care should be taken when collecting wild foods, and if in ANY doubt...then don't; of particular note with this species is that they have been known cause stomach upset in some people. 

Lughnasadh

The eternal wheel continues to turn and Lughnasadh, first harvest, is upon us. Across the land the fecundity of the earth merged with the potency of the suns energy is reflected in every golden ear of grain ready for harvesting; John Barley Corn's time has come, and his sacrifice will help to feed us all. Though life's harvest isn't restricted to the land, it also manifests in the ambitions and desires of our physical and spiritual worlds; hopefully those plans laid out in spring are advancing too, or coming to fruition if it's their time to; I hope so. Beyond our personal microcosms, world events have highlighted the importance of the grain harvest in people's diets and the dire straights we'd find ourselves in if those harvests were to fail; the earth's fragile climate too has also been highlighted in the erratic nature of what were once, for the most part, predictable seasonal conditions. Both need giving thought to whilst we give thanks. Lughnasadh blessings y'all /|\

Bone dry brook

Even Geoff with his magnificent water detecting skills was for the most part out of luck on this morning's walk. Both Dockens Water and Latchmoor Brook were bone dry, at least on the surface anyway. Shocking as it may appear, and not wishing to downplay climate change, on this occasion it's not uncommon for the forest's streams to show the naked bottoms; it's for how long that could be the sign of longer term environmental change. All that said, further up the brook shallow murky puddles could still occasionally be found enduring...much to Geoff's delight; luckily our route passed Eyeworth Pond we're he could ditch the murk.

Bratley Water

Looking over Bratley Water towards Bolderwood from Bushy Bratley.

From tiny acorns

The oaks are smothered with tiny acorns this year, quite the contrast to last summers near bare boughs. A good sign maybe for a fruitful pannage in autumn; last years pannage was very thin on the ground for the foraging pigs. Still, nothing is guaranteed, and without some much need rain I don't know how well this crop will develop. 

Burley Old

After 10 miles walking, another early start saw Geoff and I a mile out from the car shortly after 0800, just as the sun broke through the post dawn cloud, illuminating Burley Old. Again the forest had been ours alone to walk; and I ain't complaining.

Mud club

 

If NASA want to find water on a planet, forget sending a rover, send a retriever. I don't know how the bugger does it, no matter how arid, Geoff will find water. That said, water's not really a problem, mud on the other hand requires my participation in it's removal; and so a short distance on we reached Red Rise Brook where we undertook the ritual struggle which is cleaning Geoff's face.

Joan Russell

As I made my way up Bidcombe Hill I noticed what looked from a distance like remnants of a military structure or some such; I was mistaken though, it's a substantial block of shaped quarried stone. Facing the rising sun on the cleanly finished east facing surface is inscribed 'Joan Russell 1927 - 2003' underneath which 'Bernard Russell 1924 - 2011'. I had no idea who Joan and Bernard where, and after searching the internet I still don't; the block is on a list of public art as a 'Memorial and sculpture', although no further information is included; it's recorded on other sites such as Geograph too, although again, no detail is included. A mystery memorial it is then. Nice spot though, and I'd bet a lovely place to watch the sunrise.

Bidcombe Hill

Again I unexpectedly found myself out and about with several hours to pass; this time in Southwest Wiltshire. What to do on an exceptionally hot and sunny day I thought, I know, I'll get closer to the sun by walking up onto one of the exposed chalk grassland hills of the region; common sense sometimes eludes me. I don't know this area, though the highest point close to where I was Bidcombe Hill; the obvious choice then. Cold Kitchen Hill, Whitecliff Down and Brims Down form a bowed ridge with Bidcombe Hill as it's highest point at 297m. Once up there the high downs afford stunning views in all directions across the rolling Wiltshire countryside; making a heavy 8 mile walk (and blimey was it hot, little to no breeze either), well worthwhile. I'm always grateful for the opportunity to walk somewhere totally new; the elation of experiencing a landscape and it's vistas for the first time, there's a unique magic to those walks.   

Kimmeridge

This morning I unexpectedly found myself on the Isle of Purbeck with a couple of hours to pass. I'm not complaining; being a term time Monday the Kimmeridge bowl was thin on walkers, and with most visitors congregating at the focal point of the beach I had the ridge walk to myself. Originally I'd thought to walk the under-cliff eastwards, though the tide wasn't out that far so I decided to walk out to Swyre Head; I'd forgotten how steep the rough track up towards the Head is.  Although a reasonable breeze blew, you only felt and benefited from it when in the shade, out in the sun it was proper roasting, and the entire walk out to the head and back is exposed. Lovely walk mind, with wonderful views too, though I was grateful for the opportunity at the end of the walk to sit awhile in the shade of a clump of ash trees on the ridge just above Kimmeridge village, where the cooling breeze took no time to revive me. Nice impromptu walk. 

Sunset

 Another fine sunset.

Early doors

It was early doors for Geoff and I this morning and, man, was the fresh forest lovely; all rich colour and wonderful light. With his dense coat Geoff doesn't favour this hot weather, so we were up at 0400, and by 0520 were already under the canopy as the sun rose and flooded the stands. Deer featured prominently on our walk, they appear to be omnipresent, with groups and individuals everywhere; I mean everywhere. In fact even before our walk, two stags had emerged from the high roadside bracken directly in front of us requiring me to test the brakes, and test my sphincter; luckily both passed.  The early forest was ours for the majority of our walk, which is always nice; the popularity the forest endured during the early period of covid appears to have abated (touch wood); although I still have issues and concerns around the over promotion, and consequent commodification, of the forest...although that's another ramble. After a 10.5 mile walk taking in the wonders of the summer forest we were back at the car before 0900, with the day still ours. Well worth getting up early for.

Beside the seaside

 

Oh I do like to live beside the seaside, oh I do. The view from the 'High Cliff' which gives Highcliffe it's current name; well, Highcliffe on Sea, if you want to pretentious about it, as some of our would be lardy da types do; delusions of grandeur really for a village which until the late 19th century was called 'Slop Pond'. Though I digress. From near to far we have; Christchurch Bay; Mudeford Quay, and the 'Run'; Christchurch Harbour and Hengistbury Head; Bournemouth Bay, with the just visible line of sand being the dunes of Studland Beach; capped off by the Isle of Purbeck at the western end of the Purbeck Ridge, including the high point of Godlingston Hill. Not a bad view really.

Ooooh!

 Magnificently coloured sunset

The Boys

I'm constantly surprised, and somewhat concerned, by the increasing carefree nonchalance of the forest's deer; Geoff and I sat in plain sight watching a group of young stags for 10 mins, and the boys continued their grazing as if we weren't there. How rude. Don't they know that historically Geoff and I represent their biggest predatory threat, well, not us personally, but humans and canines; where's the acknowledgement of our predatory prowess? That said, they could obviously see that we were nothing but a pair of harmless chumps. Still, on a serious note, I've noticed that over the years how the forest's deer have become far less concerned about humans than they used to be, or maybe should be; back in the day they'd have been gone at the mere hint of us, and to see a deer close up was a rare treat. 

1877

I spotted this old piece of graffiti on a Beech near the Knightwood Oak; I love finding old graffiti, even more so when it's connected, or maybe connected, to historical events. 1877 is the year of the 'New Forest Act' which restricted the creation of any further large forestry enclosures in order to protect the Commoner's grazing land, it also recognised the open woodland as 'ancient' and re-establish the Verderer's Court which had previously been dissolved. There's something carved above the date, though whether it's letters and/or a symbol are uncertain due to distortions in the bark. I have to wonder if this double underlined date is in recognition of the Commoner's victory?

Revived

The forest's streams were becoming more gravel and murky puddle than stream, to the point where I cringed a bit when Geoff went in for a drink and a cool; thankfully recent rains has revived the forest tributaries fortunes, and once again they're flowing clean. Passing Blackensford Brook Geoff had an encounter with one of this season's young colts; the foal was fascinated by Geoff, and even though his mother clearly was intimating caution, the foal was determined to take a closer look. Geoff sat, patiently and somewhat nervously, as the foal approached, they eyed each other a while, then their noses touched; it was a beautiful moment, a rare one too, foals don't commonly behave like that; this young colt showed great character. Sadly, no photo of the event was captured (well, not be me anyway), as being surrounded by skittish mares I was more concerned with taking in the moment, ..... and monitoring our safety.   

Mega structure

You'll see some good sized Wood Ants nests around the forest, although this one was something else; no doubt built on a rotting stump it stood at maybe 1.2m or more high. A nest this substantial could accommodate up to 250,000 Formica rufa ants; the mound seethed and it's surrounds were alive with the distinctive red and black ants. Quite the sight. Almost immediately I was under siege from the colony's inhabitants, or at least under investigation. Consequently I took my shot and moved away; although not a threat, wood ants do secrete formic acid (the same acid which produces the sting from nettles) and can spit their acid several feet when pissed. What's really amazing is that there were a dozen or more nests of various sizes in closish proximity; there must be so many ants out there.

Natures larder

These uncertain times have brought the fragility of the mechanisms which support and sustain us into sharp focus. It's said that we're only nine meals from anarchy, and I think that'd be a fair assumption. Hyperbole? Maybe. Although the fabric of society is already worn thin, with derision and division common as the façade of civility slips. There are several scenarios I can envisage where a knowledge of wild food resources and where to acquire them becomes invaluable. That in mind, I try as often as possible I to utilize wild food resources when they present themselves; not only do they make a welcome addition to the pot, engaging the foraging muscle also helps to keep it sharp. Today's find, a tidy clump of Oyster Mushroom (Pleurotus ostreatus); a common fungi found throughout the year on deciduous trees (in my experience, beech), especially after rains when you'll regularly find sprawling assemblages of them; a good edible, and one that's difficult to misidentify (never collect any wild food you're not 100% with). Until relatively recently an understanding of natures larder would have been commonplace, learnt in childhood and utilized through life, as had their ancestors into the mists of time, a lineage unbroken; not so much now though.

Rain drops keep falling

It may well be summer, although in traditional British fashion it rained for most of our walk this morning, and quite heavily at points. Throughout the stands the forest's Foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea) had their heads bowed in gratitude.....well, either that or in submission. 

Stinkhorn

A Common Stinkhorn (Phallus impudicus) erupts through the lush mossy carpet which covers the floor of Holidays Hill's mainly coniferous enclosure. 

Pyramidal Orchid

Either standing alone or in diffuse clusters, Pyramidal orchids (Anacamptis pyramidalis) are a common sight throughout the rough chalk grassland at this time of year. A beauty to behold.

Summer Solstice

Surely the year's wheel is turning too fast? Can it really be the midsummer already? Yes; Alban Hefin is upon us.  The Holly King maybe born and, mostly imperceivable until the equinox, the day's light will begin to decline; for now though the Sun King sits upon the thrown, surveying the flourishing landscape about him; he's at the pinnacle of his rule, his crown secure, his light shining strong; enjoy the halcyon days of summer. Solstice blessings. /|\