Welcome to Old John's blog!

15 Apr 2009 11:15 PM

The weather forecast, for the Easter holiday, was poor but, for some reason, the bad weather had not come to the area I live in. Past experience told my wife and I that the roads, and many of the places where people flock to, were places, if possible, to avoid but, because the weather was so nice, we felt we aught to make the effort and go out for a walk.

This time of year, not only beautiful to the eye of the beholder, with life  pushing out of the ground and leaves bursting open on trees, shrubs and bushes, it is a wonderful time of the year for any English birdwatcher.

Two days ago, while my wife and I tried to find a place to park the car, we were lucky enough to see our first Swallow of the year.  Every time I see a lone straggler, flying so quick the bird can get passed before people realise what they have seen, I marvel at the feat of such a small bird  flying, unaided, for thousands of miles, from Table Top mountain, in Africa, to visit our shores.

Today though, for I wanted to burn off a few calories, I decided to go out for a walk on my own.  Once again, the car park was almost full but, on my way in to the car park I had decided to use, I was lucky to be able to find a spot that was in the process of being vacated. 

The weather had started off dull and depressing but, as the morning wore on, the sun came out and the day looked as though it was going to be settled and keeping me warm and dry.

To my surprise, when I alighted from my car and as I looked out over the open fields at sheep and lambs grazing on short lush green grass, I could see a misty haze in the distance.  The haze, usually burnt off by the early morning sun, lingered and remained the same the same consistency throughout my walk.

Trees, I could see through only days before, were now all full of virgin unfurled small green leaves.  Pussy Willows, had fallen off the trees in their thousands and the small white flower of the Blackthorn had taken over to give a wonderful bursts of colour. 

As I walked across the car park, to avoid the usual walks people go on at this time of year, I could here Blackbirds and Blue Tits calling.  I rounded a tree lined corner and found that a usual walk, for me, had been barred by a temporary looking wire fence so I doubled back and walked on my way. 

I decided to walk down a narrow country lane, flanked by trees on both sides, giving shade to a patchwork of uneven Tar Mc Adam road surface.  It was cold here and I was pleased I had a Fleece on under my old and trusted raincoat. 

As I walked passed an old and gnarled tree, with Ivy stretching from the top to the bottom, I noted that new growth, of Ivy leaves, were already established and clinging to the rough surface of the tree.  Ivy, an invasive plant thought, by some, to be the killer of the tree forms used as a host to climb, is a wonderful plant, throughout the summer and winter, for birds to find insects for food.

I moved on to the side of a lake, sheltered by a small bay, to where Orange Tipped butterflies were moving from one weed patch to the next.  Here, while I was taking a few notes, I felt the familiar itch of a gnat bite on the fleshy parts of my lower neck.  I quickly moved on to where there was a breeze so that I would be free of any more insects. 

Today, although it was not the first time of usage, I had on new walking boots and when I had been walking for only 10 minutes, I could feel the boots pinching at my toes.  I walked into a small coppiced wooded area, that had a spongy feel to the underside of my boots, then moved on and found a seat, at the side of a lake, where I rested and removed my boots to rub my toes. 

While I was on the creaking seat, a basking Pike, startled by my presence, broke the surface of the water and created a circle of water shock waves before it vanished out of sight.

Sitting on the rickety wooden bench, I settled to take in the quiet sounds of nature.  On the open water, geese honked and Coot made their haunting one note harsh sound.  Behind me, in the wood, a male Pheasant called and all manner of woodland birds broke into song.  Forestry workers, at lunch when I arrived on site, restarted work.  Their petrol based cutting machines droned away, as the men cut into timer; a form of re cycling, even before the name was invented, and the call of the Chiffchaff was almost drowned out by the noise of the human activity.

Today, I was hoping to see another solitary Swallow but, as I patiently waited, looking out over the misty water, I felt I was hoping against all the odds and I decided to move on.  I moved from my bench and, for a second, was startled to see, at the other side of the bush that separated me from the outside world, an angler.  The man, in his endeavour not to frighten the fish he was trying to catch, had tackled up in almost dead silence.

I moved on and into an unkempt patch of woodland, with gnarled trees, that looked as though one puff of wind would 'fell' them.  This area, although, to the untrained eye, looked unsightly, it was a 'haven' for wild life for the food chain had not been disturbed for many years.

Many of these trees, although the condition looked too bad to have survived the winter, had broken into leaf.  Some of the trees looked as though there was no more life in them but it was clear to me that they were not going to give in easily.

I stopped, in the small wood, to make notes, and Great Tits, along with Wrens, called out to fill the air with song and yet, when I  first walked into the area, I had given up hope of anything venturing to the site.  How wrong I was proven to be!

I moved out into open country and one field, I noted, as I walked passed slowly, already had a green crop of about one foot high.  This crop was planted in, by the farmer, in the winter months.

When I was a small boy, winter crops were unheard of, the soil was deep furrow ploughed over in the winter and left for the frost to break it down.  Of course, at the time, Shire horses may have been doing the work and the least they had to do the better it was for the horse.

In front of me, now back on the narrow lane, I came to a sharp left hand bend and crossed over to the right hand side so that I had a better chance of seeing round the corner before being seen.  Had I known, I had not needed to bother myself for noisy walkers, coming towards me, had inadvertently frightened off all the wild life. 

For a moment, after a cyclist had passed me, I reflected on how quiet it became with only the sounds of the country as company. 

As I walked forward, there were more gnarled trees and some of them, with large sections of outer bark missing, Goldfinch found them to be of particular interest.

In truth, the Goldfinch may have been passing through, as is their way, for they seem to be constantly on the move but there was a hole in one of the trees and I hope the hole will be used, later in the season, by an owl or even a Goldeneye duck..     

For a moment, as I walked passed another tree, the raucous sound of a Wren, as it made a call far louder than the volume of its lung size, drowned out the sound of a Skylark, as the lark broke cover and climbed high into the sky. 

A one noted Bullfinch called but it's call was drowned out by a dog owner.  The owner seemed to have no control over his pet and, in the end, he swore at the dog when it would not behave for him.  At that moment, there were several people on the lane and they all looked in the direction of the person using a code of language that should not be, in my view, the 'norm.' The dog, who did not seem to understand languages, was unaffected by the man's irritation and carried on as if nothing had happened.

Leaving the path, up a slight incline, with my new boots pulling on the muscles at the back of my legs, I came to an area giving panoramic views as far as the eye could see.  Green field after green field were not only pleasing to the eye but they were pleasing to the sole too.                             


The lambs, I had seen earlier, were now all on the grass, resting, and were flanked by feeding Woodpigeons.  To rest my legs, after taking time out to speak to walkers and one of the resident wardens, I rested on an old wooden 'style' that once had fencing at either side of it.  The style, still used by some country folk, lead to a path that takes the walker to the rear of a thick and dense wood.  This path, an alternative to the one used by many of the walkers, takes the walker into more tranquil surroundings but, for me at least, the path is wonderful in the summer for dense foliage keeps out the heat of the day. 

While I sat, I listened to the birds calling and Willow Warblers seemed to call, after each bird had finished it's song.  From this summer visiting bird, there seemed to be an almost constant birdcall as one bird, after the other, called out the same notes. 

While sitting on the style, the slow walking walkers, the ones going up hill, stopped to talk and catch their breath.  All of the walkers had enjoyed their walk and although they were all feeling good about being 'at one with nature,' none of them knew why they were feeling relaxed and refreshed. 

While I had my head down, making notes, the slow plodding 'clip clop' sound of horses, as they came passed me, added to my unwinding and relaxing experience. 

Now on my feet, getting stiff after a long sit, I descended a hill towards another wooded area.  Although there was a keen breeze, out side of the wood, there did not seem to be any air movement, in the wood.  A flag, positioned at the boundary of the wood, hung loose and looked redundant for the information, on the flag, could only be read until the breeze lifted the material.  No matter, I knew, from going to the site many times, that the ornamental flag had not been erected to warn of danger; quite the opposite.

Once inside the wood, now with cooler temperatures and a need to zip up my coat, I walked through dead Bracken that still had no new growth to it.

While looking into a shallow water pond, with static clean water, I was rewarded by the sound of a Whitethroat call.  (My first Whitethroat of the year!)  Another Skylark took to the air and began to sing it's 'heart out' and Blue Bells were starting to push their way through the hard packed trodden soil. 

My boots were now feeling uncomfortable and I decided to make my return journey to the car park. 

Although there were lots of Dandelions in flower, a weed my late father called 'Rabbit Meat' due to the fondness the rabbits have of this plant, there were no rabbit droppings to be seen. 

Eventually, I found myself in an area where the 'main stream' of people were walking, and found a need to get off the narrow lane and stand in a ditch, at the side of the of the Tar Mack, to let a young and fast driver through.  The young driver, who seemed to be oblivious of the country code, put up clouds of dust from the rear of his car.  The dust rose high and made me sneeze.  I was aware of having to do the whole thing again for there was nowhere for the driver to go and he would have no choice but to turn round and come past me again.  On his return, for cyclists were now sharing the lane with him, I thought it best to stand even further back, to be safe from the wheels.  Has it turned out, for the driver swerved to miss the cyclists, my evasive action proved to be the right thing to do.

Once back to the safety of the car, I reflected on the walk I had just undertaken and, 'all in all,' I was pleased that I had had the time to be able to go out for the walk and hope that sharing it with you helps lift your spirits as much as it helped mine.

John.

                 
           

           

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