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14 Jun 2010 11:33 PM
The weather, here in England, is always a strong topic for it changes so quickly. One minute beautiful, with clear azure skies, and the next in thick cloud formations to block out the sun and make a summer's day feel wintery cold.
Today's walk was under those varied conditions and when I drew up at the car park, I wanted to be at, I wondered what I was going to wear for it was about 20c (c 70f.)
Should I leave my coat in the boot of the car and go out on my walk in my thick jumper? I thought. A quick look up at the cloud line told me it was going to be one of those walks where I should put on my winter coat and tie it round my waste if it became hot. Has it turned out, I was glad I took the coat along with me.
Armed with my light weight binoculars and my thick coat, I set off and my first task was to go to a known Kingfisher area but, when I looked into a shallow clear water , I noted that the water was chocked with weed. No matter how long I waited there would not be any kingfisher sightings for the fish eating diving birds would not be able to get out of the water once they were in so there was no point in them trying to fish there in the first place.
Even though I was standing in a stiff breeze, at the side of a lake, midges were all around me and they were determined to find flesh to feed their hunger on so common sense told me that I should be moving on. Before moving, I took time out to try and guage the mood of the morning and looked round to see what was on the water, and listen to the sounds that are sometimes missed in the 'hub hub' of the day's events.
A pair of Great Crested Grebes had a brood of chicks, swimming on the water, and when the adults saw me, the young birds were quickly encouraged to climb onto the backs of their parents. Sedge Warblers were singing, from reed beds, and a Coot was constantly calling which I construed as being an alarm call, and a pair of Swans tended their brood of three grey white fluffy dainty looking young. The Coot sound made me think I was interfering with the day to day lives of parents trying to bring up a brood of young birds and that I should beat a hasty retreat.
Before leaving, for my curiosity got the better of me, there was one more sound to detect. It was not a bird sound but more like a cavernous noise, hollow and with a base resonance, but what could it be? I looked all around me and inwardly smiled at my poor detective work for the noise was coming from a rock, on the edge of the water area, and, as the wave forms lifted and fell, the water pushed its way under the rock and was quickly pushed out again. The ebbing, of the water surface, had created a small cavern in the sand stone rock and was making the sound I was first confused about.
Before leaving, I took one last look out over the water and noted the shallow ripples on the surface and made a mental note of what I could see in the hope that I would, one day, capture the sight on a painted canvas.
I moved on, in variable weather conditions-swinging this way and that from hot to cold-and when I stopped, to make notes, a Chaffinch dropped down from a nearby bush and did not seem to be bothered that I was standing alongside of the area it had chosen to rest. If that was not good enough, for I felt I had been accepted by the creatures I had gone out to observe, a Tree Sparrow joined the space the first bird had chosen. I stood, motionless, and the birds made no attempt to leave the site but something moved, not to their liking, and the two birds quickly flew off in tandem.
I walked down a leafy lane now shrouded in shadows and cold enough to be pleased that I had put on my winter coat. The last time I walked down this lane, only a few weeks ago, buds were just bursting into leaf forms; today, the leaves formed a thick canopy making it difficult to look into the trees to see if I could find any nests.
From this area, I could hear different sounds and, in the distance, there was the steady hypnotic 'clip clop' sound from a horse that was being gently exercised.
Insects were making a constant humming sound and Chaffinch were now calling from several trees. Fields, at either side of the avenue of trees, I was walking under, were a magnificent sight as the gentle breeze made a crop of Barley look like a sea of grasses twisting this way and that. At the opposite side of the lane, cows and calves were grazing on the lush green grass.
The peace and tranquillity, as I meandered down this particular lane, was incredibly relaxing. In the edge bottoms, all manner of lush green foliage had sprung up to an incredible height in no time at all. In areas of the lane, there were thousands of air born seed clusters blowing on the wind but, try as I would, I could not find where they were coming from. The seeds looked like cotton buds; some were in small clusters and they dropped onto my clothing and all round me like dust falls onto a static surface. Other clusters of seed came down in pieces that were large enough to grab hold of but I was unable, after closely looking at the seed gatherings, to identify what they were.
Puddles of water, from yesterday's rain, formed at the sides of the lane and when I heard running water, I was able to trace the source that went into a concealed dyke and entered the water course from a land draining Scitric or drainage pipe. Chiffchaffs were calling and, now about half an hour into my walk, I met my first walkers, a young couple who were so preoccupied with one another's company that they did not see me as they walked by.
Lingering, resting by a gate, I surveyed the scene and took in the view of a beautiful looking field full of Barley Eyes that were already beginning to swell and I wondered when the crop would be ready to be harvested.
For a moment, I turned off the lane, onto a track only used by the farmer when he wanted to move his tractor into the fields, and saw a Hare standing motionless in front of me as if posing for a photo. Carefully, trying not to make a noise, I removed my camera, out of its case, and was about to take a picture when the Hare bolted.
A few seconds later, an 'off road' cyclist came past and I knew that the Hare had heard the rider before I did. For a few weeks, I have been trying to track Hares to see if I could get a picture of them 'boxing' and although I was unable to take my snapshots, I was pleased to see the Hare in its wild state where it could, at will, run free and bolt off into the long grasses never to be seen again.
I walked back to the lane I had come from and a Whitethroat called out from a bush at the side of the narrow walkway. Underfoot, walking was difficult and because I was looking at every piece of ground where I was carefully putting my feet, I did not see-until it was too late-a young cow that was rubbing itself on an old wooden fence post; when it heard me, the animal took fright and bolted to the safety of the body of mature cows now in the centre of the field.
My new boots were still a little stiff, in places, and I felt the need to keep stopping to rest. I decided to walk into woodland where I knew there were places to sit and, on my way, I was able to take a photo of a lone Foxglove. This plant, Digitalis, once was used as a heart stimulant for patients that were suffering with heart problems.
When on foot again, I could see, in the distance, a lone lady horse rider and I waved to her to let her know that I was going to move out of the way in case the horse was going to troublesome. I found another seat and while I was making more notes, the rider came passed and instead of riding straight by, she passed the 'time of day' with me before the impatient horse wanted to move on. I wondered, when the rider was on her way, if the horse I saw was the one I could hear earlier.
I turned onto a footpath, off the 'beaten track,' now walking into tall grasses. I knew that this area was often used by foxes, in the early hours of day light, but I could not see any tracks. I had only gone into the area about one hundred yards when I became aware of being surrounded by several Small White butterflies. The path I was on, not often used by the look of the softness of the soil, boarded another field full of crops and, at the left hand side, I could see signs of 'latter day' human habitation. How people made a living, from where I was walking, was beyond my capabilities of self sufficiency. There were the remains of an old farm cottage and a few once domesticated cottage garden flowers but nothing else so I concluded that the site had been vacated for a long time.
In the winter, this particular walk is impossible for it is thick with mud and even though we have had some dry weather, it was still squelchy underfoot but my boots coped well and my feet remained dry and warm. Eventually, in a dip in the land, I came to an open stream and, in one of the mature trees, close to the edge of the water; I could see a used nest sight of a woodpecker. I lingered, for a while, using the tree line to hide, but there were no signs of birds coming or going 'too and from' the nest site.
Half the way down the track, I came to an area where there were lots of thistles growing at the side of the narrow path and some of the sharp leaved edges were finding their way through my thick walking 'pants' material and I knew I had to find another path. Luckily, there was a small opening into a thick woody area and I carefully made my way into the dark wood. I heard the calls of a Bullfinch and a Pheasant but, from then on in, no other bird sounds were heard.
Due to the close proximity of the planted trees, forming the woodland, it was dark inside the tree canopy and also cold. I pulled my winter coat close to me as I ventured into the thicker part of the wood. The ground, for not many walkers had passed this way, was still uneven and needed great care as I picked my way through until I came to a path that had been put down by workmen using small and narrow machinery. Here, the ground cover was sparse, due to the lack of light, and any growth was only a few inches high.
I followed the footpath, made up of a loose surface, and when it dipped downhill towards an oncoming stream, all the topsoil had been washed away leaving a sandy soil behind. So much top soil had been washed away it caused an old tree to be uprooted. The tree had fallen across the path I was walking on.
The timber, as it fell down, crashed into other trees and had not fallen to the floor. There were shards of wood everywhere and before getting too close to the tree, for it was precariously wedged between other half dead tree branches, I had to make a conscious decision as to whether I should take a long detour round the hazard. In the end, common sense prevailed and I took the safe option.
At the other side of the obstacle, the path, leading out of the woodland, was much steeper than I had first thought and when I came to the mouth of the wood, I stopped to draw breath.
I was now standing at the very end of a golf fairway and, when I had regained my breath, I decided to follow a man made footpath, round the back of the golf course, in the hope that it would eventually lead me in the direction I wanted to be. I had, when in the wood, been going downhill and I was now going uphill so I knew I was heading in the right direction.
In the wood, the smells were fusty but here, now out in the open, the air scents were of fresh mown grass and a chemical smell associated with newly laid Tar Mcadam that was coming from the roadway especially built for golfing buggies to drive on.
Within minutes, for I did not want to be seen close to the fairway, in case someone thought I was trespassing, I was back in woodland. This time, the trees were not densely packed and there was an open canopy letting in lots of light.
The woodland floor was much different too for grasses covered the ground and I came across a shrub, in a white blossom, that seemed to fill the tree to bursting. I had no idea what the tall bush was and I wondered, for I was now back in the stream area, if the woody plant had been put into the ground by humans trying to brighten their bleak outlook.
A little further, in a thick coppiced area, there were scented smells, coming from the woodland that had never come to my keen senses before. One scent was so strong it seemed to leave a heady haze in the air and reminded me of a prize winning rose, I once knew about, but there were no roses to be seen.
I lingered, for a while, 'drinking in' the beautiful aroma, then became aware of voices and knew that golfers were not too far away. The noise, the golfers were making, suddenly went up a few decibels and a heated argument, it sounded like someone was cheating, ensued and I wondered if the male voices were the ones I had been listening to, a few weeks earlier, when one man kept picking up balls, from the 'rough' that were not his to use. I smiled to myself and said, 'I thought golfing was supposed to be a relaxing and enjoyable game.'
When I had moved away from the woodland, I began to walk along side of an old-in places broken down-high wall and heat was radiating off the wall to such a degree that I was pleased when I had passed the area for I was getting far too hot.
Luckily, just round the corner, I was able to move into a wooded coppice and soon cooled to a temperature that suited my walking style. Here, with a cross wind blowing, I could hear a sound that was like a very strong wind but there was only a slight breeze. In this part of the wood, there was a spooky feeling but before you begin to think that this spot was supported by some kind of magical power, there is no need to for the noise was being made by the breeze, in a few distant trees that were full to bursting with foliage. The sound, one I love to hear but a sound feared by people who are not used to walking in the woods, is one that has eluded me over the entire long and difficult winter months.
I was now in another part of a wood, with a path that was wide enough to support the largest log cutting machines but the path also had another use, it acted as a 'fire break.' Here, due to good woodland management, the trees had been thinned and the extra filtering light, coming from the felled tree areas, gave rise to ground cover that was as high as a man; which was in complete contrast to the ground cover in the dark wood I had come from. I looked, for a moment, at all the ground foliage, and wondered how many ground dwelling animals were taking shelter there and what kind of animals would use such cover but I saw nothing.
I was now on my way out of the wooded areas, walking on a roadway originally designed to take out the steep incline to aid loaded carthorses as they twisted this way and that forming some very tight corners, and I employed my little trick crossing over the roadway, as I approached the bend, so that I could see round the corner before whatever may be round the corner could see me.
Swallows flew close, over head, and their speed now seemed to be much faster than I had imagined it for I had lost the walking speed I set out with due to my naturally tiring walking muscles.
I rested, on an old iron gate, and smiled to myself after reading a sign that had an apostrophe 'S' when there should have been a plural 'S'. It is a common mistake.
I was now back in human activity areas and the first thing I notices, after taking in all the wonderful smells and 'drinking in' the peaceful tranquillity I had grown used to in the areas I had just been walking, was the 'hub hub' of voices and the revving of car engines.
There were other differences too for the wonderful smells, coming from Dog Roses and others, were over taken by the smells of strong washing powders from walkers who had just started to heat up while trying to walk an unsustainable pace.
When I reached the car park, I asked a watch wearing man if he would mind telling me the time and I was surprised to learn how late it was but, in truth, I should have been able to recognise that it was mid day for my tummy was rumbling and I instantly knew it was time to be fed.
By for now,
John.
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