Back from my Christmas break and I had barely unpacked before I pulled on my boots and headed out to the forest, it only takes a few days out of the cattle grid for me to really appreciate where I call home. I feel as rooted as the trees to the New Forest and before too long they start to call me back. I headed out to Fritham to recce the walk for next week and to my surprise, not a soul to be seen on this foggy morning apart from the gnarly and twisted trees bearing their stories and scars.
The foggy morning enhanced the ambiance as my body settled back into its rightful place among the trees. This timeless forest is rich with the subdued hues and textures of winter, featuring mosses, fungi, and ferns along its ancient banks and ditches.
Wood spurge is visible amongst the die back of bracken and a carpet of damp leaves and a constant trickle from Latchmoor Brook can be heard amongst the blackbird song and the sound of my dampened footsteps.
Having not visited this area for some time, I noticed a significant transformation in the landscape, as the conifer stand had nearly disappeared. Only a few smouldering piles of ashes remain in what currently appears to be a barren landscape. However, nature will soon begin her process, causing buds to emerge from dormant wild seeds and allowing the surface to flourish again, while neatly stacks of pine trees adore the verges of paths.
In contrast, I entered Sloden Inclosure through the gate, where the diverse and mature woodland is complemented by an understory of holly. I paused to drink from my flask and took a seat on Eric Ashby's commemorative bench. As soon as I sat down, a robin joined me on the back of the bench. It hopped between the bench and the holly next to my resting spot. It made me smile, observing how bold these little birds are, and it's heart-warming that it has claimed Eric's bench as its territory. I'm sure he would have appreciated it, as it waits for the next walker to rest with snacks and sandwiches that leave delicious crumbs.
Continuing along Sloden Inclosure, and crossing the brook once more it quickly shifted from lichen laden broadleaf ancient trees to heavy evergreen conifers where the whole atmosphere changed and shook up my senses while breathing in the sweet pine smell as it held back the fog. Noises seemed denser and the woodland looked greener with trees touching the ground where they escaped the browsing from ponies and hid the passing fox to anyone not attune to the rhythm of the ancient land.
By this point, I had spent two hours in the woodland and had only encountered one couple walking their dog on a path that is usually busy. Where was everyone? I paused to consider what day it actually was, during this strange liminal period between Christmas and New Year when days and schedules become somewhat hazy. Then, I exited the woodland and stepped onto Fritham Heath. There they all were—dog walkers and horse riders, children in waterproofs gleefully jumping in puddles, some testing the depth and others just going for it. It was a pleasure to see young families having fun and dogs propelled by wagging tails amongst the less experienced walkers hovering around puddles in fresh, white pumps and fancy coats to get selfies and sufficient countryside! And my cue to head home and leave the families to have fun in the forest.
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