Minty Fresh Morning
Can tell the summer solstice has been and gone as it's starting to be darker in the morning when I wake up. Not that I mind as I enjoy the watching the morning unfold. There was a light mist and heavy dew when I drew back the curtains to look out before going for a wash. Before heading into the bathroom I popped the kettle on the stove so that I'd have water for breakfast when I was done.Ablutions over I filled my small Stanley flask glad that I'd judged the water level to leave me enough for a cup of hot water to drink and take my tablets with. The weather report on the wireless was saying that it was to be another warm one today so I filled a water bottle from the kitchen tap and popped it down beside the flask. Toodled about tidying away a few things before heading into the lounge to pack my field pack. Was only intending on a quick stravaig around the back fields so I wasn't packing heavy.
I'm pretty impressed with the field pack, I bought it from Midnighthound of this parish (it was sweeties at £11 including the postage) and it's been getting used a fair bit. It's Mollé design allows a few configurations and additions of pouches/cases for sundry pieces of kit. It was bought for my big set of bino's and they were the first thing to go in this morning. Along went the flask, kuska, horn spoon, Opinel and water bottle. Swithered whether to take my camera or not and decided yes, but instead of plonking it inside I strapped it to one of the many attachment points on the outside. There are other bits and bobs like the fire kit which always live in bags like this ready to go so I knew that I was ready for the off.
As I quietly slip open the door I noticed that the bunny was in his usual spot across from the house. He's been in the same spot every morning for the last couple of weeks and it made me wish I could slip the rifle over my shoulder but the local estate aren't too keen on shooters despite the rabbit problem. Pity as this morning was perfect hunting weather; still, bright and fresh. Would've made for a good bag. He just sat and watched as I locked the door and headed onto the path, he's gotten used to me and no longer scarpers on my appearance. He had company this morning, a lone oyster catcher, a few gulls and some blackbirds were probing the grass no doubt looking for leatherjackets, (The adult craneflys are pretty evident just now as they always seem to be once the morning dews start). There was movement at the side of the house where three bats were flittering around staying up late to catch insects. Always amazed at how tight a turning circle the have as the wove in and out of each others paths while pursuing their prey.
Once across the first bridge I stopped to pick some wild mint. The first few leaves I crushed and rubbed over my hands and face enjoying the spearmint sweetness before popping a few more into my breast pocket for latter. Stopped at the fence to inspect my little natural bonsai tree.
It's a little rowan that's spent the last few years struggling to grow in a crack in an old strainer post, and with the surrounding moss and lichen in the craggy surface it's like a mini rockscaped garden. It really appeals to my sense of aesthetic and I always pause when passing to see how it's getting on. I used to try my hand at bonsai years ago but like Toddy began to feel guilty about constantly and deliberately putting the tree under duress for my enjoyment so stopped. So naturally occurring ones have to do me now.
Over another bridge and stopped for a quick snack on some raspberries growing by the stream-side. Not as big a haul as British Red the other day but enough to sate me for a while 'till I got further along my wander.
I noticed movement further up the stream in the form of an iridescent blue flash. A kingfisher had stopped to perch on an ash branch with a fish clasped in his beak. Hadn't seen one in a while so I quietly slipped my bins out of the bag and focused in on him. His proud little form filled the eye pieces as he tilted his head back turning the fish to disappear down his throat head first so as not to stick. There were a couple of beads of water on his head and the sparkled like jewels on his bright robe of feathers, a truly well named bird as he looked very regal sitting there. He was too far away for a picture with my little camera and he had other things on his mind anyway as off he shot and disappeared up the burn and out of sight.
It was still pretty damp under foot and looking back I could see my tracks through the dewy grass but the mist was lifting into an inversion that shrouded the mid part of the hills opposite. Used to love being on the tops in the early morning, a few islands of summits in a sea of pure white cloud. We just needed harps and wings to look like angels in heaven. (Though slightly scruffy beardy ones rather than the usual depictions).
Noticed that nearly all the big pink pyramid orchids had gone now to be replaced by smaller more delicate white ones. I really must take time to brush up on my wild flowers as it's been too many years from my plant indicators classes at forestry school to remember what they are. I've a few guide books sitting on the shelves at home but keep forgetting to pack one when I'm heading out. Still they looked pretty and along with all the other flowers were getting attention from early morning lazy bees and shiny beetles.
Some big wood pigeons were settled in the field looking huge next to the frailer collared does that were feeding nearby. The doves get a hard time 'round here from the crows which gang up and kill them for food. But they keep coming back and I enjoy their calling in the dawn and dusk. Along the fence line were some vetch plants.
Had to stop for a few seconds to tune into the little peapods that were hidden amongst the leaves. Picking them always entails getting covered in stickywilly (goose grass) as the two seem to always like to grow together. Popped the pods in my pocket for eating later as I was still finding raspberry seeds in my teeth to keep me amused for now.
Once across the road and into Strip Wood I took the binoculars out again as I wanted to work my way up the edge and watch the deer which I guessed would be feeding a little further on. We get red and roe in these parts and I was hopping that I may get a chance to see some young as they should be getting old enough to come out of hiding at this time of year.
True to my instincts there were some feeding, all roe (the reds would be further into the hills just now). One male and four females. They were pretty spread out and I leisurely ran the glasses over them. They were totally unaware of my presence as no breeze was taking my scent there way. Indeed it was so still that the insects were bothering them already despite the early hour. Ears and flanks were twitching as they tried to discourage the early midge and clegg aerial raiders from taking their blood toll. I didn't think the cleggs would find me hidden in the woods but the midge had though they were keeping their distance due to the pine tar soap and stupidly simple I'd applied before leaving the house. So saying I was keeping an eye out as the cleggs were going for broke the other afternoon when I was out. Nothing was for keeping some of them away and they kept on coming back again and again 'till swatted and killed. I've developed a real aversion to them of late but at least it encourages me to walk faster.
Put the binos away and wandered up through the wood 'till I reached the big raspberry patch at it's southern edge. Working my way around I filled the wee bag I'd brought with me for the purpose and it was full in no time despite half of what I'd picked being funneled down my throat. Done, I wandered off east towards the nearest gooseberry bush. Once located I repeated the same story as I had at the rasps enjoying the crunchy tart sweetness as mouth and bag were filled.
Skirted the mouth of Glen Eagles as I headed for the old hill fort where I intended to have breakfast. A lot of folk assume that Glen Eagles was or is full of soaring eagles but the name is derived from Glen of the Church, though there are plenty of buzzards riding the thermals if you look up. Past the two standing stones and sitting on the flat hill top (though only in Norfolk could this hummock be called a hill) in amongst the trees I sat down and unpacked my bag.
Poured some dry oats into my kuska and topped it up with piping hot water from my flask and garnished it with a couple of raspberries and gooseberries. While waiting for it to steep I opened the vetch pods and ate the contents while watching the preparations on the adjacent golf course for the big golf competition that's due soon. Gave my porridge a quick stir and slowly ate my way down before refilling the bowl and starting again. I like plain porridge better than that made with milk or cream and can't stand it when folk put salt in it. My Father used to try and force me to put salt in it but I could never develop a taste for it, just spoilt a great breakfast as far as I was concerned. Oats over I filled the bowl with hot water to clean it and drank that down too. Left the kuska out to air dry and continued to look around through the glasses. They've cut down one of my favourite elder trees near here to make way for parking for the big golf competition but there are plenty of others to take it's place. After repacking my bag I took some more of the mint from my pocket and whilst chewing a couple of leaves freshened up by again rubbing others onto my face and arm, saving the rest to go with my evening meal.
Decided to head for home, wanted to take the shorter way and this involved a brief spell beside the dual carriageway. Though not to busy it was a bit of a shock after sitting in solitude in amongst the trees. But I was soon off it and back on country lanes before heading up the incline to the old cemetery. I remember an English friend asking why we Scots stuck our graveyards way up hills and I had to point out that as pragmatists we wouldn't take up valuable and scarce farming land just to bury the dead in so we stuck them up a hill, that and a self loathing Calvanist streak that wanted to make church going as uncomfortable as possible. The old church is in ruins (no-body went!) but it's always worth a wander 'round to see familiar village names pop up through the ages.
And some of the stonework is lovely to look at as well as having one of the few lytch gates left in Scotland.
So back at home again and wishing that I'd gone further I unpacked my bag with the scent of mint and fresh air coming off of my clothes and me to remind me of a fresh morning.
Over another bridge and stopped for a quick snack on some raspberries growing by the stream-side. Not as big a haul as British Red the other day but enough to sate me for a while 'till I got further along my wander.
I noticed movement further up the stream in the form of an iridescent blue flash. A kingfisher had stopped to perch on an ash branch with a fish clasped in his beak. Hadn't seen one in a while so I quietly slipped my bins out of the bag and focused in on him. His proud little form filled the eye pieces as he tilted his head back turning the fish to disappear down his throat head first so as not to stick. There were a couple of beads of water on his head and the sparkled like jewels on his bright robe of feathers, a truly well named bird as he looked very regal sitting there. He was too far away for a picture with my little camera and he had other things on his mind anyway as off he shot and disappeared up the burn and out of sight.
It was still pretty damp under foot and looking back I could see my tracks through the dewy grass but the mist was lifting into an inversion that shrouded the mid part of the hills opposite. Used to love being on the tops in the early morning, a few islands of summits in a sea of pure white cloud. We just needed harps and wings to look like angels in heaven. (Though slightly scruffy beardy ones rather than the usual depictions).
Noticed that nearly all the big pink pyramid orchids had gone now to be replaced by smaller more delicate white ones. I really must take time to brush up on my wild flowers as it's been too many years from my plant indicators classes at forestry school to remember what they are. I've a few guide books sitting on the shelves at home but keep forgetting to pack one when I'm heading out. Still they looked pretty and along with all the other flowers were getting attention from early morning lazy bees and shiny beetles.
Once across the road and into Strip Wood I took the binoculars out again as I wanted to work my way up the edge and watch the deer which I guessed would be feeding a little further on. We get red and roe in these parts and I was hopping that I may get a chance to see some young as they should be getting old enough to come out of hiding at this time of year.
True to my instincts there were some feeding, all roe (the reds would be further into the hills just now). One male and four females. They were pretty spread out and I leisurely ran the glasses over them. They were totally unaware of my presence as no breeze was taking my scent there way. Indeed it was so still that the insects were bothering them already despite the early hour. Ears and flanks were twitching as they tried to discourage the early midge and clegg aerial raiders from taking their blood toll. I didn't think the cleggs would find me hidden in the woods but the midge had though they were keeping their distance due to the pine tar soap and stupidly simple I'd applied before leaving the house. So saying I was keeping an eye out as the cleggs were going for broke the other afternoon when I was out. Nothing was for keeping some of them away and they kept on coming back again and again 'till swatted and killed. I've developed a real aversion to them of late but at least it encourages me to walk faster.
Put the binos away and wandered up through the wood 'till I reached the big raspberry patch at it's southern edge. Working my way around I filled the wee bag I'd brought with me for the purpose and it was full in no time despite half of what I'd picked being funneled down my throat. Done, I wandered off east towards the nearest gooseberry bush. Once located I repeated the same story as I had at the rasps enjoying the crunchy tart sweetness as mouth and bag were filled.
Skirted the mouth of Glen Eagles as I headed for the old hill fort where I intended to have breakfast. A lot of folk assume that Glen Eagles was or is full of soaring eagles but the name is derived from Glen of the Church, though there are plenty of buzzards riding the thermals if you look up. Past the two standing stones and sitting on the flat hill top (though only in Norfolk could this hummock be called a hill) in amongst the trees I sat down and unpacked my bag.
Decided to head for home, wanted to take the shorter way and this involved a brief spell beside the dual carriageway. Though not to busy it was a bit of a shock after sitting in solitude in amongst the trees. But I was soon off it and back on country lanes before heading up the incline to the old cemetery. I remember an English friend asking why we Scots stuck our graveyards way up hills and I had to point out that as pragmatists we wouldn't take up valuable and scarce farming land just to bury the dead in so we stuck them up a hill, that and a self loathing Calvanist streak that wanted to make church going as uncomfortable as possible. The old church is in ruins (no-body went!) but it's always worth a wander 'round to see familiar village names pop up through the ages.
And some of the stonework is lovely to look at as well as having one of the few lytch gates left in Scotland.
So back at home again and wishing that I'd gone further I unpacked my bag with the scent of mint and fresh air coming off of my clothes and me to remind me of a fresh morning.
