I'm Quarry Quarry...

I went for a walk by the sand quarries up on the hill. The air was heavy with the heady aroma of the Gorse in full bloom. The flowers smell of almonds. Although they're edible, I find them a bit bitter, but they are good for making salads look pretty.

There's been hardly any rain lately, the ground was dry and cracked. Normally these shallow silt bottomed puddles are great for finding animal tracks. You can tell what the badgers have been up to, and if the invisible deer herd has come through recently. I say 'invisible' because I see tracks, hair, nibbled foliage, mangled saplings from bucks rubbing their antlers, their mud hollows, and flattened areas where they've slept, but never ever see the deer themselves... Invisible, the only explanation!

As I made my way along the edge of the quarry, I got the feeling I was being watched. There was no one there, hardly anyone ever comes here. The occasional rustle, crack of a twig, but as soon as I turned to look... silence. The buzzard was up on the hill, surveying his world from his lookout post. He'd got his eye on something, he was staring at a dense patch of gorse behind me. Suddenly, spooked, he flew off. I got the feeling that I was being stalked by something.

The day was pleasant enough, but there was a nagging cold north wind. I headed down into the old woods where it was more sheltered and strung my hammock up in my usual spot between an ancient Yew and a young Oak.
I settled down with a flask of coffee and a great book... Running with the Fox by David Macdonald.

Every so often I heard a noise in the undergrowth. There was definitely something out there.

Then my pursuer showed himself. It was my old acquaintance. This isn't one of the foxes from the family of foxes that I go to see each night and feed. This is a good number of miles away.

We met last year when he came to investigate the smell of the bacon sandwiches I was cooking. We met a second time when I was scrambling to the top of a steep grass incline, and he was coming up the other side. We came nose to nose, paused and went quickly our separate ways. Since then we see each other from a distance, sometimes he barks to me to let me know he's seen me.

He's become used to me being around, and realises that I mean him no harm. Curiosity gets the better of him and he'll come to have a gander sometimes.

This wood is deserted, as well as the quarry and so he seems comfortable to spend a lot of time out in the daytime.

Once he ascertained that there were no bits of bacon to be had, he was off to catch some more voles.

Deer Summer, please visit again soon...

As the summer fades to a fond memory, I make sure I find time to embrace any remaining sunny days.
The sand quarries on the hills are a favourite haunt. Small lakes, pioneering rough scrub, and Gorsy slopes, are framed by mature woodland in a sea of green fields dotted with church topped villages.

Of course my romantic eye chooses to ignore the semi industrial elements, but not the signs warning me of impending doom. The silt pools ARE dangerous, and you really have to watch what you're doing. There's something a little concerning about a 6 foot sign warning you of quicksand that has sunk up to its neck.

It's these pools and the new growth on the silt that brings the deer to graze. I often see Muntjac, but there is also a herd of Fallow deer. I'm impressed how such a large animal in good number remain unseen throughout the day. I can spend hours following the tracks trough the woods and across the sands, it's fun to see what they've been up to.

This is the wallow hole that they visit almost daily. In its base is the perfect imprint of a large deer that has been lying on its side. The forest floor when disturbed sends up clouds of mosquitoes, and a coating of mud helps prevent bites. I was tempted to try it, but instead opted for higher mozzy free ground...

Up on the hill I settled for a while to watch over the surrounding land, hoping to spot some wildlife. The Buzzard screeching a warning overhead, combined with my lack of patience, meant I had no luck.

I knew the deer were out there somewhere in the mist comforted trees. Maybe it wasn't a lack of patience but more my rumbling tummy that sent me on my way.

Down in the mature woodland I managed to forage some Sweet Chestnuts while I was waiting for the water to boil for my coffee.

A quick simmer and they hit the spot for a yummy snack.

Hedgerow Hazelnuts provided some perambulant picnicking...

... as I headed homeward through the picture postcard scenery.