Tag: cyclists

Sunlight Playing The Forest

Despite the forecast of sunny spells today we were treated to clear cerulean skies and full sunshine throughout the day.

As we set off early to Ferndene Farm shop I paused to admire Jackie’s planting of primulas and violas in front of the garage door trellis.

This was the view from the car as I waited for just a short time for the Shopping Lady to rejoin me.

Long shadows stretched across Beckley Road and the driveway to The Glen;

and knitted knotted skeins across the woodland verges beside the road to Burley, on which

Jackie parked the Modus enabling me to photograph the moorland landscape.

Joggers, cars, walkers, and cyclists competed for space. We had imagined that the rather slow driver of the red car was keeping her distance from the cyclists ahead. She was, however, no faster after those on bikes turned off.

Hightown Lane was my next point of embarkation. Again walkers, cyclists, and other vehicles vied for space on the narrow road. Voices carried some distance.

I began drinking in the delights of the clear, sparkling, stream, revealing glimpses of its bed among rippling reflections; clumps of golden daffodils; bright backlit leaves; and pendant overhanging catkins.

One of the field horses wearing a red rug revealed the need for warmth during the still very cold nights. It wasn’t that warm at 11 a.m. either.

Gnarled trees and sinuous wooden fences cast their own images beneath and beside them;

while those following the contours of mossy banks created concave and convex curves as penetrating light illuminated the soft green cushions and picked out russet autumn leaves.

During her vigil on the verge Jackie spent some time pondering who might live in a cave on the bank.

This evening we dined on further helpings of yesterday’s, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Merlot Tannat.

“So I Could Get A Photograph Like That”

By lunchtime today I had passed six more of Charles Keeping’s characteristic illustrations on my visit to ‘The Old Curiosity Shop’.

‘Quilp’s Wharf’ is an accurate depiction of such Thames-side area of the period.

‘Richard Swiveller’s companion addressed him with great energy and earnestness of manner’ as we can see.

‘Here, then he sat, his ugly features twisted into a complacent grimace. I once encountered a man who adopted exactly the same position.

‘Before Mr Brass had completed his enquiry, Mr Quilp emerged from the same door’. We certainly recognise Mr Keeping’s portrait by now.

‘A shower of buffets rained upon his person’. as so well presented by the artist.

‘The mean houses told of the populous poverty that sheltered there’. Note the residents in the background, and the dog.

Early this afternoon we drove to Puttles Bridge car park where Jackie waited for me to wander along Ober Water.

In fact the following gallery will show why I decided the bridge was as far as I could go. I was incidentally half way across when these ladies approached. I speeded up so I could step aside for them.

They stepped off the path for me, and we exchanged friendly greetings as I turned my back on them so they could pass.

I hadn’t stayed long, so we drove around a bit more. Many of the

Lanes, like Cadnam, where I disembarked and watched Jackie making waves, were also waterlogged. Because she had two other vehicles in her wake she drove on, since our rule is that that is what she will do in the circumstances and either I will catch up or she will come back for me.

In these particular circumstances I was left pondering the fact that I wouldn’t be able to walk on water. when along came a joyful little boy whose wheels would spray nicely. He was followed by his mother with a pillion passenger. I explained my predicament just as the little lad set off. My voice became shriller as I finished my sentence with “so that I could get a picture like that” as I grabbed the shot, rivalling my subject in joy.

This evening we dined on our second sitting of Hordle Chinese Take Away’s excellent dishes with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Dao.

Tracking Sunset

The day was still grimly dark by the time we left to deliver Elizabeth a tub of Jackie’s chicken and vegetable stewp. (Interested readers will note that I have changed my spelling from stoup, because stewp is what google recognises and who am I to argue?)

Whenever the vehicle in front of us seems especially slow for no apparent reason, it is quite probable that a cyclist will be pedalling along ahead.

So it was today on School Lane. Even when the towed trailer on the road reached a wide enough section of the narrow winding route to be able to pass safely, the rider pulled more into the centre.

A pleasant young lady riding her pony crossed Pilley Street to open the gate for equine access, closed it again while waving to a van driver, then, with a friendly greeting, entered Burnt House Lane ahead of us.

We found Elizabeth happily working in her garden, enjoyed a short conversation, and set off to track the now almost visible sun towards the setting hour.

Glimmers were seen from Burnt House Lane;

a little lower from Warborne Lane;

Walhampton was blessed with Jesus Beams;

sunset wasn’t far off beyond the silent coastal preservation machinery;

and all but retreated behind the clouds at Barton on Sea.

We had begun our trip following a bicyclist along School Road – on Grove Road, Barton, we tailed a unicyclist who kept well out of our way.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips and baked beans with which we both drank Marlborough Cabernet Sauvignon 2019.

“He’s Not Going To Move His Lorry Any Time Soon”

This afternoon we followed a rather circuitous route to Ferndene Farm Shop where Jackie made some timely purchases without having to queue.

At Neacroft a weak sun silhouetted trees and houses and lightly illuminated the lane

beside which ducks scavenged before crossing to the other side.

Did you spot the decoy?

Moving on after waiting for the waddling ducks we were somewhat delayed by a pair of cyclists.

A tanker lorry on Bockhampton Road was a more serious blockage than either of the first two. There was no way round this one. Jackie was about to turn round when this action was aborted by a driver having arrived behind us who apparently knew better.

The cycle-laden motor passed us and, attempting to do the same with the tanker, came unstuck.

The cycle-carrier reversed enough to allow a passenger to emerge and remonstrate with a gentleman in the garden. The seemingly ineffective gesticulations had subsided somewhat before I photographed the exchange. Jackie wound down her window as the lady approached and informed her that “He’s not going to move his lorry any time soon”.

We allowed the other driver to make the first turn round, then did the same.

The weather vane on Owls barn sports both an unconcerned owl and an unafraid mouse.

As usual the River Avon at Avon had burst its banks and numerous swans had taken up winter residence in the water meadows. Jackie photographed me in action, and

a couple of shots of her own.

A pair of inquisitive donkeys basking in the remaining sunlight that pierced the arboreal backdrop of Priest Lane, Sopley, rose to their feet on my appearance.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy paprika pork, savoury rice, and tender runner beans. She had finished Rosé while cooking, so imbibed no more. I finished the Malbec.

Reflective Collars

Late this morning Barry, our chimney sweep and roofer, visited to look at our leaking kitchen roof. He is very busy but, a good friend, will fit us in as soon as he can.

After lunch, with violent winds still blowing, we moved the now covered patio chairs to a more sheltered position beside the house.

This afternoon we enjoyed longer bouts of sunshine between the heavy showers.

Jackie parked beside Holmsley Passage up which I wandered for a while, photographing

the autumnal landscapes.

Jackie made two contributions. The second is “Where’s Derrick” (3).

As it is half-term for schools we have been visited by a number of cyclists, some of whom, with walkers

made use of the footpaths which are all that remains of the railway line axed by Dr Beeching

We continued to Bisterne Close where again Jackie parked and I wandered.

It was the dead birch against the deep indigo sky that tempted me out of the car to photograph additional trees and shadows; bright beech leaves; and old gold bracken.

From her car the Assistant Photographer watched a squirrel, its head drilling rapidly as it gripped the snack it was enjoying.

On our return through Holmsley Passage I communed with ponies in the woodland where

the low sunlight piercing the shadows demonstrated the efficacy of the reflective collars some of these creatures wear to increase their night-time visibility. Notice which of these do not have them fitted. In this age of Covid 19 we rarely see an infant wearing a mask. So it appears to be with foals and collars.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome chicken and vegetable stoup, toast, and spicy pizza, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Trigales.

What Now?

It was a pair of grey ponies at the crossroads that prompted me to ask my willing Chauffeuse to park beside

the stream at Ibsley ford, where a story began to unfold.

The greys, casting their shadows in the morning sunshine, were mirrored by a couple of cyclists engaging in a lengthy conversation before parting and going their separate ways.

Leaving its companion to admire her silhouette, the lead pony

climbed to a higher level and, despite acorns being poisonous to horses, began to snuffle around them.

A kindly woman parked nearby, left her vehicle, and began lobbing apples in the direction of the animal that had remained on the green. You may need to bigify these pictures to see the airborne fruit just beneath a cycle wheel.

Having emptied her carrier bag the lady returned to her car and continued on her way, leaving the recipient of her largesse wondering what to do next.

There are a number of mighty oaks at this location. Here, one is host to an intriguing fungus; another leans over a stream; and a third casts long shadows.

This comparative youngster has seen better days.

Visiting holiday children spent many happy hours on this makeshift swing.

On the other side of the ford the continuing stream

has recently been bridged by a fallen tree which will see no better days.

I photographed some autumn leaves and turned to find that

Jackie had been focussed on me.

In nearby fields, reflecting the much colder, albeit bright, weather, field horses are back in their winter rugs.

We drove on to Hockey’s where we brunched, even though on technically takeaway meals, this time in

a warm covered dining area with its antique displays.

We had travelled to the north of the forest in search of peckish pannage porkers, but the only ones we met were these on Hockey’s pots.

On the road to Gorley I photographed a fence and its accompanying gate; a lane with smoke wafting past a thatched cottage; and sunlight piercing the same vapours within the dappled woodland.

Jackie meanwhile focussed on

the ancient craft of hedge laying

and a winsome weather vane, in the process pausing for the wind to produce a pleasing direction.

Later, we presented a dilemma to a hind and fawn imitating a pair of rabbits in headlights. They eventually decided to take the road ahead, until they encountered an oncoming woman. What now?

The walker moved aside and they scampered back into the trees.

This evening we dined on oven fish, chips, and peas with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Shiraz.

Spotted Speckled Wood

Today we begin with this gallery of Jackie’s photographs of me photographing yesterday’s ponies and Ogdens North.

When leaving Brockenhurst on a forest drive we normally pass a small area of woodland.

This morning I spied a pony through the trees, so Jackie parked and I followed the wildlife.

Birds sang in the taller trees; distant dogs barked;

fresh acorns gently thudded onto the forest floor joining last year’s crop,

ageing autumn leaves, this year’s fungus, and moss-covered fallen trunks.

The area is interlaced with dry streams, the beds still soft enough to cross without twisting an ankle, yet not muddy enough to suck off a shoe. Lichen covered tree stumps and russet leaves remain crisp.

A gravelled path links the wood with Rhinefield Road and a stretch of open land. Pedestrians take the path

or, like cyclists, runners, dog owners, cars, and motorcycles, pass on by.

Appropriately enough, I spotted a speckled wood butterfly.

Rudbeckia was the floral decoration to Jackie’s tasty beef pie for this evening’s dinner served with boiled new potatoes; crunchy carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli; tender runner beans, and thick, meaty gravy, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Bordeaux.

Foxglove And Twinkle

Early this bright, sunny, and cool day we drove out to Pilley to deliver a letter to Elizabeth. I popped it into her letter box and we continued on our way.

I have a couple of times before featured the horse and pony occupying the garden of Jordan’s Cottage on the corner of Bull and Jordan’s Lanes. Today I was to be formally introduced. As I photographed the two equines feeding from their trough a Gentleman planting flowers invited me in. This was Roderick, whose granddaughter owns these creatures. The horse is Foxglove and the pony, Twinkle.

Given her freckles, Foxglove is so aptly named. She is an eventer who is convalescing while recovering from and injured back leg. Roderick confirmed that the mask is for protection from flies. Seeing me back away as the horses trotted over to me when I entered the small paddock, he assured me that they were very friendly. I laughed and explained that I was not afraid but had to keep my distance to use the lens on my camera. In fact I left the paddock to take the shots of Foxglove in her mask. It would, of course, have been rude not to have photographed Twinkle’s eye.

On Norleywood Road we passed trick cyclist who probably wasn’t a psychiatrist. This was to have been on our way home until Jackie took a diversion down

Lower Pennington Lane to investigate the nature reserve at the far end.

Hurst View camping site was packed out and I could hear voices planning their day’s trips all the way down the lane along which I walked while Jackie waited in the car, parked on a verge just before a considerable narrowing of the thoroughfare.

Even cyclists had little passing room.

The marshland to my left was quite dry and occupied by a few basking ponies. The Isle os Wight could be seen in the distance.

When I reached the entrance to the bird sanctuary it seemed that the caravan site was decanting its entire contents who were making their way along the dedicated path which I consequently decided to eschew and set off across undulating terrain which I largely had to myself. I took the last section of the path on my return and I have to say that the boys in the third picture above thanked me for stepping aside.

In the circumstances it is hardly surprising that the only birds I saw were flocks of Canada geese,

occasionally joined by others flying in.

Against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight, The Needles, Hurst castle and their lighthouses, across the marshland could be seen walkers, cyclists and a dog. Particularly the last of this gallery would benefit from bigification.

A few goats occupied a field opposite the campsite.

After lunch I put in another stint at pruning Félicité Perpétue in the front garden.

Later this afternoon Elizabeth came for a cup of tea and stayed for dinner consisting of another of Jackie’s succulent cottage pies; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender cabbage; and meaty gravy, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Carles.

“Go Round Us”

This morning we righted the fallen pots in the garden before visiting Ferndene Farm Shop where

Jackie joined the masked queue. I have her word that she was smiling in the last picture.

The shopping went quite smoothly. Afterwards we took a drive into the forest by way of

Holmsley Passage which was already becoming quite busy.

Heather enhanced the moorland landscape and the vibrant verges.

Other vehicles, walkers, and cycling groups needed to be negotiated.

As we reached the end of this narrow, winding, lane this family group who we had allowed to go ahead hadn’t yet decided which way to go. Left would have taken them to Burley; right was the road to Brockenhurst; straight on was the route to Bisterne Close. Jackie decided she would go one of the ways they didn’t. They went straight on; we turned right and stopped at

the pool on the way up Clay Hill. Jackie parked by the roadside while I wandered around photographing the water, the reflections, the woodland, and its shadows. I found a metal dog tag with a local phone number stamped on it. I phoned the owner and left a message explaining where I would lodge it.

After this we thought that Bisterne Close might have been clear of the cyclists and wended our way back there where ponies, their foals, and cattle happily shared the road.

Another group of ponies were not about to cede ground to the motor vehicle. One driver left his car and attempted to clap them out of the way. They must have thought they were being applauded, for they didn’t budge. Cajoling had no better effect; the car horn was tried next. Eventually the unspoken message “go round us” was heeded.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s classic cottage pie; pleasantly chewy curly kale; and crunchy carrots with which she drank Beck’s and I drank Carles Priorat 2016.

More Water For The Animals

Early yesterday evening Jackie drove us to Darbar Indian restaurant in Emsworth where we joined Becky and Ian in celebration of our daughter’s 50th birthday. Catching up after six months in lockdown was remarkably easy – we just dropped into delightful conversation over excellent food with attentive service. We shared poppadoms, onion bahjis, three different types of naan, and pilau rice. My main dish was Goan fish curry. Ian and I drank Cobra while the ladies drank Diet Coke.

The waiting staff all wore PPE masks and were as attentive and efficient as ever.

The warm, sunlit, weather today asserted that summer is not yet ready to yield to autumn. For this reason we took a mid-morning drive into the forest.

Robert Gill’s garden in Everton Road is always the showpiece of the annual Hordle Scarecrow Trail. We are not sure whether there will be one this year, but this professional gardener has given us an advance display with his NHS tribute while his alter ego sits comfortably with his name-mug.

So much tarmac is regularly nibbled from the edges of this lane winding through the undulating moorland carpeted with heather and bracken that we always wonder how much longer we will be able to use the route.

There is no passing space for any two vehicles without one diverting to the verge; whenever I want to leave our car in order to wander among the ponies Jackie has to find a spot where there is possibly enough leeway for such a manoeuvre.

Ponies in and around the stream are sometimes irresistible. After the recent rains there is more fresh water for the animals.

Cyclists and walkers tend to gather and consult maps before the modern house built on the footprint of the old signalman’s building beside the former railway track which is now a path for their convenience.

Penetrating the trees the bright sunlight dappled both woodland and ponies along Bisterne Close. This poor creature trying to ignore the flies coating its muzzle let out an almighty snort when the insects became too intrusive.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s spicy pasta arrabbiata served with fritters of courgette that Giles had bought from some enterprising children on his way to his last visit to us. The Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I drank Axis 280 Cabernet Sauvignon 2017 – a smooth red wine from Western Australia’s Margaret River.