Holmsley Passage – Page 5

On The Trail

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At first light this morning Jackie drove us down to the clifftop at Milford on Sea to watch the sunrise.

The forest behind the Isle of Wight and The Needles was a bank of clouds. The lighthouse blinked.

Soon

a pink lining

came into view

over

to the east.

Just two lone walkers

braved the two degrees centigrade temperature at 7 a.m.

This afternoon we visited the New Milton toy shop to investigate Christmas presents, and decided that we needed parental advice.

Afterwards we drove into the forest.

On the way down Holmsley Passage Jackie spotted

a string of ponies

crossing a ridge. Watch the wavy lines in the bracken to the right.

She parked

beside the stream on the lowest part of the lane, while I watched

as the ponies

dropped onto

what was a trail

they had regularly trodden.

It was fortunate

for me that there were a couple of greys to help me pick them out against the bracken

or, as they reached level ground, among the trees.

The black leader came into view and investigated the road;

when it was pronounced clear, the others followed

and were led

past

a delighted Jackie

in the car.

Having crossed to the other side

they reappeared on higher ground.

Further on, up the road to Clay Hill reflections in the calm pool

were clear and bright.

On our return the sun was setting over Holmsley;

blazing clouds shrouded Wootton Common,

where the moon was in the ascendancy.

Trellises of tree branches

screened the pink and indigo backcloth.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wonderful savoury rice forming a bed for tempura prawns. We both drank Maison Castel Touraine sauvignon blanc 2015.

A Menacing Hoodie

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This morning I made a birthday card for Orlaith, using this photograph taken by Holly a few days after her daughter’s birth.

Jackie drove me to New Milton to post it this afternoon, and on afterwards for a forest trip via Holmsley Passage.

Beside the passage this pony

caught my attention

as it appeared

to be scratching

the bracken. Actually it was stamping it down so it could get at the grass. Too much bracken is harmful to horses.

Birch trees

stood out on the moorland,

and holly berries brightened the woodland opposite.

As we continued along the road,

we noticed a strange tree in the distance.

This was the Burley mobile telephone mast in disguise.

At the end of the Passage, according to this milestone just one mile from Burley,

we turned off right along a cul -de-sac on which we discovered a pool

reflecting

the surrounding trees.

Fungi sprang from fallen logs;

a dead branch dangled.

An enclosure beyond the far side looked rather like a Drift pen.

The road led to the enticing woodland

and undulating landscape of Clay Hill.

The mist rising above Bashley on our return had a distinct aroma of woodsmoke.

We diverted to Keyhaven where the clouds looming overhead

were reflected in the waterlogged tarmac,

and a menacing hoodie lurked on Hurst Spit.

This evening we dined at Mansoori Heights, a recently opened Indian restaurant in Milford on Sea. It was very good. Jackie’s main meal was paneer shashlick; mine was prawn vindaloo; we shared a starter platter, egg rice, and a methi paratha, and both drank Kingfisher.

Up And Down The Lane

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Late this afternoon, the dull skies cleared and we enjoyed a warm and sunny day. Naturally, we took a drive into the forest.

A young man and his dog walking along Holmsley Passage,

set off onto the moors;

a couple of cyclists, passing a group relaxing on a gate crossed the junction of the road with the disused railway line that is now a footpath;

and a group of hikers, relieved of their backpacks, took a rest on the grass.

I have featured Honey Lane in Burley a couple of times before, but had never covered the whole length until today. This is because the serpentine, steeply undulating, ancient road is so pitted with often water-filled holes that you really need a 4 x 4 to negotiate it.

Jackie parked the Modus beside this gateway to a field,

and waited for me to wander down the lane and back.

The age of this thoroughfare is indicated by the high bank of hedgerows mounted by gnarled old trees.

Todays photographs are reproduced in the order in which I made them, thus replicating the ramble. Soon a troop of ponies came into view.

The tree to the right of the above picture is beginning to be carpeted by autumn leaves

waiting for the leading grey to rest its hooves.

Another wandered along behind.

This chestnut seemed rather scarred.

Cattlegrids are meant to deter hoofed animals from crossing them. Not so these two ponies foraging in someone’s garden. They clattered across the bars as I passed.

Here are more gnarled roots atop the bank,

up which some home owners have set steps to reach their gardens.

Here comes another scarred pony,

soon to be passed by a happy cyclist towing a trailer.

This wooden kissing gate was rather intriguing.

The ponies had other things on their minds.

A couple of cyclists passed the next animal,

which continued on towards me.

This tree reminded me of Jabba the Hutt.

Sunlight pierced the foliage in parts.

How, I wondered, had this very tall tree taken this circuitous route before ascending to the light above.

A blaze of yellow leaves enlivened this garden.

Sunlight dappled the shed of Orchard Farm,

and pierced a deep stygian bank.

Here is another gate to a field.

Can you spot the squirrel?

Nearing the Burley Street end of the lane

I mounted the next rise, turned, and

retraced my steps, catching sight of cyclists in the distance.

They soon sped down towards me, the first two, with cheery greetings, too fast for my lens;

their companions paused for a pleasant chat.

I spotted a few more colourful leaves.

A friendly woman walking her dog commented on what a pleasant evening it was,

and, with sunlight spanning a nearby tree, I was soon beside the Modus once more, and we set off for home.

On Holmsley Road a splendid stag seemed confused about crossing.

It had seen the approaching vehicle, turned,

and was soon back on the verge and disappearing into the forest.

Those of a tender disposition may wish to skip what we had for dinner.

This was Jackie’s superb liver and bacon casserole, leek and cauliflower cheese, roast parsnips, new potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. I finished the malbec.

What Would You Have Seen?

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I don’t really remember dreams much, but last night I relived my childhood when everything became smaller as I grew older. In particular, walls I couldn’t scramble up to walk along suddenly became manageable. Was this anything to do with the fact that Jackie needs the work surfaces in the new kitchen to be higher than standard? Especially as I was also working out how to pay for the project?

This morning we travelled by car to Kitchen Makers, discussed the fine details, and paid a deposit for work to commence after Christmas. We then drove on to Hockey’s Farm Shop to buy pork sausages and their splendid Pig ‘n’ Pickles Piccalilli. The sausages were essential because we were to dine on Jackie’s sausage casserole this evening and she had bought vegetarian sausages by mistake. We just had to have some meat ones to go with them.

Holmsley Passage sweeps down

across the moors from the A35 leaving Lyndhurst. I left the road at the top of the slope pictured above, and made my way

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=marSWLjaQNw&w=560&h=315]

tripping through the heather, bracken and gorse to the lowest point where Jackie waited to take us onwards. I will let these eloquent landscapes tell their own story.

Mine comes later.

Changeable clouds constantly shifted overhead.

At Hockey’s, where we lunched, alpacas, donkeys, sheep, and horses are near neighbours.

Ducks and geese roam in large pens,

from where they have access to a small pool, today occupied by Khaki Campbell ducks. The pale blue bills of some of these caught my attention.

According to Wikipedia

‘The Khaki Campbell (Anas platyrhynchos domesticus^[1] or Anas platyrhynchos Linnaeus^[2]) is a breed of domesticated duck that originated in England and is kept for its high level of egg production. The breed was developed by Mrs. Adel Campbell ^[3] of Uley, Gloucestershire, England at the turn of the 20th century. The “Campbell Duck” being introduced in 1898 ^[4] and the ‘Khaki’ variety introduced to the public in 1901.^[5]

Adult Campbell ducks weigh approximately 3-5 pounds. Campbells can come in three color varieties: khaki, dark and white. They are a cross between Mallard, Rouen and Runner ducks. The Khaki Campbell drake is mostly khaki colored with a darker head usually olive green lacking the white ring of its Mallard ancestors. The Khaki Campbell duck has a more modest plumage of Khaki covering the entirety of the body. Despite popular misconceptions of skittish or flightly behavior Campbells are a very gentle, passive and friendly breed when raised by hand until maturity. They are a good breed for young families and children to raise.

The egg production of the Campbell breed can exceed even the most efficient of egg laying domestic chickens, with the breed laying an average of 300 eggs a year. When provided a moderate “duck conscious” environment to live in they will lay a more than modest number of eggs per week.

Khaki Campbells become mature at approximately 7 months. Khaki Campbell ducks seldom hatch out others’ young; however, in very communal situations do hatch large broods together. Most brooding behavior has been sacrificed in exchange for prolific egg laying ability in this breed. The ducks, when raised by hand, are not usually defensive of their eggs or nests, making collection of eggs very easy. Mechanical incubators or broody chickens are used to hatch out Khaki Campbell ducklings when ducks are not present in the process. Incubation takes approximately 23 to 28 days for a Khaki Campbell duckling to hatch and eggs need to be inspected for ducklings that have not emerged from their egg completely.’

Pumpkins were on sale at the shop.

Roger Penny way stretches for 7 miles between Godshill and Cadnam. For the New Forest it is a comparatively straight, wide, road on which you are permitted to drive at 40 m.p.h. Even if you are adhering to this limit, which many people do not, contact with an animal would do neither creature nor vehicle much good.

Having seen the second Hit and Run notice concerning a dead donkey in under a week, we passed this self evident sign just outside The Fighting Cocks inn. There are warning signs at regular intervals along this unlit thoroughfare.

Not much further along the road we encountered a black cow. Imagine this in the dark.

With a theme gestating in my brain, we spotted, on the brow of a hill, blending nicely with a tree on the verge, a black and grey dappled pony. Had this creature, facing us, not lifted its head, we would not have seen it. This was the very subject I had been looking for. There was nowhere to stop or turn at this point, and, anyway, we had a convoy. Thinking we had probably missed the moment, my driver found a spot at which to turn around, came back to the spot, and stopped a little further on on the opposite verge.

As I approached my prey I noticed that it now had companions.

Suddenly a black one stepped out onto the road.

The dappled grey followed.

The most visible of all was not to be left behind.

As is evident, these animals were in no hurry. Now, imagine it is after sunset. What would you have seen?

The animals have no road sense, and will step out at any moment. Not always in clear sunlight giving bright colours a glow. This last pony emerged from the trees to join the others.

From the first photograph of the three – or was it four? – among the trees, to the colourful chestnut, the time elapsed was no more that a minute.

With this evening’s superb casserole Jackie produced crunchy carrots and cabbage with creamy mash. She drank Hoegaarden and I finished the madiran.

Canine Paralympics

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Today’s most recently bloomed clematis climbs over the arch spanning the Shady Path.

This afternoon Jackie drove me out to the forest.

Strong sunlight cast long or dappled shadows across the freshly resurfaced Holmsley Passage,

and warmed the wayside woodland.

A disabled dog eagerly propelled its tailored cart, clearly training for the canine Paralympics.

Bees had taken up residence in the modern house, alongside its dead wisteria, beside the

footpath that was once a railway line, now a route for walkers and cyclists.

It being the start of the grockle season, many others kept to the roads.

On Charles Lane outside Burley, Jackie needed to stop the car beside a passing area, so three riders could squeeze their horses past us. The last one waved their thanks and they cantered on their way.

This house, in an imposing position on a bend, looked pretty in pink.

The story of MacPenny’s garden nursery is told in my post ‘Cock Of The Walk’, of 3rd June 2013. This was our next destination.

Masses of rows of flowers, shrubs, and trees are for sale in the huge nursery area,

where pots, compost, and other materials are also available in profusion.

But it was the mature, stunning, NGS Garden, with its wonderful display of rhododendrons and azaleas that we came for today.

We also liked the candelabra primulas.

This evening the four of us dined on Jackie’s sublime sausage casserole, caramelised sweet potato, creamy mashed potato, crunchy carrots, and spring greens. Ian drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.

From Mist To Sunshine And Back

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The mist that shrouded the garden never left Downton today.

Motoring further away from the coast into the forest in the mid-afternoon, Jackie and I left the fog behind us and were treated to bright sunshine sending splayed shafts through the trees alongside

Holmsley Passage.

The few leaves that still clung to the slender branches became dancing will-o-the-wisps flirting with autumn’s bronzed ferns;

and individual trunks were spotlit pillars.

Haze surrounded a solitary pony on the roadside approaching Burley, where

pools of recent precipitation reflected housing, trees, and sky.

The herd of red deer that had not been in evidence on our last visit to that village had today, as is their wont, invaded the field in front of the Manor House, where they rendered lawn mowers redundant.

By the time we returned home via Hordle Lane the mist had (in)visibly thickened.

This evening we dined with Becky and Matthew on Jackie’s tasty cottage pie, tender beef in red wine, and piquant cauliflower cheese. I drank Languedoc rouge 2015.