Lymington River

Defensive Cycling

Jackie finished the ironing this morning.

We then needed to scrape ice off the car windows, for the first time this year, before setting off for a forest drive.

Hardy rowers were out early on Lymington River.

Frosted leaves lay on the pavement beneath my feet as I took these pictures.

The pool spreading across the crossroads at the East Boldre corner of St Leonard’s Road reflected the crisp, clear, cerulean skies of the day and the surrounding shrubbery as grasses bent along the still surface.

Long shadows streaked the lengthy St Leonard’s Road, its partly frosted verges, its fallen golden brown leaves and the reflecting surfaces of filled ditches awaiting the addition of foliage yet to slowly swing down from branches overhead; one sawn trunk has been uprooted in a recent storm;

a parliament of rooks took heir seats to debate the absence of green issues.

Sunlight filtered through woodland like this lining Brockenhurst Road.

As usual at weekends we encountered numerous examples of what we understand as defensive cycling such as these in Walhampton Road, in St Leonard’s Road and in Brockenhurst Road.

A good explanation of this practice is given in https://www.edinburghbicycle.com/blog/what-is-defensive-cycling

This evening we all dined on succulent roast lamb; crisp Yorkshire pudding and roast potatoes, including softer sweet ones; crunchy carrots; firm cauliflower and broccoli, meaty gravy, mint sauce, and redcurrant jelly with which Jackie and I had more of yesterday’s wines.

Santa’s Float

On another cold, albeit slowly brightening, day Jackie and I took a forest drive just after 11 a.m.

Autumn leaves flocking on the still, silent, surface of Pilley’s icy lake will need a thaw before they begin their slow, rocking descent to the bed beneath.

Sage green lichen clung to branches

and decorated damp ivy coated trunks;

lesser limbs became embedded;

spectral skaters scraped converging rimy streaks across the frozen water,

while shaggy Shetland ponies quietly grazed.

The majority of this stubby little herd had rectified their recent absence from Bull Hill

which they now shared with curious cattle.

This bovine fixed me with a customary stare, then turned and

crossed the road. I tried not to take it personally.

Lymington River is tidal and therefore not frozen, and able to ripple and reflect the weak sunshine and Santa’s float.

In an effort to reorganise her fridge and larder, the Culinary Queen produced a varied menu for this evening consisting of left over helpings of my Susan’s chicken, of Shelly’s beef stew, one of her own earlier penne Bolognaise dishes from the freezer. She and I opted for the Bolognese while the others enjoyed some of everything. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

A Deserted Beach

I have been struggling against a heavy cold for three days. It was not until after lunch today that my coughing, spluttering, sneezing, and leaking nose had dried, and my dull head cleared adequately for me to accept the offered forest drive from Jackie. Yesterday I had declined.

It was therefore a shock to step out just after lunch into a gloomy day with a temperature just two degrees above freezing. Winter had crept up.

Although it is Sunday, there was very little sign of life.

The seasonal roadside pools, reflecting overhead branches, like these at East Boldre, are all now replenished; autumn leaves floating on their surfaces and scattered over the sward.

The narrow, winding, Tanners Lane with its ancient hedgerows exposing banked roots is, in warmer weather, popular enough for us to avoid the difficulty of finding a safe parking spot without slipping into a ditch.

The owners of this field have ensured, by blocking the entrance, that it will not be used as such.

This was therefore the perfect day for us to enjoy unhindered access to the beach with its views of the Isle of Wight.

A line of shore birds searched for food along the shallows of the tidal Lymington River.

This evening’s dinner consisted of Jackie’s spicy chilli con carne and rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I started another bottle of the Gran Selone before settling down to watch the World Cup football match between England and Senegal.

Materials Available To Us

Because of the upcoming bank holiday weekend it will be a few days before I am able to upload more pictures.

I am therefore unable to attach new ones to the text of our forest drive of 25th, so I am substituting similarish images from my archives.

After a night of what I call proper rain – that is, steady non-violent precipitation rather than weighty plops dropped at sudden intervals and bouncing off baked soil surfaces to sizzle in the scorching heat –

shallow pools were beginning to return to the moorland

and potholed gravel drives.

Shallow streams began to ripple once more,

and the landscape began to brighten.

Ponies could once again be reflected beside pools,

although this one at the western East Boldre corner of St Leonards Road, often, in wetter periods providing ponies with gazpacho soup, remained no more than a slight puddle before a bank of gorse and bracken.

A pair of donkeys seen regularly on Sowley Road

sporting patterns of hide as wet as those of these ponies a year ago,

noisily munched

apples dropped from a tree above. (OK, the donkeys pictured are eating carrots, but we have to use materials available to us).

Kayakers were observed on Lymington River as we waited for the level crossing into the town.

This evening we dined on succulent chicken marinaded in mango and chilli sauce and Jackie’s superb savoury rice, with which she drank Hoegaarden, I drank Calvet Prestige Côtes du Rhône Villages 2021, and Flo and Dillon drank fruit cordial. This was what had been in the process of being cooked when yesterday’s outage hit. This had been caused by a skein of geese flying into power cable which exploded in protest.

Mirrors And Shadows

Today’s weather forecast was that the clear, bright, early morning skies would cloud over at 11 a.m., which is exactly what happened. We were pleased, therefore, that we took advantage of the prediction.

The Lymington River mirror, with its reflections of moored boats; sun-kissed buildings; stately swans; and mudlarking waders, was the first that drew our attention. (See John Knifton’s comment below for correct identification of the waders. Since they were not dashing around like maniacs they must be dunlins)

Equally still was the glass surface separating Tanners Lane beach from the hazy layers of the Isle of Wight.

Jackie photographed me making the shots above.

Sun-tipped donkeys cast their shadows across the verges of the lane itself,

while a pair of ponies mounted theirs on the verdant slopes on the approach to St Leonard’s Grange. The last of this group of images is Jackie’s.

A basking pony at East Boldre was also outlined in sunlight.

This evening we dined on oven fish and chips, peas, and cornichons with chillis. I finished the Rioja and Jackie chose not to imbibe.

Dreaming Of Christmas Dinner

Today Jackie filled the house with the aroma of her delicious jalfrezi sauce for the curry option of her Boxing Day culinary delights.

Taking a break after lunch on this mild, cloudy day occasionally graced with a peek of sunshine, she drove me into the forest.

Father Christmas once again toasts his toes on the Lymington River Christmas float, while gulls fly over moored boats.

Stopping at Shotts Lane to photograph skies and trees, we watched a raptor tracking potential prey, perhaps dreaming of its Christmas dinner.

Through holes in hedges along Lisle Court Lane we glimpsed the masts of Lymington Harbour.

The tree on the Portmore village green now sports its Christmas baubles;

someone must have dropped a jigsaw puzzle piece outside the telephone box converted to a book exchange. Although it did not belong to the puzzle inside the booth, I picked it up and placed it on top of the similar attraction, where at least it would have a chance to dry out.

A horse peered over a gate on Jordans Lane while another forever followed a pointer across a weather vane.

The crochet artist shy of publicity has now given us a Christmas mice theme atop the Pilley Hill letter collection box.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tangy pasta arrabbiata and fresh green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Cahors Malbec 2019.

Late this afternoon we took a drive into the forest.

The deciduous trees shielding Sway Tower from South Sway Lane are turning chestnut brown.

Jackie parked beside Beaulieu Road, Brockenhurst on a verge beside which an exhaust box kept pace with the turning of fallen oak leaves. From there I walked along

the undulating banks of the reflecting waters of Lymington River.

The woodland floor, like most, is littered with lichen coated twigs. Ponies basked in hazy sunlight in fields on the opposite bank.

We visited Hatchet Pond where

ponies wandered among gulls, swans, and dog walkers; a solitary donkey tried its luck among the parked cars; a rooks cawed from the trees.

Jackie also photographed the pond with its swans; me on my return to the car;

and the signs explaining the need for restoration and the nature the wildlife.

Elizabeth joined us this evening for dinner which consisted of succulent roast pork with baked apple slices and sage and onion stuffing; crisp brown roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding; carrots, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts al dente; and tasty gravy with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and my sister and I drank Patrick Chodot Fleurie 2019.

Why Did The Pheasant Cross The Road?

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Yesterday evening we enjoyed the usual excellent food and friendly efficient service in the perfect company of Elizabeth, Danni, and Andy, at Dynasty Indian restaurant in Brockenhurst. This family grouping is always full of stories, fun, and catching up with current events. So it was then.

When John Keats penned his immortal line ‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ he was not thinking of Spring. This morning, one could have been forgiven for thinking so. Well, at least the ‘mists’ image. As I stood peering into the film covering Lymington River, a gull winged its way into view, alighted on a circular yellow buoy, and quickly sped off again.

Reed beds

I crossed the road and leant on a rail chatting to a little family who were on their way to the quay for a crabbing expedition. I was able to tell them about the reed beds, and thatching. One little girl told me that her Mummy had a coat like my jacket. “Well, it’s red. But longer”, she added.

Cyclists

On leaving Lymington we followed a pair of cyclists up the hill towards the east. These two had the good sense to stay in single file and on our side of the road. We are accustomed to and accepting of this. Whilst I can fully understand the joy of cycling for exercise, I cannot fathom why anyone would charge around bends on our narrow lanes two abreast. This happened twice today. On the second occasion a large group was involved. Fortunately our vehicle is a Modus, not a large lorry.

Donkeys were just about visible at Tanner’s Lane. Three grazed in the field against the backdrop of a burgeoning rape crop; another pair chomped on dry seaweed on the shingle.

An angler in a boat would not have been able to see the Isle of Wight behind him; a black-headed gull floated nearer the shore.

As we drove away from the beach, a decidedly grey pony, deviating at the last minute, headed straight for us.

Fat pheasants wandered quite leisurely around this area. Why, we wondered, would one decide to cross Sowley Lane?

Ah. There’s the answer.

Bright purple aubretia lit up the ancient stone wall alongside the ruins of St Leonard’s granary, beside which

drowsed representatives of the usual group of ponies. Before the rains set in, the chestnut against the rusting fence rails would not have been able to enjoy admiring its mirrored image. What, perhaps, these photographs cannot display is the absolutely still silence conveyed by these creatures.

Only the tiny Falabella raised an eyebrow as I approached.

This afternoon a smiling sun warmed the garden from a cloudless blue sky.

This evening we dined on smoked haddock fish cakes, piquant cauliflower cheese, mashed potato and swede, and carrots and broccoli, with which I finished the Comino Nuevo.

Waiting For A Bus

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This afternoon, Jackie drove us around the forest.

On the outskirts of Brockenhurst a troop of cattle exercised their right to hold up the traffic.

Over Lymington River

a swing has been suspended from a tree bearing

a lengthy lichen-laden limb kept out of the water by a complicated system of rigging.

A pool is filling up on the other side of the road.

Wherever we go we are likely to see a crow perched high enough to explain the term ‘a crow’s nest’.

This one could observe ponies chomping whilst waiting for a bus.

I was just thinking how sleepy one of the animals looked, when it turned and yawned in my direction.

An isolated individual had no competition for the grazing on the other side of the road.

At East Boldre, the sight of the sun behind a tree mirrored in a pool,

encouraged us to return in time to watch the sun drop down below the horizon

and deepen the red, gold, and indigo hues above.

Ponies keeping the grass down here were oblivious of the beauty above.

This evening we dined on fishcakes, one Thai, and one parsley and cheese, served on a bed of onions, peppers, tomato, and garlic; with runner beans, carrots, and cauliflower. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Malbec.

A Rescue Operation

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This morning turned out to be rather longer than planned and required a little more energy than anticipated to be expended. We began with a trip to New Milton for shopping, including a new watch strap for me. We then returned home to collect two large bags of garden refuse for the dump.

It was to be quite fortuitous that we had the bags on board when we set off into the forest from the Efford Recycling Centre.

Egrets were fishing on Lymington River,

where the usual boats were moored.

A long hoarding has been in situ around Threeways in Pilley for quite a number of years has at some time served as an art gallery. Paintings by a variety of artists remain in situ.

Ponies, in return for the freedom of the village, keep the grass in front of the houses cropped short.

There were many ponies in evidence at the road junction at St Leonard’s Road, East End. We weren’t going to get past them, so just watched this grey

leave its post on the centre line, turn,

and, passing a companion at the swampy corner, cross

the road towards East Boldre, leaving another chestnut to take over traffic control duties.

The pony standing in the pool

liked a drink with its grass, which took its mind of the fly on its nose.

Another grey advanced on me, no doubt seeking goodies, in which it was to be disappointed.

Travelling on, we hadn’t covered many metres of St Leonard’s Road before our road was blocked again.

Pheasants, both male

and female, skittered backwards and forwards into the hedgerows,

except on Tanner’s Lane, where they gathered in a bouquet.

Sunlight sparkled on the water between the mainland and

the Isle of Wight.

Hello. What was this on the shingle beach?

It was Emma’s car, a Twingo.

Watched by her mother, Paula, and two other young ladies attempting to offer advice, guidance, and assistance, the driver had, with her mother and dog, set out for a walk which had to be abandoned. It became immediately necessary to free the vehicle. But how?

The car’s wheels just span on the loose pebbles as Emma vainly tried to climb over them. I helped guide her onto a firmer section, but this involved first having to reverse further down towards the waterline, turning, driving at an angle to the foreground of this picture, then reversing as close to the corner post as possible. Despite her fears, the young lady kept her cool, and almost made it. Several times.

It was then that I remembered the orange bags. By this time Jackie had joined us, so she fetched them. We placed them on gravel behind the wheels. It was still difficult. We then roped Jackie’s hessian supermarket bags into service so we had all four wheels covered.

Still no joy, until we were joined by another gentleman with rather more knowledge, especially about being very very gentle on the accelerator. Emma turned left at the point in the picture above, and reversed slowly towards the corner. With all hands on the bonnet; backs, thighs and knees straining, we tried again. We had lift off. Emma just avoided reversing into a hedge. We all gave each other hearty hugs, and Jackie and I drove home for a late lunch.

This evening we dined on Hordle Chinese Take Away fare. And very good it was too. Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the malbec.