The magic in Danemead Wood, 1st July 2010

Today my journey ends. It also begins. It started like most others with a heap load of work. But today was different. After rushing home early to pack food and drink, we got out as fast as we could. First stop, Broxbourne Wood West.

Instinct led me to the Purple Emperor ride. An early recce for a later trip. One which, no doubt, will be filled with hope. I sometimes wonder what I’d do without hope. I don’t simply mean because I wish to be granted the chance to see the wildlife of my dreams. No, I mean how boring it would be to know with certainty that you will definitely see your target species. Uncertainty mixed with hope is the garam masala of life, is it not? I have to tell myself this because I never actually see the species I set out to see. Sometimes I see something even better though. Just sometimes.

The ride was devoid of all but Ringlets, Skippers and Meadow Browns. So it wasn’t long before I was indulging my first love in the tall conifers. Bins in hand, I hunted down a very elusive family of Goldcrests. Then we walked along the “floating path” and followed its length to find Yellow Pimpernels which, ironically, were not elusive at all.

Back to the car and another quick bite to eat before setting off again. Not far to go this time. I’m not going to give directions to my sacred spot. I might decide to have Ash’s ashes scattered there and I wouldn’t want to give the game away in case my spirit lingers for a little while before being dragged away from life. What fun it would be to frighten the heck out of a group of unsuspecting conservation volunteers with a ghostly finger tapping one of them on the shoulder then waving excitedly at some unusual insect that they hadn’t spotted.

Soon enough I was in my idea of heaven. The drier meadow was full of Meadow Grasshoppers. I can now identify these by their song. The way I remember it is that it is like someone peeling potatoes who is reasonably adept at their job. Scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape-scrape in quick succession......pick up another one and start again. There were thousands of them singing all at once. In fact I have never seen or heard grass so full of grasshoppers in my life. I even managed to catch one and let it rest on my hand. I have the “carved wooden bookend” to thank for my confidence to perform this party trick. She even stayed long enough for a photographic opportunity. But “no photos, please”. This particular blog is camera-shy.

My mind started buzzing like the crickets and grasshoppers as I started to see more and more interesting invertebrates in this field. Small orange ladybirds inhabited the finer, drier grasses. I felt sure they must be common, but I couldn’t ID them, so took some blurred record shots. Turns out I couldn’t ID them even with the aid of Google, and I had to ask for help. For a while the ID was not 100 % certain, but they were 24-spot that hadn't quite matured.

A little further on a moth caught my eye. One day I’ll get into moths, but not yet. But this striking little fellow was too good to miss. Syncopacma species apparently - very cute. I’ve named him Pacman. I guess I will eventually need to perfect the art of killing some of them and looking at their dissected genitalia with a microscope. Pacman would have been one such unlucky chappy. Ouch – I’m cringing already. I left him in peace instead of in pieces, and moved on to view a magnificent Dock Bug instead.

Like a cow grazing a field a moved slowly from one clump of grass to another with my head bent down and often on all fours. I ventured through the gate into another clearing. Here I could smell damp earth and bracken, which reminded me of childhood trips to see my Uncle Alan in the Cumbrian fells. Different grasshoppers with different songs lived here in the longer, damper vegetation. I was like some big kid at Christmas. I didn’t know where to look first. I managed what I thought was a good shot of one splendid fellow before he hopped it. I thought I’d ID’d him in the field as a Field. Turns out he might have been a Common Green and I should have taken at least two different shots, with at least one of the underside of his thorax. You live and learn.

My movements became less Friesian and more Roe Buck as I did what I could to navigate this area with all its ridges and ditches, fallen logs and tumbling briars. I now wonder what secrets are hidden here beneath the soil; the archaeology could well be fascinating. My endeavours led me to discover a gorgeous little blue flower called a Skullcap, which is a new one for me. I got lost for a while and used the sun like a primitive compass to guide me back to base camp, where Sleeping Beauty lay waiting.

Here there were several Broad-leaved Helleborines, their heads bent in graceful repose (unlike Sleeping Beauty, who was wide awake and raring to go by now). But I managed to take some shots of this marvellous little plant before we left. I’m glad I did too, as it turns out that it can be very difficult to identify when it is as young as these plants were. With the last few shots safely stored on the camera, I reluctantly left “my field”.

So there you have it. A perfect end to the perfect afternoon. And a perfect end to a chapter in my life. It’s time to begin to move on from all this WABbing and blogging. There is just so much out there waiting to be discovered. Do I hope there is? Nah, this time, I know there is.


For M.

Life is about learning, is it not? Well sometimes you have to learn how to forgive. And how to be kind. And how to let go. And how to remember not to forget yourself in the process. And, ultimately, how to love. I liked the vicar this time. I liked him very much. Why do we cry with pain in remembrance? Because of the love we felt and the love we still feel. You can’t have one without the other. Pretty obvious, eh? Well as the light flooded through the stained glass, and the tears flooded my eyes, it was a blessed relief to find something I could understand at time when nothing made any sense. Bless him for choosing those words. Bless him for laughing at the tale of the Long-eared Bat that you caught at the end of your fishing line and the expression on each of your faces. But most of all, bless you, M, for the courage you gave me. I’ll need every last bit of the strength that I inherited from you now you’re not here anymore. How often did you tell me “I’ll larn ye”? Well I think you most probably did.

“Thanking you”.