Leigh Woods in sun and mud

Who's this, creeping through the woods at sunrise? Why, it's Cwtch the collie. 

Another Sunday morning, warmer - and therefore muddier - than last week, but still beautiful.

We got up even earlier to avoid as many people as possible, and largely succeeded. 

The views were much clearer than the same outlooks last week, when it was misty and frosty. We could see the River Avon hundreds of feet below in the bottom of the gorge. 

Today I was particularly struck by how colourful winter is in these woods. Of course, it helped that it was sunny.

We walked some way along the ramparts of Stokeleigh Camp.

We had a choice of paths ... 

... and decided to walk alongside the parish wall for a bit before making our way back to North Road. 

There are quite a few beech trees in this part of the wood. I think this one might have beech bark disease though I might need correcting on this. 

Meanwhile, others have been subject to declarations of love, a common fate of beech trees with smooth bark.

I love love Claire Sellars(?)  ... Will love her forever

The date looks like 1789 but I expect it's 1989. Maybe Claire knows the truth of the matter. She must be out there somewhere.

This tree has made a declaration of love all by itself.

Leigh Woods in frost and mist

It's quite difficult socialising a young pup close to where we live. There's the meadow, of course, but we seldom see anyone else up there. The nearest place to walk her where there are other dogs is a playing field the far side of a dual carriageway, but a few of them are quite in-your-face, and Cwtch gets a bit nervous. So, after much debate re the meaning of the word 'local', we got up at sunrise and drove 4.9 miles to Leigh Woods, where dogs are (supposed to be) on leads, and are therefore a bit less scary for a very young collie. 

As it turns out, our prime minister travelled further for his exercise, so presumably we weren't in breach of the rules, whatever they are. Also, we were there long before the crowds, and just leaving as they arrived - so many bikes! so much lycra! - so it worked out well all round. 

Along the top edge of Nightingale Valley

And it was beautiful. Sun and frost, a misty blue light ...

 

... and the gloriously twisted veteran trees that make these woods, and the nearby Ashton Court estate, such a joy to walk in during the winter. 

Approaching Stokeleigh Camp, the iron age hill fort

Up through the ramparts

First glimpse of the Clifton Suspension Bridge in the mist

View over Avon Gorge

Around the third side of the camp

On the left, a veteran small leaf lime coppard, which is a tree that has been coppiced and then later pollarded. 

An officially veteran re-pollarded oak

One of the most striking trees in the woods is the veteran yew standing on the parish boundary. I love the way the wall, which was built in 1813, breaks to accommodate it. 

But hey, what's up, Cwtch?

Something bitier than you? Oh dear. 

 

Leigh Woods and Stokeleigh Camp

It was raining. Hard. As I drove past the playing fields, I wondered whether to pull into a side road and ring Son the Younger to see if he still wanted to meet up for a walk at Leigh Woods. Then I looked at the glorious colour of the trees even in the downpour, against charcoal clouds, and decided to press on. He'd be there waiting. 

And he was, though the rain forced a change of route, away from the exposed path along the side of the Avon and over to Stokeleigh camp instead, which we could reach under cover of the trees. We're not completely mad. 

On the way to the camp we passed some fabulous trees. I love this beech, which is still leafing despite the fact it fell long enough ago to grow ivy over its exposed root ball. 

And this ancient yew is magnificent still. 

Fungi on a beech

It's been a long, slow, glorious autumn burn this year. I suspect it's a knock-on effect from the hot, dry period we had at the end of spring, that caused the seasons to concertina and autumn to come earlier than usual.

Two sentinel oaks ... 

... and a hollow one.

Stokeleigh Camp is an iron age promontory fort, one of three that stood on top of the cliffs, overlooking the Avon Gorge. This vast chasm offered Stokeleigh protection to the north, and to the east, the steep slopes of Nightingale valley. The remainder was bordered by three ramparts which increase in size the nearer you get to the middle. 

It's thought that Stokeleigh Camp was occupied from the late pre-Roman Iron Age. Archaeological investigations have suggested that the Dobunni might have ceded it to the Belgae tribes in the 1st century. There may then have been a break in occupation before reuse in the middle to late 2nd century. It's unclear whether this was for a formal garrison or just as a place of refuge in times of crisis. It might also have been occupied in the Middle Ages. 

There is evidence of dry stone walling along most of its length, but it's not known whether this is an original feature or a later addition. 

By now we were high above Nightingale valley and the Clifton Suspension Bridge was coming into view. No need for protection against marauding invaders in Victorian times - unless you were on the receiving end of British imperialism. 

On the opposite bank, another hill fort is visible, that of Clifton Down camp with the observatory built in the middle of it. (The third camp was Burwalls, the other side of Nightingale Valley, the only trace of which survives in the area's name - burgh walls.)

Far below is the River Avon.

As we left the camp, a family approached. 

*cough cough cough* said the father.

'I thought we'd be going up this path!' pouted the elder child. 'What's the point of coming if we aren't going to explore the ruined castle!' 

*cough cough cough* explained the father, who wasn't wearing a mask. 

'Ooh là là!' exclaimed the four-year-old, splashing in a puddle. 

*cough cough cough* answered the father. 

At least cattle don't catch Covid-19. 

Spalted wood