Old friends at Ashton Court

A walk with old friends. And I do mean old - or rather, of very long standing, having first encountered one in our first year at secondary school, two at primary school and one at nursery school. And where better to meet them for a walk than among the ancient and venerable trees of Ashton Court. 

In the fallow deer park

The Domesday Oak

Back past the fallow deer

A view of Bristol, with Freezing Hill and Kelston Roundhill in the distance, framed by giant sequoia 

With so much catching up to do, I was really surprised to see how far we'd walked. And at least trees were obliging enough not to move off as they heard us approaching. 

Robert Plant and Saving Grace at the Bristol Beacon, 13th March 2024

I'm trying to remember the first time I heard Led Zeppelin. I'm pretty sure it would have been at my friend Liz's house. Maybe that time she slipped into her brother Robert's room and smuggled Led Zeppelin IV from his record collection for a sneaky listen while he was out. We'd have been about eleven, I think; firm fans of David Bowie and Marc Bolan by then, but sensing this was something a bit edgier ... more dangerous, perhaps. Not long after that it was 'Houses of the Holy', singing along to 'D'yer Mak'er' in her bedroom, plus an early encounter with the thrill of metaphor in the opening line of 'The Rain Song: 'It is the springtime of my loving ... '. And a little later 'Physical Graffiti' - all Robert's and all borrowed briefly on the sly.

I was thinking about all this while listening to Robert Plant and his band 'Saving Grace' sing 'The Rain Song' at the newly refurbished Bristol Beacon. That feeling of hearing live songs you've lived with almost your whole life. There's not many other people I can still do that with ... there's no chance of seeing David, Lou or Leonard  again, Bob's apparently reluctant to play the songs people most want to hear, and David Byrne was just that bit later. What a privilege, then, to listen to the man with curly hair singing, even though our seats were right at the back of the auditorium. (I was taking a poetry group at the Bristol Folk House when they went on general sale, and had to wait an hour till the break to dash to the box office at the Beacon, by which time they'd almost all sold out. When I arrived back, red in the face and breathless and without my usual cup of tea and flapjack from the cafe, none of my charges seemed that impressed by my achievement, but that's poets for you.) 

Leonard's voice got better as he aged - he was sounding like God when I saw him in 2012 and 2013 - but as the affectionate cheering during his live performance of 'The Tower of Song' attested, it was never what you'd call golden. David's celebrated range of three and a half octaves diminished to the point where he'd struggle with that long high note in 'Life on Mars' (admittedly always hard for a mortal to sing).  Bob's voice is sandier and gluier than ever. Robert can still ooooh better than the best of them, though. 

My photos are rubbish, of course, not least on account of the distance: I reckon he was standing just about at the end of my back garden, with me at my bedroom window, whch is a bit long distance for a balcony scene, but here's a couple. I was there. 

Winter's last gasp

PLEEEEASE can we go for a walk! 

Winter left behind a late and strangely localised blast of snow as it slammed the door shut on itself at the end of last week as recorded here. (At least, I hope that's what it's done, though it might be a trifle early to start celebrating.)

The day before it was hailstones ... 

... and there's been some ice and frost too. 

Best of all, another walk in frost and mist and sunshine - perhaps not quite as stunning as the one we experienced at the beginning of December, but still quite breathtaking. 

But by far the most prevalent weather has been rain. It has rained and rained and rained, and looking at the forecast, it's not over yet.

Out on the Brabazon development, the area of land in the far field that was churned up by heavy plant has gone from this:

to deep deep mud: 

If you try to cross it, you risk losing your wellies, as well as your balance and dignity, as I came close to discovering. 

There's been a little sun too, and I'm looking forward to seeing more of it as the days gradually get longer. 

And sometimes there's been both - sun and rain ... 

This shifting weather has made for some stunning light in which to admire the winter trees before they start getting dressed for summer.

The ash by the kissing gate into The Small Dark Wood of the Mind

The ash at the foot of the field

The oak in the golf club car park

The fungi on show is in winter mode ... 

TOP:  1 & 2. Crystal brain fungus? (That's a wild guess)  3. Slime mould  4. Turkey tails  BOTTOM:  5 & 6. Oak bracket fungus  7 & 8. Jelly ears - not a lot of them to the ground this year  

... while underfoot there are definite hints of spring:

CLOCKWISE top left:  1. Cuckoo pint not yet in flower  2. Celandines  3.  First buttercup of the year  4. First dandelion of the year  5. Last year's stinking irises amongst this year's growth  6 & 7. The little elder tree at the foot of the hollowing oak in leaf, and the hollowing oak itself in bud  8. Red dead nettle  9. Hazel catkins  10. A first - dog violets in Rooky Wood. (Usually, flowers here turn out to be litter on closer inspection.)

One late afternoon this last week almost had the feel of evening about it - not the wintry, dark-at-4pm-and-huddled-under-a-blanket sort, but the duskiness of spring evenings when you can get out for a walk after work, and it made me think what a soothing word - and time - evening is: an even-ing of the fretful spirit after a day's work. There wasn't a sunset - it was too cloudy - but when there is, it'll be visible from the field again, and that means spring and the joy of summer evening walks to come. 

And a kestrel! There was a kestrel too, oh my heart.

Meanwhile, the rook that yelps like a dog is making itself heard in the rookery, and how lovely to know that like us, it's survived another winter ...

... while the lengthening days are embellished with quarrelling jays, drumming woodpeckers, yaffling woodpeckers, bumbling bumbles, all evading the mediocre camera on my phone. But not this magpie, that was making the strangest fizzling noise to its mate ... 

... and these gorgeous long-tailed tits in the brambles. 

Also, an honourable mention to this raptor I encountered, a Harris's hawk, native to Central and South America. 

Talking of which, the right of way along the side of the skylarks' field, next to the railway cutting, has been reopened, but the path that used to meander between between pools of tufted vetch and rosebay willowherb in summer looks like this now ... 

... and the field itself is lost. 

I have heard skylarks singing on the edge of the old airfield, though; hoping very much they'll get an uninterrupted attempt at nesting there this year. 

Meanwhile, the scrub on the Common has been almost completely cut back, despite promises that it would be left undisturbed, with only paths cut through. 

This is disappointing, and could be an explanation for why we see muntjac and roe deer tracks in the Field of the Hollowing Oak much more often than in previous winters.

The Small Dark Wood of the Mind has also been subject to more tree-felling, opening up views of West Way, the road that runs through the lower part of Airbus complex.

Meanwhile on the golf course, the holes in the hedges that allow wildlife to pass through the wildlife corridor have been blocked again - though with the deer displaced from the Common, I don't give much for their chances of staying that way ... 

... the larger shallower lake, that was a haven of biodversity, has been fillled in with several tonnes of earth plonked on top, and apparently they're going to fill in the beautiful smaller pond too. I was once buttonholed at a poetry reading by a man who was keen to impress upon me that not all golfers are ecological vandals, but it's hard to believe him on this evidence. 

Don't want to finish on a bum note, though it's hard not to feel depressed by the assault on wildlife that we're witnessing. Here's Cwtch having fun. Thank goodness for dogs and the excuse to get out into nature every day.