puddleshark

A fine fair morning, the sun pleasantly warm, and the wind sharp enough to encourage you to keep walking. A perfect day to go following green April paths, up onto the hills looking out over the Blackmore Vale, down through the bluebell woods to the Dorsetshire Gap where all the paths meet.

Parked the car on the wide verge by Folly Farm, and set off for Lyscombe, along a muddy farm track, then onto a narrow hidden path through the hillside scrub, which emerges suddenly on the hilltop.

Climbing Lyscombe Hill.

The spring grass wet with dew, and the first Cowslips in flower.

Following the rim of the bowl of Lyscombe. The hill forms almost a perfect circle around the valley, with just a narrow break to the south to act as entrance. A significant landscape in prehistoric times, judging by the many enigmatic earthworks along the hilltop.

Lyscombe.

There was a sign on the gate warning of cows with calves, but I thought it would be safe enough to walk through the fields if the cattle were in family groups, as long as I kept my distance from the calves. Older cattle are usually used to walkers. But it turned out to be a herd of young cows with calves - the worst of both worlds! - and they were gathered round the gate I needed to pass through.

But the wildlife trust which recently acquired Lyscombe has kindly put up a wooden bench on the hillside, so I sat there for a while to drink my coffee and admire the view, and to wait and see if the cattle would move away from the gateway.

And they did indeed move away from the gateway, most of them happily grazing their way along the hilltop, but a small group of the youngest and most curious coming instead to gather round me where I sat in the sunshine, staring at me, and snorting, and one tiny calf, approaching the bench from behind, giving my coat an experimental lick. I just sat very still, very quiet, trying not to alarm anyone, and hoping they would lose interest.

I won't say it was scary. The cattle were English Longhorns, which usually have a reputation as quite a docile breed, despite the horns. But it was a very long ten minutes before they finally lost interest and wandered away.

They are rather beautiful cattle, English Longhorns, with their red-and-white marbled coats. But I was too busy sitting very, very still to take any close-ups.

But here's a photo I took back in 2019.

Bye bye, coos.

Leaving behind the hill, and heading down into the woods.

Bluebells and new Beech leaves.

Paths through the Wild Garlic.

Lesser Celandines.

Wild Garlic.

The Dorsetshire Gap, where all the paths meet. I took off my coat and sat on it in the sunshine, listening to the Chiffchaffs and the Wrens singing, but it wasn't really warm enough to be sitting without a coat, so I consulted my OS map and decided which of the four paths I would take next.

I chose the path to Armswell, because it runs through Sycamore woods, and I love the brightness of the new Sycamore leaves in April.

The Ash woods on Nettlecombe Tout not greening up for spring, badly hit by Ash Dieback. But not all the Ash trees are dead. Some of the larger Ash trees in the fields seem to be hanging on.

Buzzards circling over Nettlecombe Tout.

Looking out over Blackmore Vale, Thomas Hardy's Vale of the Little Dairies. These days it's more the Vale of Millionaire Holiday Homes, Equestrian Properties & a Few Big Dairies.

Lady's Smock appearing in the damp pasture. Orange Tip butterflies on the wing. The Swallows have been here for a few weeks already, but I've yet to hear the first Cuckoo.

Armswell Farm and Ball Hill.

Back along the lane to Folly.

I think there must have been a long distance ride or maybe a Bluebell Ride taking place. As I was nearing Folly Farm, I saw two riders on grey Arabians crossing the lane. On the drive back, there were signs up wherever bridleways crossed the road, warning of horses crossing, and there were stewards in hi-viz waiting at the some of the bridleway entrances. What a fabulous day to be riding out...