puddleshark

Purbeck Hills in July: parched yellow grass & ragwort.

It was supposed to be very hot today, so I set off early, and planned to walk the shaded paths at the foot of the Purbeck Hills.

The bridleway west from Corfe Castle, with cloud bubbling up in the distance. I thought that once I had crossed this field, I would reach a shady stretch of path - a narrow green tunnel, roofed by tangled vines of Old Man's Beard... But the four-wheel-drive fraternity had been out with their chainsaws, and had cut back all the hedges and the overhanging vegetation, to make the path wide enough for a Range Rover. Alas, the green tunnel is no more. But why am I mourning? It'll come back when all the petrol runs out.

Left the Underhill Path, to climb the steep chalk track to the hilltop, hoping there might be Bee Orchids growing beside the way - sometimes there are. But not this year. Bee Orchids are like that: appearing here one year, appearing somewhere else next year, appearing nowhere the next.

Only ragwort and bindweed in flower. Lots of ragwort.

View down over the village of Steeple, which does not have a steeple. Though it is at the foot of a steep hill.

View south from West Hill, fields stretching up towards the coast.

Farms. Beef & sheep mostly, with a bit of arable up near the coast, and sometimes a sideline in summer campsites.

Path through the dry summer grass on West Hill, with the grasshoppers singing their dry summer songs.

To the north, Norden Woods, heathland, and Poole Harbour.

Managed to find the steep track down that leads down through the sycamore woods on the north side of the hill, then took the track that runs through hazel coppice at the foot of the hill, back towards Corfe.

A pleasant walk through dappled shade. The day warm enough for the Speckled Wood butterflies to be battling each other in patches of sunlight, but not too hot for walking.

I kept an eye out for the cattle that roam the hill, expecting them to be seeking shelter from the sun and the flies, somewhere down in the woods. And indeed, I did come across one standing near the path. She seemed big and old and placid, and busy eating vegetation, so I risked passing by with a quiet greeting so as not to startle her.

Only as I passed by, I saw that she was in fact a he, and that I had just walked casually past a bull. Luckily a very placid bull.

But otherwise, no excitement.

The oaks put out branches far longer than the tree is tall, and sooner or later the branches either curve back to the ground, or split in two under their own weight.

Sat for a while in a hillside clearing, beside a hazel tree engulfed in brambles and clematis vine, hoping to see Silver-Washed Fritillary butterflies. And indeed, I did see quite a few of them, or perhaps the same one thirteen times: but it/they were not settling to nectar on the bramble blossom, too busy hunting for a wife, so no photos today.