I will never get bored of the New Forest.
A photographic journal.
Two years ago I went to the New Forest for a weekend. I wrote about it.
Last week I went to the New Forest for a weekend. I took photographs of it.
We left London mid-morning, and by lunchtime we were eating sandwiches in the shade of a beech tree. A woodpecker thrummed somewhere nearby.
The sounds of the busy roads that thread in and out of Southampton faded into nothingness, replaced by the birdsong of early May.
The forest - new by Norman standards, as it was planted in 1066 - is a blend of deciduous and pine. The timber industry is active here, its eerily straight avenues of evergreens making much of them seem artificial.
But the places that haven’t been touched in years spoke to me the most.
Gnarled roots curved through carpets of moss.
Ponies and deer roamed freely below intertwining branches light with the fresh leaves of spring.
The sun glinted through the emerald.
Elsewhere, signs of people.
But even the vehicles of local residents sat silent and unmoving in reverence of the towering oak and ash.
The sun beckoned, briefly giving way to passing curtains of rain only when it wanted to. We walked for hours without seeing another person. Hues of greens and greys gave way to earthy golds. The birdsong was deafening.
I’ll be back in the New Forest soon.
I always come back.
It's nice to see a combination of different types of trees.
Forests planted by the timber industry are usually a monoculture, with barely any life in them. Combing them with trees that won't be cut down allows for a permanent base for our wildlife.