Dear word explorer,
Thanks for the lovely reactions to my last newsletter, Birbs, celebrating our neighbourhood feathered friends. I’m amused by how many people know about the Merlin Bird ID app when I tell them about it. I’m late to the (hen) party! I’ve been enjoying sampling birdsong in various locations and trying to ID another new bird for my list. Gotta catch them all!
In one of those strange synchronicities, I also read a terrific piece written by Irish/Australian writer,
, who is returning to London for a spell. She wrote ‘Bird Lady’ as an ode to ‘Queensland’s Feathered Mafia’ as she readies to leave. It’s a fabulous snapshot of the range of birbs down under. It makes my regulars seem rather ordinary!As I type this a Starling is screeching discontent from the top of a tree (well, it sounds aggrieved to me) while Jackdaws monitor the situation with distant circling and Swallows dart across the blue evening sky catching insects in mid-air. My main musical trifecta — the Robin, the Blackbird, and the Wren — are trying to compete with the Blackcap, the Song Thrush and the Woodpigeon. It’s an orchestra of whistles, peeps, drones, piping, tweets and bursts of genius improvisation.
Our stretch of gorgeous weather continues in Ireland, much to the population’s delight. We get these sunny blasts irregularly, and the mood of the country is uplifted upon the balmy breezes. It’s all big smiles in red faces, and dermatologists around the island shake their heads (covered in big hats of course) every time they leave their houses.
The hawthorn shrubs have such a bumper crop of blossoms that they appear like dollops of clotted cream dotted across the verdant landscape.
I’ve a tendency to do much of my rambling in the evenings, when the temperatures are cooler and there are fewer people about. When I had a dog — my much-missed lab-mix, Minnie — I was out and about at least twice a day, and always in the morning. She was there for the smells and the exercise and didn’t appreciate my habit of stopping to take photos. She shunned posing for shots, but occasionally she wandered into view. She was sometimes hard to spot.
Last Thursday evening I decided to enjoy the fine weather with a forest walk. Since Martin was about to start making dinner I promised to be back within the hour.
Regular readers will remember that Ireland endured the devastating Storm Éowyn back in January and it smashed our woods and forests. Over the subsequent months it has been hard to return to my familiar groves and witness how many trees have been knocked down. Since then I have stuck to the parklands where the main paths have been cleared, although that took months.
On this evening I decided to venture down a minor tributary in my nearby woods to see if it was passable. I’ve walked in these woods for a couple of decades so I know them intimately. As many of my friends will attest, I have a strong sense of direction, and rarely get mixed up about where I am if I’ve been to a location once before.
Almost immediately I encountered massive broken trees blocking the path, but with a spirit of curiosity I climbed over a couple. With persistence I arrived at a section where many giant trees carpeted the area, blocking any further passage. Yet, all their branches were covered in young green leaves. Light slanted through the fresh foliage of the standing trees and shrubs. Bees hummed and birds called. Despite the detritus, Nature continued. I honoured the beauty and the destruction.
I decided to take an upward trail I knew would circle back to the main path, before the blockages.
The spirit of optimism and the mellow weather short-circuited the sensible side of my brain, and I decided to go just a bit further and see what the condition were like.
The images of the pathways were alive in my mind. I knew where they twisted and turned and I was confident I could find a route.
At first it wasn’t so difficult, but the old trails were obliterated. I knew where I was but to progress I had to divert constantly through heavy undergrowth.
It was slow work. Thankfully, I’d worn a thick hoodie, but I was being constantly snagged and caught by twigs, branches and briars. My shoes were adequate, but not the proper hiking boots that would have handled the ground a lot easier. I moved carefully, aware that the dense coverage of brambles and scrub could hide holes, rocks and rotten wood.
Small clear sections gave me hope that I’d find a mythical straightforward trail.
I made it as far as a gap in the treeline, and beyond it a field in which two horses grazed. One of them, curious, wandered over to greet me. It allowed me to stroke its velvet forehead, before it moved on to finish its supper.
Yes, I could have hopped into the field and skirted the woods and hoped I could climb a stone wall to get back to my car, but the protocol against entering a farmer’s field stopped me. I knew there might be livestock in the later areas (I’d taken pictures of them over the years). Generally it’s wise not to chance an encounter with cattle, especially when they may be accompanied by calves.
I carried on, sure of where I was going, but the shadows were lengthening and the light fading. My promise to return within an hour had been broken. Martin’s meal might be ruined.
My storytelling brain began to offer ‘what if’ scenarios, that involved me phoning for help, while also aware that there was little chance people could find me easily in the dense terrain. All the issues I had with forging ahead would be experienced by anyone trying to reach me. My imagination was very willing to serve up other apocryphal tales of how badly my journey could end. I shut them down before they grew into paralysing plots.
I began to struggle with the territory, which was choked with ivy-covered boulders, stumps, snapped trees and masses of brambles. The atmosphere shifted. It became ugly, almost angry and aggressive. It was as if the forest’s loss manifested as an unbreachable tangle.
I was stopped by a nexus of vicious barbed vines, which hooked into my clothes, snagging me at every move. I was scratched in several places, even through my clothing. Branches whipped across my face. I was not capable of going forward, and I knew what was behind me.
Panic sent tendrils up through my body.
I very firmly rubbed them out.
In life we are stress-tested by circumstances. Hopefully, we learn from each event about what helps when we face another difficult situation. This was one of life’s surprise re-tests, its obnoxious tendency to check if we have truly assimilated previous lessons.
I slowed my breathing, faced the situation clearly, and banished fearful thoughts.
I resolved I could solve this problem, and I accepted the only way out was through.
This was temporary, and when I found the main track eventually I would be ecstatic. If it began to get dicey I could ring for help (I had charged up my phone before I left the house).
I moved even more slowly and deliberately, resisting the internal pressure to rush. It would be easy to make a mistake, and as a connoisseur of horror films, many of which involve women coming a cropper in dark woods, I knew this could be dangerous.
I sang a silly song I made up on the spot while I carefully disentangled my clothing. I looked about properly, backtracked for a bit until I spotted an old ruined wall that used to run alongside a trail that lead to the path, but several massive obstacles and awkward terrain blocked my way. The sun had almost set and early twilight settled in the dense woods. I dampened fears by remembering there were clear skies, it was approaching the full moon, and my phone had a light.
I clambered the long way round several times in order to get back to the track. In a final symbolic act, I had to get down on my hands and knees to scoot under the last enormous trunk: I was reborn!
I stood up, threw my hands in the air in triumph, and walked the final section to the main path. I kept a normal pace, knowing this is the place in the film when the creature launches the worst attack on the character who believes they’ve won the day.
There was no shambling surprise.
I sent a text to Martin. ‘Got stuck in the woods! Am free! Home in 15 mins.’
As I strolled down the clear path, grinning in the gloaming, a blackbird sang gloriously and flew like an arrow ahead of me.
The almost fat moon sailed in the indigo sky above the trees, and companionably escorted me to my car.
I really enjoyed reading through your forest trip, Maura—good to know everything ended well!
This is just glorious Maura - the trifecta of birdsong, the dog walks of days and pups passed, and the realisation that we are powerless when at the mercy of nature. Lovely. And thank you so much for the mention. It’s hugely appreciated.