The glow of the full Wolf moon creeps through the unfortunate gap left in the curtains as you stir in the early hours. You lie listening to the scurrying sounds of the field mouse making home amongst the artificial snowy branches of the Christmas tree that has just been stored away neatly in the loft. The air is bitter and a frost has formed on the window, but you somehow find solace as you drift away under the confines of that extra blanket. It’s eerily silent as the early morning mist begins to rise over the field of Oilseed Rape outside, glistening with frost under the full moon.
Suddenly the silence is broken!
The confines of the cosy, warm extra blanket isn’t enough to make you rise from your slumber, as the shriek from the resident Barn owl, sat waiting patiently on the pitched roof outside of the bedroom window, waiting to catch its supper from the firewood store below, echoes through the beautiful British countryside that awaits outside. It’s time to get up.
The morning routine begins. To the annoyance of ‘Scamp’, the now 12 year old semi-retired working Jack Russell, I have been avoiding his attempts to attract my attention, as he consistently peers around the kitchen door through his one remaining good eye. I can no longer resist his efforts, nor the excitement of what the early morning British countryside has to offer.
Making our way through the wild bird mix, the crunching sound of the frost under foot echoes noisily through the mist. Our presence is known as the early morning songbirds flit from the tops of the sunflowers, spilling their breakfast on their way back to the confines of the Blackthorn hedgerow. Much to the approval of the Hen pheasant that patiently awaits her breakfast delivery. We make our way through the bird mix in the direction of a small, peaceful block of woodland. A beautiful vixen fox breaks cover, Scamp has to be quickly reminded that he is now semi-retired. We watch her scurry off down the hedgerow in a hurry as a nearby Jay bird alerts all with its unmistakeable squawk.
As we approach the woodland edge, we pause briefly and peer in through the overhanging branches of the Hazel that intertwine with the trees of the woodland edge. Early season Snowdrops can already be seen protruding from the woodland floor along with some very early stems of the Daffodil also beginning to awaken from their dormant state.
Something has caught Scamps attention. His ears prick up. He muffles a short ‘gruff’ from under his breath.
A grey squirrel makes a dash across the floor to a nearby Ash tree where he finds safety in an old woodpecker hole. Scamp quickly reveals his look of disapproval to the fact that the .410 has been left behind, maybe next time.
We begin to make our way slowly through the woodland, enjoying the tranquillity and secrecy held within the broad range of tree species that make up the woodland. If only trees could reveal their secrets I begin to wonder. My thoughts are abruptly broken. We hear a branch snap. I became convinced that we were being watched. My senses heighten. I begin listening with great intensity. My vision becomes sharper and begins to focus through the undergrowth at what stands beyond. We have been spotted. Ears pricked. A look of evolutionary alertness in its eyes. I see the puffs of cold air enlarging from its deepened breaths. A true native to the British Isles. Mesolithic history, stood majestically for us to behold. A beautiful Roe buck in its prime.
Our encounter was brief, generations of evolutionary traits prevailed, a muffled deep bark as it turned and made its retreat hastily, disappearing deep in to the understory. An incredible encounter with one of the six wild deer species that make their home in the British countryside.
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