Chidham and Hambrook Village - everyday

COBNER BUZZARDS TAKING FLIGHT.

LONGMERE September 2008

Up above, the majestic parents leading by example [Oh, that is an example for many earth-bound folk], showing where, finding the way through streams of air, higher and higher, were followed by the two brave young devoted children, never wavering on and up, exulting maybe in the newly found glory of freedom, before away, away to new life. Bred, reared and fledged - another success.

This force of nature lifted me too, my spirit soared after days of dismal drip and howling windy rain. I smiled, laughed and had to share the precious moment,

“ Penny! Come and see!”,
“I am seeing, there are three.”
“ No four.”
“ Oh yes, four!”

Four spirits ascending - is this an illusion? If so does that matter?

The great poet wrote of the ‘Blythe Spirit' singing with joy; in reality territorial rage and outcry. So this is just internal impressionistic folly, but from such a misperception, such an outcome! Words immortal, and illusions that inspire us on through our imperfect knowledge - through a glass darkly- maybe to heroic deeds, protected from grim reality.

Do avian creatures have special effect upon us earthbound humans? Yes, I think they do.
Has this always been so? Well, there is not much evidence in the cave paintings, but then those artefacts were, we think, all about essential hunting for food, for life and life was desperate, on the edge. Maybe our ancestors had no time for indulgences and luxuries of leisure or contemplation, much like the majority of society through the ages. Did they stop to think about the Why of existence? Evidence indicates they were no less intelligent than modern man, but just lacked the accumulated experience from whence some of us derive wisdom. Sometime, somewhere they found their Gods and they probably had customs, superstitions and beliefs. Maybe today's spectacle would have had great significance. It certainly stirred atavistic feelings in me which energised and made me feel restless.

What should I do? Have another drink - having opened a particularly good bottle of red wine. Better, probably, than going out to hunt and kill something, or be killed. Was this then a siren call? Are such calls bad or just a challenge for us to make a decision?

Is that not what we are here for - to make decisions?

The View From Upon High

Somewhat predictably, the first thing most people comment upon in my presence is my height. I am, especially to those of mature years, considered a “tall” fellow, standing at approximately six feet and four inches high. But, this is midget-esque when compared to the real giants of our environment, the majestic beauties of coniferous and deciduous varieties, the leafed wonders of monstrous fortitude and charisma, the Trees.

Some of these titans scar the sky at heights of 370 or so feet, though these are not to be seen in West Sussex for fear of being converted into a magnificent carved hull. Instead, I had to make do with local varieties of notable height. Standing at somewhere around the 60-80 foot mark (I couldn't be entirely sure without a theodylite), I was confident I could climb the mightiest trees without fear of Instant Death Syndrome affecting me on my journey down. Climbing barefoot with only a pair of shorts and a tee shirt with no safety equipment or helmets, my safety was less than assured. My biggest worry was that the past two years of partial muscle atrophy had not had too significant an impact on my previous rugby physique, otherwise the task would have been nigh-on impossible. Luckily (if luck had anything to do with it), I had enough reserve in my fibres to scale the trees with relative ease, my elongated limbs proving more than sufficient to grapple, shimmy, leap and grasp at passing branches as I progressed up the trees.

The first tree climbed was a colossal oak at the edge of the caravan fields adjacent to Cobnor House – an ideal starting point as it provided many challenges and beautiful vistas. Rather like Italy , I suppose. The beginning was easy, the next bit ridiculously bloody difficult and rest of it, like a jungle gym at a playground: far too easy. But the views at the top were simply magnificent; the undulating downs in the far distance, the young sailors out on the water in their distinct yellow sails and a view of the entire peninsula only obscured by other, also beautiful, trees. A view of the House never before seen was presented to me. The smells of fresh, pure oak was rich in the air, undimmed by the usual air of decaying leaves we encounter at the base of such a tree. My hair, arms and even my pockets were catchment areas for the debris of climbing. My shorts, a dull khaki, were stained a deep, forest green from the gnarled bark I rubbed against on my journey up. Several small birds circled nearby, flittering with themselves between my tree and the one opposite, their territory marked with their black and white omelettes on the trees branches. As I sat in a three-pronged fork near the very peak, I muttered to myself, “…Et In Arcadia Ego,” for this was, to us Great Apes, a most natural and desirable habitat, and one of true serenity.

Unlike most things in wildlife, it is the dead who truly provide the worst enemy. Relying on them at the wrong moment, or even at all, could put one up against the Forces of Gravity for a very quick, one sided battle with a clear winner at the end. Agility and stability are one's greatest allies as even the strongest of people could fail miserably if they cannot balance themselves on the higher branches, with one hand trying to take photos and the other holding on to a flimsy branch. Vertigo and other natural mechanisms to prevent such potentially fatal acts as tree-climbing must be suppressed in favour of ballsy acts of reckless courage to reach the tree's zenith. All of these things only helped to make the experience more enjoyable.

The shorefront oaks were the next targets in my Dicotyledon Crusade.

At the intersection of Sea Wall and Wood, these may not be very tall, in fact they are positively miniature, but they have true character. Resembling craggy old men wizened and battered by the coarse, salty sea breeze and hunched against the elements in their perennial struggle, they do say a considerable amount about the nobility of trees. Exposed and assaulted from a multitude of directions, only helped out by their bigger, muscled brothers in the rear, they stand resolute and dignified as they make a powerful case for their right to exist. Where human efforts to plant around them have more often failed, these fellows have twisted and grotesque shapes as they dare to defy their merciless enemies. The Kingdom they hold is a just one, and with no shortage of exceptional vistas, they shade and comfort many who pass and pause to absorb the sights from beneath their boughs. As one views the world from their tops, a panorama taking in all from Ichenor to the Isle of Wight to Hayling Island is framed by their dense, opaque leaves. The climb is an easy one: they are tightly packed, mostly horizontal limbs and have been nudged to the east by years of opposing forces so as to provide a rough, tentacle-like incline in the trunk and its extensions. Recently, little saplings have sprung up in the grass behind them. Whether they'll do as well as their forebears lies with whoever governs the merciless elements who will surely start their campaign soon.

In real terms, the horizon (or visible distance available) and one's height from the ground are intricately and quantifiably linked. At the average human eye level, roughly 5ft 7in, the horizon appears at about 2.9 miles on flat ground. This puts me at a slight advantage over other people in general and was one of the reasons I undertook this endeavour. At over 6ft 4inches, I could see, theoretically, to a distance of around three miles and bit. However, this is usually not the case as I am hindered by mild myopia and thus cannot utilise this trait to its full potential. By climbing the tallest structures of Cobnor, I can. I can peek above the canopy and stretch to limbs beyond the reach of the average human and attempt to squint at objects in the distance and try to compute just what those blurry blobs really are. How I love being short-sighted. But, at 100ft, a height I was close to on occasion but didn't quite reach on my quest, one's horizon travels a full eight miles to around 12.25 miles, opening up the majesty of the surroundings and slapping one with a sense of the intricacies of nature and its complex, wild and fascinating flora and fauna. Nature truly is the magnum opus of evolution.

The final tree of my brief journey was a towering Monterey Pine, the tallest of the trees I climbed and also the most physically demanding. Not because of its height, or its girth or even its nexus of needles and short, sharp failed branches poking into my pink flesh. No, this was the most the most challenging because of the swirling tempest the Gods had thrown my way. In the early stages, its effects were negligible to the climb (but wonderfully audible through the rustling leaves), but in the latter parts of the climb, the true benevolent fury of the wind become very clear. With each gust, as I was literally and figuratively out on a limb, the tree would sway with considerable distance, causing me to obey those exhortations within and hold on to the trunk screaming for divine intervention. Fearing for my own mortality in a most basic sense, I bravely ploughed on up the Pine, managing to pause and inhale enough intoxicating fresh pine scents and catch my breath at the same time. The exhilarating climb getting my pulse up, the loud wailing of the wind and ominous creaking of the branches playing into all my primal instincts of “this is a bad idea, me, what in the name of all that is rational are you doing?” thoughts of which were quickly suppressed by the thrill-seeking part of my mind. It paid itself in visual profits at the very end as I could gander and peruse the distant lands, thanking air for its transparency as I shook off ideas of it being visible (it was quite at the forefront of mind, you see). Here, in the midst of three of the four elements as it began to drizzle (Earth being the element I was second most worried about, as I hoped I would get to see it later at my chosen velocity), I was being annexed on all sides by the elements and felt fundamentally elemental myself – earth, bark and green stained my arms, legs, feet and shorts; the wind moved me and my host tree like we were hairs on a head; droplets of water plummeting thousands of feet just to dampen my temperament in this awesome moment.

I have always had a great affinity for trees. Our house in Ireland is named “Na Fuinseoga,” Irish for “The Ash Trees,” due to the many of them that surround our dwelling. Climbing and playing in trees formed a large chunk of my childhood, making me nostalgic for those halcyon days of yesteryear. To top it all off, due to a combination of my height, long limbs, trunk-like legs and fresh crop of unkempt facial hair in my late teens, my team-mates, in good sporting nicknaming tradition, often referred to me as “Treebeard,” or simply, “Tree.”

A moniker I was actually quite proud to hold.