Pablo’s Woodlife: Wildlife, Tracking and Bushcraft

It hadn’t been a great start to the excursion, but at least I had seen some activity in the woods. On the way out I had slipped trying to negotiate a ditch. It was like someone had whacked me with a plank of wood on my ankle.

My hand went to the mobile phone. Hang on. Let’s just assess what’s going on here. I could move my toes and slightly move my ankle. It can’t be broken. Perhaps a pulled muscle or at the worst damaged ligaments. It must be. I crawled out of the ditch and into the field. The exertion caused my breath to form a stream of white vapour from my mouth as the temperature dropped.

Well, if ever there was anyone more prepared for this, it was me. I had a sleeping bag, bivi bag, food, water (no I didn’t - I’d poured it away to walk out, stupid!) knife, firesteel, whistle, light-stick, kitchen sink and good clothing. I would survive.

OK. Before we call the cavalry, let’s try and stand up. I pushed myself up hopping on the good leg. And the other leg? I gingerly placed it on the deck. Yes, that hurt. A lot. A shooting pain went up the back of my leg. I would need a walking stick; but to cut one, I would have to go back into the woods. I don’t think so.

Some semblance of logic and rational thought returned. If this was a calf muscle injury, I wouldn’t be able to extend and flex the foot but I might be able to bear some weight with the foot angled out at 90 degrees. Well, that was less painful. I was kind of mobile. All I had to do now was walk, I mean limp, the half mile across the field, negotiate another ditch, follow a tarmac road for 200 yards and I would reach the car. No problems.

I had my first aid kit of course, but to strap up the leg would be a waste of time and effort. The high legged surplus army boots seemed to be doing a reasonable job of supporting the bottom of the leg.

I followed a deer trail at the edge of the field and bizarrely, I scolded myself for walking on the tracks, but I had no option other than a deeply rutted, muddy field. I counted my steps and kept the head torch firmly pinned to the area in front of me as I shuffled Quasimodo style toward the road.

I’ve been injured before and have had to persevere to get medical attention. A kind of survival instinct takes over and the adrenaline rushes to the parts of the body where it’s needed, which of course, is exactly what it’s designed to do. There’s a sense of euphoria and you actually feel good, which in turn provides you with some extra determination to drive you onwards to your goal despite the pain.

I had no option but to crawl on hands and knees to get across the   other ditch. I wasn’t going to risk further injury by another slip. The tarmac of the road was bliss! The smooth surface provided fewer jolts and I began to reflect on what happened.

What had I done wrong? I was walking slowly and carefully. I always preach slowing down in the woods and I follow my own advice. Ironically, about this time two weeks ago, I was walking through a wood, barefoot, blindfolded with one ear bunged up! I had a torch on. I had high-leg boots on and not my tracking boots, which probably saved me from a more serious injury. I would have had to negotiate the ditch wherever I exited the woods. It was very slippery underfoot. A momentary lapse of concentration? I had slipped and fallen. Well, that was about it. I should have stayed in the woods was the only chastisement I could administer to myself.

At last the car. I slung the kit in the back and started her up. Now this would be interesting. My injured left foot just couldn’t depress the clutch. Another series of shooting pains reminded me that actually, my left foot was useless. It was only a five minute journey home. Mrs P wasn’t there but the cavalry, in the form of my mate who lived close by, could still be called.

I’d got this far, so I wasn’t going to give up now. I used my right foot on the clutch and slowly got old Doris moving. You can change gear without the clutch at the right revs, but I decided to stay in first gear. It was only a mile and a half. Luckily, there’s very little traffic around our country lanes, and it wasn’t long before I landed outside the front door with a judder and a screech as a heavy right foot descended on the brake, stalling the car in the process.

Once inside the house, I quickly disrobed and took off my socks. Immediately I saw the problem. Right foot Achilles tendon - present and correct; left foot Achilles tendon - Absent Without Leave. It appeared I’d ruptured my Achilles heel. Nice one!

This was confirmed 3 hours later at the hospital, (thanks Paul, for waiting about for me) where, amongst other things, an appointment was made to attend the fracture clinic next week.

At least we made it back to the pub for last orders. Perhaps not such a disaster after all.

So, what am I going to do for the next six to eight weeks? Ever the optimist… I’ve got a few cunning plans!

Please send all flowers, get well soon cards, grapes, port wine and brandy to this address …

Thanks for the visit,

Pablo.

I knew it was going to be a bad day. I left work later than expected, but still in time to throw some kit into a rucksack and catch the last of the light in order to watch the deer.

I’d packed some overnight stuff in case I wanted to stay out but that wasn’t really the plan. Mrs P was away visiting her sister, but even so, I intended to return and have a pint or two at the local hostelry.

I put my glasses (spectacles) on the stairs to do up my boot laces, and promptly stood on them to do up the other boot.

I dived into my utility pack in my rucksack to extract the small bottle of Superglue. Hah! Be prepared! Since this happened to me in the woods on a previous occasion, I always carry a small bottle. Like a first aid kit, it may never be used, but it’s there in case there’s a major failure with essential kit.

I was now another 20 minutes behind schedule. Needless to say, in my hurry I forgot my medicine. I can live without it, but life is more comfortable with it. That made me decide I would definitely return home.

The woods were alive with action. A large fallow buck was chasing away two younger upstarts and the does were standing around looking confused. It was getting dark and I only managed to get a couple of photos. I tried to track the deer through the woods, but they had entered very closed-in woodland. I returned to my rucksack and started to pack up. It was now quite dark, but even so, I took time out to listen to the tawny owls shouting at each other above my head.

It was beer o’clock and time to go. I shouldered my pack and walked to the edge of the wood. As usual, I was walking slowly and had changed the head torch to white to lead the way. I spotted a gap at the edge of the wood leading out into the field. I had to negotiate a deep ditch, but I knew it was there. My leg went out and…

… suddenly I was on my back, staring at the  stars with a searing pain in my left calf muscle and ankle. My immediate thought was a broken ankle. I lay still and took some deep breaths but this wasn’t going to go away. What had happened? How bad was it? How was I going to get back? How many more questions fit in one post?

Read the next thrilling instalment. Part two soon.

Pablo.

Well, I survived last weekend in London. Just! It’s taken me this long to recover! It wasn’t that bad to be honest but I was nevertheless pleased to get back.

As promised, some moving pictures from the weekend’s meet at Mark’s wood.

The weekend’s weather couldn’t have been more perfect. I arrived at about 1.30pm at Mark’s wood in Reading. The mile walk in was really pleasant and I stopped off to admire the still lake, which was on the way. I was pleased to reach the cool of the woods after a sweaty hike across the field leading from the lake.

Despite a couple of quite sunny days, the temperature dropped and the wind turned a little chilly. I could just feel a slight coolness on my fingers as the wind turned to blow from the north. Some say Autumn has started but I still say it’s late summer. (Ever the optimist.)

I went out to Poor Park Woods yesterday and unsuccessfully tracked the Fallow deer around the woods for a few hours. They led me on a hilarious merry dance which I’ll talk about another time. I ended up exhausted and, after a rest, decided to gather the last of the blackberries for my special Christmas brew. I had to be selective as many had passed their sell by date.

The landscape looked decidedly weary. Fields have been ploughed and the foliage looks decidedly tired and droopy. An occasional yellow leaf fluttered gently earthward on the breeze. No. It won’t be long, but it’s not here yet.

To prove a point I went to Broaks Wood today. It was actually warmer and the wind was again coming from the south west . 

I concentrated my efforts on the ponds and the dragonflies. I’ve not taken many photos of dragonflies this year and there wouldn’t be too many chances left.

The bright morning sunshine brought out the larger ones first. An Emperor was hawking the main pond. Despite the 45 degree angled stick trick, he wouldn’t land for love nor money.

The male Common darter didn’t disappoint when I tried to get it on my finger.

The female’s were a little more shy and tended to stay in the higher branches.

The Southern hawker preferred to “hang” on the gorse waiting until a little later for his flight.

This Forest bug clung to my trousers as if to hide from the aerial battles although with all that armour, I’m sure he would be fine.

This unidentified spider spun it’s web quickly in the hopes of catching one of the dragonflies.

You find strange things in Broaks Wood ponds (after a design by Fenlander - cheers mate) much to the delight of the young naturalists in the area, who didn’t see me put it in the pond!

Yes, it will soon be Autumn by my calculations. This weekend was definitely the Last of the Summer Wine.

Thanks for the visit.

Pablo.