I once walked through a wood in a sparsely inhabited part of the country. My route had been carefully chosen. There was a small town at the start of my journey and a railway station at the end of it. Between the two there were over twenty miles of heathland, woodland and moorland. The wood I have mentioned was on a ridge where the wet heathland rose to meet the moorland and was almost midway in my journey. The ancient path I was following was about a quarter of a mile from the trees and I had no reason to divert from it until the wind suddenly took an exception to the mild February day and was accompanied by an onslaught of low, darkening cloud and driving rain. I headed for the wood.
It was a large wood of mixed variety, mostly deciduous which had grown naturally over the centuries, but there were also sections of planted conifers along the top of the ridge. I reached the cover of the older part of the trees just as the squall became most violent and I was surprised by the heat that engulfed me. Even walking there are elements of nature that escape the senses and even the eyes, elements that are fundamentally part of the lives of other creatures that share our world. If I had thought about it I would have realised that woodland on a winters day would have generated such heat and not jut the cover from the wind and rain I sought, but other creatures don’t have to think about it and the herd of Red Deer I disturbed were no exception. There was no sustainable grazing for them within several miles, where the arable land gave way to heathland, and as they crashed away from me through the trees I began to wonder why they were there in such comparatively mild weather. Then the weather answered me. The wind took a ferocious intensity and howled through the trees, very quickly dissipating the heat and driving me deeper into the wood.
Possible sleet showers had been forecast but my experience told me, as I realised it had told the deer, that this was more than a squall; this was a deep depression. Outside of the wood there was little light and inside it was dark enough for me to see eyes watching from a safe distance. Some of the eyes were too low for the deer and I assumed foxes too were wondering what I was doing there. The protection of the trees was losing ground to the onslaught beyond them and the rain that penetrated my cover soon turned to hail and I began to doubt my anorak was adequate to protect me.
I waited over an hour, getting wetter and colder, but the depression showed no sign of lifting. It was in the days before mobile phones. I still had ten or more miles to reach safety in either direction. I decided to seek better shelter by moving upwards to where I had observed the planted conifers. I took a penlight from my knapsack and carefully picked my way through the trees. The wind pursued me, swirling malevolently in enforced shafts between the trunks and branches. I began to feel very cold and wondered if even the conifers could prevent me getting seriously hypothermic. Then I was suddenly exposed, facing a clearing in the middle of the wood. The ground dropped into a grassy depression some sixty metres long. The light was better but the wind and hail was worse. Even in extremis my mind wondered at the reason for such a strange phenomenon; a meteor strike perhaps? Then, on the other side of the clearing I saw a dark, solid shape between two trees.
I couldn’t risk crossing the depression in case it was boggy. I struggled around the perimeter until I reached what had then become recognisable as a make-shift shelter. I had time to appreciate that a degree of expertise had been used in its construction, it was supported by cross-branches lashed to the trees with strips of sapling at the front and a long branch forming a ridge from them to the ground in the rear. The entrance was facing the clearing. I shone my torch inside. There were dark shapes on the ground. I ducked inside and knelt down and discovered the shapes were blankets and they were completely dry. I shone my torch upwards and marvelled at the construction of the shelter; cut branches were closely aligned with saplings interwoven between them and stems of pine were tied around them at precise intervals which were used to secure the heavy layers of conifer branches that formed the roof and sides. It had not been constructed casually, it was built to purpose. I remained kneeling for some moments, my thoughts were myriad and the position was appropriate.
Outside the weather raged and I wondered how long I could have endured it. I remember laughing. My face was very wet so I don’t know if my relief added to it. I took one of the blankets, they were very old and heavy but remarkably intact. I draped it over the entrance and tucked its corners into the woven trellis of the saplings. Immediately the wind seemed less threatening. The blanket shivered but the saplings held it in place. I put the other blanket around my wet legs and was about to lie back, using my knapsack as a pillow, when I felt something hard under my shoulder. I shone the torch. It was a bible. The storm did not abate for several hours. At first light I carefully folded the blankets before continuing my journey. I left the bible tucked safely beneath them.
As you can see, I still think about the person who constructed so carefully the home in the woods and I am still grateful to whoever it was. But I am sad to think I will never know what happened to him – or her.
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