I’ve spoken about the Forest of Dean before, it’s a place that has captured my heart so vividly and inspired so many of my drawings that I find it’s quite often in my thoughts. This November I was able to take a last minute trip to the Forest of Dean with my little family, a Monday to Friday break staying in a cabin on the very site that my parents used to take me to on weekend caravan holidays.
As is always the case whether it be a whistle stop day trip or a longer stay I inevitably take hundreds of photographs, the golden hues of the forest in autumn sing to me like silver does to a magpie. The smell of coal smoke is intoxicating, the familiarity of the woodland trails feels comforting, despite the labyrinthine pathways it feels impossible to get lost in certain places, the route is well worn in my memory.
We started the holiday with a trip to Puzzlewood, somewhere that I don’t recall from childhood. It’s been on my list of places to see for years but there never seems enough time or schedules don’t align with when we’re in the vicinity. We hotfooted from home in Hampshire to Puzzlewood in time for our 11am arrival slot. My in-laws had arrived in the forest the day before and met us at Puzzlewood. We walked into the ancient wood and were immediately surrounded by mossy green rocks, twisty branches and tree roots, fungi of all shapes and sizes and slippery steps leading to rustic bridges over crevasses. Climbing and descending the steps was a slow and considered affair, I felt a little like Bambi on ice at some points as the slippery damp stone steps meant clinging on to whatever you could to keep your legs from giving way.
It is said that JRR Tolkien visited this very wood and was inspired so much that he used elements from what he’d seen in his fantasy books, I can see perfectly well why. It feels as though suddenly the trees might come to life, so characterful and warped are they. Fairies could easily be hiding in the nooks and crannies between rocks and branches, moss providing a comfortable seat to rest. Magical is a word I often overuse when it comes to woodland but it certainly does suit Puzzlewood. The maze-like paths twist and turn, meander up and down over bridges and by caves until you reach a little gate, signalling the end and a return to the Muggle world (yes, supposedly JK Rowling who grew up close to the Forest of Dean also visited Puzzlewood and was inspired by it when writing The Forbidden Forest in the Harry Potter series).
After a turn chasing my son around the willow maze which reminded me of the final episode of True Detective season one (niche reference) we drove to Cannop ponds and walked around the lakes.
The next day we drove to Symonds Yat Rock in the Wye Valley. My memories of Symonds Yat from childhood are a little warped, kind of strange and dream-like. There are rosy toned photographs of a four or five year old me, sat in a canoe with my older half brother sat behind me on the River Wye, bright pink flowers next to the mooring posts by The Saracens Head. Remembering walking from the rock to the river, being encouraged to take shortcuts down steep muddy banks by my dad which resulted in slipping and being stabbed in the leg by a splintered branch. Feeling like where we parked the car at Symonds Yat Rock and where The Saracens Head were were two completely different places, not related at all, a million miles apart. It’s strange how you can mis-remember a place and how funny thoughts from being young stay with you, now whenever I think of Symonds Yat and whenever I visit it I can’t help but think of those hazy muddled memories. We took a walk to the viewpoint and ate our lunch on the stone steps, we then did the Symonds Yat Rock loop walk which dips down into the valley slightly and then back up again. Once back at the carpark which is actually quite picturesque in the autumn we played in the dried leaves.
On the third day we walked in Nagshead Nature Reserve, just across the road from our cabin. It was a drizzly day, rain in autumn just seems to intensify the colours of the turning leaves. Mist hung in the air slightly giving the forest an atmosphere, mysterious and a little foreboding. We were just about the only people on the trail, worn out from carrying our little one and in awe of the beauty of the golden forest. I always think of Nagshead as being one of the most beautiful parts of the Forest of Dean, the colours seem almost surreal. After our loop walk we met my in-laws for a delicious pub lunch in Alvington.
On our final day we all met at the Sculpture Trail at Beechenhurst Lodge for a walk taking in all 16 of the sculptures, although annoyingly we did manage to overlook one. The Sculpture Trail sits steadfast in my memory. A place of wonder where I can round a corner and come face to face with a tree that I’ve lovingly observed or a landscape of pathways that I’ve painstakingly recreated in pen. It’s the one place that we always revisit whenever we come to the forest.
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