Winnal Moors, otters, water voles and swan steps

3 September 2017

Back on the main trail again and trying hard not to scratch my itchy ankles and make them worse, I carried on. Google Maps told me the Winchester School of Art was somewhere behind the trees to my left but I couldn’t see it.  There was water too, part of a network of streams and canals running off the Itchen to drown the water meadows, but this too was invisible to me from the path. what I did see was another rustic bench, this one carved like the little totem poles I’d passed earlier.

The carvings of Fenella the otter and Marvin the water vole seemed to be designed to engage children and tell them about the wildlife they might see. There are certainly otters and water voles, if the leaflet I’d read was to be believed, along with kingfishers and Atlantic salmon. In 2014 the Hampshire and Isle of Wight Wildlife Trust created a water vole trail and, as far as I could tell, I was walking along it. Of course, with no visible water at this stage, seeing voles, otters, kingfishers or salmon seemed unlikely.

Not long after I’d passed the bench I did see some water and an otter, although the water was stagnant and the creature in question was a carving placed on a log. It was a very good carving, for a brief moment I thought it was real. Later I discovered it was carved by Roger Day as part of a sculpture trail.  Shortly afterwards I came to a bridge.

Now there was water aplenty. The bridge took me over the Itchen, or at least a small side stream or canal. It seemed a little narrow to be the river but it was clear and fast flowing. The rain was getting harder but I stood on the bridge for some time scanning the banks in both directions for any signs of real otters or water voles. There were none. There may have been fish but the rain plopping into the river created circular ripples and made seeing them impossible.

The trail turned sharply to the right on the far side of the bridge. To the left there was more water and, beyond it, the clipped green grass of a park. A quick look at the map on my phone told me I was now walking on a thin strip of land between two streams and the park to my left was the North Walls Recreation Ground. It also told me I was still on the Water Vole Trail.

The water on both sides was still largely hidden by trees and shrubs but I knew it was there from the tall reed flowers arching up between them every now and then. The trees were both a curse and a blessing. Much as I’d have liked the chance to see an illusive otter or vole, they sheltered me from the rain almost as well as they obscured the view of the water.

The abundant greenery also provided interest in the form of dogwood, leaves tinged with red and laden with shiny black berries. Brighter still were the leaves on the guelder rose, along with the translucent red berries. At first I thought they were redcurrants as both are very similar but these berries hung in bunches and didn’t have gooseberry like lines runnng down them so I’m fairly confident they were guelder rose. Luckily both are edible if cooked but it would be easy to pick the wrong one by mistake.

Every so often the trees thinned out and I caught a glimpse of what looked like acres of reeds bordered by trees. Closer to hand alder branches were weighed down with cone like fruits. Outlaws like Robin Hood were thought to have used a green dye made from alder flowers to camouflage their clothes. The bark produces bright red dyes, the young shoots cinnamon brown and a combination of the different parts of the tree can create colours ranging from yellow to black. Legend has it the same dyes were used by fairies. This, the tree’s love of wet, swampy conditions and the pale wood that turns deep orange when cut and makes the tree appear to bleed, has led to them being considered unlucky by some.

Although I’m not exactly superstitious, these particular trees did seem to be quite unlucky, but not in the traditional sense. As I passed I noticed almost all the alder leaves were skeletonised or, at least, riddled with holes. As no other nearby trees or plants had been affected, this was almost certainly the work of alder leaf beetles. The adult beetles are dark metallic blue but it’s their larvae who feed on the alder leaves. These beetles were thought to be extinct in the UK until recently but, since 2004, they have reappeared, firstly in Manchester and, in 2014, in Hampshire. Luckily the resulting lacy leaves do not kill the trees.

The next rustic bench I came to seemed to be all about trees, whispering trees and watching trees, according to the carvings. Oddly, once I’d passed it the trees thinned out. Perhaps I’d somehow ended up walking the wrong way around the circular trail?

Less trees meant more rain on me but it did seem to be easing off. More light also meant more flowers beside the trail, white comfrey, wild mint and the ever present blackberries, these more berry than flower. Now I could see more of the water on either side of the path, still rippled with spots of rain and brimming with sedges, grasses and reeds but no voles or otters as far as I could see.

On I went through light and shade as the trees came and went. Now it was easy to see I was walking on an island of sorts with water on either side. The path was dry and firm but I couldn’t help thinking of Allbrook and the crumbling bank there. The terrain was very similar and I hoped I wasn’t going to end up with wet feet.

Another bridge had me dithering for a moment. Should I keep going forward or cross? Then I remembered the screenshot of the map on my phone. A quick look told me the bridge led to the recreation ground so, intriguing as it looked, I walked on by.

The next bench I came to said swan steps. It had a swan carved on it and swan footprints. This got me a little excited, it’s no secret how much I love swans. Straight away I looked towards the water. If there were swans I didn’t want to miss them. Of course there wasn’t a swan in sight. There were some ducks though and, as they were the first living creatures I’d met all morning, I was happy to see them. The other side of the bench had what looked like deer and deer foot prints. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to see any of those.

Moments later I had another choice to make. Temptation came in the form of a Boardwalk winding off to goodness knows where. It was hard to pass it by but another look at the map told me taking it would cut off a huge chunk of the nature reserve and, effectively, be taking a short cut. With more than a tinge of regret, I kept on walking. A pile of swan feathers on the edge of the path a few meters later told me I’d made the right decision. There really were swans here somewhere and, if I was very lucky, I might see one.

Soon after the pile of feathers I spotted something else white on the riverbank. My glasses were misty with rain and, for a second or two, I thought it might be a swan. A bit of squinting told me it was too angular. In fact it looked like a stone of some kind, maybe a sculpture. There seemed to be a path of sorts trodden through the grass and nettles heading for it. Curiosity made me take it. This time I was cautious, my ankles were still itching from my earlier nettle encounter and I didn’t want to add more stings.

What I found was very odd. A stepped structure, all strange angles and covered with mosaic tiles sat on the edge of the bank. What it was for and what it meant was a complete mystery but I liked it. It reminded me a little of Gaudi’s work but more angular. Later I discovered this is called Swan Steps, just like the words carved on the bench. It was built on the remains of a concrete bridge and is part of a sculpture trail created by Rob Turner. These sculptures, including the rustic benches and totem poles, tell a story and there is an accompanying booklet written by OrangeApples and the Hampshire Wildlife Trust and illustrated by Rob.

Back on the path and miraculously unstung, I quickly came to a gate and another strange sculpture. This one seemed to be a very large man. He looked as if he was guarding the gate and something about him looked a little forbidding? Back at the start of the trail when I checked Google I’d read something about visits to the northern part of the Moors being by special arrangement as part of guided walks. Perhaps this gate marked the end of the open access part of the nature reserve? If this was the case, someone had left the gate open. Did I dare go through at the risk of being caught and ejected? As the gate was open I could always claim ignorance but what if I found another locked gate further on?

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