Dorset Wildlife Trust project: Broad Oak Orchard

As Dorset Wildlife Trust's (DWT) smallest nature reserve, at around 0.2 hectares (half an acre) in size, this orchard remains one of only a few orchards left in the area. It now adds to its notoriety in being the fourth reserve I've visited. 

I know this surrounding area well, though to the best of my knowledge I had never visited the hamlet of Broad Oak just across the river from Sturminster Newton. A few houses make up this hamlet, (not to be confused with Broadoak hamlet near Bridport), at the edge of which can be found the orchard hard by a lane. Since 1997 this has been a community reserve managed by DWT. Knowing this was one of just two orchards on my project list I scarce thought of a target species to encounter, other than apples. However one species that is here is glow worm. 

 

Interestingly the orchard was featured in the Guardian's Country Diary on Armistice day 2003. John Vallins laments in this article the loss of traditional orchards and his quest to find a precious half acre to preserve. Thus found and secured, he continues that 'as a community orchard it is open to anyone from the village who wants a quiet place to sit, an apple to pick, or a job to do, such as pruning or hedge laying'. I may not be from around these parts, yet I entered, and sat with my lunch at a lichen encrusted picnic table. It is diverting to say the least. Quiet too.

The air is clean around here, evidence of which was the picnic table and benches encrusted with foliose lichen. I've never been good at identifying these to species level, but these are possibly common greenshield lichen (F. caperata) or others in the Flavoparmelia genus. It wasn't just the benches that were encrusted, every branch of the labelled apple trees was host to oakmoss lichen (Evernia spp.), yellow wall lichen (Xanthotia parietina), powdered ruffled lichen (Parmotrema perlatum) and many more I failed to register.

For such a small area there was a lot to see, and read. The orchard boasts a small summerhouse within which is contained a lot of information and this lovely piece of descriptive artwork. I picked up a leaflet which highlights 26 different points of interest. Most noted are the fruit trees but also a log pile, grass cuttings pile and a black poplar. The orchard is surrounded by a lain hedge, which I also read were, at various locations around the site, laid in Midland style, Dorset style or Southern style.

Tree 24, was a Belle de Boskoop apple, which is a mid 19th century variety from the Netherlands, and, although it had fallen over still bared fruit. Before leaving the orchard I had to pay my respects.

Lunch over it was time to leave this delightful community orchard, one which for years I've passed close buy but never visited. I should imagine in spring with the blossom, or on a still autumn day with the fruit glowing, it would be stunning. I'd like to add to its many charms that it is easy to imagine being here at night, glass of wine in hand, surrounded by the fluorescent light of the resident glow worm in the grass.

Dorset Wildlife Trust project: Girdlers Coppice

 

“The very essence of romance is uncertainty.”

So penned Oscar Wilde in his wonderfully farcical comedy, The Importance of Being Ernest. Was there romance in the unravelling uncertainty of my visit to Girdlers Coppice at Fiddleford near Sturminster Newton? I'd like to think so, but this, the third Dorset Wildlife Trust (DWT) reserve I've visited during this project of mine, became a farcical comedy, of errors. Why so? Adroitly, I came, I looked for and I failed to conquer. I think I've randomly mixed my theatrical metaphors here.

As the name suggests, Girdlers Coppice is an ancient woodland which is managed for wildlife using coppicing techniques. It is also an interesting site in that DWT rent these 7 hectares from the Hinton St Mary Estate, owned by the Pitt-Rivers family. Doing my research beforehand an article in Dorset Life mentioned 'April is an excellent time to visit Girdlers Coppice in order to enjoy the openness of the canopy, the bird song and the spring flowers and insects.' 

Excellent, except I was here in early March and subsequently failed to find my way in, though I think I did make it after all.

I'll explain. Access to this reserve is from the car park attached to the 14th century Fiddleford Manor. The instructions are simple, from the car park walk towards the manor, however go through the pedestrian gate on the left, cross a field, keeping the fence to your right and ahead of you will eventually see a gate into the reserve. The first pedestrian gate was chained and padlocked, presumably as there were horses in the field. Close by was a second gate, which my wife and I went through, into a smaller field. This field had the river Stour as its boundary, which I knew from earlier reading marked the northern edge of the reserve, and the river was fenced off, to my right. So far, so good. 

 

There was a path of sorts leading to an unmarked ramshackle gate hanging off its hinges. Odd I thought, but maybe it had fallen into disrepair during the winter storms. Once I'd squeezed through the gap the meadow as I'd expected to see was ahead of us. Except it had no obvious path, was mostly herbage not grass and looked as if no one had ever been here. Was I in the right place? Doubts loomed.

I could see woodland to our left, and a rodent tube suspended on a branch, suggesting that was the reserve. Between us and that however was a wire fence. Not wishing to crash and career through this area - it is a wildlife reserve after all - we returned to the gate and had a discussion. It felt like we were almost at the reserve, but somehow not in there yet. 

Back in the field I walked up the hill. Ahead of me was an electric fence, but with an opening at one end allowed me to walk further up the hill. Scanning with my binoculars I could see it, I could see what looked like the reserve entrance some distance away, very close to the A357 which provides the reserve southern boundary. Between me and the gate however was another fence, wood and netting this time, with no gate or style. Was I in fact in someone's field wandering about aimlessly? Are those baying dogs being unleashed yonder I can hear? At a push I could have maybe climbed over the fence, but that just didn't seem the right action for entering a reserve. I had to be in the wrong place. So far, yet so near. This entry uncertainty was somewhat diluting the very essence of the romance of my visit. 

My wife, who I'd left by the river waiting for me to resolve this dilemma, eventually joined me up on the hill. Another discussion occurred and, feeling a little crestfallen, the decision was made to walk back down the hill to our car. Once there I asked a fisherman, and a lady out for a walk if they knew how to get into the reserve. Neither were local, they didn't know. 

 

Funny that, neither do I!

As a postscript to this the following day I contacted the DWT office. Being English I apologised for being a bewildered naturalist, I asked them if I'd missed something, some subtle marker, a different gate perhaps. It seems I hadn't. My query has been passed to the reserves manager who has said he'll investigate on site and be in touch. 

I'm perfectly happy to find out that that first, albeit padlocked, gate was actually the way in, though how those horses might react to me puffing away as I walked up their field in my wellingtons, I'm not sure. I'm perfectly happy to be told the dilapidated gate I actually went though was the correct route, maybe with instructions on how I can access the wood itself from there. I'll wait and see. A summer return maybe. The reserve is adjacent to Piddles Wood, a much larger ancient woodland, thus Girdlers Coppice benefits in sharing habitat suitable for silver washed fritillary, purple hairstreak butterfly and hazel dormouse. 

 

I will be back! 

 

Date of visit : 10th March 2026, 13.15 to 13.50 (mostly being lost in those fields)

 

 

Dorset Wildlife Trust project: Mill Ham Island

 The unmistakable sound of spring resonated across the valley. The reciprocating hum of a chainsaw, impersonating a monstrously sized hornet, virtuoso notes accompanying the percussion drumming of a great spotted woodpecker at some distance off. I was near Child Okeford.

During the winter while researching all of the reserves for this, my self-imposed project, one place stood out for me. I really wanted to visit Mill Ham Island, for reasons I did not quite understand at the time. Mostly I believe this was due to the description on the Dorset Wildlife Trust's website,

"This little visited area offers a retreat for otters on a small 'island' bordering one side of the River Stour. A pleasant spot for river watching."

And sure enough, as I approached the reserve walking through the fields bordering the River Stour, I observed a well defined otter track leading to a pool. One could quite mistake this muddy route for badger, sheep, even deer, however on closer inspection it plummeted 2 metres or so from the field into the water. I'd seen otter slides before and this had all the hallmarks of one. Unfortunately I could not get to the water's edge, or the roots of the adjacent tree, to look for spraint, but I'm sure it will be there somewhere. It was a good start.

I like finding little visited areas and this small, close on 1 hectare in size, reserve was not the easiest to find, lying a few fields away from where I'd parked my car. Looking at the detritus clinging to the top wires of the fence as I entered the field I could see this whole area had recently flooded. And to a great depth too by the look of it. Not that this should be surprising, as the Stour meanders it's way through this flood-plain valley on it's way from its source at Stourhead to the sea at Christchurch. The fields themselves showed evidence of standing water but were drying well, herbage was growing, predominantly buttercup which would erupt into a sea of yellow in the weeks to come. Teasel and dock were also well distributed. But this was a mere sideshow to my visit, which I reached after a ten minute walk.

The island in the reserve's name gives it away. From the field access is across a narrow bridge, I felt like I was entering a child-like adventure, all very Bevis by Richard Jefferies. 

"What river is it?" said Mark.  "Is it the Amazon, or the Congo, or the Yellow River, or the Nile-"

"It is the Mississippi, of course," said Bevis, quite decided and at ease as to that point."

The reserve is known for two plant species, which I'd made my target find during the visit, arrowhead (Sagittaria sagittifolia)  and our native black poplar (Populus nigra). I looked for the first emergence of the former as I crossed the bridge, but nothing was obvious. After all it is still early March and possibly a little early to be emerging given these aquatic plants are flowering from June. 

However, I did find the increasingly rare to our landscape black poplar, most readily characterised by the red catkins of the male tree littering the floor underneath. As with other poplars, black poplar comes as either a male or a female tree. This sexual division is known as dioecious, which I read is derived from Greek for "two houses". To be honest I didn't check for any of the female trees as I was enchanted by this miniature reserve, as was my wife who accompanied me, and took the images.

I loved being here. It reminded me of my childhood, aimlessly wandering around nooks and crannies, exploring mud, splashing in water, climbing trees, damming streams. A rope swing hung loose from a willow over the Stour, which forms one boundary edge of the reserve. Possibly few people venture here for the wildlife, but children from hereabouts seemingly visit regularly and mess about on that swing on summer days. Sadly my swinging over river days are long gone, not without a trip to A&E later, but the mind is willing at least.

It didn't take that long for the two of us to explore this reserve. The understory was in that fresh, low, new spring emergence form, lesser celandine and nettle were everywhere, I read, and noted, the vegetation grows tall and nettle takes over in the summer. A few drier areas hosted wild garlic. A chaffinch, wren and woodpigeon created the only birdsong while I was there, though I did hear the peep peep of a kingfisher as it flew along the Stour, some rooks were noisy across the fields, plus of course that drumming woodpecker some distance off.

I had two other nearby reserves to visit today but I'll maybe come back here one day in the summer to hopefully find arrowhead or see Banded demoiselle (Calopteryx splendens). At which time I'll combine it with visiting the Countryside Regeneration Trust's 92 acre Bere Marsh Farm which borders this reserve, they host a wonderful pop-up café in the barn on a Friday throughout the summer. What's not to like.

It was time to go, retracing our steps across the narrow bridge, I looked beyond towards Hambleton Hill in the distance. I know from experience that is a climb and a half but worth the effort.

Date of visit : 10th March 2026, 11.45-12.45 (including walking there and back over fields)

 

Species encountered : Black poplar, willow, elder, ash, lesser celandine, nettle, wild garlic, buttercup, cow parsley, chaffinch, wren, woodpigeon, blackbird, kingfisher, and can I include the otter slide?

Dorset Wildlife Trust project: Hibbitt Woods

 Storm Ingrid positioned herself off the coast of Cornwall, hunkered down and unleashed rain and wind across South West England. Maybe not an obvious day then to begin my Dorset Wildlife Trust (DWT) project, but an inclement day would be perfect for a muddy boots experience. Hibbitt Woods, just into Dorset,  a few miles south of Yeovil, was to be my destination, accompanied by my wife, with the hope of seeing a bullfinch in our mind as a target species.

 

 

I've been getting it wrong for weeks by calling this 7 hectare (22 acre) reserve Hibbitt's Wood. I'm not entirely sure why it is called Hibbitt Woods as this reserve comprises an ancient wood and meadow (known as South Clarkham Copse) lying to the south of a quiet lane to Halstock and  two parcels of woodland (North Clarkham Copse and Harper's Hill Copse) now merged into one wood to the north, on the opposite side of the lane. Who or what Hibbitt was shall remain a mystery.

 

  

Wet doesnt really do justice to our time here. To be fair the rain had eased from torrential to steady, but underfoot on entering the reserve, it was a sodden squelchy affair. Wellingtons were a necessity, yet even on this challenging winter's day I realised this was a special and uplifting place. A cursory glance as we crossed over the small meadow revealed a stand of mostly oak and ash with beech, hazel, blackthorn and holly, the latter providing an extensive understory.

 

 

 From the meadow you enter the wood via a gate and then cross a bridge over a small stream. Just a few footsteps but you enter another world. 

 

 

 Above us the roar of Storm Ingrid made herself known through the bare branches heralding, even on a dark midwinter day with the rain falling, a green oasis. Everywhere there was moss, over the ground, up tree trunks, dangling off branches, stumps and fallen trees. The colour was startling.

 

 

 

The rain added an extra dimension to this habitat. At one tree I watched rivulets of water trickling down through the luxuriant moss, drip upon drip. You could hear it. I posted a clip of it on my Instagram page. 

 

Although open access we kept to the single route around the wood. There was little evidence of other visitors, meaning this place felt unobserved, a small remnant of ancient woodland in a very rural area quietly just getting on with life.

 

  

 

Although for one unlucky woodpigeon life was cut short under the sparrowhawk gaze. Later we saw this predator darting across the meadow where numerous smaller birds flitted through the branches to make their escape.

 

 

 Of course this reserve is not unmanaged but from the couple of hours we spent here I'd suggest DWT are performing a light touch strategy allowing the woodland to exist at nature's, not humans', seasonal timeframe. The reserve is home to the silver washed fritillary butterfly which prefers sunny rides or open woodland edge habitats. Hazel coppicing was in evidence and with selective felling the wood felt open, helped of course by the bareness of winter. 

 

 

 

 Dead wood trees stood in places, fallen trees  littered the ground, slowly decomposing nutrients back to the soil. And everywhere there was ivy which I always enjoy seeing as it spreads over stumps or up trunks, ivy, like bramble, is such an important wildlife resource. 

 

 

 Also in evidence were Parmotrema spp. lichen, I'm no expert in identifying to species level. It was everywhere even happily growing it seemed on fallen branches, a sure sign of an undisturbed habitat with a clean atmosphere.

 

 

Doing my research before visiting, the best time to visit this reserve is in spring. Wild daffodil and bluebell provide a spectacular show I read. But even in deep midwinter life is returning. It is still early in the year and remarkably I only found one violet, host plant to the above mentioned butterfly, however lesser celandine, arum, bluebell and primrose were all showing signs of growth. A flash of pristine emerald amongst the fallen leaves.

 

  

 

That wasn't the only splash of colour on the woodland floor, these scarlet caps, or scarlet elf cups  Sarcoscypha coccinea were common across the reserve, even on the path, another lovely sign of an undisturbed habitat. 

 

 

The more we looked the more we found. A sudden movement showed a mouse, unidentified, as it scurried along next to this fallen branch and out of sight. Taking a closer look the decaying branch provided a well used 'tunnel' for safe passage. Out of the corner of my eye I then saw it exit and scamper off a few feet away.

 

  

 

Further on I noticed this collection of discarded acorns and nuts. The site of a grey squirrel feeding area I suggest, the discards accumulated on the floor over months of feeding on a branch above, or maybe feeding on the ground. The tree in question was thick with ivy all the way up to the canopy. How I'd love to explore what was lurking in there, though sadly my tree climbing days are long gone.

 

 

 

I've not mentioned birds much. In the rush to get out today I'd forgotten my binoculars, normally kept in the car but now languishing at home. Instead I had to rely on my hearing which revealed the woodland was full of song. Great, blue and coal tit were frequent. A jay, chaffinch, great spotted woodpecker, blackbird and robin less so. Woodpigeon flapped overhead. Sadly no bullfinch though, as we sploshed our way through the mud, they'd have heard us long before we'd seen them.

 

  

 

By now we'd been exploring for well over an hour. To be honest I'd have liked to stay longer but the weather was turning against us as was the light. A decision was made not to visit the other woodland to the north of the lane but to return here in the spring. There are two other DWT sites close by, we'll make a day of it on a sunny March or April day maybe. But for now we ended our visit exploring the meadow, which was absolutely waterlogged. I read that adder's tongue fern is found here, though I couldnt see any emerging today. That can wait for our next visit. 

 

 

So I'm off the blocks so to speak. I really enjoyed this reserve, if the remaining reserves to visit sre as good as this I'm in for a wonderful year.

 Back at the car while drying off with a flask of tea we discussed how important these lesser known and  isolated reserves are. The large honeypot reserves provide an excellent experience to the visitor but these hard to find reserves, like Hibbitt Woods, are the real gems of the natural world for me. Maybe on a drier day though. 

 

 

Date of visit : 24th January 2026, mid day to early afternoon.

 

Species encountered :  Great spotted woodpecker, great tit, blue tit, coal tit, robin, jay, long tailed tit, woodpigeon, chaffinch, sparrowhawk, carrion crow, blackbird. Primula spp, ivy, soft rush, male fern, harts tongue fern, arum, lichen, moss, lesser celandine, violet, bluebell, holly, hazel, ash, oak, scarlet elf cup, and not forgetting that mouse.

 

 And just as we were about to leave? I heard a bullfinch calling from a cottage garden we'd parked next to. I couldn't locate it without staring into their property, but that unmistakable soft call ticked off our target species for the day. 

Dorset Wildlife Trust project; its all in the planning

These short January days are perfect for venturing outside. I do a lot more walking these days and last Monday spent a fabulous three hours trudging through a muddy Steart Marsh which, while having my lunch sitting on a bench, afforded one of the best views I've ever had of a Cetti's warbler.

I was alerted to it by at least two wrens' erupting their warning calls continuously, and within the same clump of reeds a Cetti's called. At this point the birds, about twenty feet away, were hidden but after about five minutes of watching, three wrens appeared and, taking positions at the base of the reeds, began calling ferociously. Then the Cetti's appeared, balanced on a single reed stem just below the 'feather' about two to three feet above the wrens, where it returned their chorus of displeasure with its own explosive call. The wrens replied, the Cetti's replied. I'd inadvertently stumbled across an avian Ministry of Sound territorial bust-up. The three wrens were not happy and were giving it loud. It gave me about two or three minutes to observe the Cetti's warbler out in the open. I've seen Cetti's warblers many times but usually the briefest of views before disappearing. This one was in full view. Through my binoculars in some ways it reminded me of a bulky Dartford warbler with the tail of, yes, a wren. Then, as quickly as it had begun the Cetti's flew off, the wrens dispersed and I was left in silence, apart from a quartering marsh harrier in the distance. 

Somewhere in this view are three wrens and a Cetti's warbler

But I digress. These short days also allow stay-at-home time for research and planning of my Dorset Wildlife Trust (DWT) reserve visits. On Thursday it never really got light due to heavy rain and thick cloud, so I ventured to our local library to print off my notes, taken from the DWT website, of the near fifty reserves.

 

 

 

I don't have a printer at home but decided for this project I'd go old school, partly as some of these reserves will have patchy mobile coverage. Taking an OS map and those printed notes (along with my flask of ginger beer) should avoid any technological unpleasantness.

 

Researching and then printing these notes and re-reading them in the file has been fascinating. The big DWT reserves I know of, Brownsea Island, Kingcombe Meadows and Kimmeridge for example, will reliably deliver. However I'm now more interested in and wish to focus on the many small reserves in the DWT portfolio. I've noted a few and many are just a few fields or some remnant habitat and under 10 hectares.

 

Broadoak Orchard,  a community orchard with bullfinch and glow worms. Girdlers Coppice, an ancient oak woodland with dormice, spotted flycatcher and silver washed fritillary. Hibbitts Wood, good for orchids in the adjacent meadow. Budgens Meadow, just 2 hectares but a wildflower and invertebrate hotspot. Troublefield, tucked behind Bournemouth airport and good for dragonflies. Kings Barrow Quarries on Portland, chalkhill blue and silver-studded blue, Peascombe, a steep sided hill with stream, home to marsh tit and otter (though I'll not see the latter) and last but not least in this brief selection Mill Ham Island (rarely visited I read) home to willow warbler, banded damoiselle and yes you guessed it, otter.

 

My preliminary research is complete. Pages printed, the days are lengthening, birds are becoming vocal, the time has come to venture out. I wonder which reserve on my list will be awarded the first visit?

New Year, New Project in Dorset?

Of all the counties in England Dorset ranks as my absolute favourite. From childhood holidays in the 1970's, through to a solo discovery of both myself and the joys of west Dorset in my teens, to moving south with work in 1993 thus allowing day trips, to my annual visits to Eggardon Hill for over forty years, I have never tried of being in Hardy's Wessex. In fact I vividly recall the intense emotions brought to bare of reading Far From The Madding Crowd in a cottage at Toller Porcorum. On that hot summer's day I can photographically picture the eighteen year old me. I sat in an oversized chair for hour upon hour, feet resting on the sill of a huge sash window, itself fully open to the elemental zephyrs of heat, heavy air, intense sunshine and stridulating insects. I read and read and read, lost in the timeshift of that rural story. Lifting my head for a moment, I observed the stream in the garden, beyond which an undulating chalk landscape stretched into the hazy distance. An awakening locked into my soul possessing emotions I had hitherto not experienced. I was in Dorset. I was being called home.

 It was an extraordinary emotional experience. But why? Why has Dorset crept into my very DNA? I can't say. Northumberland, County Durham, North Yorkshire or the Lake District should be a shoe-in for my primary county. I'm reading a book by Kathryn Aalto at the moment in which she states the golden age in childhood for discovery and its influence on later life, as being between the ages of four and 8. Those northern counties were a huge part of my early childhood. My first encounter with Dorset was in 1975, aged 11. I spent a lot of my own golden age in Essex too. I like Essex but it doesn't call me as Dorset does. Dorset it is then.

 All of this is somewhat of a lingering curtain-raiser to the germ of an idea I have been mulling over for a few months. I like a project to focus on and with this being New Year's Day a new quest for my energies seems pertinent. This is not the unleashing of a New Year Resolution, those annual flim-flams of good intentions have their place, however most if not all, wilt and die before the first aconites appear. No, this is a grand-sounding project, the goal of which however, is more pedestrian. Namely to visit every Dorset Wildlife Trust (DWT) nature reserve in 2026, and write up those visits here on the blog.

 Having been a member of the Dorset Wildlife Trust since Thomas Hardy was in articles, my knowledge of the near fifty or so sites should have been exceptional. Yet as I began to mull this idea over in September I realised I knew virtually nothing other than at a few hotspot reserves.  All that is, I hope, about to change. Leafing through a recent DWT magazine I noted their reserves map languishing within. It was but that of a moment to cut the map out of the magazine, section Dorset into four zones (north, south, east and west) and paste it into my schedule book - (formerly my sound recording schedule book, now repurposed).

 

 

I have also made a list of the reserves in these zones. All I need now are my boots, binoculars, a stout pair of baggy shorts, a pen, flask of ginger beer, a round of ham sandwches, my car of course (public transport would be fun but looks tricky) and if the sun shines my hat or should the rain fall my brolly. Travel light, travel swift.

 

 

 And that is pretty much it. My plan, if there is one, is to not have a plan. Common sense would suggest visiting some reserves during their sweet spot of wildlife activity. Yet many DWT reserved seem to be year round exemplars. What I feel does give the project a light frisson of a quest is to maybe search for each keystone species specific to that reserve, be that animal, vegetable or mineral during my visit. I'll research these nearer my arrival. Clusters of reserves I shall attempt to visit in one go, some outliers however will be a special endeavour.

 

At approximately one nature reserve a week will this be feasible? I hope so. Having retired in 2025 time has opened up its stall and thrown me its slippers of availability. Watch this space, what larks, what adventures are in store.

 

Oh and Happy New Year. 

For a Fistful of Raindrops

In A Fistful of Dollars, the arrival of a stranger brings with it six-shooter law to the township of San Miguel. Ultimately the dire situation the town found itself in, sandwiched between a feud between two families, is resolved through a gun battle in the parched dusty windblown town square before the 'man with no name' (played by Clint Eastwood in his first role) rides out of town, never to return.

You can feel the heat in this classic and well loved Spaghetti Western. Sweat drips off the foreheads of the main players, the sunlight blindingly intense, the sky is the deepest of blue, dust billows everywhere, energy sapping heat devoid of all rain. 

I was born in 1964. A Fistful of Dollars was released in 1964 and this week the Scottish Environment Protection Agency announced it had had its driest year since 1964. Even in a normally wet Scotland farmers are having to provide water to stock. I don't think there is any connection between these three, or is there?

In this part of Somerset, and across the whole of southern England, this year has been dry, exceptionally dry and warm. I've known dry summers, I've known hot periods. I well remember holidaying in Bournemouth  in 1976 characterised by heat and the scent of heathland fire smoke everywhere. But these were relatively short lived, a number of weeks. With just a few days to go before the end of the metrological summer, the breaking news is that 2025 will undoubtedly be the warmest summer on record due to daily temperatures above the seasonal norm for months. Part of what seems a rising trend, 1976 no longer features in the top 5 list of hot summers. The record-breaking dry year of 1964 with its 79% rainfall now an interesting footnote. 

Despite the wet winter of 2024-2025, Spring arrived abruptly bringing with it drying winds and sunshine. I've been looking at my diary. On the 15th of February we were in Thenford Arboretum in Northamptonshire and 'today's weather was more like mid December - horrible grey, foggy, wet weather'. There seemed to be a lot of cloudy dark days before I then wrote in my diary on February 28th 'Weather has settled in to a dry sunny spell at last'. The following day I wrote 'what a fabulous and beautiful day - not a breath of wind, the sun had heat to it'. I remember the last few weeks at work before I retired on the 19th of March were wonderfully sunny, even warm. Quickly however by mid April I recall being worried about the dry conditions while walking on the Quantock Hills. Again in my diary I wrote on the 11th of April, 'everything is tinder dry on the Quantocks - the soil is either baked solid or blowing away in the quite gentle breeze - I notice farms are supplying water to sheep up here'. But we assumed the rain would come. 

Yet four months later we've had hardly any rain. In Somerset just 1% of the average monthly rainfall for July. Over the summer around a third of the average expected rainfall has fallen. What has fallen, sporadically in hefty showers, evaporated quickly in the warm sunshine. As I write this on the 28th of August many trees and shrubs are showing serious signs of stress, branches being shed, leaves dropping quickly with the landscape looking more October golden than late summer. It won't be until next summer that we'll see the full effect of this dry season on tree health but looking now it's not good to witness and I sadly predict many trees will not survive.

A walk we did over the recent August Bank Holiday weekend has highlighted, and provided the impetus to write a few words, on how significant this dry spell has become. If you will an aide-mémoire to this remarkable year before all too soon the autumnal rains will return, or at least we sincerely hope so.

This walk began in the nearby Somerset village of Winscombe, with a plan to walk to the hamlet of Winterhead and return. All too soon as we left Winscombe the first field was the colour of bleached champagne. Underfoot the soil unyielding, it felt like walking on concrete.  

After a few fields the walk follows a myriad of lanes up towards Sidcot Hill. What struck me was the number of fallen leaves and how, as in this image below, the beech tree leaves are turning orange. I had to remind myself this was August 23rd, not October 23rd.

 

 

Worse was to come. We left the lanes and entered the countryside proper, firstly horse paddocks, which seemed to have virtually no grass left in them. Usually in dry periods the grass yellows but the root systems lie dormant waiting for the the next wet spell. These fields though were showing extensive areas of dusty dirt. What has happened to the grass, have the roots died too? I looked across the fields. Yes trees and hedges were retaining colour but the landscape looks tired, a beige hue of exhaustion, it has looked like this for a long time.

Beyond the paddocks we headed up onto Sidcot Hill on the way to joining the West Mendip Way. In this heat, which has defined the summer of 2025, it was a long slog up onto the hill. The views up here are astonishing, across to Wales, but it was how dry the fields looked that caught my attention. These fields still contained sheep, sheltering in the shadow of a hedge, but fields with little grass growing, though plenty of dock plants or thistles surviving due to their long tap roots.

We eventually joined the West Mendip Way where by chance we had a long chat to the farmer here, Mark Heal. The track this medium-long distance path follows is usually muddy even in summer. As we chatted by the gate Mark confirmed many of the issues I'd already heard about affecting farming elsewhere. He told us that he has now used up the last of his winter feed as he has been supplementary feeding his organic beef and sheep all summer long. Lambing during the warm weather in April, he added, was something of a treat, but with no rain of note since then all his stock has needed to be fed, when they should of course be feeding naturally on the summer grazing. Economically this is disastrous. Worse still, he continued, every farmer he knows is in the same position and if replacement winter feed can be found it is both scarce and very expensive, a situation which can only be made worse by the poor harvest this year, yields are significantly down with hay and silage crops almost non existent. There will be a fodder shortage this coming winter. For someone who is struggling to keep his animals alive and healthy Mark seemed quite optimistic about the future, as long as it rains that is.

I watched Mark drive off up the dusty track, on his way to check his South Devon Black cattle we'd seen earlier. I was touched by his optimism as we headed off in the opposite direction across what should have been a muddy ford, which today simply featured the well preserved baked hard mountain bike tyre tracks from a previous season.

He's right, we need to be optimistic to the changes in Britain's weather. My own take is that with Climate Change Britain is becoming much more continental in its weather patterns, meaning prolonged spells of the same conditions rather than the hotchpotch of weather changing daily we've all considered the norm for a century or more. Personally I have enjoyed weeks of predictable dry days this summer but I know many, my wife included, have struggled with the prolonged heat day in, day out, dominated by four heatwaves of exceptional temperatures. 

Wildlife has had mixed fortunes too. Dry soils mean earthworms and soil invertebrates have buried down deep, out of the reach of birds, hedgehogs and other animals who rely on these for survival. Slugs and snails have found hidden corners and gone into what is called Aestivation, a form or dormancy that allows them to tick over their metabolism before the rain returns. Our swifts departed about two weeks early, partly a sign of a successful and early season, they arrived a week early. Bats around the house have been very active however due to the abundant insect life which has bucked some of the negative trend with second broods of butterflies doing well in some species for example. Earlier in the summer there was a ladybird population explosion, short lived as the aphid population was supressed. I've seen more harvestmen in the garden than for years.

Now though it has gone on long enough. As I write this  unsettled weather brought to us by ex-hurricane Erin is trying to make inroads but it is not really producing what we need. Yes it is a little cooler, a little more cloud in the sky but the rain of yesterday was in the form of short lived showers and as has been the case all year, rain evaporated in an hour or so leaving the landscape dry once more. What we need is a few weeks of steady medium intensity rain, not heavy downpours, to begin the water cycle again.

We eventually finished our walk last weekend taking in the views and the scenery and finishing at Winscombe Cricket Club where for about an hour we watched Wedmore 2nds playing Winscombe 2nds on a very dry pitch - perfect weather for cricket while watching the wind ruffle the piles of fallen leaves beside us.

I don't think I'll forget this year for a long while. The rain will of course return one day, and, if my predictions are accurate for a continental climate, it will probably rain every day for weeks non stop, if not for months. Then, possibly following the arrival of a stranger riding ahead of a weather front, I'll look back and say, was the hot dry summer of 2025 actually real?