The bus arrived. There were walkers, elderflower drinks and hefty flapjacks on board. We were expedition-ready and moved through a dark tunnel of holly, ivy and willow to an opening on a steep hill.
“Nothing is random!” I declared, before dialling it in a notch and pointing to the circling bird above the fields below.
“I have been listening to the debate about whether we are looking at a kite or a buzzard – it’s a buzzard, but that is not the sign. Identification on its own reveals nothing. We must look to patterns and behaviour! The sign is the circle that the bird is painting in the sky. It is pointing to activity on the ground.” The bird banked one last time and then left the scene, some rodent will live to tell a similar tale.
We made our way through meadows and looked at the wildflowers that were marking levels of light and moisture, giving us compasses and mapping water in the ground for us.
“What about stinging nettles?”
“A sign of human activity. Specifically, they indicate higher levels of phosphates in the ground, and that is always a sign that humans have been busy at work or play. Fires, farms and civilization create the right conditions for nettles.”
A magpie gave an alarm call and then wood pigeon acted as a sentinel, reminding us that we’d struggle to pass through the open land undetected, even with the breeze on our face.
I threw my car keys down into the long grass, “The keys mark our home village.” I told a group of raised eyebrows. Next a brave volunteer, Pat, was sent off on a hunting expedition to get lost.
“But I’m a vegetarian.” She said.
“Quick,” I said, “those tubers are escaping. Onwards, upwards!”
Pat used the gradient of the hill, the sound of the stream and a “handrail”, a linear landscape feature to find her way back to the village, marked by my keys. Pat seemed pleased, the group looked happy and I was delighted; it is a long walk back to Sussex.
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