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Betula - the birches
Posted on April 4, 2012 by Ash
A couple of days ago I returned home from half a week on Mull & Iona, where I saw an enormous fossil tree… but that’s another post! The weather up there was for the most part dull and drizzly, and in Sheffield today it put down a few inches of late snow. Yet before I went away we had some incredible weather at home. It was like high summer, but in March…
Holt House, an abandoned farm on the other side of the Ewden valley, stands close to some quite old and fairly gnarly trees. In the foreground, Rhododendron ponticum is colonising the moorland – it has already claimed the valley side down to the river. It would be the mother of all nightmares to eradicate at this stage, and it gets worse every year.
Park Cote, the walled area, is on the same side of the valley as Holt House. With another abandoned building or two (they draw me in!), it’s been on my list of Places To Visit for a while now.
A typical Oaken Clough scene: a lovely, big, lichen-encrusted birch, plus rowan, more birch, bracken, moss, holly, heather, lichen-encrusted rocks, a wee burn… it’s paradise.
A rowan in its prime leans out over Ewden Beck high up the valley. The river was very low; much of the riverbed was exposed and dry. This section is bare bedrock.
A close-up of one of the exposed stumps you sometimes stumble upon out on the moors, usually in groughs: relics from a time long ago when the moor was not a moor but a wood. The peat preserves the timber really well.
A larch rose in the making! I love larch roses. They can’t fail to put a smile on your face.
Holt House again, surrounded by mature sycamores. Today it’s just a deteriorating shell, but when I win the lottery (once I’ve started playing the lottery) I’ll do it up and turn it into treeblog HQ. That’s the dream!
Posted on March 23, 2012 by Ash
The woodland floor is coming back to life (nearly a fortnight ago now). Perhaps these are bluebells?
Another toad has found a good hiding place in amongst the leaf litter.
A nice holly (Ilex aquifolium) that actually has a decent ‘tree’ shape – which is fairly unusual for holly.
Reflections on Dale Dike Reservoir. The current dam was completed in 1875, but there was an earlier dam on the site which was completed in 1864. Tragically the original dam collapsed on the night of March 11th 1864 causing the catastrophic Great Sheffield Flood in which 244 people were killed and terrible destruction was wrought all down the Loxley valley and into the centre of Sheffield. The story of the disaster is one I remember well from my childhood.
[The following paragraphs are an excerpt from The Dramatic Story of the Sheffield Flood by Peter Machan (1999).]
Tangled birch roots.
A couple of oaks lean dangerously over the reservoir, mesmerised by their own reflections.
A fine oak growing on the other side of the path…
…and another oak, dipping its branches in the water.
After the walk, a pleasant meal at the Old Horns in Upper Bradfield to nicely top off a perfect Sunday.
Posted on March 17, 2012 by Ash
This post continues from Part 1.
Razor strop (Piptoporus betulinus) on a dead birch.
Pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) on the wing over Strines Reservoir.
Male catkins on a common alder (Alnus glutinosa).
Male catkins with immature female catkins, the purplish ‘match heads’ attached to the twig above the male catkins which will mature into woody cones that remain on the tree the year round.
Common toad (Bufo bufo) doing the breast stroke in a wee streamlet (in Pears House Clough* I think) that flows into Strines Reservoir from the south. [* Apparently Boot’s Folly was built from stone taken from the disused Bents Farm and Pear House Farm when they were demolished.]
Looking north-east from tussocky Broad Carr.
The view across Strines Reservoir to Boot’s Folly (post ice-&-a-slice-enhanced refreshment at the ancient Strines Inn). Sugworth Hall, the home of Charles Boot, is hidden by the eminence on which his folly stands.
A long-dead tree that improbably remains standing, propped up by a birch.
Continued in Part 3.
Posted on February 5, 2012 by Ash
On Friday afternoon I took my father on a little walk to check out some ancient-looking alders I’d spotted last weekend, when I was unable to get close enough for a good look because the Little Don was in the way.
It was so cold that the Little Don had actually started to freeze over! At work in the morning one of the vans had given the outside temperature as -5 °C, but that was in the middle of Sheffield where it was almost certainly warmer. Proper face-numb-er!
I love these two Scots pines. I love this whole area! It’s brill!
These icicles highlighted the bedding planes in one of the little land-slips.
Looking down on one of the old alders (Alnus glutinosa)…
Here’s another. It’s certainly an old one – look at the girth around the bottom of the trunk. Still, I was hoping they would be a bit bigger. If my memory is correct, the one I found in the autumn a short way away up Mickleden Beck is much bigger and more ancient (in appearance at least).
As well as old alders, five or six yews (Taxus baccata) grow on this side of the river. All of them have thriving, healthy crowns, although none have any serious trunk girth. The smallest of the yews (not the one in the photo) is interesting in that almost the entire tree had died off in some catastrophe, but it has regenerated with a vengeance and the crown is so well-formed and hale that from a distance you wouldn’t believe what a disaster befell it. Up close, you can see the old dead stems and branches and see how only a small line of living bark runs up the back of the trunk, although this appears to be doing its best to encircle the rest of trunk. No wonder yews live forever if this is what they can do!
This, the alder seen from above a few photos back, is the biggest of the handful of alders here. They all look to be coppices – but whether they are naturally coppicing themselves as old stems die off and new ones grow, or whether they have been managed in the forgotten past, I couldn’t possibly know.
It’s a lovely old tree.
When I turned around this hawthorn was trying to limbo or something.
This is my absolute favourite kind of light – the late afternoon, pre-sunset light you get on a cloudless day that bathes the landscape in a golden glow. It has the power to make a photograph feel warm even despite it having been taken in Baltic conditions!
Posted on January 31, 2012 by Ash
Upstream of Brook House Bridge, the Porter or Little Don meanders beneath a landslip of its own making.
On Saturday I went for a walk with a couple of friends, fellow natives of the area who were both back for the weekend. We received a light fall of snow on Friday evening, and there was still a dusting up on the moors in the morning. I drove us to Langsett, and we set off walking anti-clockwise around the reservoir until we reached Brook House Bridge. From there we followed the Little Don upstream, keeping on the left, squelching through bogs and making scrambley diversions around little landslips. At the confluence with Mickleden Beck – where I spied several yews and what looked like three or four ancient alders on the opposite bank, which I’ll be back to take account of soon - we followed this tributary of the Little Don for a bit before clambering up the heathery valley side to meet with the Cut Gate path. At sign No. 50 we took the “path to the right” and walked back to Langsett via North America and the dam wall, arriving in time to eat a little dinner at the Wagon and Horses.
A look back after descending to the flood plain from negotiating one of the landslips.
Downy birch laden with witches’ brooms.
Looking down on Mickleden Beck and another wee landslip. This is only a young stream, not so very far from its source.
By the time we reached the Cut Gate path the sun was out and warming us nicely.
Looking across Mickleden. Just below the centre of the picture are the ancient holly and alder I discovered in October, which was the last time I was here.
One half of a pair of MTBers out for a razz.
Mickleden Beck flows away to meet the Little Don where the first trees are… There are actually sixteen wind turbines in this photo, but you’ll need to view it full-size to find them all. They were clearly visible from where I was standing – me just within the Peak District, they just outside – but were they ruining the view? In my opinion, not a bit. They aren’t really much more unnatural than the rest of the landscape
Langsett Reservoir – filled right up, despite having really quite a low amount of water as recently as my last visit in October. The other local reservoirs I pass regularly (Broomhead and Moor Hall) have also filled surprisingly rapidly over the last month – I thought they’d remain low for a long time. At Langsett this means my ‘beach’ where I sat and read a couple of times in late summer is now completely submerged.
A familiar peaceful pool - recorded by the Ordnance Survey but not given a name. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was created by the Luftwaffe during WWII. There are a few craters in the area from the bombing of Sheffield, but that’s another story.
A happily brimmed Langsett Reservoir, serene and tranquil, peaceful and calm. But is that plantation living on borrowed time...?
Posted on January 23, 2012 by Ash
Scots pine – probably my favourite photo of the trip.
Another fine pine, but you may have noticed that the lower trunk is dead and barkless on the left-hand side. The crown still looks healthy though.
Orangey Scots pine bark caught in the late afternoon sun must be one of the nicest colours a tree can possibly be, don’t you think?
A hydra-like downy birch (Betula pubescens).
Downy birks and a pointy holly (Ilex aquifolium). Down in the bottom, the Ryvoan Pass runs gently uphill from Glenmore, which is off to the right / south-west. You can get across to Nethy Bridge if you follow the Pass, but I looped back to my base at the youth hostel in Glenmore.
The lower slopes of Cairn Gorm occupy the distance. I climbed to the top a couple of days later, it becoming my sixth Munro bagged to date. Only another 277 to go then.
The junipers sure looked lovely illuminated by the setting sun.
This pine was an absolute monster! The stump and wound at the bottom of the tree coupled with the lack of any branches on this side of the trunk show that this monster was, until recently, a twin-stemmed monster – i.e. it was twice as big as it is now!!
Here it is from a distance: look at the crazy spread of those lower branches! It’s three trees in one, arranged like the ace of clubs! And to say half of the tree is missing… Wow.
Posted on January 16, 2012 by Ash
Juniper (Juniperus communis).
After a wee intermission I’m back with more photos from November’s Scottish excursion. Part Two continues where Part One left off, and I’m sure there’ll be a Part Three along soon - and afterwards a little post about my visits to some of Britain’s tallest trees. Did you know that it’ll be treeblog’s fifth anniversary next month?
Looking down the barrel of a big, old Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris).
A typical Caledonian pinewood scene. Heather, bilberry (blaeberry) and juniper form the shrub storey while Scots pine forms a rather open canopy, with a few downy birches for company. Other trees I saw in the Ryvoan Pass, but in miniscule numbers, were willow, rowan, holly and alder.
This downy birch (Betula pubescens), a silvery island in the sea of juniper, has a sort of ethereal feel about it, glowing as it does in the sunlight. Imagine coming across it glowing like this in the moonlight.
The Caledonian pinewood is a thing of such beauty!
The exposed roots in these photos all belong to pines growing out of a banking beside the shore of the Green Lochan – An Lochan Uaine – a small tarn whose waters have a strange turquoise hue.
An Lochan Uaine – not looking green at all in this picture, unfortunately. I didn’t see any leeches either, but I didn’t know to look!
Posted on December 16, 2011 by Ash
Scots pine (Pinus sylvestris) in the Ryvoan Pass, near Glenmore.
At Glenmore, near Aviemore, there is a remnant of the ancient Caledonian Forest. Today, only 180 km² of the Caledonian Forest remain – a pathetic 1% of its estimated maximum extent. As is usually the way, Homo sapiens is to blame for the loss. If you’d like to find out more about the Caledonian Forest, let me point you in the direction of Trees For Life, an inspirational organisation ambitiously dedicated to restoring a 2,300 km² area of the Forest. This description of the Caledonian Forest is taken from their website:
The Caledonian Forest originally covered much of the Highlands of Scotland… the native pinewoods, which formed the westernmost outpost of the boreal forest in Europe, are estimated, at their maximum extent, to have covered 1.5 million hectares as a vast primeval wilderness of Scots pines, birch, rowan, aspen, juniper and other trees. On the west coast, oak and birch trees predominated in a temperate rainforest ecosystem rich in ferns, mosses and lichens. Many species of wildlife flourished in the forest, including the European beaver, wild boar, lynx, moose, brown bear and the wolf, as well as several notable species of birds - the capercaillie, the crested tit, and the endemic Scottish crossbill, which occurs nowhere else in the world apart from the pinewoods.
A large witch’s broom on a large downy birch (Betula pubescens) – a common abnormal growth caused by the fungus Taphrina betulina.
After staying at Fearnan by Loch Tay for a couple of nights, from where I visited the Birks of Aberfeldy and Britain’s widest conifer at Cluny House Gardens, I drove north to Glenmore (climbing Schiehallion – Munro no. 5 - en route) and checked into Cairngorm Lodge, a SYHA hosel, for four nights. The next day (Nov. 20th) I meandered (really meandered) part-way up the Ryvoan Pass to An Lochan Uaine – the Green Lochan. I’d walked down the pass and past the Lochan to camp near Glenmore three years previously with two friends, towards the end of a hike from Blair Atholl to Aviemore, but that’s another story.
Looking up at one of the giant Scots pines of the Caledonian Forest.
To provide you with a very brief history of Glenmore during the past century, I’ve just skimmed through the excellent little book I bought from the Glenmore Forest Shop during my stay. The book is called ‘No rivalry but different’; Glenmore and Rothiemurchus in the 20th Century, the third publication in the Touchwood History series. It was written by Mairi Stewart and first published in 2010.
Pine foliage against a clear, blue sky – it was a lovely day for late November in the Highlands!
One hundred years ago, the estate of Glenmore was owned by the Dukes of Richmond, who used it as a hunting ground. Between 1916 and 1918, during the First World War, just over a hundred thousand trees on the estate were felled to provide timber for the war effort – to make pit props, trench supports, crates, etc. Thankfully, the 7th Duke, Charles Gordon-Lennox, is said to have stipulated that some trees were retained to allow the forest to naturally regenerate – trees to be spared had the Duke’s stamp burned onto them. In 1923, the Duke sold the 12,474 acre estate to the newly-created Forestry Commission. Although the Commission decided that three-quarters of the estate were unsuitable for forestry, it had planted around 1,300 acres by 1934 – favouring the faster-growing but non-native Sitka spruce, Norway spruce and European larch over Scots pine.
Looking up at an absolute monster of a Caledonian pine. I have never seen Scots pines like these – they really are jaw-droppingly, breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly awesome.
Glenmore escaped the forester’s axe during the Second World War because it was considered more important for training soldiers than for supplying timber (although neighbouring remnants of the Caledonian Forest, at Abernethy and Rothiemurchus, were not so lucky).
A large fragment of scaly pine bark.
Glenmore was run as both a sporting and forestry estate until 1947, when it was designated a Forest Park. This re-branding officially recognised the popularity of parts of the estate with outdoor activities enthusiasts. Extensive planting continued throughout the Forties, Fifties and Sixties, however. In the 1960s recreation at Glenmore, particularly skiing, really took off, and a lot of new infrastructure was built. By the early Eighties the campsite at Glenmore was accommodating a thousand people at its busiest, and the main focus had shifted from forestry to recreation.
In the foreground – juniper (Juniperus communis). I have never seen so much juniper! In many places it formed an almost continuous shrub layer beneath the pine trees. Very pretty, very necessary for gin, but very prickly when wading through a waist-deep sea of the stuff to get to the next big pine.
During the 1990s the Forestry Commission underwent a significant change in its outlook and policies, with the old approach of “create as much timber as possible” replaced with a more responsible approach to forest stewardship. At Glenmore this meant felling the non-native trees planted in earlier decades, resulting in the decimation of two-thirds of the forest. These areas are being replanted with the native Scots pine.
Huge. Beautiful. Ancient.
Posted on November 13, 2011 by Ash
Four weeks ago I went for a walk to Mickleden Beck to see what kind of trees grew there; I’d heard a rumour of aspen. My route took me past Langsett Reservoir, where some pretty big changes have been taking place over the last year or two. Much of the conifer plantation on the south-west side of the reservoir has been clearfelled and subsequently replanted with native species.
According to an information board erected by the owners, Yorkshire Water, the woods are being restructured as part of the East Midlands Woodland Bird Project:
Planted in 1962, comprising approximately 25 hectares of coniferous woodland, the North America plantation including Delf Edge and Mauk Royd is being managed to help native woodland birds… We’re felling most of the coniferous trees whilst saving and protecting key native trees. The area will be re planted with oak and birch trees to develop new upland oak woodland, with woody shrubs like hazel, blackthorn, alder, willow and rowan.
I wrote a post here about the same time last year, while the conifers were still being felled.
I’m looking forward to seeing how the new woodland develops!
Larch. Whether European, Japanese or Dunkeld (hybrid), I wouldn’t like to say. I am not confident telling the three apart.
I failed to find any aspen at Mickleden Beck, but I didn’t search for long. What I did find was this incredible veteran alder (Alnus glutinosa) growing beside the stream. It is truly ancient, and is perhaps an old pollard. And keeping it company through the years is an ancient holly (Ilex aquifolium)! Both trees were in shade by the time I got to them, so I didn’t get any great photos – but I’ll be back!
On the return leg, Langsett Reservoir and the surrounding moors were lit by the late afternoon autumn sunlight.
That’s Hartcliff Hill in the distance there.
A peaceful pool on Midhope Moors. I hope those clouds lend some symmetry!
The reservoir was still illuminated as the day slid into twilight.
A lonely, half-dead birch that had once grown amongst the conifers has been left standing after all the felling. It’s in a bad way, but it is possible that next year it will produce seed and its offspring will be a part of the new wood. The three bracket fungi are Piptoporus betulinus – razor strop or birch polypore.
The birch has managed to outlive the conifers that suppressed it all its life, but for how much longer?
Langsett Reservoir at dusk.
Posted on October 26, 2011 by Ash
A couple of weekends ago I was down at Broomhead Reservoir, taking advantage of the low water level (though it isn’t as low as the neighbouring More Hall Reservoir) to see if I could find any remains of Broomhead Mill. I couldn’t.
In the foreground is the old course of the Ewden Beck, the river that flows into the reservoir. Normally this section is submerged beneath the waters of Broomhead, but while the reservoir is low the old channel gets to remember what it was like to once have been a river.
This old stump and dry stone wall are also normally submerged in the reservoir. The wall runs along the edge of a tiny valley where Allas Lane Dike, a small stream, once ran down to join Ewden Beck.
At the reservoir’s high water mark, a bit of erosion has exposed the roots of two trees. On the left, a common alder (Alnus glutinosa); on the right, an oak (either pedunculate or sessile).
Looking across the reservoir to the northern shore. The water surface was very calm, but it wasn’t quite still enough to produce a perfect mirror image of the trees over there.
As I stood gazing admiringly across the water, I heard a splash and automatically went for the camera. A fish had surfaced and triggered a series of ever increasing circles.
In a bit of woodland next to the reservoir I spotted a couple of huge brackets on a dead birch stem just as the light was beginning to fail.
They were: Piptoporus betulinus - razor strop or birch polypore.
Something – a woodpecker, I presume – had drilled a hole in the rotten stem, and wee flakes of dead wood had rained down upon both brackets. Nature’s brilliant, eh?
Posted on October 12, 2011 by Ash
XL European beech (Fagus sylvatica).
Somewhere in the Ewden Valley there is a special piece of woodland full of absolutely enormous beeches. (No, not Spout House Wood. These are bigger…) Beeches with massive-girthed trunks that seem to go up for miles. Beeches with almost ramrod straight stems. Beeches that even though of gargantuan stature are still in the prime of life. No grizzled dotards here; well, maybe a couple. Just beautiful, jaw-droppingly large trees.
I’m pretty confident this one is the biggest of the lot. I’m calling it the King of Ewden. I think that’s suitably grand. It’s a shame my photo really doesn’t do justice to this titan’s size – it’s a hundred times more impressive in the flesh. There is a car-sized wound on the other side of the trunk, seriously! I’m going to have to go back with a tape measure and take some DBHs as proof!
One of the smaller ones?
Another giant. How many are there? I’m not sure. Thirty? Forty?
Imagine climbing that! Imagine the view from the top!
I wish I had more photographs to share, but being under those monster canopies, in the bottom of a valley, late on an autumn afternoon… the light wasn’t great. I’ve got a mind to go back and carry out a more comprehensive study. These are trees worth getting excited about. If only the person / people who planted them could see them now!
Several Piptoporus betulinus (razor strop or birch polypore) fruiting bodies on a dead downy birch (Betula pubescens).
This big oak (probably Quercus robur) looked stunning as it caught the late afternoon sun. I love trees.
Posted on October 7, 2011 by Ash
A familiar rowan (Sorbus aucuparia) on Whitwell Moor.
The weathermen forecast a startlingly hot few days last week – 25°C for the end of September in Sheffield certainly made me open my eyes – so I took measures to make the most of this unexpected resurgence of summer by taking a couple of days off work. Instead of sweating buckets trapped in a pair of chainsaw trousers, I was out roaming the moors and woods having a whale of a time. Wednesday was incredible but Thursday was truly the epitome of an autumn day; it’s just a shame that the sun sets so much earlier now than it did in the height of summer.
A familiar downy birch (Betula pubescens) of extraordinary girth, also on Whitwell Moor…
…and growing beneath its spreading branches, this little bolete (some kind of Leccinum, I think).
Hallo! It’s the famous Lonely Oak!
Last year I couldn’t find any acorns on the L.O., but there were a few on one side of the crown last week. I confess I collected some. Perhaps there will be a treeblog Set E next year?
One of my acorns. The Lonely Oak is an English or pedunculate oak (Quercus robur), so the acorns are attached to the tree on little stems.
Looking north from the ‘back’ of the L.O. towards Hunshelf Bank. Looking over its shoulders?
A familiar pair of Scots pines (Pinus sylvestris) between the Salter Hills.
Chilled-out cows in the next field.
The eastern Salter Hill, complete with solitary hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna).
Gorse (or furze or whin: Ulex europaeus) - one yellow drop in the ocean.
Posted on September 19, 2011 by Ash
…Continued from Part the First.
The black patches on this sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus) leaf, known as tar spots, are the fungus Rhytisma acerinum. Those clusters of red spots are galls caused by the mite Aceria macrorhynchus. Neither have any significant impact on the host tree.
A razor strop or birch polypore (Piptoporus betulinus) juts from a dead downy birch (Betula pubescens).
An immature fungal fruit body begins to emerge from the soil. Maybe an Amanita?
I’m fairly sure this is a Suillus something - perhaps a dried-out slippery jack (S. luteus)?
Another Leccinum, but which one? There is so much variation within the different species, I just can never say with any certainty. Could this be a blushing bolete (L. roseofractum)?
Hawthorn (Crataegus monogyna) and a dry stone wall – a lovely combination. At this time of year the hawthorns are covered in little red fruits called haws. I suppose you could make a jam from these (edit: of course you can!).
Looking up into the rather open crown of the same hawthorn (or one of its neighbours).
Posted on August 11, 2011 by Ash
…Continued from the first course.
I went out for a little walk around Whitwell Moor last week. The weather was typical summer 2011 stuff – hot but cloudy. In the middle of the moor there is a little wood which is much longer than it is wide. The upper part of the wood is predominantly downy birch (Betula pubescens) with some English oak (Quercus robur). I would guess that this part of the wood is very old, and it was here that I found lots and lots of mushrooms.
Before we carry on with the fungi, here’s a glimpse of this birchwood to which you have already been introduced. Old, gnarly, many-limbed downy birches abound – this one is a fine example. The ground layer is made up of short grasses and scattered bilberry (Vaccinium myrtillus) bushes.
It’s a lovely place to linger.
This is a bolete… it’s a Leccinum… and that’s as far as my certainty goes. I’m tentatively going with an ID of Leccinum scabrum (brown birch bolete) because the scabers (stem scales) are black – if they had been buff or fox-coloured I’d have gone with Leccinum quercinum (orange oak bolete). I don’t think it’s a Leccinum versipelle (orange birch bolete) because the cap does not have an overhanging rim.
For the same reasons I think this too is a L. scabrum (brown birch bolete), but an older, more tired specimen.
This mushroom may be an immature Amanita fulva (tawny grisette), a species that favours birch woodland. From Jordan’s Fungi: “usually without cap patches but with volval bag… [cap] occasionally with brownish velar patches” – I believe the creamy covering on the right side of the cap is such a patch (a remnant of the veil). At the bottom of the stem are the remains of the white volval bag.
I fancy this yellow fellow is a Russula claroflava (yellow swamp russula / yellow swamp brittlegill), a species that is found in damp places under birch.
I guess these belong in the genus Russula, but I’m stumped again. I give up. They do look nice though.
Let’s end with an old favourite - an immature Piptoporus betulinus (razor strop / birch polypore) bursting in slow motion from the chest of downy birch.
The Nature Conservancy’s 6th Annual Digital Photo Competition
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Posted on July 14, 2011 by Ash
A couple of weeks ago I headed over to Langsett to have a read beside the reservoir (Stephen King’s Four Past Midnight, if you’re asking). At one point as I walked along the path that skirts the reservoir, I chanced to catch sight of these four mushrooms in the bit of birch woodland to my right. I was compelled to take a closer look:
My immediate thought was “birch boletes”. Back home later, using ID books and the internet, I couldn’t really do any better than that. Were they Leccinum scabrum (brown birch bolete) or were they maybe Leccinum versipelle (orange birch bolete)? Or perhaps they were Tylopilus felleus (bitter bolete) (the cap in the photo of T. felleus in my Black’s Nature Guides Mushrooms & Toadstools of Britain and Europe looks strikingly similar to the caps of my mushrooms). Nope, mine can’t be T. felleus because mine had scabers on their stalks – see the photo below.
Scabers – definition from MushroomExpert.Com: “Scabers are little scurfy things that stick up, like the scabers on the stems of Leccinum mushrooms…”
According to the same book, L. versipelle caps have an overhanging rim. Mine didn’t, so can I safely say that they’re L. scabrum? Not exactly, because all of the photos I’ve found in books and online of that species show a much darker brown cap. The Black’s guide says that “There are around 5 scaber stalk species and each is associated with particular species of tree: Red-Capped Scaber Stalk [Leccinum aurantiacum] (Aspen): stipe scales white when young; Orange Oak Bolete [Leccinum quercinum]: stipe scales fox-coloured; Foxy bolete [Leccinum vulpinum] (Scots pine): stipe scales smoky grey” - plus the orange birch bolete (L. versipelle) and the [brown] birch bolete (L. scabrum). So are my mushrooms any of the first three of these five instead? Well, after further research only led to me getting more and more bogged down… I gave up. There’s a large amount of confusion about the Leccinum species out there, even amongst the experts, and I think it’s contagious.
Posted on March 23, 2011 by Ash
A young oak rises from a sea of bilberry.
Monday evening. The sun was setting as I discovered an ancient oak coppice in a field above Wind Hill Wood.
Here a ring of callus wood has grown around the base of a dead branch to try and seal the tree against infection.
How old is this oak? More than a couple of centuries?
On a nearby downy birch, where one half of a bough has been split off, I found an adventitious root growing into rotting wood.
Beyond the wood, the sun set over the moors.
Posted on November 28, 2010 by Ash
I love this pine tree. It’s got a great shape, it’s in a great position, and it’s got a great friend…
It snowed a bit on Friday night. Only a centimetre or two settled but it was enough to bring a real feeling of winter to my walk up to the trig point.
Silhouette: European beech (Fagus sylvatica).
Silhouette: Scots pines (Pinus sylvestris).
Silhouette: downy birch (Betula pubescens) (and a Scots pine).
Silhouette: the Lonely Oak. I arrived with perfect timing to see the sun setting behind my favourite oak tree.
And just over the hill, I arrived in the nick of time to catch my favourite pair of Scots pines basking in the last of the golden sunlight.
Silhouette: Scots pine skeleton (or possibly a larch skeleton).
Posted on October 22, 2010 by Ash
The Sunday before last, I returned from the wedding of two friends to one of those perfect autumn afternoons. I couldn’t a waste a beauty like that so, spurred on by the best display of mushrooms on our lawn that I can remember, I set off around Langsett Reservoir anticipating a real smörgåsbord of fungi. I wasn’t disappointed!
So Yorkshire Water are clearfelling a lot of conifers from the North America Plantation on the south-west side of Langsett Reservoir.
[From one of Yorkshire Water’s information boards at Langsett, under the title ‘Reversing Woodland Bird Decline – East Midlands Woodland Bird Project’:]
There was a monster sleeping in the plantation, hidden amongst the trees. See it?
’Twas a big, bad forestry forwarder (a John Deere 1410D Eco III, in fact). This beast transports all the logs cut from the felled trees to a stacking area where they can be loaded onto a lorry and taken away for processing.
A whole load of razor stop or birch polypore (Piptoporus betulinus) brackets jutting from a dead downy birch (Betula pubescens) stem.
Here a living downy birch grows beneath a canopy of larch. Are they for the chop too?
Just upstream of where the Porter or Little Don River enters Langsett Reservoir at its most westerly point, I took this photo looking over the tree-tops from Brookhouse Bridge. Golden light and creeping shadows.
As I neared the end of my walk the Sun had almost set, but with its last golden rays it illuminated the lower stems of a group of Scots pines (Pinus sylvestris) in a resplendent display of aesthetic magnificence. Two days after I took this photo – another perfect autumn evening - I rode around Langsett on my bike and just so happened to be passing by these same trees at near enough the exact same time (almost as if I’d planned it or sommat). I was lucky enough to be granted an encore.
Twilight over Langsett.
Posted on October 8, 2010 by Ash
An immature razor strop / birch polypore (Piptoporus betulinus) bracket growing from a branch on a fine birch tree.
This spikey-looking moss is actually soft and strokeable.
Ewden Force! – looking much smaller than when seen in the flesh.
Peering over the main flow of the waterfall (standing on the big stone slab).
Another local river that leads into the River Don is called the Little Don or Porter Don because, like Ewden Beck here, the water is the colour of porter (a dark beer).
The view from Earnshaw Ridge towards Thorpe’s Brow (woodland on the left) and Millstones Wood (woodland in the centre, actually behind Thorpe’s Brow).
Earnshaw Ridge: desolation or splendour?
Posted on October 3, 2010 by Ash
I went for a wander with my father last week. Here he is, taking a photograph in Oaken Clough. You can tell it’s autumn now. [See this photo in black and white?]
Oaken Clough is a small valley surrounded by moorland. It’s a wonderful and pristine world of beauty.
The stream flowing down the valley is dotted with tiny cascades. [See this photo in black and white?]
This birch was growing out of an exposed rock-face at a brave angle.
Those leaves on the right are proof that Oaken Clough does actually have an oak tree in it! I’ve found two so far...
A fungal selection box. I think the top two belong to the same species, but are at different stages of development. The bottom right mushroom was a big ‘un!
A section of gnarly, lichen-encrusted rowan stem.
This spinning foam cake was freshly baked by the stream.
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