bewilderbrain

Incredible oaks, acorn wanging, sunlit rain, and woodland magic…

Monday 15th September 2025
Walk start time: 8.59am
Walk finish time: 9.55am
Walk area: Gelliwion and mountain path
Miles walked: 1.7

The mountain landscape, gilded in low autumn sun, is at the very cusp of change. Verdant green oaks spill their prolific bounty to the ground below, mingling with the first russet leaf-drop.

On the open hillside above, the bright green ferns, bejewelled with raindrops, sit aside their newly bronzed companions. The hazy light softens the edges of the mountain path, beckoning me into the autumn magic.

In continued quest for the colours of autumn…

Today’s walk is a continuation of last weeks pursuit of colour and change at this early turning point in the season. (See Walking Diaries, *Autumn* The first whispers on the wind…)

The rain has been coming in thick, unforgiving barrages throughout the night, accompanied by gusty, unnerving winds, but for a short spell, around nine this morning, the sun appears apologetically, as if it had been supposed to be there all along, and I don a precautionary waterproof and head out.

I am struggling with energy this week, and my brain is clamouring to be soothed and lifted by whatever sights, sounds and colours of nature I can fill it with in a short walk.

Ascending Gelliwion road, two bright bursts of colour in the sun are the first things to make me stop.

Abundant hedge plant Cotoneaster, with brilliant red berries and tiny neat and shiny looking leaves, like pristine green currency. A short time afterwards, the exuberant orange of these brilliantly named clusters of firethorn berries.

I turn onto the lane that winds behind the highest houses, heading up through woodland to meet a track across farmland. The mature trees sit amongst dense layers of bracken, from which occasional tiny birds appear and disappear. A solitary butterfly darts hurriedly to a pool of sunlight on a leaf.

The air is fresh with the watery earth smell from the rain and rivulets are running down the pathway beside me, now being warmed by the gentle sun and filling the air with moisture.

The deep bank of imposing firs that flank this first part of the path add their redolent piney scent to the mix, and I breathe deeply, noticing the crunch of the stone path under my feet, filtering my senses into a more absorbed rhythm.

As my path continues I am drawn in by the effects of the low sunlight on the watery ground, the leaves of ferns, some delicate flowers in a bank, and the reflective leaves of oak trees on the ground.

Inspired by ancient tradition and conservation…but channelling my childish spirit…I invent the sport of acorn wanging…

A squirrel disappears into the canopy of a tree ahead of me on the path, the sunshine momentarily illuminating its fluffy tail. Below it, the bounty of acorns that this autumn has provided continues unabated, a feast for the creatures and a fervent hope for new oaks in the making.

I am reminded by a post from Woodlarking, that this year is a mast year, where trees and shrubs produce an unusually large crop of nuts, seeds or fruits, lending their bearers a greater chance of germination for the following seasons (presumably there is only so much the birds and squirrels can manage in one sitting).

Inspired by their advice, I begin picking up handfuls of acorns and flinging them into forgotten corners, open spaces, bramble patches, path edges, and other areas of ground that may not be covered by the usual radius of the drop of the tree.

I get a little too into this in fact. At times carefully considering my intended end destination for each acorn, at others simply wanging them with childlike joy and watching them fountain out into different nooks and crannies of the woodland floor.

It is, it has to be said, a genuinely joyful way to spend time. The simple exuberance of just hurling stuff about ( I think acorn wanging could reasonably join sports of such calibre as bog snorkelling and cheese rolling ) is elevated by the tiny whisper of excitement I get as each acorn lands…

that one could become a tree….that one could be tree….that one could become a tree....as if echoing from some magic of the forest itself…

An approaching car on the path surprises me as I am photographing acorns, there are only a handful of dwellings up here. I move dutifully up on to the bank, but the driver stops and puts his window down.

He has seen me gazing and photographing, and says “there are some amazing trees down there aren’t there?” This simple observation makes me very happy.

I am not an obstacle on the path, but a fellow appreciator of nature.

There is a thrilling fellowship when you stand next to a stranger and marvel at the wonders of nature, even for the briefest of moments.

A bundle of muddy acorns clutched tightly in one hand, I end up briefly explaining about the mast year, and I feel like I have spread another little joyful seedling of nature knowledge along with my acorns.

The angle of light, the raindrops and the ancient trees in this swathe of woodland have conspired to create an otherworldly sense…

To the left of my path, the trees and ferns rise to the crest of the hill, a soft, sun-dappled horizon. To the right, you can look down into a dense thicket of woodland, full of mature oaks, tiny saplings, shiny ivy and gnarly moss-covered trunks.

Through and beyond this space, is the spectacular backdrop and looming hills of the valleys, but within and between (my favourite kind of space) is a realm where the light is selective of where it comes to rest, of each leaf it cares to illuminate, where numerous creatures make their home and where a living, breathing magic seems to emanate from its ancient trees.

I am finding it difficult to stop picking up handfuls of acorns now, and am doing it approximately every ten metres. One bunch is in deep earthy mulch, and being already fairly muddy at this point, I start to relish the texture of the wet earth in my hands as I collect my next top up.

Among the greenery, the first orange blush is starting to appear on green holly berries, a faint colour starting to peep out, almost hidden in the shining green. A bolder splash of colour is close by, and I stop for a moment to appreciate the wonderful autumn hue of the humble bramble leaves.

As I reach the apex of my walk, with stunning views over the valley, the skies have darkened atmospherically, and I am showered with a half-hearted sprinkle of rain.

The track here transfers to a muddier path across farmland, for which alas I don’t have the time or the footwear today, but I will come back soon, to watch this fern laden landscape become ever more spectacular as the season unfurls.

I take particular delight in dotting my acorns around key turning points of the pathway here, attempting to commit their locations to memory in case I spot a sapling on a future journey.

The sun re-appears lazily as I retrace my steps down the acorn strewn path, and it continues to shine through a sudden heavy shower of rain, illuminated in a misty and brilliant veil through the forest descent.

I continue my acorn sports all the way down the forest path, and through the beginnings of civilisation too, on the banks and verges bordering the top houses on the road.

As I begin my descent into the village, the skies are changing again, and the wind has picked up. Two leaves fly across the horizon directly ahead of me for a moment, seeming to pause and dally playfully for a moment in the thermals before disappearing.

I am suddenly glad that the season is not further advanced, these winds would be stripping the autumn trees of many of their leaves, and I am not ready for this yet.

I want to let the colours change and the season unfold gently for a while, before the thrill and volatility of the wilder autumn weather arrives.

As if to answer my wish, a Great Tit takes off from a branch of a nearby tree, and flies directly above me by just a few metres, it seems to hover for the briefest moment in the pull of the wind, and the sun illuminates the underside of its tiny wings with translucent gold and silver.

In that moment, I feel the threads of late summer still woven loosely in the air, mingling with the anticipation of autumn’s glory, and I finish my walk with the thrill of change in my veins.

Link to Walking Diaries page…