Winter Woods: The Wild Geese

Somewhere to the northwest I can hear shooting, shotguns discharge like an artillery barrage. I am predisposed to trespass like some people are predisposed to checking their mobile phones, frequently and without thought, but I have no fancy for walking into the middle of a rough shoot. The guns sound a long way off, perhaps on the other side of the river. The sky is already darkening, a blizzard sweeps in from the north, but before it arrives the sky is thick with skein after skein of geese. Some fly over in small v’s or five or ten birds then a massive armada of geese crosses the fields, a hundred birds in a ragged formation, noisy and chaotic. I don’t know if they are fleeing the blizzard or the shoot.

Winter Woods: Down By The River

After ten minutes the sky is that lovely Bahamas blue again and I carry on, down to the river. Otter and mink are found along this stretch but I am wary of the steep snowy river banks. I really don’t want to fall in so I leave their tracks for another day. As I walk through a deeply snowed willow thicket long tailed tits fly past making their high seee-seeee calls. I count twelve birds; they bob by, taking no notice.

Down by the river there are more people; dog walkers, mountain bikers and even a hardy angler testing out the black water. This is not what I want – I want isolation, solitude and communion. None of these can be had with people around. I head back through the woods. I am at the furthest point of a loop that will take all day and cross seven or eight miles of farmland and woodland. I plan my course back to take in as much cover as possible.

Winter Woods: Tunnels Of Light

On the return leg of the walk I am looking into the sun. It shines through the trees and makes glittering rainbows in the icy air. Sometimes the strong wind blows the power snow off the trees and the woods are dusted with waves of air-bourn snow crystals. To be alone in this place that I have known all my life yet to experience an aspect that I have never seen before is a magickal and humbling experience. I walk through a glowing tunnel of light, a pathway to Elphame and the Tole Deol.

Winter Woods: Towards Home

It is cold and getting colder. My decision to dress for mobility rather than warmth is starting take its toll and I begin to think about the comforts of home. The lane leads through hedges of dog rose and sloe, both berries now blackened by the frost. A fat thrush sits sullenly in the hedge, refusing to move as I trudge by. I am too cold to take his photo, it will only frighten him off and we are both trying to keep as warm as possible. The winter woods are left behind as I cross the last fields up the hill to home, the sun shining pale and white through the afternoon sky.

miasma.org

In the summer of 2010 I was inteviewed for an article in the Finnish magazine Miasma. I am sure my many Finnish fans [....cough....] will waste no time in ordering a copy of this fine publication. Aanimyrskyn Todistajana!

www.miasma.org

www.myspace.com/miasmamag

side-line.com

Christopher Walton entered into history as member of the dark ritual Endvra project. Right after the new millennium he started his very own project, which got some recognition in the darkest corners of the underground music. "Hunts & Wars" is the 3rd full length of TenHornedBeast released by Cold Spring. Walton invites us to join the gates of hell. "Reaching For The Stars We Blind The Sky" seems like the point where these gates get open leading us through dark corridors of obscure ambient music. The sonic manipulations are moving crescendo while some kind of martial percussion join in to create a ritual effect. "Hilnaric" is the next track from this mysterious voyage where you get the feeling to be surrounded by birds living in a haunted forest. It's a short, but anguishing track. The icy ambient "Father Of The Frosts" is an appropriated title for its atmosphere. This is another track appealing for some visual strength. Some cymbals are accentuating this evil vision. A few more short duration cuts like "Ironborn" and "Cimmeria" follow. "Ironborn" is an excellent piece of dark ambient with some repetitive drones. It all sounds a bit like a prelude for the absolute masterpiece coming at the very end entitled "Hunts & Wars". The title track sounds like the darkest and most horrified part from the trip. I especially like the kind of guitar effect (if it's a guitar) on this cut. It all ends in a real dark apotheosis, bringing this album to a good end. "Hunts & Wars" is a quite diversified recording moving on the edge of dark ambient, ritual and martial music. Christopher Walton is an experienced artist in the genre, which here again illustrates his genius to compose a remarkable album in the genre.

Genius Loci: The secret place

Once I dreamed that I was the first man to enter Europe. There must have been somebody who was the first to see the virgin forests and rivers. Some hunting band from the south or the east that pushed on over the next ridge, beyond the next river and found a place with no footprints. This dream has stayed with me for many years and I strive to find places that has stood. Hidden groves and secret hollows that have escaped the modern world because they are too far away, too hard to get to or just too small to be noticed.

Even in England there are still places where it is possible to feel as if you are the first to stand in that place. These places are few and far between, lost deep in the hills where nobody ever goes but if you look hard, if you fly over the moors with the eyes of the lapwing or the gamecock, if you follow the paths made by badgers that are the mothers of the paths people use today you will find them, waiting in their eternal presence with their faces turned out from rock and wood, whispering in their forgotten tongues. These are the sacred places of Old Britain. These are the places were we find the roots of the land and the sources of its mystery.

In a deep canyon lined with ancient oak woodland there is a place that is so special it glows in my memory like a beacon. A place that I return to with each season, a place that is always new and changing yet unspeakably old, a shard of the wildwood that once enveloped the land. In this place the river extends its tributaries back into the hills, rivers become streams and then becks then finally small runnels of water that seep down the heathery slopes and into the blanket bog. This visit will be my last of the year, this place is too far to attempt in winter, the drive in is too steep and the roads impassable to all but four-wheeled drive vehicles, the walk across the wild upland fells not something to attempt with the depth of the snow that falls here. Today I will see the place in autumn and fill myself with its presence until I can return again.