Entering the woods at Plymbridge on a sunny day in winter was rather magical. The rays of sunlight that found their way through the dense branches of the canopy illuminated every water droplet left behind by the previous day’s storm. The Japanese have a word to describe this beautiful light: Komorebi which translates as “light leaking through tree”.

Standing and letting my senses enjoy this magical moment, I was reminded that I was in the midst of a temperate rainforest. We often associate rainforests with the tropics, complete with their huge trees and exotic wildlife, but in fact we too have rainforests right here on our doorsteps.

As I let my senses absorb my surroundings I observed branches heavily laden with mosses and lichens glowing around the edges, back lit by the sun. Fallen branches allowed me to see their mini ecosystem up close, thick woolly mosses, evergreen polypody ferns, pennywort and lichens all living in harmony and no doubt providing homes for a myriad of creatures.

I closed my eyes and listened past the chatter of other humans and their canine companions and in a moment of quiet I heard a bird singing, I opened my eyes just in time to see a goldcrest flitting from tree to tree. A tree creeper (a bird distantly wren) appeared for a fleeting moment before disappearing as fast as it came and a nuthatch’s car alarm like call pierced the peace.

I walked along a well-worn path close to the river on its western bank, watching and listening to the water as it gurgled along, constricted to its channel by the deep and steep sided valley in which it sat. Running alongside the river, but high up on the side of the hill was the Plym Valley Cycle Path, a trail that follows the route of the old railway.

After wandering a short way, the river widened out in a big meander, with a beach on its shallower inside bend. I sat down on a handy log and watched some dogs playing in the river.

A memory I have of this area dates back to 2002, when a 15 year old me along with my classmates were carrying out GCSE geography river studies. Earlier in the day we had studied the river upstream at Cadover Bridge, but to make a comparison we were to also study the river here in Plymbridge Woods. I am not sure how much the methodology has changed in 23 years, but back then, in order to work out the speed of the river, we would wade out into the middle and record the time it took for an orange to float a measured distance. My memory is not so much of the field work, but of a labrador took great joy in diving into the river and stealing our orange.

Continuing up the river, natural hillside gave way to crumbling slatey slag heaps, held together by the roots of courageous plant life such as gorse and ivy.

Taking a few steps away from the busy thoroughfare that was the forest path, I entered a quiet and tranquil haven of an old slate quarry. Slate is made from mud stone that thanks to immense heat and pressure, changes its structure, making it easy to split and ideal for tiling and other construction. I imagined how different this space would have been when it was in use, with slate being blasted and chiselled out of the hill side and sent as far as London for paving roads and tiling rooves.

Standing quietly, I was grateful that nature had reclaimed the quarry. With trees dandling from the cliff edges, copious ivy drapes and melodious bird song it was truly enchanting. At the head of this former excavation flowed a waterfall, tumbling down the craggy cliff and disappearing in amongst the vegetation.

Back on the trail, I gazed at the mighty viaduct that once carried trains across the valley on their way down to Plymouth. I could see that this wasn’t the first structure to stand here, as the remnants of columns from an older viaduct stood nearby. I also found what looked like the remains of a water wheel housing, a narrow slot between walls of brick.

Continuing under the viaduct I heard a child say to their parents that they thought they had heard a dinosaur roaring. I could hear an immense roaring sound myself, so loud it blocked out all other sounds. It was of course a weir that ran width of the river creating a wide shallow waterfall. I sat in front of it for a short time, and thought it was similar to listening to very loud static, good for blocking out thoughts as well as sounds. Only a few steps above the weir and the sound quietened quickly.

Here the water calmed into a beautiful mill pond with pristine reflections of the riverside trees and I caught a glimpse of my first dipper of this year having a bath. It then dived into the water and came up with a creature in its beak.

To Be Continued…