Walking the autumn trails

Travelling to and from Iceni Territory over the spring and and summer is such a regular part of our lives that we don't think too much about it. Just celebrating the ability to breathe easier and know that for a few days at least the accent is on leisure. Now we're into autumn and probably the last visit up to the coast for the year, the feeling is different.

We were lucky to dodge storm Amy which swung through last weekend and find Norfolk sitting quietly under a high pressure system, which in between some cloud and mist, bathed the landscape in a wonderful gentle light. With a sparkling dew on the ground and the cool fresh air, the temptation was to walk and walk, whilst soaking up the best of the late season.

Some things never change of course. A theme of Tales from Iceni Territory was the constant struggle to identify birds, trees and plants and then once pinned down to remember the name in question. There's a spot I pass on the flank of Incleborough Hill where I first saw the pink flowers of common restharrow. I've not seen it this year, but every time I walk that way, I'm reminded and try to remember the name.

Yesterday's culprit was a fungi. Right on the path. Small and delicate, with a ribbed 'umbrella'. If I'm poor on general flora and fauna, my mushroom knowledge could fit on the back of the proverbial postage stamp. But this one in its pristine beauty had to be identified. I'm firmly in the camp of deeply worried about Artificial Intelligence, but I have to say that as a means of identifying fungi, the ability to search a picture in seconds is a marvel. A swift use of the new tech revealed a Pleated Inkcap. Wonderfully named and perhaps easier than most to remember. I'll certainly try.

And so onwards along the autumn trails. Boom and I plotting a route that takes in our favourite paths and views. Through the woods and past the camping and caravan parks nestled amongst the folds of the land running down from the Cromer Holt ridge. We say 'hello' to the young cattle, never fazed by a small black dog too keen on the sound of his own voice, before passing the farm, now deserted by its resident swallow population and and down to our temporary seasonal home.

We won't be a stranger to Iceni Territory through the winter months. There will be trips into the Brecks and up the old roman road to Norwich. But it will be well into the new year before we're back amongs the paths and lanes, the salt marshes and beaches of England's eastern outpost. Then it will be the sights and sounds of the spring trails to walk and discover.