The Yews of Kingley Vale. 
These shots are about a year or so old and document my journey into a relatively unknown part of the UK (for me at least), the South coast. Knowing that I'd have a few hours to spare after a morning visit to Chichester I leafed through my new copy of 'Britain and Ireland's Best Wild Places' and was drawn to Kingley Vale.
When I read Christopher Somerville's words of the place being blessed with "an air of being not quite part of this world" I was hooked and wove my way to the little car park that sits at the bottom of the access road.
Kindly locals guided me in the right direction, one taking pity on me with my heavy backpack of camera gear, warning of the distance, climbs and 'there's not much there to photograph' advice. I suspected different and, braced for an afternoon under the late winter sun, strode out, passing huge banks of skeletal ash and oak on my way.
I took many shots as I approached the reserve, and then sought out the 2,000 year old yews as I reached the old woodland. 'Not quite part of this world' was a very apt description, steely musclebound trunks with sinuous limbs and silver brown bark glowered in the middle wood.
The chill air hung densely, captured by the canopy of foliage that blocked out much of the milky light. Underfoot nothing grew, warded away by the toxins
delivered by contorted roots, and starved of the summer's sun for millenia.
Yew like to stand alone, aloft, aloof.
Awed by the atmosphere, I settled into the grove, trying to find my place, seeking acceptance from the wise trees and searching for a hint of connection to the nature of the place. Alternately resting against the warming trunks or lying amidst the soft groundswell of fallen foliage I saw my shots and worked slowly, reverently with the ancient ones.
The way ahead was a haze of sepia, the browns of age filling my vision and guiding my intuition, telling me the post processing necessary to manifest the feel of Yew on human soul. Two hours flew by before I was ready to part company and head for the higher slopes, where a younger yew forest flourished from the stark chalk-strewn soils.
White was everywhere. Bland white sky, ploughed field with bright speckles, white stones and white light hinted at high energies and contrasted, complimented the groundedness of the deep forest tawny hues and dark evergreen gloss of the thunderous canopy. I left the place vowing to return, part of me still sits in quiet respite.
Close my eyes and I'm there, smelling their breath, feeling their voices on my skin. I've posted some of my final Kingley Vale Yew compositions on fine art site RedBubble to share the message of the Grove, a place still used by Druids who journey with their ancient Gods under the watchful gaze of age-old trees.
Enjoy the slide show of my 6 favourite images below.
Kingley Vale Yews
How to get there and what to expect.
An introduction to the importance of Yew.