A Walk in Cornbury Park

New Year's Day is a special time in Charlbury, for it is the only time the public are allowed to roam the parkland at the Cornbury Estate. We took car and babies, Nicola and Mariella right up to the main entrance on Park Street, making it a short walk up to the lodges flanking the main gates. Here we are standing on the bridge which spans both the River Evenlode and the railway, which is exceptionally picturesque when viewed from the house side: the meandering river,  little hillocks growing small groups of trees.

Having read the Cornbury website in the morning I read about all sorts of measures being taken not to disturb the deer, such as not allowing dogs, and helicopter gunships between certain hours, I was expecting only a few flighty animals, but I was wrong, wherever we looked were herds of fluffy, white bottomed creatures leaping and dodging here and there.

Here is one I bagged earlier on full zoom. From a distance he looked like he was the father of them all, perhaps, "The Monarch of the Glen", but on closer inspection he might be "Prince O'The Combe", this is because the ruff round his neck is not rough enough and his antlers looking like new grown holly.
It was at this point I tried my special stag call (the groan of a constipated tibetan lama in a cave?), and speculated on my chances in combat with such beast, armed with only a rucksack , a baby, and a pair of glasses for my own protection.

Here are some does running to safety across a wide avenue, showing a variety of gaits . With the lens of the camera at full zoom the image starts to take on the quality of a cave painting! The lead animal especially is almost inspiring me to gather up some spit, a discarded drinking straw and some handy ground up charcoal and ocres, to sketch the grace of the running deer on the cave wall downstairs.

The Park is home to some venerable ancient trees. This troubled soul is probably 300 years old  carrying huge burrs and a twisted crown that give it a certain character. We were speculating on how such trees have escaped being sawn for firewood, and one idea was that if a tree had grown stout enough by the time chain saws became widely available, (perhaps 60 years ago), then perhaps they would be left to continue.

I caught this group of 'teenagers' hopping across the landscape, well perhaps for this picture, looking firmly anchored with great butressed trunks.

Later we passed round the southern aspect of the house with its magnificent cedars of lebanon. . . .

and on past a heroic representation of what I'm sure must be Lord Rotherwick with bay leaves adorning his hair. Such a fine profile!