The woodland is muddy, dark and full of hart’s tongue ferns. Limestone cliffs appear behind great yews and tall oaks and ashes. Marsh tits, wrens, blackbirds and nuthatches sound out bringing life to the narrow valley where the winter sun tries hard to penetrate but rarely succeeds. Above the native woodland, plantations of beech are light and airy, colourful in their autumn gold. The silence is broken by a jet booming over the wood from Bristol Airport, then dogs bark and runners slip and slide down the treacherous track. The path eventually doubles back to a long ridge of chalk grassland with over grazed box trees and mixed scrub full of chattering redwings and finches; this looks a good wood for hawfinches. At the end of the ridge a herd of goats sit untroubled claiming the best view south to the Mendips and west towards the Bristol Channel. This is a small, rich woodland of many contrasts.