I sat down last night to write up my thoughts for the day as I usually do. Most of it concerned the days odyssey into the wilds of Darkest Wiltshire, walking the hills and dales of the Marlborough Downs, documenting the variable weather and its obvious effect upon me. Truth is, what happened yesterday was something more important than a mere journal of yet another hike along familiar paths.

Instead, it was two encounters with wild animals that made all the difference. Usually such meetings are very fleeting experiences as the animal makes a quick exit, more concerned with its own survival than anything that brought it there. There are occaisions when the experience is just as short but more intimate, something much deeper and more vivid. This sort of thing happens rarely, but regular readers of my reminisences might remember my encounter with a fox as I played truant from a school cross country run. Or before that, the robust gaze of a female black panther suckling her cubs at a wildlife park, impressing upon me the potential for violence within her.

In each case there was for a short time an unspoken communication. You sense what the animal is thinking, it's character, and I'm pretty sure the animal senses who you are and your intent. It's a genuinely strange experience. Have you ever bumped into a stranger and felt you've known this person for a lifetime? The feeling is similar.

Hello Mr Robin

The long but gentle ascent of Smeathes Ridge is very wearing on the legs with a pack on your back, and having already spent hours walking southward on the old railway line I was in need of a rest. A farmhouse cafe was nearby. It seemed a good idea at the time. I must be honest, I'm not a person who needs much sophistication in life, however pleasurable it can be in small doses. So I opted for a cheeseburger and sat down on the wooden bench to enjoy my somewhat expensive meal.

The little robin startled me by hopping on to the edge of the table beside me. I'm not used to small birds being that bold. Clearly it had designs on my food and stood there waiting hopefully for a chance to fly away with something. It cocked its head sideways, staring at me. It was happening. I knew this bird. A cheerful character albeit a cocky one.

I moved too quickly and instinct took over. The robin retreated to the next table and sat down to wait patiently for some pickings off my plate. Sorry Mr Robin, I can't encourage you to hassle clients of the cafe. But nice meeting you all the same.

Hello Mr Hawk

There's a long cinder path leading down off the plateau that I sometimes use. After a distance the barbed wire fences are buried by lines of trees either side. Under one of those trees I became aware of a hearty birdcall above me. My attention was diverted from the approaching rainclouds and I looked up.

There he was. A medium size hawk of some species I don't recognise. He looked down at me, making loud cries, spreading his wings as if it meant to display it's presence. Hello Mr Hawk. Why are you trying to attract my attention? Ahh, you're just fed up aren't you? You thought this would be a quiet spot and it turns out we humans use it a bit too much. Sorry about that.

I don't know if the hawk actually understood my demeanour or simply got annoyed, but it decided to fly somewhere else anyhow.

What To Make Of It?

Our distant ancestors clearly evolved spiritual beliefs concerning animals that our archaeologists uncover on a regular basis, and such concepts are still present in the modern day if you search for them. I can see why they occur. Connecting with an animal of another species is something special, revealing something not only about the animal concerned, but also ourselves and our place in the natural order of things.

If you have any religious beliefs, I daresay your answers must be apparent to you. I have my own answers. Not entirely religious ones either. Just an observation about an experience I shared with two wild birds that day.