The soft ground has been blackened by the heavy rain. Large, dark pools of water block the pathways that criss-cross the usually quick-draining greensand heathland. The history of these West Sussex heaths is long and shaped by human settlement. Patches in the dense forests were felled by Neolithic settlers to create clearings for hunting. The open heaths were later used by nobles for deer-hunting, then by commoners for grazing, before being abandoned as unproductive. The bracken and woodland returned, and fast-growing pines were planted. Now the heaths are managed, using grazing animals and old-fashioned hard work, to clear the pines and maintain the habitat for rare plants, animals and birds.
The sky begins to brighten. A patch of blue expands across the sky like a spreading drop of watercolour paint. The small, orange-red disk of a fly agaric mushroom shines at my feet, pristine and unblemished. A few yards away, there's a more typical specimen – a redder, rounder dome, flecked with white. Encouraged by the damp, the tiny threads of fungi mycelium that reach underground are now creating these fruit forms, destined to spread their spores.
A bird flies into the base of a large gorse bush. It flits about the branches, chasing spiders and insects, and finally settles on the top of the bush. The Dartford warbler has a slate-grey head, back and tail, and burgundy underparts. Dartford warblers stay all year round but the recent harsh winters, which make it difficult for the birds to find food, have reduced their number on the West Sussex heaths dramatically. It stares angrily from its perch with keen, black eyes surrounded by bloodshot-red rings. It bobs restlessly, flicks its long tail and calls – a hurried rant of whirrs, scratches and whistles. Another warbler appears in the bush below, and the pair fly away.
