Entering Thornton Wood you have to watch your feet, treading cautiously through crisp leaves to avoid disturbing the bumblebees burrowing into the soft soil of the bank. This is one of the wildest patches of the Dibbinsdale woodland and there are no accessible footpaths or signed trails to lead the way.
Brambles and nettles are running rampant after summer growth spurts. The valley drops steeply down but there are plenty of ivy-wrapped tree trunks to help keep explorers upright. At the bottom Clatter Brook defies its name and progresses almost soundlessly over the smooth black stones.
Beneath the canopy of oak and ash everything is curiously still. This patch of ancient woodland is just a stone’s throw from the M53 but the traffic is barely audible, a faint rushing sound on the edge of hearing.
Yet we have hardly had time to appreciate our surroundings when the peace is shattered by a metallic sound, like clashing gears and rusty springs; you’d be forgiven for thinking it came from the motorway. But the racket is ahead of us and comes from above; it’s the unmistakable screeching of jays.
We stop, in case we are its cause, but the alarm builds, now joined by the rattle of magpies. Then we hear a plaintive whistle from on high. The woodland birds take flight and through a break in the tree cover we glimpse the dark silhouette of a buzzard against the late summer sky.
When the danger has passed the jays return. These usually shy birds are at their most visible at this time of year, venturing out from the trees to forage. Their diet includes insects, blackberries and seeds, but they particularly favour the oak’s bounty.
Once cached in secretive spots, buried under leaf litter, acorns will provide a larder through the winter. Two jays perch on the branch of an oak, allowing us to admire the blush pink and electric blue in their feathers. One turns to show an acorn pinched firmly in its beak but they don’t pause for long before they leave in search of more.
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