Steamroller [03/03/26]
i know not to meddle
to keep off the path this steamroller runs
been all set and settled
since day one they’ve wanted
— bruce peninsula, “steamroller”
The second spot for The Great Coltsfoot Hunt of 2026 was the woods where Bird was born. One long stretch of woodland extends back into scrubby farmland, while the other two shorter sides are bordered by houses and an industrial estate. It’s a popular place for dog walkers and families with small children, and it’s one of the few “wild” spots where I’m sure to bump into people.
My main reason for choosing it is the same as why it has been avoided over the past five years: disturbed ground. Storm Arwen, a powerful extratropical cyclone, devastated Scotland at the end of November 2021, permanently changing the landscape. Entire shallow-rooted plantations were felled by three days of wind with gusts exceeding 90 mph.
Bird’s original home (Rookery Woods) suffered extensive damage - nearly 70% of the conifer forest fell like dominoes. The well-established beeches and Scots pine (including Bird’s birthtree), which formed the hedges buffering the boundaries between farmland and housing, remained largely unharmed, along with smaller native deciduous trees such as rowan and birch.
The council’s post-Arwen clean-up plan was to bulldoze nearly everything - damaged and undamaged - in the triangular woodland, turning it into a post-apocalyptic wasteland. Healthy trees were felled, leaving jagged stumps and sections of discarded trunks; native plants were uprooted and left to die.
They piled the hacked remains of the forest into large stacks in the areas where they attempted to replant trees. Regions where no regeneration was encouraged were left less “tidy”. The workers slashed their way through pockets of undamaged woodland, dropping trees and their cut branches to the ground without any further action. Several years later, it still looks as if the clearing crew left for lunch and never returned to finish their work.
Rookery Woods was the first woodland I came to know before exploring more of the local area, so the sentimental grief hits hard. It feels as if they have stripped the place of its soul and left it desolate. The raspberries and rowans have been reduced to rubble, and only 10-20 of the hundreds of elderly firs and spruces remain, looking tired and battle-worn.
So, yeah. Quite depressing. I tend to avoid visiting, but it’s one of the first places I think of when I consider areas of “disturbed ground” (the other being any actively worked agricultural land). After three hours of bog-hopping, tyre-swinging, wall-climbing, and creek-jumping, I left Rookery Woods with a few bleeding scrapes, wet feet, a pulled hamstring, but no coltsfoot. The hunt continues…
Three good things to counter all the depressing shit: I met a 90-year-old sea captain who shared stories about his sailing days, I encountered winter aconite (Eranthis hyemalis) for the first time, and one of Bird’s relatives took a deliberately slow flypast during my green tea and apple break.
number of times blood was drawn: 2
number of times I peed on a shoe: 0 (💪)
number of logs used to cross creeks: 3-4
number of stone walls used as a bridge to cross vernal ponds: 1
number of roe deer seen: 2
number of tyre swings spotted: 1
number of deer that watched me pull a leg muscle while jumping on the tyre swing: 1
number of deer that watched me yelp and swear while stretching the pulled leg muscle: 1
