Geology Reference
In-Depth Information
profound sense of the inexpressible beauty of nature wafted over me like subtle smoke,
enveloping me in a feeling of deep peace and happiness.
The little deer was a Reeve's muntjac deer (
Muntiacus reevesi
), a relatively recent
addition from southern China to the fauna of the British Isles, and one of the world's
smallest deer, with a shoulder height of only 45-50 centimetres. I cycled back to the
wood many times to see muntjac. It was during one of these visits that I was gripped by
the idea of devoting the next few years of my life to delving into the lives of these enig-
matic creatures. Soon after, to my delight, I was given the chance to do my doctorate on
muntjac ecology and behaviour at one of the world's very best zoology departments, at
the University of Oxford.
It was hard to find a good study area. For a whole year I laboured in vain in a dense
thicket behind an army barracks trying to observe muntjac behaviour, but the best I
could do was to take plaster casts of hundreds of muntjac footprints. Scientifically, these
were almost worthless, but collecting them had at least kept me busy. Then of course,
there was the inevitable collection of muntjac dung, which would at least yield some in-
teresting information, despite the horror expressed by my housemates when they found
plastic bags full of it in the fridge.
At last, in desperation, I contacted the Forestry Commission and asked them if they
knew of a wood in my area which held muntjac and in which I could work. Surprisingly,
they suggested that I take a look at Rushbeds Wood, a 40-hectare holding near Brill,
about 14 miles north-east of Oxford. Rushbeds was a semi-natural ancient woodland
which they were doing nothing with at that time—possibly there were muntjac there. I
would be free to use it, if it suited my purposes.
Driving out of Oxford in the zoology department van towards Rushbeds Wood on a
cold winter's morning, I passed the newly restored tower of Magdalen College, gleam-
ing golden in the sun. Then I drove through the wooded tunnel of Headington Hill be-
fore striking out into the quiet countryside beyond Stanton St John. I slowly approached
the hill village of Brill overlooking the Vale of Aylesbury, and stopped by its old wind-
mill to look out to the north. There below lay the wood, a lovely expanse of dark brown
and grey branches gently linking with the larger lakeside woodlands of Wotton House.
Would this be my new domain, a place where I could begin to unravel the intricate mys-
teries of muntjac ecology?
Rushbeds Wood was perfect. The abundance of fresh muntjac dung and footprints
(or 'slots') allayed my fears that the little deer had not favoured the area. It was flat,
modestly endowed with paths and rides, and apart from a dense blackthorn thicket at the
western end, it was possible to walk anywhere in the wood. Virtually no one visited. It
lay in quiet repose as it had done for all the centuries since it had been sliced off from
the original great forest. There had been no disturbance of any kind for several decades,
