Exactly what do people do when ‘forest bathing’ is a question I’d pondered for sometime, when intrigue recently got the better of me. I happened across Healing Earth Ways who were offering a session relatively nearby, another bonus being that participation supported Warwickshire Wildlife Trust; surely it was a win-win situation for all.

My first session began on a sun-blessed morning when frost covered shaded ground, beside a reservoir car park in rural Warwickshire where our welcoming guide stood patiently with a list of names, smiling reassuringly. Before us was an especially bright white stand of birch trees, and behind those a woodland belt which clearly concealed the place we’d soon to be heading.

Beginning with an introduction to the nature of forest bathing, or Shinrin-yoku as it’s called in its origin homeland Japan, our guide softly explained what we’d let ourselves in for. Rather than

growing concern, I’m quick to add, my worry lessened with every reassuring word spoken, and before long, we found ourselves navigating a route skirting Earlswood lake.

What an incredible venue I thought, as we snaked our way along a path that rolled up and down over proud roots that bound the bank. Well-used bird feeders and bat boxes were sat in the trees, ducks fed in the margins, and holly shrubs were decked with blood red berries: we were already immersed in nature.

After a while and beyond a bridge we came to a stop, and were informed that our next steps were to take us away from the lakeside and into the wood itself. We also learned that from there onwards we were to slow our pace, and although I didn’t realise at the time, it was also the point when I stepped off the week’s treadmill, leaving normal time behind. As forewarned, slowing down itself was quite a task, moreso than I would have thought, but slowly I plodded, and step by step it became less of a challenge.

The woodland we explored for our session I’m somewhat surprised to say, never once fell silent. At different points both as a focussed group and when left alone to wander, we were exposed to the wood’s very own theme tune and in piercing surround sound. Whether derived from nature or at the command of humans, it was ever-present and I was taken aback by its rawness and intensity.

Feeling the safety which the group environment provided, I was able to remain for long periods with eyes closed, which heightened my sense of hearing. Empowered to focus, sounds became richer: people chatting as they walked, a distant motorway softly and persistently rushing, and heavy trains that frequently passed by the wood.

Nearer to us though, and hidden amongst the underwood’s branches, we were treated to the sounds emitted from birds. The longer we stood motionless listening, the nearer and louder the sounds came, along with the sense that I could at any second become a perch for a foraging bird. Alas, the birds had other ideas, being busy enough to take little more than a passing interest in us, and as I write this, I’m reminded that whilst some of us revere wildlife, it can often, with good reason disregard us.

As we continued through the session, it became obvious that we were to remain on one continuous journey, where at every pausing point and in between we were invited to focus on a task. This journeying process was clever, ensuring that my head remained tuned, mostly, to the task in mind. During every walking session we were busy focussing, and for every other part, either sitting or standing or leaning against a tree we were occupied too, the entire time immersed or ‘bathed’ in the forest.

One special stop along the way was beside a meandering stream, over which a slippery timber bridge seemed busy. We were invited to spread out and find a place of our own, and to scoop up some of the woodland floor to sniff; pretty easy given the many freshly fallen leaves. Musty, peaty, earthy, there are a few words that come to mind, but none of them truly capture the aroma that filled my nose, so let me simply say that it was ‘of the woods’.

The stream side pausing points and especially the last place by a large patch of mature beech on rising ground, were especially picturesque. Light had played across the ripples in shallower stretches of the stream, and trees were clearly reflected in slower, wider, mirror-like sections nearer the bridge. Beyond there, the beeches waited for us, lit warmly by a sun which highlighted a timely tree love message.

Invited to find our way solo for a while, a closing moment of our forest bathing session was certainly meant to send us home with a warm glow inside. In a safe area we strolled our separate ways, some drawn to lie down for the view up through largely leafless trees to wide blue skies above. Others finding stumps and fallen wood to sit upon, to rest and observe and take their fill of the place.

I found my way to a distant beech tree, a large specimen with modestly flared buttress roots that called me to sit awhile, so I did. Nestled between two rooty armrests, each of my hands fell perfectly on patches of velvety moss. My face was shielded from the sun by another tree, its shadow reminding me of how the trees were connected below the soil. I became quite settled, I can tell you, nestled there in my beech throne, and I drifted away for a while.

I could hear birds, people chatting and dogs barking and playing, but I hardly cared if any would venture our way; I was quite at my leisure. The sun’s warmth made that session, lighting us tiny isolated folk stationed here and there in the forest, on that cold rain-free day. The sun, the carpet of rust coloured leaves, the moss, and my throne.

Yet, it was more than that, it was the angle of the hard wood on which my back rested, the soft cold ground on which I sat and the cool air on my face. It was the people brought together to explore this concept in good faith, the thoughtful invites from our guide, and the warm glow created within.

Sticks breaking underfoot as we walked, squelching mud or leaf veins viewed through a hand lense. Dense evergreen bushes, hazels in need of coppicing, luminous lime leaves and spade-cut channels intended to drain the woodland floor. All these things and so many more bathed our hearts and minds in mindful forest like moments.

All things considered, I look back on my first forest bathing session with a positive and warm feeling, which still surprises me given how cold the day was. I don’t for a second regret booking my place. If like me you hold an appreciation for trees and nature, I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend it. Go on, put it on your list for twenty twenty four, you might give yourself an inner glow too!

A First Forest Bathing Experience, by Gary Webb. Session organised through Healing Earth Ways.