Country diary: The magic and mystery of the New Forest ‘drift’
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Version 0 of 1. New Forest: The roundup of ponies is an earth-shaking annual tradition, and shows the remarkable skill of those who work the national park There’s a herd of chestnut ponies charging towards me. They’re being driven this way, out of the furze and towards the pound, by a team of riders. Whistles and whinnies ripple through the fast-moving group, and I feel the pounding of hooves in my chest. The only thing between me and them is a line of eight “walkers”. None of them flinch. This seemingly chaotic scene is a regular occurrence in the New Forest. Each year, from mid-August to early November, pony roundups, called drifts, gallop through the national park. Unpredictable and dangerous, they’re off limits to the public, so being this close feels like I’m witnessing some old forest secret. Although I’m far enough away to avoid danger, I am close enough to see the browning bracken in their forelocks. The 5,000-plus ponies living here are semi-wild. They are owned by commoners whose land, or property, grants them grazing rights. Commoning has been part of the forest since it was new, and is overseen by verderers who protect its beauty and traditions. Agisters, employed by the verderers, tackle the day-to-day management, including organising the roundups. On the day of the drift, led by an agister, riders and walkers direct the ponies towards holding pens called pounds, and block off escape routes that the more canny, experienced ponies might seek out. They are health-checked and new foals are branded. To show that the yearly grazing fees are accounted for, the ponies’ tails are marked with the agisters’ signature cut. The ponies are then released back into the forest. Growing up nearby, I was always fascinated by the herds running over heathered horizons. But what really enthrals me is the knowledge involved; a knowing that allows an age-old tradition to play out in real time. Riders and walkers know the livestock and landscape intimately enough to react in an instant: when to change course, push forward, hold back. Despite spending endless hours walking here and even cantering across it on a friend’s wall-eyed cob, I’ll never know it in the same way. With a crescendo of clattering hooves, guttural shouts, and resin‑rich evergreen aromas, the pound gate closes. The line disperses. I’m beckoned onward, and the riders return to the furze for a second sweep. Under the Changing Skies: The Best of the Guardian’s Country Diary, 2018-2024 is published by Guardian Faber; order at guardianbookshop.com and get a 15% discount |