October Nature Journalling: The Full Fire of Autumn
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I’ve been waiting to write this one. October is, for my money, the most visually spectacular month of the entire year. Not the most abundant, not the most dramatic in terms of wildlife events, but the most purely, overwhelmingly beautiful. The light. The colour. The smell of damp leaves and woodsmoke, and something ancient and earthy underneath it all.
And here’s the thing about October. It rewards the nature journaler in a very specific way. Because the colours are changing so fast, so visibly, day by day, that even a sceptic can feel the value of keeping a dated record. You write about the copper beeches on the 5th, and they’re still mostly green. You come back on the 15th, and they’re pure gold. By the 25th, they’re bare. That’s three weeks. It goes so fast. And without the journal, it blurs into a general memory of “autumn was nice this year.”
With the journal, you have it. The specific light on a specific morning. The exact tree. The exact colour. It doesn’t fade.
Why Autumn Colour Happens
I’ve been looking into this because I realised I didn’t actually understand the mechanism, and understanding it has made watching it much more interesting.
Leaves are green through spring and summer because of chlorophyll, the pigment that captures sunlight for photosynthesis. But chlorophyll is also unstable and is constantly being broken down and rebuilt. As days shorten and temperatures drop in autumn, trees begin to shut down their food production systems. Chlorophyll production stops. And as the green fades, other pigments that were there all along are revealed. Yellows and oranges from carotenoids. Reds and purples from anthocyanins, which are actually produced fresh in autumn, not just uncovered.
So the reds are newly made. The tree is producing them as it prepares to shed its leaves. Scientists are still debating exactly why. Some think the red pigments protect the leaf while the tree reabsorbs nutrients from it before it falls. Others think they signal to insects. It’s genuinely not fully understood yet.
The Woodland Trust has a good explanation of the process. For a deeper dive, the US Forest Service has detailed information about autumn colour across North America and even runs a fall foliage prediction map.
Tracking the Colour
This is the big October journaling project. And it works at any scale, from a single tree in a car park to a whole valley.
Pick a tree, or a small group of trees, and visit them every few days through October. Note the date and describe the colour in as much detail as you can. Not just “yellow” but the specific quality of the yellow. Is it warm or cool? Does it glow or does it look dusty? What does the light do to it in the morning compared to the afternoon? Are some branches turning faster than others?
Different species turn different colours and at different times. In the UK, wild cherry and spindle go first, often a brilliant red in late September. Field maple turns clear yellow. Beech goes a deep, burnished copper. Oak tends to go last, a rich tawny brown. In North America, sugar maples produce the most spectacular reds and oranges. Aspens turn brilliant gold. Sweet gums combine red, orange, purple, and yellow on the same tree.
The Smoky Mountains fall foliage map is a brilliant interactive tool for North American readers tracking the progression of colour across the continent. For the UK, the Woodland Trust runs an autumn colour survey that you can contribute to.
The Fungi Peak
We introduced fungi in September, but October is when they really peak. After the first proper autumn rains, woodland floors, meadows, and even lawns can produce extraordinary numbers and varieties of fruiting bodies seemingly overnight.
This is the month to make a real effort with fungi observation. Fly agarics, those iconic red and white toadstools that look like they belong in a fairy tale, fruit under birches in October. Waxcap grasslands, some of the most biodiverse and ancient grassland habitats in Europe, produce their extraordinary rainbow of species this month. Shaggy ink caps push up through suburban lawns. Puffballs appear in fields.
Take your time in any piece of woodland or old grassland this month. Move slowly. Look at the base of trees, in the leaf litter, on fallen logs, in the grass. The variety you’ll find on a single October walk can be genuinely astonishing.
The First Nature fungi guide remains my favourite free online resource. The iNaturalist app is brilliant for submitting photos for identification. And if you want to go deeper, Merlin Sheldrake’s website has resources related to Entangled Life worth exploring.
Deer Rutting
October is the peak of the red deer rut in the UK and much of Europe. If you live anywhere near a deer park or upland area with red deer, this is worth making a specific effort to witness. The sound of stags roaring across a misty valley on an October morning is one of the most primal and extraordinary wildlife experiences available in Britain.
Fallow deer, common in many lowland parks and estates, also rut in October, their distinctive belching grunt carrying far across still autumn mornings. Richmond Park in London and Bushy Park nearby are well known for their accessible fallow and red deer ruts if you’re within reach. The British Deer Society has information about where to find deer and how to watch the rut safely and responsibly.
In North America, the white-tailed deer rut peaks in November, building through October. Elk rut slightly earlier, mostly in September, but the effects are still visible in October. These are genuinely dramatic wildlife spectacles and are very worth recording in your journal.
A word on behaviour here. Keep your distance. Rutting deer are focused, energised, and occasionally unpredictable. Observe from a respectful distance, move quietly, and don’t get between competing stags.
Starling Murmurations
From October onwards, starling murmurations begin to form at dusk over reedbeds, woodlands, and urban roosts. If you haven’t seen a murmuration, it is one of those natural spectacles that genuinely defies description. Tens of thousands of birds moving as a single fluid shape, twisting and rolling and folding through the sky before dropping together into the roost.
Finding a good murmuration takes a bit of research and some luck. The RSPB’s murmuration guide has information about known roost sites and is updated with public sightings. In North America, European starlings, an introduced species, form similar murmurations, particularly over cities and agricultural land.
Writing about a murmuration is one of the great challenges of the nature journal. How do you describe something that moves like that? Try anyway. The attempt to find language for the indescribable is part of what makes the practice worthwhile.
The Smell and Feel of October
I want to make space for the non-visual dimensions of October, because they are at least as powerful as the colour.
The smell of October is unlike any other month. Damp leaf litter has a particular earthy sweetness. Woodsmoke from early fires. Fungi. The slightly sharp smell of blackberries is going over. Rain on dry earth. These are some of the most evocative smells of the year, and they’re worth trying to capture in your journal.
The feel of October is worth noting, too. The temperature of the air at different times of day. The way dew-wet grass feels underfoot in the morning. The weight of fallen leaves. The texture of bark in the rain.
So much nature journaling focuses on what we see. But smell, touch, and sound are equally valid and often produce the most vivid and unexpected entries. Try writing an October entry with your eyes closed. Just sit outside and receive everything that isn’t visual. Then write about it.
October Journalling Prompts
One is enough. Sit with it. Let it take you somewhere.
- Choose a specific tree and visit it every three to four days through October. Write a dated entry each time describing the colour and condition of the leaves. Note when the first leaves fall and when it’s finally bare.
- Walk in the woodland after rain and spend 30 minutes specifically looking for fungi. Describe everything you find in as much detail as you can. Sketch at least one.
- If you can find a deer rut, write about the experience. The sounds, the atmosphere, the behaviour of the animals.
- Try to find a starling murmuration this month. Write about it. Try to find words for the movement.
- Sit outside with your eyes closed for ten minutes. Write about what you smell, hear, and feel. Then open your eyes and write about the light.
- Read back through your journal from earlier in the year. Write a reflective October entry about what you’ve noticed since you started. What surprised you? What do you want to pay more attention to?
October and the Nature of Impermanence
There’s a concept in Japanese aesthetics called mono no aware, which translates roughly as the bittersweet awareness of transience. It’s often associated with cherry blossom, but it applies equally, I think, to October leaves.
The beauty of autumn colour is inseparable from its brevity. A beech tree in full copper on a sunny October morning is almost unbearably beautiful, partly because you know that in a week or two, after the first serious wind and rain, it will be gone. The leaves are already letting go. The tree is already preparing for winter.
Your journal is a way of holding that moment. Not stopping it, not preventing it from passing, but witnessing it properly. Writing it down so that something of it remains. That’s a very human impulse, and I think it’s a good one.
October is the month that turns people who weren’t sure they were nature journallers into nature journallers. Go outside. Take a notebook. Look at the colour of the light through the leaves. Write it down.
Next month: November, bare bones, and finding beauty in the stripped-back landscape.
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