It is a crisp autumn morning. As I take the footpath across the hills red kites fly overhead, and all around me flaming red dogwood stems blow in the wind. This hidden nature reserve – Grangelands and the Rifle Range in Buckinghamshire – is one of my favourite places to visit.

There’s a log by the path, and when I lift it I find myself a child again, fascinated by the wildlife that awaits me. A violet ground beetle scuttles away, flashing its iridescent wing cases. A chocolate-brown centipede crosses the space previously occupied by the wood, terrorising the other invertebrates around it, which retreat into the surrounding undergrowth before I have a chance to get a good look at them. Springtails of every conceivable size and shape crawl, spring and hop around, trying to escape the predatory invertebrates that want to eat them. There are miniature Serengetis like this under most logs, if you take the time to look.

The hills themselves seem inhospitable to insect life at this time of year so I seek shelter in the strips of beech woodland clinging to the top of the slopes. I look under another log and find a snail hunter beetle hunkered down, its long face adapted to fit into snail shells and eat what’s inside. This impressive creature squeaks if you pick it up. There is an abundance of dead wood here, from freshly fallen branches to decaying trunks. Even the structure of the decaying wood is diverse. Most of it is infected by white rot, which makes it hold water and become squidgy. Elsewhere is the hard, cubical red rot that starts from the centre of the tree; it contrasts vividly with the white fungal threads which weave together like balls of string that entwine themselves between the wood and the soil below.

I lift up a number of logs and find little, but underneath this next one it’s damper and there are slugs, snails and worms. I watch as earthworms slowly burrow their way through the parts of the log that are so decomposed that they almost resemble soil. When I pick up one of the glossy snails the smell of garlic fills the air and clings to my fingers as I discover why some species are called garlic snails. Next is a ferocious leopard slug, which eats other slugs and always impresses me with its size and the intricate pattern of spots down its back. There are slate-grey pill woodlice which have tucked themselves into every nook and cranny, curled up into the tightest balls possible. Few can munch through their outer shell other than the tough-jawed woodlouse spiders, which feed solely upon them.

But dead wood isn’t confined to the ground; the best dead wood is standing. There’s a gnarled old horse chestnut tree that I visit on most of my walks here, which is rich with wildlife. I find evidence of beetle larvae tunnelling their way through the wood. Before breaking out as adults, these larvae eat the fungi that break down the wood, their exit holes then supporting nesting bees and wasps for years to come. Hoverfly larvae squelch their way through the rot holes created when the tree loses a limb, and next year will emerge as the beautiful adults that float in the wind on a spring day. This ancient tree must have supported thousands of rare invertebrates in its time, and although now partly dead, it will support life for decades to come.

Ryan Clark, 2016