Month: March 2025
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A Stone that Once Mattered â A Forgotten Boundary
A low-angle view of a nondescript triangular stone, half-buried in a bleak expanse of dry, brown heather. The pale sandstone stands out against the darker, tangled vegetation, with the occasional patch of golden rushes breaking the monotony. In the distance, the low hill of Easby Moor stretch across the horizon, its gentle slopes leading to…
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Springtime in Bransdale
A day spent under the glaring sun in Bransdale, labouring over the track down to the Mill. Enjoying the supposed delights of spring while breaking oneâs back shovelling gravel. The sheep, slow as ever, eventually grasped that the trailer contained no food for them. The view of Cockayne was, predictably, lovely, with the Lodge making…
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LentâA Season of Daffodils, Fasting, and Fuzzy Maths
Another year, another excuse to photograph some daffodilsâsorry, Lenten Lilies, as they are so charmingly called in Yorkshire. Whether these particular specimens on the bank of the River Leven in Great Ayton are the pure, wild, English variety is highly doubtful, but that won’t be such a tragedy. Now, in case anyone was unaware, this…
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Scorched Earth: A Cool Burn on Hasty Bank
Ah yes, the wonders of the so-called âcool burnââa delightful little exercise in setting fire to the heather in supposedly small, controlled patches. The idea, we are told, is to clear out the old heather without charring the peat or moss underneath, thereby avoiding carbon loss and allowing for quick regrowth. The fire, they assure…
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An Abandoned Stone Quarry on Ayton Bank
Someone once told me, or perhaps I read it somewhere, that there were twelve quarries along the edge of the escarpment between Roseberry Topping and Easby Moor, including the one on the summit itself. Do not expect a citation; it is just one of those pointless facts that have lodged themselves in my brain, refusing…
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Repairing the Damage: A Belated Attempt to Save the Moors
In 1955, Bill Cowley had the bright idea of establishing a long-distance walk across the North York Moors, from Osmotherley to Ravenscar. By the late 1970s, the Lyke Wake Walk had become a rite of passage for the outdoor-obsessed, with an estimated 18,000 people a year trudging the 42-mile route. Unsurprisingly, by the next decade,…
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Fire, Fumes, and Fatality: Scugdaleâs Calcining Kiln
In the early 19th century, Scugdale was an unremarkable little dale where people busied themselves with weaving and bleaching fine linens. The local economy depended on at least four water mills, all fed by the ever-reliable Scugdale Beck. That is, until 1857, when progress arrived in the form of a two-mile railway branch between Swainby…
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A Nisly Day over Aireyholme
An old book of weather proverbs I have offers an array of predictions for March, ensuring that, whatever the weather, one can always find something vaguely reassuring within its pages. One such gem is a French proverb: âWhen March is like April, April will be like March.â How profound. The notion of âApril showersâ stems…
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Cocken Kirke: A History of Threats, Mumbling, and Collapse
A day spent clearing up yet more storm damage with the National Trust at Bransdale. Which storm was it? Storm Ăowyn, perhaps? It is hard to say; they all blur together after a while. Despite a dusting of snow on the high moors overnight, the weather has been suspiciously well-behaved. Lunch on the green at…
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Sinister Relics at Penrod Spring
Two years ago, during one of my habitual wanderings, I stumbled upon a peculiar structure concealed within a 19th-century walled enclosure at the so-called Penrod Spring. I say âso-calledâ because there was no trace of water. Buried in its crumbling remains was a sinister wooden contraption, shaped like a âTââreminiscent of some oversized bird perchâadorned…