Category: Great Ayton Moor
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The Yow and Two Boundary Stones
The yow was waiting for me. At least, that is how it felt. She stood beside two boundary stones as if on sentry duty, a glint of mischief in her eye and a smile that gave nothing away. Mona Lisa would have approved. One stone is plain but upright, the other broken and almost recumbent,…
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Reflections at Lonsdale Quarry
Lonsdale Quarry was fully operational during in 1874, run by a Mr Grievson. It was likely the source of stone for Christ Church in Great Ayton, opened in 1877. The quarry is now quiet, a place for solitude and reflection. But it also holds a bleak memory. One Monday in May 1874, quarryman James Smith…
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A Boundary Stone on Great Ayton Moor
The weather has finally turned, quite refreshing from the stifling heat we have suffered over the past week. I found myself traversing Great Ayton Moor again, a route so familiar I could walk it blindfolded, past the same early 19th-century boundary stone I have already photographed more times than sense would justify. The gamekeepers, in…
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A Costly Collop â The Ubiquitous Smoke of Burning Heather
A view south-east, straight into a hazy sun, down Lonsdale and across to Kildale Moor. The scene is, of course, marred by a hibernal plume of smoke from the burning of the heather, because no landscape is complete without an artificial smog. But enough about that. Today is the penultimate opportunity for carnivorous indulgence before…
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Four Years On: From Relief to Dread
A dreary morning on Great Ayton Moor, perfectly suited to my mood. Four years ago, I posted about watching Joe Bidenâs inauguration as the 46th President of the United States. It was the first time I had ever bothered with such a ceremony, accompanied by an immense sense of relief. Today, there is no such…
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William Mudd: Lichens, Legacy, and a Whiff of Whisky
There I was, trudging along the escarpment of Great Ayton Moor this morning, mulling over what I might post about today, when a patched-up bit of dry-stone wall caught my eye. Naturally, my thoughts turned to how many times one can repair a wall before it ceases to be the original. Yes, I am aware…
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âTwas frost and thro leet wid a oâ greymin snawâ
Oh, it was but the gentlest sprinkle, a mere whisper of winterâa âgreymin,â they used to call itâscarcely enough to cover the tops of these two boundary stones on Newton Moor. The snow flurry arrived just as I was striding along the edge of the moor. There is nothing quite so invigorating as being caught…
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Paradise Lost? The Noble Art of Swidden Burning
Ah, the noble swiddens! That iconic mosaic left by the benevolent, precise art of setting fire to the countryside, all for the good of its charming inhabitants: grouseâwho, one imagines, must dance a jolly jig singing ‘hahahahahaha‘ when those nutritious shoots emerge. How delightful to know that we can rely on a âlow-temperatureâ burn, barely a…
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Cumulus, Cirrus, and The Cleveland Hills
As I trudged along the escarpment of Great Ayton Moor, my eyes were drawn southwestward, where a rather theatrical display of clouds was being jostled along by an brisk southwesterly wind. My morning walk had started with a few ominous spots of rain, but which was grudgingly giving way to clear skies. One cannot help…
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Purple Haze: Lingâs Role in Yorkshireâs Past
For a brief spell each year, the North York Moors are transformed into a sea of iconic purple. The ling, or heather, is not quite at its peak yet; it remains patchy, especially here on Great Ayton Moor. Some may argue that these vast stretches of purple moorland lack diversity and serve only the grouse…