Category: Gribdale
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Bullfinch sky
A dash up to Gribdale to catch the sunset. At first a disappointment but then the distant clouds caught fire. This was twenty minutes or so after the actual sunset, well into twilight; the display lasted barely five minutes before fading. According to the writer Robert Macfarlane, the Finnish call this orange afterglow of twilight…
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Gribdale and Easby Moor from Cliff Rigg
St Swithin’s day if thou dost rain’ For forty days it will remain; St Swithin’s day if thou be fair, For forty days will rain na mair. So goes the well-known rhyme, and as it’s St Swithin’s day, and as it’s been a lovely dry day, a summer of sunshine awaits us. It all began…
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St. Agnes’s Day
Storm Christoph slashed its tail last night as it passed over to the North Sea. I think we got off lightly although the village flood defences kicked in. The rain last evening had turned to snow sometime during the night. Today is the feast day of St. Agnes. She is the patron saint of chastity,…
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Ayton Banks Alum Works
While Capt. Cook was swanning around the South Pacific, back home in Great Ayton, a nascent chemical industry was burgeoning on the escarpment slope at Gribdale. Alum, crystals of hydrated aluminium sulphate in combination with another alkali (usually potassium sulphate), was in much demand for a variety of uses: as a fixing agent in dyeing,…
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Saturday morning in Gribdale
It’s 10:30 on a dreich Saturday morning. Cloud base is about 270m, Roseberry Topping wears a cap, there’s a brisk wind, and it’s mizzling, that light, fine, mist-like rain that nevertheless slowly wets you through. And Gribdale car park is full. Only the odd space remaining. This year, the first lockdown saw a step-change in…
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Remembrance Sunday
Members of the Cleveland Mountain Rescue Team conducted a socially-distanced commemoration at the memorial to the airmen who were killed when a Lockheed Hudson aircraft crashed on Easby Moor in the early hours of 11th February 1940. The aircraft was one of a flight of three which had taken off from Thornaby airfield on a…
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Roseberry from Cockshaw Quarry
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full…
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Paddock, Gribdale
I will be the first to admit that I don’t know much about horses. But I do feel sorry for this herd of horses at Gribdale. There must be close to a dozen of them in a smallish muddy field with very little grass. For sure, hay or other feed is obviously being provided but…
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Roseberry through Gribdale Gap
They say the Eskimos have 50 different words for snow but this is apparently a myth. The Swedes certainly have 25 but the top prize must go to the Scots who have had 421. From “Mell-moorin”, a fall of fine, drifting snow to “skelvie“, large flakes of softly falling snow. Now I don’t know what…
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Gribdale Gate
It is nearing that time of the year when a mysterious old man appears at Gribdale and then vanishes. But unfortunately on New Year’s Eve, when he has been seen, I am usually in the Lake District. Richard Blakeborough wrote in his book ‘Wit, Character, Folklore and Customs of the North Riding of Yorkshire‘, printed…