Category: North York Moors
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Patches of blue, reflections and a spanking new gate—Highcliff Gate this morning
In her dotage, my dog exhibits a distinct lack of enthusiasm for upland walks. This now renders the crudely painted “DOGS ON LEADS” sign on the wooden rail of no matter to me. A threat for sure, yet not a command. A “PLEASE”, though, would have aided in conveying the message in a less intimidating…
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Twelfth Night — Vessel Cuppers and Rabbit Skins
Shipwrecked twins, a lovesick duke, and fools making merry, Twelfth Night spins a tale of romance, laughter, mistaken identities into a midwinter’s dream. But long before Shakespeare penned his whimsical play, there was an age-old tradition associated with Twelfth Night, rooted in pagan customs and echoed across Britain for centuries – wassailing. The purpose is…
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Standing Stone, Old Wife’s Stones Way
A leisurely saunter into the morning sunshine across the ancient expanse of Danby Rigg on the Old Wife’s Stones Way. A timely shower to the west served as a fitting backdrop to this squat yet impressive standing stone. The route, considered no older than medieval times, is lined with tall, slender standing stones, save for…
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Smoke Signals from Great Ayton: A Meteorological Puzzle
I took this photograph of the large square-cut recess in the sandstone cap atop Roseberry summit. Clearly crafted by human hands, in my imagination, I’ve had it down as the likely spot for the hermitage and smith’s forge mentioned in a 17th-century letter. However, I might be wildly off the mark, considering the extensive quarrying…
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Nature’s Canvas on Whorlton Moor
Of all the boulders on the North York Moors, this is perhaps my favourite. It rests nestled in the heather on Stony Ridge on Whorlton Moor, but back in the last ice age, it would’ve been getting a good washing from the waves along the shore of Lake Scugdale. Now, in places where fungi and…
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Confronting Storm Gerrit and hunting Nessie in Newton Wood
On a day that could only be described as dire, I ventured out to confront the tempestuous forces of Storm Gerrit. With a strategic approach, I sought refuge primarily within the protective confines of Newton Woods. In my last posting, but one, I mentioned ‘pareidolia’. This is the tendency to see images of animals, faces,…
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A Boxing Day Tradition — The Hunt
I chanced upon the Great Ayton Boxing Day Hunt today. A traditional affair, you know. Had completely slipped my mind. Christmas, a season steeped in tradition, yet this one leaves a sour taste. Every Boxing Day, the hunt assembles at the High Green in Great Ayton. Same old spectacle of well-appointed riders, splendid horses, and…
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Hogmena
Captain Cook’s Monument was busy this morning. Plenty of folk working up an appetite for their Christmas Dinner. Me, I dropped down the slope a bit and played with my pareidolia. I always believed hogmanay is the name for the New Year celebrations in Scotland, yet it transpires that a related term had found currency…
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Christmas Contemplations
On this eve of Christmas Day, I found myself deep in thought. It seems a mere five minutes since last year. Maybe it’s just because of that old chestnut: “time flies when you’re having fun.” Each morning I do wake up excited as to what adventures the day will bring. Dopamines, those pleasure-inducing chemicals, supposedly…
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The old Corpse Road to Danby Church
Old ‘corpse roads‘ or ‘coffin paths‘ were the routes country folk used to carry the dearly departed to their final resting place. They lie subliminally somewhere between myth and memory, and go by other names, like ‘bier roads,’ ‘lych ways,’ and ‘church-ways.‘ The memory of these old paths perhaps became more intangible because of how…