Category: North York Moors
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Tragedy at Snaper House
The upper reaches of the River Riccal, one of several valleys draining the southern moors through the Tabular Hills. Downstream, Riccalldale hides behind its wooded, narrow dale entrance. Head up a bit, and the catchment broadens and becomes shallower, going by the name of Cowhouse Beck. It’s mostly a mix of meadow and pasture intakes,…
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Plough Monday
The Monday after Epiphany used to be a day off for ploughmen up North. You’d enter a village and come across these agricultural labourers, all decked out in ribbons and those pristine white smocks, dragging the Fool-plough through the streets. It was their way of saying, ‘Hey, don’t forget, your bread depends on us pushing these…
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Ayton Banks Ironstone Mine — its legacy
Playing with my new tripod, a Christmas goodie. I do like the motion blur effect of long exposures. The water is draining from the Ayton Banks ironstone mine, the stone of which turned out to be poor-quality, leading to the mine’s brief existence. It had opened in the first decade of the 20th-century but closed…
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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…