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Sliding into Oblivion: Adventures in Cliff Rigg Quarry
Ah, Twelfth Night at last—perhaps now we can be rid of those garish Christmas lights for another ten months, though no doubt someone will cling to their festive cheer until next month. After all the news programmes whipped themselves into a frenzy last might over the impending snowstorm and freezing rain, waking up here in…
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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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The Beck, the Inn, and the Blizzard: Histories of Slape Stones
I quite like this photo. It captures the sweeping valley of Slape Stones Beck, leading—predictably enough—to the hamlet of Slape Stones. The scene positively drips with tranquillity, and after the boisterous festive season perhaps a reminder to pause and simply be. How very profound. The name Slape Stones, unlike the beck, has fallen out of…
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An Unofficial Path Gets Official Attention
Ah, one for the history books. Last year, the main path up Roseberry’s eastern flank was given a facelift, and now it is this desire path’s turn. The one by the fence that skirts the hill’s south-east side, linking the Cleveland Way with the Folly Field. The upgrade might happen this year, or perhaps next—what…
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The Skiddaw Hermit : Eccentricity on a Mountaintop
Many of you have likely heard of Millican Dalton, the so-called hermit and adventurer of Castle Crag in Borrowdale. In the 1920s and 30s, he managed to carve out a reputation by living in a cave and offering guided walks and canoe trips for tourists seeking a bit of excitement. A hermit in name only,…
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The Bleak Back o’ Skiddaw
It‘s been a wet and windy day in the Lakes, so naturally very little was accomplished. Instead, here is a photo from yesterday. The “back o’ Skiddaw” offers little to marvel at—a few sheepfolds dot an otherwise featureless landscape. Any rock that dares to stand out gets christened and turned into a boundary marker. This…
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The Colours of a Rainy Dawn
“Red sky at morning” is not always the “shepherd’s warning” or, for that matter, the “sailor’s warning.” Sometimes, just sometimes, it promises a pleasant day for the shepherd and a dry fleece for his sheep. Naturally, so the shepherds say, this depends entirely on whether the red sky “goes over” or stays sulking in the…
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Storms, Sunlight, and a Trespass to Remember
Given the grim weather forecast of strong winds, we opted for a walk that would not risk life and limb. The summit of Latrigg offered a theatrical view: a single beam of sunlight, no doubt feeling very pleased with itself, pierced through dark clouds to spotlight a few houses near Keswick, with Bleaberry Fell lurking…
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Knock Pike and Memories of Youth and Reckless Ambition
A brief pause en route to a few days of damp splendour in the Lakes. This is Knock Pike, an outlier on the Pennine chain. A 1950 article in the Penrith Observer caught my attention. It detailed the results of a “Guides Race,” a professional fell race to the summit of this and back, starting…
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Temperature Inversions and Timetable Errors
A glorious morning on the hills south of Guisborough, the so-called top of Belmangate. While the town wallowed in cold and damp misery, those above the temperature inversion were treated to the breathtaking sight of Eston Nab and Airy Hill rising like islands from the clouds, with a diffused Brocken spectre thrown in for good…
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