Tag: meteorological

  • The Cleveland Hills on a Myst-Hakel Morning

    The Cleveland Hills on a Myst-Hakel Morning

    I slogged up through the old whinstone quarry, staring at the ground, my thoughts elsewhere. I braced myself to find the usual rubbish left behind by quad bikers, as if the world is their personal skip. I could hear them active yesterday. The frost-covered, sterile earth stretched ahead, with the bikers’ berms and humps standing…

  • Brume, Roke, and Other Vapourous Delights

    Brume, Roke, and Other Vapourous Delights

    There is something magical about mist creeping up the dales of the North York Moors, at least if you’re being sentimental. Behind me, the mist—sorry, ‘brume’—was crawling up the Vale of Mowbray, but that was less of a spectacle than this show over Raisdale and Bilsdale. Speaking of brume, it is the ideal word for…

  • Roseberry In the Golden Hour

    Roseberry In the Golden Hour

    Roseberry was looking its usual self this morning as we trudged up Aireyholme Lane, the sun just beginning its obligatory climb over the Cleveland Hills. From this angle, Roseberry‘s distinctive shape is rather less obvious. High above, a waning gibbous moon lingered sulkily in the sky, and the early morning sunlight—in what us self-important photographers…

  • Clouds over the North Sea

    Clouds over the North Sea

    Ah, another crisp, cold morning with a blue sky. The sun, though, seemed to be having a leisurely lie-in. The reason all became clear atop Capt. Cook’s Monument. A bank of cumulus cloud hovered menacingly over the North Sea—not the friendly fair weather sort, mind you, but cumulus congestus, puffed up and self-important, like galleons…

  • Cumulus, Cirrus, and The Cleveland Hills

    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…

  • Coastal Reverie: From Saltburn to Cattersty Sands

    Coastal Reverie: From Saltburn to Cattersty Sands

    With the tide in my favour, I set off on an early morning walk from Saltburn along the coast. The conditions were almost too favourable, rendering the barnacle-encrusted scar an easy path. Before long, I found myself nearing Cattersty Sands. After passing Seal Goit, a name hinting at visits from marine mammals, I glanced back…

  • Welkin’s Cheek

    Welkin’s Cheek

    Before “sky” became the common term for the vast expanse above us, it was poetically known as “welkin”—a word closely related to the German “Wolke,” meaning cloud, and even more so to “Wölkchen,” meaning little cloud. Today, the welkin offered a breathtaking sight for those who gazed upward. Shakespeare himself was no stranger to this…

  • The Capricious Curse of St. Swithin

    The Capricious Curse of St. Swithin

    Meanwhile, St. Swithin has gallantly come to our aid. Well, here in Cleveland at least. His day has passed with the sort of indecision one expects from saints and weather alike: cloudy skies, some sun, but not even the faintest hint of rain. Are we now condemned to forty days of this? If it does…

  • Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

    Perish the thought. In a recent study published by University College London, the projected climate change for Richmond & Northallerton over the next decade shows some notable shifts. Summer rainfall is anticipated to increase by 2.7%, while the annual temperature to rise by 0.76°C. To place this in context, historical data from 1981 to 2010…

  • Inversion Intricacy — The Cleveland Hills from Easby Moor

    Inversion Intricacy — The Cleveland Hills from Easby Moor

    We left the village this morning, enveloped in a thick fog, anticipating its prompt dispersal under the forecasted sunshine. Soon, intermittent patches of blue sky overhead began to play a fickle game. Only as we finally ascended through the murky haze to Easby Moor at 324 metres asl., we found ourselves above the clouds, affording…