Category: North York Moors
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Grief with a Power Tool
In medieval churches, the pauper’s voice often survives with their graffiti remembering loved-ones on the walls and pews — essential memorials for the 95% of society who couldn’t afford headstones. Today, this vernacular memorialisation has turned toxic. In the North York Moors, ironically beneath the monument to Capt. Cook, a sandstone crag—naturally beautiful with centuries…
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When the Monks Assarted Bilsdale
In windswept Bilsdale, a ring-fence of bank and ditch at Garfitts and a scatter of medieval sherds tell a story not often told. This was not always a quiet dale of lonely farms. For a brief, brittle spell it was a proving ground, a place where organised power tried to turn moor and forest into…
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Solmōnaþ — Cake, Mud, and Lowered Hopes
It is Solmōnaþ. Cake Month. A rare cause for cheer in the damp gloom of February. In the Anglo-Saxon calendar, Solmōnaþ sat where February is now. It marked a time when offerings were made to pagan gods, back when England was less Christian and more heathen. The idea was simple. Feed the gods and hope…
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The Conservation Walk That Has Vanished
It seems fitting to be posting this at the end of January 2026, a month that quietly marked a profound centenary. One hundred years ago, Section 193 of the Law of Property Act 1925 gave the public a legal right to access around a third of the common land in England and Wales. For the…
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Letting Sheep Be Sheep
I cannot quite tell whether these sheep huddling under the gorse to dodge the sleet are tough old “moor” sheep or soft “lowland” types, but either way they carry the usual reputation. Sheep, like cows, belch methane, methane warms the planet, and that is that. Or so we thought. A study with the esoteric name…
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When Eskdale Held Its Breath
A dreich day in Bransdale, so I am clinging to a favourite photo from yesterday, taken high above the clouds under a blue sky. It does the soul some good to watch mist creep up the dale while back home in the Tees valley was wrapped in damp fog like a forgotten parcel, although I…
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In Search of a Broch, Finding a Bog
My mission today was to chase down a tiny mystery. On the O.S. map it appeared as two neat black circles, concentric, barely a millimetre across and quietly absent from the legend. Naturally this would not do. The puzzle was set by a friend, so thanks to Lenny for the nudge that sent me off…
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The Hidden Life of Newton Wood
All was quiet in Newton Wood today. No leaves rustling, barely a bird bothering to sing. Colour drained away. Even the fungi looked as if they had clocked off. Appearances mislead. Fungi are like icebergs. What shows above ground, the mushrooms, is only the fruit. The real organism is the mycelium, a vast web beneath…
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Nature’s Invitation, Authority’s Refusal
It may have been a cold walk around Cod Beck Reservoir today, but imagine it is hot. The height of the summer. You are with friends. A dull sign saying “No Swimming” stands between you and a better afternoon. Many people have stared down that sort of sign and decided it probably does not apply…
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Little Fryup Dale
Little Fryup Dale on a very dreich day. The cloud lifts its base just enough to show the moors in the distance, a wide sweep of heather and bare earth. Even under this leaden sky it is both beautiful and desolate. It feels unchanged, as if wind and rain have been quietly getting on with…