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Wordsworth woz ere
An outlook spanning Great Langdale to Stickle Ghyll, featuring Harrison Stickle and, adjacent on the right, Pavey Ark, its formidable crag wall softened by the mist. Wordsworth once found himself taken aback by the bleat of a lamb, resounding from Pavey Ark, while standing by Stickle Tarn. A recollection of that very sound inspired a…
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Long Meg and Her Daughters
On a sodden expedition to one of the remarkable and enigmatic ancient marvels in the north of England—Long Meg and Her Daughters. Long Meg, a towering 4-metre monolith of red sandstone, stands apart from her ‘daughters,’ which form a large circle. Reportedly, there are approximately 68 daughter stones, erratics likely displaced from the Lake District…
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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…
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Winter Solstice — Earth’s rebirth
Around this time of the year, the sun’s midday height in the sky changes only marginally. However, its minimum zenith, concluding precisely at 3:27 this morning, undeniably signifies a turning point for all inhabitants of the northern hemisphere — the Winter Solstice. This day then stands as the shortest, beginning the sun’s gradual ascent and…
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A Windy Morning Pondering Mount Vittoria’s Secrets
A wander up here in the dark the other day reminded me of the old name for this long ridge descending deep into Bilsdale, which most people know today as Cold Moor. The prevailing conditions today wasn’t particularly cold, but rather characterised by gusty winds—remarkably so—sufficient to blow the cobwebs away, as the saying goes.…
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Eston Nab — From Bronze Age Fort to Burnt-Out Cars
“The remains of old bottles were scattered all along our route, and other rubbish was offensively obvious everywhere. There were broken fences and damaged trees. Saddest sight of all was the old watch tower which is rapidly losing all recognisable shape under the rough hands of time, the weather and mischievous sightseers.” Not my words,…
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