Gibraltar Point


The great advantage of visiting Skegness, from my point of view, good though the Seal Sanctuary was, was the opportunity it presented to pop to the nearby Wildlife Trust reserve at Gibraltar Point.


Despite the blue skies it was bitterly cold, although I did see my first swallow and hear my first chiff-chaff of the year during the visit, and, as you can see above, the blackthorn was flowering which hadn’t happened yet at home, so it did feel a little like spring.

The principal phenomena I shall remember from this visit were the tattered rags of tissue paper and burst teabags apparently hanging in the branches of the sea buckthorn which grows abundantly along the edge of the low dunes.


Except they were neither tissue paper nor teabags, but the nests of brown-tail moth caterpillars…


The moths have overwintered together in these communal nests and were probably just emerging when we saw them, since the sea-buckthorn had abundant buds but no leaves yet.


Apparently, these moths are considered to be a pest, although I can’t decide if that’s because of their unusually catholic tastes – they’ll live on a wide variety of plants (called polyphagia* I learn) and presumably strip them bare – or because the hairs on their bodies are extremely irritating and can cause a nasty rash, headaches and breathing difficulties. Neither traits are particularly endearing I suppose.


Nesting swan.


Little grebes.



A pied-wagtail again!


*Polyphagia, it transpires, has two meanings:

  1. an insatiable appetite for food

  2. the habit on the part of some animals of feeding on many different types of food

Both of which might equally well be applied to the caterpillars and to me.

Gibraltar Point

Sweepstake Spoils: Skegness Seal Sanctuary


Laurence Sterne, in The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, conveys his narrator’s grief following the death of the clergyman Yorick with an entirely black page. It’s tempting today to post something similar, to reflect my black mood after last night’s calamity. Instead, I shall take a deep breath and attempt to attain the inner peace seemingly enjoyed by this seal pup, one of several that we saw at the Skegness Seal Sanctuary.


The other raffle prize my parents came away with, not from their bowling club, as I erroneously reported yesterday, but from a patient’s association raffle at their local surgery – even better! – I can see the headlines now in the Daily Hate: “Pensioner’s Prescribed Horse-Riding on NHS”, what with the hacks at the Hate Mail not letting the truth stand in the way of propaganda, anyway, the other raffle prize my parents won, was a family ticket to said sanctuary.


The seals are the main attraction, especially this show-off which was effortlessly lapping one of the pools whilst upside down, but the charity which run the sanctuary have turned it into a very small zoo – presumably to bring in more visitors and hence fund their seal rescues – approaching 700 seals, both common and grey, have been treated and returned to the wild since the sanctuary opened in 1966. There are meerkats and penguins, owls, a small but quite impressive aquarium, lizards too, but best of all, in my opinion, a hothouse with colourful birds and lots of large and bright butterflies…


This one had just emerged from its chrysalis…..


There. I feel much calmer already. Now…

Om mani padme hum

Om mani padme hum

Sweepstake Spoils: Skegness Seal Sanctuary

Raffle Reward: Riding at Rednil


In short: my Mum and Dad won some raffle prizes. I think they said that it was at their local bowling club. I might get some tickets next year: the quality of the rewards on offer was impressive – judging by the two my parents won, anyway.


One of those prizes was riding lessons at Rednil Farm Riding Stables. Obviously, bowling is a sport renowned for the thrill-seeking nature of the demographic it attracts. No doubt bungee-jumping, parascending and cave-diving sessions were also up for grabs.


Curiously, my Mum and Dad opted to pass on their winnings to their Grandchildren (I think my Dad is holding out for a year’s pass to Sundown Adventureland)


I think it’s fair to say that the kids really enjoyed the experience.


Even B….


….who was concentrating too hard to manage a smile.


Raffle Reward: Riding at Rednil

Birthday Jaunt: the Old Boy on Coniston Old Man


Over the Easter Weekend we had fog. Lots of it. Not so much a blanket of fog as a well-lofted, thick, winter duvet. We judged the visibility by the number of oaks we could see in the field behind our house: sometimes it dropped to just one, at other times excitement rose when as many as three loomed up through the cloud and we began to imagine that the fog might be thinning and lifting – but no such luck.

Easter Monday was my birthday. A square number, but not 25, despite my best efforts to convince my kids to the contrary.

“What do you want to do on your birthday Dad?”

“What I always want to do on my birthday: climb a hill.”

There was room for some optimism, we were hearing slightly galling reports of wall-to-wall sunshine and soaring temperatures from elsewhere in the country, and the forecast suggested that the fog would be restricted to the coast. The selection of Coniston Old Man for our outing was a cunning ploy on my part; the boys are in Coniston House at their school and Little S has been lobbying for a trip to climb the Old Man since two of his classmates climbed it last year; bragging rights were at stake.

We didn’t get off particularly early and I was pleasantly surprised when we managed to secure a spot in the rough and ready parking area at the top of the metalled section of the Walna Scar Road as late in the day as eleven. As you can see above, it was still foggy then, but we didn’t have to climb far before hints of blue-sky began to appear through the murk. Pretty soon we were stopping to strip off layers as we climbed out of the cloud and into the sun.


Rather than taking the very popular, and populous, path up to Low Water and onward through the old quarries, we opted to climb the Walna Scar road a little way and then take the path which leaves just short of Boo Tarn. The OS map (see the bottom of the post) shows a path skirting the modern quarry before joining the other route short of the top. In fact, this southern flank of the hill seems to be criss-crossed by paths. We kept choosing the left, western-most option and this eventually brought us directly to the top without meeting the other, busier, Low Water path. Our route, by contrast, was very far from busy: on what became a glorious, sunny bank-holiday Monday, we met only two other walkers between the Walna Scar road and the summit.


Booth How?

It does look, on the map, like a rather featureless and perhaps tedious route, but actually the hillside is studded with small crags and some much larger, quite impressive rocky knolls.

Once we left the fog, the temperature rose quite dramatically. Just a few days before I’d seen a brimstone, my first butterfly of the year, much later than my first encounter usually falls. Now we had an embarrassment of riches, there were butterflies everywhere; I suspect peacocks and tortoiseshells, though none of them would stop to pose for a photo. The birds were thriving too: skylarks, meadow pipits and wheatears all welcoming with song the sudden arrival of proper spring weather.



We hadn’t gone too far before Little S decided that it was time for a refueling stop.


We found a real suntrap at the base of another rocky knoll…


Like me, B wasn’t hungry. I busied myself faffing with my stove and making a brew, but he clambered on the rocks of the knoll.

Here he is at the top….


(The photo was taken from the same spot as the one above, which shows the extent of the FZ200’s zoom.)


We had to pause a little longer for some more clambering on rocks. (The camera was obviously watching at this point, I usually choose to look away – it’s better for my stress levels.)

Eventually, we were away again….


It was really quite hot now and Little S was making fairly heavy weather of it, so we began to count steps together and got a reasonably steady rhythm going. A and B were already setting a cracking pace, but liked the idea of step-counting and so they joined in too.

Our westward trending route was bringing us sufficiently round the shoulder to reveal great views of the cloud drifting across Dow Crag.


We were in no particular hurry and soon stopped for a second extended lunch break.


To the south and west Morecambe Bay and the Irish Sea were still hidden beneath a sea of cloud. The views were pretty special.


For the next leg of our ascent, S devised a variation in our step-counting regime: every 100 steps was rewarded with a sweet. And after 1000 steps, he plonked himself down for another rest….


The hill standing out of the cloud on the right is Black Combe, whilst the hills just barely poking out of the fog on the left are Kirkby Moor – we could pick out the wind farm on the moor.


I don’t always get to climb a hill on my birthday, but I’ve usually managed to fit something in at least close to the big day. A few occasions stand out of the fog of memory. My 28th for example – I was on Liathach above Torridon in the North-West Highlands with a couple of friends from work. The day had started sunny and pleasant, but on the ridge we were enveloped in cloud ,with no sign of a view until, with no real warning, the cloud lifted and broke in the space of just a few minutes. I celebrated my 30th by climbing Beinn Bhan with my brother. It was another glorious sunny day, this time with a fair bit of snow to add to the mix. Beinn Bhan is a great hill in its own right, but it also has superb views of Ben Nevis and the Aonachs, although it’s the lunch I particularly remember from that day – our kid had packed cheese and biscuits and some champagne which he had chilled by filling a plastic bag with snow and packing that around the bottle of fizz.


They certainly haven’t always been blessed with decent weather; a very drab and soggy day with a gaggle of friends on Whitbarrow springs to mind. On that occasion, I think that the party afterwards was more enjoyable than the walk. I haven’t always had company either – one year I climbed Crinkle Crags on my own after work. I went via Crinkle Gill and I particularly remember the clatter of large icicles toppling off the rocky walls of the ravine as I scrambled along the streambed.


The summit, and its attendant crowds, came as something of a surprise. I was anticipating that we would still have some way to go, but A and B – who had got a little way ahead of the rest of us – came running back, excitedly exclaiming that we had ‘made it’. They’d left their rucksacks near the huge summit structure (cairn doesn’t quite seem to fit) and now carried S’s bag the rest of the way for him.


On the summit, Scafells in the background.


Brim Fell, Swirl How, Wetherlam and Low Water.


Dow Crag.

We took the Low Water path down. It was still quite busy, even though it was now getting into late afternoon.


It had it’s compensations though – the kids were very excited by this lingering patch of snow….


I suppose that some people might feel that the abandoned mine-workings are unsightly, but I was intrigued: I ought to find out more about them.




When we arrived home that evening, it was to find that the weather was really improving there too…


….the number of visible oaks was fast approaching double figures.

Coniston Old Man Map

For Little S, the phrase ‘Birthday Hill’ is indelibly linked to Carn Fadryn on the Lynn Peninsula. For me, it tends to be a different hill each year. Liathach, Bienn Bhan and Crinkle Crags have been some of the best amongst them, but none of those birthdays was particularly recent. The Old Man is destined to stand out as a highlight amongst those many birthday hills.

Now, next year I have a ‘Big One’ pending, one of those birthdays which tend to be regarded as a milestone (or a millstone? – depending on your point of view) and double a square number to boot. What shall I climb next year, I wonder?

Birthday Jaunt: the Old Boy on Coniston Old Man

Cove Road Nuthatch


Finally back from Liverpool and we were enjoying an Easter weekend family stroll across the Lots to the Cove and home again – just a short leg-stretcher.


I was without my glasses again; I’m not advocating short-sightedness, but without my spectacles, the nuthatch in the sapling by Cove Road looked surprisingly exotic and very, very yellow. I wondered what I was seeing and needed the camera’s assistance to focus on and identify it as a nuthatch.

Cove Road Nuthatch

Liverpool: More Homework


The king to all who wish to have burgages in the town of Liverpool, greeting. Know that we have granted to all who take up burgages at Liverpool that they shall have all the liberties and free customs in the town of Liverpool as enjoyed by any other free borough on the seacoast in our land. And so we command that you may travel there safely and in our peace in order to receive your burgages and to live there. In testimony of this we send you our letters patent. Witness Simon de Pateshull, at Winchester, 27 August in the 9th year of our reign.

With these few words, in a document known as a letter patent drawn up in 1207, King John announced the foundation of Liverpool, a newly planned town alongside a tidal creek known as ‘le pool’ in the Mersey estuary.

from 1215 The Year Of Magna Carter by Danny Danziger and John Gillingham


In one of those happy coincidences which seem surprisingly, but which, in the normal course of things are probably almost bound to happen now and again, I was reading 1215 when we went to Liverpool, without having realised in advance that I would learn something about the town’s foundation in doing so.


I previously read The Year 1000 by the same authors, and like that book, found 1215 really fascinating reading.


A had art homework set over the Easter break: take photos of four interesting buildings.


She enlisted my help and I can honestly say that this was the most enjoyable homework I’ve never been set (if you see what I mean). The pair of us felt free to wander around the town unselfconsciously snapping away.


A’s favourite TV programme is ‘Grand Designs’ and at one point it was her ambition to be an architect, so this homework was right up her street.


A was impressed with the city centre’s wealth of Victorian splendour and opined that Lancaster had nothing to compare. Well, Lancaster is a lot smaller than Liverpool, and its buildings are generally smaller too, but I told her that she was being unfair and that she and I should have a wander around Lancaster with a similar brief to see whether we can see it from a visitor’s perspective, through new eyes.


It wasn’t just the older buildings we admired, however; A was really impressed with the ramps on this multi-storey car-park, in fact, I think it made her final four.


Whilst I liked this entrance to the Odeon Cinema…


She didn’t know it when she took the photos, but A now has to use one of her pictures as the inspiration for artwork in the style of the Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser.


It seems that Hundertwasser was himself an architect, although we didn’t come across any buildings in Liverpool even remotely in the style of the fantastical structures he designed (scroll down to the bottom of the page in the link above if you’re intrigued – they are definitely worth a look).


We finished our short trip with one last wander down to the river and along past the docks.


When we asked, before the holidays, where the kids wanted to go for a late-booked escape, S suggested Greece (because it’s the original home of the pizza he tells me) A wanted to go to ‘where goat’s cheese is made’, and B said (as he usually does) ‘Stay at home’. TBH would have preferred Amsterdam, but chose Liverpool in the face of the rest of the family’s indifference to that idea.


I think that Liverpool surprised us all to some extent.


And we didn’t get to either of the Cathedrals, to the Walker Art Gallery, to Speke Hall or Knowsley Safari Park, Formby beach or Rufford Old Hall.


It’s conceivable that I might even be persuaded to go back.

Liverpool: More Homework

Liverpool: Saint George’s Hall


We walked past St George’s Hall several times on our visit, but on the last afternoon dived in to take a quick look around.


No one was manning (or womanning) the entrance, which was probably a good thing because I think that we were entering just as the place was supposed to be closing.



It’s all very opulent inside.



I’m always pleased to find a stained glass portrait of our George doing the dastardly deed to the poor old dragon.


Perhaps not surprising to find a particularly fine, and huge, example here.



Here they are again, but this time George is looking very Roman rather than the medieval knight he usually seems to appear as.



Liverpool: Saint George’s Hall