White Peak: Ashbourne and Thor’s Cave

Market Place Ashbourne.

After our epic US trip last summer, this summer, for various reasons, we had no firm plans for a holiday, but were planning to get a late booking and go to the Isle of Man. I suppose the wet weather we had did give us lots of time to try to plan something. In the event, the steep combined cost of the ferry and accommodation put us off, but we managed to find a cottage just outside the Peak District above the River Dove between Ellastone and Mayfield.

When I met her, TBH had only recently moved from Sheffield, on the edge of the Peak. I lived for many years in Manchester which also sits on the border of the Peak District and grew up in the East Midlands making the Peak District the most accessible National Park and where I did almost all of my earliest hill-walking. We have a shared affection for the area and this would be a trip down memory lane for both of us.

George and Dragon, Ashbourne.

We arrived a little too early to check-in to our cottage, so drove into nearby Ashbourne for an excellent late lunch/early tea at the George and Dragon. Ashbourne is a very handsome town. Wainwright was of the opinion, I believe, that it should have been the start of the Pennine Way which seems like a good idea to me. The Historic England map of the town shows an absolute rash of listed buildings, which perhaps at least partly accounts for its charm. The George and Dragon is one of those listed buildings, as is the nearby Town Hall…

Town Hall, Ashbourne.

…where, many moons ago, a certain Mr and Mrs Jones, known to many readers of this blog, tied the knot. I was on my best behaviour, and didn’t carry out my threat to wear a bridesmaid’s dress to the ceremony. Andy tells me that our beforehand Dutch Courage pints were consumed in the very same George and Dragon.

The Manifold Way.

Taking a leaf out of our New York trip, we tried to pack as much in each day as we could, so that evening we parked at Weag’s Bridge in the Manifold Valley to have a bit of a wander.

Thor’s Cave seen from the valley.

I’ve walked along the Manifold way, a cycling track and footpath which follows the course of an old light railway line, many times in the dim and distant past, but I don’t recall ever climbing up to take a closer look at Thor’s Cave.

The River Manifold?

As is sometimes the case in Limestone country like this, the river runs underground in some parts of the valley. I guess that there’s still a clear course for the river because it will sometimes flood and run above ground too in the winter months after heavy rain?

Fossils in the steps on the way up to the cave.

The large slabs which had been used to make steps on the steepish path up to the cave were resplendent with fossils, a marvellous excuse for me to stop and takes lots of photos whilst having a sneaky breather.

A view along the Manifold Valley.

Thor’s Cave.

Inside Thor’s Cave.

The view out of Thor’s Cave.

Another ‘entrance’.

Exploring the cave.

Thor’s Cave.

Exploring the cave.

It’s an imposing cave with lots of nooks and crannies to explore. Apparently evidence was found here of inhabitation from the Paleolithic era right through to medieval times. From the cave a path, not shown on the map and, by the looks of it, still under construction, climbs up to the edge of the gorge.

Above Thor’s Cave.

Another view along the Manifold Valley.

More Caves.

There were more small caves evident from this vantage point and the DBs spent a fair while exploring them. On the OS map a track can be seen making a beeline for the nearby village of Wetton. Although it’s not shown on the map as such, it’s now a permission path, so we followed it into the village, where we called in at the Royal Oak for a quick pint. From there we wandered down Carr Lane back to our car in the last of the light.

Wild-Camping with B.

First Day

B in the tent, in Link Cove.

B and I had been discussing various plans for a night or two away somewhere, but dodgy weather and the fact that B was quite busy between work and social commitments had prevented that so far. However, the forecast looked half reasonable, and B could spare me an afternoon and the following morning, so we hastily packed (fortunately my gear had dried out in the day since my wash-out walk from Austwick) and set-out for Patterdale.
We parked at Cow Bridge, just north of Brothers Water. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the car park wasn’t full, especially given that it’s free.

Fungi in Deepdale Park.

We used the permission path beside the road through Low Wood. The map shows a much more direct route through the woods on to the Hartsop above How ridge, but I would have been much happier to take the less steep route even if I hadn’t been carrying camping gear. Actually, B had volunteered to carry the tent, so although I had the food, pans and stoves, my pack wasn’t as heavy as it might have been.

Fungi. Possibly Amanita rubescens?

Gavel Pike.

Gavel Pike looks very dramatic from this direction, which is a bit misleading, but it’s a Birkett which is well worth taking a detour to visit when climbing St Sunday Crag.

Arnison Crag and Place Fell either side of Patterdale.

Arnison Crag, Great Mell Fell, Place Fell, and Angle Tarn Pikes from Gale Crag or thereabouts.

“So, where are we going to camp?”

The long ridge over Hartsop above How is a lovely walk. It gave us lots of opportunity to look ahead to the various potential campsites I’d identified. I let B make the decision and he was most taken with the idea of dropping down into Link Cove, the craggy corrie below Hart Crag and Scrubby Crag. Although I left the choice to B, that was my preferred option too. I’ve visited Link Cove a couple of times before, ascending in to it on the way up Fairfield from Deepdale, with Andy and Uncle Fester years ago and I’d been wanting to return.

B admiring Dove Crag, Hart Crag and Fairfield.

Before succumbing to ‘ant attack’.

There were a lot of flying ants about. We’d decided to stop here for a drink and a snack, but this little knoll seemed to be a particular focus of their attention and we were quickly overwhelmed and decided to move on.

Link Cove dead ahead.

Link Cove.

There’s no path into Link Cove. We took a line which angled down below the darkly shadowed crag on the left of the photo above, then climbed again onto the small ridge in the middle of the cwm. This was rough going, but I love getting off-piste into dramatic scenery like this.

Tent pitched.

It was hard to find any level, dry ground to pitch the tent on. This spot was probably more level than it looks in the photo, but it wasn’t as dry as we might have liked. Then again, after the weather we’d had, it was always going to be hard to find a spot which wasn’t soggy.

Camp in Link Cove.

Looking down Deepdale.

Once we were pitched and organised, we left our gear and set-off unencumbered for a circuit of Link Cove. I thought the map suggested that The Step would give a good ascent route and that proved to be the case.

The High Street range from ‘The Step’.

Looking across Link Cove to Hart Crag. Our tent is to the right of that short rocky ridge in the cove.

St. Sunday Crag.

Looking down Deepdale. Hartsop above How ridge on the right.

Black Tippet and the northern buttresses of Fairfield. Cofa Pike on the right.

You can’t beat this sort of exploration – we had great views into Link Cove, then suddenly we hit the far side of the ridge and found terrific views of the northern steeps of Fairfield.
From Scrubby Crag we decided that a detour to take in the summit of Fairfield was called for.

Dollywaggon Pike, Nethermost Pike, Helvellyn and Striding Edge.

Cofa Pike and St. Sunday Crag.

The skies to the east were looking increasingly grey and it was clearly raining not too far away. It would surely be only a matter of time before we got our own shower.

Looking west. Scafells, Gable, Dale Head, Maiden Moor, Northwestern Fells.

Rainbow Weather.

Looking down Rydal. Great Rigg and Heron Pike on the right. Windermere, Coniston Water and Morecambe Bay in the distance.

Link Cove, Deepdale, Hartsop above How. Sunshine and showers.

I thought we could descend, with care, the gully to the south of Scrubby Crag, but B took one look at it and clearly doubted my sanity, so we climbed Hart Crag instead, descended the ridge towards Hartsop above How and then repeated our route down into the cove and back up to our tent.

St Sunday Crag.

Descending towards our camp.

Of course, eventually it began to rain and didn’t stop for quite some time, even though the sun was still shining too…

Dove Crag.

We thought we could pick out the path to the cave on Dove Crag which is meant to be a good bivvy spot.

A Link Cove frog.

We were using the tent which we’ve borrowed (seemingly indefinitely) from Andy. It’s not the lightest, but it’s amazingly spacious and the huge porch was superb in the wet – perfect for me to sit in and cook our evening meal (filled pasta, pesto, dried fruit and custard, very satisfying).

Second Day

A breakfast view of Scrubby Crag.

This early morning photo might be a bit misleading. Once again, we seemed to be on the divide as far as the weather was concerned. To the west, all was blue sky and sunshine; to the east, low cloud. And although the wind was, I was sure, blowing from the west, the cloud was sweeping up Deepdale towards us.
Still, we at least had sunshine whilst we breakfasted and packed up.

A Crab Spider. Xysticus species. I think.

Ascending The Step again, with atmospheric clouds.

We wanted to regain the main ridge, and could choose to retrace either our ascent or our descent routes of the previous evening. Despite its initial steepness, we agreed that The Step was much the easier going of the two. With the cloud sweeping in across the crags, it was atmospheric too.

Hart Crag.

The ‘view’ to the East.

And to the West. Coniston and Langdale Fells. Heron Pike and Great Rigg in the foreground.

Looking South from Dove Crag. Windermere, Coniston Water and Coniston Fells.

As you can see from the photos, the weather was really odd, but it gradually improved as we wandered over Dove Crag and then Little Hart Crag and finally along another delightful ridge to High Hartsop Dodd.

Middle Dodd, Little Hart Crag and Red Screes.

Looking down Scandale. Scandale Tarn in the foreground.

I have several spots in the area earmarked as potential wild-camping locations. Scandale tarn is one of them.

Middle Dodd and Red Screes.

The complex terrain at the head of Dovedale.

B descending towards Brothers Water.

Looking down on the Romano British enclosed stone hut circle.

I’ve waffled on before about this amazing archeological site. Historic England has a thorough physical description, but doesn’t supply much detail about who lived here and how they might have lived.

Another view of the settlement. The knoll on the right is the site of the oval cairn.

A final rest stop.

Looking up Dovedale.

This was effectively a day’s walk divided in two, which I think is probably a good way to plan an overnighter. We both enjoyed it immensely and were both keen to go again. B also wanted to borrow some gear and take some of his friends wild-camping, but then he got a job pitching and packing-up much bigger tents (marquees) and his availability became severely restricted.
Who knows, maybe next summer we’ll get a mutually convenient spell of settled weather and manage to fit some more trips in?

A map.

Day One

Day Two.

Austwick, Lawkland And Feizor

Austwick Beck.

July fizzled out in a welter of wet weather, leaving me stuck at home, perusing my maps and the none too promising forecasts and feeling increasingly stir crazy. When the first of August rolled around, I couldn’t stand it any longer and decided to get out for a walk, come what may. There’s probably an object lesson to be learned from the consequences of that decision, but I’m not entirely decided what the moral of this sorry tale should be. Maybe an inquiry is required, they seem to be in vogue. Here’s the evidence…

Submerged stepping stones.

I’d plumped for a Lune Catchment wander, and was thinking that Smearsett Scar, at the eastern extreme of the Lune’s Yorkshire Dales reach, would be ideal. Optimistically, I was thinking that, if the weather was a little better than expected, I might extend the route to explore the limestone pavements of Moughton Scar too.
In the event, the cloud was so low that even the little wooded heights above Austwick were hidden in the miasma. I hastily adjusted my plans, deciding to head south from the village, away from the hills.
Had I taken a little more time and care, I might have noticed the words ‘stepping stones’ on the route I’d chosen and had second thoughts. I did eventually have those second thoughts, but only after I’d walked as far as Austwick Beck and seen the submerged stepping stones.

Oxenber Woods.

My second attempt to leave Austwick also brought me to Austwick Beck, but a little upstream of the stepping stones where there were two clapper bridges.

Little Bridges, Austwick Beck.

Little Bridges, Austwick Beck.

They’re named ‘Little Bridges’ on the OS map. Makes me think of Baloo addressing Mowgli as ‘Little Britches’ in the Disney version of the Jungle Book. (I had an LP of the soundtrack which I listened to obsessively as a kid. Maybe that’s why I’m so happy listening to a playlist of Chet Baker, Sidney Bechet, John Coltrane, Nina Simone, Herbie Hancock and the like as I write?)

After that more auspicious start, the quality of this path quickly nose-dived where it passed between two walls and very quickly became extremely overgrown. This part is the best bit…

An inviting path?

Under the trees it was plagued by low branches and nettles. I’d put my overtrousers on before I plunged into the vegetation, so at least didn’t get stung.
I next needed a machete where the path met the A65 road and the stile over the wall was protected, on both sides, by dense thickets of brambles. Which at least brought me into the open. Maybe I was just disheartened by the rain – did I mention that it was, inevitably, raining? – or the heavy going so far, but even walking through this meadow, in knee high wet grass seemed like unduly hard work.

Another inviting path?

I decided to use minor lanes where possible, and at Lawkland turned right along Graystonber Lane.

Cottages at Lawkland.

With an old post box.

Faceache’s algorithm has clearly pigeonholed me as a middle-aged sad-act and keeps suggesting groups like The Dull Men’s Club, The Country Lane Appreciation Society, Bathtubs in Fields, and most recently The Peeling Paint Appreciation Society. To be fair, I think it has me pretty well sussed. But, for some reason, I’ve stopped seeing endless photographs of post boxes, which is a shame, because I do find them appealing – especially the Victorian ones.
In fact I like them almost as much as I like a listed building. This one, Lawkland Hall, is a bit special, it’s grade I and those aren’t ten-a-penny. It was restored in 1912, but the oldest part dates back to the Sixteenth Century.

Lawkland Hall.

Lawkland Hall.

I might not have known that Lawkland Hall was worth a look, but the miserable weather had at least given me a chance to read a little more of John Self’s marvellous ‘Land of The Lune’ and I’d seen a picture there.

At Lawkland Green I turned left on a path which would take me across several fields back to the A65. They were large fields. One field was home to a small herd of what I assumed were bullocks. They ignored me. Then, when I was half way across, one of them started to walk my way. Then a couple of others decided to investigate. Pretty soon, they were all running full-pelt across the field.

Raging bullocks?

Do they look angry to you? They don’t really do they. But they seemed very aggressive at the time. What’s more, that stream was wider and deeper then it looks in the photo and I got wet feet plodging through it.

The following field held nothing more threatening than a number of tall, broad mushrooms, which I assumed were Parasol Mushrooms, but I may have been wrong of course (see the comments section in my previous post).

The next section was road walking, but mostly along a very quiet lane. The weather showed some signs of improving: the cloud was lifting a little and the rain was slackening off. As I descended through fields towards the tiny hamlet of Feizor, it even began to look as if Smearsett Scar might emerge from the cloud.

Smearsett Scar. Almost.

Smearsett Scar, very nearly clear.

I suppose I might have reinstated my plan to climb the scar, but decided instead to head for the tearoom, which old friend J has been raving about (in an approving way) for ages.

Elaine’s Tea Rooms, Feizor.

Tea. Earl Grey.

Toasted Tea Cake.

She was quite right. It was lovely. A pot of extra hot water with my Earl Grey without even asking for it – TBH’s test of a tea room’s standard of service. The fact that it was busy late on a wet, mid-week afternoon is probably a good sign too.

Smeatsett Scar – cloud free!

Hale Lane.

Hale Lane.

After the tea shop, there were longer gaps between the showers. The little ditch by the lane was gurgling away however, brimful of run-off.

Burn Moor – and sunshine?

Austwick and Robin Proctor’s Scar.

Studrigg Scar and Moughton Scars.

Austwick Beck.

Austwick Bridge.

‘Probably C18’ according to Historic England.

Austwick Cross and The Church of the Epiphany.

Austwick church is more recent, finished in 1839 according to the same source, originally as a lecture hall and only latterly turned into a church. The pillar is of a similar age, but the base is ‘probably C15’.

In the grounds of the church…

Book shed.

Heaven!

I managed to restrain myself and only came away with a couple of books.

So: have you reached a verdict? Is the moral – when the weather is truly awful, best stay at home? Or the opposite? There was definitely an element of what our friend JB calls ‘Type 2 fun’. It was a bit grim at the time, and I got very wet, but there were some good bits too, especially in retrospect.
I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.

Parasol Season.

Elmslack Lane – Castlebarrow – Eaves Wood – Hawes Water – Moss Lane – Trowbarrow Quarry – The Trough – Storrs Lane – Myer’s Allotment – The Row – Hagg Wood.

Flowering Nutmeg.

The light and shadow in this picture suggest sunshine, but this was taken late afternoon, after another day of mixed weather.

The Dale from by the Pepper Pot on Castlebarrow.

I was doing what I generally doing in those circumstances: making the most of a break in the weather, without straying too far from home in case it turned wet again.

Fungi in Eaves Wood.

Fungi in Eaves Wood, possibly Amanita rubescens.

Ruin in Eaves Wood.

Hawes Water.

The Old Summerhouse by Hawes Water.

I took lots of pictures of insects during the walk. Once again, I was only using my phone camera, I don’t remember why. In the poor light, the depth of field was low and I have a lot of sharp photos of flowers with blurred bees resting on them. Until I reached this Burdock plant near Hawes Water anyway.

Burdock.

I love Burdock for its great vigour and it’s punky purple flowers, but this one was thronged with pollinators, making it even more to my liking.

Busy Burdock.

It was the ginger bee here which I first tried to photograph, but, for some reason, none of the shots were sharp again.

Burdock fly and one or other species of White-tailed Bumblebee.

Marmalade Hoverfly and White-tailed Bumblebee.

Marmalade Hoverfly.

White-tailed Bumblebee.

Burdock Fly – Terellia tussilaginis.

The nymphs of these tiny, colourful flies live in galls on Burdock plants.

Path by Hawes Water.

Hemp Agrimony.

Deadly Nightshade bush.

Zooming in on this photo reveals that the belladonnas flowers have now been superseded by the highly poisonous shiny black berries.

Hawes Water.

Gloucester Old Spot pigs at Hawes Villa.

Meadow Vetchling.

14 Spot Ladybird – Propylea quattuordecimpunctata.

Broad-leaved Helleborines.

At this time of year I always try to fit in a visit to this spot on the track which leads into Trowbarrow Quarry where there are always a few flowering Broad-leaved Helleborines.

Broad-leaved Helleborines.

Broad-leaved Helleborines.

Broad-leaved Helleborines.

I kind of orchid, the flowers have muted colours, but I’m always pleased to see them.

Tree Bumblebee.

Large Rose Sawfly.

Trowbarrow Quarry.

Carabiner Gate.

The Trough.

Narrow-leaved Hogweed.

This Hogweed, growing on the verge almost opposite the Leighton Moss visitor centre, seemed a little odd to me. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but wondered whether it was Giant Hogweed. It’s actually all wrong for that, but I now thinks it’s from a sub-species, Narrow-leaved Hogweed.

Dark-winged Fungus Gnats.

I was intrigued to read that the outer flowers in a spray of Hogweed blooms are zygomorphic, but have discovered that it just means, rather prosaically, that they have only one axis of bilateral symmetry. I think that might make me almost zygomorphic myself.

Narrow-leaved Hogweed.

Narrow-leaved Hogweed. The narrow leaves.

Tufted Vetch.

Robin’s Pincushion Gall.

Bistort.

Common Carder Bee.

Agrimony.

Leighton Moss from Myer’s Allotment.

Red-tailed Bumblebee.

Parasol Mushrooms.

These mushrooms, growing in a group of perhaps a dozen in one of the clearings at Myer’s Allotment, qualify as the best find of the day.

Parasol Mushroom cap.

They were huge. At least a foot tall and almost as wide.

Parasol Mushrooms – notice the snakeskin stem.

Apparently they’re really good to eat, but I didn’t know that at the time, and anyway I’m a bit suspicious of large mushrooms – I’ve been unpleasantly surprised before.

Myer’s Allotment.

Roe Deer visitor.

Lambert’s Meadow, Mostly Bees

Lambert’s Meadow.

Still, if the weather’s showery, how handy to have Lambert’s Meadow on the doorstep for between the squalls.

Lambert’s Meadow, Mint flowering.

Lambert’s Meadow, fringed with Great Willowherb.

Angelica.

Bird’s-foot Trefoil.

A ripe blackberry (but most weren’t).

Guelder Rose berries.

Megachile species – Leafcutter Bee (I think)

Common Carder Bee and photobombing Marmalade hoverfly.

Western Honey Bee? Quite different from the very yellow Italian bee in the last post.

Bombus lapidarius – Red-tailed Bumblebee.

Bombus lapidarius – Red-tailed Bumblebee. A faded male. Possibly.

Soldier Beetle.

Soldier Beetles.

Green Bottle.

Physocephala rufipes and one of the White-tailed Bumblebee Species on a Mint flower.

This odd looking fly, with its narrow wasp-waist and the bulbous end to its abdomen, was a new species to me.

Episyrphus balteatus – the Marmalade Hoverfly.

Apparently this small hoverfly might be the most widespread and most numerous species of hoverfly in the UK.

White-lipped Snail.

Another White-lipped Snail?

I’d managed to go out without my camera, or possibly with my camera but either no charge or no memory card. Either way, these photos were all taken with my phone, hence the lack of damselflies, dragonflies and butterflies, none of which would tolerate me getting close enough with my phone to get a decent photo.

The Next Week

Brown-lipped Snail.

I thought I could real-off a quick portmanteau post to dismiss the final week of July. The weather was very frustrating – I repeatedly studied the forecasts and made plans for promising looking days ahead, only for the forecasts to change and for more unpredictable, showery weather to arrive. I read a lot, and pottered around in the garden, between showers, or escaped for short local walks.

Garden Snail.

But even pottering in the garden throws up interesting, to me at least, subjects for photos, and that applies twice over to a lazy wander to Lambert’s Meadow. So I have a lot of pictures, and have decided, after all, not to try to cram them all into a single post.

Garden Snail.

Late light on The Lots.

Sunset from The Cove.

Common Carder Bee.

Most of these photos are from our garden. Marjoram self-seeds all over the flower beds and is brilliant at attracting pollinators.

Wolf Spider. Possibly Pardosa amentata.

Marjoram leaves are not very big, so this spider was pretty tiny, but I like its mottled patterns.

One of the many forms of Harlequin Ladybird.

Unidentified bug.

Honey Bee – Italian?

Over the summer, I took a lot of photos in the garden, but I often missed the most interesting things that appeared. One afternoon there was a tiny, colourful Mint Moth. Another day I saw a large hoverfly, which I’m pretty sure was my first Volucella zonaria, the Hornet Hoverfly, which has the size and colouring of a hornet.

Cultivated Angelica with wasps.

This last photo is not from our garden, but from a colleague’s, who threw a party. I’m a bit rubbish at parties, small talk is just not one of my talents, so I took photos of wasps instead! I thought that this tall, striking plant looked very like Angelica, aside from the fact that the flowers were purple, and I’ve since discovered that Angelica Gigas, or Korean Angelica, has purple flowers, so I suspect that’s what this was. The wasps were obviously loving it, and I’m very tempted to get some for our garden next summer.

Creatures of Habit on Carn Fadryn

The view inland from Carn Fadryn.

No trip to Towyn is complete without an ascent of Birthday Hill. This time we were a little early for Little S’s big day, but, as ever, it was a great sociable walk.

The view along the Llyn Peninsula from Carn Fadryn.

As usual, we sat on the top for an age, enjoying the amazing all-round views.

A good spot to wait for the slow coaches (like me).

On our way down, we passed a young family with small kids who seemed to be enjoying their walk. I wondered whether they would be back again when the kids were towering over their parents like the DBs do.

Porth Towyn pano.

With the sun actually shining, and a bit of accompanying warmth, a trip to the beach was the obvious follow up. We squeezed in the usual favourites: swimming, body-boarding, tennis, chucking stuff at other stuff and beach cricket; although, sadly, the standard of fielding has noticeably declined over the years.
I think it might have been the next morning when I finally got around to a snorkel, but the water was very cloudy.

TBF body-boarding.

The Prof taking it all in.

The DBs playing beach tennis.

A highly competitive match of chucking things at other things.

The Eternal Weather Optimist has been living in symbiosis with his famous green fleece since at least the mid-80s, rather like the ecosystem of algae, fungi, moths, and insects which survive in the fur of sloths. Although, admittedly, he moves a good deal faster than your average sloth. Unlike me.

This is obviously Boules for the old and infirm, with the ‘cochonnet‘ within falling distance.

This might seem a bit rich coming from me, ridiculing my old friends just because they would have as good a chance of reaching the jack by holding their boule above their head and falling flat on their face in the sand, but these folk are all older than me*, I bring the youthful zest to the party! I can chuck a boule more than a couple of yards at least. Even if I have undermined my argument somewhat by using imperial units.
*Well, a bit older anyway. Aside from the EWO, but I’m not as old as his fleece, so that’s okay.

A large hovering raptor. A Buzzard?

Later, back at the tents, there was a good deal of excitement about a bird of prey which was hovering above the cliffs. It was clearly much too big to be a Kestrel, which is the obvious first thought in this situation. My expertise was called upon and then immediately called into question when I suggested that it was probably a Buzzard. But they do hover, honest. Not as proficiently as Kestrels, but they can do it.

Sunset from Porth Towyn.

Later still, we had a late wander down to the beach, another staple of our trips. I think this was the evening when we tried to throw some frisbees around in a very strong wind, without much accuracy, or catching.

A late trip to the beach.

Little S and I decided to go rock-pooling in near darkness. Our rock-pooling was never very successful on this trip, but we did find a good-sized Shore Crab. It was very dark and the photo was taken with flash.

A large Shore Crab.

The next day, we were heading home, but still managed to fit in some swimming and a little more fruitless rockpooling before we needed to pack up.

Rockpools and seaweed.

Rockpool colour.

Seaweed.

Little S.

B heading back to help pack up our tent.

A short trip, with some very mixed weather, but our trips to the Llyn Peninsula are always good value. Roll on next summer!

Porth Ysgaden, Porth Gwylan, Porth Ychain.

Meadow Pipit and Mount Fuji Carn Fadryn.

The first time we made what was to become our annual pilgrimage to the Llyn Peninsula to get our summer holiday kick-started, in 2006, the kids were toddlers. In fact, Little S wasn’t born until the following year. One of the many happy consequence of having our young brood with us, were early morning walks for me with one or other of the the boys in a baby carrier. The walks were always a great opportunity to see a bit of nature, particularly seals. I would invariably walk along the coastal path for a while and then turn back.
Thus summer, I was feeling nostalgic about those early morning outings, and although I’m not so good at early starts these days, on the Monday morning I managed to walk along the coast a little and be back for a late breakfast.
Since the weather had turned grotty when I’d turned right along the coast the previous day, I wanted to try that way again. And because the path had been initially very churned up, I decided to return along the minor lane and then take the track back to Porth Ysgaden where I’d turned back the day before.

As soon as was on the lane I met a large, black beetle and a hairy caterpillar.

Unidentified Beetle.

A hairy caterpillar. Maybe an Oak Eggar Moth caterpillar?

There were lots of Gatekeepers enjoying the sunshine in the hedgerows.

Gate-keeper Butterfly.

And where the hedge was gorse bushes, there were myriad small webs, most with a tiny spider in its centre.

Araneus diadematus – Garden Spider.

Because the spiders were so small, it was difficult to get either my ‘birding’ camera or my phone to focus on them. I thought perhaps I’d stumbled on some new-to-me small species of spider, but now that I’ve cropped some photos and had a proper look at them, I think they’re bog-standard, but none-the-less handsome Garden Spiders, Araneus diadematus.

A wide verge – Purple Loosestrife and Meadow Sweet.

Porth Ysgaden.

From Porth Ysgaden, the strip of land along the coast, which the path runs through, belongs to The National Trust. I remembered it as being a really pleasant stretch to walk, and I wasn’t wrong.

West along the coast.

Silverweed.

Silverweed runners.

Silverweed is a common plant which is easy to find close to home, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it looking as vigorous as it did along this stretch of grassland. The surface was matted with its scarlet runners. Apparently, Silverweed was once prized for its starchy tuber, which is good to eat, but I’ve read that it’s not wise to introduce it in your garden because it will take over, which I can well believe.

Another coastal view.

I followed the clifftop as closely as possible and kept getting tantalising views of a pair of corvids which I thought must be Choughs. Birds from the crow family often seem to take particular joy in their acrobatic displays in flight, and this pair of birds were swooping across the cliff faces and zawns with what looked like glee.

Porth Gwylan

I was really taken with Porth Gwylan. If I’ve been this far along the coast before, then I don’t remember it. A long arm of rock forms a natural harbour. There were small whitecaps in the sea, but the water in the Porth was completely calm.
I thought this might be an interesting place to come snorkelling at some point.

A Chough.

The Choughs (or some Choughs at least) reappeared and stationed themselves at the end of the ‘harbour arm’, preening each other and generally looking right at home.

Choughs.

A view from the furthest reach of my walk, near Porth Ychain.

I would have loved to carry on: it seems crazy that, in all of our many visits over the years, I’ve never been a little down the coast to the long beach of Traeth Penllech or to the headland above it, Penrhyn Melyn, which I imagine is a wonderful viewpoint.

Having turned back, I decided to walk on the opposite side of the strip of coastal grassland, away from the sea, and by the low mounded hedge and the fence. This turned out to be a great idea, since, now that I wasn’t busy watching the sea, I discovered that this little patch of heath was thronging with birds.

Thrift which has gone over. Carn Fadryn behind.

Juvenile Stonechat.

A whole family of Stonechats were bobbing about in a thicket of brambles. I have some out-of-focus shots of an adult male, but only this juvenile posed for long enough for me to get some half decent photos.

Starlings?

The fields beyond the hedge were busy with some quite large flocks of brown birds, which would periodically take to the wing, but then, on some unheard signal, all settle together in the vegetation in the field and disappear.

Starlings?

I think that they were juvenile Starlings, but that’s a tentative guess. As you can see, this particular field was dotted with blue flowers…

Mystery blue flowers.

They look a little like Chicory flowers, but Chicory is a tall plant, and these definitely weren’t tall. From what I’ve read, it seems that a number of flowering plants are being used as green manure in fallow fields, so this may not even be a native British species anyway.

Meadow Pipit?

I’m still pretty rubbish at identifying LBJs, but I assume that this is a Meadow Pipit. There were quite a few of these about, but I’d only managed to get some very distant photos, before this one decided to pose for me on a fencepost, with a wriggly green grub in its beak.

Meadow Pipit?

Porth Gwylan, the hills in the background are Yr Eifl and its neighbours.

Pipits?

Back at Porth Ysgaden, I watched several more LBJs hopping about on the rocks. Because they were on the rocks, I naively assumed that they were Rock Pipits, but it now seems likeliest that they were more Meadow Pipits.
A lovely interlude. Next time, which will be next summer, all things being equal, I need to make it a little further down the coast. Maybe I should investigate public transport options so that I don’t have to walk out and back.
Ultimately, of course, I would like to walk the entire coast path around the peninsula, that would be a treat.

Home Away from Home.

Porth Towyn

As always, our summer holiday began with a trip to meet old friends at the Towyn Farm campsite near Tudweiliog on the Llyn Peninsula. The forecast for the weekend was diabolical and I tried very hard to persuade TBH that we should make a last minute booking of a cottage in nearby Morfa Nefyn, but she stood firm – we should camp. This is a complete reversal of our normal attitudes – usually I’m the more enthusiastic camper.
Once again we had problems fitting our detachable towbar (to be avoided at all costs) and without B’s patient repeated attempts, I’m not sure we would have ever got it into place. At least I didn’t injure myself with it this year. Eighteen months on from that debacle, the sensation in my finger has returned, the persistent pain has mostly gone, and my nail looks almost right.
We were very late leaving, as ever, but that at least meant that when we arrived, although it was dark, the torrential rain had slackened to a drizzle. We’re a well practised team when it comes to putting the tent up. We even managed the awning in the dark, which seemed wise given that the Saturday was predicted to be very wet.

Common Restharrow.

In the event, the weather could have been worse. In the afternoon we even had some blue sky.

Porth Towyn and blue sky!

Beach games ensued. I think most of us had a swim at some point too. Not Uncle Fester though, you can see he remained well wrapped up…

Mölky in full swing.

On the Sunday, the weather was a bit mixed. I had a walk one way along the coast with a small subset of our party.

A ‘secret beach’ or Porth Cae Coch.

New signs…

Were everywhere. A primary school project?

‘Secret’ Porths.

Common Restharrow again.

Along the coast.

Spiny Spider-crab shell.

I wonder how this empty crab shell ended-up on the clifftop?

A view to Carn Fadryn.

Later I went the other way on my own.

Porth Towyn.

I’d been warned that the coastal path in that direction was horrendously muddy. A large herd of sheep were grazing on the clifftop and, between them and the wet July weather, the path was pretty churned up.

Gorse Shieldbug, final instar nymph. And Labyrinth Spider, Agelena labyrinthica.

But I’m glad I went that way, because, as ever, I was fascinated by the Agelena labyrinthica spiders lurking in their webs on the gorse, and whilst attempting to photograph one of them I spotted this colourful Gorse Shieldbug, a new species to me.
I shall be keeping my eye open for them in future, the adults come in two different colour forms, green in the spring and darker with a little red and purple in late summer.

Porth Ysglaig. (I think).

Porth Llydan.

Of course, when I reached the point on my walk when I was furthest from the campsite, the weather turned nasty.

A new waymarked route.

I shall have to try this route on out next visit. I walked the northern part of the circuit, but used the lane back to Towyn to cut it short and miss Tudweiliog itself.

Porth Ysgaden.

It’s a sign!

Small Blood-vein Moth.

The white-washed toilet block on the campsite is small for a campsite facility, but large for a moth-trap. It’s a reliably good place to see moths. I’m usually a bit circumspect about taking photos in there, for obvious reasons, but I guess I must have had the building to myself when I took this one.

We’d survived, even enjoyed, the wet weekend, and better was to come.

Edit.

WordPress has started to suggest tags to me as I publish a post. Generally, they seem to be wildly inappropriate. Here is what was suggested for this post…

Which I offer in the spirit of a round from “I’m Sorry I Haven’t a Clue”* (surely one of the funniest radio programmes ever?): can you see the connections between this disparate bunch of tags and my tale of a wet weekend in North Wales? I had to look three of them up, and I’m still not really any the wiser about two of those.

* Funniest radio programmes ever:

• Hancock’s Half Hour
• I’m Sorry I Haven’t A Clue
• Cabin Pressure
• Old Harry’s Game
• Round The Horne

Oh dear, a top five with no room for Brass Eye, The Day Today, Clare in the Community, The News Quiz, Just a Minute, The Now Show or Dead Ringers. I can see I shouldn’t have started this. Feel free to play along. Or not.

Here Comes The Summer

On of the fields on Heald Brow.

In some ways, summer was over, in as much as the beautiful weather of June was long behind us. On the other hand, the summer term was coming to an end and our long summer holiday beckoned.

Eaves Wood from one of the fields between The Row and Bottoms Lane.

TBH and I walked a variation on our Jenny Brown’s point circuit, but after Fleagarth Wood turned uphill to Heald Brow and then took in Lambert’s Meadow on our way back.

TBH – in the same field.

Sonobe modular origami stellated icosahedron.

Modular Origami is an interest of mine which hasn’t, I don’t think, made it onto the blog in the last 15 years of its existence. In the final week of term I showed some students how to fold and construct this model, which is made from 30 small squares of paper all folded in the same way and then slotted together. I was touched when they finished the model in their own time and then left it for me as a gift.

Roe deer eating Bindweed.

We continued, through the summer, to get regular visits from Roe Deer. Some of our neighbours don’t like the deer eating their treasured garden plants – but this photo surely proves their worth as garden assistants – this one is chewing on Bindweed. If you’ve ever had Bindweed in your garden, you’ll know how difficult it is to eradicate or to even keep on top of.