What’s this, some grass, some mud and a large foot in a scruffy none-too-clean shoe? Not my most artistic composition, I’ll admit, but I should also add that this is arguably the most exciting photo in this lengthy post, in as much as, it’s unique; I’m sure I haven’t ever shared another picture quite like this one, which can’t be said for any of the many images which follow. You have been warned!
The outsize trotter is mine and is there for scale. On this particular Saturday morning in late March, before I set-off for my walk – around the coast to Arnside and back over the Knott, for the umpteenth time, you’ll be completely unsurprised to hear – before I set-off, I traipsed down to the bottom of our back garden, probably to dump some vegetable peel and the like in the compost bin. In the lawn, I discovered five large bald patches, with some indistinct paw prints in them and some pretty impressive claw-marks. I know that there were five, because I took photos of them all – of course I did. In addition, there were a number of small holes, with swirls of grass and moss around them, as if they had been made by a twisting motion. I have a couple of books on animal tracks and signs, and between them and a bit of lazy internet research it seems that the most likely culprits are badgers. The small holes are made by them sticking their snouts into the ground in search of their favourite food: earthworms.
They came back and did it again a few nights later, but, sadly, I’ve never seen them and they don’t seem to have been back since. TBH is not quite as devastated as I am, by the fact that our lawn is not being ripped up on a regular basis. She’s already fed-up with the Roe Deer consuming many flowers, particularly, but not exclusively, tulips, and would like to erect a tall mesh fence with a roll of barbed wire along the top and probably towers manned by sharpshooters.
And so, leaving our garden; around the coast to Arnside and over the Knott, episode three hundred and fifty-seven (or thereabouts). Other local walks are available, obviously, but I seem to be in the grip of a monomania and, recently at least, only a walk to Arnside and back will do me.
At least spring was well and truly underway and so there were new things to see relative to other walks this way from earlier in the year.
I’m assuming that these large metal squares serve some purpose at the cricket ground and weren’t just hung in the tree as a piece of modern art, although I think they pass muster as an example of the latter. I really ought to ask Little S what he thinks!
Rather than walking across the fields towards Far Arnside, as I usually do, I took the road by the shore, hoping to walk on the sand from the little cove known locally as ‘the dip’. However, when I reached the dip, the sand was wet and and not at all firm and so not a very enticing prospect, and I stuck with the road.
I’m glad that I did, otherwise I might have missed a superb display of white Violets on the verge which stretched out over several yards. It was a gloomy morning, but the sun came out just at that moment, just as I was photographing the violets.
If the violets were a somewhat unexpected bonus, the daffodils in the woods at Far Arnside were totally anticipated and half the reason I had been drawn this way. And when the daffs are on display, I also know that I will find Green Hellebores flowering too…
Not only do I love the view that is revealed when I turn a slight corner here into the Kent Estuary, I also like to drop down on to the sands here, where there’s a handy ramp down across the small limestone cliffs…
I hadn’t been doing that of late, because the beach had always been very wet and muddy, and often slightly submerged. It was no different on this occasion, everything was under an inch of water or more, but for some reason I abandoned caution and decided to head down anyway.
Looking back towards Grange, it looked distinctly like it was raining over there. I thought: “Oh look, it’s raining in Grange”. I didn’t make the obvious inference: “Oh dear, it’s about to rain on me”.
Which of course, it did. Quite heavily, but fortunately not for too long.
It was quite odd to be walking in an inch or two of water whilst it was also pelting down.
Jumping forward to the here and now, June, where we are possibly going to get our first rain in weeks today: I went to a talk about plants this week which was organised by the local Horticultural Society. It was a fascinating presentation, and one of the things I took away from it was the fact that seaweeds are not regarded as plants, but rather as multicellular algae.
By the Coastguard Station on the outskirts of Arnside, some of the coastguard officers were busy training. With hindsight, how I knew that’s who they were, and that they weren’t just thrill-seekers having fun, I can’t remember. It did look like fun, although maybe a little bit on the chilly side.
The views from the Knott were rather limited, since many of the Lakeland Fells were smothered by clouds. Still worth the climb however.
I walk past these couple of old, gnarly tree-stumps almost every time I climb the Knott; what possessed me to take lots of photos of their whorled and fissured surfaces on this occasion rather than any other, I couldn’t say.
There are Hellebores to be found along the edge of Middlebarrow Wood – to the right they are scattered along the perimeter of Holgates Caravan Park, to the left there’s a single spot where a large clump and several smaller outlying clumps always appear. I chose to head to the left.
Every spring, I worry that this little clearing, just by the footpath, will have been swamped by the brambles which seem to dominate everywhere else. So far, my fears have been misfounded.
I’ve limited myself to a handful of the host of photos I took. The flowers are green and rather nondescript, and I’ve posted inumerable photos of them over the years, since I first stumbled upon them flowering, but I like them and I’m afraid I shan’t tire of them anytime soon.
Rather astonishingly, I was able to walk this path shortly after this photo was taken, without getting my feet wet. At the time, however, it was very flooded.
The thicket of Quince at the corner of Elmslack and Cove Road wasn’t really flowering in earnest yet, which given that one year it burst into flower at New Year, seemed quite late. The Quince bushes here, and the hedge opposite are one of the many places around the village, including our own garden, where you can reliably hear the incessant chatter of Sparrows pretty much all year round. Despite being called House Sparrows, they are definitely fond of a nice dense hedgerow. Ours nest under our eaves, but seem to spend much of the day hidden in our Beech hedge, chattering away.
Beating The Bounds 