At The Water’s Edge

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When I quoted Heraclitus a couple of posts back, I already knew that I’d soon be posting again about pretty much the same walk – around the coast to Arnside and over the Knott on the way home. Here’s an alternative translation of that quote:

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.”

My ancient Greek is not up to much, which is to say non-existent, so I don’t know whether this is more or less accurate, but I suspect the shorter, more pithy version is the correct one. However, this serves my purpose and works even better if I’m allowed some licence with the wording…

No man ever walks beside the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.

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This walk, despite all the similarities with my trip with Little S, was also very different. We had more company, the weather was better and the tide was right in, which makes everything look different and requires some adjustment of the route.

We’ve done this walk many times, many, many times*, we’ve even done it on Easter Sunday before, although Little S won’t remember that since he was too little then to join us.

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It’s not often though that I’ve seen the tide this far in, the only occasion I can remember before was a fairly wild day several years ago.

 

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You can see from the shingle beach at White Creek that this is not a particularly high tide…

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We could see flotsam left much higher up the beach by previous tides, but it’s not often that we time it right to see it this way.

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Grange from White Creek.

The consensus opinion was that we should continue around the coast, although at times I wondered whether we would make it all the way round without getting our feet wet.

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At New Barns the road was clear; we’ve been there in the past when the sea was over the road.

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Closer to Arnside, we had to divert slightly into the small municipal garden because the water had completely covered the riverside path.

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And then we had to clamber along some rocks to reach the path by the Coastguard Station….

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We had a table for eleven booked at Gado Gado,  Little S and I having decided that it definitely passed muster after our scouting mission a few days before, and despite the high tide we timed our arrival perfectly. (I had booked the table pretty late, knowing full well what we are like.)

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Once again the food was excellent, or at least my scallops and tuna were. I tried A’s vegetable curry and that was also delicious, and it seemed that everybody else enjoyed their’s too.

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Once again, we took a circuitous route up Arnside Knott. The views were superb as usual, but it had turned quite gloomy so I didn’t take any photos. The Coniston Fells, and Fairfield and Helvellyn all had a good covering of snow and we could even see the snows on Skiddaw, over Dunmail Raise.

From the trig pilar, we decided to take the path around the south side of the summit, which skirts the top of the steep scree slopes and gives a bird’s-eye view of Arnside Tower Farm, Middlebarrow Wood and Holgates Caravan Park.

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Silverdale Moss and Ingleborough in the distance from the Knott.

*I love radio comedy and Little S and I have been listening to Round the Horne. He seems to have particularly latched on the Betty Marsden’s catch phrases ‘many times, many, many times’ and ‘allo cheeky face’. I shall be trying him on Hancock’s Half Hour next.

 

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At The Water’s Edge

With Heraclitus to Arnside

Post Office – The Lots – The Cove – Far Arnside – Park Point – White Creek – Blackstone Point – New Barns – Arnside – Gado Gado – Dobshall Wood – Arnside Knott – Arnside Tower – Eaves Wood

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“δὶς ἐς τὸν αὐτὸν ποταμὸν οὐκ ἂν ἐμβαίης.”

This is an oft-quoted statement from the ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus which has been variously translated, but the consensus suggests something like:

“No man ever steps in the same river twice”

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It seems apposite here because, hard on the heels of my recent walk around the coast to Arnside, here I was repeating yet again one of my favourite walks in the area.

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Showers track across the Kent Estuary.

This was a very different walk however. Firstly, we began by walking in the wrong direction, posting a birthday card in the village and then looping back across the Lots. Secondly, I had company: Little S and I were off school together for a week. This wasn’t our only walk, we’d been out foraging for Ramson leaves to make soup, something Little S has always been keen to do. (There’s a recipe here in a previous post). And we’d also taken a small ball for a wander around The Lots – Little S is very keen to improve his catching and throwing at the moment – he takes his rugby coaches’ advice very seriously.

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Whitbarrow Scar catching some sunshine amongst the cloud.

The tide too was much further in and we had more difficulty crossing some of the little wet channels around the edges of the river than I had previously.

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Kent Viaduct.

And the weather was a complete contrast: although we had sunshine, we could see dark clouds and obvious showers tracking across the Kent ahead of us.

Another difference was that we had a destination for our walk – Gado Gado, a restaurant on the prom at Arnside. Little S enjoys spicy food, but since his brother doesn’t, he saw our week off together as an opportunity to indulge his tastes. We’d already had a vegetable curry, bread with jalapeño chillies in it with our Ramson soup, and I’d made a spicy roast vegetable dish and a rice and lentil pilaff.

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At Gado Gado we had Chicken Satay and Beef Rendang which were both delicious.

We were very fortunate with the showers, we managed to avoid them altogether, but just as we settled into our seats in the restaurant it began to rain outside.

Like Heraclitus, Little S is something of a philosopher and tends to fire out questions which are almost always off-the-wall, usually both amusing and thought-provoking and consistently undermine any ideas I might have about my status as parental-font-of-all-knowledge.

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I was feeling a little fitter than I have been and Little S was keen to return via the Knott. We took a circuitous route however, to take the sting out of the ascent.

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Arnside Knott view.

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S took advantage of my slow plod by climbing every tree that he could on route, including this one which seemed a bit flimsy and which shed twigs and small branches as he climbed it.

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The views from the Knott are always superb and more than repay the modicum of effort required to get to the top.

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Arnside Knott panorama. Click on the image, or any others, for larger versions on flickr.

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This tree, which is near to the trig pillar…

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…must have fallen over long ago, but has doggedly continued to grow, with all of its limbs  turning skyward and now it’s another great addition to Nature’s Playground.

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Silverdale Moss from Arnside Knott.

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Arnside Tower.

With Heraclitus to Arnside

Exploding Kittens

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The Cove on Boxing Day.

We spent Christmas at home here in Silverdale. My mum and dad and my brother and his family came to stay for the week. We packed a fair bit in: walks, turkey, stuffing, lots of games, trampolining (well, not all of us), a trip to the flicks, turkey pie, a get together with two of our cousins and their families, a take-away curry (no turkey in sight), more games, more walks, far too much chocolate etc.

The very serious expressions here…

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…don’t really convey how funny the card game Exploding Kittens is to play. We also played: Fives-and-Threes, One-armed Pete, Mexican Train (all dominoes), Camel Super Cup, Code Names (picture version), Tension, Caboodle, Pictionary, and probably several others which I have temporarily forgotten.

My own current favourite of the new games we bought each other is Kingdomino which we’ve played quite a bit since Christmas and which, especially with just two players, really makes you think, whilst being easy to understand and quick to play.

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At the Pepper Pot on Christmas Day.

On Boxing Day we had a fairly long walk, about 5 miles, to the cove, across the Lots, through Bottom’s Wood to Woodwell, along the clifftop path to the Green, through Burtonwell Wood to the rift cave, on to The Row and home through Eaves Wood.

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The weather started bright, but rain clouds were building and, whilst we didn’t get wet, it did cloud over. Still, a lovely stroll and there was more to come…

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Jack O’Lanterns

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Halloween, and the chance to carve pumpkins, brings out both the artistic and the competitive spirit in the family. Here are the results.

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B and I both elected to carve ours all the way around, making several faces or images, and so wiled away most of an afternoon working on them.

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Have to say, I enjoyed myself immensely.

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I stopped short, though, of getting dressed up to join them for trick-or-treating.

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It’s American I know, and perhaps I should bemoan the demise of apple-bobbing and such-like (although we did used to play messy games of that sort with our kids when they were younger), but the kids put a lot of effort into their outfits and make-up and enjoy seeing their friends out and about, and don’t seem to do any harm whilst they’re out.

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Later in the week, my Mum brought us another pumpkin (from Lincolnshire she would want you to know) and I scooped out the flesh, fried it with some other veg, mixed in some rice, put it all back into the pumpkin and finally baked the whole thing, and it was surprisingly palatable – I’ve always assumed we made lanterns with them because they aren’t much cop to eat.

 

Jack O’Lanterns

Yummy Apple Pie

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Our friends J, E and C came to visit for a weekend. It rained. That can happen of course, especially here in the North Wet of England. We decided to enjoy ourselves anyway. On the Saturday we walked over to the pie shop in Arnside for a late lunch. I’m not sure that anybody actually sampled the yummy apple pie, but I think everybody enjoyed what they did have. The apparent small hedgehog in the front of the photo above is, in fact, a large Scotch Egg. I had one of those for my lunch, with some salad. It was both the biggest and the tastiest Scotch Egg I’ve ever had.

TBH had managed to double book herself that day and was also supposed to be out for her monthly walk with another friend, Dr R. That was a problem easily solved though: we killed two birds with one stone and Dr R joined us for our pie shop outing.

The weather was, as I say, hardly optimal…

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And the views from the Knott were less extensive than usual….

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There was a deal of mud to contend with…

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But everyone seemed to be happy…

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B meanwhile, couldn’t wait for his pie and decided to investigate the flavour of Sloes, despite my warnings…

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Trepidation.

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Consternation.

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Tribulation. “It’s not Fry’s”.

If you’ve never tried a Sloe, well, to say that they are tart is something of an understatement. They’re also packed with tannic acid and do something strange to your tongue and the roof of your mouth – imagine taking the most over-brewed tea you’ve ever tasted, and then boiling off some of the liquid to make a more concentrated liquor, that just might have a similar effect.

If you haven’t tried Fry’s Chocolate Cream, or the ‘Five Boys’ bar, well you’re probably a bit late. Fry’s was bought by Cadbury’s, which got swallowed in turn, and now they’re produced in Poland apparently, and I imagine they aren’t quite what they once were. It was the first mass produced chocolate bar, according to Wikipedia at least.

This must have been a very successful advertising campaign. The image has certainly always stuck with me. The Harris family, who lived across the road from us when I was a boy, had this on the wall in their hall. I wonder if it was a print, or if, as I suspect, an original enamel advert. Dave Harris, the pater-familias, loved antiques. He collected earthenware jars and Codd bottles, which I think he unearthed himself, digging in likely spots with another neighbour, Charlie Tear.

TBH, incidentally, loves Fry’s Turkish delight, and usually gets some at Christmas, but since it doesn’t fit in with her new vegan regime, will have to make do with something else this year. Which gives me a great idea for a present – it’s a good job she rarely reads my witterings!

Anyway, I digress. I can’t recall what we did on the Sunday, but I didn’t take any photos, so I imagine that the weather was even less conducive to walking and that we mainly relaxed in our kitchen. It was a very relaxing weekend all round. It’s always good to see J and her daughters.

Yummy Apple Pie

Gurnal Dubs

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Gurnal Dubs.

Something close to a Proper Walk to report on tonight, so I shall attempt a Proper Post to do it justice. This was still, however, another case of making-the-most-of-a-window-of-opportunity provided by Taxi Dad duties; it’s just that this was a slightly longer window than usual, and in a location with lots of potential for a good walk. It was a Sunday in early October, so ordinarily I would have been ferrying one or both of the boys to a rugby practice or match, but B had elected to take part in a charity mountain bike ride with his Scout group instead. Here he is…

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…in Staveley Mill Yard, before the ride. And here again…

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…afterwards. He’s disappointed with this second photo, because, he tells me, it doesn’t show the full extent of the cuts and bruises he picked up. Nor does it convey just how wet and muddy he and his bike had become.

They were raising money for Papyrus, a charity which works to prevent young suicide. Since then, B has also participated in a night hike over our local 3 peaks: Arnside Knott, The Pepper Pot and Warton Crag. There’s a collective JustGiving page here, should you feel inspired to sponsor B.

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Reston Scar and part of Staveley from Spy Crag.

I had a few hours, then, whilst I waited for his return, and set off on a beeline for Potter Fell and its tarns.

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Kendal.

The initial blue skies and and strong sunshine slowly disappeared behind a layer of cloud, but, fortuitously, the cloud cleared again just after I’d arrived at Gurnal Dubs, where I intended to break for lunch and a brew.

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The very tidy boat house on Gurnal Dubs.

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The tarns here were dammed and enlarged to supply water to the paper-mill at Burneside. The mill belongs to James Cropper PLC, set-up in 1845 by a man of that name and still managed by the Cropper family. I wondered whether J.A.C. might be the James  Cropper who managed the company relatively recently, a descendent presumably of the original James. Whoever owns it, I imagine it’s a lovely spot for boating; it was certainly a very pleasant place for lunch.

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I had leftovers from the evening before: humus, guacamole, roasted carrot dip (very peanutty, nobody but me liked it), crudities, and a little bit of fried chorizo. TBH and A had recently embarked on a Vegan October. A Vegan October, I might add, which has now lasted right through November too, and which shows no sign of coming to an end any time soon. The Dangerous Brothers are beginning to adjust, but, back then, were not very supportive of the idea, and the fried chorizo was one of my attempts to placate them.

Whilst I tucked into my lunch and made a brew, a family of three arrived, changed into wetsuits and swam in the tarn. I’ve visited Gurnal Dubs many times, but it’s never really occurred to me to consider it as a place to swim. Next time, however…

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Potter Tarn with the Coniston Fells behind..

Eventually, I headed back to Potter Tarn and then turned south past Ghyll Pool.

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It was noticeably Waxcap season, with small fungi half-hidden in the grass in many places along my walk.

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Crimson Waxcaps.

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Meadow Waxcaps.

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Apparently, these are quite nice to eat, although they are also under threat and so perhaps best left alone..

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The striking green of the grass growing in this old nest really stood out against the bracken covered hillsides and red haws on the small thorn tree.

 

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I liked the cheery request on this gate. That’s Cunswick Scar above Kendal behind.

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I’m guessing this is a Common Darter, an older female perhaps. It also liked the gate.

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Big barn at Hundhowe.

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I anticipated having a choice of which bank of the Kent to follow back into Staveley, but the bridge at Hagg Foot was washed away by the floods of Storm Desmond and hasn’t been repaired, so I stuck to the north bank and the woods of Beckmickle Ing.

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River Kent.

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A posh stile with handrails.

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A handsome tree (and house) on the outskirts of Staveley.

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Gurnal Dubs

A Brief Visit to Foulney Embankment

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Even a casual observer will have noticed that I am very much a creature of habit; when the tide is due to be low and we are available to do so, I like to drag the family around the bay to Roa Island to do a bit of rock-pooling. Every time we do that, as we cross the causeway to Roa I point out the car park which gives access to the path to Foulney, another tidal island, and express a desire to one day explore it.

Well, we’ve been around to Roa again this week and I almost got my wish. We hadn’t really left enough time, but we did walk as far as the first automatic lighthouse (I assume that’s what it is?) on Foulney Embankment.

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Scurvy Grass.

Foulney is essentially a shingle spit jutting out into Morecambe Bay. It’s houses important  breeding colonies of Terns. And also a number of plants well adapted to growing in this relatively unpromising environment.

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Sea Beet.

The wind was strong and very cold. This brief visit has whet my appetite, in more ways than one – apparently the glossy leaves of Sea Beet are something of a delicacy – and I really must make an effort to come back to see the island, and its tern colonies properly.

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Sea Kale.

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Sea Radish.

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Sea Campion.

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Foulney Embankment.

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Shingle.

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Lichen.

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Rusting hulk by the Roa causeway. Barrow industry behind.

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Roa Island.

For today, however, we had an appointment with the tide to keep.

A Brief Visit to Foulney Embankment