A quick stop at home, long enough to pack-up a sarnie and fill an insulated mug with tea, and I was out again, heading for ‘the dip’ where a large tree-stump looked very inviting. It proved to be a comfortable spot from which to enjoy the views and soak up some sunshine and quaff my picnic lunch.
From there I set of along the sands/mud…
…regaining the shore just past Far Arnside.
The insulated mug had been so effective that I hadn’t managed to drink my tea with my sandwich, which gave me the perfect excuse to lay claim to this bench and have another lengthy sun-bathe.
I’d been sitting so long that I was now conscious of the fact that daylight was getting short, so rather than continuing around the coast towards Arnside, I took a steep, direct route up to Heathwaite.
I wandered up to the toposcope on the Knott, where someone had scattered some birdseed, which this very tame Robin was not going to be deflected from enjoying, despite the presence of several people and a couple of dogs.
The small groups of people were there, of course, to watch the sunset.
After my two walk Saturday – a two walk Sunday. Every year, January always seems to find me at a peak of motivation to get outside, I’m not entirely sure why.
One reason to get out on Sunday morning was that I’d seen, on a local Facebook page, photos of these very cheery aconites. I believe this field, near the ‘new’ Cricket pitch, was donated to the National Trust, but the owners first planted this strip with spring bulbs.
I’ve cheated slightly – the photos of the aconites came from the second walk, when the light was better. I’d already seen them on the second of my Saturday walks, but it was virtually dark at that time so I hadn’t taken any photos. Since I knew that TBH would appreciate them, we diverged slightly from our usual Sunday morning routine and set-off that way and then crossed the still snowy Lots…
Our Sunday morning walk, easily completed in an hour and a half, often took over two hours, and on this occasion, admittedly when we took a different, slightly longer, route, stretched to three hours. The reason for this variation being the many conversations we had with friends from the village we met whilst out and about. On this walk we bumped into our friend R, who was walking her dog, and she joined us for a socially-distanced chat. Then we met two groups of mutual friends and stopped both times for lengthy catch-ups. It was all very pleasant, if a little cold.
Because we were walking around Jenny Brown’s Point every Sunday, we were able to watch the rapid changes of the course of Quicksand Pool and the decay of the steep bank on the far side of the stream. We didn’t have to admire the view for long before we would witness large chunks tumble into the water.
Although we were now back on our usual route, we were walking widdershins, in the opposite direction to our habitual outing, and now decided to return via Heald Brow rather than up through Fleagarth Wood. I can’t remember why, probably because it’s more direct and and TBH was ready for some lunch, having been out for so long.
Conscious of how early it would get dark, I had other plans for my lunch, especially since it had suddenly brightened up. I thought a picnic lunch and another walk would be just the ticket; but I’ll save that for another post.
…which is more than can be said for the poor old blog!
So..this is the second-half of a snowy January Saturday. Near the end of my morning walk with TBH and A the sun finally made an appearance. After lunch, when I set out again, this time alone, there was still some blue sky in evidence, enough to patch a sailor’s trousers, as my mum puts it. On south facing slopes the snow soon melted, leaving an odd patchwork of green and white.
I was heading, initially, for Gait Barrows. This…
…is usually a tiny little spring which creates a small pool before disappearing back underground. On this occasion, as you can see, it was creating a stream which had flooded the gateway and was flowing across the adjacent field.
From Gait Barrows, I crossed Coldwell Meadow, heading for the ruin of Coldwell Limeworks in Back Wood, but was distracted by the sound of this cascade on Leighton Beck..
It’s not very big, but a bit of a rarity in limestone country where the water is often below the surface. No name is given on the OS map, but it’s close to the wonderfully named Creep-i’-th’-call Bridge, so maybe Creep-i’-th’-call Falls, which has a nice ring to it?
Near Arnside, by Black Dyke, I was fortunate to find a way around this flooded section of path.
I climbed Arnside Knott, soon entering the cloud to find that the snow had clung on under the cover of the cloud.
Whilst I generally enjoy the views from the Knott, it was quite exhilarating to be in the clouds and the monotone woods and apparently cut-off from the surroundings.
I know – it’s very odd that I’m posting pictures of our snowy garden when the country is currently experiencing a heatwave. What’s more, whilst I’ve been dashing off whole weeks with a single post, this post only covers the first of two Saturday walks at the end of the working week covered in the previous post.
We all get a bit excited when we have snow, it’s fairly infrequent here, but none more so than A. Here she is making an early morning snowman.
She joined TBH and I for a wander in Eaves Wood, which was surprisingly quiet.
Weirdly, although it remained very cloudy for most of the day, when we walked down to The Cove, we briefly had an outbreak of blue sky and sunshine.
The Lots were very busy with young and old. The humps and hollows there are perfect for some fairly safe sledging.
In the afternoon, I was out again, on my tod, but that will have to wait for my next post.
Photos from a week’s worth of walks from back in January. This first is from the Sunday, the day after the glorious Saturday which featured in my previous post. As you can see, the snow was gone and so too the blue skies and sunshine.
Monday must have been another drear day, because I had a reasonably substantial stroll after work, but only took photos from The Cove when it was almost dark.
On the Tuesday, I didn’t start teaching until after 11 and so took the opportunity to have a wander around Jenny Brown’s Point.
The weather was a complete contrast from the day before. I think it was even quite mild.
The tide was well in.
The drab, dingy weather returned on Wednesday and Thursday.
Around the village, people had put their Christmas lights up early and now left them up late.
Using MapMyWalk usually persuades me to take at least one photo on each walk, so that I can attach it the file for that walk. I quite like having a visual record even of the gloomy days.
Friday brought a hard frost in the morning.
And the longest walk of the week in the afternoon (only about six and a half miles).
I actually took lots of bird photos, particularly of a Little Egret which was close in shore, but the light was a bit weird…
Lovely, but weird.
Rounding Arnside Point into the Kent I was surprised to see that Hampsfell and the other hills across the river had a covering of snow.
And then, when I climbed to Heathwaite, I discovered that we had some too…
In fact, on the Knott, there was quite a bit…
It was getting late, and I had the top to myself. I was disproportionately chuffed to have found some snow to crunch, and had a good wander around the highest part of the Knott.
The weekend brought more cloud and damp.
On the Sunday, I walked our now habitual Sunday circuit around Jenny Brown’s Point not once but twice, in the morning with our neighbour BB…
And in the afternoon, with TBH.
Over the eight days represented here, I walked around thirty miles. Hardly earth-shattering, but not bad for a week when I was working and when daylight was at a premium. Working form home is a completely useless way to teach, but, from a completely selfish point of view, I was all in favour.
So, pop-picker’s, the post’s title is from a song which, I’m pretty sure, I’ve shared here before.
The weather’s variable – so are you But I can’t do a thing – about the weather
Here’s another couplet:
You dislike the climate but you like the place I hope you learn to live with what you choose
Anybody know it? It’s from an album called ‘Magic, Murder and The Weather’ if that helps?
With snow on the ground, a little bit of mist about and a fairly clear sky, worth getting out for an early work. Not that you need to be up that early here in early January to catch the sunrise.
I had a short walk, across the fields and then up into Eaves Wood.
Later I was out again and did a very similar walk with the next door neighbours who had a chore to do at the Silver Sapling campsite, probably breaking the rules in some way into the bargain.
Later still, I was out on my own again, wandering around Jenny Brown’s Point. The light was superb.
Right through the winter, there’s a really impressive Starling Murmuration and roost at Leighton Moss. Of late, I haven’t made the effort to get down there to see it often enough. On this occasion, as I walked along the top of the small cliffs of Jack Scout, part of the murmuration flew along the coast behind me and swooped past me following the cliffs. Usually the Starlings fly just above the treetops, but this time, where there weren’t any trees, they were low, hugging the cliffs, and so I was enveloped in the flock and in the astonishing whirr of thousands of wings. It was breathtaking. They came around three or four more times, but never quite so close.
The sunset was highly impressive. I watched for ages, taking lots of photos (on my phone, I didn’t have my camera with me). When the cold started to seep into my bones, I set off for home, but then, looking behind me, realised that the colours had intensified even further. I went back to the clifftop to take more photos, but then my phone’s battery died.
Unlike my camera, my phone seems, if anything, to rather underplay the colours of a sunset. This one really was spectacular. Especially after the battery had died. You’ll just have to take my word for it!
Another very memorable day, chiefly because of the Starlings.
So we went back to work. Then we didn’t go back to work. And so began the second lockdown. In the first lockdown, we were expected to set and monitor work for students; this time the emphasis was very much on live lessons online. I was surprised by the impact of sitting down all day (mostly on my back and shoulders), something I’m not used to at all.
At least, with no commute, I could get out for a stroll as soon as work was done. I have a lot of sunset photos from the Cove from that first week of January…
Also, because we stuck with our revised timetable, mostly consisting of two hour lessons, when I had frees they were long, sometimes even three hours when lunch was included. This meant that, at least once a week, I had an opportunity to sneak out for a longer walk, deferring my planning etc until the long dark evenings.
It was a cold week: this is Bank Well, frozen over on the Thursday…
And then, on the Friday, it snowed. A and B were unusually keen to join me for a walk late on a Friday afternoon. (S had already set off to the Lots with a sledge and his friend T).
By the time we reached Lambert’s Meadow (which, often very wet, was frozen over), it was coming down thick and fast and settling rapidly.
Is the last photo I took, principally, I think, because it was getting dark. We headed down to The Lots to meet S and T, and found lots of children and parents from the village sledging on the humps and hollows there in the dark. Everybody was in good spirits and by responding exactly as we usually would to these unusual circumstances, it felt like a moment of light relief and somehow a brief return to normality of some kind.
The next day was a good one too. I took a lot of photos, so I’ll leave that till my next post.
New Year’s Eve brought a light dusting of snow. A is always keen to get out and enjoy snow when it comes, which is not that often here. We first when up to the Pepper Pot to get a view over the village and then headed down towards The Cove.
I don’t think snow usually settles on the sands of the Bay.
I certainly can’t recall seeing anything like this before. I suppose it was because it had been so cold the day before.
We were both struck by the great white expanse and the contrast with the heavy grey clouds above.
The cloud started very low, and subsequently dropped even further so that, after our walk, the village was enveloped in fog.
Later, however, it seemed that the fog was breaking-up and I set out again for the Pepper Pot. I didn’t take any photos in the fog, but it was still quite dense at home. By the time I was in Eaves Wood though I could see blue sky overhead…
Unlike snow, fog is pretty common place in this area. I can think of many occasions when I’ve thought that the fog was thinning and hoped that the small elevation of Castle Barrow might be sufficient to lift me above the fog – but I’d never actually seen that, until today…
It was an amazing sight – something I’ve seen in the mountains before, but didn’t expect to see from just 70 metres above sea level. I knew the rest of the family would enjoy this, so I phoned them and then watched as the fog continued to disperse and other bits of high ground began to appear…
Inland, to the East, Ingleborough was almost clear of mist.
For some reason, long zoom shots of Ingleborough seem to work best when there is snow on the hill.
At first, I had Castle Barrow to myself, except for this Robin, which didn’t seem all that bothered about the cloud inversion.
All in all, a very memorable New Year’s Eve, even if we couldn’t party with our friends like we usually would.
The title says it all really. The restrictions were relaxed, some meeting up outdoors was allowed again – at last. So we arranged to meet in Barbon for a walk.
Despite having the least far to travel, we were, inevitably, the last to arrive. Or we would have been, had not the Yorkshire contingent parked in Barbondale, near Blindbeck Bridge I think. Somehow, for reasons I never quite fathomed, this was my fault. Not to worry, we were eventually assembled and ready to embark.
Incidentally, A had driven us to Barbon and would later drive back too. One unexpected consequence of the lockdowns has been that she hasn’t been able to have many driving lessons, so it’s fallen to me to teach her. It was a bit nerve-racking at first, but ultimately, a nice way to spend time together. Hopefully, she’ll soon manage to get a test booked.
Our route took us to the highest point in the Middleton Fells, Calf Top, and then back by the same route. (An alternative plan to drop down into Barbondale and return that way was abandoned because the sun was shining and leaving the ridge would have meant dropping into shadow, which seemed a shame.)
The grassy, lower slopes of Eskholme Pike were decorated with lots of colourful Waxcaps. And also clumps of yellow stalks. I couldn’t decide whether they were also Waxcaps, perhaps in a more or less advanced stage of their life-cycle?
The Middleton Fells give easy walking, without any particularly steep climbs, and expansive views.
It would have been a good day’s walking in any circumstances, but throw in the opportunity to see friends with whom we’d missed several regular annual get-togethers, and the fact that I’d not ventured off home territory much for some months and this became a really special day out. When we said our goodbyes, we agreed not to wait too long before we met for another walk.