Winter's icy grip

Grey clouds race across hills in swift departure,
As if to bolt from the cold Icelandic gales,
There are still a few green patches on the fell side,
Where Magpies forage around cattle's straw bales.

A skein of Geese head south for greener country,
For feeding in their barren homeland’s done’
To find a warmer place to spend the winter,
Where the temperature reaches a barmy minus one!

Like sculptured stalactites of glass and crystal,
Thick ice hangs from rocks around the falls,
Only freezing air will flow down here on this day,
Between the mountain brook’s grey stony walls.

A Buzzard finds some comfort on a carcass,
The victim of starvation on the slopes,
She’s joined by a Crow and several weakening Ravens,
These morsels at last bring some survival hopes.

Crossbills prize seeds from cones atop the Pine trees,
Their bills are perfect tools for this small chore,
Many seeds rain down to the damp leaf-litter,
To be gathered by Squirrels from the woodland floor.

The night draws in fast in this cold winter depression,
And seems to lasts an eternity when you’re cold,
For some birds there’ll be comfort as they huddle,
Though for many more their story has been told.

Before the dawn there’ll be an eerie magic,
What once was green will soon become pure white,
As day break reveals a different coloured carpet,
From the one that lay before the dreaded night.

Sunrise brings faint light to the misty morning,
Yet still won’t keep the deathly cold at bay,
Its lowering arc brings darkness ever nearer,
As creatures hope to survive another day.

A drink is hard to find when water freezes,
No food is to be seen above the snow,
Imminent death the only certain outcome,
Unless poor souls are fed and quenched once more.

Long bills cannot penetrate the hard crust on the surface,
To reach the worms below this frozen land,
So flocks of Curlew leave the barren high ground,
For the shore where they can probe the softer sand.


Wintering shore birds nervously keep a look out,
For danger always looms up in the sky,
As Peregrines watch for unsuspecting victims,
Then strike like missiles on any unobserving eye.

Hail and wind makes survival harsh and perilous,
And freezing fog drifts in on every tide,
But soon the days will lengthen and bring with them,
Colourful changes to our countryside.

RISEN:

Wolfie is back from his exclusion,
When his P.T.S.D yields once more,
He Returns from some dark isolation,
Like a wrecked Sea-Dog reaching the shore.

Back from the desolate ocean,
He shakes salt, sweat and dirt from his clothes,
With a mind full of poetic notions,
He’s determination to open new doors.

No more is the fog in this haven,
New light is now reached by his soul,
His spirit soars high like a Raven,
And embraces new tranquil control.

Images of Spring - part 2

These photos were taken in the beautiful Rusland valley and Haybridge nature reserve.

Rusland Hights

Female Pheasant sitting on her eggs

Lungwort

Pink Lungwort

Lilac Primulars

Scarlet Elf-cup

Oposite-leaved Golden Saxifage

Daffodils in Rusland woods

Me and my Daffodils

Common Lizard

Haybridge

Wood Sorrel

Larch flower and cone

Lesser Celandine

Lesser Celandine

Images of Spring - part 1

Spring is here and what a lovely time to get out and get snapping.

Daffodils

Primrose

Tortoiseshell Butterfly

Comma Butterfly

Coltsfoot

Stinging Nettle

Cuckoo Pint

Dogs Mercury

Alder catkins

Willow catkins

Lambs

Common Toad

Lilac Cowslip

Shining Cranesbill

Flowering Current

Forsythia

Priory wood, Ulverston.

Wood Anemone

Wood Anemone

Lesser Celandine

Common Dog Violet

Daffodils

Barren Strawberry

Daffodils

Ramsons

Ramsons in Priory Wood

Garlic Mustard

The beautiful mist and rain.

The great British weather, you either love it or hate it.
Sadly, unless we have sunshine, most people moan and complain about our weather.
Considering we have many more dull or wet days than sunny warm days, those people must be miserable the majority of their lives!

On a very wet and misty day on the last day of Winter, March 20th.
Myself and a friend set off into the misty hills on Subberthwaite Common which can be a very bleak place at any time. My companion on the day wanted to learn some map-reading skills, so these were the perfect conditions for that.

Our walk began from Blawith Church and from there we walked up the narrow road leading up to Tottlebank, Subberthwaite Common and eventually up onto Blawith Knot. We couldn’t see Blawith Knot, due to the heavy mist, even though the fell stood right above us.

This was a place that most people would consider the last place Earth to take a walk in such ‘dull’ conditions, not weather hardened country folk like us though. Anyhow I think weather like that brings out the child that lies deep within all of us. The child within us who likes to splash in the puddles, the child who likes to get soaking wet and step into the gloomy mystical fog.

We walked for about 4km before getting to the road that lies at the foot of Blawith Knot, we knew the fell was there; our map told us so!. I guess that not being able to see the fell gave us the urge to venture to the top, an urge to be up in the mist where nobody in the whole world could see us, giving us a total feeling of isolation.

Walking up was quite easy and it wasn’t long before we reached the summit, a summit that has two cairns. Looking around we could probably see no more than 10-20 meters and there was an eerie feeling in the cold wind and heavy mist. It was like a scene from ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles,’ or some other ‘Hammer Horror’ film!
Anyhow we had to get back down so by the use of our trusted map and compass we took a 96˚ reading and headed down into the cold mist.

We were hopefully heading towards a stream, a stream that would, if found, lead us eventually back to the main path at the foot of the fell. we had not been walking for very long when, through the cold grey gloom, we could hear the sound of a bubbling stream. This was the stream we wanted and we used it as a handrail to find our path, this is a good skill to use in bad visiblilty.

Reaching the path back to where we began made us reflect on what had been a lovely walk, a walk in conditions that most other folk would have shivered at and turned their central-heating up another notch. Walking in ‘bad’ weather can be a very good experience and I just wish more people would appreciate how lucky we are to have such a diverse weather system, how boring would it be if we had nothing but sunshine and warmth?

I think it was Alfred Wainwright who said:
“There is no such thing as bad weather, only the wrong clothes.”

Ask a Plodder!

Anybody who likes fell walking and the views, read on.
If you enjoy nature and the wildlife that the Lake District has to offer, read on.
Any Ramblers reading this, look away now!

Plodders
I have always been a ‘Plodder,’ a person who likes to stop and look at wildflowers. I like to amble along, sampling the fresh edible leaves, petals and berries of our plants and trees along the way.

How nice to pause and listen to a songbird as it sings from near or far, or hear the buzzing of insects busy with their daily tasks. To sit and listen to the wind blowing through the grass or the hypnotic sound of a bubbling stream as the ice-cold water flows over its rocks and boulders.

Plodders are usually seen on their own, they are people who enjoy walks and can always tell other people about the many interesting things that they have seen or heard. A Plodder doesn’t have to boast about the fells he/she has walked upon, instead they have a more informative voice, a voice that deserves to be heard.

Ramblers
Ramblers on the other hand are a completely different species, they run around the fells like headless Chickens, usually in loud conversation. They talk about such things as recent holidays, new lawn-mowers or the latest gossip from the Golf Club!

They boast about all the ‘Wainwright’s’ they have 'bagged' and often wear red socks, bobble hats and have matching poles in their hands. I doubt any of them can even read a map or use a compass; follow the leader is all they seem to do. Ramblers are often found in large groups and usually give their presence away by constant chatting, bright designer clothes and those bobble hats.

These 'bobble hatters' don't see or hear very much at all, apart from each other of course. In fact they may as well walk about wearing blindfolds and poke cotton wool into their cloth ears.

They don’t even enjoy the views; Ramblers don't have the time for veiws and just want to get up and down the fells in the shortest time possible.
Despite all this they certainly have plenty to say, even if it is just boasting about all those ‘Wainwright’s’ they have done.

Wainwright
Wainwright was a Plodder; I dare say he would have felt very insulted if anyone called him a Rambler. The great man plodded around the fells in his own time and in his own company, he saw many wonderful things and certainly had plenty to write about.

So why these people want to be so boring is beyond me, they follow in the footsteps of a man who would always avoid Ramblers while he was walking on the fells, i imagine he would have looked down on them on many an occasion with a chuckle or two from behind his pipe up there on a fellside!

So if you are walking on the fells and you want to know how to read a map, or if you want to know about the things all around you, just ask a Plodder, as Plodders always know best.