August ends with a glorious evening. I certainy haven’t been among those who have complained about the weather this summer: bring it on, I say. In the distance, the northern bits of the town of Bury. Why there? It was just where the feet took me.
Despite being in the centre of the Netherlands, Wageningen does officially have a beach, and this cyclist was on her way there; it’s on one of the arms of the Rhine. I paid it a brief visit, but just to check it out — I do stilll have some work to do.
The last day in Ireland. Four days in the North, four photos with people in them, all taken in Derry — then four days in the Republic, four photos taken in different places and not a person to be seen (unless we count yesterday’s Madonna). Our drive back to Derry airport was partly done through the utterly empty landscapes of the Glenveeagh National Park. Lough Barra is in the middle of nowhere, but does have this slipway on it: maybe there is good fishing to be done there.
We spent the day on the island of Árrain Mhór, which in Gaelic just means ‘Big Island’. And it is fairly big, maintaining a permanent population of a few hundred, enough to justify a regular ferry service from the mainland, anyway. And here is the 3.30pm boat back to Ireland, coming in reasonably on schedule.
Time to cross the border into the Republic of Ireland, getting out of the UK for the first time since late November. Time to get out of the city and into the country — right into it. More of this over the next few days, I sure hope.
On 29th July 2012, ten years ago, I was obliged to leave the rustic yet comfortable surroundings of the Black Sail hut and haul myself over Great Gable, a substantial lump of rock, in what remains the grimmest weather conditions I have encountered on any of my Lakeland walks. As today’s trip was the 200th of those — a pleasing milestone to reach — it was also pleasing that the weather was a damn sight better. (See my other blog for the full details.)
Wandope wasn’t one of the two Wainwrights bagged on the day, but this long-distance shot of its summit was the picture that pleased me the most: a case of it turning out just as was intended. The slopes in the background are those of the High Stile range, over Buttermere.
My son might have chosen to live out his university years in a place (Dundee) that is about as far as he could have got from us in West Yorkshire, while staying in the UK. But, there are compensations. Over in the distance, Arthur’s Seat and Edinburgh. Closer to the camera, the Firth of Forth, all taken just before passing through Burntisland station.
Pistyll Rhaeadr may or may not be the highest waterfall across both Wales and England — the award depends whether you are troubled by the fact that it does not fall in a single drop. Either way it’s an impressive water feature, set off very well by the natural arch in the middle (seen here), through which the water threads like a curtain through a ring. Well worth seeing, despite being ripped off £5 for the car park. (For more pictures from today see my County Tops blog.)
A June walk, and another chance to experience the British weather’s propensity to change from balmy to, if not exactly wintry, then definitely cold and grey over the course of 24 hours. This is why the sheep have better insulation than we do. Stoodley Pike appears for the nth time: it might not be a very prominent peak topographically but the monument on it proves it can be seen for many miles in every direction.
Grey Friar, 2,536 feet high, is one of the Coniston fells of Lakeland; this picture is taken from its western side, in the Duddon Valley. The pose of the sheep was too good to ignore, though yes, maybe this would be better still without the foliage to bottom right. But I like the composition in any case. (For more from today see my Wainwrights blog.)
Being 42 