I have yet to start bringing my own deckchairs to beaches, and Clare and I remain, hopefully, more active than this — we reached Shanklin beach today, on the east coast of the Isle of Wight, after a 7.75 mile walk that you can read more about on my other blog. But in spirit, here we are. Give us ten years — maybe fifteen — and our bodies may be here too.
A sign of divine intervention above Lake Ontario this afternoon? Well, more likely explained by the fact that over there lies Billy Bishop Airport, Toronto’s downtown terminal for domestic flights. Something to look at, either way.
I first visited Niagara Falls on a freezing cold day in April 1989, when I was 19, and with a trip to make from Toronto to Buffalo for a workshop tomorrow, there seemed no reason to not stop off on the way for another look, 35 years later. On neither visit have I been unimpressed: the falls are certainly a monumental spectacle and manage to rise above the excessive tourist tat that spreads along each bank of the river (and is somewhat worse on the Canadian side, I thought). What you see here are the American Falls on the left then the narrow Bridal Veil fall on the right.
And, a curiosity: though everything you see in this picture is the territory of the USA, I was stood in Canada when I took it. Not long afterwards I walked across the Rainbow Bridge into the States, making this, I am pretty sure, only the second time I have crossed an international border as a pedestrian, after Spain/Gibraltar. (Italy to the Vatican and back can’t really count.)
More weather, but it was better today, and anyway I don’t care as once again I am leaving the country. Whether conditions will be improved where I’m going, who knows. The first part of my journey was by rail — this shot was snapped at about 90mph somewhere in the vicinity of Peterborough.
Dumgoyne is a steep little volcanic plug that rises on the edge of the Campsie Fells, north of Glasgow. On the map it looked like a nice little prologue to the actual destination of my hike, which was Earl’s Seaat, one of the County Tops, although less photogenic. But in fact, I never made it to the top of Dumgoyne: one of those climbs that the nearer I got to it in actuality, the less appeal it had. No matter: CT #81 was duly bagged about two hours later.
More greenery. It’s not much to look at here, but this was the sum total of the flow over the Heart-Shaped Waterfall on this May Sunday. However, at least it was flowing; usually it is wholly dry, but there was plenty of rain at the weekend which stimulated it into some kind of life. It’s a nice spot to walk to, at least, but close up it’s impossible to capture its drama in a single shot, unlike from a distance.
So here I am back on St Helena, for my third visit — but not the last. Whereas, up until 2017, everyone arrived at Jamestown where the boats dock, nowadays, unless you are on a yacht, first sight of the island is always the airport, one of the more dramatic approaches in world aviation, I am sure. Behind is Great Stone Top, which I climbed in January last year.
This is a hell of a place to be waiting for a ride — then again there is no public transport this far out. I did feel sorry that our tour vehicle didn’t stop, but we didn’t carry on very far past this point so at best would have taken him another two miles nearer his destination. In any case, he might have been Rutger Hauer.
Going monochrome here, as is often the case, conceals the colour balance sins: this was taken through the dark green sun filter at the top of the windscreen.
I was forewarned about the fogs that affect the coast of Namibia. The Benguela current sweeps cold water up from Antarctica, and as it passes the African coast it mixes with the warm air coming off the continent. But just because I understand the climatology doesn’t mean that the actual experience of the fog hasn’t come as a surprise because they really are bloody cold; the mornings and evenings here in Swakopmund have not at all been like one might imagine an African beach holiday, more like Morecambe in November. These two swimmers must be seriously hardy.
More desert, this time from above, the second of my internal Namibian flights, to Swakopmund on the coast (of which more tomorrow). The shapes here are just amazing, like the earth itself is crinkled, akin to the skin of a passion fruit, say. Quite probably, no one ever sets foot here from one century to the next.
Being 42 