As seen crossing the Tay rail bridge, more-or-less on schedule. The shot is taken from Newport-on-Tay, on the opposite side of the firth from Dundee. I am feeling minimalist this Christmas Eve, it seems.
The second somewhat abstract shot in a row of some part of the country’s transport network — though a quite different one to yesterday’s. And I picked it before remembering that I depicted the Rochdale canal only the other day. Never mind. I like the asymmetrical scene here, as the excess water comes over the lock gates by the end of Holme Street in town.
Before embarking on its final spread into its estuary, between Widnes (on the north bank) and Runcorn, the River Mersey narrows significantly. This convenient crossing point, known as the Runcorn Gap, has been exploited for hundreds of years, but it was only in 1961 that a proper road bridge was opened, and given the ‘Silver Jubilee’ name 15 years later. And, well, here it is, seen from the Widnes side. The second longest bridge I have walked across as part of my little walking project (after the Humber Bridge). Pedestrians take a rather exposed and vertiginous walkway that dangles off the main arch to the left, by the way.
There are thirteen people in this photo — notice the two up on the bridge heading at right angles to everyone else’s trajectory — and with the exception of the woman in pink in the background, every one of them is jogging, some more speedily than others. In Glasgow city centre clearly the banks of the Clyde are Jogger Central on a Sunday morning.
Chose exactly the wrong time this afternoon to pop down to town for a bit of food shopping, particularly as I did so without umbrella or jacket. I may, or may not, have taken this one from inside the White Swan pub…. OK, I did. But it was certainly a preferable option at this point in time.
Originally I was heading for the Scottish Highlands again today, but a general sense that it was not the right time was confirmed by a dubious weather forecast — not for today, which remained a pleasant day, but for tomorrow, Monday, a forecast of wet weather which I already know as I post this seems to have come to pass. So I made the right decision, stayed in Dundee, and went out on a walk anyway, which included this agreeable stretch of woodland growing along what, a century or more ago, was one of Scotland’s first railway lines. Like many such spots it now exercises legs rather than engines, but is none the worse for it.
This is the fifth photo of one or other of the Forth bridges to appear on here, and all apart from one (17/8/2021) have been taken while moving, usually on a train though the first one was an exception, as I was a passenger in a car on that occasion. Meaning none of them have been of the rail bridge: when on a train, all you get to see of it are some close-up girders. Anyway, I am sure this is a terrible photograph in some ways but in other ways I quite like it. It looks like something ephemeral, maybe three stupendous maypoles lined up over the estuary.
The picture was taken mainly because of the bright orange water of the Trent and Mersey Canal at this point (Kidsgrove, on the Staffordshire/Cheshire border). Such things are not usually a good sign. The mystery of why this colour is there was not solved until just a short while ago, as I prepared to post this by looking up some information about the Harecastle Tunnel, the north entrance of which is just visible in the background, to the left of the guys on the towpath. There is an old version of this tunnel running parallel to it that has been closed for over a century now, and apparently, leaches iron ore into the water. So it’s always orange — this is not some recent chemical spill. I don’t imagine drinking the water does anyone much good. Unless they’re anaemic I suppose.
When I realised the weather forecast was going to stay much the same — that is, warm and sunny — throughout our visit to Scotland, a walk became by far the best choice for a Saturday activity. It wasn’t too hard to rearrange things accordingly, and I did not regret doing so. Below, the River Clyde, winding its way from Glasgow, over in the distance, to the sea, and crossed here by the Erskine Bridge. More photos and details of the day are on my County Tops blog.
He is watching something. The eye in the sky is below him and can’t watch him from there, but I capture him with a long zoom. Everyone is watching someone else.
Being 42 