It’s Joe, and his generation, that I feel sorriest for right now. He turns 18 in a few weeks yet is spending this time locked in a room with, or rather without, everyone else. At least he’s still prepared to get out into the landscape now and again: here, on Brown Wardle Hill, above Whitworth in Lancashire.
2021 has limped into existence, and whatever else it brings, it will see the 10th anniversary of this blog (on 26th August). I make no predictions for the year, but I have made some resolutions, mainly that I will continue to live my life in the way that I need to in order to sustain my physical and mental health, whatever obstacles are placed in the way. That’s what it’s about isn’t it? Health? So we are being told, anyway.
This is the Strid, near Bolton Abbey in Yorkshire; one of the north of England’s natural wonders although the reason for this is not immediately apparent on this shot. The river is the Wharfe, and it’s fairly sizeable at this point, where it flows through a band of limestone. Above and below this gorge it is over 10 metres wide. So how does it squeeze itself through this defile, so narrow one could almost cross it with a stride — hence the name? The answer lies below: concealed by the water is a fearful chasm, undercut with potholes and very deep. Fall in here and I wouldn’t fancy your chances.
The reason I came to Bath was to bag another of my County Top walks (see my other blog), the morbidly-named Hanging Hill. That was duly collected a few miles after taking this shot, from the ascent of Penn Hill, a slope of mud with a decent view of the city. During this climb I passed this dog walker, and his companion who seemed for some time to have decided that he was ditching his owner in favour of this new and more interesting person. You can’t just tell them you prefer cats, can you?
The River Duddon starts at Wrynose Pass and carves out a very fine course for itself, both with its valley and its spectacular estuary (which has featured in its own right on this blog, more than once). It’s just the kind of place that we need ever more in the modern world. The five cyclists you see here know this, I know this. This is the true measure of ‘public health’.
The start of teaching has been delayed four weeks this year, but the summer can’t last forever. This is basically my last three-day gap of freedom before it all kicks in. And in weather like today, I made the most of it — as did the other walker just visible on this shot, below the summit of Ether Knott, a minor protuberance above Borrowdale. Behind, Skiddaw, one of the Lake District (and England’s) 3,000-footers. Boosting one’s immune system is very much the way to go, whatever the lockdowners think.
The Lake District mountain that is Barf has a very silly name, but it is a rugged little beast and has a great view. Its summit has featured before, as some eight and a half years ago I was up there with the couple who’d brought their grandson’s Action Man along for the ride. With a weather forecast that is significantly deteriorating, I made the most of a chance to rebag it (and its two neighbours, Lord’s Seat and Whinlatter) today as part of my ongoing second Wainwright round. I’ll work some other day…. OK? Wouldn’t you?
The weather forecast today was such that it made one think — ‘Hmmm, better get out into the open air, before some pencil-pushing parasite with a job to make seem relevant decides I can no longer be trusted to do so.’ So I went out. To Scotland, in fact: making this only the second non-English shot since the beginning of February. It was worth the drive. This is Loch Skeen, near Moffat.
This would be a nicer photo without the bushes in front, but I took it from a car, stopped in the middle of a road, in order to capture the sight of this hill wreathed in mist. This is the Wrekin, a well-known protuberance in Shropshire, and one that Clare and I had just hauled ourselves up in weather much like this — on occasion there was mist and cloud, in other parts, clear skies. Another County Top done, anyway.
This guy was very helpful today — not because he offered us direction as such, but because his bright orange and yellow gear was later seen heading up Harter Fell, our destination for the day, and this helped reveal the correct path. Hence the value of hi-vis. A good walk today but I never seem to experience Eskdale in truly good weather.
That was doubtless the thought in the minds of these two sheep as this foolhardy human (i.e., me) trudged into their territory in weather that could at best be termed ‘inclement’. I was certainly thinking it too. Taken at Stony Tarn, near Eskdale, at about the point I decided to give up on the primary target of the hike and go somewhere warmer and drier.
Being 42 