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.
This was a day on which I could have posted any one of several pictures, including many with cute fauna. Today I captured shots of ostrich, oryx, wildebeest, zebra (the most unexpected), and springbok. But this one makes it because of its nicely unexpected nature. On the flight from Windhoek to the airstrip at Geluk we passed over increasingly barren and arid landscapes, yet still, here and there, there were dwellings, astonishingly remote. A few minutes before we landed I caught sight of this place, nestled in the shade of the rock, for all the world like a Fremen sietch, sheltering from the sandworms on relatively solid ground (a reference from Dune: if you don’t know this great novel by now, then shame on you, and yes, the movies are decent too).
Then, about 90 minutes later, I discovered that this was my hotel for the next two nights. Right now I type this in the leftmost of the line of huts to the right: the two buildings at the end of the gravel road being the restaurant, reception and staff accommodation of the Namib Outpost Lodge. I’ve certainly never had the privilege of staying anywhere else like this in my life.
Sometimes you just stumble across places. This old, ruined mine sits above Blaenavon in the south Wales valleys; I found it while bagging my latest County Top. I would argue it was not only the most interesting but also the most attractive thing about the day. There have been points of time in the past where something like a quarter of the iron and steel production of the entire world was based around south Wales. Believable as that stat is, this is what’s left.
Scafell, on the left, is the second-highest mountain in England at 3,162 feet (964m) and even Slight Side, the pimple below the sun, is 2,499 feet, so no dwarf. I decided that ascending both was a good idea on a day which reached the high 20s Celsius, and on which breezes were just a dream, happening elsewhere. This was, perhaps, the slowest walk I have done since I was a toddler. But they were bagged. (See the Wainwrights blog for the gory details if you like.)
I established today that over the last two years I have made frequent promises, on both my walking blogs, that I would soon be going back up Helvellyn, which at 3,117 feet above sea level is the third-highest mountain in England, and which first featured on here in December 2011. Today, finally, I made it and it was well worth it. This was the first walk to count as both a Wainwright and County Top walk; so including this picture, three blogs for the price of one. Am I overdoing it? No, I don’t think so.
Let’s permit Scotland to offer up its combination of mountain and seascape one more time before we have to head home. The Beauly Firth is the far end of the Moray Firth; this shot is looking inland, to the Highlands beyond. And yes, somewhere over there it is raining.
There are worse places to be at 8.20am on a Friday morning, that’s true. In 2007, the view down Wastwater to the mountains at its head (l-r: Yewbarrow, Great Gable, Lingmell) was voted ‘Britain’s Best View’ in an ITV programme (see this page); and you have to agree that it makes a good case. And I don’t even care that a car has got into the shot, in fact I quite like it — thanks to the person stood just to its right, also photographing this magnificent slice of land.
The summit known as Red Screes, with its substantial tarn, sits at 2,541 feet above sea level but is still considerably lower than the Scafells: left to right from the edge of the picture, Scafell, Scafell Pike and Great End. Great Gable pops up to the right. A fine day to be out walking even if the transport arrangements once again…. but what the hell, I expect too much perhaps. Read more on the other blog, if you like.
I think that, by law, and certainly by my own moral code, all aeroplane windows should be kept sparkling clean. The one I had to use on our flight home from Barcelona was noticeably grubby, so apologies for the ensuing blemishes on this shot (I know they’re there). Still, the view was good, at least while we were crossing the barrier between Spain and France, that is, the Pyrenees: mountains I have never visited, but they’re on the list. Named, apparently, after a woman who was raped by Hercules, gave birth to a serpent, and was then torn apart by wild animals. These old myths took no prisoners, did they?
My last full day on St Helena — this time. There will be at least one more, though as yet I don’t know how it’ll be paid for. But considering that this was the view that opened up when I was on my way to my morning meeting — there are reasons to put in the effort it’ll take to return. The basalt column of Lot, behind the house, makes his second appearance on the blog (see this shot from my first visit); and that’s his wife, who never seems to credit a name of her own, over to the right.
Being 42 