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?
At the point in time that this photo was taken, I should have been somewhere over the Congo, maybe Zambia. This, however, is definitely not the interior of Africa. Having got up at 4am, by 6am I and a few dozen other people were sitting on a plane at Manchester Airport waiting to depart, only then the powers-that-be decided that due to a few snowflakes falling, nothing could move. Time passed, and by 9am we were all back in Terminal 2, the MAN – AMS leg of my journey wiped from existence. (Other excessive flight delays to have featured on here: Bergen, Nov. 2012; Keflavik, Jul.2019 [still the epitome].)
I finally left the ground about two and a half hours after capturing this shot. I will still make my final destination, and already know that a completely unexpected new country is going to make the blog tomorrow, perhaps that can be seen as a minor compensation. At least I won’t be seeing any more snow for a couple of weeks, that’s guaranteed.
No apologies for returning to a theme touched on yesterday — this is the better shot. This was the view I saw on opening the curtains in the bedroom this morning. As it’s the last time I will do that at home until at least February 6th, this will keep me going for a while. The rising sun tinges the higher woodland on the Heptonstall hillside.
A dash into Manchester and back failed to trouble the camera, so let’s go with this one, there haven’t been many early morning shots for a while: it’s no longer a time of the day I engage with much, particularly in the winter. You’d think that some four weeks after the solstice the sun might deign to start putting in an appearance before 8am, but no, not in this valley anyway.
What small part of the world can be seen from our house, all looked like this today. With no reason to leave the house, I did not; picture opportunities were limited to using the long zoom to see what might be going on over the other side of the valley. They had their fires burning, anyway. This is also one of those shots that looks like I’ve taken it monochrome, but really have not; if anything I have beefed up the saturation a little.
Although I spent most of the day in Manchester, Hebden Bridge should feature on here for the fourth day in a row thanks to the unexpected scenes which greeted its residents when opening their curtains in the morning. While we were enjoying the balmy spring weather a week ago, I joked with my international students saying “British weather — it could snow again before we’re done”. But I didn’t necessarily think I would be proven right. This was all gone again by the time I came home, however.
I’m not trying to be overtly metaphorical here. But this shot certainly sums up today’s weather. Enough snow to feel, not enough to make a difference, all under steel-grey skies.
I have never seen snow falling anywhere as early in a year as 17th October, but Iceland lived up to its name this morning and duly delivered, as my first flight home returned me to Keflavik. This seems even to have caught Icelanders unaware, seeing as it caused my second flight to be delayed two hours while we waited, seemingly endlessly, for the wings of our aircraft to be de-iced (“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking…. We are eighth in the queue for de-icing…. [45 minutes later] We are sixth in the queue….”). But I did get home in the end.
I wouldn’t call this winter harsh, but it has been cold, at least by local standards. Yes, I’m sure those of you who live in places like Montana or Trondheim would laugh at our definition of real winter, but hey, that’s a maritime, Gulf Stream climate for you.
And the creature? Well, a face perhaps. It’s certainly got two eyes, and a pendulous, possibly melting face.
Being 42 