It snowed

Today, we stood outside and caught snowflakes on our tongues!

 

Ushering of Angels

It’s been a soggy, foggy, boggy morning up on the moors, today. I set off at 6.30am and trudged up the hill. There has been a lot of rain and flooding lately. Although, this morning there was the merest of fine drizzle and little wind when I began.

I saw three dead sheep. They are probably the victims of flooding, as they slip on the steep sided gullies, fall into the swollen streams and can’t escape as the weight of their now sodden wool holds them in the water. It is sad because they would all have been ewes about to give birth. I saw one new lamb with its mother. They give birth much later up here on the hilltops, in lowland areas some of the lambs will be two months old by now. I often wonder how these upland farmers can compete financially with their lowland counterparts and yet the moors would completely change character without these sheep biting at the grass and keeping the ecological status quo.

I heard the curlew’s burbling call coming out of the mist. I was surrounded by dense white walls but could hear the bird’s song rising and falling. The wind was beginning to pick up but in calmer interludes I also heard the skylark as it took to the air. The songs were punctuated every so often by the chesty bleating of sheep close at hand but still invisible in the fog.

As I reached the summit of the hill I found my way blocked by a fence with an attached notice declaring that the area around the transmitter mast, which is located at that place, was to be fenced off until the end of 2009. Apparently, it was undergoing a major refurbishment to upgrade it for digital transmission. The footpath was diverted around the fencing so I followed it. It crossed a bog and ended at a service road. I decided to go back home and turned around and took two steps. I heard a noise like somebody lobbing a half-brick onto the soft ground. I turned round mystified as to who would be around throwing bricks into a bog so early in the morning. I heard another land then another. I caught one in the act of landing and realised that the ‘bricks’ were in fact lumps of ice that were falling off the hawsers that supported the mast. They could have fallen from the height of a thousand feet and the wind, that was picking up speed, was carrying them outside the safety fence. The amazing thing was that I had been prompted to turn back home just at the very moment that the lumps of ice had started falling.

After looking at the ice and contemplating the situation I set off downhill. The wind was blowing from the north and shredding the mist, which flowed in clumps down the road as if it had urgent business elsewhere. I passed a nature garden near a group of stone cottages. There was a dark pink Ribes sanguinea flowering against a background of pale yellow daffodils. In a couple of weeks the whole area will be green but at the moment the colour combination is near perfect.

I passed a mixed hedgerow where the sloes are heavily in blossom. This is not a natural area for sloes, they prefer limestone and rarely make a good showing of fruit. Added to this we often get late frosts which wreak havoc with these early flowering shrubs. Tomorrow will be a case in point as snow has been predicted and feeling the icy northly cutting through my jacket I can well believe it.

 

Easter Saturday

I’ve just breezed up to Two Lads and back down this morning. It’s the middle day of the Easter weekend and compared to the hordes that would have been up there yesterday it was quiet. I saw two other people and they were indistinct shapes on the horizon. I did think about waiting around for one of them to reach the cairns so we could discuss the amazing strength of the wind up there but then I decided that they, like me, may want to be alone with their thoughts.

I feel that I have fallen out of love with the moors at the moment. They are so battle-scarred from the wheels of mountain bikes, quads and scramblers as well as the inevitable fly-tipping that takes place up there. I’m like a shallow person that no longer feels the same level of affection now that my loved one has grown old and weary. Or maybe I’m just disheartened because the moors seem to be losing the battle with the abusive biking fraternity. Is that too strong a word? Many of the people who now use that landscape for recreational purposes seem to have little appreciation of the damage they are doing. Most of the paths are worn down to the boulder clay and in some places even to the bedrock. The peat is not going to be replaced, it won’t be laid down again in my generation or the next or the next. It probably took a thousand years to develop the bogs on the hilltop to the depths they are now.

Still, I do continue to find it startling up there. This morning as I tramped up the last leg of the footpath above George’s Lane, small insects kept flitting down the wind. I was surprised to see so many as the weather is very cold then I realised that they were tiny snowflakes being blown from the other side of the hill. By the time I had reached the top there were flurries of snow and the wind was so strong that you could barely breathe. I climbed right up to the cairns and leant back into the wind feeling again that childhood joy that something invisible could support your body weight so reliably. I did wondered, as the wind whipped the spit out of my mouth and across my face, if I would be able to get back down but once I had struggled the first few yards of the descent I was back in the shelter of the hill.

I decided to risk falling branches and walk through Wilderswood. The treetops clacked together like so many old skeletons as the wind tossed them to and fro. Some trees have come down at the lower end of the wood but not as many as I would have thought considering the weather over the last two weeks.

One last thing of interest happened on the way home. I met the old man and after the normal greetings he told me that he had seen a dead badger on the lane we were standing on. He said that the body had been tossed onto the banking and did not show any outward signs of damage. We wondered over this a little then went our separate ways.

 

Do you recognise this view?

It’s one of the many towered hills along the Pennine chain and in a blast of pre-Christmas exuberance I decide to climb up it and view the world before descending into Christmas shopping mayhem. I can’t say I was fortified by a sterling breakfast but a banana and a satsuma can go a long way on a frosty morning.

It has been one of those crisp, frosty days that Dicken’s specialised in describing and I did, in a moment of inspiration, re-read that passage in ‘The Pickwick Papers’ that describe the Christmas eve wedding and that glorious skating scene on Christmas day.

It has been a few years since we had a prolonged season of freezing weather in December, it is usually a damp, murky month where you have to keep the house lights on all day and everybody has a continual cold with intermittent bouts of flu.

 

There has been a lot of shock and horror at the prolonged cold. People appear to be mesmerised by the global warming debate and are under the impression that we are now entering an age of tropical weather as opposed to the reality that we are, and always will be, a little country situated on the north-west reaches of Europe. Still, as I stated before, it’s early in the season for this type of weather.

 

It does produce a beauty of its own, though. The trees have a frosting that enhances their bare winter shape and the moorland grasses, that are normally a dull reminder of the hills in the summer, are miniature ice-sculptures that bear looking at in close detail. In the sheltered spots the ice in smooth and rounded on the long-dead flower heads. In the exposed areas, on higher ground, the ice has formed into blades on each stem, sharpened by the wind.

The whole hillside had a ‘Joseph Farquahrson’-esque feel to it. Although, two sheep do not a herd make. There were very few people out to enjoy this morning, normally by 9 o’clock the hill is awash with dog-walkers and cyclists. It’s a pity because there is a lot to appreciate on the bare hill tops in the winter, there is often a strange kind of loneliness up there even when there are people about.

 

I tried to record some of my thoughts when I got to the top of the hill and sheltered behind the tower but when I listened back to the recordings all I could hear was the howling wind. I sounded as though I was walking across an Antarctic glacier. It did occur to me as I was walking back that if I fell over forward with all that digital recording equipment in my pockets I could do some financial damage. I did ponder the idea of wearing a rucksack but then I may fall over backwards and being a past master at falling over both forwards and backwards whilst tackling those muddy paths I may have to reconsider photo walks.

 

On the way down I passed a jogger wearing one of those bluetooth ear-pieces and as hard as I try I can’t but fail to be reminded of the Borg everytime I see somebody wearing one. It’s scary. I do realise that by mentioning the word bluetooth I’ll probably get a lot of hits by people who are going to be very disappointed when they arrive here.

 

Burbling

So April and May have rushed on by, drier and warmer than usual apparently, although the heating has been clicking on in the morning until about a week ago.

I meandered up to the Pike yesterday, having managed to have a lie in until gone 6.30am. Most mornings the light finds its way through the pinpricks in the curtains and stabs me awake at the glorious time of 4am, or thereabouts.

It was a clear morning with no breeze and an inversion fog, my favourite kind of fog, filling the valley. The air was already warm and the lack of wind meant that there was no incessant motorway drone in the background.

The green of the trees is spectacular, some mornings it is exhilarating, especially when there is that drizzly type of rain because then the colours seem to glow. The vibrancy of the different greens leap out from the grey background on such mornings.

I have been informed, by a painter, that June is the best month for doing landscape watercolours because the colours of the trees are at their best. This is probably true, as by June they have moved on from the pale pinks and lime greens of newly unfurled leaves but they haven’t yet reached that dusty appearance they get in August.

As I reached the highest point on my walk I happened to glance back and found that the fog had been creeping up the hill behind me. Just metres below my feet the whole world was a grey sea. I raced the short distance to the top of The Pike so I could view the surrounding horizons before the fog blotted everything out.

I turned to watch it move across the moors where it favours the narrow water channels that cut across the landscape. Narrow fingers curling and steaming up the slope. As it covered the ground curlews, which had been silent up to that point, started burbling. Not one or two but it sounded like dozens although maybe that was a distortion of the sound travelling through the fog.

I met one other person up there, a woman training for the ‘Three Peaks Challenge’. We exchanged a few words about the weather and the ability of hills to keep you fit then parted company. I walked into the fog and carried on back home.

 

‘Sighted a mackerel with stripes on his back’

I set off this morning in the bluish pre-dawn light. The dusting of snow on the ground made the paths more visible especially in the darker areas under overhanging trees.

I walked up across the moors to the trig point. The pillar is only easily accessible when the ground is frozen. It sits on a concrete platform in the midst of a bog and I gingerly crossed the patches of ice covering the dark patches of water. They crunched and crackled underfoot but I didn’t go through.

The view was breathtaking, which is remarkable when I consider the number of times I have stood on that skyline and looked across to the north and east. It was the clarity of the air that was unusual. Mostly, you are either peering into a mist close at hand or glimpsing shrouded grey shapes in the distance.

Today, I could see the Pennines rolling away before me, line after line of elongated, rounded hills that remind me of a shoal of fish breaking through the surface of the water. Beyond these, I could make out the peaks of the hills in North Yorkshire, they were covered in snow and gleamed in the early morning sunlight.

I spent some time gazing across this distance not knowing when I might make out those distant hills again. I walked away from the trig point and crossed a stile to come back to the main path by a different route.

It was one of those mornings when you are loathe to abandon the moors, their beauty is captivating on days like this and I found myself taking in deep breathes of air like it was some wonderful vintage wine I might not taste the likes of again.

The trig or triangulation point is part of a network of pillars erected all over the UK in the 1930s to aid with mapping the country. In these days of satellites and lasers, the trig points are defunct. Some of them are being removed from their, often high and remote, locations. Why, I don’t know? It seems a little shortsighted, they are not ugly, bulky things that impinge on the countryside in the way, say, that the endlessly multiplying mobile phone pylons do. They are a little part of history and should be preserved as such. Also, if they are ever needed again, it would prevent the need to re-construct them.

I reluctantly trailed off back down the hill and home, glancing up at the sky and noticing the formation of a ‘mackerel’ sky. The barred clouds glowing pink, quite pretty really but a sure indication that the weather is about to change and these few crisp days are soon over.

 

Thro’ the Crisp Air

A biting north wind was blowing today. It was so refreshing to feel cold. The hills were covered with a thin layer of snow, not much thicker than a heavy frost. All along the top lane the early morning sunshine bounced off ice-covered puddles.

An area of woodland has been fenced off after the storm of last week and peering over the wall I could see many trees at an angle to the other trunks, great tall trunks of pine, the whole effect was like an open weave tapestry.

The sheep on the common land above the lane were set against the snow like a Joseph Farquharson painting. Some of them looked dumbfounded at what this cold white stuff could be.

I ran along the bottom of The Pike taking care over the icy patches, sometimes taking to the narrow grass verge for better traction, then walked back through the grounds of a long-demolished house that had once belonged to Lord Leverhulme.

The grounds are extensive and modelled on ancient Chinese gardens, or possibly Japanese, nobody seems sure on this point. They are planted up with all manner of non-native plants that were popular in Victorian times and even now the old borders glow pink and claret with Pernettya berries.

The local park wardens have hacked back the Rhododendron, which are a legacy from that Victorian planting. Every few years they are razed to the ground to reveal the stonework beneath and what magnificent stonework it is. Beautifully appointed follies, cascading waterfalls and hidden grottos are all built out of the local millstone grit and look so much part of the land that it is hard to remember that they are a contrived landscape.

I left the icy stillness of the gardens and wended my way back home only stopping to watch the motorway which, because the wind was from the north and not the west as it usually is, is playing out in the distance like some silent movie as people hurry, each to their various workplaces.

 

Stargazing

It is a cold, clammy morning. A mist is blowing over the moors, constantly changing the horizon. The wind is cool but not cold, not like the icy blasts one expects in January especially as the winds blowing across the country at the moment are coming from the North Atlantic. It’s interesting to hear that New York is experiencing a mild spell and I caught on the news yesterday that Russians were worried by the lack of snow.

It was quiet out, the only other creature being a solitary crow feasting on a dead sheep, it uttered a guttural cry as I walked past and lazily flapped away.

Coming down the hill I could see rain drifting eastward across the Lancashire plain. I thought it would take about half an hour to reach me as it was several miles away but no, I was wrong because ten minutes later I was trudging through a sweeping downpour, it quickly blew over and has left a blue-patched sky in its wake.

Unless it clears tonight I won’t be able to do a recount of the stars in Orion. The British Astronomical Society are conducting a survey to judge the effects of light pollution on the night sky, they are using the constellation of Orion as an indicator. Apparently on a clear night you can see up to 50 stars with the naked eye. On Sunday, the only clear night so far, I saw 6.

At one time the garden was an excellent viewing point for the night skies, the milky-way often being visible. Over the last five years there has been a deterioration in viewing quality. This is not due to street lights but the overuse of security lights. There are so many, some piercing with a white glare into the bedrooms, that I’m often reminded of the border towers along the iron curtain during the cold war. I’ve even had to scuttle low down when going out to star-watch to avoid setting off the neighbour’s searchlights.

If you want to join in the star count, it’s on for this week only, go to the star count page and follow the instructions. Orion is easy to find as it dominates the southern sky mid-evening this time of year.

 

Rotten stuff

Another grey, drizzly morning. The wind has dropped so I am able to put my hanging-basket back up. Last week it was swinging like a pendulum with the little pansy heads jiggling about over the sides. This mild weather has been a boon for the likes of the Viola family. The cold weather normally brings their blooming to an abrupt end but this year as the mild weather continues they have gone on and on.

The basket I have here, is planted with a variety called Arabian Nights, a mixture of pinks and purples. When I bought it, back in October, the colours looked insipid against a radiant sunny backdrop but now under this heavy grey sky the colours glow delicately .

The storms have kept me out of the garden over the last couple of weeks. There has been little damage, the hedges serve as a good windbreak. The plastic covered greenhouse travelled over the garden a short distance and I have now got it weighted down with a few stones and a tub of compost in case it feels adventurous again.

About the only task I have completed recently is sorting out the compost bins. Instead of the usual two bins, where you fill one whilst emptying the other, I have three bins on the go.

A year ago I decided to compost all the paper household waste as well as the usual kitchen and garden offerings.Two of the bins are large, square monsters that must hold at least a ton of compost, the third bin is of the more normal garden variety. The two large bins were filled more rapidly than I thought they would be, so now I fill the smaller bin and transfer its contents to the other two bins as the compost in them rots down.

The main difference I can see, due to the inclusion of paper waste, is the compost is much drier. I am wondering if the paper wicks the water out of the heap. Consequently, the compost is taking longer to decompose.

Well, it’s an experiment and as with all experiments, some problems you anticipate – will the presence of all this paper lead to nitrogen deficiency when it is applied to the soil? – and some problems are unforeseen.

So, watch this space and see how the great compost experiment turns out.

 

Running on the Spot

Yet another stormy morning with winds gusting up to 70 miles an hour. As I sit here typing the wind is buffeting the whole place and sounding like the boom of the sea on rocks. The tree-tops are dancing to and fro occasionally casting a brittle branch to the ground.

I don’t know if it was sensible to go out this morning, by the time I’d got up to the level of the moors the wind was roaring and moaning and when it rained the force was so violent you had to face the other way.

Still, I soldiered on and at times the wind was so strong that I felt as though I was running on the spot. I didn’t bother trying to reach the highest point of the hill, it’s too exposed. If I’d been able to get up there I may have been stuck, sheltering behind the folly on top, waiting for the wind to drop. I’ve done that before and had to wait for the wind to fall or risk being bowled over the edge and tumbled down the hillside, only having my momentum stopped by the fence at the bottom of the slope.

I saw another sheep with a deficit of wool today, its pink skin showing through. Most of the sheep were sheltering in the lee of a stone wall that ripples and folds over the moorland, they lay down grey and bedraggled against the jewel green of the ground that is more moss than grass at the moment with the amount of rain we’ve had.

On return home I finished off preparing a soup for lunch which is welcome food for anybody outside on a day like today. It can be prepared in advanced and heated through when needed.

Tomato and Pepper Soup

A simple recipe with a warming chilli kick. Suitable for vegetarians.

Serves 2

• 2 red peppers
• 1 medium onion
• 1 medium can of chopped tomatoes
• 1 tsp vegetable stock
• 1/2 – 1 tsp dried crushed chilli flakes
• olive oil

1. Heat oven to gas mark 7 (220C or 425F).
2. Cut peppers in half, remove seeds, place on oiled baking tray.
3. Cut onion in half, peel, place on baking tray with peppers.
4. Brush peppers and onion all over with olive oil.
5. Place in oven and roast for 1/2 an hour. The onion should be soft and the peppers beginning to brown.
6. Remove vegetables from tray put on a plate and leave to cool.
7. Roughly chop the cold vegetables and place in a blender.
8. Add tin of tomatoes, stock and chilli to blender then whizz for a few seconds.
9. The soup can now be left in the fridge until required.
10. Add up to a cupful of water to the soup to get the desired consistency. Heat soup to boiling then allow to simmer for 20 minutes to bring the flavours together.
11. Serve with decent bread or crusty rolls.

Garlic can be roasted along with the peppers and onion to add further flavour. This soup can be frozen after it has been allowed to simmer for 20 minutes then left to cool.