A very bracing walk indeed

Well, there have been a few brief outings since the last post, which I'm glad about, but there hasn't seemed to be any time to write about them, which is a shame. Still working on it...

Today, what might have seemed like a rather dull out and back walk from Pym Chair to Shining Tor turned out to be more interesting than it seemed on paper. I don't know what the wind speed was but it certainly felt very gusty.

The cloud level was only just above the path, hanging ominously and threatening heavy rain at any moment, and the outlook and light were changing almost constantly..

 One moment it looked like this  - almost nothing visible in the distance...

 The next, the surrounding hills had reappeared, with views north towards Kinder Plateau and the start of the Pennine Way - happy memories! Although I began that walk in June, snow fell on the first day...

As it was about an hour before sunset, the sun shone almost horizontally across the fields in the valley, lighting them beautifully.

Fortunately very little rain actually fell and my usual stocks of fleecy hats, cowls and gloves kept most of the chill out, reminding me to take plenty of them to the Lake District next week.

The uplifting effect of hills

Looking out of the window on a Transpennine train journey, I am surprised by hills. Of course it's not that I had forgotten about the Pennines but, living in Cheshire where there are few hills within a 30 minute drive, I forget how hills lift my spirits.

Sadly today is going to involve looking only. In fact , since returning from Lanzarote, a month or more ago, it has been impossible to find time to get outdoors, which I'm really disappointed about. A combination of extra workload, dark nights and winter weather have made it seem harder to snatch even a brief walk. I'm thinking of ways to get round the problem.

At least thanks to writing ( or not writing ) this blog, I've noticed it now rather then spending virtually the whole winter  indoors. Quite how to change the situation is another matter...

Sometimes you've just got to get out there and walk, says guest blogger Dave

Stunning scenery on a walk through beech woods around 50km north of Berlin. Normally I'm a keen cyclist, but there are days when you just have to hoof it.













Grumsin Forest in the Uckermark region has just been awarded World Heritage status by the UN's cultural arm, giving the woods the same ranking as the Great Barrier Reef and the Grand Canyon.

The forest has an interesting history. Once the favoured hunting ground of the kings of Prussia, in the GDR years it was appropriated by the hated head of the Stasi secret police, Erich Mielke, as his own private backyard.











Two paths lead through the woods, which are otherwise out of bounds as a protected area. A promised guided tour never materialised on the day we visited, but we walked anyway, and only took one wrong turning.











The beeches are around 150 years old, mixed in with oak, pine and maple. 6,000 years ago 40% of Europe's land mass would have been covered with this type of forest.












Fallen trees are left in place to help revitalise the landscape for the enjoyment of generations yet to come. And needless to say, even today the woods are a photographer's dream.

A different view of Lanzarote

Whilst Lanzarote is perhaps best known as a sunny beach holiday destination, there's much more to it than this. However, even in late October, this required a fairly early start, in order to complete a strenuous walk before the sun is too high in the sky. This was definitely the case with the climb of Atalanta de Femes, one of the island's highest peaks at 611m.

The start of the walk should have been easy to find but, as so often, proved not to be. Hence the walk began with an uncomfortable and embarrassed skulking through a farmyard which, as well as many tethered dogs, had some pretty scary looking untethered  turkeys.








Once on the path itself, the scene was pretty barren.

Yet even here, there were plants, like the spindly tree above,  trying to find a way to grow in the almost total absence of any water apart from dew. These survivors (right)  gained a little respite from the sun by growing close to the bank where the track had been cut from the rock.












Views from the mast field at the top were breathtakingly far reaching:

It seems that a local tradition is to write one's name in pebbles on the floor of a caldera, or extinct volcano crater. hard work in the heat, it seemed to me.

The West Coast shoreline and the 'luxury' hotel

As these pictures show, the West coast of Lanzarote is quite stunning, with black lava cliffs falling into the roaring breakers and blue 'swimming pools' formed by the huge rock pools on the foreshore. So, quite a long way from the nearest settlement (the lighthouse just visible in the second picture above), someone thought it was a good idea to build a big luxury hotel, the Atlante del Sol.




That was over 30 years ago. Here it is now, long abandoned when, it seems, the money ran out and the dream became a nightmare. Presumably there is no money to demolish it and return the land to its natural state. What a sad mess.

The red mountain volcano in the Canaries

A short walk today up the Montana Roja, or Red Mountain, marked the start of my trip to Lanzarote. This hill (I couldn't call it a mountain in all seriousness) seems to loom over the resort of Playa Blanca, and makes a very pleasant stroll as well as an excellent viewpoint over the South Western tip of the island.

Cloud and caterpillar: what on earth is it?!

A familiar walk around Lud's Church gave fantastic views of The Cloud - and an extraordinary caterpillar, which I can't identify despite looking in books and online. Any ideas anyone?!

Late summer insects basking at Trentham Gardens

As always, there was lots to see at Trentham Gardens, near Stoke on Trent, where a completely new grand garden has been created by the lake in the last few years. I find it an interesting mix of traditional and modern garden design.

 

A Comma butterfly, whose numbers thankfully are buoyant since its larvae feed on nettles; for some reason, they were attracted to this statue.

Glorious Ness

As Saturday was amazingly sunny and warm, a visit to Ness Botanic Garden on the Wirral seemed like a great idea. It's not an area I'm very familiar with, squeezed between the Dee and the Mersey, but the countryside on the way was charming.

At first it looked like a scratch and sniff blog would be ideal. This rose smelt divine, in an old fashioned kind of way.

This is not the sharpest photo but you'll have to imagine the delicious scent of chocolate from this Cosmos!













The garden is owned by the University of Liverpool and was established in the early 1900s to provide a home for specimen plants brought back from China and other far flung places by intrepid plant hunters, as was all the rage at the time. Some of the trees are especially beautiful.









I have no idea what this might be, it had black flower buds with blue flowers, a very beautiful small tree.















This acer is showing its vivid Autumn colours.

The crab apple was absolutely loaded with fruit and prompted some debate about the merits of crab apple jelly...

This tree doesn't look very special but turns out to be one of few remaining specimens of the Wollemi Pine, a 200 million year old tree, once thought to be extinct but recently found in Australia. One of the oldest known tree species, the Wollemis Pine was around when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The precise location of its discovery in Wollemis National Park remains a secret to deter specimen hunters.














One extra special touch: once the gardens close at 5.30,  visitors can continue to wander around freely and let themselves out at any time before dusk. Perhaps no-one else realised this, as they all left; it felt like Ness in all its glory was our own private garden.

After the flood

An overnight stay in Tewkesbury enabled me to get acquainted with a town I'd never visited, but knew of as the scene of a dreadful flood in 2007. Two months worth of rain fell in 14 hours and 95% of homes locally were without water at some point over that time.

Notice how the abbey sits on the highest ground, such as it is. And a very beautiful abbey it is too.














My walk took me across the fields which are submerged at the top of the picture above. The mill (below, right) can be seen stranded (top centre) above:

 

The Severn and the Avon join together here, flowing on South as the Severn, through Gloucester to the sea.. It's very flat countryside, with the small Bredon Hilll looking quite substantial as a result. The plump sheep were clearly not the rugged upland Lake District ones I've seen a lot of over the past few years:

A surprising feeling

I realise that I had forgotten what it feels like to be cold. That's not to say we had the most amazing summer ever, but feeling chilly came as a shock.

I was out today walking after rain, thinking the clouds had passed over; enjoying the cool, fresh feeling on my face, keeping my hands inside my sleeves, walking briskly to generate some heat. No actual brown leaves on trees yet, although there were a few on the ground, but a clear and definite Autumnal feel to the morning.

Then the clouds came back and it began to rain, quite heavily, just as I was collecting dandelion leaves for the (now 3) rabbits. Wearing a light down jacket, there was very limited protection from the rain. Grimacing, I hunkered down and headed for home, and then I remembered a saying I'd seen on a mug just a few days ago. Something like 'life isn't about keeping dry, it's about finding ways to have fun in the rain'. Darn, I wish I'd bought the mug, it was better expressed than that.

So I straightened up, came out of my impression of a tortoise retreating into its shell, and faced the rain without wincing. As someone said recently, it's only water after all. Then that wise man Epictetus came into my mind: 'men are not distressed by things, but by the views which they take of things' (or something very like that). What a difference it made when I changed my view of that rain from 'oh no!' to 'oh, ok'. It was that simple.

Making the most of early Autumn sunshine

Such a beautiful bright sunny morning as this one demands that I spend some time outdoors. A quick text finds a friend who concurs, and we walk a familiar route along the Salt Line, a former railway line converted into a trail.

The sunlight filtering through the leaf canopy picks out a tiny frog at risk of obliteration by the many walkers, cyclists and horse riders who use the trail and we rescue (frognap?!) the little thing, taking it down towards the nearby fishing pond.

As we approach, we disturb the heron who frequents the pond. It's a fantastic sight as he makes a languid take off and disappears over the trees. The little frog, who's been leaping about in my cupped hands whilst captive, basks in the sun for a while before leaping into the damp grass. I hope I did the right thing...

Summer in the city? Time for an open air dip, says guest blogger Dave

What could be finer than a cooling sunset swim on a hot summer’s day in the city? The German capital Berlin has a brilliantly organised network of outdoor bathing spots, as well as miles of lakes and rivers offering a wilder swimming experience.

A short bike ride from where I live in east Berlin is the Weissensee, or white lake. Generations of Berliners have enjoyed its clear waters since the first organised swimming facilities were built in the late 19^th century.

 

And not just for leisure – over the last century and a bit, the site has hosted countless competitive swimming events, and was seen as a valuable training resource during the post-war German Democratic Republic, the old East Germany.

The lake itself forms pretty much a perfect circle around a kilometre across. A circuit takes around 45 minutes at my rather slow speed and the water quality is excellent, thanks to a natural spring which feeds the lake, and man-made protection against rainwater run-off from the surrounding streets.

It’s a strange sensation swimming in the Weissensee’s placid waters as dusk falls. Jets from the city’s Tegel airport pass overhead every few minutes, though thankfully not too low. The roar of traffic is muted by the trees fringing the lake, but ever present. And trams clanking down the high street remind you you’re still in the big city. Not exactly wild swimming, but definitely one up from doing laps of an indoor pool.  

Circuit complete, it’s time for a cold beer and a hot sausage. We are in Germany after all.

Lifeguards are on hand when it’s busy and you’re supposed to pay €4.50 to swim. In practice it’s usually free. One quirk: swimming costumes are de rigueur at the Weissensee, unlike many of Berlin’s bathing spots, where the FKK reigns supreme. That’s the Frei Körper Kultur – the, ahem, body beautiful…..     

The fruitful outdoors

Today, I literally mean 'fruitful' because my early morning walk took me past some local allotments, and I was amazed by the size of the area given over to growing an enormous variety of fruit and vegetables.











I was also amazed by the beautiful floral displays on some allotments, I don't associate allotments with flowers for some reason.


I'd like to think this is for me, but I know that in real life I wouldn't make it happen, for now at least. My home-grown tomatoes have been pretty fruitless, maybe a kilo in total from about a dozen plants, and I await the peppers in hope, although slugs seem to have got at quite a few of them. Maybe next year I'll stick to herbs!

Teasel time

What a fantastic sunny day. For some reason, I feel it's the last summer day of the year and am keen to make the most of it. Maybe someone else feels the same:

This balloon passed very low over my house this morning and stayed surprisingly low as I watched it move off across the town.

A leisurely stroll felt like a pretty hot prospect, so a shady route seemed favourite, and took us past the teasel walk with some terrific architectural specimens in evidence.

The abundance of berries on the rowans came up in conversation; we debate what makes this happen some years and not others. There is a story that says that lots of Autumn berries means a bad winter to come, but how could the trees know that? I read that in Newfoundland, this is a common folklore, but the opposite  applies in Sweden. Certainly there doesn't seem to be any scientific evidence for either, as the berry crop depends on weather conditions earlier in the year.