Journeys, planned

It's a very different experience, walking on your own. I know the territory in the photographs from a number of visits over the years, whether on foot or en velo. Each previous time has always been in the (welcome) company of others: friends who are experienced navigators and mapreaders, often in challenging conditions. As such, I've always left the planning of the routes, and the navigation itself, in their more than capable hands.

So while I was away the other week I did a couple of lengthy walks, and a couple of bike rides, which required me to do some mapreading and a certain amount of planning. I think one reason I've shied away from this side of things previously, is that I thought I had the best of it in terms of just being out there and making the most of the scenery rather than having to keep referring to a map.

How wrong I was: I feel now like I've got so much more thorough an overview of the landscapes I was traversing through, due to the very fact that I needed to refer to the map on a periodic basis. I feel a little richer for it.

I think I also gained from the very heavy rain that was present for a couple of days. I was never going to let it deter me from getting out there and walking or cycling as mentioned. On the first day of "proper" walking (as opposed to the few miles down to the pub in the next village, where the previous bit of film was shot) I spent a few minutes stood under a tree, making use of what shelter it afforded me, as the rain came down relentlessly, and wondering if it was absurd to carry on with my planned route: in the end I realised it was more about whether I had the confidence to carry on with it and so I steeled myself against the weather and strode out once more.

The sense of liberty this gave me felt quite tangible, and an hour or so later when the rain had eased I was wondering how on earth I might have doubted that the best option would be to press on. Thus, after a mild blip, I really got into my stride (yes, quite literally I suppose), and made the most of my time strolling through beautiful scenery.

I think the other motivating factor was that the couple of pints (or so) that I would be having in the local pub later on would feel so much more satisfying for the fact that I'd enjoyed making the effort, and had a fulfilling day.











I've chosen the pictures fairly randomly from the few days in question rather than arrange a few in sequence : I may post more, it was difficult not to take pictures which turned out well.

Ce soir

Here's but a mild taste of some of the dramatic stuff we've been experiencing for the last half an hour or so round these parts. It's still going on, too.

Light

Two posts in one day? Cor blimey, anyone would think I was starting to become prolific. But late this afternoon the light had a really unearthly quality to it. I don't think the photos I took do it full justice but here are some of them all the same.

Stillness

Thanks in part to the unseasonably good weather round our way, there's been an odd (but not unpleasant) atmosphere in the city this week. I think it's probably compounded by the fact that the schools are on half term holiday, which makes travelling to and from work a far less fraught and frustrating kind of experience. It also means I don't have to get up until 20 minutes after I usually would, since the roads are so quiet: well, relatively quiet anyway. Even the bus drivers are uncommonly cheerful, which is actually quite unsettling, so rare is it.

But - it's more than just a case of being quieter on the roads either side of the working day. Nor is it merely a case of the change in atmosphere being due to the unexpected sensation of the city being drenched in glorious, golden sunlight.

What has struck me, as I've walked along at the beginning of my day, is that it reminds me of a very early morning in late spring or summer: bright, pleasantly warm, and almost eerily still. Stop walking and, save for occasional birdsong, the quietness has been amazing.

The equivalent happened as I headed through the backstreets of town on my way from work this afternoon: it felt like a late spring evening, and the atmosphere practically demanded of me that I take my time and enjoy the moment. Even the car parks and industrial buildings, the alleyways and the canal where the drinkers congregate seemed pleasant enough places to take pause for a few moments (I could be cynical and say that this was because the sun was in my eyes and it was difficult to see at all, but I'll let that pass).

I suppose the slight feeling of eeriness that I'm getting at is because, whilst in no way unwelcome, it's way too soon for us to be having such a spell of weather. At this time of year, such conditions seem to alter the sense of time, so that my first couple of waking hours feel like 5am in June, and the late afternoon sun feels like 9pm midsummer. Take the school run away from the equation, and that just intensifies the whole feeling.

Mind you, thinking about it, this state of affairs also reminds me of the opening weekend of the 2002 World Cup finals. That was over the course of a bank holiday weekend in May (I think) and, since the tournament was in Japan and South Korea, many of the pubs were opening at ridiculously early hours of the day and serving breakfast for those who wanted to watch the first games. Come 3 o'clock in the afternoon, the legions of diehard footie fans (and drinkers), spurred on by fine weather and a long weekend before they had to return to work, were as inebriated as they would be at the end of a hectic Saturday night.

I remember wandering through the locale and feeling like I was walking through the village of the damned (I haven't seen the film of the same name but the phrase seemed to fit): all the carnage of a late night illuminated by the bright afternoon sun. A couple of inert bodies lay in the gutter; two people were stood in the middle of the road (there was barely any traffic since everyone appeared to be in the pub) trying to have a fight, violently swinging punches and looking puzzled as to why they didn't connect.

The fact was that these inebriated adversaries were a good ten feet away from each other, and it would have been amusing to watch - were it not all so odd and faintly grotesque. Further down the road a man in a similar state of intoxication tried and utterly failed to jump over the wall, 1ft high as it was, that stood between him and the entrance to the off-license.

Well, back to this week and its altogether more pleasant sense of disconnect. May as well get used to it, I'm sure we'll have much more of this kind of thing in the years to come; on the other hand, I may as well make the most of it for now, since the forecast indicates rain and snow come the weekend. At least it'll actually feel like February.

Walking like there's no tomorrow

I was up north at the weekend, and I was really glad to get out of town on Friday. That thing, what's it called.....daylight, that's it: the daylight thing never really happened on Friday. The weather was so dark, shitty and rainy with no respite, that I felt like I could quite easily take it personally.

As I waited for transport to take me up north, I sat and had a regular coffee. I forgot just how big regular coffees can be, but it was very nice so I drank nearly all of it, and was rewarded with a nice dollop of hypoglycemia about an hour later.

Still, up north I was in the company of some old friends and a couple of new ones, all gathered at someone's house for food and drinks and conversation. As I've mentioned in a previous post I'm taking a break from alcohol at the moment: rather than that being a struggle in any way shape or form, I found myself actually having to remind myself that I was sober, such was the atmosphere. It was easy to get lost in the flow of conversation.

Once again I took dozens of photographs, and the following day we had a walk for a couple of hours. The weather couldn't have been more different to the previous day: bright and sunny, and surprisingly warm. Despite being with others, I tended to lapse into my own thoughts as I walked: I usually do, and it's not a bad thing, it helps me to think things through.

Weekends just seem to be too short these days.

Last of the holiday walks

I started back at work today, so here's a post (and photographs) about yesterday: yet more walking, this time in Matlock and Matlock Bath.

An early start was had in order to get the train there for a reasonable hour, which in itself felt like a rehearsal for getting up today. It was dark and grim.

Matlock occupies a curious place in my thoughts and memories, having spent my childhood living about half an hour's drive away (and my dad never drove fast). It reminds me of maudlin Sundays from Spring through to the Autumn months when my parents used to take my brother and I there for the afternoon. I think the main reason I would be maudlin was because it was Sunday and also because the chances of us visiting a garden centre on the way home would be pretty high. Otherwise I really did like it there since we'd often get fish and chips, spend time and endless 10p pieces in the amusement arcades or in the parks with their various attractions, and generally have more fun than I would often credit the place as being able to provide.


It also gives rise to memories of my late teens and early twenties when I would go down there with friends for drinking and in search of any excuse to go out and party. After attending someone's birthday party at a local and rather grand venue, my friends and I had nowhere to sleep, until by a curious turn of events we spent the night wrapped up in blankets in a small industrial unit nearby.

Yesterday was mainly about the walking though. None of it is off the beaten track, as such, though the some of the paths and tracks are pretty steep and so we expended a satisfying amount of energy. We also took a walk near to Riber Castle, which I remember from at least one visit in the summer of 1976. Now it's a desolate and rather eerie-looking empty shell, and this gave me pause for reflection in an otherwise exceptionally pleasant day.

















Oh, and I made friends with a cat.

Fog

I was hoping for fog and, on our shortest day walk, we got it. I'm just back at home briefly and will be heading back up to Derbyshire again later on but I thought I'd take the opportunity to post up a couple of photos from the walk. It started out not exactly bright and sunny, but far more so than we'd expected.

As we got onto higher ground (we were doing a ten-mile route which took in Mam Tor and Kinder Scout) the fog descended and it was beautifully bleak and very other-wordly. We were out walking for nearly five hours and managed to find a sheltered spot for a lunch of sandwiches and mulled wine, after which we got thoroughly soaked thanks to a steady fall of rain which carried on for a couple of hours. So a pint and a chance to get dry and warm in a pub in Edale was more than welcome (I always like the idea that the signs for Edale will say "Abandon Hope..." since that's the name of a neighbouring village).









It's good to have a few days to relax. Here's hoping everyone has a good Christmas and New Year.

Wet and dry

My job entails me going to visit people in different parts of the city. I don't drive, which means I rely on public transport and a good deal of walking. In these last couple of days of extreme (for this country) weather, I've worked out a system of accurately predicting when its going to start raining, and when the rain is going to become torrential.

Here is my system.

When it will start raining: just as I'm about to head out of the office on a visit to one of my clients.

When it will get torrential: just as I'm far enough away from the office for it to be too late to turn back.

I suppose you could summarise this system as Sod's Law. However, tonight its been the other way round. I'm having a quiet time tonight. I decided that I would go out for a walk for a couple of hours, regardless of what the skies threw down at me.

Not a drip, apart from when I walked under a tree. The atmosphere was one of post-storm freshness which really brought the smell of the grass and the trees to life. It was beautiful, especially in the calm of the late evening. I've just got back indoors, settled down, and only now has the patter of rain begun against the open window. It's very soothing, relaxing and very conducive to the reflective mood I'm in.