FOOTLOOSE AND BUZZING

The two of us got out together for a walk late Sunday morning. A few people had the same idea, some walking, others checking things in little  boats which were tied up in harbour.  To avoid  constantly tramping on tarmac roads, we worked out a route that took us a little  'off piste'. 

The last occupants of the estate workers homes decanted about fifteen years ago, the other cottages were already well decayed and open to the weather. The chimney breast in the picture is what is left of one of those ruins.   The field, now gone wild, in which the couple are strolling, would have been used by the estate employees.

Country-Sea -Sand-Dunes

The estate house is  long gone, a fire engulfed the ruins. There are still the very thick enclosing walls in which there are arches which serve a double purpose. Though you can't see them in the picture, there are rough overgrown steps that lead you to a road.  You can just make out the harbour wall.  And yes, the darker shade of light blue you see through the wall arch is the sea. 

However, the arch  has a dual purpose, the picture above doesn't show it.

There is an inner arch wall, (dark) and an outer one. It's not a trick of the camera.  The thickness of  the walls allow for two substantial recesses either side of the arches. These are being used by some fishermen as store places for low value kit they do not want to constantly cart back and forth. This is an informal harbour mostly used for leisure by local people.  Expensive equipment would be stored more securely elsewhere. If you look through the arch across to the far side of the harbour, you'll see a guy putting a red buoy into the boot of his car, which would have been attached to creels. His boat is out of view.

This year, this area was one of those chosen to release bees into in an attempt to boost the bee stocks in the U.K.  I saw a lot of busy buzzing bees out and about. Let's hope it is a successful enterprise.  This one obviously likes the Scottish Thistle.

You can espy one delicate gossamer bee wing

....And there was plenty blooming thistle flower for a bee to enjoy.

We left this natural wild place to cut through the ruins of the cottages.  In the grass  was this; how long could it have been there?

Footloose

It looked as if it had stepped and stopped in its track.....  We left the sandal where it was wondering if anyone would retrieve it. Hubby commented "soul-less". 

Returning via the harbour I was struck by this little cheeky touch of  capstan/bollard artistry. Lavender, it seems, will grow in any conditions, anywhere!

COUNTRY AND SURF AT 'THE TOP OF THE DAY'

It looked like a good day to go out last Sunday, (16th November 2013). With the shortening daylight hours, every opportunity has to be taken when a day is at its best, at 'the top of the day' as the local expression goes. We found ourselves walking a bit of the North East Coast.  You are never far from countryside, in fact, the three, sea shore and countryside, merge.  The sun was low in the sky, seriously blinding for driving into, and also, for walking. It was not particularly good either for photographing some of the weird and wonderful things that caught my eye; maybe I shall get pictures of them another time.

Hardly noticeable, this water treatment plant sat neatly on the coast.

 Sheep grazed. They were not interested in us. I think they must be used to people.  Perhaps too many people had wandered by.  The path ahead of us through the field where the sheep were, was closed off by a five-bar gate.  It was not intended that the gate should be opened.  It was secured with barbed wire.  The gates we had already used were dropping on their  hinges by a considerable amount, requiring some heaving to open and close them behind us. It was not unreasonable to conject, therefore, that there may have been some issues with farm gates being left open.

Hay bales were sitting in the stubble on the fields.  The bales were outlined by good surfing waves   At a distance, the bales almost seemed to be  being pushed along. My stereotypical picture memories, much like the old masters,  are of hay stacks in fields, with more rolling fields surrounding them.  Bales and sea surf were unexpected companions. If you peer into the surf, you will just be able to make out a surfer, (a black dot).

I counted about ten surfers in this group.  This coast, indeed this bay, is known to serious national and international competitors for the quality of surf.  Recently, there was a major competition here.

You might just be able to see a few surfers in action through the spray 'curtain'

...and these surfers are flat-lining on their surfboards. 

Very many years ago, there was land reclamation on this part of the coast, the sea is now reclaiming back the same land, partly through erosion and in part, because, the unmaintained harbour breakwater, (the upright boulders, which are seen in this picture) has given the sea free reign to move back in.

This doorway to nowhere testifies that a substantial property  was built here. The barley twist design the stonemason carved either side of the jamb is still intact on the right. The doorway is beautiful in its decay and solitude.

You can make the images bigger if you click on them.

ALMOST BEACH COMBING AND VERY MUCH PEOPLE- WATCHING

Sunday, it being a bit dull and overcast, we headed for a beach, it's what you do when distracting yourself from missing the good few days that recently passed through.  We ambled along a short  path through some of the sand dunes, which, led to the expansive golden three miles of sand.  No sooner had we trod on the sands,  the sun came out.  It turned into a gloriously, bright walk. We did not pass anyone as we walked for about a mile and a half.  In the distance though, there were two or three people exploring rocks. 

There remain dragons' teeth left over from the defences of the last World War. These are concrete conical blocks, flattened off at the top now, originally placed at the shore lines to make it difficult for sea craft to land. They sit, and some lie, like fading  monuments, their original purpose forgotten.  Here, we turned, and saw that many more people had arrived on the beach.  However, more interestingly for us at this stage of the return walk, there was much to be seen at our feet.

High tide had just receded leaving behind many little treasures. A stone with calcified  sea life forming a fantastical design like an intricate cameo brooch. The stories those sea creatures might have told could only be imagined.

Broken and whole Clam shells were scattered around.  Some, I was told, could be eighty years old.  Apart from the size, Conchologists check the   rings that indicate the bivalve's age, ( much like Dendrochronologists with the study of tree rings ).  Here is one shell still resting in fresh spume, one of the tell-tale clues that it had not long been deposited by the tidal waters in that spot.

Large dark brown/green clumps of seaweed were plentiful.   On the damp sand, some distance from the thick mass, was this elegant, delicate 'balletic' form, totally enhanced by still being wet and glistening in the moistness of the sand on which it came to rest.  In this, I could visualise the movement of the branch in the  sway of the sea and its waves, landing in mid movement here, where I found it.

Nearing the end of our beach walk, we saw a rider edge out from the dunes onto the sandy beach, where, she allowed the horse  to break into a canter then a run. 

Being able to Watch the horse running along the sands and  having the bonus of meeting up with other children in this great big bright outdoor nursery play space for kids, and dogs, was all very good fun.  These are the idyllic outdoor days that make for the  great memories of childhood.

It looks like the dogs have all been to the same doggy socialising school.  The two big fluffy black ones are not in the least bit phased by the outsider, nor for that matter is the outsider bothered by them.

I THINK WE ARE BEING SHOT AT!

An echoing boom blasted out, then the follow-on sound of tumbling rock not far away could be heard. We stopped walking and looked at each other. 'What the hell was that...I'm sure it was a gun". As we were taking stock, another boom rung out, then another. Instinct wanted me to drop and lie flat. Instead, I looked around, then turned and said to hubby, "I think we are being shot at". He agreed we had heard gunshots, but did not necessarily agree that we were the target practice. We could not see from where the shots came, and the directional line of shooting was not clear.

I noticed the golden Labrador dog we had passed on a pathway to a house, on the estate we were legitimately walking, was sitting very calmly, apparently no care in the world. Being as calm as it was, it must have been a trained gun dog. A short distance from the house was parked a 4X4 vehicle.

<>/div> Close to where we stopped were two tents, both had closed flaps. The old army tent had a picnic table set up with elements of a snack visible. There were two empty chairs. There was also a pyramid tent with no sign of active life. As we took stock of the scene, another gun shot rang out.   

Looking back at the house, we saw a gun barrel peeping from the now, open front door, directed towards the rock face opposite. It seemed to us that the firearms user was attempting to scare us off our walk. We decided to walk on and visit the historic site at the end of the trail. Half way up a little hill we turned to look back again. This time, we saw five people at the doorway, including children. And still the barrel of what I believe was a rifle, could be seen moving up, down and around. The shooter did not come into view.

Not far from the historic monument, we could hear the low level .22 rifle popping sounds coming from a clay pigeon shoot. There was a warning red flag further on, a warning not to go past that point. There was a brisk warm wind, and the movement of the sea. Amongst all those sounds was the swishing and sotto voce rumble of a dozen large turning windmills.

So much for a walk through peaceful lush pastures with the tinkling of water streams running through, rising and tumbling over little waterfalls.

WILD RASPBERRIES

Watch your raspberries! 

I was in heaven, when on a walk I unexpectedly arrived at a host of ripe wild raspberries on bushes ripe for picking.  I moved on and found yet more and more. The berries were sweet, you could almost drink their moistness.  I walked a little between the discoveries of fruit laden finds, munching some of the small berry clusters growing at each bush stop. 'Forest' upon 'forest' of fruit bushes presented themselves. Yum.

I picked a few more raspberries, popped them into my mouth, then refilled my hand with more and popped them into my mouth and so it happily continued. This was truly one of nature's delights. But, the little fruits became unexpectedly wild. A sharp hot needle invaded the roof of my mouth. I swiftly blew back the couple of raspberries that were there, into my hand. Oh dear, there was a little bee in one of the fruit clusters, it had done what nature intended, poor thing.

Deciding not to take any risks with bee stings, I made a swift retreat home.

DECIDEDLY DOTTY

We decided to visit the County Town today to enjoy its Gala. Unfortunately, I didn't study too closely the printed agenda in the local paper.  It was hard enough finding the agenda amongst all the advertising, which undoubtedly pays something towards this rather mediocre local news provider and the printing of the agenda itself.

Just for a moment, let me enlighten you about the page of advertisements amongst which the Gala agenda was lost.  They are mostly local businesses who advertise once a year for Gala day, (it happens with our town's Gala day too) trying to tempt shoppers in with little offers. A sign of the times, offers were not that visible this year.  Any small manufacturing firms will announce themselves on the back of the annual celebration, a reminder to people they are still in business. It is easier to find a needle in a haystack than finding jobs in the paper; they are few and far between.

We arrived in the town to find colourful bunting fluttering in  the breeze.  A few stalls were functioning in the town square, a regular Saturday event.  Apart from that, nothing seemed to be happening.

Refreshment time, you have a choice of two places for a coffee, one is not so welcoming just for a drink...you feel you have to buy an array of sandwiches or cakes. Wetherspoons, the pub chain, it had to be.  Providing you specify what you want, the coffee can be very acceptable. 

The pub was bustling with groups and families, all the kiddies were very well behaved.  A short stout fellow wearing a wide pair of spotted trousers, a bright spotty shirt with his face made up as a clown, holding a half pint of shandy asked me what I was looking at. 'Your spots of course'.  He'd been collecting donations for charity.  He explained we were about three hours too early for the Gala itself! The clown advised his friends that as we came from the 'other town' he and they had to talk to us very slowly, so that we could understand what was going on.

As it was a pleasant afternoon, we went for a walk along the riverside instead, walking some distance up to the tidal marsh, exchanging greetings with dogs and their walkers.

:)