Dog days without the dog......

Two midweek runs over Castle Hill passed without incident. The scary black dog was nowhere in sight.  Neither was it's owner's car on the car park so I could run my circuits and reps with complete peace of mind.

Running up that hill with no hassle from unruly dogs
(Click to enlarge pictures)

An email from Emma, the Police Community Support Officer, said she hadn't yet got around to speaking to the offending owner.  I wondered if her recent change of name from Wood to Goddard might account for a temporary suspension of Policing duties?   Regardless, my Bite Back spray seems to have proved a suitable deterrent.

Statue of Harold Wilson presiding over Huddersfield's
Food and Drinks festival last weekend

We wondered if Saturday was National Walking Day (though back in sunny Huddersfield it was National Eating & Drinking Day).  Other than in races we'd never before encountered so many people - or dogs - on our weekend runs.  Even in more remote places, along little known footpaths, we couldn't escape them.  The world and his wife were out enjoying the  glorious, warm weather.
And so were we.

Red Admiral

Leaving an endless stream of people along the riverbank we crossed the bridge at Linton Falls and struck uphill to Langerton Lane.  Early mushrooms dotted the fields and a Red Admiral butterfly posed just long enough for a photograph.

Tripping down the lane towards Burnsall

A posse of walkers were dawdling in the village of Thorpe, perhaps slowed in their tracks by the mid-day heat.  We ignored the 'Slow' sign on the uphill bit and turned right at the top along a trail leading to Burnsall.

Burnsall Fell turning purple with heather

On previous runs we've almost always had this stretch to ourselves, but not on this occasion.  Could it be that someone has written a new guide book to the area, or is it that more folk are learning to read maps?

Harebells by a mossy wall

We've no idea what breed they are but we came across a field full of sheep with 'sticky out' ears. Any shepherds among my blog readers?

Big ears...

And just beyond them, a motley gathering of tents in a secluded field where there hadn't been any before (nor is there any mention of a Burnsall campsite on the internet). We wondered if they were there legally?  Likewise whether a herd of beasties should be rampaging through a new plantation by Hebden Suspension Bridge?

How did those beasties get in there?

TomTom told us we'd run a respectable 7.14 miles with 622ft of ascent so good enough reason for a cooling can of beer in the garden after lunch.

The steep climb up to the top of Hebden Crag on Sunday's run

We'd planned a shorter run for Sunday but somehow miscalculated and finished up running a circuit of exactly the same distance. The heather is currently in bloom and we were anxious to get among it - and smell it.

Happy among the heather

  We'd barely gone a mile before it bombarded our nostrils with its wonderful scent.  We carried on, seeking more of it, crossing the dam at a dried up Mossy Mere.

Water shortage at Mossy Mere

Then over rushy haunts of zig-zagging snipe into Backstone Edge lane leading up to our peat cuttings on Hebden Moor.

Solitary peat cutter

A solitary, bare chested figure was stacking newly cut peat and bagging some that had dried.  It's hard work, as my wonderful partner can vouch for, and we didn't envy him toiling away in the mounting heat.

Miles of nothingness over Grassington Moor

Then again, I don't suppose he envied us either, running across the broad, empty expanse of Grassington Moor towards Blea Ghyll, miles from civilisation or any habitation. In 75ºF.

Looking into Blea Ghyll.

Blea Ghyll is a delectable spot where I've bathed in a pool at the foot of a waterfall where rainbows formed in the sunlit spray.  On a cliff overlooking the waterfall a kestrel nested in splendid isolation.  On Sunday there was hardly a trickle of water.  Only an eerie silence. Not even a bird cry.

Ooh look, helicopters....

We carried on over the moor, herding sheep as we ran the broad track, past a tarn where  damsel flies darted hither and thither, iridescent turquoise needles with wings sparkling in the sunlight.

Air planing downhill

My old bones were beginning to feel the strain.  I was glad to cross the 1,300ft contour to start the downhill run for home.  Passing familiar landmarks we swept down into Hebden Ghyll, past the bent tree and alongside the dried up beck where a rabbit was either dying of thirst or in the first throes of myxomatosis.

Hebden Ghyll

  TomTom registered 7.14 miles with 769ft of ascent.  Also, in the heat, I'd burnt nearly 1,000 calories and was mighty anxious to replace them.
 Not quite sure how many there are in a pork pie, half a jar of biscuits, half a bottle of electrolyte juice and a can of lager.
But it seemed to do the trick!