A pre-dawn run.......

      Owls were calling from deep in Mellor Wood as I ran through frosted fields towards a red light hundreds of feet above me, the beacon on top of the tower on Castle Hill.  Dawn was still far away as I reached the summit in almost total darkness but for a thin red line across the eastern horizon. There was a dark shadow in the grassy kite flying area so I moved onto the path to avoid it and almost collided with a tripod set up to film the sunrise. The shadow was a photographer sat amongst all his paraphernalia, waiting, expectantly.

Back home at breaking dawn   (Click pictures to enlarge)

After a quick circuit of the hill I ran back down, sliding over mud in the breaking light, branches brushing my face, blackbirds beginning their morning matins and a fierce redness spreading ever further across the morning sky.  Before the sun rose, before neighbours had stirred from their beds, I was home again, feeling good, smug, satisfied - and hungry.  It was my first pre-dawn run for many a week and boy, did I enjoy it..

Along muddy Tinker Lane on Sunday

 With Sunday morning's lack of sunshine to open up early wood anemones around Appletreewick, we set off in the opposite direction in search of wheatears in the ghyll. 

Young ferns growing from the moss on the Miner's Bridge

Past a green haze of hawthorn hedges, where chaffinches, robins and dunnocks will soon be nesting, we crossed the old Miner's Bridge bedecked with young ferns and ran up the stony track into wilder regions. "Look, there on the wall" my wonderful partner whispered excitedly, "that's a wheatear".  Sure enough, before we'd reached Bolton Ghyll, we'd spotted our first of the year.

A stile, so must be on route.....

 We carried on running, up the 'slag heaps' where another wheatear crossed our path, on towards Yarnbury serenaded by curlews, lapwings and skylarks, across fields where hungry sheep thought we might have something interesting for them to eat, and back to the village through sodden fields - the last one boggy enough for a pair of mallard to have taken up residence.

....but off route among the sheep

We arrived home spattered in mud, with filthy shoes and soaking wet feet.  As we stripped and bundled dirty clothes into the washing machine I was jokingly accused of leading my wonderful partner astray, of taking her off-route through places we'd no business to be.  And I was thinking to myself 'but we're fell runners and we'll run wherever we jolly well like!'   Then again, it might be time for a re-think.   We can't run as fast as we used to do!

Easters aint what they used to be.......

      Easter would have been a complete washout if it hadn't been for the pheasant and the lamb, the wine and the whisky, some good company and, of course, Easter Eggs. There may have been other things, but I forget....

Ceremony for Best Rural Pub - Lionel Strub 2nd from right (Click to enlarge)

The truly mouthwatering pheasant had been cooked to perfection by Lionel Strub, resident French chef at The Clarendon Hotel in Hebden, which recently beat strong opposition to win the coveted Oliver Award for Best Rural pub at a ceremony sponsored by Evening Post newspapers. If our dining experience was anything to go by the accolade was well deserved, not just for the excellence of our meal but for staff friendliness and cosy all round ambiance. After we'd turned the radio off....

Simply the best.......

Lamb has just got to be on the menu at Easter - hasn't it?  Well, it's traditional according to Dr John Sentamu, Archbishop of York, who appeared on television cooking a Cordon Bleu feast for none other than Mary Berry whose appreciative remarks rang with superlatives. So much so that my wonderful partner was inspired to experiment with her own version of Dr Sentamu's recipe but omitting the half bottle of wine which we preferred to drink separately! Truly delicious.

Al fresco Easter gloom - rain sweeping over Hebden

 It may have been noticed that the above treats, along with the afore mentioned malt whisky, chocolate easter eggs and some limited socialising, all took place indoors. Al fresco, the weather was pretty diabolical and though the wind  and driving rain was fair dinkum for hardy yachtsmen ploughing back and forth across Grimwith reservoir, it was no country for old men. I much preferred the comfort of a rocking chair not too far from a warm stove, and preferably with a glass of something interesting to hand.

Yachtsmen enjoying the choppy water at Grimwith

We did manage to run round Grimwith, again, on Saturday and back to the car before the weather gods actually spotted us. There glee was probably focused too much on the chaos they were inflicting with Storm Katie a bit further south. We could see the rain smirring the hills across the water, moving towards us, so didn't hang about.

Beating the rain round Grimwith

Greylags, perhaps anticipating the coming storm, were taking cover among the reed beds while a raft of Whooper swans, thirteen in number, held centre stage out on the water.  There was a vast number of Oystercatchers too, a solitary pheasant, some interesting twitters high in the treetops, but precious little else in the way of bird life.

Flags across the soggy bits by Scar Top

A shaft of sunlight across the garden on Sunday lured us outdoors for a toddle up the crag and across the sodden moor to Mossy Mere, looking for anything of interest. Gliding majestically across the water were thirteen Whoopers, presumably the same raft we'd photographed at Grimwith the morning before.

Whooper swans - a baker's dozen

We'd no sooner spotted them than it began to rain, heavily, and we began to run, as fast as we could, back down the crag. Predictably, it bated and the sun came out  as we staggered into the village, breathless, knackered and very wet. "Yeh, got you that time" I suspect the weather gods were shouting.

Breaking into a run to beat the rain - but failed

      On Monday my wonderful partner was anxious to record the first wood anemones and suggested we run to Appletreewick where we might find some. I had a better suggestion - that she should go on her own while I kept the stove well stoked and the coffee pot ready so the cottage would be nice and warm when she got back. The plan worked admirably. She found her anemones while I enjoyed a gentle snooze!

Peter squinting through his snowy windscreen.   Easter's grand finale

The morning after, as I travelled home, the weather gods played their trump card. "I think it's time we took the winter tyres off the car" my wonderful partner had said at breakfast time. As my bus left Grassington we were hit by a snowstorm of blizzard proportions. In little more than ten minutes the landscape was transformed into a white wonderland with contrasting clumps of Easter daffodils in roadside gardens. Windscreen wipers were struggling as the driver, Peter, squinted through the snow.  I'd a very short email when I got home. "Forget about winter tyres" is all it said.
      I hope everyone had a Very Happy Easter.....

Things just get better.....

      Spring marches on. It wont be long before the lawn mower is dragged from the shed to deal with rampant grass. My pocket handkerchief lawns, already scarified and spiked, should shortly become sunbeds in my annual quest for a healthy tan.

Catkins and half a moon against the boundless blue  (Click to enlarge)

 I'm told the previous occupant of this cottage was a naturist who sported (if that's the right word) an all-over tan. I haven't quite got to that stage though my shorts were recently referred to as 'that loin cloth of yours'.

Same day, same wondrous blue sky, different catkins...

 So far as running is concerned I'm struggling to get going again. Two hours plus under general anaesthetic during that last eye operation knocked hell out of my 83 year old engine and I'm still shaking off the effects. The first thing I heard on recovering consciousness was a nurse saying to a colleague "He's very fit for his age, he's a runner".  I still laugh about that!

Listening to skylarks near Thurstonland, on Thursday's 9 mile jog/walk

Since then runs have been interspersed with walks. Sometimes quite long walks and not very fast runs. But anything is better than nothing, especially on beautiful Spring days under blue skies with larksong tumbling from the air, catkins waving in the breeze, bumble bees buzzing about their business, or the call of a curlew echoing across the moor.

More blue sky on Sunday's run round Grimwith

All those things, and much more, have enriched my forays into the countryside this past week. The sky at times was unbelievably blue, sunshine pleasantly warm on the skin, colours brighter through my new eye, each day offering something new as Spring unfolded. I refrained from shouting Hallelujah as I got strange enough looks in other happy moments when I burst into song!

Reflections - Grimwith reservoir

Something new has happened this year too. I mentioned in an earlier post about greylags in the reeds at Mossy Mere, a place we'd not seen them before. Now, they're all over the place, grazing grassland close to the village, skeins of them flying over at night and a great gaggle of them colonising Grimwith reservoir, formerly a stronghold of Canada geese. Besides being honoured with their presence they're an added interest on our waterside jaunts

Greylag goose, Grimwith reservoir

. They're noisy beggars though....likewise that tiniest of birds, the wren, whose voice is far too loud for his size. Good job he's not as big as a greylag with matching voice or we'd need ear plugs!

Time for reflection - at the end of our Sunday run 

Chaffinches were singing too as we ran round Grimwith. Wherever there are picnic tables there are chaffinches. Strange how they know....

Dandelions are beautiful when they arrive in Spring

So that was the wonderful week that was. I suppose it will rain for Easter!

Spring has sprung......

      At long last there was a wee bit of warmth in the sun last weekend, almost shorts weather, except I didn't have them with me. It's time to dig them out, to make sure they still fit before taking them on holiday.  It was still soggy underfoot as we trogged over the moor on Saturday so it wasn't long before socks and feet were soaking wet.

Saturday's route - 7.34 miles/889ft ascent

 The area through which we regularly run is old lead mining country and a glance at the map would frighten many away. Such information as 'Disused Mines', 'Disused Shafts', 'Area of Shake Holes', 'Swallow Hole' and the like can be fairly off-putting. A local lady had the shock of her life when the ground opened up immediately in front of her. Her dog disappeared into the depths never to be seen again. It could so easily have been her.

Dangerous places

We'd barely run a mile when a pair of Curlews flew over us, calling their welcomes - harbingers of Spring. There was total silence from the frog pond but my wonderful partner heard a skylark singing in the distance, way beyond my hearing range. Flappies were performing their aerial acrobatics, as they do, and a Golden Plover was piping away as we approached the Chimney.

Towards the Chimney

 A significant landmark, the Chimney was built to disperse smoke and fumes from the smelt mill to which it was connected by a long flue from some distance away and much lower down.

Crossing the Old Miner's Bridge

We threaded our way through hoardes of people lured from towns and cities with the promise of a fine weekend, crossed the old Miner's Bridge and jogged home, stopping only to photograph Hebden's first lambs of the season.

Hebden's first lambs

Sunday was warmer and even more Spring-like. I'd put a Helly Hansen under my running top but took it off after sniffing the air. One layer was quite enough, and I really wished I'd remembered to bring a pair of shorts.

Mossy Mere overflow

Sunshine had brought frogs to life and there was a heck of a noise going on as I approached their pond. Like trial bikes being revved up. In spite of all the rain nothing is showing but a patch of reeds, but there must be water in there somewhere. Or they're in trouble.

The path by Coalgrove beck below Cupola Corner

Yesterday's skylark had kindly moved to within my range of hearing, stopping me from running (if you could call it that) until he'd poured out his last note. Curlews were my constant companions and as I got nearer to Mossdale Flappies were wheeling around crying pew-wit-pwee-wit-pwee-wit. It sounds far nicer than the red grouse call of go-bak, go-bak, go-bak - but I suppose it means the same thing!

On the Mossdale track

On reaching the bridge at Mossdale a black bird flew up from quite close by. Close enough, in fact, for me to discern a flash of white on its throat. I couldn't believe it. I'd never before spotted a ring ouzel so early in the year. Ian Appleyard, an authority on Ring Ouzels of Hebden Ghyll, gives his first official sighting as March 15th, but that was quite a few years ago, before all the talk of global warming. Last year it was into April when we spotted our first male.

Two bridges at Mossdale - one of them lethal......

I left Mossdale by a rarely used heathery ramp, possibly only known to shepherds, gamekeepers and fell runners for I've never met anyone else on it. It lifted me quickly up to the main track, the homeward trail - and I still had dry feet! The Stone Man came into sight but it looked an awful long way away without my specs, as did everything else. Fortunately, I knew just how far it was and soon reached it.

Breaking into a run - up to the Stone Man

From there on it was a repeat of Saturdays route, past the Chimney, over Coalgrove beck, past the bent tree and down into the ghyll to join the hoardes again making 11.84 miles/1,271ft ascent. Actually, walkers were a bit thin on the ground when I got back. Maybe they were sampling the Clarendon's excellent pub meals before setting off again. 

Lucky beggars!

A snowy weekend......

It snowed heavily last Friday morning. I'd climbed out of bed before 6am and got dressed ready for a run. Whilst enjoying a cup of coffee I happened to switch on the security light to view the weather. It was blizzarding! The surrounding fields were white and it looked like it was snowing heavier by the minute. My running clothes didn't stay on very long!

Looking out my window at 6.30am Friday  (Click to enlarge)

I put mealy worms out for the birds but they soon disappeared under the snow, confusing robins and blackbirds who stomped around peering through the window, begging for more. They'd have to wait. I wasn't going out again in that stuff!

Where have my mealy worms gone?

By Saturday morning most of the snow had cleared and, to our surprise, back in Hebden the sun was shining and fields were green again. A group of people gearing up as we arrived were runners from the Ripon area about to set off on their own version of the Trollers Trot, a 25 mile trail run, the official version of which was cancelled this year.

Getting wet feet

After lighting the stove and downing a much needed mug of coffee we set off in a different direction to that theTrollers group had taken, following a lively Hebden beck up towards the moor. We got wet feet crossing the partially submerged stepping stones, so no point in avoiding any future wet stuff.

At the parting of the ways

We parted company at a higher stream crossing below Cupola Corner, my wonderful partner bound for Yarnbury and a fast run down Moor Lane, me heading for Blea Ghyll and a steady trog down Backstone Edge.

"Look, a flappy"

We'd no sooner parted than a black and white bird with floppy wings flew over and I shouted across excitedly - "Look, a flappy!!!" Some call them Lapwings, others Pewits, some Green Plovers, but to us they're always Flappies. Excitement over, we went our different ways.

Past old lead mine workings, into the snow dappled landscape

Higher up the moor much of the trail was covered with snow and some ankle deep water.  Not every runner's cup of tea.

Not every runner's cup of tea...

 Elsewhere vast pools had formed from rain and meltwater, transforming the landscape, making it a different and more dramatic place to run.

That gathering storm - and pools where no pools used to be...

 I'd been taking photographs of such things without taking notice of the weather. Suddenly it dawned on me a nasty looking storm was brewing in the North East. The sky looked full of snow, and it was blowing my way. At 1,300ft I suddenly felt rather exposed and vulnerable. I turned tail and ran, back the way I'd come. The safer option, I reasoned.

Running back the way I'd come, the storm following behind

  Most was downhill and it wasn't until I reached the bent tree 2 miles from home that the storm caught up, snow highlighting my hair and eyebrows, invoking visions of The Snowman - and Tarja - that soon had me 'Walking in the Air'. Music is never out of my mind, and I love singing, but a hooded couple trogging uphill with their trekking poles obviously didn't.

Back in Hebden, the stove had been stoked and the kettle boiling as I wiped my feet by the door, looking forward to a hot drink - and that half a pork pie!

A great weekend.....

The Lesser Celandine
There is a Flower, the Lesser Celandine,
That shrinks, like many more, from cold and rain;
And, the first moment that the sun may shine,
Bright as the sun himself, ’tis out again!
                                                Wordsworth

Harbinger of Spring?  (Click to enlarge)

....and true to form he was out again all weekend, his little face turned toward the sun - just like us. Primroses are bursting forth too, spotted half hidden amongst other vegetation across Hebden beck. Together with coltsfoot and a solitary kingcup flowering by Loup Scar, we're hoping they herald the arrival of Spring. But as more snow is forecast for the coming week, they could be a bit premature.

Happy to run on smooth trails - sans specs

Oystercatchers were flying around Grimwith reservoir during our Saturday run, though we couldn't get close enough to photograph them. A cacophonous bugling across the water came from the resident flock of Canada geese. A wildlife conservation unit were scything the reeds by the waters edge "to make it safer for nesting birds to avoid predators" they said. We couldn't quite work out the logic of that. They were sailors too and in return for their work they'd been granted all year round sailing on the reservoir.  Sounds like a good arrangement.

Back o' Grimwith

One particular bird whose arrival back onto our moors always lifts our hearts, and helps us change up a gear, is the curlew. Most years they arrive before the end of February but we never know where we're going to hear one first. On Sunday we set off hopefully past Mossy Mere, Blea beck and a remote area of rough pasture they favour for their nest sites. But as we climbed the crag we were thrilled to hear one in a totally opposite direction, down by the river which birds often use as a navigation channel to guide them inland to their territories.

Wildlife conservation workers clearing the reeds

We never heard it again. A small flock of greylag geese were swimming among the reeds at Mossy Mere though we haven't known them nest there. Perhaps they will this year?  Black headed gulls once nested there in hundreds but a local character objected to 'the screaming sods' and destroyed as many of their nests as he could each year until they eventually deserted the place.

Counting greylags at Mossy Mere

Apart from an odd grouse calling, Blea Ghyll was as quiet as the grave - and a lot colder. A nithering north easterly reduced the wind chill temperature to well below zero. Icicles dangled under the banking. My new eye was none too happy and, I'll swear, retreated farther into its socket. Strangely, neither of my deep set eyes are visible in any pictures taken. I'm not surprised my Consultant finds them difficult to work with and shudder to think how he draws them from their sockets. But I trust him....

A couple of Blea Ghyll residents in their warm fleecy jackets

   A pair of plovers were calling in the ghyll and a small flock had gathered quietly behind an old byre that years ago was temporarily transformed into a church during a filming of Wuthering Heights. It wasn't a very successful version. Back in the sheltered village it was heaven to walk into a warm kitchen after our six mile walk, to stoke up the stove and get our hands round a warming mug of tea, or coffee in my case.

  

First primroses

Sunday evening brought more delights, and more of my favourite things. We'd been invited by the lovely Linda to dine in her beautifully refurbished home, formerly Hebden's village shop and Post Office.  First on the menu was venison cooked in a mouth-watering sauce with wonderful vegetable accompaniments and a delectable red wine to help things on their way. Apple pie with hints of cinnamon, ice cream and trifle followed before sinking into a comfy sofa with a large dram of Bruichladdich in hand to while away the evening in convivial company.
   Thankyou Linda. It was a perfect ending to a great weekend. 
    

Getting there...

Yorkshire weather has been beautiful all week, cold, crisp and clear. It brought on a nasty bout of gardening, spreading compost, scarifying lawns, pruning holly and cotoneaster, clearing away dead wood, hoeing and silly things like that. And all the time yearning to be off into the hills, running the trails, wallowing in the wonderful conditions.

One of my gardening friends   (Click to enlarge)

Regardless of better judgement telling me running isn't a very good idea with eyes in their present state, I'm afraid temptation got the better of me this morning. I'd set the alarm for 5.55am to allow time for a quick swill, a cup of coffee, loo stop and out running before 6.30.  Brilliant moonlight lit the frozen landscape as I jogged through silvery fields under a star studded sky. I'm told five planets are currently spanning the heavens but afraid I couldn't identify them - especially as I wasn't wearing glasses.

Dawn breaking on an icy moonlit trail

Dawn was breaking as I crunched up an icy trail onto Castle Hill serenaded by an early thrush and chirpy little robins. The cloudless sky lightened and stars disappeared as I ran around the rim gazing expectantly at that wonderful orange glow lighting all of the eastern skyline.

First spine-tingling run over the Castle this year

I'll guess it was 7.05 when the little ball of fire peeped over the horizon, transforming the landscape with its blazing light and sending a little tingle up my spine as the pageant unfolded. Moments like these are to be treasured and savoured for, who knows, at coming up 84, there may not be many of them left!