Just last week I was on top of the cliffs at Beeny, just north of Boscastle, walking with Gwynnik, and stopped for a few minutes to take in the views of some Grey Seals ‘bottling’ and ‘logging’ in the sea about 100 metres below. The mixed species of gulls were cawing and shrieking busily, using the air drafts in the cove to float effortlessly around – some call them “sky rats”, if they made less crying and shrill calls and didn’t raid your chips at the seaside I think more would love their command and grace on the wing instead – and occasionally you could spot a Guillemot bobbing around a bit further out in the sea amongst the bright fisherman’s marker bouys. Continue reading “Clifftop weather”
The current heatwave got too much for Gwynnik and I for taking in our more usual open land and clifftop daytime walking, so we headed for our favourite cool and shady spot in the woods.
Although there is a luxuriant richness and wide variety of verdant greens this time of year, I think the Black and White treatment shows off the way the sunlight is peeking through the chinks in the canopy better, a mixture of illumination creating little burning hotspots and dark pools of shadow on its way.
Rural life has many advantages, particularly if like me you are old enough to remember night clubbing and a social life in black and white and didn’t really like it much even then. One noticeable positive aspect is the almost complete lack of traffic. We live in a lane that has about two private cars a day passing by. One of those is a neighbour off to work at 7am, with the bedroom window open you hear the diesel engine stutter to life and the vehicle crunching away across their gravelly driveway, as reliable as an alarm clock except you don’t even have to reach outside the bed to turn this one off and can turn over to get another hour or so of sleep. The other one is usually someone driving by during the daytime who is normally someone who is lost. Continue reading “Anniversary”
Before I went out for my walk yesterday I checked my camera battery. It was lowish at 40%, the spare was charged and in the bag but I thought I’d charge the one in the camera while I had my morning peruse of the headlines and check Twitter for the most current US policy announcements. It was looking to be a fine day and my camera gets through its power pretty quickly so I wouldn’t want to run out of juice. After lunch I got Gwynnik into her crate in the car, gathered up my coat and camera bag and set off on the few miles drive for a walk at Widemouth beach. Continue reading “Be prepared”
I wanted to post some pictures from a recent yomp up to the top of Roughtor on Bodmin Moor, taking in Showery Tor because it’s on the way up anyway. Let’s get pronunciation sorted out for Roughtor first though. It’s apparently not rough, as in not smooth, or a ruff around an Elizabethans neck, it’s rough to rhyme with cow. Or Slough. Yep, I appreciate that’s all very confusing and I don’t know why it is either. In England though, we can have a row with our next door neighbour over a row of hedging, especially if it’s a bit rough. Continue reading “Roughtor”
We did a Beach Clean this Sunday, one of three beaches having a volunteer clean up on the same day. The north coast of Cornwall had taken the usual battering from the recent UK-wide stormy weather spell and the ocean had thrown up many foreign objects that don’t belong in it for us to find on the beach. From that single pebble beach, around 300 metres long, with no tourist input to speak of at this time of year, eight of us picked up 120-130 kilos of plastic waste in two hours. A similar amount was collected at another beach, more difficult to get to from land and hence not cleaned often, our local regularly cleaned beach had thrown up over 65 kilos during the week. Continue reading “Water bottles, water bottles everywhere… to end up in the drink.”
Sometimes I like to go for a ride on my bicycle. That doesn’t make me A Cyclist. Yes, I might know a bit more about bikes, riding them, mending them etc, more than some people who only fall over and curse their dusty bike-shaped object when trying to find something else completely different in the garage, but I will not rise to the bait when someone presents me with the stereotypes that they have of what they think A Cyclist is or should be, so I avoid using that term to describe one of the things I like to do. I just like riding a bicycle. Continue reading “Typing”