An anticyclone of seabirds blew across the field, one line of trees from our car park. The birds flying upwind appeared stationary while those going with the wind whipped by like darts. As the formation drifted it slowly diminished as a steady stream of its members chose to flap back upwind from where they came.
What features are visible in the clouds follow the flock, except the darkness on the horizon that just sits and broods.
Thursday 18 December 2014
Wednesday 3 December 2014
Not under steam
Chrome vanadium stood in for lead to calibrate the accoustic depth measure. 3.5 metres in the new money compared well with the vernacular "just less than two helmsman lengths" in rope. We lay our trust in the modern gauge.
Sails were bent on by experiment. The first reefing line made do as an outhaul. The small genoa, confusingly, with its UV strip on the wrong face for the furling line.
The sonorous single cylinder pushed us past the buoy, slipped mooring, and feeling our way in the hidden channel, narrow, shown only by starboard marks. To the mouth, where port is marked, pointing towards the Island. Turned Southerly on a port tack and, quieted the engine, set the head sail, took the breaths we had spared for ten minutes or maybe a month.
The last Saturday of November 2014. High tide at 16:30 (or thereabouts), 13 degrees Centigrade, sunset 16:04, ten knots Easterly backing North Easterly. Our maritime adventure and the rest of the sea was occasionally lit from the side when the sun broke through.
Four tacks and then a gentle turn back towards the castle with a slow, controlled gybe. Still to conquer mooring again we left plenty of time before peak tide or loss of light by motoring back, sail was only giving us a knot in the water and prey to the tidal gyre.
Missing the mooring with the current gave me the opportunity to experiment further with the maneuverability of the vessel and to learn more about the width and character of the channel. She turned in her own length, easily holding off the following buoy and boat. I touched reverse to avoid swinging too wide in the turn and then just let the current drift the bow back to the target using the engine to cancel the flow.
Sails were bent on by experiment. The first reefing line made do as an outhaul. The small genoa, confusingly, with its UV strip on the wrong face for the furling line.
The sonorous single cylinder pushed us past the buoy, slipped mooring, and feeling our way in the hidden channel, narrow, shown only by starboard marks. To the mouth, where port is marked, pointing towards the Island. Turned Southerly on a port tack and, quieted the engine, set the head sail, took the breaths we had spared for ten minutes or maybe a month.
The last Saturday of November 2014. High tide at 16:30 (or thereabouts), 13 degrees Centigrade, sunset 16:04, ten knots Easterly backing North Easterly. Our maritime adventure and the rest of the sea was occasionally lit from the side when the sun broke through.
Four tacks and then a gentle turn back towards the castle with a slow, controlled gybe. Still to conquer mooring again we left plenty of time before peak tide or loss of light by motoring back, sail was only giving us a knot in the water and prey to the tidal gyre.
Missing the mooring with the current gave me the opportunity to experiment further with the maneuverability of the vessel and to learn more about the width and character of the channel. She turned in her own length, easily holding off the following buoy and boat. I touched reverse to avoid swinging too wide in the turn and then just let the current drift the bow back to the target using the engine to cancel the flow.
Thursday 27 November 2014
Fade to grey
The jays have stopped raiding the evergreen oaks and the willows and hornbeams have bare tops. The sky has colour; steel blues and luminous off-whites, fading to grey. Airbrushed.
The custard maple this morning was clinging on to fewer leaves than on Friday. A sprig of a tree in a dessert coloured pool of discarded clothing. Two deer browsed the heath just North of the A31. The ponies coats looked finger-combed and freshly washed. Mist washed out the detail over much of the route, but actually I wasn't watching too hard this morning. Too little sleep?
The custard maple this morning was clinging on to fewer leaves than on Friday. A sprig of a tree in a dessert coloured pool of discarded clothing. Two deer browsed the heath just North of the A31. The ponies coats looked finger-combed and freshly washed. Mist washed out the detail over much of the route, but actually I wasn't watching too hard this morning. Too little sleep?
Wednesday 19 November 2014
Bargains on view
November has brought the warmth of summer to its natural close, but with Southerly winds and a little cloud sealing away the vacuum of space by night, the temperatures are still in double figure of Centigrade. More rain is falling, after the remarkable dryness of September; mists form and linger, wrapping the roots of things.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
All of the possible experiences of boat ownership from luffing up into a hard tack to sinking have long been anticipated (and long anticipated or feared). So far, despite mechanical setbacks preventing putting up the sails and sailing, the unanticipated experiences have been glorious. Whether marooned on a mud bank, or bobbing gently to the wake of the passenger ferry, the sights and sounds of the autumn river estuary have left a deep impression of peace and beauty.
The estuary birds, accustomed to moored boats, approach fearlessly; browsing, fishing, calling and flying. Fellow boating folk smile and wave or hail; the ferry passengers look on with some envy, or bemusement.
For the money (being crude for a moment), much less than a beach hut would cost nearby, there is an astonishing 360 degree view and a great sense of freedom. Less than half a mile to the mouth, another mile to open sea. Some fear of course, some nervousness, but only enough to keep safe with.
Tuesday 30 September 2014
committee weather
The first heath after the village edge revealed an untidy sky this morning. Stacked grey in the NW hanging in its own precipitate, whilst magnolia banks glowed in the East and, in the South stacked cumulus reflected bright sun through perforated layers of untidy vapours.
A night mist hung under the thinning canopies of trees a little later, but the sky glowed with promise. Back out in the open knives of sun cut through the layers, scoring boiling mist from the dewed lawns - any hissing submerged by the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac.
On top of the plain, banks of mist rose steadily to join the confusion of fluffy cloudlets already heading for the sky. Beasts and motors, cycles and gorse hid in their folds. The horizon was made of tree-tops with no bottoms and, eventually, the sun washed it all, reflecting whiteness from all directions.
I absorbed the morning, like the coats of the Highland cattle that herded slowly along the road, dripping with each carefully placed hoof.
A night mist hung under the thinning canopies of trees a little later, but the sky glowed with promise. Back out in the open knives of sun cut through the layers, scoring boiling mist from the dewed lawns - any hissing submerged by the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac.
On top of the plain, banks of mist rose steadily to join the confusion of fluffy cloudlets already heading for the sky. Beasts and motors, cycles and gorse hid in their folds. The horizon was made of tree-tops with no bottoms and, eventually, the sun washed it all, reflecting whiteness from all directions.
I absorbed the morning, like the coats of the Highland cattle that herded slowly along the road, dripping with each carefully placed hoof.
Monday 29 September 2014
Autumny
I saw a fungal fruiting body at 50 paces as I drove through the slightly misty forest this morning. Shaggy ink-cap if you want an opinion, but its proximity to a mouldering tree-stump allows a range of alternatives.
A delightful little sail yesterday, exercising a number of routes around the estuary to the tune of an Easterly that was steady except for ten minutes almost becalmed near the river mouth on the turn of the tide. Slack wind meeting slack water left us bobbing in a frozen mirror. Just up-river, as we weaved around the moored yachts, the low fast flight of an irridescent bird surprised me, ornithology was briefly offline. My first (clear view of a) British kingfisher in flight.
A delightful little sail yesterday, exercising a number of routes around the estuary to the tune of an Easterly that was steady except for ten minutes almost becalmed near the river mouth on the turn of the tide. Slack wind meeting slack water left us bobbing in a frozen mirror. Just up-river, as we weaved around the moored yachts, the low fast flight of an irridescent bird surprised me, ornithology was briefly offline. My first (clear view of a) British kingfisher in flight.
Wednesday 16 July 2014
horses of courses
The lawn looked remarkably flat this morning, after its trim yesterday evening. Blackbirds and starlings probed the mat for invertebrates and my back was not ever so bad, so happiness all round. A brief measure of panic when it was discovered that youngest was still in bed with three minutes to the bus, but mostly calm. I just wrote in the answer for a Guardian "tough" sudoku wondering as I often do how these puzzles are ranked and how often they print the ratings on the wrong one.
Slightly keen to have time for meeting preparation I considered for two seconds the sensible route to work, but how often is the weather so mellow and the light so luminous in the morning? So to the back roads. I fiddled with the radio as I left the village and, someone out there in FM land was playing Jimmy Somerville; swept back to the part of the 80's in which hope sprang eternal and the world was an exciting place. I knew I'd made the right choice.
Unfortunately many (well too many, but actually rather few) people had made the same calculation and so a certain amount of slowing and passing or diving into the rough was required to negotiate the usual long route to work. The sky filled the gap between horizons with blue only slightly punctuated by fluffy cloudlets. Ponies and donkeys dozed on the roads, letting in the day's heat before moving off to browse. The car said 18.5 degrees centigrade.
By the time I reached work the clouds had disolved, leaving only mares tails scratched into the heavens. Now however the clouds have slabbed and collected and are beginning to frown a little. Small islands of blue remain, but here at ground level the forecast is cooler with possible heavy showers. The radar shows rain from the West disolving before it reaches us.
Time I think for a brief walk, not too far from shelter and I can watch out for the red kite I pretended to not watch from the meeting. Distant gulls circle like motes in the clear light of a cloud gap, lit despite their darkening backdrop; there is a stillness.
Slightly keen to have time for meeting preparation I considered for two seconds the sensible route to work, but how often is the weather so mellow and the light so luminous in the morning? So to the back roads. I fiddled with the radio as I left the village and, someone out there in FM land was playing Jimmy Somerville; swept back to the part of the 80's in which hope sprang eternal and the world was an exciting place. I knew I'd made the right choice.
Unfortunately many (well too many, but actually rather few) people had made the same calculation and so a certain amount of slowing and passing or diving into the rough was required to negotiate the usual long route to work. The sky filled the gap between horizons with blue only slightly punctuated by fluffy cloudlets. Ponies and donkeys dozed on the roads, letting in the day's heat before moving off to browse. The car said 18.5 degrees centigrade.
By the time I reached work the clouds had disolved, leaving only mares tails scratched into the heavens. Now however the clouds have slabbed and collected and are beginning to frown a little. Small islands of blue remain, but here at ground level the forecast is cooler with possible heavy showers. The radar shows rain from the West disolving before it reaches us.
Time I think for a brief walk, not too far from shelter and I can watch out for the red kite I pretended to not watch from the meeting. Distant gulls circle like motes in the clear light of a cloud gap, lit despite their darkening backdrop; there is a stillness.
Tuesday 15 July 2014
Gatekeeper moment
I walked out last Thursday, down to watch a few yards of trout stream pass peacefully by in the sunshine. I was grabbing a little lunchtime exercise to relieve the stiffness from Wednesday badminton, but walking largely for my soul.
Insects and birds flew around as I descended the hill and crossed the meadow. First (ignoring for now the crows and jackdaws) a ringlet. As the trees drew back from the path a little and quaking grass and bramble were joined by thorn and fern, the meadow brown zone began.
The track turned, wooded to the right and fields to the left, with mature deciduous trees on boundaries. Here there was some excitement over a juvenile buzzard, mobbed by lazy crows that didn't appear threatened, just concerned to establish a pecking order. These shared the blue with seagulls.
In the meadow were mostly these two butterfly species, with an occasional white, a rarer peacock, a small blue? At the first dike the dragons began with a green darter of some sort. The demoiselles also showed with damsels too, a blue and a green and a red.
At the river the demoiselles were dense, flying over the banks and the hedges, skimming over the rippled flowing stream, keeping out of the range of the mouths of brown trout who beat their tails to maintain station in the races or patrol the pools, not yet rising.
I saw a red admiral here and little skippers. A brood of ducklings and five signets with a parent on regal patrol. There were more green damsels and a speckled moth which flashed a red underwing when disturbed. The second brood of commas were patrolling, bright and bold like fools' fritillaries.
At every flicker of brown and orange I watched for the characteristic pattern of the gatekeeper upper wing, but saw only the brown and eyed wings of meadow browns. (A marbled white on the way back up the hill).
On Saturday I was in my garden (a wild and wildlife friendly place if you must imagine it) and, of a sudden, was surrounded by gatekeepers. It was that moment of the year when the changeover happens, from meadow browns to gatekeepers. The 12th of July this year.
The hedgehog has been hiding, but the young robin is still chasing insects on the lawn. The slowworms are about. I dug one out of the compost heap whilst tidying a week ago and saw one basking in the morning on our rotting tree stump. Both of these examples, assuming they were different individuals looked like healthy fat females, so there are babies to anticipate.
I cut the lawn today. I've never known the sward so thick in July. We've had warmth and sunshine with just enough showers to keep everything growing. The apple trees have a fair crop, by numbers, but the sizes are well ahead of the last few years.
Insects and birds flew around as I descended the hill and crossed the meadow. First (ignoring for now the crows and jackdaws) a ringlet. As the trees drew back from the path a little and quaking grass and bramble were joined by thorn and fern, the meadow brown zone began.
The track turned, wooded to the right and fields to the left, with mature deciduous trees on boundaries. Here there was some excitement over a juvenile buzzard, mobbed by lazy crows that didn't appear threatened, just concerned to establish a pecking order. These shared the blue with seagulls.
In the meadow were mostly these two butterfly species, with an occasional white, a rarer peacock, a small blue? At the first dike the dragons began with a green darter of some sort. The demoiselles also showed with damsels too, a blue and a green and a red.
At the river the demoiselles were dense, flying over the banks and the hedges, skimming over the rippled flowing stream, keeping out of the range of the mouths of brown trout who beat their tails to maintain station in the races or patrol the pools, not yet rising.
I saw a red admiral here and little skippers. A brood of ducklings and five signets with a parent on regal patrol. There were more green damsels and a speckled moth which flashed a red underwing when disturbed. The second brood of commas were patrolling, bright and bold like fools' fritillaries.
At every flicker of brown and orange I watched for the characteristic pattern of the gatekeeper upper wing, but saw only the brown and eyed wings of meadow browns. (A marbled white on the way back up the hill).
On Saturday I was in my garden (a wild and wildlife friendly place if you must imagine it) and, of a sudden, was surrounded by gatekeepers. It was that moment of the year when the changeover happens, from meadow browns to gatekeepers. The 12th of July this year.
The hedgehog has been hiding, but the young robin is still chasing insects on the lawn. The slowworms are about. I dug one out of the compost heap whilst tidying a week ago and saw one basking in the morning on our rotting tree stump. Both of these examples, assuming they were different individuals looked like healthy fat females, so there are babies to anticipate.
I cut the lawn today. I've never known the sward so thick in July. We've had warmth and sunshine with just enough showers to keep everything growing. The apple trees have a fair crop, by numbers, but the sizes are well ahead of the last few years.
Wednesday 2 July 2014
Spiny stop out
Feeling that I should perhaps be whispering, lest the weather gods hear me and over-react, I might mention that we have had a summer already. No prevarication, no guessing - I name this weather summery and you cannot tell me I er'.
Some sailing has happened, though only by the slightest of dinghies. Very little gardening has happened (since I got depressed about the number of ticks in the garden at Easter). Some sad, but enevitable events have rocked our family about; leaving us still floating, but spinning gently.
Exams have struck the house. New toys (replacing old in most cases, such as the depature of our good and trusty friend DP). And, amongst the joys and woes, the rhythm of life continues with work and washing-up.
I had a good pile of stuff to wash yesterday morning, and the pleasure of watching the, still fresh looking, summer garden while it moved from right to left via the soapy sink. Under the yellow apple tree, some movement.
A rabbit I thought, a small cat? No, a hedgehog out and about collecting grass for nesting in the late dawn light. It combed the understraw, dragging balls of it out of sight (I guessed to shelter under the shed). In the deep shade of the low apple boughs a young robin bobbed; swooping down on the disturbed insects as the hog did her? work. The oranging breast hardly discernable in the low light, but given away by the dance, the flit, the swoop and hop of a robin - and nothing else quite.
The good weather and long sunny days have meant fewer sightings of reptiles, since their basking is done before I rise. I neither saw nor heard May bugs, though there were quite a few stag beetles about. We've been seeing a good variety of birds, including raptors. Plenty of bees and just recently I've seen more marbled whites than usual.
Some sailing has happened, though only by the slightest of dinghies. Very little gardening has happened (since I got depressed about the number of ticks in the garden at Easter). Some sad, but enevitable events have rocked our family about; leaving us still floating, but spinning gently.
Exams have struck the house. New toys (replacing old in most cases, such as the depature of our good and trusty friend DP). And, amongst the joys and woes, the rhythm of life continues with work and washing-up.
I had a good pile of stuff to wash yesterday morning, and the pleasure of watching the, still fresh looking, summer garden while it moved from right to left via the soapy sink. Under the yellow apple tree, some movement.
A rabbit I thought, a small cat? No, a hedgehog out and about collecting grass for nesting in the late dawn light. It combed the understraw, dragging balls of it out of sight (I guessed to shelter under the shed). In the deep shade of the low apple boughs a young robin bobbed; swooping down on the disturbed insects as the hog did her? work. The oranging breast hardly discernable in the low light, but given away by the dance, the flit, the swoop and hop of a robin - and nothing else quite.
The good weather and long sunny days have meant fewer sightings of reptiles, since their basking is done before I rise. I neither saw nor heard May bugs, though there were quite a few stag beetles about. We've been seeing a good variety of birds, including raptors. Plenty of bees and just recently I've seen more marbled whites than usual.
Saturday 26 April 2014
quiet spring
I re-hung some of the white washing, to take advantage of the bright and the breezy, cleared some of the invasive weeds from the surface of the new half barrel (hoping to see a pair of shy fish) and then settled to watch the slow metamorphosis of the tadpoles in the temporary pond.
The sun warmed me between swift clouds. I wrapped by knees in elbows, not as comfortably as they used to, and watched both the wriggling black shapes and the reflections of sky and house.
The breeze brought occasional apple petals to rest on the water surface, a few sticking to my jumper, one tickling my neck.
Ripples of memory washed my eyes and tracked like the original salty sea to rekindle older memories in my mouth. Origins and evolution, growth, metamorphosis and death. All held there wrapped in arms by a pool.
The sun warmed me between swift clouds. I wrapped by knees in elbows, not as comfortably as they used to, and watched both the wriggling black shapes and the reflections of sky and house.
The breeze brought occasional apple petals to rest on the water surface, a few sticking to my jumper, one tickling my neck.
Ripples of memory washed my eyes and tracked like the original salty sea to rekindle older memories in my mouth. Origins and evolution, growth, metamorphosis and death. All held there wrapped in arms by a pool.
Friday 28 February 2014
Well past mentioning that it has been wet
!Strident spokes of dawn sun spear down, exciting the motes inside, igniting the fine drizzle outside and forcing my eyes, bashful.
Boughs, branches, twigs and buds of deciduous trees out-line a filigree against the West's contrasting purple wall of threat.
I drive, so illuminated until, passed slumping trunks and fresh hung catkins, I go back to rain.
Weather again takes precedence over wildlife this year. Striped blue and grey, holding beams and showers, litter the sky beneath the tired sun-visor. Shining more than yesterday's long-tailed, or today's blue.
Monday broke bright and clear early and the strutting birds took full advantage. I heard great tits and woodpeckers. The house opposite provided the stage for starlings, combining their unique starling techno sound with false ponies on the ridge tiles.
Now though, as the rush-hour peters out, there is a huge calm. The varied cloud layered pattern only slowly changes, revealing high striations between the thin bands of low cumulus. The chorus fades to release the more mundane day time.
Boughs, branches, twigs and buds of deciduous trees out-line a filigree against the West's contrasting purple wall of threat.
I drive, so illuminated until, passed slumping trunks and fresh hung catkins, I go back to rain.
Weather again takes precedence over wildlife this year. Striped blue and grey, holding beams and showers, litter the sky beneath the tired sun-visor. Shining more than yesterday's long-tailed, or today's blue.
Monday broke bright and clear early and the strutting birds took full advantage. I heard great tits and woodpeckers. The house opposite provided the stage for starlings, combining their unique starling techno sound with false ponies on the ridge tiles.
Now though, as the rush-hour peters out, there is a huge calm. The varied cloud layered pattern only slowly changes, revealing high striations between the thin bands of low cumulus. The chorus fades to release the more mundane day time.
Wednesday 29 January 2014
Monday's longer road to work (seasons)
Crows flapping in pairs.
Flirting; suggestive of spring.
No sleuthing required.
Flirting; suggestive of spring.
No sleuthing required.
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