Driving last night, with the evening sky as a backdrop, I was distracted by the Western horizon, still bright with the setting sun. A cerise smudge touched nearly ninety degrees of the scene with traces of blood and milk marking higher cloud and the final rays of the day breaking through.
The same clouds acompanied me on my way to work this morning. A canopy of cryptic corrugations, like snow on willow hurdles , thinning in the East to show cracks of sun like the first shreds of processed cheese emerging from a grater.
At lunchtime the cloud had evolved again and passed from orange peel texture, through crumpled crepe and beach ripples to electron micrographs of prehistoric tooth surfaces, monochrome and strangely ridged.
These skies hold a drama. As picture backgrounds they steal from subjects. They defy cameras.
Tuesday, 27 January 2015
Tuesday, 13 January 2015
Wind of change
Earlier, the slight twigs of valley trees tangled a thin mist, preventing it from leaving the river course to form higher clouds. Seen from a hill the bare crowns of these trees appeared snagged in soft cotton-wool that thinned as the grazing land rose to my viewpoint.
The misted sky just fell dark heralding a swift storm of rain bringing wind and a sudden rush of water, like the overflow of a bath in the carpark. Soon this passed and the clouds tore, creating at first a rectangle of baby blue in the grey that had two horizontal stripes of white lit cloud like nothing else but a slice of angel cake. The tear spread from the North Western sky until, above the horizon, clouds made only small scuffs in the graduated blue canopy.
The rising breeze that whipped trees with the rain has waned. Enough to flash the underleaf colour in the evergreen oaks, but playfully; without violence.
Relaxed flocks of winter birds now lazily seek thermals or survey the agricultural landscape for the next safe beak-full. The washed world reflects the new sunlight and gently dries.
The misted sky just fell dark heralding a swift storm of rain bringing wind and a sudden rush of water, like the overflow of a bath in the carpark. Soon this passed and the clouds tore, creating at first a rectangle of baby blue in the grey that had two horizontal stripes of white lit cloud like nothing else but a slice of angel cake. The tear spread from the North Western sky until, above the horizon, clouds made only small scuffs in the graduated blue canopy.
The rising breeze that whipped trees with the rain has waned. Enough to flash the underleaf colour in the evergreen oaks, but playfully; without violence.
Relaxed flocks of winter birds now lazily seek thermals or survey the agricultural landscape for the next safe beak-full. The washed world reflects the new sunlight and gently dries.
Wednesday, 7 January 2015
The Incredible Lightness of Mornings
Either the lengthening of the day or the extra few minutes spent scraping off windscreen ice allowed the sun to surmount the horizon behind a thin screen of trees to the East of a straight road I use approaching my place of work. The misty grey cloud covering most of the sky trapped these acute sunbeams close to the earth, shedding a pinkish light over the otherwise wintery landscape. Frost clung to the grass on the heaths and the puddles corralled crazy icing in shattered patterns left by browsing ponies and cows.
Southern England was spared much of the exciting weather received in Scotland and the North over the Christmas break, but even so we have our own shipwreck (Technically inaccurate I'm sure as it hasn't been declared a wreck as such). We must regard it as a seasonal decoration for the Brambles Bank. I was mildly disappointed that the poor visibility on Sunday meant that I was unable to see the leaning Hoegh Osaka for myself, but the pictures have been stunning on the island news website, Twitter and elsewhere.
Walking the Forest during the break we heard mostly thrushes, but saw mostly robins. On the heaths crows foraged and an occasional buzzard patrolled. Expecting gales later today the farmland around has already filled with seabirds. On the sunny days the Forest carparks were crowded, but the usual 200 yard rule applied and the paths were no more busy. There were fewer DoE candidate parties. we saw deer from the car, but little sign on the tracks. Most prints were pony, dog or human.
Southern England was spared much of the exciting weather received in Scotland and the North over the Christmas break, but even so we have our own shipwreck (Technically inaccurate I'm sure as it hasn't been declared a wreck as such). We must regard it as a seasonal decoration for the Brambles Bank. I was mildly disappointed that the poor visibility on Sunday meant that I was unable to see the leaning Hoegh Osaka for myself, but the pictures have been stunning on the island news website, Twitter and elsewhere.
Walking the Forest during the break we heard mostly thrushes, but saw mostly robins. On the heaths crows foraged and an occasional buzzard patrolled. Expecting gales later today the farmland around has already filled with seabirds. On the sunny days the Forest carparks were crowded, but the usual 200 yard rule applied and the paths were no more busy. There were fewer DoE candidate parties. we saw deer from the car, but little sign on the tracks. Most prints were pony, dog or human.
Thursday, 18 December 2014
Should (I) Stay or Should (I) Go.
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.
What features are visible in the clouds follow the flock, except the darkness on the horizon that just sits and broods.
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.
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