Landscape – Page 3 – From Pyrenees to Pennines

Textured Monochrome

This week for the Lens-Artist Challenge, John invites us to focus on the tools we consider when taking photographs: Shape, Form, Texture, and Light.

Sarah of Travel with Me fame (You don’t follow her? Why not?) decided to focus on texture alone in her role as Guest Presenter for Leanne’s Monochrome Madness . I’ve decided to follow her excellent example.

I often like to use monochrome to ‘describe’ texture. It seems to highlight shape, form and – er- yes, texture to advantage, with no colour to distract the eye.

In fact my featured photo of nearby Brimham Rocks is changed very little by the use of monochrome. The sky was a bright azure blue that day, with whiteish clouds. Realistically, grey is so much more authentic this year.

Let’s stay with the natural world, and go to Mossyard Bay in Dumfries and Galloway, to inspect the rocks there, and a sheltered pool as the tide goes out.

… and a pool receding as the tide recedes

We’ll stay by the sea, but in Arenys de Mar in Spain this time. A rusting chain, a decaying lump of concrete in the fishing port.

A tired chain in an even more exhausted lump of concrete, Arenys de Mar

More man-made creations, battered by wind and weather. A has-been saint awaits repair in the stone mason’s yard at Rheims Cathedral.

And here’s a characterful shuttered window that’s lived a long life in a village in the Hérault, France.

An English country garden, complete with bee.

… an icy puddle …

And let’s leave you with that most Yorkshire of animals, a sheep: happy to show off a magnificent fleece, magnificent horns.

Stone

Millennia pass.
Continents collide.
Oceans swell, ebb, freeze.
Rocks accrete…                                                         

..and, in England, form
its nubbly spine: the Pennines.

Men gathered scattered stones -
erected walls, marching across dales, hills, moors
holding fast the sheep or meadowland.                         

These stony barricades are the landscape -
like the rocks from which they came.

For Rebecca of Fake Flamenco’s November Poetry Challenge: Stone.

The Moon

This week, for Denzil’s Nature Photo Challenge, we don’t have to worry where we live. The moon shines upon us whichever hemisphere we live in – whether we’re townies or country mice. So here are my moon shots, mainly from England and Wales… some of them may resemble yours, even if you’ve never visited the UK.

And here’s a selection of waxing moons, waning moons, all over the place.

Dry stone walls: fragments of history

I have chosen dry stone walls in response to Brian Bushboy’s Lens-Artists Challenge #253: Fragments. Which is rather odd of me.

Dry stone walls are far from fragmentary. These walls march across the moorland and pasture landscapes of much of northern- and parts of the rest of – England, dividing farm from farm, and fields from their neighbours. Labour-intensive to construct, they can last for centuries: carefully assembled courses of locally-found stone with not a splash of mortar to be seen. The ancient craft is still alive and well, and the modern apprentice can hone his or her skills through Levels 1, 2 & 3.

Still, the stones used in their construction are fragments of an ancient landscape of local rock: of millstone grit, of limestone, flint, granite: whatever is locally available. Some elderly walls are fragments of older, longer ones, and some are indeed somewhat broken.

Really, I just wanted an excuse to celebrate this much loved feature of our landscape, telling a story of centuries of farming in harsh conditions where man has worked tirelessly to make a living.

Mood-Altering

The Lens-Artists Challenge, this week offered by Sofia, invites us to looks at mood. It’s been a very busy week for me, with time in short supply, so perhaps I need a spot of local walking to induce a mood of peace and calm.

… and just take a stroll down a woodland path …

Or perhaps a spot of merriment and street theatre is what’s required …

Or a seaside sunrise: even on a grey day.

Mind you, it’s as well to avoid nesting birds. They can get in a very bad mood, as this arctic tern can confirm …

He’s dive-bombing me. He thinks I’m possibly egg-collecting.

Best burn off a bit of energy and settle my mood …

… before returning home to be simultaneously awed and calmed by a local sunset …

At the Edge of the North York Moors

Sunday. A day that promised sunshine, maybe showers. A day to get out of the house somewhere a little more distant and explore.

My friend Sandra and I picked Boltby. It’s on the edge of the North York Moors, but fertile farming country, transected by rippling streams and glades of trees. Before setting out, we found a wonky-lozenge-shaped network of paths that would take us to another village – Felixkirk – in time for lunch before returning us, wonkily – to Boltby on the other side of the lozenge.

The feature photo shows how the walk started. Honestly, it wasn’t as grey as it appears. Just moodily misty: a warning that it might – just might – rain. It didn’t.

Instead, we enjoyed noticing how the gnarled and characterful trees were at last springing into leaf: bright and sappy.

Our feet bounced along on the springy (though wet) turf, and we made good progress until we hit a series of stream-crossings. I should have taken photos of the battered little bridges, in once case so falling-apart that we forded the waters instead. We should have recorded evidence of stiles so past their use-by date that they swivelled and see-sawed as we tried to use them. We soldiered on. By now the mists were gone, the sun was out, and this was the scene.

Then Felixkirk. We sat with our sandwiches on the village green and enjoyed watching the villagers strolling towards the village hall with offerings of scones, sausage rolls and cakes of all kinds ahead of an afternoon dedicated to celebrating Saturday’s Coronation.

After lunch, the walk became more open, with long-distance views. We were on the home straits, with one more village – Thirlby – in our sights.

Then finally – back to Boltby, with a spot of bad planning: a hill at the very end, just after crossing its ancient pack-horse bridge.

But Boltby has no teashop. To Thirsk then – after four o’clock. All tea shops closed. So instead, we bought ginger beer, and sat on the market square enjoying the Coronation yarn bombing. At least King Charles had his cup of tea. And cake.

Here’s the walk we did. In our opinion (that of Sandra’s app anyway) it was just shy of 10 miles. A good day out.

For Jo’s Monday Walk.

Spring in Black and White

This amateur snapshot-ist has just joined a photographic club, and it’s been a smart move. Although the group has got its share of real talent, members are just as welcoming to those of us who bumble about in the shallow end. There are talks from well-travelled and accomplished photographers: but in between, there are workshops. Last week, a member shared his enthusiasm and lots of tips for monochrome photography, and left me with the resolve to keep my camera strictly on black and white for at least a week or two.

So now I’ve got a bit of a job: This week’s Lens-Artists Challenge is all about Spring. Spring – that season when colour returns after the sombre tones of winter, with bright yellow daffodils, celandines and marsh marigolds; the soft pink of blossoms; vivid grassy greens from leaves that push through the ground or from the swelling buds on twiggy branches, and newly-blue skies. And I’ve gone and made monochrome my rule-of-the-day.

It didn’t help that Sunday was a bit cold, rather grey, somewhat windy and really not very spring like. But rules are rules, even if they’re totally self-imposed. Here we go …

Out of the back door, guarded by spring-time pots, along the lane, edged with tree-blossom, still-wintry trees, and passing a bank of white violets .

The sheep know it’s too early to lamb here. They’re still relying on winter feed.

I wander through the grounds of Old Sleningford Hall, and then along the river bank. There’s twisted hazel thinking of bursting its buds, young wild garlic.

Nearly home. How does this ancient tree, almost completely hollow, continue to live, to sprout new growth?

Back in the garden. The hellebores are – apart from the daffodils – making the best showing. We’ll end our walk by enjoying those.

As well as Sophia’s Lens-Artists Challenge, I’ll pop this post in for Bren’s Mid-week Monochrome. And Jo’s Monday Walk. Why not?

Peace, Perfect Peace

Last week, when posting about the joys of solitude, my header photo came from the afternoon and evening I spent in my own company in ‘l’Albufera, near Valencia. I think of it still as one of the most serene and contented days of my life.

It’s five years since I went in November to spend a fortnight in Valencia to do an intensive Spanish course. All morning I studied at the language school with a motley bunch of fellow students from Saudi Arabia, Germany, Ireland … anywhere but England, apparently. The afternoon was mine to explore Valencia’s city streets, its museums and parks, its churches, its markets. And in the evening I returned to lodge with a Spanish woman who spoke even less English than I did Spanish (I’d gone as a total beginner). So it was a wonderful but intense experience, with my senses always on alert to learn, discover and understand.

I’d heard about the l’Albufera wetlands just outside the city as a natural park to relax and enjoy a stroll among its paths and waterways, wildlife-spotting, and thought this would be just the thing for my last afternoon. I caught one of the infrequent buses, and was on my way.

It really is only just beyond the city boundaries, and very near a rather unlovely social housing development, as you can see here:

But start walking, and you can enjoy paths through Mediterranean coastal forest, probably not meeting another soul.

For the rest, I’ll let my photos do the talking. Several hours of walking, observing, mooching. Sometimes, like Winnie the Pooh, I sat and thought: and sometimes I just sat. As the skies suggested that evening was on its way, I joined a small queue at the waterside of El Perellonet, waiting for a boat trip. And about five of us sat ourselves in a simple boat, which for over an hour puttered about the wetland lakes, inching its way through tall reeds, disturbing herons and other water birds, as the sun slowly started to set. Though we spoke little to each other, it was a companionable, shared occasion which has rarely been bettered in my life. Just once, two years later, I shared the same experience in almost the same way with my husband and the magic was repeated.

For Tina’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge #239

PS to WordPress bloggers: though if you’re affected you may not see this. WordPress for smartphones has now migrated to Jetpack. It’s hard to imagine that this was a glitch-free event. That’s the only reason I can think of for my post on Wednesday getting hardly any sightings, with almost all the usual suspects who are kind enough to ‘like’ and/or comment being conspicuous by their absence. Has anyone else had this experience?

Otto the tree-feller

Last Thursday night, Storm Otto raged furiously across the northern part of the kingdom. He spent much of his anger in Scotland, and in the far north of England. By the time he reached here, he was wearying, but rallied sufficiently to squall and blast at 65 miles an hour. Trees fell. Branches toppled, ripped away from the fabric of the parent trunk.

When we walked through the deer park at Studley Royal on Monday, we found casualties . Despite the destruction, I found beauty in the ravaged branches.

Click on an image to see it full size.

Here’s another:

This ancient tree however, hasn’t suffered at all.

It’ll take more than Storm Otto to fell most of these sturdy residents of the Deer Park.

Monday Portrait of a Hardly Visible Sheep

We’ve had a lot of misty-moisty mornings lately, and I turned this photo up when looking for soft-focus shots for this week’s Lens-Artists Photo Challenge. This isn’t for that challenge: I just thought this hardy creature deserved her five minutes of fame as a Monday Portrait.