Monday’s walk was along the edge of some local woodland. Suddenly, there on the path in front of me, I spotted … a fledgling. A tottering, tumbling ball of fluff, cheeping plaintively and stumbling uncertainly on its large ungainly clawed feet.
I knew enough not to interfere and attempt a rescue, but this little foundling upset me and I felt guilty leaving him to what I assumed would be certain death – especially when, heart-wrenchingly, it tried to follow me. Was the robin perched in the branch above its parent? Later, paging through bird books, I decided not.
Back home, Google was my friend. This article from the RSPB assures me that the parents were probably practising tough love, and beginning the little bird’s preparations for an independent life.
We went to Colsterdale on Sunday. It’s nearby, but feels remote and isolated, because the only road through leads nowhere very much and so it remains one of North Yorkshire’s best kept secrets. Perfect for a Day Out whilst maintaining that all-important Social Distance.
Edged by the pastoral views of farming country, it climbs to become stark, treeless, commanding views to the distant North York Moors, and to the higher parts of the Pennines. Its ascetic bleakness is what appeals to me.
Scar House Reservoir in the distance
We’d almost reached the area where we planned to park and begin our walk, when I saw them. There! There on the roadside! Look! Two curlews, almost within touching distance. These are shy, beautifully camouflaged birds normally only seen and heard as they quarter the sky, calling the evocative plaintive sound – ‘cur-lee, cur-lee’ – which gives them their name. These two were probably drawing a would-be predator away from the nest.
Whatever the reason, it was such a privilege to watch these birds at close quarters, with their mottled, camouflaging plumage, and their distinctive long downward-curving beaks.
YouTube RSPB video
They flew away after a couple of minutes, and we began our walk, relishing the space, the wild emptiness and the only sounds those of distant curlews.
Addendum: several commenters have expressed surprise about the curlew frequenting moorland. Just to show how very much at home the bird is in these surroundings, here is proof. It is the symbol for the nearby long distance walk, the Nidderdale Way. FAO Jude, Agnes
Today, I’m going no further than my kitchen window. The lilac has been glorious this year. Is it because it has been – well – especially spectacular, or have we simply had more time to enjoy its big blowsy blooms and seductive smell? It’s June now, and lilac has no place in the summer garden, so here is the view that has greeted us every breakfast time for about three weeks. Can’t complain about that.
Let’s have a day out. Lockdown’s still somewhat in force, so let’s make it a Virtual Day Out. We’ve got homework to do: it’s time for Jude’s assignment:
This week's assignment - Use strong backlighting (i.e. shooting towards the light source, but do not look directly at the sun) to create a contre-jour image where the subject becomes a silhouette, OR shoot the light through flowers or leaves creating a transparent effect.
We’ll stay nearby at first: go to the local woods, and quite simply glance upwards.
Then we’ll whip over to Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal. There’s a group of hikers beginning their day out, but we haven’t got time to join them …
… because we’re off to London. William and I enjoy visiting the Bishop’s Palace at Eltham. Last time we went, the sky turned an extraordinary colour for a while, and I took this photo.
Back at his house in time for sunset, you can see his school from a bedroom window.
Off to Gateshead now. We’ll join a crowd of sightseers at the Baltic, looking over at the Tyne Bridge.
And we’re back home just in time to see another sunset.
Who knows when or if I’ll be posting again? WordPress seems intent on our using block editor to prepare our posts, and currently, I’m flummoxed, and cross.
I woke up this morning to realise it’s already May: though without the accompanying balmy weather. And I hadn’t yet done Jude’s April Photo Challenge. I wonder if she’ll notice if I squeeze it in today?
She wants us to explore curved lines. I’ve found this the most difficult of her challenges, so let’s see what I’ve come up with.
I’ve begun on one of my daily walks near the house: An oak tree providing a natural arching frame over a field of rape, horizontal as the horizon.
Let’s go on a virtual journey to the Yorkshire Dales where in normal times, we love to walk: streams, rolling hills, drystone walls, snaking ahead of us on our path.
Angram Reservoir, leading the eye to the viaduct at the back of the picture
A drystone wall near Grassington picks out our route.
More scenery on the moors above Grassington.
And at our nearby nature reserve, Nosterfield, brambles frame the local landscape in the autumn.
Yesterday you had a peek at our sitting room window, from the outside. Come on in. We’ll go upstairs, into the kitchen. This is our view from the breakfast table. And it’s lilac time – almost. White, mauve and purple, all in bud, all on the cusp of bursting into flower for one glorious week. Our Top Time of year for breakfast beauty. Aren’t we lucky?
Becky: thank you. This month has been fun. I’m not a natural daily blogger, but it’s been a challenge I’ve enjoyed to find a daily response, almost entirely from photos taken specially for ‘Top Squares’, and I’ve ‘met’ bloggers I wouldn’t otherwise have come across. I can’t resist ending as I began: with a Top Sheep-and a lamb or two.
Look at the charming old bridge at West Tanfield. Keep looking. You’ll spot it eventually. A close-up shot is not an option.
It’s been around since 1734. JMW Turner sketched it in 1816. Tour de France riders hurtled over it in 2014. It’s a fine place to stand and look at a Proper English Village View.
But today, I had a surprise. I saw a small clump of toadflax had chosen to grow on the very top, just where I was leaning over. A fine addition, I thought.
I knew enough not to interfere and attempt a rescue, but this little foundling upset me and I felt guilty leaving him to what I assumed would be certain death – especially when, heart-wrenchingly, it tried to follow me. Was the robin perched in the branch above its parent? Later, paging through bird books, I decided not.
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