In Search of a Druid or a Trout – Revisited

It’s re-post a Golden Oldie from France time.

August 27th, 2012

In search of a druid – or a trout

Mont d’Olmes: local playground for skiers. You wouldn’t travel any great distance to spend a holiday here, but for locals, it’s the ideal winter sports spot. It’s a wonderful area for walkers too. We’ve only just begun to discover the wealth of footpaths, mainly across truly ‘sauvage’ slopes, with views downwards to Montségur, Roquefixade, and northwards almost, it seems, as far as Toulouse.

It’s alright waxing lyrical though. For many people living in the area many years past, and until the early years of the 20^th century, these slopes were the places where they came for long hours each day, working both on the surface and by crawling through narrow airless tunnels, mining talc.

Le lac de Moulzonne glimpsed through the trees at 8.00 a.m.

The trucks that used to transport the talc from the mines.

The old mine workings. Can you spot several tunnel entrances?

Talc? Yes, that stuff you sprinkle on babies’ bottoms. That stuff those Olympic gymnasts plunge their hands into before taking to an overhead bar. That stuff that apparently still has many industrial uses, notably in the ceramics industry and for plastics paints and coatings. This soft soapstone was found here on Mont d’Olmes and is still mined in nearby Luzenac. Here though, all that is left are the gashes in the mountainside where the workings once were, and a few ancient trucks once used to transport the material down to civilisation.

Come and take the path we took last Sunday. We walked in more or less a straight line, up and down hill after hill, as the path became increasingly rocky and impassable.

Our path onwards and upwards.

So many paths! But you’ll never meet a soul.

Apparently this plant is carniverous, feeding on passing insect life.

Early morning mist burning off in the sun.

Our reward was the occasional handful of raspberries or bilberries, then a lunchtime picnic by l’étang des Druides. No, sorry, l’étang des Truites. Whatever. Nobody seems to know which name is correct. Some say the person making the first map of the area misheard and wrote ‘truite’ – trout – instead of ‘druide’. We saw no trout. We definitely saw no druids. But we had a jolly nice picnic. And I paddled.

Our first sight of L’étang des truites or druides.

Our picnic spot.

Told you I paddled!

More of the picnic spot.

And then I ruined a perfectly good day, in which morning chill and mist had given over to hot sunshine, by falling flat against the rocky path, cutting open my face and chipping three teeth. I hope the druids weren’t lining me up for some kind of sacrifice.

Our homeward path.

Lavelanet, then Laroque lie far below us.

People often hang these thistles on their doors to bring good luck. Maybe if we had too I wouldn’t have had my little accident.

August 2020, PS. Don’t worry. I’m fine. The chipped bits, which were only small, have smoothed down nicely.

Jo’s Monday Walk

It’s Worth Going Walking Quite Early …

…. getting up and out at 6.00!

Six Word Saturday

Jo’s Monday Walk

The Bird at the Window

A June walk near Richmond in Yorkshire. Not this June as it happens, but it’s a walk I remember well.

This was the countryside we strolled through.

The banks of the River Swale.

Richmond Caste in the distance.

Swaledale meadowland.

And this was the abbey we found near the end: Easby Abbey, ruined since shortly after the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, and as atmospheric as ruins generally are.

Easby Abbey.

.. and the still-standing parish church.

The site includes the not-at-all-ruined parish church which is still very much in use. When we popped in, we didn’t expect to find a poor swallow, struggling to get out. Church members were trying to help him, but he was still vying with stained glass angels as we left. Poor swallow.

A feathered bird meets a feathered angel at the church window.

Birder friends: can you help please? I realise this may not be a swallow, but it doesn’t seem to be a swift or house martin either. Thoughts?

Monday Window

Six Words? Twelve Words? All nonsense.

Fish – clutter – drain – banana – starling – umbrella – buttermilk – sky – walking boots – bibulous – carbuncle – brain.

Just look at that. Twelve words. I have to weave those twelve random words into a single poem.

Our U3A writing group is one of the few things that’s continued throughout lockdown. It’s a positive activity at a somewhat negative time. But what CAN you do with a list like that? This, it turns out. I’m not too displeased. And here too are a few photos to illustrate the day.

Colsterdale

Wanting to de-clutter

my brain, I drive to

Colsterdale.

Walking boots? – Check.

Map? – Check.

Sandwich? – Check.

Banana? – Check.

Umbrella? Don’t be silly.

No starlings here, but

curlews, skylarks

crest the sky –

that cobalt sky, patched

with buttermilk clouds.

A chattering brook

drains into the reservoir

where fish silently dawdle

and spongy bibulous mosses

make soft mats beneath my feet.

Contented now,

I drive back to town.

I pass that new carbuncle and see

a socially distanced queue

snake round the recently-opened

supermarket.

Jo’s Monday Walk

Six Word Saturday

One More Walk in the Woods

Greensitt Batts

Heslett Wood

Coal Bank Wood

Piccadilly

Five Ponds Wood

Mickley Barrass

I walk in the woods daily.

Join me just one more time.

Light shafting downwards through the trees.

Loamy paths, wild garlic, bluebells, campion.

Silence: except for birdsong, purling streams.

The tang of sap, earth, flowers.

#Six Word Saturday

Jo’s Monday Walk

Walking Every Single Day During Lockdown

I’ve made discoveries on my doorstep:

Woodland

Farmland

River bank

Lakeside

Pasture

Wildlife

A new walk, every single day.

Six Word Saturday

A composite walk for Jo’s Monday Walk

And Then I Toppled In …

About once a month, I re-blog a post from our years in France. Hunting for a Top Theme for Becky, I came upon this one.

April 19th, 2010

Terre Rouge – Ciel Bleu

Whenever we think we’re beginning to know the areas near home quite well, something comes along to surprise us.

Take Couiza, for instance, a town in the Aude that has been the centre point for quite a few of our walks. It can offer, within easy reach of the town, a typical Audois landscape which is almost Tuscan, with rolling hills, vineyards and cypresses. Or craggy, scrubby garrigue, almost Spanish looking. Or there’s le Domaine de l’Eau Salée, where the streams are pink with salt washed from the earth, and have been exploited by man for centuries.

Yesterday, however, we went with le Rando del’Aubo to Terre Rouge, an area near Couiza which astonished us with the rich red colour of the earth which dominated the landscape.

It supports a rich variety of plant life which is just springing into flower: Tiny daffodils, less than 3 inches high, bright yellow potentilla, grape hyacinths. Bluish grasses bind the dry and sometimes sandy earth, and the air is rich with the strong scent of various wild thymes and lavender.

This red earth is all-encompassing. And then suddenly, it stops. And we’re back again among more pallid yellowish soils, enjoying views of the distant Pyrenees, and the mountain which dominates this part of the world, Bugarach.

Bugarach. The dominant mountain top around these parts.

The walk was on the hottest day of the year so far, with clear, vivid blue sky. We shed jumpers, long trousers, and our pasty winter skin turned the colour of that red earth. There was a wide shallow stream at the village where our walk began and ended, and a few of us enjoyed a paddle. I greatly contributed to the end-of-day bonhomie by toppling in…….

Taken just before I toppled in. Nobody was unkind enough to take a snap of me all bedraggled.

#Squaretops 21

Simplicity

Life in our home has become simpler, pared back to basics. All the things I cheerfully filled every day with – the volunteering; the classes and choir; the must-get-to-the-shops; the to-do list; even seeing friends – have all vanished. Astonishingly, I don’t mind. The one thing that is a constant now is Daily Exercise, as prescribed by the Government: ‘People can leave their homes for exercise once a day’. For Malcolm, it’s a bike ride. For me, it’s a walk.

Denied trips out to the Dales and wild places, I’m exploring our home patch anew- every ginnel, every bridle way, every woodland and farmland path. My Daily Exercise sometimes lasts an hour, more often two or three. I rarely meet a soul. It’s just me, the ground beneath my feet, the sights I observe, the landscape, the cloudscape, the satisfying rhythm of my feet as I pound my chosen path for the day. Every day I choose a slightly different route. Every day things change a little. Buds, once tightly furled are now tender young leaves: new flowers burst into bloom; lambs grow stockier, more playful. I have time to notice these things.

I value these hours. Like everyone else, I want this horrible crisis under control. I want to meet my family and friends again. But when that time comes, I want to continue savouring quiet moments like the ones I’ve enjoyed so much over the last few weeks.

Primroses.

Celandines.

Marsh Marigolds.

Wood anenomes.

Violets. White ones are commoner round here, but for me, violets have to be -violet.

For me, these are early April’s Top Flowers, and my walks have given me the chance to enjoy them. What have I left out? Wild garlic isn’t flowering yet round here, nor the hedgerow plants.

This dramatic cloudscape evolved over the course of my walk, holding my attention.

A simple view through trees at the fields beyond.

Back in the village, a greylag goose guarded the village pond, hissing at me as I paused to admire narcissi, a magnolia, and beyond these, early cherry blossom.

Lens-Artists Photo Challenge #91: Simplicity

Square Tops #7

Round the Edge of the Village: It’s All About the Texture

Sunday’s walk, on a cold blustery afternoon, along a too-familiar path, could have been a non-event, a means to burn off a few calories and not much more. Jude’s challenge this week brought me ideas though. ‘Look for texture’, she said, ‘close in on your subject and capture the texture and not the context’. Challenge accepted.

Here we are by the village pond. Here’s Mrs. Mallard. And here are her feathers.

And – a sure sign that spring has sprung – here’s a dandelion.

Off to the track through the fields now. I trudge past the sheep, stolidly munching grass and hay, and spot a rusty old shed at the end of the pasture. Lichen on rust. Perfect.

Well, you can’t wander through the woods without finding a fallen log. And fallen logs mean knots, nooks and crannies, velvety moss. I take a couple of shots.

Oh look. Here’s a muddy bit: and I haven’t got my decent boots on. But oh, look again! Here’s texture a-plenty. A goose-print; a – er – what – squirrel perhaps? print; a different bird print (offers, anyone?); and a dog-print. And finally a cracked-mud print. That was good value.

Any walk in our countryside produces any number of long-established oak trees. So here is some bark – both shots from the same tree.

The last shot of all doesn’t follow the rules. But here’s a farmer doing his Sunday afternoon ploughing. Unturned earth, turned earth, and all being thoroughly investigated by a host of sleek white black-headed gulls. If that isn’t a symphony in textural contrast, I don’t know what is.

And since this is a post for Jo’s Monday Walk too, I’ll just mention that there was tea and Drenched Lemon Cake waiting for me when I got home.

#2020 Photo Challenge 13: Texture. ‘Get close to your subject and capture just the texture itself, without the context’.

Jo’s Monday Walk.