Alder overlooking Rydal Water Jets roar low over Ambleside and Rydal. One flies so low over Grasmere Lake the fells rise above it. We can’t help feeling the air-force is on alert because of Putin's invasion of Ukraine. They're loud but not threatening, yet it feels ominous.
Next day, President Zelensky of Ukraine addresses a packed House of Commons, invoking Churchill's defiance of Hitler. Zelensky isn't wracked by Hamlet's indecision, 'to be or not to be.' Zelensky is for survival. So, to the theme of resilience.
Next day, President Zelensky of Ukraine addresses a packed House of Commons, invoking Churchill's defiance of Hitler. Zelensky isn't wracked by Hamlet's indecision, 'to be or not to be.' Zelensky is for survival. So, to the theme of resilience.
It's a cold and frosty morning beside the River Rothay. At Pelter Bridge, I step onto invisible black ice. Ooops!!
Bog asphodel seed-heads endure through winter into spring, now pale and straw-coloured, but resilient. They'll still be there when the flowers appear in summer.
We're off-piste on Loughrigg Fell amongst a scatter of tarns, their waters rippled by a chill wind. Aquatic flora is below surface, down in the silts. Rhizomes of bog bean are visible in the water and the first buds peep through icy water. Sphagnum seeps and oozes on the wavering fringe of a tarn whose rippling water is patterned by ice the sun will work on later. Spring comes late to Loughrigg Fell, I remember coming here again and again in anticipation of the starry flowers of bog bean. Today, we hope for yellowhammer but we know we're too early. I strain my ears to pick up a few brief notes of small birds. We hear geese faintly, then they're overhead, skeins flying north with the sun glinting on their wings. From rocky knolls we come down steeply through rough grasses threaded through with water tracks and ice. I love the squelch underfoot and all around me the sounds of water descending through an icy beck.
Woodpecker are drumming and the sun dazzles the waters of Loughrigg Tarn. Above the tarn there's a cottage with bird feeders that attracts numerous blue tits.
Bog asphodel seed-heads endure through winter into spring, now pale and straw-coloured, but resilient. They'll still be there when the flowers appear in summer.
We're off-piste on Loughrigg Fell amongst a scatter of tarns, their waters rippled by a chill wind. Aquatic flora is below surface, down in the silts. Rhizomes of bog bean are visible in the water and the first buds peep through icy water. Sphagnum seeps and oozes on the wavering fringe of a tarn whose rippling water is patterned by ice the sun will work on later. Spring comes late to Loughrigg Fell, I remember coming here again and again in anticipation of the starry flowers of bog bean. Today, we hope for yellowhammer but we know we're too early. I strain my ears to pick up a few brief notes of small birds. We hear geese faintly, then they're overhead, skeins flying north with the sun glinting on their wings. From rocky knolls we come down steeply through rough grasses threaded through with water tracks and ice. I love the squelch underfoot and all around me the sounds of water descending through an icy beck.
Woodpecker are drumming and the sun dazzles the waters of Loughrigg Tarn. Above the tarn there's a cottage with bird feeders that attracts numerous blue tits.
We find a beautiful alder, a slender tree thick with last summer's cones, split to release their seeds and patterned against a blue sky. Cones and yellow-green male catkins make a show. Above the male catkins are clusters of budding female flowers, they're discreet and you need to look closely to find them. Alder leaf buds buds are still tight-closed.
Cormorants sit on a rock out in Rydal Water, opening their wings unto the sun. A wild swimmer dries herself and changes on the shore.
Early March and we're eager for all that spring will bring. Then the season will be upon us in a rush and we'll be spoilt for choice, everything to savour all at once.
Cormorants sit on a rock out in Rydal Water, opening their wings unto the sun. A wild swimmer dries herself and changes on the shore.
Early March and we're eager for all that spring will bring. Then the season will be upon us in a rush and we'll be spoilt for choice, everything to savour all at once.
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