Potts Beck below Little Asby Scar A cloudy day with an invigorating wind that almost drowned out the cuckoo calling toward Sunbiggin Tarn. High in a leafy summer canopy he was canny, knew we could not see him as he called loudly above us.
We set out to the call of curlew and skylark sang as we walked the moors. Wheatear amongst outcropping limestone, with flowers of mountain everlasting.
We set out to the call of curlew and skylark sang as we walked the moors. Wheatear amongst outcropping limestone, with flowers of mountain everlasting.
Early purple orchids and meadows of buttercups, daisies and red clover with budding yellow rattle. A heron flew beside Potts Beck, below Little Asby Scar. The ground was dry for lack of rain and heather looked grey and skeletal, as if failing to thrive. Our last skylark of the day was superb. He soared and sang, on and on and my companions gazed up to watch him. Before his descent, he hovered in sight, fell silent and came down to earth and vanished.
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