Winter returns

I spoke to soon about spring. It has been cold this week, with snow and a biting wind. The Goyt was silent. Only the owl quartered the hillside fruitlessly searching for prey. Wrapped up against the cold I trudged down into the valley, seeking solitude from the torments of the day, and feeling the gloomy oppressive mood lift with each step that I took. I was grateful for the cold, it mean't that I would be alone. I could shout out, rage against the frustration, open my lungs and scream. I heard them first, a clanging sound as pots and pieces of tent banged against their bodies, then saw them. Twenty of them. A forlorn, bedraggled hunched little group, shouldering heavy rucksacs and wearily plodding up the hill towards me. Had they heard me? Had my cries carried to them on the chill wind. Had they been stirred from their thoughts, to glance about fearful of the banshee screams? Politely they passed me. Twenty salutations, some spoken, some smiled, then they were gone. Alone again, I descended deeper into the valley. I decided to stay silent.

A Brief Respite from Work

Managed to grab a few minutes between clients so I nipped upto the Goyt. (Where else!) It was very cold but the winters sun made up for it. The edge of the pond was rimmed with ice. There was no wind, and no sound. Perfect.

Here's to the Winter...

I have to confess that I like winter. I am happiest when there is a good storm raging outside. Ideally I would be in a cottage, preferably near Clashnessie, Sutherland with Mrs Birdwatcher. It would be late December, the sun has already set and outside there would be rain pelting at the windows with the wind whistling and howling, rocking the trees and rattling the doors. If you listened carefully you could hear the sea crashing against the rocks, and imagine it foaming angrily as it battered the rocks and clawed at the cliff face. Of course inside Mrs Birdwatcher and I would be snug in front of a well-established log fire, books on our laps and glasses of Bunnahabhain by our sides.

The key is the ferocity of the storm. Drizzle and a mild breeze brings me out in a rash, but even after the most depressing day my spirits rise with the sound of the wind getting up and rain, lots and lots of it.

Best of all though is to wake to that special light that you get after an overnight snowfall. Even now well into my middle years I still leap out of bed pull on warm clothes, just to get outside and experience the fresh glistening pristine snow.

Now with Global warming there is talk of winters being mild and stormy with little snow. We shall see. I suspect that the British climate has a few tricks and surprises up its sleeve. I hope so. It would be a shame if scenes like the one below were to become a thing of the past.

Wishful Thinking ......

Its around about this time of the year that I keep a close eye on the weather forecasts in the hope that we wil get some proper winter weather. For me winter is incomplete without some decent snowfall, and some cold weather. The mild damp grey stuff depresses me. Luckily in the Peak District we usually get at least one spell of cold snowy weather, so I am keeping my fingers crossed!

Another perfect Autumn Day

Managed to get some time off on thursday, so spent a few hours in the Goyt. Another perfect autumn day. Down in the valley by the wooden footbridge the ground was frozen solid in the shade. Hints of winter at last?