Author: pjacko12

Time for a bite in Dentdale

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Every time I reach this spot on the road to Dent from Ribblesdale I curse for not bringing a Settle-Carlisle rail timetable with me. One day I’ll snap a special steam train crossing Dent Head viaduct – but then, no doubt, there’ll be dozens of proper rail-photo enthusiasts with the same idea. Today, instead of continuing through Dentdale I turned off over the dodgy narrow road to Garsdale where the views over Wensleydale and beyond were spectacular. But every time I got out of the car to admire the scenery I was attacked by hundreds of flying-ant-type insects. This was the car roof after stopping for no more than a few seconds…

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Shush please, I'm in the Dales

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Sunset is a great time for a quiet stroll in Ribblesdale. The light plays tricks. Limestone changes colour in the sun’s weak rays. Erratic rocks like this one take on unlikely silhouettes. I watch a hare dance alone around a freshly cut field. Sheep take no notice, grazing monotonously as they’d been doing all day long. No birdsong. No traffic. No telephone ringing. No tiresome beep from the computer announcing the arrival of yet another tedious email. Just pleasurable peace in the pastoral perfection of the Dales. Ahhh.

Ode to Yorkshire

Let’s rejoice on Yorkshire Day
For all that Nature’s sent
From Flamborough Head and Caton Bay
to Malham Cove and Pen-y-ghent.
On Ilkley Moor and Pennine hills
North York Moors and Dales
the scenery forever thrills
and inspiration never fails.
So if depressed or all forlorn
get your thoughts in order
and thank the Lord that you weren’t born
on t’ other side o’ t’ border.

Happy Yorkshire Day

Chugging into the Dales

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Several middle-aged badly dressed portly gentlemen with cameras shuffled hurriedly past my house this morning. Fitting the description perfectly myself,  I thought I’d join them to see what all the fuss was about. The village railway station is but a few giant steps away from my house and has a large car park but that was full and the small northbound platform was packed with tourists and trainspotters. For two reasons I always hesitate before asking someone pointing a camera at an empty space on the railway line what’s happening. Firstly, they might think I’m a keen trainspottter and strike up some lengthy over-detailed conversation about trains; or secondly they might think I’m not a keen trainspotter and strike up some lengthy over-detailed conversation about trains. So instead I listened in to a lengthy over-detailed conversation about trains between two trainspotters. Anyway, before I’d got to the point where I felt like chucking myself off the bridge, controlled excitement broke out and into the station chugged the above. It’s the Fellsman 45231 – I know because it says it on the engine bit at the front.

Reserved for the best in the Dales

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I walked a bit of the Ingleborough National Nature Reserve Ridge Walk today – the section above Selside overlooking north Ribblesdale. This small tortoiseshell butterfly was kind enough to pose on a thistle for the camera. The shot below shows the butterfly’s extensive view towards Penyghent. I wonder how far butterflies can see?

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Ancients of the Dales

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There was so much greyness around the Dales this morning that there wasn’t much adjusting needed to turn this photo into black and white. The limestone pavement is at the foot of Ingleborough; in the background is the long mass of Whernside. A few hundred yards behind this view is Douk Cave (below) which today felt more primeval than usual. The sound of trickling water echoed around the chasm in which it sits. Ancient ferns, mosses and shade-loving plants looked lush against the limestone, and the summer growth on the trees which cling to the steep sides virtually roofed the whole scene.

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Reds in the Dales

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By the time I’d taken this photo those two Jaffa cakes had melted. The cuppa was welcome though here at Ottiwell Lodge, Snaizeholme, near Hawes in the Yorkshire Dales. I’d come to see how the population of wild red squirrels were doing. I spotted a few of the cuties but the little beggars weren’t in the mood for posing for the camera and I certainly wasn’t quick enough to capture them in focus! The scenery of course was wonderful and the temperature in the wood very pleasant.

The badge of a Yorkshireman

Came across this old poem called A Yorkshireman which I rather liked. Don’t know who it is by so I can’t credit it… no copyright infringement intended.

With a nod of the head, or a grip of the hand,
He will give you his bond, that for ever will stand,
And nothing much safer you’ll find in the land;
For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman.

He may be reserved in his manner and speech,
And hide the fine graces of which pedants preach;
But he is kind and sincere when his heart you once reach,
For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman.

In his pastimes and sports he will try all the way,
And, back to the wall, make his greatest display;
He asks not for favours, but only fair play,
For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman.

I have met him away from his own native dales,
In cities and lands where strange language prevails;
Yet a breath of his county he always exhales,
and thus you will know he’s a Yorkshireman.

Great show by some

Wow it was hot at the Great Yorkshire Show in Harrogate today. Us Northern blokes are not used to Tropical heatwaves and our wardrobes certainly don’t cater for such eventualities… there were some sights to behold I can tell you. After looking at my legs bedecked for once in shorts, a colleague said ‘That reminds me, I must get some milk on the way home’.  Here are some of my ‘rural’ shots from the day…

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Nature the artist

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There’s no more talented artist than Mother Nature. Nothing is man made in these shots, nor is there any excessive Photoshop manipulation – just natural light and the colours of late evening on the west coast, looking across Morecambe Bay. In the top picture the South Lakeland Fells are barely visible and the tide is on its way in. The sunset below is a little further down the coast at Hexham which, let’s be honest, is not usually known for its natural beauty. The first and only time I’d been to the port previously was in the mid seventies to catch a ferry to the Isle of Man. If you visit on a clear day you’ll see an enormous offshore wind farm that would have been pure science fiction in the seventies.

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