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Boarded up

A few hardy souls braved a distinctly cold and windy Yorkshire beach.

Definitely felt like Autumn.

Definitely looked like Autumn. The small rides, the cafes, the ice cream vans had mostly all closed down and boarded up for the year. No more intrepid crazy golfers until next year.

I wonder what it feels like to be a resident here in Filey right now. Sadness that the summer season is over with the crowds departed OR relief to get their seaside town back again. The chance to walk quietly along the seafront again, to breathe.

I guess it’s a similar feeling that this time of year brings to our little hilltop village. With no village shop or school or pub or cafe. A church with only one service a month. It’s not unusual to not see another village soul for week upon week upon week. The short days, bleak weather and zero street lighting all ramp up the feelings. So what’s it going to be this time around. Peaceful solitude or suffocating isolation…..

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Destination

I don’t know just how many times I’ve driven past this reservoir and never stopped. Decade after decade of driving past here, always wondering what it’s like. Well finally, with Hawklad, Scaling Dam became the destination. Now I know.

It’s one of those reservoirs that looks natural apart from one side which is a bit too artificial.

I once knew someone who bought a sailing boat here. Apparently he saw an advert for it in a newspaper. Yes that was in the time before THE INTERNET….

He had no interest in sailing, I mean ZERO interest. To my knowledge he never once sailed his craft, it just sat tethered to where he found it. Yet virtually every Sunday he would drive here and spend hours sat on board. He would do nothing apart from eat his packed lunch and just relax. It worked for him. Maybe it saved him. I know that he had suffered from mental health issues for years. I remember at least two breakdowns and one suicide attempt. Nothing seemed to work for him. But suddenly on this boat, he found a place he could relax. A place he could actually enjoy. He talked about finally having something to look forward to, something he could rely on. This made such a difference to him. The last time we spoke he had even started to plan his next unmoving boat purchase. This time somewhere warm, maybe The Mediterranean.

I wonder where his boat is tethered currently.

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Dracula and Captain Cook

Whitby on the Yorkshire coast. Famed because of Captain Cook and Dracula, not many places can claim that….

Whisper it, I read Bram Stokers vampire novel when I was about 12. I had just started Senior School and on the way home would walk past a little dusty old library. A tiny place, maybe not much bigger than a large living room. With so few books, I quickly exhausted the readable options. But on one visit, as I desperately tried to find something new to read, I noticed sat on the returned counter, a little book with DRACULA emblazoned across a gothic cover which had clearly seen way better days. Picking up the courage, I sandwiched the horror book between a couple of nondescript nonfiction books and hoped. Hoped the librarian wouldn’t notice. It was noticed….

A long over the top of the glasses, Paddington stare, was followed by clearly a few moments contemplation. Unbelievably the book was then stamped with the quiet warning…. ‘Don’t have nightmares…’

Little did the Librarian know, in-fact little did my Parents know, that for months I had been sneaking down stairs on a Friday night to watch the late night Hammer Horror movie on TV. As a result I was already well versed in Christopher Lee’s Dracula.

The book didn’t give me nightmares. But I loved it. I loved it because for the first time I was reading a story set in a place that I knew, a place where I had been. The book came alive to me, it still does.

Move forward several decades and I was summoned to see the Teacher at Hawklad’s first school. The Teacher was concerned that I had let my 7 year old watch horror movies. Hawklad had in class told the Teacher that he loved watching Dracula, Werewolf and Frankenstein. One little detail that Hawklad had left out was the name Scooby Doo. Scooby meets Dracula, Scooby meets Werewolf, Scooby meets….

On a sunny day like this one, Whitby even with a Dracula Museum, is probably as intimidating as a Scooby Doo cartoon. But come back here during winter, when a nighttime storm is battering the Port, when a thick fog has descended. Then try reading Dracula and not feel just a little bit on edge. That book can still bite…..

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Donuts

Another late evening trip out for Hawklad, this time a couple of hours drive to the beautiful Peak District. It might well have been quicker but I managed to get lost in the dreaded Yorkshire Twilight Zone, otherwise known as the city Sheffield’s road network.

On the bright side, while lost we discovered a Dunkin Donuts store. One of those occasions where I happily ignore any gluten issues I may have for the GREATER GOOD….

The downside of evening trips is that you can far too quickly start to run out of light, BUT for those couple of hours, having somewhere as amazing as this place basically to ourselves, absolutely wonderful for Hawklad.

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6.30PM

Summer poses its own set of challenges. This season’s weather hasn’t been great with few warm weather days. Yes there has been sun but it’s often felt more like late October than high Summer. But the weather hasn’t deterred the crowds. Try to go anywhere around midday and the car parks are mobbed. Hawklad doesn’t do mobbed car parks….

But leave it until the evening and suddenly the car parks are empty. Ok that usually means the venue is shut but not everywhere. Just like Dalby Forest. A few hours earlier this walk would have been rammed with hikers, dog walkers and mountain bikers but now at 6-30pm it’s all change. It’s quiet, we are the only car in the car park. A 2 hour walk and we didn’t see another soul.

Or just like 6-30pm on the North East Coast. A couple of intrepid surfers enjoying warming drinks on the beach. A couple of ball chasing dogs with well wrapped up owners. That’s it. Solitude.

Yes 6-30PM cuts down the places open but it opens up so much space and peace. It works for us. Just don’t forget the Woolly Hats, it is Summer here.

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Third lake

I’m trying to learn German, been trying for years. It’s a few years now but we used to stay in a largely German speaking area of Switzerland. Great chance to practice, way better than getting strange looks in Yorkshire trying out my second language. As a result, these days I have to practice by ordering the occasional German magazine or newspaper.

I’m not going to kid myself, my second language capabilities are still pretty rudimentary. There are reclusive Himalayan mountain sheep with a better grasp of German grammar than this Yorkshire Pudding. Which basically means that quite often it’s picking out the occasional word I can translate amongst a sea of letter confusion. It’s a good job you get pictures in the magazines to at least give me a few clues on what on earth is being written about.

A couple of years back I was trying to read a German magazine article about Interlaken, a beautiful Swiss town which was often our Sunday morning adventure. Best hot chocolate of the holiday. Best shop combo ever for the three of us. One shop, three happy punters. Hawklad looking at a huge Schleich toy section, his mum looking at a huge wall calendar section and me fascinated looking at the amazing cuckoo clocks on the wall.

Interlaken given its name is unsurprisingly a town between TWO huge lakes. But this article mentioned a third lake. A mysterious lake, as hard as I searched on the maps, I couldn’t find it. In the end I decided it was either a massive underground lake or a famous fictional lake from some mega Swiss story, maybe a continental Europe version of Brigadoon.

Yet this week. In an English magazine, an article about last Ice Age, that mystery lake was there again. And this time I could read the words all about the now not so mysterious third lake. Apparently the two Interlaken lakes, Thun and Brienz, were once a mega lake called Wendelsee, Lake Wendel. No wonder it’s not on the maps now, and what a good job it’s not. Our favourite shop would have been underwater, right smack in the middle of that lake. In this case two lakes is definitely better than one.

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Lucky

Not a bad place to run.

The iPhone tries to hide the terrain. It’s a bit steep. it’s a bit bumpy. It’s also hardly ever used these days. But yesterday I was around about here when I came across a dismounted mountain biker, someone who initially looked like he was taking in the view. As I passed him, he asked if I knew anything about fixing knackered bike gears. After I said ‘a little’ and started aimlessly tapping the bikes chainring, he painfully explained ….

“If you heard any screaming noises a few minutes back, it was from my lungs, my knees and my backside. My wife said I should take up this as a hobby, she said it would be fun, good for me. Strangely she didn’t buy herself a bike…. The first time I went out I fell off and dislocated a finger. Since then I’ve been lost, bruised, angry, tired, broken but never ever has it felt like fun“

His bike was beyond my expertise…

The poor chap groaned …. “this hobby just keeps on giving”.

LIFE IS FUNNY SOMETIMES

Just then, in the distance, a bit of a dust cloud coming up the usually quiet hill lane. One bike, two bikes, three bikes, four bikes, five bikes. All flying up the steep climb, heading towards us. It was like a scene from a modern day remake of a Spaghetti Western.

Unbelievably a professional mountain bike team, all in matching team kit, out on a training run. Not just one bike expert, FIVE EXPERTS. Within seconds the fallen bike was as good as new.

In the words of Monty Python, the Lucky, Lucky, Lucky B………

Yes Lucky but I also suspect, he is now a FORMER Mountain Biker…….

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 43 Comments

Sculpture

A trip to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park, a country estate with a large range of art scattered around the countryside. Some small pieces, some giants. Some by leading artists including the controversial Damien Hirst. Hawklad wouldn’t even let me take a photo of one particular statue ….

A sometimes mystifying but frequently stunning few hours. Unbelievably it was almost warm as well….

Definitely worth a visit.

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Strange things

Apparently there is a mysterious monolith that keeps appearing in various parts of the world. Strange Things.

https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/monolith-mystery-las-vegas-desert-b2564821.html

Looks impressive, well today I think we found the Yorkshire Mysterious Monolith which has randomly appeared in a similarly remote, exotic location… A Cow Field.

Same shape just a bit crap…. That kinda sums up Yorkshire sometimes 😂😂😂

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Nearly

Nearly the longest day and it still doesn’t feel like it’s nearly summer. A walk along the bitingly cold Yorkshire Coast.

These are really unstable cliffs. After high tides and especially after storms, you will see intrepid fossil hunters scouring the base of the rocks for fragments of a past world. Locally it’s known as the Jurassic Coast.

No T-Rex hunting for us this day, way too cold. Hands much better employed stuck in the pockets avoiding frost bite. Is it really the longest day in a few hours…. As we eventually headed back to the warmth of the car we passed a bare chested Surfer marching briskly towards his inevitable frozen doom in the North Sea.

“You might need a few more layers on….”

“Probably. The secret is to not scream too loudly and look like you enjoying it.”

“I thought the secret was to surf somewhere way warmer”

“It is but then you don’t get to surf round Icebergs. Plus if it was warmer my wife would have me cutting the grass….”