After the Fire

This is the third blog of my holiday and dates from the 09 July 2013.

While wandering the back roads through the foothills of the Rhinogs to escape the heat of the day, every now and again we would glimpse this mass of purple, standing out bright against the various greens of the hillside. Closer examination revealed these areas of purple colouration to be dense collections of Foxgloves. They seemed to be growing out from areas that had recently been cleared of Gorse by burning, for amongst the spikes of flowers there were tall stalks of burnt wood, dark charcoal black, against the the lush green of new growth. These burnt stalks stood straight and stark, testament to the fire that had passed through the area.

Hillside of Foxgloves – 09 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

Apart from the presence of these charcoaled stalks, the surroundings now show few signs of devastation that would have been present following the fire. By now the ground is covered with a healthy growth of lush grass topped with the straw coloured seed heads of Sweet Vernal-grass, drying in the warmth of the summer sun. This rich green though, makes the purple bells of the Foxglove stand out all the more, as the colours contrast and catch the eye.

Foxgloves Amongst the Charcoal Remains of Gorse – 09 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

I love the purple bells of the Foxglove, they are large but also delicate. The flowers are just so full of detail, especially with their distinctive pattern of dark spots on the lower surface of the bell, each surrounded by its own distinctive white border. These spots seem to hypnotise and entice you inwards to discover the further wonders inside, which is exactly what they are for if you happen to be a passing Bumble Bee. According to folklore these marks are made by the fairies, and are formed from where they have put their fingers. This together with the shape of the flowers which look a like bells, leads to one of the other common names of this species – that of Fairy Bells.

Foxglove or Fairy Bells – 09 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

The Oldest Yew or Not!

This is second holiday blog of my holiday and dates from the 08 July 2013.

Originally this blog was going to be about the oldest Yew tree in Wales, the one in the churchyard at Llangower, but when I came to do a bit of exploration on the internet I discover that there are several Yews that claim to be the oldest in Wales! So much for the wonders of information boards, however the Llangower Yew is an amazing tree, oldest or not is immaterial I think when it comes to considering a tree. As for is age – unknown, but its definitely been here for many centuries.

The Llangower Yew is growing within a disused churchyard and though the church is now disused and in a state of disrepair, with trees and assorted vegetation growing out of the bell tower, the Yew is growing strong and healthy, and has been for a long time considering the size of its massive girth. I wonder what events in history this tree has seen, but of course the tree will never divulge.

Llangower Chapel – 08 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

For once it is a tree not confined, as many ancient trees are within a tidy fenced area. Nor is it reduced to just a remnant stick, it is full and spreading as a tree should be. Wow! I’m impressed and I love it! Oldest or not the Llangower Yew has caught my heart, and here’s hoping that it will continue on for many more centuries and see many more phases of history as it passes onwards. Long live the Yew!

The Llangower Yew – 08 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

Splashes of Light

The Lost Naturalist has taken her summer hols this year to the remote, at least in terms of internet access, portion of the world, in the form of North Wales. Before any Welsh readers complain, its lost from the internet if you’re staying some miles from the nearest village up a remote valley! There then follows a number of blogs charting just a few adventures from this holiday dating from between the 06 and 20 July 2013, appearing as I get my head together.

The first of these follows and begins with the 07 July, on a hot and sunny day.

On a hot sunny day, when temperatures were racing rapidly upwards, the wonders of an upland stream has a special call, especially one that is wooded and on this hot day we found a wonderful one up Cwm Bychan, where the Afon Artro flowed, cooling and wonderful. The area surrounding the stream had trees that seem to climb straight up towards the sky. From each straight trunk, there emerged a tangle of branches, seemingly in every direction to produce a dense tangled mess, that are then covered with masses of leaves to produce a wonderful dappled shade.

Afon Artro, Cwm Bychan – 07 July 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

The nature of shade produced by leaves means that every so often a ray of sunshine escapes through the green barrier and scatters to the ground below. On the lush under storey this splash of sunlight was like a spot light, highlighting the various shades of green and in the brightness almost obliterating the greens to white. Where this spotlight hit the surface of the water it exploded outwards, as though showering a mass of diamonds every which way, to shine for just a moment more. As for the heat, this splash of diamonds were like an invitation to cool the feet in that tumbling water!

Fields of Snow

Just about caught up with this blog from last weekend, 29 June, which saw us head south towards Newcastleton and the hills between there and Langholm.

I’m sure most people will have picked up the fact that the weather this year has been, to say the least, strange, and at times somewhat cold, but not so cold as to produce fields of snow at the beginning of the summer! I was thinking. But to me, when I saw the hillsides for the first time, from a distance, they looked almost as though they had a fine coating of snow. For from the distance they were coated with a white covering. It might have been a strange year, but luckily its not been that cold!!

Fields of Snow – 29 June 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

On coming closer, the sight slowly changed from sheets of white to distinct blobs of white, which turned out to be the seed heads of Common Cotton-grass. The flowers themselves, are indistinct, occurring very early in the spring, but it is the seed heads that are amazing. For they are covered with long white hairs that make them look like bundles of cotton. This year the sheets of Cotton-grass on the hills between Newcastleton and Langholm are amazing, I don’t think I have ever seen so many heads. There are always lots, but never so many that they form a vision of white from a distance, as though summer had delivered a coating of snow that had drifted gently into the hollows!

Common Cotton-grass – 29 June 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

Buttercup Meadows

What do they say about buses – none come for hours than three turn up at once?!! So still running to catch up, this blog dates from the following day, 22 June, when I’d nipped across the mountains from the Lake District to the North Pennines.

In my mind, the early summer in the North Pennines is typified by the large number of traditional yellow meadows that even on wet and grey days, seem to shine out of the haze and illuminate the place with warmth all their own. The yellow is so bright that it shines out against the duller greens of the background, almost as if it has a fluorescent element combined within the flowers.

Buttercup Meadows in Teesdale – 22 June 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

These yellow meadows are mainly made up of the flowers of the Meadow Buttercup, where the yellow flowers stand out some inches above the height of the surrounding grasses. This extra height of the blooms, means that as the wind blows, they do a gentle swaying dance, as though moving to some unheard tune. In areas which are wetter, the Meadow Buttercups are accompanied by the much larger and richer yellow flowers of the Marsh Marigold. At the higher altitudes of the North Pennies, the Marsh Marigolds are still in full flower in the second half of June, as the season is somewhat later there than in warmer lowland areas. In areas which are even wetter, the Meadow Buttercups and Marsh Marigolds are accompanied by the jewel in the crown, in the form of the paler and almost majestic, delicate yellow blooms of the Globeflower. The Globeflowers sit there jumping out from the other yellows as being something special, like the diamond amongst glass.

Buttercup Meadows – 22 June 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

At a distance these meadows seem to be just made up of yellows, however, on closer inspection though yellow dominates they are often complemented by bands of white, formed from the flowers of the Pignut that take up station on the drier banks, adding variety to the bands of yellow. Further examination will of course add much more variety, hidden from view when the yellow shines at you from a distance and distracts the eye from the detail.

An Alpine Moment

Still on a catch up – this blog dates from the 21 June and the first day of summer, though the weather might have been trying to say otherwise!

Still being the Crocked Naturalist rather than the Lost Naturalist, getting anywhere that is more than a just a flat walk is somewhat rare. So the opportunity to take a strange bus journey up the side of a mountain to a slate mine in the Lake District, was not to be sniffed at, even on a day when the cloud was sitting on the mountain tops and Honister Pass looked mean and moody. With the clouds so low that they cut off the mountain tops, just like someone had taken a giant rubber and erased the tops off with a precisely drawn straight line, and the harsh scars of man’s many years of slate mining standing out stark and hard on this grey day. This greyness though, made the greens of the vegetation seem even brighter and fresher than they might normally do.

Honister Pass – 21 June 2013 (Copyright Carol Jones)

Travelling upwards, the track winds its way up through acid grasslands and rocky outcrops towards the entrance of the mine. At this altitude the rocky outcrops were splashed with colour, announcing the arrival of a short summer period. Brightest and most obvious are the splashes of green produced by clumps of Parsley Fern that stuck out at regular intervals from the cracks in the rock, and looked like a distinctive lacy edging. Amongst the Parsley Fern there was the occasionally Alpine Lady’s Mantle plant, which supported clusters of pale green flowers sitting on long stems, above groups of deeply divided leaves.

Travelling higher towards the entrance of the mine, the rocky outcrops and the grey background becomes dominant, with the green splashes of grasses and ferns seeming to become brighter, almost fluorescing in the gloom. Then against this grey background, there was the occasional splash of colour, particularly bright were the yellow flowered clumps of Roseroot, with amazingly bright flowers sitting above distinctive grey green foliage. Closing on the mine entrance my eye was caught by the occasional spot of white, sitting right on the edge of a long drop down into the valley below and just out of reach behind a piece of rickety wooden fencing. A sight that is set to tempt and tease a Lost Naturalist, and which took some ingenuity to identify as clumps of Mossy Saxifrage, involving some leaning and lots of staring, not to mention desperately trying not to fall over the fence and off of the edge of the mountain. Its just a pity that there wasn’t the time or opportunity to take suitable pictures, somehow I don’t think that the guide would appreciate the visitors crawling through a fence on to the edge of a long drop to take the ideal picture of a Mossy Saxifrage plant!! I know the boss would not appreciate the paperwork of a truly Lost Naturalist!!