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- Story Listed as: True Life For Teens
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Nature & Wildlife
- Published: 02/15/2016
Walk With Me
The weather looked a bit threatening but the forecast was OK.
"Take my pocket umbrella, in case."
"No thanks, dear, it's going to get out, I'm sure."
I never feel right walking the empty moor with an umbrella up. Not for fear of lightning strikes, it just doesn't fit somehow. Even though it is a very practical weapon.
It was bright and breezy as I did the first climbing mile. The meagre fields to the left starting to be cut for silage. Wood pigeons following the old tractor.
Spits of rain. I look back into the east wind towards the North Sea. Low solid black clouds coming and dark fringes starting to caress the moor tops. A heavy, fast moving squall coming. Should've dressed properly. Canvas jacket not much use. To my right is a small valley cut by drainage about two meters deep. The acres of bracken in the area are head height. So I jump into it to shelter and sit it out.
In my green hole I am sheltered from the now heavy shower and accompanying wind. Quite cosy really and not a soul in the world knows where I am. Solitude. Lovely. Also it is rejuvenating.
A young rabbit pokes its head around the bracken stems an arm’s length from my face. Its baby eyes widen even more as it tries to make sense of this horrid apparition. Then it is off like a shot.
The skies to the east brighten. I have three miles to go. Yes let's carry on. Don't be a wimp and go home unfinished. There will soon be blue skies.
I know this moorland really belongs to the old aristocracy and the National Park but it will always be MY moor. The open airiness and isolation is one of its big attractions. If I spot anyone else in my line of vision to the far horizon I immediately think:-
"What are they doing on MY moor?"
Someone else that prefers solitude is the mawdy warp or mole. Nowadays they are more prolific than ever. They are even venturing out into the fringes of the heather moorland. Heaven knows if they can find any worms or grubs out there.
The fields on the left, and the moles, give way to the still rising ground. I take a remote track to the right which wriggles slowly upward for another couple of miles. The ancient glacial slopes stretch away from me down to a beck about half a mile away. I can hear the 'Peep, Peep' of a Golden Plover but can't see it among the heather. Haven't seen one for a couple of years. There it is again and a pair takes flight. Now I can get my glasses on them. Lapwings, Curlew, Grouse and all manner of small ground nesting birds are sounding waning calls to their chicks to tell them the dangerous bipod is coming.
I am heading for an ancient small stone circle I found a couple of weeks ago. It is very difficult to spot. So I sit on a convenient boulder at the top of a gulley that I feel leads down to the right area.
Something stings my right ankle and I look down to see my boot swarming with ants. A fair few are disappearing down the gap between boot and sock. I feel and imagine many bites so quickly change boulders and get my boots off. This looks like the correct spot. Eventually I set off down the slope following the only track - an old wandering sheep track.
Then I spot the stones again! The gamekeeper has burnt the heather and the flames have passed through the circle. Now the last hundred yards is solid bilberries and they are all holding water from the recent rain squall in each of a million leaves. To cross them and enter the circle will definitely mean wet lower legs and feet.
Cowardly, I decide the return walk could be too uncomfortable. Will the old Gods of the circle forgive me?
I study the area with my glasses. It has a really affecting atmosphere. I believe it is saying 'Yes, go home.' So I do. You must not upset your gods.
As I turn for home something catches my eye in the bottom of the sheep track. At first I thought it was a dog turd. Then it moved. A small adder! Surely not the same one I saw a few weeks ago. Is it really on guard? How did it escape the flames?
I retrace my route back to the ridge track feeling somehow glad to be leaving. Near my feet a hole where a rabbit has tried to start a hole but failed to penetrate the rockiness. Among the spoil a strange pebble stands out. I pick it up to see it is a flint. Some Stone Age man has dropped it here thousands of years ago, to see the light of day once more because of a rabbit.
It is the size of a two pound coin and has been worked away to a very sharp cutting edge by some chap a lot cleverer than me. It will now go in my old tin money box to join other strange relics of zero value.
Back on the high track home the open views are spectacular. No sign of people or habitation as far as the eye can see in all directions. I am a happy bunny! Is this really a crowded island we live on?
The forecast is true to its word and the sun comes out sending searchlight beams through the lingering clouds.
All is well.
Walk with me......(Ossie Durrans)
Walk With Me
The weather looked a bit threatening but the forecast was OK.
"Take my pocket umbrella, in case."
"No thanks, dear, it's going to get out, I'm sure."
I never feel right walking the empty moor with an umbrella up. Not for fear of lightning strikes, it just doesn't fit somehow. Even though it is a very practical weapon.
It was bright and breezy as I did the first climbing mile. The meagre fields to the left starting to be cut for silage. Wood pigeons following the old tractor.
Spits of rain. I look back into the east wind towards the North Sea. Low solid black clouds coming and dark fringes starting to caress the moor tops. A heavy, fast moving squall coming. Should've dressed properly. Canvas jacket not much use. To my right is a small valley cut by drainage about two meters deep. The acres of bracken in the area are head height. So I jump into it to shelter and sit it out.
In my green hole I am sheltered from the now heavy shower and accompanying wind. Quite cosy really and not a soul in the world knows where I am. Solitude. Lovely. Also it is rejuvenating.
A young rabbit pokes its head around the bracken stems an arm’s length from my face. Its baby eyes widen even more as it tries to make sense of this horrid apparition. Then it is off like a shot.
The skies to the east brighten. I have three miles to go. Yes let's carry on. Don't be a wimp and go home unfinished. There will soon be blue skies.
I know this moorland really belongs to the old aristocracy and the National Park but it will always be MY moor. The open airiness and isolation is one of its big attractions. If I spot anyone else in my line of vision to the far horizon I immediately think:-
"What are they doing on MY moor?"
Someone else that prefers solitude is the mawdy warp or mole. Nowadays they are more prolific than ever. They are even venturing out into the fringes of the heather moorland. Heaven knows if they can find any worms or grubs out there.
The fields on the left, and the moles, give way to the still rising ground. I take a remote track to the right which wriggles slowly upward for another couple of miles. The ancient glacial slopes stretch away from me down to a beck about half a mile away. I can hear the 'Peep, Peep' of a Golden Plover but can't see it among the heather. Haven't seen one for a couple of years. There it is again and a pair takes flight. Now I can get my glasses on them. Lapwings, Curlew, Grouse and all manner of small ground nesting birds are sounding waning calls to their chicks to tell them the dangerous bipod is coming.
I am heading for an ancient small stone circle I found a couple of weeks ago. It is very difficult to spot. So I sit on a convenient boulder at the top of a gulley that I feel leads down to the right area.
Something stings my right ankle and I look down to see my boot swarming with ants. A fair few are disappearing down the gap between boot and sock. I feel and imagine many bites so quickly change boulders and get my boots off. This looks like the correct spot. Eventually I set off down the slope following the only track - an old wandering sheep track.
Then I spot the stones again! The gamekeeper has burnt the heather and the flames have passed through the circle. Now the last hundred yards is solid bilberries and they are all holding water from the recent rain squall in each of a million leaves. To cross them and enter the circle will definitely mean wet lower legs and feet.
Cowardly, I decide the return walk could be too uncomfortable. Will the old Gods of the circle forgive me?
I study the area with my glasses. It has a really affecting atmosphere. I believe it is saying 'Yes, go home.' So I do. You must not upset your gods.
As I turn for home something catches my eye in the bottom of the sheep track. At first I thought it was a dog turd. Then it moved. A small adder! Surely not the same one I saw a few weeks ago. Is it really on guard? How did it escape the flames?
I retrace my route back to the ridge track feeling somehow glad to be leaving. Near my feet a hole where a rabbit has tried to start a hole but failed to penetrate the rockiness. Among the spoil a strange pebble stands out. I pick it up to see it is a flint. Some Stone Age man has dropped it here thousands of years ago, to see the light of day once more because of a rabbit.
It is the size of a two pound coin and has been worked away to a very sharp cutting edge by some chap a lot cleverer than me. It will now go in my old tin money box to join other strange relics of zero value.
Back on the high track home the open views are spectacular. No sign of people or habitation as far as the eye can see in all directions. I am a happy bunny! Is this really a crowded island we live on?
The forecast is true to its word and the sun comes out sending searchlight beams through the lingering clouds.
All is well.
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