Dave Perry's logbook

Sea Fret

2011-06-03T22:03:00.001+01:00

This first appeared in Bayfair, June 2011

"Haar was”, the man explained to some visitors in late spring, “the local name, of the cool sea fog that might have been spoiling their visit”. I asked him how he knew this and was curtly told that I should ask any fisherman or local as they all used this term. When I mentioned that I’d never ever heard other locals, including the Whitby fisherman I knew, use the term Haar and had only ever heard the word Sea Fret used locally, he dismissed my comment saying that the fisherman didn’t know anything. His accent gave away the fact that he came from West Yorkshire where Sea Frets never occur. I found no mention of Fret or Sea Fret in my Chambers, Oxford or Collins dictionary. Haar did get mentioned as being used on the Scottish east coast but is also used in Northumbria. South of the tyne, Sea Fret is used. Haar is of Dutch origin and its use on the Scottish coast is evidence perhaps of the huge influx of Dutch fishing vessels there in the last couple of centuries.

The fact that sea fret wasn’t in any of my dictionaries doesn’t make its use incorrect though; many local dialect words can’t be found either even though we use them regularly.

Our language and dialects are not fixed. The words and grammar we use and the ways we use them evolve and change. Ask a farmer now what ‘shocking’, ‘stiching’ and ‘thriving’ are and he is unlikely to know because mechanisation has removed the need for these terms. Words fall out of use in our own life span, it’s a long time since I heard anyone here say they were vexed or referring to someone being cack handed.

Just because we have a standardised English written down doesn’t mean that variations to it are wrong. Try telling an American that he is wrong when he calls the boot of a car, the trunk or an Australian he’s wrong when referring to opening a tinny, having a barbie, or being taken away in an ambo.

Similarily in Ireland a beach is known as a strand, a plank of wood is a stick, the dry stone walls and banks I built were ditches – because those are the right words to use in those countries. Likewise the regional English spoken anywhere in the UK is the correct English regardless of usage, accent and regional variations. Indeed if you are teaching foreign learners English there is absolutely no point in teaching anything other than ‘English-as-it-is-spoken’. New use of our grammar evolves all the time. Fifteen years ago you would not have heard people use the present continuous tense, as in , “I’m loving it”. We all used the present tense, as in, “I love it”. This usage is now in common and widespread use. It cannot be ‘wrong’.

The same words can have totally different meanings if spoken by a teenager or adult. We know what wicked means don’t we? But spoken by a teenager it spells out enjoyment, as in, “It was a wicked party” I don’t think they use the similar meaning word, ‘minted’ anymore either.

Even local dialect words can vary within quite short distances. In Hull the path between houses is called a ten foot, or eight foot in Grimsby. In industrial Yorkshire ginnel is used. In York they’d wonder what you were talking about unless you called it a snicket and you’d have to tell a Londoner it’s an alleyway.

Writing in the 1920s Fairfax-Blakeborough listed many local words that are now long forgotten and he recognised that English is ‘elastic’ as he called it and was different from the Yorkshire dialect of his youth. David Crystal the eminent linguist, explains that our current concern with ‘standard’ English is only the result of countless books and grammatical texts describing what is considered normal use at the time and cannot possibly cover all uses in all parts of the UK. Normal English isn’t decided by retired generals writing letters to the times, nor professors of linguistics, it’s us, the everyday speakers of the language and is thus correct for whatever part of the country you come from.

Should the loss of local terms, regional accents and so on be mourned in the same way as we might mourn when we loose a valued building or some species of wildlife?. I don’t know, maybe not, but I’m glad we don’t all speak the same way. The distinctive accent used locally, which is unique to just a small part of the north Yorkshire coast, goes someway towards our self-identity and sense of being, like all regional accents.

Travel, people from different regions relocating elsewhere, widespread standard usage of English through national press, magazines, books, radio and TV all help erode the use of local terms and sayings. So I was thoroughly delighted when I recently heard the BBC use ‘Sea Fret’ to describe sea fog, rather than the word in my dictionaries. Perhaps the BBC was bucking the trend by using a relatively local word in place of haar..

It certainly proved that the locals and fishermen of this coast know more about our language than the man from west Yorkshire. Perhaps the BBC will be using more vernacular English soon! But Haar Haar? I don’t think so!!

Hitchiking by plane and ship

2011-03-24T21:29:00.002Z

They stood hopefully at the side of the road holding a sign marked ‘Scotland’ as the traffic passed by. You don’t see many hitch hikers these days and these were the first I’d seen for three or four years. Like many folk I’ve done a lot in my younger days and some of it by unconventional means including hitching on a plane and my partner Trish even managing a trip on an oil-tanker.

Let me explain: I worked in the Shetlands and was on a regular leave flight to Glasgow where I would normally have disembarked and traveled by train to Whitby. I ended up sitting next to the stewardess at the rear of the plane and when she was done with the trolley we chatted. I wondered where she lived and was told Newcastle. I commiserated on her misfortune on having further to travel when the plane terminated in Glasgow. “Oh, it doesn’t”, she replied, “It’s going to Teesside – that’s where we are going to.”

“Any chance of a lift –I live in Whitby”, I asked, with no hope of being told yes.

“I’ll ask the Captain” she said and then added there would be a few more on board who probably would prefer to get off at Teesside instead of Glasgow. Looking down the cabin I could see several others who would love the chance to continue on to Teesside including at least another two who lived in Whitby. Not wanting to give her too much of an extra work load, I told her, half jokingly, that if we could stay on board I’d do her duties for her, something I could do easily as I’d flown on this route with the same airline nearly 40 times in the last three years.

As she disappeared to the flight deck I didn’t hold my breath, as I thought my cheeky request would promptly be turned down. She returned a minutes later saying that the captain was happy with us staying on board, so several of us remained seated as the aircraft discharged most of the passengers at Glasgow and we took off again for the flight to Teesside.

She proffered the microphone and said, “Go on then!”. I made the usual announcements over the PA and whilst the stewardess remained seated I took the trolley down the aisle handing out cold drinks to my work mates, receiving many ribald comments along the way. Forty minutes later we were in Teesside airport and the three of us from Whitby jumped into a taxi and were soon in Whitby. Probably the fastest possible trip ever made from the Shetland Isles to Whitby by far.

I thought this mode of transport was pretty unique for hitching until I met Trish some years later and she told me of her trip to the Isles of Scilly, this being even more of an accomplishment as she did it with four young children in tow.

Trish takes up her story:-

We’d often been to the Isles of Scilly by boat, by helicopter and by small plane. But that had been from England and we now lived on the East coast of Ireland and had four children so it was much more complicated and expensive. It seemed impossible but my then husband who worked for an oil company had a brainwave – he would speak to the captain of one of the tankers that came into the port about getting a lift on board ship. After conversations with the parent company in Germany the captain agreed that they would take us to and from the Isle of Scilly, but we had to organise a pick up in the Atlantic off the Scillies. It sounded good but was complicated and this was long before mobile phones! Firstly we had to think of how we’d get picked up. Fortunately because we’d been before we had contacts who put us in touch with one of the local fisherman who agreed to pick us up. Easy? Not really because the arrival of ‘our’ tanker, The Aztec depended on the weather. It would only be alongside in Ireland for as long as it took to discharge the oil and would be off again a few hours later. I had to have everything packed and organised for six of us and be ready for off when I received the phone call. The fishing boat had to be contacted about our ETA and to complicate things even more we were staying on St Martins, a small off island, so had to be taken off the fishing boat into a rowing boat as my then husband had to go to customs on the main island.

The day and the time came, and we were off, down the Irish sea, and twenty-five miles off the tip of Cornwall to the islands. It was rough and we were seasick but the crew made us welcome and the children had a great time when they weren’t being sick. We arrived and anchored and there was the fishing boat waiting just off the Round Island Lighthouse. Being a tanker it was fairly easy to transfer except that we had a four year old, and a thirteen month old and both had to be handed over to the fisherman. As we approached land a small rowing boat met us and we were rowed ashore whilst my husband headed off to Customs.

Our two weeks holiday started to stretch to three as off shore gales prevented the tanker from approaching the isles. We ran out of money, had to live off rabbits we caught and blackberries and crab apples we picked.

Near the end of the third week a message came through that a tanker, the Sioux was approaching our pick up point. We grabbed our stuff and walked down to the beach and all the locals came down to wave us off. We stood watching with a full moon lighting up the sea and as we climbed into the rowing boat we could see the lights of the tanker as it waited for us off Round Island. Lifting the children onto the ship in the dark was a bit scary but they declared it a great adventure!.

I doubt hitching a lift by plane or ship would be possible now.

Fruit press & potato houses, Glaisdale

2011-03-10T19:09:00.004Z

On my way to view a potato house near Mountain Ash Farm I came across this old fruit press against a rather large old oak tree. This picture also appears in An Illustrated guide to stone antiquities on the north yorkshire moors' by Elizabeth Ogilvie.

And this is the potato house. Not many in this part of the UK but these were used to store potatoes in winter. This one is divided into two sections and totals about 13ft X10ft partially buried in earth to insulate it from the winter frosts this potato house is now only occupied by sheep.
This too appears in Elizabeth Ogilvie's book.

At Yew Grange farm a little distance away at the head of the dale is hidden a much larger one behind the farm This one has three internal bays so probably around 15 ft wide ( I couldn't measure it as it was used to store roofing slates) and showed identical construction in that the dividing walls were identical in terms of width & dressing and each had a larger stone capping along their length upon which the large roof slabs rested on.

Each bay had at the opposite end to the door an entrance which looked identical to the those used in old pig sties here to pour food into. This was where the potatoes were tipped.

The floors were slabbed with flagstone.

The stone door frame was rebated to accomodate the door.

It appeared that when the structure was originally built the side walls were not wide enough (for insulation?) and were subsequently added to to a depth of another 2 or 3 feet in width. You can see this butting against the original structure on the extreme left hand side of the picture of the front. This addition had partially collapsed on the other side at one corner..

The original structure's roof had carefully beveled/sloping gable ends to suit the original pitch of the roof. You can see a couple of these gable stones at the rear and one on the front at the left hand side. Of more interest was that the owner told me when he acquired the farm in 1953 it was roofed over, with pantiles laid on the loose earth which was placed on top of the slabs. Because they were in danger of getting smashed up by his stock which once wandered around the yard he removed them and they were placed inside the structure!! He never used it for it's original purpose. I wonder whether the other potato house was similarly roofed in someway to prevent water from dripping in and spoiling the spuds?

It was obvious to me that although the structure would then have been totally waterproof and well insulated from long periods of extreme frost I could see how rats could be kept out. Wooden door + openings where you tipped the spuds!. So I asked the farmer and he too was puzzled, commenting that he'd never considered that before but that some additional precautions must have been needed to prevent rats getting in. A bit of know-how forgotten?
You can see this potato house here and here

Moorland Xmas Tree

2011-02-15T20:21:00.002Z

On the Whitby to Pickering road a sitka spruce has been sporting Xmas decorations over the last few years. These have been added to increasingly each year and have survived the worst of the winter's weather. There are even solar powered Christmas decorations. I wonder whether it's the same person decorating this as the pine near the cattle grid up on the Goathland turn off? This is no longer decorated and it would appear that the attention is now devoted to the Sitka Spruce.

Ice Climbing North Yorkshire Coast

2010-12-21T19:53:00.005Z

When the temperature drops below -4 or -5c and there's no wind, there's no need to go far in search of ice on the North Yorkshire Moors. Just look at some of the sea cliffs, especially where they are not too vertical.
The picture on the left shows a typical ice climb just south of Stoupe Beck at Robin Hood's Bay near Whitby on the North East Coast. This one is about 45 to 65 ft tall and is around grade iii/iv.

There are many others, many incomplete.

Last night it got down to -8c

And if you don't fancy anything quite as exposed as that there is plenty of scope for short problem routes.

OK, it might not appeal to everyone but then these routes were only 40 minutes from my house on foot!!

Yes, bugger the Christmas shopping, I spent the morning climbing on these cliffs before running back home before I got cut off by the tide.

A day out on skis

2010-12-06T21:22:00.002Z

A beautiful sunny day and with so much snow around I went to Goathland. Dug a little space for the van at the side of the road up to New Wath and skiied over the moors to Wardle Green a few miles to the south and back.

Perfect snow, the skis waxed to perfection, fast going we even had time to go to the old sheep beild at Wardle Green before turning back to the van. The sun was low in the sky and not a breath of wind. Apart from the distant darkness of the forests the only objects to be seen above the deep but hard snow were the odd grouse feeding on exposed tips of heather.

Left the van at 1:30 and was back at 4pm with plenty of photo shots. Surprised to find the van showing an outside temperature of -8c - that'll explain the ice on the inside of the roof then!

The snow on the North Yorkshire Moors is probably the best for skiing I've known as the cover is complete, extensive and firm.

But for my companion, Jilly, a day out on skis with me means a fast trot, sometimes in deep snow where she sinks in up to her belly. But she loves it!!

The Most Remote Places

2010-11-10T19:27:00.002Z

Sitting in the pub The Laurel one evening I overheard a visitor telling his companion about how remote some of our moors were from roads. Checking my map the following morning identified the centre of Baysdale moor, SW of Westerdale, as being 2.5 miles from the nearest road and you might just get 3 miles if you went further SW toWhorlton moor on the Cleveland hills.

Of course, if you went to Scotland you just might find yourself with a longer walk. A couple of places in the highlands are about 14 miles from public roads.

To find extremely remote places on earth we must travel much further.

The most remote uninhabited island in the world is Bouvet island in the South Atlantic. It is 1400 miles from Tristan Da Cunha and 1000 miles from Queen Maud land in Antarctica.

The most remote inhabited island is Tristan Da Cunha in the South Atlantic with a population of a couple of hundred people. It is 1400 miles from Antarctica, 1600 miles from South Africa and over 2000 miles from South America. There is no airport, access is by sea from Cape Town a few times a year. There is no harbour to speak of. A few ships stop by, weather permitting, for the boats to ferry people to and from the island. I visited it on a dull, cold, wet & stormy day 40 years ago. It is a truly remote and desolate spot, several days sailing across a bleak and empty ocean.

On land the most remote places are difficult to identify. Some places in China, Russia, Mongolia & Tibet are remote, but these have been populated for a long time so settlements, villages, towns and cities occur along with roads and travel links.

It is Canada that has just about the most remote inhabited & uninhabited places on earth. To give you and idea of scale, Canada is 3/5ths the size of Russia and larger than Australia. It is bigger than both USA, China, Mongolia & Tibet and a little larger than Europe, but without the roads or the people. Some of its lakes and bays are bigger than the North Sea.

There cannot be many places in Europe where you’d be more than a few miles from the nearest human. But Alert, in Nunavut inside the Canadian arctic ocean is a small weather and radio station 500 miles from the north pole. The nearest town is Iqaluit, 1300 miles south and 2600 miles from the City of Quebec. There’s no public travel service but it is visited regularly by military transport. It’s a long way to do the Christmas shopping.

In the far north of Canada lie The Barren Lands, an area of half a million square miles of rolling tundra (almost the same size as Europe) with a population of just a few thousand in remote settlements. It is the most sparsely populated area of land outside of Antarctica. It forms the largest single wilderness remaining in North America and one of only a few fully intact wild ecosystems on our planet. It is a place of stunning beauty. There are no roads, railways or airports. Hundreds of rivers and countless hundreds of thousands of lakes are un-named. The nearest accessible settlement to the Barren Lands is Fort Smith, about 300 miles away, a small town of 2000 Cree Indians and Europeans. To get to Forth Smith involves a 12 hour drive from Edmonton in the south over a rough road in summer only, or a 3 hour flight from Edmonton. The only planes that can land in the Barren Lands are floatplanes. Due to the distances, this sometimes means another float plane has to travel with you to take extra fuel for your return flight. If you fly to the Barrens it'll be the most expensive plane trip you'll ever make!! You fly for hours over endless boreal forest, tundra, lakes, sand hills and twisting rivers stretching from horizon to horizon. Bears, wolves, musk oxen and many thousands of caribou inhabit the land. It is the summer breeding grounds of many millions of geese, ducks and wading birds. Mobile phones, Sat Navs & normal radios don’t work here.

Flowing for hundreds of miles across the Barrens is the Thelon River. No one lives here. A few have tried it and failed, notably the Hornby party. In 1927 three Englishmen, (John Hornby, his cousin and a friend) thought they could survive out there. They came, built a cabin at an isolated group of spruce now called Hornby Point and starved to death in their first winter, their story recorded in a journal one of them kept throughout the ordeal. Their graves and remains of their cabin lay beside the river, a reminder that this is a land of extremes where the winter temperatures drop well below –40oC It is extremely remote and hauntingly beautiful. It would be impossible to get here on foot in the brief summer due to the thousands of lakes & rivers. The skilled can make the long journey over many days by dog team, over the snow & ice after the freeze up in winter or by canoe in summer. The nearest settlement is a further 250 miles down river by canoe. There are no roads, railways or man made objects between you and the north pole, nor between here and Russia, over 1500 miles away to the west. It is 700 miles to the south before the nearest railway or road. Rescue by plane is not an option for there is nowhere suitable to land.

Trish and myself made the long journey to the Barrens in 2007, we spent 11 days canoeing and camping along the Thelon river and visited the cabin at Hornby Point. More people have climbed Everest than canoed here and Trish is probably the only Englishwoman ever to have seen this place.

Remoteness and isolation are relative. The visitor in the pub came from London!

Rats in the Well!!

2010-10-01T18:41:00.002+01:00

A friend and I were walking past one of the more remote farms along the moorland fringe which still had its own spring fed water supply. My friend waxed lyrical about the the wonderful quality of spring water. I had to point out that having your own private water supply was not always without problems and I told him about the move into our house in Co. Cork several years ago, which had its own water supply fed from a deep well.

We’d not been in the house long before I discovered the well. Scything away at the long grass a few yards from the back door I uncovered two black plastic pipes disappearing vertically down an 8” steel pipe. Several lumps of grass disappeared downwards too and I wondered what else could fall down an 8” pipe and probably had done in the several years the house had been empty. I carefully cleared several large snails and slugs from inside the pipe they too followed the grass to the bottom..

The water supply was rather brown but this had slowly been clearing, as I’d been told it would do with increased use. I’d drunk a lot of dirty looking, but perfectly safe, drinking water over the years so I forgot about it. Until, that is I noticed a small crack in the steel vessel which regulates the water pressure and was situated in the ruins of one of our outhouses. Inside the crack I could see a rubber bladder repeatedly inflating and deflating as water was pumped into the house. I wondered how soon the crack would open more and the bladder within burst. I decided to call the only likely name in the local paper and hoped my English accent along with my vague description of the problem would not put him off answering the message I left on his answer phone.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. At lunch I enjoyed a leisurely snack only interrupted by a fountain of water suddenly erupting from the outhouse containing the offending pressure vessel. I ran outside and fumbled in the wet for the ‘off’ switch and was rewarded, quite properly, by one of several electric shocks before succeeding in turning the electric off and the fountain subsided.

Soaking wet I headed back towards the house to be greeted by a cheery “Dave Perry?” from a man who introduced himself as; “Peter Downy, water and well engineer”,,,. “What’s the problem” he asked and I showed him how I got wet.

Ten minutes later, a new pressure vessel installed , my thoughts returned to the quality of water. I asked him if he could test the water.

“What for?” he asked, and I told him about the brown water and how I was worried about bacteria and germs in the water.

“How long have ye lived here?” he asked. And I told him several weeks.

“And have ye been well all that time so?” and I informed him that that was the case, nor had any visitor enjoying the water been ill.

“Then there’s nothing wrong with your water is there – what’s the point of sending it away to be tested then?

“But what if a rat, mouse or something else had fallen down the well and was floating in the cold water 100’ below the ground?”.

He came into the kitchen and asked for a clean glass of water which he held up to the light examined it with care and tasted it, announcing it; “Grand water altogether!”.

“Yes but what if there was a rat or mouse down there, how would you know?

“He looked at the water in the glass again and sniffed it. “I’d have smelt it” he announced. “Yes”, I replied, “but the water down there is cold and any rat or mice might not be rotting”. He took another sip and told me the well was fine as he would have tasted any such rat or mouse.

He then told me that the first sign of dead furry things in the well such as mice or rats would be bits of fur and hair pulled off by the pump and it would now be present as little grey bits of fluff in the glass. Our water was perfectly clear!!

He then told me how you would deal with dead animals down wells, by putting sterilising solutions into the well, flushing all the taps, leaving it to sterilise and so on. All information I might someday need, and I absorbed every detail.

So visitors came and went and I told the story to all our English visitors who were used to carefully manufactured water, which in the case of some of my towny friends had been recycled numerous times by their own neighbours.

A couple of years later I found myself in the position of care-taking several neighbouring houses owned by second home, owners from places as far away as America. And so it came about that one such American who owned a grand holiday house a few miles away phoned me up one day after arriving from the states.

“Hi Dave, can you pop over here bud and look at our water there’s a problem?”.

.”What’s the problem?” I enquired.

“There’s bits of grey stuff in the water”.

A little stuck perhaps?

2010-09-16T13:58:00.003+01:00

Every year two or three cars get stuck on this sharp junction up at the entrance to Fyling Hall school, at Fylingthorpe.near Whitby. This car had to be lifted out by crane as it could neither reverse or go forward.

Getting Lost in Wintergill Plantation?

2010-08-18T19:55:00.004+01:00

Our local paper, the Whitby Gazette reported this Tuesday 17th August that a family of 3 adults and 8 children had to call out the mountain rescue as they were 'lost' inside Wintergill plantation. Lost? You can see from the map that at most the plantation is less than 1km wide and in a valley. You couldn't hide 11 people in that plantation!! The family were staying in Glaisdale and had walked to the woods. Obviously having walked either up to it or down to it from the road they obviously couldn't work out which way was back. Surely even simply knowing that it is in a valley you could walk downhill and end up in the open valley below or uphill and you end up on the road.
Read the full story here

Canoeing the Rivers Rye & Derwent (North Yorkshire)

2010-08-16T19:01:00.007+01:00

Dropped off at Newham Bridge a few miles NW of Malton on the R.Rye. The river is narrow and I soon encountered the first of a handful of log jambs which had to be negotiated. This section of the Rye contains several simple rapids. But the biggest challenge was avoiding the many sheep drowned in the winter due to flooding.

There's no way around this.

Through Malton. Not pleasant but no one noticed!!
An hours paddling took me to Jeffry Bog a couple of meadows managed by Yorkshire Wildlife trust and absolutely packed with many species of grasses, flowers and awash with common blue butterflies.

I decide to camp just downstream. No tent, just the canoe, a karrimat and my fishing gear.
Its a warm evening and as darkness approaches I notice a ripple advancing towards me from close to my side of the bank. I knew this was no bird and keeping as still as possible a pair of otters came and swam in front of me, one of which approached to within several feet to see what I was.
I woke early.
My arms were still sore after some neck and shoulder injury so I decided I wouldn't paddle much further that day. Another night was spent further upstream and I discovered a family of otters playing in a tiny feeder stream.
One of the many moorhens nests along the banks side. (To be continued)

Ian Bailey (3)

2010-04-19T21:43:00.005+01:00

Our neighbour in Ireland was Ian Bailey and is the most arrogant, pompous and vindictive man I ever met. He spent years trying to prevent me walk over the fields near our respective houses, despite knowing that the owner is my very good friend. He even got his Cork, big boy Lawyer, Frank Buttimer to send me threatening letters. (which all went directly into the waste bin). He threatened me a few times, and kept a collection of photographs of me as I crossed the fields. Often he ran to his boundary to shout at me although I never really heard what he was saying, This woman beater - he beat his partner Jules Tomas ("I'm an artist you know") up a few times, and once enough for her to be admitted to hospital such were the state of her injuries.

Of course Bailey loves publicity and made sure he hit the news whenever he could often biting off more than he could chew as when his liable case against several newspapers failed. A coward at heart despite his arrogance, he spent most of the time hiding at home. Now it just looks as though this unemployed ex gardener and fish filliter might just have more on his plate. The French authorities now want to extradite him for the murder of Frenchwoman Sophie du Plantair. Read more

If you wish to read more about his alleged role in the murder click here

Canoeing the Tees - Neasham to Dinsdale

2010-04-19T20:17:00.008+01:00

Managed to get out paddling on the River Tees with a group from the Song of The Paddle forum. Jilly came too!

You can read & see more pictures by clicking right here

Yorkshire Hedgelaying

2010-04-04T20:15:00.007+01:00

My first hedgelaying job in North Yorkshire since leaving Ireland.

This is the hedge before laying.

:

And this is the 'after' shot. No bindings or railings are used in this part of Yorkshire and quite often the hedge is laid at a much flatter angle, sometimes almost on the ground..

This makes me the only person who has laid hedges for a living in three countries. (England, Ireland & Holland)

And if that wasn't enough to keep my spirits happy, it was only a two minute drive from home and I could see my house in the distance. What a view!

The Personnel Manager and the Sheep

2010-03-19T19:06:00.002Z

(NB. This took place whilst we were house hunting in Ireland in 1998!and has just been published in the Bayfair magazine)

The pale yellow walls of the old farmhouse could just be seen beyond the cattle grid, numerous overgrown shrubs and dereliction passed off as the garden. The for sale sign told us that we’d come to the right spot, a traditional Irish farmhouse, 3 windows above, centre door and two windows opposite below. Only the front door in clear orange glass, framed in aluminium spoilt the dream. Time for a look around. No one at home. A large Suffolk ram wandered the yard and came to investigate. Obviously hand reared it seemed to delight in having its head rubbed. Our duty fulfilled it wandered off to munch what was left of what once may have been lawn.

A few minutes later, our curiosity satisfied, we strolled down the front drive, quickly followed by our new found friend the sheep. A last scratch on the head and we made for the entrance. But the sheep wasn’t letting us go easily and as we reached the entrance I saw the sheep accelerating towards us from within the darkness of several leylandii trees, its head down and clearly looking for a fight. Luckily for us the owner had been doing some minor tree surgery and a handy branch was used in an attempt to fend the ram off. In a valiant rearguard action we retreated down the drive, and reversed over the cattle grid to the safety of the road. I never realised how far a sheep could jump and was duly surprised to see the ram clear the grid with ease as it sprinted towards us again and I quickly regretted throwing my branch away.

The first lunge I fended off with my hand, the second with my knee and it was obvious the sheep was just as determined to land a blow as I was to avoid one.

“Run Trish”. Trish needed no encouragement and was running fast. I quickly thought of plan B, which was just as well as there had been no plan A. As Trish sprinted down the road, leaving the sheep and me to sort things out ourselves, it tried to outflank me but failed as I rugby tackled it to the ground and quickly used arms and legs to pinion it and stop its flaying legs from causing further damage to my ego. I hadn’t got this far in my plan yet so I laid on the road and thought what to do next. Clearly I had to think quickly because I wasn’t relishing the thought of having to explain to the next passing driver why an Englishman was laid in the middle of a road with a large ram gripped between his legs and pinned in my arms!

I got to my feet and tried to lift the ram up and carry it back over the cattle grid. I’d not had much practice lifting Suffolk rams as a personnel manager and clearly this showed, as it proved impossible to lift. So grabbing it’s front feet it got pulled along the road and back over the cattle grid where I left it on it’s back. Smugly walking back down the road to Trish I looked back at the sheep which was still on it’s back. Damn! I ‘d heard of sheep being stuck like this – but only in magazine articles. Perhaps the sheep had a trick up its sleeve (or wherever sheep keep them), I don’t know but I couldn’t leave it there could I? So back over the cattle grid (it clearly wasn’t much of sheep grid) and I pulled the sheep onto its side, expecting another tussle. But the sheep slowly walked off and started nibbling on the remains of a flower bed.

Back in the car and ten minutes later we were driving over a very narrow, twisty mountain pass only to discover our way blocked by a farmer moving his young lambs into a field. There were nearly a hundred and each one was being lifted over a fence. There was no point in just sitting so I got out and asked the farmer if he’d like a hand lifting the lambs over the fence. “Have ye experience handling sheep?” he asked as I grabbed the first one by the back of the neck and swung it over the wire and into the pasture. “A little” I replied.

Drystone Wall - Fylingthorpe

2010-02-21T21:05:00.005Z

So 11 years since leaving Yorkshire to live in Ireland I recently got my first walling job back home at a lovely farm at Flylingthorpe a stone's throw away from my home.

The corner has collapsed partially due to the fill settling, foundations giving away and numerious small trees.

Dismantle all the dodgy bits and dig out the old foundation stones at the bottom and re-set the biggest stones again.

And a couple of days later interrupted by several inches of snow, we have the finished article. You can hardly see where the old stone meets my replacement.

Pretty pleased with it as I think it is also the only wall I've built from regular coursed stone.

So if you want a drystone wall repaired or a completely new one do give me a call!!

Goshawks & Snow Buntings

2010-02-11T20:18:00.002Z

Out doing my voluntary ranger duties at Maybecks recently and in perfect weather - sun and snow, a pair of Goshawks sailed by enabling me to get an excellent view of the pair. These once very rare birds are becoming increasingly common in the conifer woods around here.

Later taking the dog along Bay Ness (at Robin Hood's Bay) I saw a flock of about 25 Snow Buntings feeding in a field of grass with many seed heads intact. Their favourite feeding ground.

Wrong way waterfall!!

2010-01-12T20:16:00.003Z

Sunday was out along the Cleveland way in North Yorkshire, just a mile or so from Robin Hood's Bay at a place called Normanby Stye Batts (NZ950075). Cold, just above freezing and a very strong wind blowing off the sea at around 40 to 50knots. Came across this......

Winter 2010 in Goathland (Aidensfield)

2010-01-09T20:34:00.001Z

Taken on the 9th of January in Goathland village. This is the village which is called Aidensfield on the well know Heartbeat series. You've never seen it like this in that programme though!!

A walk along the Scaur at Robin Hood's Bay

2010-01-04T20:45:00.008Z

RAYS BREAM
Rather chilly this morning at around zero centigrade and
several inches of snow. All the visitors to Robin Hood's Bay over the Xmas and New Year Period have gone home. There is silence through the old village. The Bay Hotel only had three people in it when I visited last night.

On the beach were several dead Ray's Breams. These deep water fish normally inhabit warmer waters are increasingly turning up when the weather/water gets too cold. The 'gulls enjoy them though. The coin at the top is a 50 pence piece.

SARB-J
The dog and myself then walked along the scaur and onto Ness Point where the Sarb-J went aground in good weather in Janurary 1993. Many of the major components have been removed. It is one of many shipwrecks which have happened in this area. And it won't be the last!

Within site of the Sarb-J lay the remains of another earlier wreck, this portion shows remains of the boilers I think. I'm not sure of the name but several vessels have sunk here. Not far away in another hole lays more bits and pieces.

On one of the boulders underneath the cliff I noticed this on which lay the remains of a feral pigeon. Almost certainly the kill of one of the local pair of Peregrine falcons which I often see on my walks along Ness Point.

Ice climbing on the North Yorkshire Moors

2009-12-22T21:29:00.001Z

Not too far from Whitby are the North Yorkshire Moors a venue not known for it's ice climbing. But here up at Fryup Dale there is a lengthy crag which with a few days of freezing weather comes into condition.

It's a long slog from the car parked just above Lealholm, deep snow North Yorkshire Moors.

Nowhere is the climbing above 20' to 30' but it's almost all vertical and can provide an hour or two fun 'sport' routes. Protection is limited to trees or stakes above the crag. But ice climbing on the North Yorkshire Moors is possible! And this is only three days before Christmas!!

Jilly the Dog

2009-12-20T20:16:00.004Z

8 years ago Trish drove myself and the two grandchildren who were staying with us, to; ”Pick up my Christmas present”. An unknown destination and present lay ahead. “You’ve always wanted one”, she said, “You’ll really like it” (Case of wine or whiskey?)

Later, as we drove away from the address, I stared at the little blond puppy that was crying on my lap. I know I’d gone on about wanting a dog – but a dog’s for life not just Christmas, I didn’t mean it!. It was an aspiration perhaps. Too much trouble perhaps? Maybe I only liked the idea of owning one?. It might cramp my style. I couldn’t go climbing, canoeing, skiing, mountaineering, could I? After all a dogs for life not just for Christmas, isn’t it?

Driving home the subject of names came up. Trish said it was called Lily. Number two Grandchild sitting in the back, coincidently called Lily, burst out crying indignantly; “I don’t want to be called the same name as a dog” she wailed. With my newly acquired alter ego now asleep on my lap I announced it would be called Fang. Or Killer, or Ripper. The children in the back seat protested vocally and persistently. “Anyway she is a girl and you don’t call girls that kind of name”, one of them observed. The eldest suggested that as the previous owner called her Lily, a simple change to Jilly would suffice and would not offend the sensibilities of her sister. This was greeted by a loud, “Yes” from Lily. .

As we drove home I suggested to the kids that Jilly would do for dinner and asked them which bit they would like for the weekend joint, suggesting that we could have a leg each, which was an improvement on a chicken shared between four after all. More protests from the back followed loudly.

Jilly was whining on my lap and I gave her some gentle strokes. “Well”, I thought, she’d live outside in a kennel. End up being a tough dog and perhaps make a tolerable companion on my forays into the outdoors and nights in Igloos, snow holes, canoeing trips and so on., If I had to go to places where dogs were excluded, I could always tie her up with extra helpings of dog food!

I couldn’t let her outside that night as it was pointed out I didn’t own a kennel and without one she might be eaten by a fox. A large cardboard box was placed next to the Stanley and the children put her in and showered her with good night kisses and hugs.

Christmas morning dawned cold and bright and we’d ignored the odd crying from the kitchen during the night Carefully hidden dog food and treats appeared from cupboards and quickly disappeared down Jilly’s mouth.. I could see that the dog wasn’t going to starve to death. She could stay another few days anyway.

I needed a walk. Jilly, no doubt deciding I was a food source, decided to follow and ran at my heels. This was fine until we got to the Bog Field and she didn’t know that the bright green bits were wet. Very wet! Not wanting to upset the grandchildren too much by leaving her I pulled her out of the deep black water where she was struggling and let her go. She gamely ran at my heels over every obstacle I put in her way. I was suitably impressed by her spirit. A few minutes later she stopped and whined. Clearly she was going to be a liability! She was shivering. Mmmm? Ok, she was rather small and wet, and it was rather chilly. I picked her up and tucked her into my jacket. A few minutes later and she wanted to be down and off again, exploring and running and sniffing at everything and anything as she ran alongside me. A few minutes later and she ran out of steam and ground to a halt. I picked her up and ran back to the house wondering what was wrong with the present.

”Where did you go and how far was it”, I was asked when we arrived home.

“She’s tired”, Trish announced, after I told her where we’d been. Jilly was now fast asleep in her cardboard box. Outside would clearly have to wait!

As her stamina increased, our forays into the hills got longer and longer. The landscape I looked at obtained new meanings as she quickly spotted where the fox, badger, mice and the hares lived or passed, her nose following the scent trails across the fields and though the hedges.

Scrambling up a steep rocky gully to the summit of Ireland’s highest mountain proved she was quick and fast over the steepest rock and followed me along the narrowest of cliff ledges sometimes in deep snow. She helped in map work when I struggled in cloud and darkness along rocky mountainsides quickly noticing that she picked the best routes. She proved she had an excellent memory and could retrace exactly the route we’d trodden before when revisiting climbs and walks. She proved equally adept at canoeing and wasn’t put off by the biggest or wettest rapids spending the trip testing the air and enjoying the views.

One spring night sleeping under the stars with only a small sheet of nylon as shelter I shivered with cold. Outside, so did Jilly. With little prompting she joined me under the shelter and we soon warmed up together.

But I really knew who was the real softy when hedge-laying on a wet, windy, cold day in Co.Kerry. Soaked to the skin she shivered in long grass uncomplaining. I took a fleece jacket and covered her. Eating my sandwiches later I realised I’d forgotten her lunch. We shared my sandwiches that day!

Jilly has become my companion on long walks and runs, birdwatching trips and other excursions into the outdoors. And I wouldn’t have it any other way either. Dogs are not just for Christmas!

Dry Stone Walling & Google

2009-12-14T11:19:00.004Z

The Good, Bad, Ugly and the unexpected from Google

This was going to be easy. I'd been asked to write an article on Dry Stone Walling and Google for Sean Adcock of the North Wales Branch of the Drystone Walling Association's magazine Stonechat.

"Punch “drystone walls” into Google and go through them – see what is out there – good and bad".

Page 1 until ? Well, I gave up the careful prowl at around page 20 of google results and started page hopping until I gave up at page 35 when my browser refused to open any more sites.

So what did I discover? Well,, most surprisingly was the fact that most sites I turned up were entirely as you would expect in that they were relevant and mostly quite good. Along the way I discovered a few odds and ends. I discovered that in answers at Yahoo.com a thread which stated a stone wall would cost to build anything from £30 to £300 per metre depending on who you believed. I also found a wall costing only £4.99. I found out you could attend a drystone walling course in Switzerland for £435 including 3 nights full board & breakfast at www.myswiterland.com. I also discovered the Catalan for drystone waller is “Margerer”

As you probably have already discovered, a search on google produces mostly waller’s own websites, several dswa pages, amazon books and rather amusingly a few portal sight which lists areas with drystone wallers in it. Swiss Cottage in London was listed and isn’t known for it’s walling traditions so I couldn’t resist a quick visit. It listed three walling sites, one of which was a quarry in the Black Mountains an address in Armagh which is in Ireland so I had a look to see what was going on there. (Nothing). An address in surrey turned out to be a builders merchang so I’m still trying to work out the link with Swiss Cottage. I pressed the back button.

The first interesting site was “Sticks and Stones’, http://www.omlxi.com/sticks_stones/index.php a Tasmainian site by two gents. One a waller, the other a hedgelayer. Yes, both are practised in Tasmania even if only by these two and you can see their work.

By page 5 some odd drystone walling sites appear. Attracted by www.opendemocrfacy.net and it’s appealing, ‘Reshaping The Dry Stone Wall of Irish history’ title I gave it ago. After all I’d lived there for 10 years and never, ever come across this book. The book’s description was as follows:, “This book of twenty-five chapters is a selection of papers presented at a conference organised by the British Association for Irish Studies held at the University of Salford in September 2005. An additional commissioned chapter deals with the fortunes of the two major Unionist parties since the Belfast Agreement of 1998, in particular tracking the transition of the Democratic Unionists from opposition to the ‘Trimble-Adams Pact’ to miraculous support for a Robinson-McGuinness Executive. Appropriately, the book retains the diversity of the papers’ subject matter and, in keeping with recent academic...” Back space again!! I eventually worked out the relevance of the title with help from Trish. I’ll leave you to work it out too. Good luck.

On page seven I turned up http://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/412167 an animated video of “Old Man Pie” building a wall. Stupidly I expected an instructional video but it turned out to be an animated video almost showing wall building. Don’t bother but good if you like watching or listening to something pointless. “I build a wall around my home, It keeps out enemies and friends”. Oh, go on I suppose it was a bit of fun after all!

In total contrast and well worth looking at is the video by Mick Soft at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIHc09Z5hvw. It’s a good micky take at wallers who talk about walling in some kind of hushed and referential manner. .The man does not confine his wit to us wallers either. If you follow the links watch his take on tree surgeons too.

A site known to many is Norman Haddow’s blogspot

http://wallswithoutmortar.blogspot.com and is a simple blog containing many excellent pictures and articles on walling from many countries. Well worth the visit. This site is an education in itself.

Another interesting site http://www.astoneuponastone.com/ the home of the Drystone walling association of Australia. Lots of pictures of.....errr,,, Australian Walls!

The first techno site I found with an extensive report on the strength of drystone walls, conducted by the University of Bath, can be found at http://www.bath.ac.uk/ace/dry-stone-2/

Of real interest to us wallers and probably well know is The National Stone Centre, especially the Millennium Wall at http://www.nationalstonecentre.org.uk/vs_millenniumwall.html. Numerous walls from around the UK built in regional styles using stone from around the UK and of course built by many different wallers from around the UK.

For those wallers who actually turn up to give an estimate then this site http://www.lowimpact.org/products_dry_stone_walling.html offers a solution. Just send them as many details as you can and they’ll give an estimate of the cost for them to build. This company would be a welcomed contributor to regular enquiries on the DSWA forum when it comes to questions of costs and speeds.

On the web you can also buy a complete Flexible drystone wall from JAVIS-JSTONEOOS-FLEXIBLE-DRY-STONE-WALLING and it will only cost a pound or two. But before you get excited it turned out to be the sort you get in a plastic bag and use on model railways and the like. I found another one advertised as, ‘suitable for model railways’ at £4.99.

The MPs have also been claiming for stonework. Janis Anderson Rossingdale MP paid several hundred pounds for walling on her home. (I’m not sure which one!) read more here in the Manchester Evening News http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/s/1121367_janet_andersons_dry_stone_wall

As we go further into google some new and unexpected stuff comes up This University of Huddersfield page http://eprints.hud.ac.uk/4729/ provides us with an extract from a thesis entitled, “Tacit knowledge, learning & expertise in drystone walling” (Farrar, Nicholas Stewart 2006) Reading the extract was interesting and one day I’ll get around to reading the whole thesis which can be read by clicking the link. At 277 pages you’ll be doing a lot of reading – in fact you’ll get to page 134 before you meet a wall or even a waller. On page 243 there are some useful lessons in support of the DSWA walling qualifications.

If you want an expensive book on stonewalling try Colin Sowerby’s http://www.thedrystonewaller.com/products.htm 6 pages for £5, an e-book claiming to be a concise guide to walling. Obviously some of us know far too much for our own good.

Flikr interestingly didn’t come up until page 20 and there are thousands of pictures which I’ll let you trawl through at your leisure.

The stone foundation www.stonefoundation.org an american site worth a visit even if I found the navigation a little confusing.

There are a number of good sites describing how to build a wall. But by far the worse is this one http://homeideas.howstuffworks.com/walls-and-boundaries/how-to-approach-building-a-dry-stone-wall.htm. If you are a knew nothing before looking at this site you’ll still know nothing afterwards.

You can even watch a stone wall being repaired. By invisible people no doubt at http://www.byrdir.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/stonewall.gif

Way down the listings on page 18 or so was this european site http://www.conselldemallorca.net/mediambient/pedra/pedraensec.php?idioma=ing&opcio=1 A Mallorca based site, of which a large portion is devoted to the rebuilding and conservation of their drystone walls and structures and is available in several languages which perhaps is a reflection on the recognition of the world wide interest in drystone walling. Conservation isn’t just a British thing!

And so on. I got to page 34 on google before my PC started to have a bad internet day but not before I noticed, “Taylors Master Guide to gardening which stated that “Drystone walls are ideal for gardening as they give when the ground moves as it freezes in winter.”

I’ll end my tedious tour here as the last paragraph could promote some discussion amongst anorak clad wallers. Oh, and if anyone does discover some really truly awful walling sites please let Sean know, because I couldn’t find them!

Canoeing the River Esk North Yorkshire

2009-12-04T20:19:00.004Z

Monday 1st December.

A clear but frosty morning after a day of continuous rain on the Sunday and it looks like a good day to go for a paddle. I'm soon at Grosmont, several miles upriver from Whitby.
I drop the canoe off next to the bridge, drive back to Sleights where I leave the car and jog the few miles back to the canoe. It takes just over 40 minutes and I put my paddling boots on and a warm fleece as I'll soon cool down.

A paddle of about two hours downriver to Sleights or beyond looks on the cards. The section between here and Sleights is varied paddling through woods and fields and passes under the Esk Valley railway a number of times. It's a quiet paddle and well sheltered. There's plenty to interest paddlers. It's fairly straighforward and is the best section on the river Esk for an open canoe. Between Lealhom and Grosmont there is plenty to interest the keen Kayaker

The put in at the ford in Grosmont. The river has been very high, look at the debris hanging in the tree top right! It looks line fun.

Plenty of grade II makes for an interesting paddle between here and Sleights about two hours paddling away, through a mainly wooded valley and past a few interesting man made structures.

The first one being a fishermans shelter partially built into a cliff. The air temperature is hovering just above freezing and I'm having difficulty keeping my hands warm.

Plenty of small drops, some easier than others but enough to keep you interested. Gravel bars, and twisting turns.

And for those of you old enough to remember, this is the actor Ian Carmichael's house, camera shake notwithstanding - but I was paddling aswell!

My bowman, Jilly, with canoeing & mountaineering experience in Ireland and England. She's fine at the bow but only knows doggy paddle.

Some of the river passes by undercut cliffs but none of this interests her

There's some interesting wildlife to be spotted. These are (I think) otter tracks, we see kingfisher, dipper, a little grebe, several goosander and a pair of red breasted mergansers and numerous grey wagtails. The odd deer scurry away from the bank Jilly jumps ship at one point and dives overboard on seeing a squirrel and chases it along the bank requiring me to go ashore.

A good chance to stretch the legs!

And so the river continues, passing through woods, ravines, twists and turns, the odd island, and here, demonstrating the height the river reached at the weekend by several log jambs

The first take out point is easily noticed by a huge metal bridge (The road to Pickering) replacing one, previously washed away in floods in the 1930s.

And here's the take out point at Sleights Weir. It's an awkward carry out to get to the car park next to the Salmon Leap pub, but you can carry on to Whitby or another take out just before Ruswarp boats, where beyond that is the only other weir which involves a carry over.

I've heard of people paddling over Sleights weir in kayaks, but there is a strong undertow in high conditions and I'd not chance it in any condition!. At extremely high conditions there is only a foot drop but who knows what lies underwater.

In the many years I've lived here I've never seen another paddler on this or any other stretch of the Esk other than below the Dam at Sleights which is heavily used by a couple of local outdoor centres. __________________

Ian Bailey (2)

2009-11-21T22:03:00.002Z

We never told any of our visitors about the murder. Nor did we tell them that the only person arrested for it, and the only person who confessed to it lived up the road.

Ian Bailey sued several papers claiming they said he murdered Sophie du Plaintier.. He lost.

It was around this time that Mr Bailey's behaviour towards me changed alarmingly. For several years I had walked across the fields bordering Mr Bailey's property (actually it belongs to Jules Thomas, his partner, but never mind). More recently I'd used the fields for walking our dog. The fields belonged to my good friend Richard Connell.

Then one day I was crossing the fields and Bailey appeared at his boundary shouting and screaming. I don't know exactly what as it was windy.

I thought I'd give the police this information as he was rather an odd character.

Too late, I was informed by the Schull team. "He's made a complaint about you". And so came to pass numerious episodes of Ian Bailey complaining about me walking the fields where I live and had permission to walk. More upsettingly the country police manning the 'barracks', as Irish police stations are known', were out of their depth. On one occasion I had one of them, an unpleasant fat and rather lazy man called Guarda Kellihier come to me, interview me under caution and accuse me of making, "Obscene pig noises outside Ian Bailey's house on the public road".

Quickly realising Kellihier was out of his depths I asked him what an 'obscene pig noise' sounds like. He couldn't tell me. "So I can't really comment, can I", replied.
"Will ye sign this?", he asked me, after having written out his statement of our meeting. "No" I replied. And he realised that he'd spent the last 5 minutes of writing out his acount of his interview for me to sign was wasted.

He then told me I was being unreasonable. I quickly told him that if you come to someones house, tell them they have been making obscene pig like noises, they can hardly be called unreasonable if the person making the complaint cannot tell me what they sound like in the first place.

The next phase now involved threatening letters from Ian Bailey's defence lawyers.

Living next to a suspected Killer

2009-11-08T22:01:00.008Z

On December 23rd 1996 French film maker Sophie du Plantier was brutally murdered at her West Cork home in Ireland. The killer was never convicted and there was only one suspect, Ian Bailey who lived with Jules Thomas. (You can google "Ian Bailey+Schull and you'll get dozens of links!)

Ian Bailey lived with his partner Jules Thomas about 150 meters up the road from us. He beat here up a number of times, sometimes enough to hospitalise her.

I have been asked many times what it was like living next to these two. And many times I've been asked, did I think he was the murderer? I'll answer the first question only, although it is public knowledge he beat Jules up a number of times, once so badly she had to be rushed to hospital in Cork City some 65 miles away. You can make up your own mind whether he you think he murdered Sophie.

Although my relationship with Ian Bailey was initially cordial he soon showed an unpleasant streak and was prone to angry outbursts.

Although later we bought the house from them, initially Jules let me rent the place until the contracts were signed. My first brush with them occurred after the water supply broke down. Ian Bailey brought a litre bottle of water round. "we are getting someone to fix it" he said, as he bid me a jolly goodbye. No one came, that day. Or the next. So I got someone to fix it myself. A couple of weeks later Jules came round demanding the rent. I told her I had no money at hand but perhaps she'd like to settle this, and i handed her the bill for the water repairman. "You just can't win' she said as she threw the bill on the floor, and that was the last time I spoke to her.

Some weeks later just prior to the contract being signed I put outside one of the rusty old fridges that were rotting and rusting in the corner of what was left of the kitchen and stood it outside. I couldn't believe anyone would have wanted it anyway it was so rusty and dirty. Ian and Jules saw it and came immediately knocking at the door. Ian was tense and obviously angry. Jules sat quietly in the background. "You being here is costing me money" he frowned at me. I asked why and in reply he said that this was his studio where he wrote his material!! - I felt like telling him that he needed to ask Jules why she was selling the house to me then!. But he was angry and it was obvious there was no reasoning with him. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He was clearly angry.

There were one or two unpleasant exchanges but nothing untoward until some time after we bought the house he approached me angrily swearing and shouting about me spying on him. Obviously he didn't like me birdwatching in the vicinity of his house.

Other than that we never spoke much as he was always rather sullen. But it all got worse once he'd taken the many newspapers to court for liable, claiming they had wrongly accused him of the murder.

Upset and angry that he'd lost his legal challenge and not liking the fall into obscurity he took some of his anger out on me.

His behaviour towards me changed dramatically. I'll post future posts about his outbursts, complaining to the police, my neighbour and of the numerous solicitors letters I received. Slightly more worrying he was collecting pictures of me whilst I was out walking!.

Royal Navy

2009-10-22T21:36:00.002+01:00

Well, here I am receiving a little prize from the Captain of HMS Mercury for taking part in the Nato Naval Communications Competition in Brugge, Belgium. Just in case you are wondering why I look so young - this picture was taken in 1971 ( ish?). I joined up in 1966 and left in 1974.

Saltergate Gallows fell race

2009-10-18T22:01:00.005+01:00

Lovely clear Sunday morning and decided to take part in a 8.5mile route with just about 1000ft of ascent at Saltersgate on the North Yorkshire Moors.

Only just made the start as I forgot my trainers and had to turn around to pick them up. Car park at the Hole of Horcum was jam packed full of runners, many of whom were warming up when I arrived. I only just managed to pin my number on before I got to the start!.

The route can be seen here.

I managed to run 99% of the course apart from a couple of up-hill sections. Not bad for a 59 year old!! I came 60th out of 120 runners and was 2nd out of 12 in may age group . Finishing time was 80 minutes. I may even partake in a few more!

Autumn visitors to Robin Hood's Bay

2009-10-10T21:58:00.004+01:00

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From our home at the top of the bank I could see skeins of geese flying south, high in the clear blue skies un-noticed by the remaining visitors admiring the views from the top of the bank. And more came by that night calling in the moonlight in their thousands, unheard by customer sitting outside the Grosvenor Hotel.

The following day saw the first autumn gale and I noticed a pair of House Martins were still flying around houses along Mount Pleasant. Not all our avian visitors had left either. But these birds will make their massive migration south across the Sahara to southern Africa to join the swifts which left the village much earlier, a journey of several thousand miles without stopping!. But it’s nothing for a swift. One adult feeding young was ringed bird in the UK at it’s nest in a school belfry, was caught later the same day in Germany. Released a second time it was back feeding it’s young later the same day. A round journey of five hundred miles to feed it’s young.

When many of our human visitors go home for winter they are replaced by many thousands of other visitors, mostly unseen and ignored as they fly at night. Yet these birds have made some of the most dangerous journeys to get here. Even before they start some will have survived encounters with Wolves, foxes or Grizzlies in the great arctic tundra maybe only a week or two ago!

Brent geese, make the dangerous journey flying from Northern Canada over the Greenland icecap, across the ocean to Iceland and ending up in Ireland and the UK. A distance of over 4000 miles covering around 800 miles per day. It is a dangerous journey indeed. I wondered whether the geese overhead were the very ones we’ve heard Cree Indians in Northern Canada imitating to lure them within range of their guns whilst canoeing on a remote northern tundra river a couple of years back.

One radio tagged goose named Kerry was observed to have stopped flying near Resolute bay in the far north of Canada. Anxious to learn what had happened the trackers traced the signal to the home of an Inuit hunter. It was laid frozen in the freezer, food for winter, the tracking device still attached.

Geese have also been observed flying thousands of feet higher than Everest in air so rarefied and cold that would render us humans dead, and frozen in minutes.

Walking along the cliff path at Bay Ness I could see another visitor. Far below the walkers enjoying the late summer sun, a Red Throated Diver fished in the sea below. These too are visitors from the far north and one species even makes it to the shores around Ireland from it’s summer home in Canada. You’ve probably all heard these birds on TV as their eerie, evocative and haunting calls are often heard on programmes about Canada’s wilderness.

Walking on the beach today I saw some other visitors, Dunlins, Redshanks, Turnstones & Godwits, waders from also from the far north, busy feeding on the waters edge, most refuelling before continuing south to winter on the Humber estuary. A visitor walking too close scared them into flight not knowing or caring that these birds were tired and very hungry, having lost a large proportion of their body weight to make it this far. High above the cliffs of Bay Ness a pair of Peregrine falcons searched for likely prey. Some of these waders won’t make it through the winter and many will never make it back to their northern breeding grounds. Many will be blown off course and perish unseen at sea.

Soon our hedgerows, fields and trees will throng with Fieldfares and Redwings, visitors from Siberia and northern Europe gorging on hawthorn, mountain ash and other berries, hungry after their long journey. I have no doubt that one clear night soon I’ll hear these calling above our house as they cross the North Sea to safety in our fields. Some of the Redwings may have flown from Iceland, which will have required a night time flight over the sea of 800 miles. Many other winter visitors cross the North Sea to avoid the harsh central European winters including Robins Chaffinches, Bramblings, and Starlings.

So next time you think all our visitors have gone just spare a thought for those visitors passing overhead unseen in the dark or resting on the beach or in the fields. And the next time you look outside remember that the Robin or Chaffinch you see may have just flown in from Siberia!!

Busy Week

2009-08-15T22:01:00.002+01:00

Well, we've been busy getting the house done up. Almost everythings done. We have a functional bathroom, dining room one bedroom and a sort of office cum library.

Out with the Hawk and Owl Trust on Fylingdales moor on Friday and we saw a Merlin. As we returned through Maybecks a Goshawk appeared over the trees. In the car park I noticed that the Piri Piri which featured in several papers which reported on the park's efforts to eradicate this invasive New Zealand weed was unsuccessful. In the very area where several people had been pulling out, I found several more plants and seed heads. This was an area the size of a bed!!

Saturday I was out as voluntary ranger with my partner Trish. Our first outing in 'uniform' Very self conscious but a few people asked us questions, something which they normally do not unless you obviously look like a local. A small drama occurred when I noticed my magnetic badge dropped off un-noticed. Half an hours hunt for it and I discovered it where I'd lent over a fence!!

John Boddy - The Rake in the Trunk

2009-08-04T21:12:00.004+01:00

A recent visit to John Boddy timber merchants of Boroughbridge reunited me with this treasure.
It is a trunk of a tree approximately three feet in width. Embedded in the trunk is a rake, part of which you can see. It was discovered around 25 years ago whilst it was being cut up. I believe it was an oak..

OK not too exciting perhaps but consider this. Perhaps 150 years ago, someone was out using the rake. Taking a break, they hung the rake from a small branch of a nearby tree. The rake forgotten was left in the tree. The tree continued to grow for another 50 or more years around it, until it could no longer be seen. Until it was cut down. The tree is much more decayed than I remember from former visits and it is a shame it will continue to rot until this interesting relic is no more. How many more secrets do the inside of trees still hold?

Coming Home to Whitby

2009-07-25T21:57:00.001+01:00

Fifteen years away and ten of those in the South West of the real Ireland. Trish & myself are often asked why we left our quiet haven on the Mizen Peninsular, perhaps it was just too quiet?. Perhaps we got the seven year itch? Who knows? But where to move to next? So many places and choices, we discussed places in the UK and abroad.

Some weeks later we were sitting in a Yorkshire Dales pub talking to a couple opposite savouring my pint of real beer (an impossibility in Ireland!).

“Where are you from?”, I asked the man.

“I’m from here.”, he explained, “This is my home – it’s where I belong. It’s all mine”, as his arm swept around in an expansive arc to include all of the dales scenery too.

On the long drive back to Eire I felt envious of the dalesman who may not have travelled the world, may not have been to some of the most remote places on the planet, nor climbed alpine peaks or travelled unknown rivers hundreds of miles from anywhere. We wanted to live somewhere where we would feel we belonged too.

Driving back we thought about and later discounted Australia, Canada, Spain, Sweden, Croatia and various parts of the UK in succession. It later turned out we were too old to get into Canada and we decided we certainly would be by the time we learned to speak to the locals in Croatia or Sweden.

Some months later, en-route to visit mum in Whitby, our choice now narrowed down to Yorkshire, we decided to reconnoitre a Dales market town the right size and ideally placed. Plenty of climbing, walking, canoeing and birdwatching to keep me going and enough shops, all within an hours drive. It was the RAF flight trainers I heard first as we stepped out in front of the lovely Victorian terraced house we’d come to view overlooking the river that did it for us. The lady I asked, explained they droned on and on from 9am to 5pm, Monday through to Friday. We got back in the car and drove to another town, clutching another house brochure. A cold spring chill blew through the market place. Two pubs were for sale and a shop sign hung by a frayed bit of wire, creaking in the wind, the shop clearly unopened for many months. A string of racehorses walked up to the stables at one end of the square. No one else was in sight. Despite the evidence of our own eyes, this was a one-horse town. And so our quest for the perfect place continued on.

Later, driving over the moors, the abbey came into view like it always does and we drove down to mother’s. She told us the local news and goings on. Out shopping we bumped into old friends and told one of our house hunting efforts and travels. “Well Dave you’re home now”. He was right. This was where we belonged!.

Irish Drystone Walls

2009-07-05T17:16:00.003+01:00

Just before I left Ireland I was asked to write a bit on Irish Stone Walls. Published by the North Wales Branch of the Drystone Walling Association of GB this is now available on-line by reading my article which starts at page 7 of 'Stonechat'. There's lots of other interesting stuff in the rest of Sean Adcock's publication too.

Just to give you a taste of the amazing treasures here's one I took not far from where I lived in Co.Cork.

Oh, yes, I build them too!

Black Poplar & Red Kite

2009-07-02T17:22:00.002+01:00

Out and about between Goathland and Grosmont at the weekend and I saw a Red Kite flying towards Grosmont. Absolutely unmistakable forked tail. My first sighting of this bird on the North Yorkshire Moors.

Later whilst walking down the footpath next to Whitby hospital I noticed the Black Poplar which had been pollarded a few years ago had finally died. I've managed to get some cuttings but there's little hope of collecting any viable material from this tree, the only one in this area and there are none within the boundary of the national park. Contacting Phil Yardley the Scarborough Borough Tree officer has resulted in the promise that someone else will try and obtain some viable cuttings. But rare trees don't seem to have the same value as rare animals or birds.

The Long Walk

2009-06-13T20:05:00.002+01:00

A clear and sunny sky a couple of weeks ago saw me a couple of miles north of Thorton-le-dale near the entrance to Dalby forest. I had just enough gear for an overnight trip + Jilly my dog.

A 30km walk north through Bickly I arrived at high Langdale near the source of the R.Derwent. around 8:30. A break for some food followed and I waited at an excellent felled clearing for Nightjars. These nocturnal birds appeared at 10pm along with barking Roe Deer and a couple of foxes.

A struggle east around at high Langdale farm I eventually decided to bivvi in the middle of sheep grazed field. Finishing off my last drop of whiskey around 12pm I slid into my winter sleeping bag liner and into my bivvi bag. It was much colder than I expected and I got little sleep. In the clear dawn I noticed ground frost on my bag!! Away at 5am I walked back to Robin Hood's Bay via Jugger howe beck. Very hard going in the deep heather and Bog Myrtle. Arrived at RHB around 1pm having completed around 47km.

The Penny Hedge

2009-05-24T22:21:00.003+01:00

The Penny Hedge is planted every year in Whitby on the east side of the R.Esk on the day before Ascention Eve in May. The origins of this custom are over 800 years old and this is an early account of the origins:-

‘In the fifth year of the reign of King Henry II three noblemen were hunting a wild boar on Eskdaleside, near Whitby. The boar, being wounded and hotly pursued by the hounds, took refuge in the Chapel and Hermitage at Eskdaleside, which was then occupied by a monk from Whitby Abbey. The monk closed the door to keep out the hounds, and when the hunters came along they, in their anger, set upon him with their boar-staves. The monk, being on the point of death, sent for the Abbot of Whitby who would have had them put to death. The monk, however, forgave them and said their lives would be spared ‘if they be content to be enjoyned to this Penance, for the safeguard of their souls’. The Penance is as follows:- “You and yours shall hold your lands of the Abbot of Whitby, and his Successors in this Manner: That upon Ascension-Eve, you, or some of you, shall come to the Wood of the Strayhead, which is in Eskdaleside, the same Day at Sunrising, and there shall the Officer of the Abbot blow his horn, to the intent that you may know how to find him, and he shall deliver unto you, William de Bruce, ten Stakes, ten Stout-Stowers and ten Yedders, to be cut be you, or those that come for you, with a knife of a Penny Price; and you, Ralph de Piercie, shall take one and twenty of each sort, to be cut in the same manner; and you, Allatson, shall take nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid; and to be taken on your backs, and carried to the town of Whitby; and so to be there before nine of the Clock (if it be full Sea, to cease Service), as long as it is low water, at nine of the Clock, the same hour each of you shall set your Stakes at the Brim of the Water, each stake a yard from another, and so Yedder them, as with Yedders, and Stake on each side with your Stout-Stowers that they stand three Tides without removing by the Force of the Water. Each of you shall make them in several places at the Hour above-named (except it be full Sea at that hour, which, when it shall happen to pass, that Service shall cease), and you shall do this Service in remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me. And that you may the better call to God for Repentance, and find Mercy, and do good Works, the Officer of Eskdaleside shall blow his Horn, Out on you, Out on you, for the heinous Crime of you. And if you and your Successors do refuse this Service, so long as it not be full sea at that Hour aforesaid, you and yours shall forfeit all your land to the Abbot, or his successors. Thus I do entreat the Abbot that you may have your lives and Goods for this Service and you to promise by your Parts in Heaven, that it shall be done by you and your successors, as it is aforesaid.”
Nowadays the ceremony is carried out by the owner of some land which formerly belonged to the Abbot:- In this case it is Lol Hogson from Fylingthorpe and Tim Osborne blowing the ancient horn on completition of the hedge and he follows this up with the cry of‘Out on ye, Out on ye’. He is the bailiff to the Manor of Flyingdales.

Heather or Trees?

2009-05-17T21:41:00.003+01:00

Those who know the North York Moors will know how trees are on the increase. When both the Scarborough, Guisborough and the Pickering roads to Whitby were fenced off in the 1970's to exclude sheep from the road sides these un-grazed areas are now becoming colonised by trees plus the odd one or two planted by people like me. I was talking to one of the full time-park rangers recently and he told me that the National Park Authority had at one time discussed cutting these roadside trees down but the idea had only been rejected on labour costs.

Most people will know that the entire NYM heather habitat was entirely created by man during the bronze age by a combination of deforestration, overgrazing and climate change. It is by definition an artifical habitat and so too therefore is all the wildlife associated with it. As these roadside verges prove, along with other areas of fenced off moorland, such as the area to the north of Fylingdales early warning centre, left to nature the Moorlands would soon turn to woodland.

So I discovered with interest from another ranger last week that two of my juniper trees I planted some 20 or 30 years ago on the side of a well know moorland road are now being looked after by the same national park that recently discussed removing roadside trees. I recently reported the fact that these two juniper trees have recently been partially covered in soil following road works. The parks I was told, are now going to remove the offending soil from around the trees to avoid permanent damage to the trees.

National Park Ranger

2009-05-10T21:11:00.006+01:00

I waited for the ranger to contact me to see where & when to meet him. No phone call was forthcoming, so I called him. "Oh, we've swapped duties - you'll be with Stuart Rees...".
So I give him a call. No answer. I eventually manage to make contact in the morning of our patrol.

Trish drops me off att Goathland (Aidensfield) in the morning and I talk to the car park attendant John, whom I've known for many years, until a couple arrive. One is obviously my ranger, but the other is not and I'm introduced. Pauline I assume is his girlfriend, whom it appears is going to join us. We start off down the incline to Beck Hole. From the incline we turn left to take the footpath along West Beck and head up the road to Julian Park collecting some litter as we go. We leave the road and take the footpath directly back to Beck Hole. At the incline again we meet a large party of walkers on the railway walking back to Goathland. My ranger adroitly avoids the crowds and chooses to return via the road. This is strange as I thought with all the badges and things we're the 'face of the park'. I smile and ask him if he doesn't want to get asked questions but receive no reply. We immediately turn onto the Goathland Road.

At 12ish I'm getting hungry and were nearly back in Goathland.
"Shall we stop here for lunch?", I suggest, at a quiet spot just outside the village. Before the ranger answers Pauline says she needs to get back home. So no lunch stop is required on this patrol!.

We've probably covered a little over 7 Km in just over 2 hours.

As Trish was not planning to return to pick me up until 4ish I decide there is no point in returning all the way to Goathland and at the Darnholm turn off we say goodbye and I head back across the moors to Whitby.

I quickly reach the old Whinstone mine & quarry, noticing the now caved in entrance to the mine I've spent many enjoyable times exploring. I wonder how many bats were trapped inside.

Nearing Barkers Crag high on Sleights moor I see a female Ring Ouzel - my first for many years as they are very rare in Ireland. A little later a Wheater appears in front.

Nearing Sleights Trish 'phones. She's locked herself out of the house in RHB and we've no spare keys. Oh, and we've just had, almost , all the windows double glazed.

She picks me up at Sleights and taken to RHB I soon force entry through a small top window of the only window frame without double glazing. Thank god for rotten wooden window frames.

My trusty Raleigh Tour-lite is in the garage so as it is still only 4:30pm I elect to cycle back along the lineside to Whitby. I hear a Whitethroat, Yellow Hammer and many Blackcaps singing along the railway line past Stainsacre. In the sky I spot a large bird. Seagull? It turns out to be a female Harrier but I can't identify which. I watch it slowly fly north at a hight of a couple of hundred feet.

Sunday dinner is three bacon rolls!!.

Heather Burning

2009-05-07T21:52:00.002+01:00

A letter recently appeared in The Whitby Gazette, complaining about the burning of our moors in autumn and spring, commenting on the damage it did to wildlife.

Burning is carried out in autumn and early spring outside the nesting season. Only heather is burnt, and in small one or two acre patches at most. It is done to benefit grouse. Gamekeepers only burn mature heather. The new flush of heather growth is prime feeding stuff for the grouse. Grouse prefer to nest in short heather that is neither too short nor too mature. Burning benefits other moorland birds, especially the golden plover which only nests on bare moorland patches. These only occur after burning.

Without the burning the heather would grow too tall for grouse to nest in and the grouse would find it difficult to feed or nest. Eventually numbers of grouse and other birds such as the golden plover, which require short growth - or none- to nest would eventually fall in numbers as can be seen on any moor which is not used for grouse shooting. The irony is that without burning to benefit the grouse, trees would rapidly occupy the moorland, something that can already be seen alongside fenced roadsides and areas such as Flylingdales Moor which is no longer used for shooting, or grazing by sheep. Within a 100 years the moors would be replaced with forest.

Whether this should happen is not something I'm going to comment on.

Voluntary Ranger - North York Moors

2009-05-04T19:55:00.005+01:00

The weekend's activities commenced with a run across the moors from Ellerbeck to our house in RHB - a total of around 17km.
Sunday was spent with another voluntary ranger at the NYM mobile display unit (MDU for those who want to be correct - 'The Caravan' for the rest of us). The commonest questions asked by the public?

Have you any change for the car park?
How did Robin Hood's Bay get it's name?
Where's the town centre?

Not too challenging for anyone whose from these parts but nice to meet the public, especially the kids who I encourage to search for fossils in our 'fossil bucket'. "Yes that really is a fossil".

Running back to Whitby in the evening I heard a Garden Warbler singing in scrub near the railway line. To confirm my ID I desperately tried to get a view but it remained out of sight. A classic Garden Warbler.

And today I spent the day with full time ranger Matt Fitzgerald whilst we checked out the three 'black spots' for camping, fires and litter. These are Maybecks, Wheeldale bridge and Wheeldale ford. But no litter or fires as the coldish weather had put people off barbecues perhaps. So as Matt hadn't been up to Pinkney's bothy (see another post) we walked up to it only to discover upon reading the logbook (and later confirmed on the internet) that this bothy is to be removed. Not before time, as it was the subject of much littering and vandalism. I've stayed myself in this bothy many times, so it is with some sadness knowing that the next time I pass that way they'll be no more Pinkney's. The local gamekeeper was also fed up with removing the resulting litter and is no doubt quite happy.

The Gamekeeper's Gibbet

2009-04-27T21:13:00.004+01:00

Another Sunday. As a voluntary ranger i was out this weekend with assistant ranger Harry Nightingale and we spent the day checking out the local trouble spots for the remains of last night's excesses. Wheeldale bridge turned up several bags of rubbish - beer cans, bottles, barbecues and a tree which had been cut down to use as a campfire.

However this was brightened by the wonderful view into Little Fryup from Oakley Walls

And not far from Danby centre on the Oakley Walls side, I came across a sight I'd not seen in over 25 years. A 'gamekeeper's' gibbet. This one contained dozens of moles. I used to see them with stoats, weasles, rats, crows and numerous birds of prey.

Last Week

2009-04-25T21:14:00.002+01:00

A varied week.
Sunday. Ran back to Whitby from the other side of Egton with dog in brilliant weather (15km) and found an occupied Barn Owl's nest.
Monday. Removed turquoise bathroom & tiles from our new house in Robin Hood's Bay
Tuesday. Trish dropped me off at Sneaton Rd/Scarborough Rd junction. Did my BTO bird survey, walked to house in RHB. Re-fixed/replaced damaged floor boards in one of the b/rooms, then walked back to Whitby and saw a Little Owl on the way. (total 12km)
Thursday. Went to the newly opened 'Homebase' store in Whitby.
Friday. Joined the Hawk & Owl Trust volunteers to erect a bird hide deep in Dalby forest. Saw two adders on the way in.
Saturday. Went with Trish to order new bath, sinks & toilets and then Trish won £70 worth of vouchers with a promotion run by Yorkshire Radio.

Song Bird Survival?

2009-04-19T16:10:00.006+01:00

I read a bit in the paper recently about a new website 'Song Bird Survival' (.songbird-survival.org.uk) The website states that there is a need to exterminate or control song bird predators such as birds of prey, crows, and other predators - including grey squirrels & domestic cats. Now I won't go into the rights and wrongs of the latter two in terms of small bird predation, but why save songbirds at the expense of our indigenous predators?

The web site contains many flaws in its reasoning. There is no definition of what a song bird is to start with.

'Song birds', whatever they are, have been around long before we came along. And so have their predators such the Magpie, Crows & birds of prey.

I'm thinking of a 'Save our Worms' campaign and the aim is to reduce the number of Thrushes, blackbirds and other worm predators. After they have as much right to live as those birds that prey on 'song birds'.

Messing around with nature just messes it up!

Easter Walking

2009-04-13T19:33:00.004+01:00

Easter Sunday dawned sunny so setting off from our new house at RHB we immediately saw our first Swallow and took the now well used coastal path to almost Ravenscar before turning off up to the railway. A small clump of willows in a gully produced, surprisingly a male Tree Sparrow, followed by a male Reed Bunting and then a pair of Stonechats. Returning to RHB via the railway produced a couple of Willow Warblers in suitable habitat near the old Stoupe Brow quarry, now home to several Fulmars. Trish of course heard the Willow Warblers, I had to make do with spotting one before it vanished again. This quarry has two rather large boulders somewhat larger than some houses and comparable to similar such boulders in the lake-district such as the Bowder Stone and others. A line of old rusting bolts up the shear face of one an indication of a practice climb in the late 1960's.
Total distance about 8 miles

Easter Monday I joined North Yorkshire Moors National Park volunteer ranger Richard Simpson on a patrol around Goathland district, taking in Darnholme, Julian Park, where I saw 3 Yellow hammers and a newly hatched clutch of Mallards in the nearbye pond, on to Hazel Head, Hunt House and Simons Howe where we saw our first few walkers. Returning via the old mere created in victorian times for winter skating, and the old golf course built at the same period,, we encountered our first mass hoards of visitors.
We covered around 9 miles.

Before returning home I had a quick excursion to the old whinstone mine but discovered the entrance had collapsed and the exit along the fault line had been blocked off and was unable to locate this. I've had many interesting trips through this mine.

On my way back to my car I noticed a young male inside a car, who judging from his lack of clothes and jerky movements was pre-occupied with having sex with either the rear seat or a hidden passenger. I waved hello as I passed but he did not respond. The lack of manners today is........!!

Another Chance?

2009-04-10T19:06:00.003+01:00

I read my Whitby Gazette on Tuesday only to discover that two thieves who robbed a Whitby store after traveling from Preston Park in Hull have been effectively let off by Judge Steven Ashurst by having their sentence deferred for 6 months provided they stay out of trouble. (Whitby Gazette - Tuesday 7th April)

Michael Smith ( 21criminal convictions + 8 kids!) and Daniel Turner (93 criminal convictions) go free because the judge at York was considering, "Giving both men a chance to prove themselves".

Good god! They've already had a total of 114 chances, how many more do they need?

Birds singing in the night

2009-04-04T20:53:00.005+01:00

I've spent many nights on the moors in all seasons and weathers. But spring is my favourite for listening to birds. Many birds sing or can be heard at night. 'Drumming' Snipe, the sound coming from feathers as the fly, and of the Grasshopper Warbler's lovely 'reeling' sound - which sounds just like the ratchet on a fishing reel slowly being turned are well known bird sounds and can be hear in the dark on the moors. Lapwings are another night time favourite. Nightjars too can be heard in recently felled parts of Dalby and other forests, their songs again sound mechanical, almost like a scooter or small motor bike. These birds too are curious and I've had them hover close over my head several times. Binoculars are handy at night too and I've often watched them sitting on forest tracks. (binoculars should make the scene a little brighter!!).

Fox, Badger and Deer will often approach you at night with much more confidence than during the day. My first encounter with the sound of a Barn Owl was initiated at night by the strange 'Shhhhhhhhhhhhh' sound coming from a barn late on night which I soon discovered coming from their nest in a nearbye building, now turned into holiday cottages at Stainsacre.

Many birds are far easier to identify by their sounds and songs. The Chiff Chaff which I first heard this year on the 17th of March is a migrant from Africa. A 'little brown job' (LBJ), as birders call it and other, similar looking birds. But it's sound - a 'chiff-chaff', is unique and unlike any other LBJ. So you don't even have to look for it in the canopy above. The Chiff Chaff looks similar to a Willow Warbler but the song is totally different and makes them easy to tell apart.

In fact identifying most birds by song is far easier than by sight. In addition once you can identify a few birds by sound it makes birding much more interesting as you identify the bird without seeing it. Something which is often very difficult for many woodland birds once the leaves are out.

There are some birds which are very rarely seen but are easily identified by sound. An obvious one would be the Grasshopper Warbler. Less obvious would be the now rare Corncrake - which calls day and night - and very few birders have ever seen one! Another is the tiny Quail with its 'Wet-my-lips' repeated over and over from grass or crops. Again, easy to hear but almost never seen.

Age takes it toll unfortunately and with each passing year my hearing gets worse. I even have difficulty hearing Skylarks, one of my favourites and Trish, my partner has now become my ears. It looks like a hearing aid is my next purchase.

Whitby Dog Shit

2009-03-22T20:35:00.003Z

Its clear from the Whitby Gazette that I'm not the only one disgusted by the amount of dog shit in and around Whitby.
What annoys me more is that the council has spent several years asking people to put the dog shit into plastic bags and dispose of it properly. Now the hedges & fences around Whitby are full of plastic bags containing dog shit. These festoon the paths and byeways around Whitby. Hanging from branches and fences they litter the landscape and are an eyesore. Non bio degradable these plastic bags hang from bushes for month after month. If it is possible to pick up dog shit in a bag why cannot the owners simply use the bag to throw the offending dog dirt out of harms way and later put the empty plastic bag in a bin? If they can't be bothered to carry their dog's mess to the nearest bin why don't they purchase bio-degradable bags - at least these rot down.

Management Training

2009-03-07T20:54:00.004Z

Having spent many years as a management trainer I wrote a bit or two for an Irish training magazine, First Train whilst I lived in Ireland. Some of the articles in this magazine rather exposed their lack of experience in some fields. In this instance it was role playing. The owner of Beyond The Board Room Training read this article and invited me to contribute it to his 'Learning know how'.

To read my first contribution click here.

My next article was on the current usage of quad bikes, paintball games, firewalking and so on under the guise of 'team building' events. To read more of this click here.

Whitby gazette article

2009-03-04T16:52:00.003Z

The Whitby Gazette, our local paper, did a bit on my winter x-country skiing adventures.

If you want to read the bit they did click here

Bird Migration Champions

2009-02-26T21:30:00.004Z

The Song Thrushes have been singing for the last few weeks. Within three weeks the first of the long distance migrants will be arriving from Africa.

Most of us marvel at the annual migration of well-known birds such as the Swallow and House Martin to and from Africa.

Many of us will also have heard of the long migration of some Arctic Terns which winter in the Antarctic and Summer in the Arctic this the longest know bird migration. Many of these and other birds are regular fliers in between migrations, so at least they have some flying exercise before they set off. If you consider the Swift for example, I doubt its migration to and from Africa causes much trouble at all. One ringed as an adult at a nest in England was caught later feeding the same day in Germany having followed a warm front across Europe to hunt for the increased insect supply. These birds spend almost their entire lives on the wing so I don’t see anything particularly difficult about flying to Africa. The same could be said for the Swallow and House Martin.

Amongst the contenders for super bird contenders might be the many warblers such as chiff-chaffs and the like. These spend a lot of time hoping around and taking relatively short flights in pursuit of food before eventually setting off to Africa.

Other birds which winter here and breed in the Artic such as the many waders and the divers also make long journeys much of it over the sea. Some make mistakes and are quite capable of crossing the Atlantic ocean in one go. Again the waders keep their hand in so to speak over winter and the divers at least can take a break on the sea. No, these birds don’t rate in my view.

There are however, two birds which do rate as Olympic champions and are quite capable of making the epic journey to and from Africa without any prior exercise. Many birdwatchers have never seen either two fly and many have never seen them either, but only heard them!!. These two species spend their entire lives on the ground and will fly only under extreme duress. Both are small birds and one is very small.

What are they? The Corncrake and the Quail!. These small birds (the Quail is little bigger than a sparrow) can literally take off one day and fly the whole distance from Africa, across open seas, after having probably never even flapped their wings once whilst in their summer or winter haunts. This is to my mind truly the feat of Olympic champions.

White Rabbits in Yorkshire

2009-02-16T21:32:00.007Z

As all my friends know I'm a keen naturalist. Because I'm out and about a lot I get to see lots of wildlife and often, rare wildlife. Trish, Bernie a wildlife ranger from the national park, and myself were out on Saturday when we spotted this animal up near the Beck Hole/Goathland road junction.

We initially thought it might be a Hare but only mountain hares turn white in winter, and in any case they do not occur in the North Yorkshire Moors area. Hares even when they turn white always have black tips to their ears. So that meant it must be a rabbit but rabbits don't turn white. This was not an albino either as they have pink eyes and nose. This is a very rare giant wild white rabbit.

The shame is that this very, very rare rabbit, caught on camera for the first time ever, has now become extinct, the first North Yorkshire causality of global warming and the recent thaw.

Chaos at Blue Bank

2009-02-12T19:44:00.002Z

I spent an hour stuck on Blue Bank this afternoon, a well known hill into and out of Whitby. It was chaos and only an inch of snow. Just before the drop down I noticed several drivers stopping. I joined the queue. I was told "The roads blocked". Given that it had only started to snow a few minutes earlier and there was only an inch of snow I just had to get out of my car to investigate and took my shovel with me.

A look down the hill told me everything. Some drivers were carrying on like they were at Santa Pod, wheels spinning & smoke curling up from tyres, a 4X4 stuck in nearly an inch of the stuff. I asked her if it was in 4 wheel drive. "I wouldn't know, my husbands never told me where to stick it". The council worker who was helping me apread the piles of rock salt onto the road made the kind suggestion to her that he'd show her where to stick it. (Don't worry she declined that offer). Most of the drivers who got out of their cars simply wandered around looking like escaped sheep from a lunatic asylum. None did anything remotely constructive unless 'looking at the other drivers' could be included.

Others walked past me into the village at Sleights. "We've left our cars and we're walking home we've been told the roads blocked". Rubbish! I told them, " its an inch of snow and this rock salt will have it all melted. Go back to your car and wait".

Another lorry driver was causing more chaos by trying to turn around on the 1:6 hill and now no one could get up - or down.

Eventually the rock salt took effect and the traffic started to move. one driver attempted to drive on the snow rather than on the grit and rock salt. I suggested he drive on the clear bits which were now gritted and melted. "No way mate - I'm not ruining the body work". And promptly skidded into a car on the other side of the road.

Then I saw my bank manager who'd managed to skid into a ditch and was stuck. "Not my fault! I was coming down the hill and the blokes in front braked. The only way I could avoid them was to turn into this ditch" I told him in that case he was driving too close!!. I got my rope out of the car and my council friend got the lorry and we pulled him out of the ditch. "I want 5% for that" I told him. "You'll be lucky - we'll be charging you to keep your money soon", he replied, as he went his way.

As me and my council friend worked our way down the hill I noted only one other person out of their vehicle using a shovel. He turned out to be an old farmer I knew from years back and was about 85.

Three other drivers couldn't be bothered to wait any longer and over took my parked car. One of these pratts wound down his window and asked us why we couldn't work harder as he past me on his way down hill before skidding into the lorry slewed across the road around the bend. (Oh, yes I laughed!!!! - and he heard me!)

Then the gritter turned up. Of course it couldn't get by. So I helped the gritter tow the offending lorry out of the way. At which all the up hill drivers accelerated and wheels spinning proceeded to skid everywhere but up hill. I suggested to the first driver that he might like to use less speed and not skid his wheels. But he clearly didn't understand instructions and carried on wearing rubber off his tyres, as did several of the drivers behind. They got nowhere. I left.

Luckily my downhill side of the road had now melted enough snow so i carefully drove down the hill with most of the remaining cars following. As I reached the first of the islands in the road a car had managed to skid on to it and was now straddled over the now crushed sign telling us to keep left.

As I passed I gave him a nice cheery smile to keep his spirits up (he was one of three that couldn't wait earlier on) as he surveyed the damage. I stopped to speak to my council worker friend. "I'm not helping him - the boss has just told me to get back to work at the depot and collect more salt"

We went on our way promising to have a drink together later on at the Red Lion.

Skiing on The North York Moors (2)

2009-02-09T09:32:00.008Z

Another fine Sunday and this time it's off to Blakey Ridge and the Red-lion. Much to my surprise the snow on the moors was still too soft to ski across without forever sinking into the heather, so with my skis waxed up it was down to the old railway track, northwest along the railway. Within minutes I outdistance the two struggling walkers in the snow as my skis run smoothly on the unmarked snow. An hour later I leave the track and carefully pick my way through the heather choosing the firmest bits of snow to reach Howdale Hill (410m).

This could be the arctic!

I sit and enjoy the panoramic views. Nothing but lovely snow. 11 miles to the North I can just see Boulby mine on the coast near Staithes.

Looking south I can see the clouds rising from the power stations of Drax and two others near the Humber. Drax is 50 miles away as the crow flies.

Lunch eaten in the sun. The temperature is -- 4c but feels warmer. A couple of miles back down the track the two walkers struggle on. Skis back on and its a careful descent back to the old railway line and to Blakey. The 6km back take me an hour. It is chaos at Blakey. Cars and people everywhere enjoying the snow. A quick look around and there is not a single person more than 100 yards from the car park. The arctic is not quite like this!!

X-Country Skiing on the North York Moors

2009-02-07T21:09:00.005Z

A light fall of snow lay outside the house. Skis were put in the car and I headed off to Saltersgate in a fair snow storm which covered the road from Sleights to Saltersgate.
The car park was quite full even at 1030am. Setting off along Saltersgate Brow in a chilly wind I didn't stop until I got to Malo Cross.

(left) Plenty of snow lay in the Hole of Horcum

(Left) Saltersgate Brow

A very cold wind blew from the north and much of the new snow had been blown off leaving a very fast surface of old smooth snow to ski on.

The temperature was --3c

(Left) Me at Malo Cross

After a difficult descending traverse on the north side of the brow I arrived at Malo Cross. This cross has an unusual history in that it was stolen from this position many years ago and was eventually spotted in a garden in Pickering from where it was returned to its original spot.

One of the benefits of skiing in the forestry in Dalby forest is that logging traffic create very fast, stable ski tracks. Apart from the climb up onto Crosscliffe Brow from School Farm I was on skis for the whole of the trip and was back at the car just after 2pm covering around 19 km

Oh, and another highlight was seeing my first ever Goshawk soaring above Crosscliffe Brow.

A cold walk around Goathland

2009-02-01T20:24:00.003Z

Another cold sunday. At the car park in Goathland it was around freezing point. We walked down the incline towards Grosmont, up to Lease Rigg, along Randymere and along the beck to the Mallyan Spout.

This village which appears regularly in Heartbeat - but under the name Aidensfield has changed enormously over the last 15 years. The obvious one to me is how some of the shops and businesses have forgotten their real names, such as Goathland Village Stores and now call themselves Aidensfield Stores, even the Goathland hotel was called the Aidensfield Arms for a while. The garage once a real one, operated by someone I went to school with, is now dedicated to selling the kind of tat you can buy at the sea-side.

The village green now has footpaths from end to end as the grass was wearing out, where once it was shared by sheep there are now many cars parked.

Several of the larger houses are now occupied by brash newcomers. One such house, The Stone House now sports a tank and a helicopter in its garden which replace the once mature trees. I've been told by a friend that, "He's a wheeler dealer". Clearly the Dell Boy kind*.

Even on the surrounding moors evidence of increased usage is obvious as there are now cairns built along paths and many of these paths are very, very muddy.

The walk back to Goathland via Lease Rigg was in the face of a cold NE wind and a fair bit of snow. A solitary Golden Plover was seen rather close, in one field. A quick look through my ever present bins showed the reason - an injured foot. one field was full of Field Fares & Redwings. A Green Woodpecker could be heard in the distance.
The old peat cuttings at the south end of Randymere are now no longer used and are totally obscured and overgrown with birch and pines. I also remember on my last visit to Randymere the plantation of pines had just been cut down. The replacements - mainly larch are now well over twenty feet tall. It was a long time ago obviously!.
At the car the thermometer reads -2c A thin veneer of snow covers the road.
* Well it shows you how wrong you can be - I met him today(14 Feb 08). He's local and certainly not a 'Dell Boy' type.

A new discovery - Juniper tree

2009-01-21T20:23:00.037Z

In my 15 year absence from Whitby I was pleasantly surprised that the national park authorities were trying to track down all the specimens of the rare Juniper tree.

I remembered the specimen I came across many years ago whilst out walking. On contacting the National Park I was told it is an known specimen. If you want to look at it you can click here. Because they are so rare the location will remain a secret between me and the national park.

I also saw a male Stonechat close by. My memory isn't so hot on this as I cannot recall whether I've seen any in North Yorkshire before).

(Subsequent to writing this post I've discovered two other junipers. I remember growing from seed and planting out around 20 years ago. Both are passed by thousands of people every week but neither was known to the national park!!)

Hentrietta Street - Whitby

2009-01-18T21:31:00.004Z

If you're in Whitby look for this house. It's been like this as long as anyone can remember and is on Hentrietta St on the east side below St Mary's church.
Obviously the architect didn't design it like this. Perhaps the foundations were not up to the job, or as most people believe, its subsidence. The house is on the edge of the cliffs!!

What is it like living in the house? Do the peas roll off the plate? Is the bath deep at one end only?
(Actually the floors are level).

History in a gate post

2009-01-05T20:32:00.001Z

Between Lealholm and Houlsyke in the North Yorkshire moors stands this very old gate post. As I've recently returned from living and working as a (sometimes) wall builder this post has a number of interests.

Firstly in Ireland only stone pillars are used to hang gates from. Very rare to see a single piece stone.

Secondly, we have the cut recesses for which wooden poles were placed (there are corresponding holes on the other post)

There are also two more modern iron gate hinges set into holes and fixed in place with lead.

Finally there is the modern galvanised gate.

To find one such pillar in this area is not unusual but this gate has both pillars in place. Something I have never seen before as most gates have been widened over the years as machinery has got larger.

Lyke Wake Walk on x-country skis

2008-12-22T19:32:00.003Z

Well until a few days ago there was still enough snow around The Lion Inn at Blakey to make it worth while getting my x-country skis out of the bag they have been hoarded for the last several years. +3c in Whitby it was -1c up here.

The last time I was up here skiing in the snow was in February 15th/16th 1986 but we were skiing the Lyke Wake Walk. From my diary:-

"Departed Scarborough Rd (not enough snow towards the coast) 1030 and arrived Lilla Howe 1230, Ellerbeck at 1pm. Other skiers were obviously out as there were several other tracks. We eventually made it to The Red Lion at 7pm, the final two hours skiing in the dark."

My companion for this trip was Jeff Brand. We had discussed skiing in the dark and according to a royal marine friend of mine, Ian Holtby who was an expert x-country skier, it would present no problems. Alas for us relative newcomers to this we found it desperately tiring as we continually had to brace and balance against falling into unseen hollows and bumps which we felt but never saw.

At the pub we met Tony Gray who had kindly agreed to drive up to the pub and leave our tents, sleeping bags, food & stove etc. Due to the amount of snow he'd not been able to bring the vehicle all the way to the pub and had carried our stuff the rest of the way on foot. Anxious to return before he got blocked in we said our thanks and our good byes. Outside the pub, in the dark and cold we quickly put up our tent and got sorted out. Hungry we looked for our food. It was no where to be seen and we learned later that it'd been left in the vehicle by mistake. Luckily I had just enough money for some pub grub and a pint! otherwise we'd have had a rather miserable night.

The following day we were off at 8:30 but despite the good deep snow cover the going was very slow and we couldn't even get a down hill run from the pub to the old railway line at the western side of the Red Lion. There was certainly plenty of snow but it stuck to our skis and prevented us from sliding quickly over the moors, On top of this problem we also found that elsewhere much of the snow had been blow off and had exposed an older frozen crust of ice which often collapsed under our skis. These two problems slowed and tired us considerably and blisters started to sap our will. No doubt having to carry our tents, bags and useless stoves did not help our morale much either. As we passed Hasty bank we noted an improvised ski tow in operation in nearby fields. The next few miles were agonising ups and difficult downs in poor conditions and the graceful down hill runs I'd hoped for turned into frustratingly difficult downhill traverses trying to avoid icey patches and falls through the snow into the heather. A cold easterly wind blew in our faces. At 4pm just before the gliding club at Carlton Bank we decided to call it a day a few K's from our objective, Osmotherly. We'd probably covered around 35 miles in total.

When we did this in the 1980s x-country skiing had just become very popular and almost every outdoor shop stocked a variety of equipment. Now some twenty years later I have yet to see an outdoor shop with any x-country equipment. There's something to be said for being a hoarder after all.

Winter Snow - Goathland

2008-12-13T12:31:00.005Z

Last week we had snow and frost. The first snow outside the mountains of Ireland I'd seen in ages. And It was something I'd missed and been looking forward to seeing again. So quickly after we arrived in yorkshire was a surprise especially as everyone was telling me about global warming!
So a walk over one of my favourite areas, Goathland & Wheeldale moor to Pinkney's Hunt was called for. As always in the snow it was difficult to find somewhere to park in Goathland but the existing car park was flat and I guessed I could drive out. Hopefully the sun which was creeping out from behind the clouds would melt the snow off the main roads on my return journey.

Goathland, the scene of the Heartbeat series had changed over the fifteen years of my absence. Pavements, shops with 'Aidensfield' signs, numerous directional signs and double yellow lines signified huge numbers of visitors. And there were the incomers. Bling or what, The Stone House with its mullioned windows now had a brand new drystone wall outside, a challenger tank parked outside and many of the fine old trees had been chopped down. Glancing over the new wall I could see why. A helicopter landing pad!!

The mere was frozen solid and numerous cairns had sprouted in my absence, some of which I demolished. The snow lay several inches deep across the fields and even deeper in Wheeldale plantation. Jilly enjoyed the deep snow and spent most of time running in every direction possible. It was her first experience of snow outside the Irish mountains.

Just over an hour after leaving Goathland I arrived at Pinkney's, a Mountain Bothy Association Hut. From the comments in the log book it was obvious that many groups were using and abusing this place and some had been holding drinks parties, leaving behind much filth and litter. I have spent many enjoyable evenings in this place before moving to Ireland but there would be little chance of spending a night here in peace anymore judging by the use it was now getting. My first visit was probably in 1965 when it was little known and only used as a shooting house for shooting parties.

We walked back via the plantation spotting many grouse and a few reed buntings on the way. In the distance I could see that a quad bike had crossed my path during my walk to the hut earlier. Probably a farmer checking his sheep.

This hut, burned down by vandals several years ago has been rebuilt. It was once an iron and wood affair and predated the second world war. The whole area had been used as a training ground and I recall being able to look at bullet holes which in many cases went completely through the sides of the hut. Needless to say there are many unexploded shells - I've found many - and several places where there are piles of discarded machine gun bullets.
All in a good day. It was like meeting old friends

Whitby - coming home

2008-11-21T19:59:00.003Z

Well here we are. Home. And thats just what it feels like. So many old friends. I guess this is what someone who has spent ten years in prison must feel like.
English pubs, real beer, shops with choices that aren't sixty miles away. New faces every day. Ahhh!! A breath of fresh air.

We are now in a tiny 2 bedroomed terrace house. Busy road - the main road into Whitby. Noisy. No garden. No workshops - no sheds. most of our gear is in storage but so what. We wondered whether leaving our acre of garden and lovely house may be a mistake but no. This just feels right.

Now we must look for a house (we've seen one that ticks lots of boxes) and get the car registration transferred to an English plate. This looks like its complicated but who cares. Another challenge.

And the cold!! such a surprise after mild southwest Ireland. But we love it

7 DAYS TO GO

2008-10-16T20:30:00.050+01:00

7 days to go and were off. Last day working to day apart from a minor 'hand over' at one spot I've been looking after the house and garden for the last few years.

Most of my stuff is packed - workshop and outdoor gear. My gosh It's true what they say that equipment increases to fit the space allocated. Most of our stuff is going into storeage. It won't fit into our new temporary home.

We've got parking issues when we get to Whitby - there's no off road parking at 41 Mayfield Rd - our destination - and we only arrive the day before the removal men after a 17 hour night drive. I hope there is enough time to make sure no one is parked in the way of the lorry.

I've sold my car so we're down to one car. The removal men say they can get a canoe in the lorry. But I have two. A kayak and an open canoe. Will they fit both in? Or do I drive all the way to Whitby with one of them on the roof rack?
We've got rid of loads of stuff but we have got so much more than when we had the total load estimated by a local removal company two years ago.

We've still not heard any more about our completion date. We only have a window of a few hours before we have to be on the ferry. Worry, Worry!!

I wrote a letter to The Irish Times clarifying the issue of public access to the countryside in Europe. This is a controversial issue here and we've had regular 'Hillwalkers & Farmers', correspondence in this paper. The evening it was published Richard called. "Dave have you been writing to the papers?". He's the area farmers representative and he's had numerous farmers raise the letter and complaining about my views. "Sorry Richard". That evening I get an angry phone call from the Beara. He's the co-ordinator of 'Greenways Ireland and is trying to convince farmers to open up more walking routes and feels that my letter has made his job harder. He soon calms down and I agree to write a clarification to my letter.

The shower has broken down and I can't fix it. Luckily the plumber, based in Cork City some 60 miles away was nearbye and called by within an hour of my phone call and fixed it. Now I've only got to get our local electritian to fix another minor fault I can't trace.

Our friends and neighbours Richard Connell, Violet and their 3 children came round to see us the other evening. They gave us a wonderful 'Good Bye' card which they had all written personal messages on. They also bought us a Tom Tom sat. nav. & a smashing Camcorder!. These neighbours will be well and truly missed. They have turned out to be our best friends and Richard has taught me loads. Everything from castrating bullocks to building houses!.

Moving to Whitby

2008-10-07T21:13:00.050+01:00

Well, another busy week and the pressure to be out by the 22nd of October is on. We've just about completed the packing, Not only did we get an out of the blue offer on the house, I even managed to get a late offer on my old megane. But everything has been breaking down on us.

First the washing machine went bust a couple of weeks ago. Richard our friend and neighbour kindly lent us one of theirs. This too has now broken and leaked all over our office floor which is loaded with packed cardboard boxes. We're now washing by hand. The power shower is also on the blink. It keeps cutting out and takes nearly a minute to turn off. Our PC, a vital form of communications when you live out in the sticks has been on the blink. This morning I got back from Erwin, our Swiss ex microsoft expert, who has pronounced our old PC 'dead'. I'm now bashing the keys with an old second hand machine which you have to wind up first. I've just returned from the local mechanic, Billy Barry who came up trumps and rewelded the broken exhaust on Trish's car for only €20. Now we've just discovered a tap is not working. And all my tools have been packed! On top of all this I've had to deal with our horrible neighbour who owns a strip of land at the bottom of our garden and has just tried to create a new entrance onto the road. Totally without planning and something he said he would not do until the new owners moved in. Luckily George Barratt stopped after my sixth F*****ing B******d!! It's all quite again.

Providing nothing else breaks down we'll be moving on the 22nd of this month.

The financial crisis, which would normally pass me by, is affecting us but Trish has that almost sorted. Because were moving from the euro to the pound we can loose thousands with the poor exchange rates. It may not matter for your holiday money but for the kind of money you buy a reasonable house for, it could leave you several thousands short. However Trish has found a currency broker and we've secured all our pounds at a fixed rate of exchange ahead of actually getting our hands on the cash we'll get from our buyer. In the space of six days we've already prevented two thousand pounds from being lost in devaluation!! Now we just need to worry about where do we stash the cash safely, until we put it into our next house!

Oh, and then there was the worry about getting the removal van parked outside my mother's house in Whitby which has no off road parking and is on a busy road. Luckily I 'phoned Scarborough Borough Council's parking office who came up trumps and offered to drop of a couple of the 'no parking' cones for us.

The Auctioneers

2008-09-29T20:42:00.051+01:00

Buying & selling houses in Ireland has its quirks and can be 'quaint' to put it mildly. When we came here a little over ten years ago, I recall all the house details we were given had hand written directions on them. The usefullness of these varied as some had such directions as, "Turn left where the old school was".

A typical encounter, and a true one, was the day we walked into 'Key Properties' in Bantry. In my hand I had another auctioneer's details of a house we had been looking at. The same property was listed in this auctioneers houses for sale. I compared the two descriptions. Both were very different, especially when it came to room sizes, distances from villages and the amount of land. "Excuse me", I asked, "How come the room sizes are different on this property from the description I have here from another auctioneer's?"
"Let me see" he said as he snatched the offending document out from my hand. He carefully studied the document through the glasses perched on the end of his nose and then looked up at me. "The same man wrote both".
"How was that possible?", I asked. He went on to tell me that the surveyor who did the description for him & Key Properties had written the description, then left and got a job with a rival auctioneers and that this new auctioneers had commissioned the said surveyer to measure up the same house. He recognised the handwriting! Indeed, on checking they were by the same hand.

On another visit to another auctioneer's we came away with two property details to view. Both had very different directions to follow. We arrived at the first house and met the owners. As we left and got into our car another couple pulled up also clutching an auctioneer's house details. "Do you know where this is?", they asked, flourishing the property details at me. I looked at the property details - it was the same property as the one we were due to see in half an hour. On closer inspection both sets of directions for the same property and from the same town were quiet different. Before I could work out whose were right a lady came out of a small lane and at the end a small white cottage could be seen. She announced cheerfully she was waiting for people who were coming to see her house. In return we asked for directions to the houses on our property details. "Why thats this house!" she exclaimed, looking at the details. The other couple offered their house description & hand drawn map. Why thats this house too!" The auctioneer had given us two completely different sets of very different directions for two houses which in effect were next door to each other!! Despite having two separate appointment times, the owner kindly invited to look round her house together. She looked up the road and quietly whispered to us. "Thats Ian Bailey's house -- Sophie Du Plantier!!!". Seeing our complete lack of understanding she explained that Ian Bailey was the only suspect in a brutal murder the previous year. We did not buy this house. But unbelievingly we did buy the house next door we had just looked at. And we bought it from Ian Bailey's partner, Jules Thomas!!

Going Home

2008-09-24T22:13:00.005+01:00

We're going home! After ten years of living here in Ireland, we're returning to Whitby and the North Yorkshire Moors. We should be leaving on the 23rd of October 2008. Trish and I have been asked many times why we want to leave our beautiful house and garden. (See it here)
There are many reasons. In no particular order:-

If you want to travel anywhere beyond europe you've got travel to the Uk first
If you want to get anything done properly don't count on getting done here
There's nothing to do when you've done everything else
They don't like dogs here. Or walkers. There's no public footpaths. Everywhere is private
I'm sick of Guinness & Murphy's
I miss the snow & the sound of church bells
It's too far from anywhere and too difficult to get to
Yorkshire is where we're from.
I want more excitement in life before I die.
The driving standards here are dangerous. Worse than Calcutta at rush hour.(see here)

However this being Ireland there are a few problems in the way. We''ve discovered there was no planning permission on the house when it was significantly altered in the 70's - the original solicitor didn't pick this up. But then he was the solicitor who tried to sell us the wrong house for several weeks until I pointed out his mistake, and he was also the solicitor that told me I was wrong about our boundaries ( I was right. We've lost some land!!!)

Hedgelaying Course - Ireland

2008-09-23T21:39:00.052+01:00

The weekend before the Kerry Way Walking tour I ran a weekend hedgelaying course on the Manche Estate for the Irish Natural Forestry Foundation

I'm only one of six qualified hedgelayers in Ireland and a member of the Hedge Laying Association or Ireland. There were only four booked on the course which meant it was easier for me to make sure they all got some supervised training. As they introduced themselves I eyed up their clothing and boots making sure they were adequate for the purpose. Peter, a doctor from Dublin had the added protection of eye protectors, something a colleague of mine had discussed previously whether these should be made compulsory on training courses. We compare sharpness of our cutting tools. This is important as without very sharp axes & billhooks you will struggle. They get a quick lesson in sharpening. I quickly got to know the group and the weekend passed quickly. The best part for me was when i introduced them to a relatively easy hedge to lay and just about left them to themselves only interviening when asked or to offer some guidance. Here you can see the result of their efforts. They should be justifiably proud after just 12 hours of instruction. This will almost certainly be the last of my annual training workshops as we are returning to the UK.

Tour guiding the Kerry Way.Co.Kerry

2008-09-16T21:09:00.056+01:00

I meet the group of six in a Killarny Restaurant on Sunday evening having missed the first full day as I was running a hedgelaying course for the Irish Natural Forestry Foundation. The hand-over from the previous tour guide goes without hitch and I swat up on the notes for the trip in my room later.

The first day of walking for us takes us from Muckross House near Killarny to Gowlane cross roads just over 4km North of Kenmare following the old road. The weather which hasn't been good holds out until we reach the Windy Gap, the Irish name of which translates to, 'Arse to the wind'. It pours down. Luckily no one is too bothered and the weather is not too cold. we arrive at Gowlane and I attempt to call our pick up who is going to transport us to the Derrynane Hotel near Caherdaniel. This proves difficult. In the pouring rain I try to find my contact number, my mobile phone and my glasses. Everything gets wet and the ink runs in the wet. Luckily the group are sheltering in a barn and can't see me. After a few minutes I get myself organised. I make my call only to discover no signal. I pray the bus arrives and we've not been forgotten. On time I see a mini-bus approaching. I hope it is ours. It pulls up and we're soon inside We sit in the bus listening to 'Irish' music and a rather good joke about the Irish moon landings (on CD). A couple of the group doze. Its been a long day and we've covered about 15k in 6.5 hours.

After a pleasant evening getting to know the group better, the following day dawns wet and rainy. We're picked up at 9:30am and the driver takes us to Sneam some 18km away. The lady driving the taxi tells us the weather will clear as it appears bright in the SW where the weather is coming from. We endure a long day through soaking wet hills and wet paths. As we make a short detour to visit the Staigue Fort I realise that unlike the last time I did this route we're not going to be picked up here and have to walk another 7km to the hotel. It turns out to be a long day. Tracey from Canada asks me is it possible to cut short the route the following day by getting a taxi if its raining. Oh dear! I worry if the weather is dampening more than our waterproof clothing. In the hotel that evening I get a couple of taxi numbers just in case.
The hotel has a slightly heated outside swimming pool. I go for a swim and am joined by Liz a doctor from Boston USA and Anne-Marie from Luxemburg. Afterwards Anne-Marie and I sit in the hotel sauna. It's hot. Anne-Marie announces that we should jump back in the pool, which she does. I announce I'm a wimp and go back to my room for a quick (hot) shower and change.

The following morning it is still raining. We now walk around the coast in the rain. Veronique, from France whose only protection from the rain is a poncho accepts my offer of the loan of a spare anorak I have in my rucksac. I listen carefully to see whether the group are dispirited with Irish weather but all appears well. The steep walk up to the Ring of Kerry Road has the wind blowing on our back. A relief from blowing in our faces.The view is stunning. Thick fog, rain and mist. I watch in amusement as tour bus after tour bus off loads their occupants for lunch and to admire the view. Tourists gaze into the mist looking for 'Irelands best known view' as the rain pours down. Our group try to visit the shop. They are evicted as the shop is too full. How times change! We walk on the road for a dangerous short 200mtrs before leaving it to head across the Beenarouke pass. I pray that the bus drivers are not looking for the view! The wind is blowing gale force - luckily at our backs. Crossing a style at the highest part we are blasted by the wind. For me it was like being in a Scottish mountain in winter. It's a few years since I've experienced this kind of weather. Soon we loose height and the worst of the wind is gone. The view, which is normally stunning is reduced to watching mist go by. We gather round a wedge tomb in the wet and wind. The group gets a short description on tombs in the wet, wind and rain. We move on squelching along the wet path until we arrive at the minor road and quickly make our destination, the Charlie Chaplin statue in Waterville. I remind the group that they do funny things to the grass here to make it greener and tell them about a previous visit. (here). We all retire to a cafe and wait 20 minutes whilst the owner prepares our drinks!. Brenda, who went missing several minutes ago re-appears and I relax. Joe entertains the owner's children as they attempt to do their homework on one of the ajoining tables. On time were picked up and taken to our B&B for the night the San Antoine in Caherciveen. Once the group are settled in I go to the nearest supermarket for more food for our lunches the next day.
That evening we go for a walk in the town. A few minutes of window shopping later and we've walked the length of the main street. Tracy asks, "Is that it?, I've nothing to do tomorrow now." Waterville has all the atmosphere of a town in terminal decay. Later that evening over food I outline some choices for their day off the next day.

Our day off dawns clear and sunny. I take a walk the few kilometers to catch the ferry to Valentia Island. If it rains I won't be sheltering in the terminal building. (click here to read more) The road seems a long walk on my own and catch the ferry and pay my two euro return fare to the Polish ticket collector. Liz joins me on the next ferry and we have an enjoyable walk around Knights Town. Liz's camera runs out of power and we go to the shop for batteries. The old boy in the shop points out that they won't work in digital cameras. Liz insists they will and he looks at me as if he expects support. He gets none. Liz buys her new batteries despite his objections and the camera works again - but only for another day!! The walk back passes quickly as Liz and I talk.

The final day of walking dawns clear and we're taken to our drop off near the Kells Post office and enjoy & pleasant walk along still wet tracks until we gain the the old road which takes us without incident to our final destination 18km away at Ross Behy. We enjoy some fine views across the hills and down onto the Ring of Kerry road, watching the tour buses far below us. I don't envy them one bit! Sitting on the wall of the car park at Ross Behy a few hours later we relax and I bring out the bottle of wine I was given at the Derrynane Hotel. Ross Behy as a long area of fine beach and sand dunes. A newly built children's play ground dominates the scene. Clearly the visitors here cannot be bothered to play on the miles of beach!.
That evening over our final meal together I ask the group about the trip and we all share pleasant memories. Luckily I can't be blamed for the weather!

The following morning we all say our good-byes. Some are going on to Dingle and others returning home. I'm handed a generous tip in an envelope. With some embarrassment I mumble some thanks. I'm never too sure what to say or do. I later hope that I did not sound too ungrateful. Tips are a considerable part of a guides income as the basic pay is rather small. (OK you get to stay in nice hotels and eat excellent food for nothing as well, so I'm not really complaining!). For me this will probably be my last work as tour guide in Ireland as we are to move back to the UK in October. Its been good fun and I can honestly say I've enjoyed the company of every participant and have learned a lot from them.
This tour was planned and organised by South West Walks Ireland based in Tralee, Co.Kerry. Slainte!

Charlie Chaplin (The Statue)

2008-09-15T20:36:00.028+01:00

Whilst most towns and cities erect statues to their famous born sons or daughters its clear that Waterville, in Co.Kerry Ireland is a bit short on this front. In fact, so short are they of anyone to note ever having come from the place, they have erected this life size statue to Charlie Chaplin. We all know he wasn't born here - but they needed a statue. Who to choose? Oh!, I know, Charlie Chaplin! According to the information board our Charlie came here on holidays. Yes its true! One famous person has been to Waterville - apart from me that is.

It does not suprise me that the poor folk of Waterville do this because they are also the people who have such a complex about the color of their golf course they did this to it.

Ferry Terminal - Irish style

2008-09-15T20:29:00.016+01:00

One of the interesting things about tour guiding is the things you see. As you can see this carefully built and pristine terminal is designed for, erhhh??? Well, certainly not passengers and was clearly used by fisherman to store smelly wellingtons, dead fish, dirty waterproofs, nets and unidentified rusting objects.

This is the ferry to Valentia Island in Co.Kerry, Ireland.

The Most Southerly Thatched building in Ireland

2008-08-28T21:31:00.003+01:00

Only a few hundred yards from the North Harbour on Cape Clear Island off the southwest coast of Ireland lies this unique thatched barn. Yet few visitors ever see it. I've been to the island many times birdwatching. It was only this year when I went to visit the O'Driscoll castle that I noticed this barn. It is the only thatched building left on the island and therefore is the most southerly thatched barn or building in Ireland. Curious to find out how the thatch was fixed, I looked in and discovered that rope had been used. The rope was coiled around the roofing timbers and over each bundle of thatch. Covered in old fish netting this unique structure probably won't last much longer.

Canoeing the R.Flesk, Co.Kerry

2008-08-28T19:24:00.004+01:00

Well, another Sunday and after yet another wet week I got the canoe out again.
The lower R. Flesk is around grade II but there's plenty of water to be had. It's about a 65 miles journey from our house.

Left the canoe at the start, drove to Killarny and parked the car at the bridge before it enters the lake and ran the six miles back to the canoe. Got changed into canoeing gear and paddled off. Two and a half hours later and I was at the bridge and ready to go home. No capsizes but one slight problem when the thwart I was kneeling against broke and nearly caused an upset. Didn't see another paddler on the river.

I've been busy!

2008-08-20T20:36:00.032+01:00

I've been a bit busy lately. The weather has been unseasonally poor, rain, rain, more rain and mist. Oh, and I had a week's guiding work which was with a group of seven on Sherkin, Heir & Cape Clear islands off the southwest coast here in Cork Co. I've been making and designing a couple of web-sites which will cater for two of my many interests. One devoted to drystone walls of the South West or Ireland and another for hedgelaying. I've done the walls one which you can view here . My hedgelaying one will follow soon.

Milking the cows - the hardest skill

2008-07-28T16:03:00.003+01:00

My neighbour Richard is also my good friend. I've watched him milk his 60 cows for several years. As I've lived in the country most of my life I asked him if he'd teach me. So for three weeks morning & night I turned up and helped. Its the hardest job I've ever had to learn. Far harder than learning employment law or learning an eskimo roll in a kayak for example.
This is what you have to do:-

Get the cows in from the field. - move electric fence so cows have access to fresh grass.
Clean all the milking equipment
Milk & feed the cows
Clean all the milking equipment
Return them to the field.

Now you might think this is easy but nothing is as simple as it sounds. Get the cows in sounds easy and it is just about the simplest of procedures, provided the cows co-operate as you usher them from the field. A trained dog helps.

But, cleaning the equipment! First you turn on the pumps, Then flush sterilising solution through all the parts of the milking system. There are a number of precautions to be made prior to this. The most important is to make sure that the flushed water does not enter the milk refrigeration tank. This could ruin the milk already in there, perhaps five days worth.

Now you've done that you need to flush fresh water through the system to clean out the sterilising solution. The switches & valves must all be in the correct positions to do this differently at each stage.

The cows are milked in two rows of stalls each row having 7 bays. You are stood in a well some two or three feet below their rear ends. Yes it can - and it does get messy as you cannot house train a cow!! The clusters, which go on the cow's teats are attached to a glass receiving bowl attached above your head and this in turn is attached to various other tubes all performing different functions. one of the most important is the vacuum suction. All this equipment is readied for use. There are yet more switches here too!

Now you have to get seven cows into the bays. This involves ushering enough cows in at the same time ensuring the remaining cows are kept locked out.

Then you attach the clusters X4 to each cow in turn. This takes practice as the cow may not like your amateur attempts and kick out. Under no circumstances can you make a mistake. Their legs are at face height! (but you are protected by steel bars) The last thing you want to happen is drop a cluster onto the ground. If you don't attach a cluster properly it will drop off. If you don't notice then the entire lot may fall off due to the drop in the vacuum assisted suction. You quickly work along the ranks of cows and as each one is about to be milked you pull a handle suspended above your head and this drops feed into a trough in each stall. By the time you've got through one side of the two rows the cows you started to milk first will have finished, so you pump the milk to the tank and attach to clusters to the cow now waiting milking in the second row.

Once each row has been milked they are released into a separate holding pen until they can all be released into another part of the field. Whilst you are doing this you get another seven cows in the vacated row of stalls.

This is repeated until all the cows have been done.

You then have to connect all the milking machines together and pump clean the holding tanks, clusters everything else, flush with steriliser, switch everything off and hose everything down to remove all the s***t and urine, which hopefully missed you as you were stood below their rear ends.

Up until Sunday I'd always done this with Richard. But this Sunday he was away and was late back. It was time to start the milking myself. Everything went well. I doubled checked against my numerous notes. I got the first lot of cows in, the second row in - without being crushed. The first row I completed and released. I started to attach the clusters on the second row onto one poor cow, when one of clusters fell off to the ground. Disaster! as it hit the ground it sucked up S***t with a loud slurping sound. Shit! This had not happened before and I was at a loss what to do. I didn't know how to empty the glass receiving bowl other than direct into the main refrigeration tank. To do so here would have been a disaster. Nor is it possible to not use the now soiled bay. The cows simply automatically go to every vacant bay in turn and there is absolutely no way you can force two ton of beef to leave the stall it has just entered as it will be sandwiched by several other unwilling and unco-operative cows. Nor could I only milk one row at a time for the simple reason that the milking machines are shared by both two rows.

Whilst I was panicking the cows were getting frustrated and bellowing. Others waiting their turn to milk were depositing more crap and urine on the floor. This never happened to Richard. Help!!

Just as I was requesting divine intervention a face appeared at the door!! Richard! Saved!. He quickly showed me how to deposit the now dirty milk onto the floor by a so far unused switch, we pumped fresh water from a bucket via the dirty clusters until everything was clean again.

Three weeks learning and I released that this was going to be my last attempt. It's too hard for me!

Piss Pot

2008-07-25T08:49:00.009+01:00

This wonderful image I captured in Australia. Sydney 2006. As you would guess it was a part of a art exhibition where I captured the melting ice-cream van

The Wollemi Pine

2008-07-01T21:27:00.049+01:00

Many people like to have their picture taken with the latest film star or minor celebrity, but me? I like my picture with real rarities. This is me with a Wollemi Pine. Discovered only a few years ago in NSW Australia, this tree was thought to be extinct. There are only a few hundred in the wild, and all in one group, but luckily for us - and the trees - they are easy to propagate. I could have afforded to take this one home ($60aus) but it would not fit in my case. I suspect it would do well here in the SW of Eire. I have met many remarkable trees in my time but this is the rarest. I just hope that whoever buys one of these does not put it in their garden in front of their window, only to have to cut it down several years later when it blocks the view as all trees will if planted in the wrong place. This specimen was photographed at Mount Annan botanical gardens near Sydney Australia in 2006.

Tour Guide

2008-06-25T20:56:00.003+01:00

Just spent a week working as a walking tour-guide for South West Walks Ireland. Only two on the walk. another never turned up even though they paid!

As you can see there is always a welcome for dog owners in Ireland. This is on Bear Island off the SW coast of Ireland, Co.Cork. And this is on the Beara Way, a signposted walking route!

Here we have the real MacCarthy's bar which is on the front cover of the book by the same name written by Pete McCarthy. This is in Castletownbere on the Beara Penninsular, Co.Cork

The result of all that publicity means the place is in every guide book going. A must place to visit. (Its pretty ordinary inside and sells the usual Irish offering of G.........ess & H.........n larger)

A rather wet day on our visit (17th June 2008)

And here is just about the most southwesterly village you can get in Europe - Allihies. This place was once a thriving mining town in the 1800's until eventually closing in the 1960's. Many of the miners were from Cornwall in the UK and English names are frequent here.

Walking 14km - 18km on foot each day is a good way to keep fit and often gets me to places I don't normally choose to walk. Being a tour guide is a great way to meet new faces, listen to how other people live and share your knowledge of Ireland. If there is a downside, then it's not particularly well paid, you don't 'clock-off' at 5pm and you may not particularly want to walk six days in a row but .... you get a wonderful hotel room and the same excellent food as your guests. All in all I'm not complaining.

The Lisbon Treaty "no"

2008-06-14T13:55:00.005+01:00

Well its done. 820,000 citizens of Ireland told the 400 million who live in the rest of Europe that they don't approve of the Treaty. Some democracy this is that allows so few to dictate to so many. Now it gets even better. There is no plan B, no one now knows what is going to happen both in Ireland or Europe. As I write our politicians are blaming each other and everyone else for the no vote. We are now being told the likely implications are not going to be pleasant. (Where were these people before the election I wonder?). An EU minister was on the radio saying that we need to find out why the Irish didn't vote yes and work from there. This will be difficult as people here voted no for reasons as diverse as not wanting compulsory enlistment into the armed forces or they didn't like the price of petrol. None of these things were in the treaty of course but it didn't stop the masses here from thinking they were.

Oh, and John McCarthy our neighbour voted no because the EU was responsible for one of his cows going down with an infection.

"Jaysus boy that EU lot have introduced soooo... much I'm sure it twas dem wot brought in dat voyrus that moy cow caught. It twas never loyk dis before dem europeans started".

Giving us the vote was like asking children to vote for more school and homework. Even better, only Irish citizens were supposed to vote. They got that wrong too and gave us voting cards!!! (We voted, thanks!)

The Lisbon Treaty

2008-06-11T11:00:00.050+01:00

Tomorrow we, the citizens of Ireland are being asked to vote 'yes' or 'no' to the Treaty of Lisbon. We are the only country in the European Union who have to decide whether to ratify the treaty. If we vote no the treaty will not come into effect. It is causing much hot air both in the pubs and on on the airwaves as the citizens of this country decide which way to vote. There is as you would expect a large amount of contrary advice and misinformation. Somewhat suprising given that we've only had 12 years to read the full treaty. Except it appears that only three people in Ireland have actually read the whole 56 page document. (http://www.lisbontreaty2008.ie/).

I tried to read it when it arrived with the Sunday Times. I took one look at and decided it was beyond human comprehension and returned to do something more interesting. Just to give you an idea it goes something like this.

"Section 12, paragraph 8 as amended by section two sub paragraph 8b shall be amended to read, "Where subsection 8b is relevant then paragraph 2b shall be the relevant paragraph for all purposes except when Section 35, sub section 29f applies". And so on.

The Referendum Commission has however kindly given every citizen a helpful booklet outlining the changes in what it calls simple language. It runs to only 14 pages in English and 18 in Irish. I cannot bring myself to understand it even after trying. For example on page 11 it says that one of the changes is in competence and the treaty will give the EU joint competence with member states in a number of areas and these include energy and aspects of the environment and public health. Thats clear then isn't it?

Many people will vote no because they simply don't see why they should vote for something they don't understand and there are those who will vote yes because, "the EU has been good to us and we should trust our polititians". There are those who claim it will allow the EU to force us citizens of Ireland to eat rice or fight on Sundays if the EU goes to war over herring quotas. Some people think that we will have compulsory abortion if the person is born in wales and lives outside Italy. There are those who think that the EU will claim the moon the following week (sub section 24, para 9) and so on.

Me? I'll vote yes for the simple reason that the EU has so far been the only institution that has sprotecting the Irish from destroying their own environment over the last ten or fifteen years.

Driving in Ireland - an update

2008-06-02T21:03:00.002+01:00

Last October the Minister for Transport postponed his decision to change the law on learner drivers driving unaccompanied. Next month he's going to try again. (See http://davidwperry.blogspot.com/2008/05/driving-in-ireland.html)

This is another doomed attempt by the Minister to compel learner drivers in Ireland to have a qualified driver with them at all times. Why? Well to start with only 140,000 of the 400,000 unqualified drivers have applied to take their tests so it is unlikely that these drivers will have taken the test by then anyway. So what will happen? One of two things. The Minister will back down again to demands by the unqualified drivers, or the law will be introduced - but like so many laws here, it will not be enforced.

Unfortunately many Irish drivers just don't see the need to be qualified and complain that liviing in the countryside is impossible unless you drive and that it isn't always possible to get a qualified driver to accompany you. Yes I know every other country in the world manages this one, but not here. I was reading the Irish Times this Saturday and an article on this subject by Rosita Boland just goes to demonstrate the Irish desgregard for being qualified. One female, reported Rosita, had decided that she will just "Just dodge the Guards", but more appallingly was the attitude of one mother, who in her own words failed "big time" when she took her test but admitted to driving with her baby in the car. This woman should be locked up. Not for her own good but that of her baby. But then I shouldn't be surprised at this attitude as parents here can often be seen driving around with their little Rug-Rats jumping around in the front or back seats without seat belts. I've even seen babies only able to crawl laid on the back seat waiting to be thrown through the car windscreen when the next idiot crashes into them. The odd thing is that mum can often be seen wearing a belt. Assuming they know what it is for, they feel no need to extend the safety to their offspring.

We'll see what the Minister does next month. Don't hold your breath.

Don't Fly Aer Lingus

2008-05-21T10:48:00.004+01:00

Aer Lingus Have a simple but cunning plan in place to deal with customer claims and complaints.

The 'Customer Care' department will only accept complaints in writing.
They will not accept telephone calls.
They do not answer any complaints or correspondence.

It was in March 2008 that my return flight with Aer Lingus from Amsterdam to Cork was cancelled at around 11pm due to bad weather. I was offered the next available flight back to Eire the following day which only went to Dublin rather than Cork. As the next Cork flight was an even longer wait of some 24 hrs I accepted the Dublin flight which was due to leave the next day at around 10am. We were refused any food or any overnight accommodation. "It's not our responsibility as the cancellation was due to the bad weather".

Being rather prudent when I booked on-line I took out Aer Lingus insurance and consequently kept all the receipts for the extra costs. (Elvia travel insurance) Of course they will not allow my claim to proceed without written confirmation from Aer Lingus that my flight was cancelled. Aer Lingus simply do not respond to any request, nor will the switch board put you through to the so called customer care centre. "Only in writing" they say. Meanwhile Aer Lingus travel claims refuse to process any claim without that magic letter from Aer Lingus.

No amount of searching www.aerlingus.com will allow you to contact them other than by letter.

Meanwhile I'll e-mail the insurance company to see whether they will pay out for the hotel, food and travel from Dublin to Cork without that magic letter from the insurers. I'm not holding my breath.

The Melting Ice Cream Van

2008-05-16T20:18:00.004+01:00

This is what happens to Mr Whippy Ice cream vans when it gets hot on this Australian beach near Sydney in 2006. (OK so it didn't really melt but was a part of a rather interesting 'art' exhibition)
.

Driving In Ireland

2008-05-05T20:26:00.050+01:00

If you're used to driving on roads in the UK or Europe there are some interesting differences between those countries and ours. Most people notice how little traffic there is on our roads and how the pace of driving is much more relaxed. This is true, you just don't seem to get the aggressive tailgating, mad overtaking and excessive speeding which occurs in many other european countries - but beware!!

400,000 are driving without a full licence here!!
20% of Irish drivers on full licences never took a test

Yes thats right. There is such a backlog of learning drivers wanting to take the test that the vast majority simply drive on the roads anyway. There is a requirement to have a qualified driver with you, - but not after your second provisional licence, regardless of how many times you have failed a test. Nor is common to see 'L' plates. An attempt this year to tighten up the regulations regarding unacompanied drivers and to stop people driving on provisional licences failed due to overwhelming complaints from our citizens. This is the only country in Europe, and possibly the world, where you can drive to a test centre unaccompanied, fail the test miserably, and then pop into the car and drive home, again unaccompanied.

And even more remarkable 20% of those people with full driver's licences never took a test because the government took the easy way out and overcame the backlog of people waiting to be tested by simply issueing full driver's licences to any applicants who had held two or more provisional licences in a row. These 'amnesties' happened twice. Yes, its true!

This is one of the few countries where you can set up as a driving instructor without any qualifications or training. I have no doubt that many of the driving instructors currently operating obtained their licences following the two goverment amnesties.

So if you're out and about watch out!!!

Here are some interesting observations on (bad) Irish driving habits with my own personal explanation as to why this happens:-

Do not indicate. This prevents people from knowing where your going. Its not of their business anyway.
When going across a roundabout indicate left when you join the round about. This will puzzle drivers who are used to people indicating only when they leave the round about. And if going right, indicate left when you join the round about because this indicates you are making a left turn at the start??................(no I don't understand why either)
Allows drive too close to the car in front. After all you've got your Paidrig Peo sticker in the window to keep you safe.
Drive with fog lights on. Especially in good visibility and for extra marks use fog lights only.
Park on double yellow lines. These indicate good parking places.
Try parking on junctions. It’ll save you time
Double park if the double yellow lines are occupied and the nearest junction is more than 10 yards away.
Drive with fog lights on. Especially in good visibility. Even better, try using only fog lights..
Never reverse into a parking space – always drive forwards into it. It provides others with lots of amusement when you discover you can't manage it.
Do not wear a seatbelt or allow others to do so. You know you’ll never have an accident and anyway your kids won't go through the windscreen and if they do you can always make a few more. After all your a good Catholic.
If you have to stop on the road always park on a bend or blind spot.
To avoid stopping always use a phone whilst moving.
Always drive much much slower than the traffic behind you. You didn’t go much faster on a donkey did you? And sure, what’s the hurry?
When wanting to make a right turn to the leave the road, indicate right, but then pull over to the left even though you are signalling to turn right. Wait until all the confused drivers have stopped crashing, then turn right.
As a varient to the above indicate left to turn right and right to turn left.

If you think any of these are exagerated then think again. I once saw someone use 14 forward and backwards manouvers to get into a normal sized parking space on our village street!

Bear Grylls - aka 'Born Survivor'

2008-04-22T15:47:00.003+01:00

Bear Gryll's has done several programmes which purport to show survival skills in a number of 'dangerous locations'. Well, call me a sucker but I've never watched such rubbish professing to demonstrate survival skills in all my life.

These programmes have exactly the same format. Each one shows him climbing up and down something steep. (Logs or trees will do if there is no rock) It is obvious from a safety point of view you should walk round such objects.
Jumping into freezing water. This is guaranteed to kill you in the arctic, alps or scotland in winter. (Unless you have a hotel at hand).
Eating the most ridiculous insects and animals/fish mostly raw.
Turning to the camera just before the next stunt and announcing, "only last month someone tried this and died", or something similar.
Getting covered in dirt at every opportunity.
Carrying around a water bottle even in wet, cold environments.
Out of camera shot he stays in a nice hotel and eats normal food. He may even like a beer or two.

In the episode where he was in the Alps I laughed when he claimed to have slept the night in a snow hole. The shot purporting to show him punch his fist & head through the top of the snow hole first thing in the morning had Bear Grylls announce "It snowed a lot last night", Anyone who has any experience of snow could see that the snow was old and was off-white. The next shot showed him walking over a landscape that was free of new snow - the rocks were bare (sorry Bear). And best of all, judging by the shadows, it was taken at about mid-day. He clearly had a long lie in at the hotel.

In Scotland he was shown jumping into a bog to demonstrate how to survive. Now I've spent many a winter in Scotland climbing and have never, ever, had this problem as they are either frozen or obviously visible. (To survive you have to take your clothes off before falling in as he demonstrated) It is certainly not on the Scottish Mountaineering Council list of required mountain skills. Ok I know he loves taking his clothes off but.... And we saw him again with that stupid water bottle. Does this man not know that Scotland is rather wet and always has plenty of safe drinkable water in every stream in the Highlands?

Another episode had him in the desert. In Morocco, I think, blurting out about how hot the temperature was and so on. Could he not recall his own advice from the episode when he claimed he was in an American desert that "You should never walk during the day, I must find a cave to wait out until the temperature drops at night"?

In another pointless stunt he crawled inside a (dead) camel's body cavity claiming it was an example of a survival skill He also has a fascination with his own urine. He just loves to pee. This time in large quantities all around his camel. "to ward of predators such as Jackals". The man's mad!!. How many Jackals have ever attacked a man inside a camel for god sake? I've seen plenty of Jackels sniff human pee and they runaway as soon as they spot you. Ask any wildlife camera-man. He came out of the camel in the morning, shirt covered in gore and blood as one would expect. I wondered how he was now going to keep the flies at bay the rest of the day until I noted he moved off (after having consumed an ant for breakfast) Bear Grylls was wearing a very clean and fresh shirt. Obviously the camel he stayed in was up market and had excellent room service. I must pack a camel in my survival bag next time I go walk about!.

On second thoughts to keep both cool and warm Bear Grylls should take a tip from the Spanish Foreign legion handbook and dig a hole large enough to get into and cover himself up. This works well to keep you out of the sun during the day and out of the cold at night. (To avoid scores of readers attempting this on the beach next time your on holiday and dying you must keep your head out of the sand. (Cover it up with a shirt or dead camel)

To prevent further programmes, however, I'd suggest the added precaution of digging the hole with a JCB, at least six feet deep, tossing Bear Grylls into the bottom, urinating on him (to keep the jackals away), covering him up with sand and leaving the JCB on top for a couple of weeks just to make sure he can't get out.

The Royal Mail - a complaint

2008-04-16T21:11:00.004+01:00

The Royal Mail does not fare so well. Last year I sent a small gold chain, which had been in the family for many years, to South Africa, a bequest to a niece from my late mother. I was dubious of it ever arriving in South Africa as soon as I noted you had to state the contents on the package. I asked for it to be insured and was told this was included in the price of postage, approximately £5. However as the object was probably worth more I paid for more insurance. It was now insured for up to £100. A small amount for a sentimental piece of family history but probably reflected its face value on an open market.

It never arrived of course. A quick on-line check showed it had only taken a couple of days to leave the UK and thus vanish into the hands of some thief in the South African post office.

I made my insurance claim and was asked again how much the item missing was worth. I told them and wrote to them giving my estimate for its value, (£100) which was what I had estimated and had paid to have ensured. A long wait ensued. Three months later I contacted Royal Mail and was told that they have an international agreement with South Africa which allows each country to ask for information about missing items. The deadline for responding had passed. However I was informed that they would make another request for information about my missing (stolen!!!) item as this was also a part of 'the agreement'. Another three months passed.

I contacted them again. I was again informed that they had still received no reply from South Africa, which was hardly suprising and that my claim was being processed. Another three months passed.

I contacted them again and was told that they could not allow my claim as I had given them a written estimate of the value. Pardon? "Yes, if you give us a self valuation we've no way of knowing whether you are correct so we don't normally pay out". But, I pointed out, that there was no other way of valuing such items. "Sorry sir, we only accept receipts showing valuations". I struggled to explain that getting , or having a receipt for an item of 100 years of age was highly unlikely as the shop selling the item was not likely to have the original record or, still be in business. I was also told that they don't accept self valuations as these are always viewed with suspicion . In effect this means that if you post something in the UK and you insure it with Royal Mail then in the event it goes missing you will not get your money back unless you have your receipt of purchase. I told them I'm not aware of any other insurer that asks for proof of valuation on paper before paying out. After all if your house burns down your not asked for receipts of all the items burnt. I got nowhere. However they would look into it further. Another few months passed.

I contacted them again. In the end I did accept 'a good will payment of £36. Obviously running an insurance business is a highly profitable enterprise for the Royal Mail as you make it very easy for people to pay for insurance and almost impossible for people to make a claim. Oh, and never, ever both contact customers or reply to anyone trying to make a complaint,

An Post - The postal service

2008-04-10T20:23:00.004+01:00

An Post, the Irish postal service has many charms. There are only two letter rates. One for Irish destinations and one for everywhere else in the world. So it costs the same to post a letter to France as it does to Bolivia. However, what makes it special is our postman. When we came here ten years ago (1998) I thought it a good idea to inform the postman of my name. After all Irish houses in the countryside have no name, or number, nor are there street names. Before I had a chance to tell him he dropped a small parcel off for me. "How did you know it was for me?", I asked. "Just put two and two together", he replied.
As most Irish country addresses simply consists of your name, the parish name and local village, I though he might need some help, what with many O'Driscolls, several McCarthys a couple of Connells I must tell him that my partner's surname is also Connell. No need. Before I had my chance a letter arrived addressed to my other half. "How did you know?", I again asked. "I just put two and two together again". he replied.
It gets better. One day a gardening catalogue arrived. The label's address simply stated "Schull, Ireland". No name, no township. All was obscured. When I asked the postman how he knew it was for us, we were told that he'd noticed a few others correctly addressed for us previously and guessed, correctly that this too was for us.
Often when I'm around and about, the postman will recognise my car, maybe parked outside someones house, and drop the mail inside the car. You can't do that with postcodes and automated sorting! .

Walking in Ireland

2008-04-10T20:04:00.005+01:00

Well as you all know Ireland welcomes visitors. Or does it?
This notice near the Cliffs of Mhor in Clare and the one below at Moll's Gap near Killarny in Kerry SW Ireland clearly reflects the growing trend amongst the new Irish landlords to ban walkers. In Ireland there are no public footpaths or bridleways. The waymarked trails and long distance paths of Ireland such as 'The Kerry Way', 'The Wicklow Way' and so on are all on a combination of public roads or across farmer's land which the farmer has allowed the walk to cross. Permission can, and has in a several cases been withdrawn. Unlike most European countries you have absolutely no legal right of access to hills, mountains or moors. And as this farmer shows, you are unwelcome. However in their bid to welcome visitors the farmers did propose a year or two ago that for the measly sum of €5000 plus an annual payment of €5 per metre of path crossing their land they would be only too happy to allow access. Luckily the government did not accept this.
So just beware, if you come to walk in Ireland you do so as a tresspasser!
For a more information on access problems in Ireland visit www.keepirelandopen.org

Making Irish beaches the 'right' colour

2008-02-20T10:53:00.007Z

We all know how the Irish spray paint golf courses the 'right' colour. (see 2007) Now we know how the Irish make their beaches (strands) the proper colour. Clearly for the locals of Ballylicky and Bantry the natural light grey was not suitable so here it has been covered up by a lorry load of the right coloured sand to attract tourists!!!.
Next time you drive through Bantry towards Glengarriff in West Cork you'll see two of these 'new' beaches. (If you want to see how they make Ireland green go press here

Customer Service (No.1)

2008-02-17T20:12:00.005Z

I'm furious. Roger & Margaret have just visited the house I inherited in Whitby some two years ago. Invoices from 'POWERGEN' or E-On were laid on the floor. Some of the letters said they were handing the bills into debt collectors and this 'would affect my ability to obtain credit'

I had of course written to them soon after I inherited the house in 2006 and told them that the previous owner, my mother, had died and I was responsible for the bills and that I lived in Ireland. No problem I thought. Then some months later in November of 2007 Trish and I visited the house and guess what was on the floor. Yes, more bills from 'Powergen' and threats to hand us over to debt collection agencies. Trish telephoned them. "No we cannot talk to you, only Mr. Perry as the invoices are addressed to him. In any case we don't send invoices overseas it costs too much" .

"But you're sending the invoices to the wrong address, we live in Ireland".

"Mr Perry will have to notify us again of your new billing address in writing"

I arrive home, Trish tells me to stay calm and she tells me the news. What a surprise I think, 'another customer care department that can't. I grab the 'phone and some mentally retarded peanut answers at the other end'; "Powergen, customer service, Tracey speaking how can help youuuuu"?

"I'm sorry sir we can't post invoices overseas". I tell her as politely as possible that she is talking utter crap and nonsense. Does she really believe that none of the owners of houses in the UK whose owners live abroad have their invoices sent to their overseas addresses? If this is true I ask her then how do they pay their bills?. She starts to tell me but I cut her off. "I want to speak to your manager",
"Sorry sir the manager is unavailable at the moment". This is utter rubbish I tell her, surely people like you can't be left alone? You'll have the company bankrupt. Now just go and get me your superior.

A few minutes later another minion greets me and asks what can she do to help. I go through the rigmarole again, clearly their procedures are only designed to reduce you to a state of submission. "So you see Mr Perry you'll have to inform us of your address in Ireland". Complete and utter rubbish I tell her, and ask her which address she has on the screen. She reads it out. Yes thats the correct address, the one I wrote and told you I wanted you to send the bills to. Why do you want it in writing again then if one of your staff is correct in telling me that you don't post invoices abroad? Clearly she is flustered and tells me that the previous, 'how-can-I- help-you', is wrong.

A few days later I calm down and write an angry letter of complaint pointing out the ridiculous nature of their requests. This letter clearly reminds them that they are to send invoices for address xxx in Whitby to address XXX in ireland.

Then Roger & Margaret telephoned. We've been to the house. invoices are on the floor threating civil action etc.,

I go to their website www.powergen.co.uk and look for the customer complaints form as in 'Contact us'. After much searching and being told the usual crap about striving for excellence I can't find anything about customer care. Never mind. I start to fill in the complaints box's. It's a joke surely?
One of the box's asks for your address. It won't accept mine in Ireland. It keeps asking for a postcode. Then it asks for your telephone number. It won't accept our number either. Even worse you cannot proceed unless you give it the correct English 'number, this is a joke as the number I give was disconnected two years ago. So my complaint now includes their complete inability to allow complaints to come from abroad. I use my mother's address, the non existent telephone number and press send.

I telephone them. "Powergen, customer service Jenny speaking how can I help youuuuu?".
She asks for the account number, which I give then asks me to confirm my name and address.
"No I won't, I don't want to speak to you. I want to speak to your manager" She asks me what the complaint is. "just get me a manager-and do it now!" She tells me her manager isn't there as its a Saturday. I avoid laughing at her and avoid telling her there is absolutely no way people like her can be left on their own without supervision.
"Go and get me the person who is in charge!" This she does this and Rebecca answers. (Poor Rebecca!).

I ask Rebecca what address she has on the screen for invoice purposes. She correctly tells me my Irish address. "So why are you not sending me invoices to this address?". I get told a story about foreign invoices are done in another customer call centre which doesn't open on Saturdays. Does it have a telephone number I ask?. "I'm sorry sir we can't give their number". So what are you going to do I ask? I'll look into it Mr Perry and get back to you but it might not be until Monday, she says. "Listen Rebecca all I want to know is why are you sending invoices to Whitby when you have the information on screen that they are to be sent to Ireland. And so this charade goes on for a few more minutes. Customer care indeed.

I give in. I live in hope.

(Monday morning). I receive an e-mail from customer services stating, amongst other things, that they note that they have been sending invoices to our Irish address and perhaps we aught to check at our post office. Well I've just e-mailed them back and said that if that is true then why are they sending them still to the Whitby address.

An update
Its now July 2008. Trish has just visited Whitby. Oh dear! Here we go again. More bloody bills laid on the floor threating us with court and bailiffs. If that were not bad enough we had transfered our billing system to the on-line system as e-on had suggested was away of making it foolproof.

Missainabi River, Northern Ontario 2002

2008-02-15T19:41:00.011Z

Hard paddling on grade III rapids

August 2002 and our small group waited in the Canadian night for the train to arrive at Foleyet in Northern Ontario. The single light bulb on the platform the only illumination. The stars were out in a magnificent display unspoilt by atmospheric pollution. The northern boreal forest and millions of mosquitoes surrounded us, all unseen in the dark.

Eventually the train could be seen and heard down the line, bright headlights slowly increasing in size as it neared. Several minutes later and nearly an hour behind time, three giant diesel locos slowly pulled into view. Each appeared the height of a two-story house and pulled far too many carriages to count. In a flurry of activity our four Canadian canoes and equipment were loaded into the baggage cars and within minutes our journey commenced through the blackness of the northern forest night.

We were dropped off two and a half hours later at the side of the track, the train departed and we were left in the darkness. We could have been anywhere. There was no going back now. We were committed during the next several days to over a hundred miles of paddling the upper section of the Missinaibi, a Canadian Heritage River in northeastern Ontario. It is over 350 miles long and offers one of the longest, unimpeded stretches of wilderness river environments found in Ontario.

We put up our tents on the small clearing next to the line. The temperature outside, even this far north, and at night, was the middle twenties.

The following morning we got our first glimpse of the river, packed our gear and loaded the canoes.

The first rapids soon appeared and Greg, one of our two guides, suggesting a plan of attack. Trish and I elected to go last (we didn’t want to be the first to make fools of ourselves) and I watched in trepidation as the four others made the descent through the only possible route. Our turn came and apart from bumping a couple of boulders we were safely down. We were relieved, even if we didn’t manage it in great style. At least we didn’t go for an early swim. We soon discovered that river levels were rather low for August making the rapids a little easier than expected, however there was a lot of water going down this river and there was no room for complacency as we were hundreds of miles from any help should problems arise. This was the first of numerous grade III & II rapids.

Our first portage came soon on the first day, not because of a rapid, but because of a massive log jamb. It must have been there some time because it was marked on the map.

This log jamb gave evidence of river levels twenty to thirty feet higher in spring when the river was full of melt water. Some of the trees were two or three feet thick and up to eighty feet long.

Most portages were marked, as the river was once an important link on the fur trade route from Lake Superior to the Hudson Bay.

We paddled by many beaver lodges, which to the uninitiated look like huge piles of driftwood on the banks and quite unlike the beaver dams I had expected.

As the morning progressed, the wind strengthened so we rafted our canoes together and erected a makeshift sail from a tarpaulin. This was great fun but difficult to steer.

We finished the days canoeing at around three thirty in the afternoon, camped beside a rapid and had an enjoyable relaxing swim in the warm waters, which was an unexpected surprise as the rivers we normally paddle are never that warm even in summer.

The next morning was sunny, the temperature creeping up into the middle twenties. The river was slow moving between rapids so paddling the loaded canoes took some effort especially when the wind was not on our backs. We savoured the sounds, sights and smell of this wilderness river and kept our eyes peeled for moose and other animals evidenced by many footprints on the banks.

Most of the rapids we ran laden except Greenhill rapids where we portaged the packs over what was to be one of the longest portages of the trip several hundred yards of ups and downs through the forest. Like most of the portages this one was marked and free from fallen trees. In the undergrowth at the end of the portage an abandoned canoe lay broken and twisted. A reminder of what could happen when things go wrong.

The next rapid had hidden in it ‘a can opener’ as the Canadians call them. Just below the surface an angry fan of water was being pushed upwards by a very sharp rock just visible inches below the surface. An error of less than a foot on either side and our canoes would be joining the previous one. Luckily we all managed to miss it. A Broad Winged Hawk spiralled overhead, followed an hour later by an Osprey, the first examples of the many raptors on the river. That night we camped beside St Peter’s Rapids and enjoyed a refreshing swim in the river.

At Split Rock Falls, the river cascaded noisily down a narrow gorge impassable by open canoe thereby involving another portage. This was followed a little later by the aptly named Thunderhouse falls where the river ran through a narrow canyon into a massive pile of boulders and then into a pool some hundred yards across where we camped on a sandy site amongst the pines. Huge fallen trees, washed down in floods, littered the banks and others were wedged high in the canyon walls. During the night, it rained, the wind got up and a resounding crack close by told us a large tree had toppled in the wind. Thankfully not on us and I was glad we had pitched under an already partly fallen tree which looked secure. In the morning we discovered fresh Black Bear footprints close by.

The following day we paddled 25 k and saw more wildlife including a Broad Winged Hawk being chased for several minutes by a much smaller Merlin. We also passed the portage to Brunswick House, a once famous trading post built between 1789 and 1796 and now deserted in its lakeside setting. Our camp was on a small island and we spent the evening in front of the campfire, enjoying the last of the red wine. I always recommend red wine for insect country. You don’t notice the insects in the glass and this avoids having to rescue them prior to drinking. I guess Guinness would do too.

Not all canoes make it down the river

The river was gradually getting much wider and much shallower. There were large boulders hidden menacingly just below the surface so concentration was needed at all times. We passed many submerged boulders within inches and I hoped Trish at the front would avoid them. A strong breeze on our backs saw another attempt to sail our canoes. This, like the first, was fun but in the confines of the river was difficult to steer effectively.

At Pond portage several fallen trees blocked our way. We took out saws and removed some of the obstructions making the passage easier for those who followed. The large fallen trees strewn about the portage gave evidence of much higher spring water levels with large gashes in their upper trunks caused by ice and other trees hitting them in the spring thaw. A chilling reminder that this was a remote and potentially dangerous river was another intact canoe washed ashore on the other bank; no doubt, it was once pinned in higher water levels; it’s owners having to leave it to its fate until lower water levels released their grip.

Three Loons – Great northern Divers swam in the river ahead, their haunting cries echoing across to us. Their sound, synonymous with the northern wilderness, continued long into the distance as we passed them by. This was our longest days paddle of 31 k.

An early start the next day- well, 9am! We were immediately into grade two rapids and much sideslipping and back-ferrying around boulders, falls and narrow shoots. A strong headwind made paddling hard until we came to Albany rapids, the longest of the trip and consisting of a mile long rock garden. Our first Bald Eagle soared overhead as it too explored the river and a pair of otters played in the river.

Trish taking a rest

Greg, had been told of a new campsite at the bottom of Albany Rapids. We found it set back a short way from the river. It was obviously little used, heavily overgrown and needing much clearance and levelling. This was a much better prospect than another ten kilometres of paddling that day so we set to with saw and axe to upgrade our site. Swimming in the warm water later, we were watched by an Osprey on a nearby tree and were rewarded later as it flew to the rivers edge and had a wash in the river a few yards from our camp.

Getting out of the tent in the middle of that night for a leak I was greeted by the ethereal sight of a luminous green area a foot across which on investigation in the morning proved to come from a much rotted tree stump.

Within minutes of setting out the next day, we were soon navigating easier rapids. As we manoeuvred down one, I saw our only black bear of the trip rapidly retreat into the forest.

On our seventh and penultimate day on the river, rain came in from the west and we donned waterproofs. We battled against the wind and rain only to face a long and wet portage around Big Beaver rapids where we thankfully set up camp. Although we had spare clothing both Trish and I were quite wet and cold and we regretted not bring better waterproofs with us. Peter, as he had at most of our camps, went off fishing and returned with Walleye and Bass, fish we readily ate that evening. A big tarpaulin was erected over an upturned canoe, which was serving as our table, and we got some relief from the steady rain.

Our final day on the river commenced with a steady drizzle. Donning our still damp fleece jackets we were on the water for 8:30 and immediately encountered the first rapid which we paddled down without any scouting. We also encountered our first of two portages that day, the first a short 60 yards and the second 200 yards, which was made difficult by having to negotiate wet logs and slippery rocks. Here in the mud we saw a fresh wolf print filling with water. Unseen in the forest we were being observed!

Greg and Emily put on a steady pace. We knew Greg had to meet our outfitters at 2pm but Emily’s hurry was motivated by the prospect of seeing her boyfriend. Stopping on the water only twice for snacks we paddled on. Luckily the rain held off although we had light showers, which were thankfully on our backs. The river, now much wider, was shallow enough to wade. Avoiding going aground or hitting an unseen boulder in the current meant there was little time to relax.

As we neared Mattice and the end of our trip, we came across the first of man’s intrusions into the wilderness. The remains of an old tin shed rotting at the end of a portage and the first of several houses stood amongst the trees. Later in the afternoon the roofs of Mattice appeared and on the bank an old Cree Indian burial ground, a reminder that we were just tourists in this land. Just beyond the Trans Canadian Highway Bridge we pulled into the bank. This was the end of our journey.

As we unpacked, an elderly Cree Indian walked up to us and asked me if there was enough water in the river. Knowing that the Cree Indians had been paddling this river for generations and that this man in particular had spent most of his 71 years hunting and paddling everything from birch bark to modern plastic canoes down the river, I felt slightly intimidated. I could only tell him there was enough for me. I would have liked to talk longer but everyone was hurriedly piling equipment and canoes onto trailers. We crammed into the giant pick-up and were off back to civilization.

Want more info? Try www.missinaibi.com, www.paddlingontario.com or www.paddling.com. Getting to the rivers can be difficult. Ours involved a two hour flight from Toronto to Timmins; an hour and half in a bus on gravel roads and a trip in a train. We used an outfitting company and joined a scheduled trip. You could of course hire kit and canoes from an outfitter and get them to drop you off somewhere. Safety is highly important, as rescue is not always available. Even Satellite phones don’t always work in the wilderness (ours didn’t). Finally if you love canoes then south-eastern Ontario and the Canadian Canoe Museum in southeastern Ontario is a must. It is the home the world’s largest collection of native canoes and kayaks. (www.canoemuseum.net)

The Tin Shed - An Cro

2008-02-11T20:50:00.020Z

Just inside the border of Tipperary and North Cork is situated this edifice. Just what the tourists expect to see every inch of the way as they are whisked in comfortable tour bus and told outragous fibs and exagerations by their tour guide.
This was well off the tourist trail. No tour-bus ever comes this way though and there would be nowhere to park whilst the tourists offloaded and took their pictures.

Finding my new family

2008-01-25T21:17:00.005Z

2007 was an interesting year. I discovered I had two half sisters and several cousins.
It's along story and I've cut a few things out but:-

I suppose I'd sort of gathered over the years that my older sister and brother were perhaps not my mum's .There had been the odd clue, dates not exactly working out, memories of ancient certificates in the tin box my mum kept under the bed when I was little. But it was never mentioned or talked about. Until Brian, the eldest died. I met people at his funeral whom I didn't know and they turned out to be related to Brian's real mother who had died before I was born. Talking to Susan my older 'sister' later that eveening I discovered that the dad I'd known couldn't be my real father either, I just had to ask more, and as 'dad' had died many years ago I asked my mother.
She wasn't happy and it took another several months before I persuaded her to give me a name. This name took me on a wild goose chase and I discovered my mother had been married before, if only for a few days, but this man wasn't my real dad either!. Back to mother. She obviously hadn't expected I'd be able to trace the family and find out. It was several months later that she eventually gave me another name. Luckily it was as rare as the first name she'd given me.

My Two Sisters Alison (left) & Hilary (right)

It only took me several minutes on Google to discover a few similar names and locations. A minute or two later after looking at the telephone book online, I had two likely telephone numbers. The first one I called didn't answer. The second one did. A very nice sounding lady, Ellen, who turned out to be my biological father's sister in law (ie she was married to my real father's brother) answered the 'phone. I asked several questions. In return so did she. Who was I? Why was I asking?

I dropped the bombshell. I was 'Alans' son. She obviously decided she had to do a bit of checking up herself and said she'd call back later, which she did. She asked some more questions about personal matters that only my mother could possibly answer. I eventually obtained answers to these questions from mum and passed them on. A day passed and Ellen called me again. "Your father died several years ago, but his wife is still alive. You have two sisters and several cousins. Do you want to contact them?". Now this was something I'd not considered. I certainly had no previous notions of actually meeting new family. I just wanting to know about who my real father was - thats all. I told Ellen that if they wanted to contact me, I'd answer or reply to them. I had no real expectiations or hopes or wishes. I'd found out who I was and traced my real father.

Within a day or two I received e-mails from my new sisters and several cousins. They all sounded nice - a relief. I could not ignore them and e-mails and pictures were soon exchanged and later I decided to talk to my two new sisters over the phone. They sounded absolutely delightful. Then in early 2007 we were asked if would like to come over for a family reunion, an event that was not likely to be repeated. No was my first thought, then following a brief discussion with my partner Trish, I changed my mind. We might never get another chance. Yes!! And so in March that year, Trish and myself traveled to Cambridge in England and met my new family. It was a wonderful experience, we got along so well and had so many things in common it answered many questions I had regarding nature over nurture. Alison and Hilary have since visited our home here in Ireland and we keep in touch.

I've gained a new family. An experience to be valued.

Hedgelaying in Holland 2007

2008-01-22T15:11:00.053Z

In March 2007 I was invited to attend the Dutch national hedgelaying championships and a one day conference on hedges (what else!) in Boxmeer, Holland. The Hedgelaying Association of Ireland had been asked to send a representative over to lay a hedge at the championships to demonstrate a 'typical' Irish laid hedge by a local NGO. I was not the first choice which wasn't so bad as there were only two contenders if I recall, and at the last minute the first choice had to cancel. So off I went, quite excited and not knowing what to expect. I was about to become the only person who has laid hedges in England, Ireland and now Holland!

Boxmeer is a small town about one and a half hours train journey from Amsterdam and I was put up in this lovely guest house overlooking the Maas River within walking distance from the site. The championships were also a part of a country show with stalls showing various 'country' crafts from cheesemaking. leatherworking, basketry and so on. All the competitors, including me, were taken to the site by a horse drawn carriage.

I was shown a small length of hedge, proabably twelve years old approximately, just as I'd seen in an earlier e-mail sent to me by Lex the organiser. This was a relief as I wasn't too sure I'd bring the right tools. So as the start was sounded for the competitors, I laid my bit in a cross between Yorkshire & Midlands style. I was interviewed a number of times by press, tv and radio. And of course being Dutch they all spoke amazing English and a couple of people even noticed that I was English even though I'd planted the Irish tricolour next to me. (Well, I had gone as an ambassador to Ireland!). For a hedgelayer like me it was interesting to see how hedges were laid this side of the channel. All across the UK & Ireland we are used to laying a hedge from the bottom, just above the roots and supporting the newly laid hedge with stakes, binders and so on. Not here. Hedges here are laid at three different levels. This avoids the need for stakes or any introduced support, no binding the top either. The resulting hedge is much stronger than ours!!

Far right = Dutch Style

Near right = English midlands style as laid by me in Holland

After the event we all gathered for the results back in the village. These were duly read out and I was asked to take to the podium and give a speech on the various merits of Dutch v. Irish/UK styles of hedgelaying. Worse was yet to come as I was then asked to sing, along with the head of the Irish Rural Environmental Scheme and Catherine Bickmore, an English ecological consultant, a song. Luckily I'd got a bit of dutch courage by then (Amstel) and the words were provided for us. No one seemed to notice our brilliant rendition.

The following day was the conference - in Dutch, and I received a beautiful book on the natural heritage in Holland, and much later in the day, home to Ireland.

A jolly good weekend and all expenses paid!
Thanks to Lex Roeleveld www.heggen.nu

A MISADVENTURE IN NORWAY (III)

2008-01-18T15:23:00.000Z

Norway, 23rd June 1991 Ian, Richard and myself were climbing near Turtagro (Sognefjell) region of Norway. The mountains were still deep in snow although it was beginning to melt. Conditions were not bad enough to prevent us from exploring some of the fine peaks and ridges in this remote range. We also had the advantage of 24 hours of sunlight.

This particular morning we set off to climb the ridge above the glacier after taking a short break at the superb mountain hut at Hytla. We should have heeded the deep wet melting snow, but we were fit, the weather was clear and it was sunny. Anyway, as we climbed higher the temperature would be below freezing and conditions better and safer. An hour or two later we were at the foot of a huge slope deeply covered in snow our only barrier before gaining the crest of the ridge. We plodded upwards, close together, slowly traversing across and upwards. Below us the ground fell away and the slope disappeared over a massive drop. There was little risk of slipping in the soft snow so we remained un-roped.

A short distance from the security of the rocky ridge it happened. All of a sudden I saw cracks appear in the snow. In a flash they grew wider and it felt that my two companions on either side were being propelled upwards by some unseen hand. But I was mistaken. To my horror it was me who was moving, downwards on a growing slab of snow. I was caught in an avalanche and being swept away. Instinctively I turned around to face downhill, desperate to stay upright and in balance. I knew this might be the only thing I could do to increase my survival. I wondered if this was going to be my end as we sped towards the drop below. It was difficult to stay upright and I was soon knocked to the ground. I managed to upright and threw my rucksack off thinking instinctively hoping I'd not be buried. Then as suddenly as it started the flow stopped. In an instant I pulled my legs from the snow and ran out of the debris onto firm snow. Relief. Some two hundred yards up the slope my two companions appeared frozen, as no doubt, they expected me to vanish out of sight.

A quick look round and I realised the reason for the avalanche's premature stop and my salvation was a large bulge in the snow slope - the only one I could see. It was this bulge that prevented me and the avalanche from disappearing over the drop below. I quickly jumped back into the avalanche debris to retrieve my rucksack (we needed the equipment!) and rejoined my companions who told me how they, who were on either side of me when the slop started to avalanche, jumped and rolled to the side when they saw and heard the cracks appearing. A large slab of snow had sheered off an older layer below.

We had made the classic mistake of climbing a snow slope in perfect avalanche inducing weather. The slope had spent several hours earlier in the day exposed to the rays of the sun. The melting snow, now turned to water and sank through the snow to find its path downwards blocked by the harder older layer below. This lubricated the top slab. All that was needed was something to trigger it and make go. That was us!!

A MISADVENTURE IN SCOTLAND (II)

2008-01-18T11:37:00.050Z

February 1997 found Ian and myself again climbing in the Cairngorms. This time based in the northern corries.

We were in Corrie an-t-Sneachda in very strong winds & snow, the wind gusting enough that we were having difficulty standing, temperatures hovered just below freezing. . Our chosen route was occupied, and so was our second choice. Getting kitted up in these conditions was not going to be pleasant so we opted to do the Faicaill Ridge which we could do un-roped and with little problem.

This we did and soon arrived on the summit plateau. A fierce blizzard reduced visibility to just a few feet and it was almost impossible to stand. It was time to call it a day and find our way off, which was a long wide gully used by many as a relatively safe descent route. We skirted above the cliffs in poor visibility and making good use of the compass we got to the col that I knew marked the start of descent.

Ian asked whether we should put crampons on. I dismissed the idea as I'd done this route numerous times over the years without problems. And it was too bloody cold to stop! A decision I would soon regret. I suggested to Ian that the best option was for him to go over the edge first and I'd belay him with our rope around an ice axe planted in the hard snow and backed up by me standing on it to prevent it coming adrift if he fell. I knew the top of slope was also the steepest. He soon disappeared out of sight, digging his heels into the hard snow for grip, ice axe at the ready in his hand. A few minutes later Ian called to me and said he'd cut himself a nice stance out of the hard snow and was belaying me using a similar belay to mine. I quickly followed him anxious to get out of the summit blizzard. My heels dug deep into the hard snow as the slope got quickly steeper. I could see Ian some 70ft below me and sheltered under a small rocky outcrop.

I slipped. I instantly tried to self arrest using my axe. The pick ploughed through the hard snow as I picked up speed and I desperately tried to put all my weight on it. Then I hit something - No text book chance for using my ice axe now, as I was now summersalting and cartwheeling down the slope. I had no chance to panic and knew that eventually I'd feel the rope tighten as Ian held my fall. As expected I suddenly felt the rope tighten round my waist as the rope tightened on Ian's belay, then everything went slack again and I continued my cartwheeling descent down the steep snow slope praying I'd not hit any of the outcrops of rock or ice. Eventually I managed to stabilise myself and quickly managed to self arrest. With great relief I realised I was not injured. I looked up to see what had happened. Ian was falling too!! spinning down the slope in similar manner and heading towards the rocks that puncture the snow. The rope was tangled round my body & legs, there was no time to rig any belay. I rammed my axe deep into the snow and put all my weight on it where I lay. In an instant the rope tightened around my legs as Ian shot past and took up the slack on the rope. All the weight pulled at my legs and body. I held on, my fists clenched tightly around the head of my axe praying I'd not be pulled any further. Then all went still. I'd held him. Relief!

Looking down the slope I could see him laid in the snow. There was no movement - I feared the worst. As we were almost at the bottom and the slope had eased off somewhat, there was little danger now of a further fall. I ran down to him. With great relief Ian said he was OK apart from a knee but had lost his axe and could I look for it. This I did whilst Ian quickly coiled the tangled rope up and recovered from our fast descent of several hundred feet. A few hundred feet up the slope and not far from where Ian was belaying me I saw a small bit of blue climbing tape just under the snow. At the end of out of sight was Ian's ice axe.

Running back to Ian we soon discovered that the reason for my headlong fall down the slope and Ian's uncharacteristic failure to hold me had resulted from the fact that during my initial fall I'd hit him at speed and knocked him off his perch leaving my rope wrapped around the head of his axe planted in the hard snow. Clearly it was not going to hold me without his assistance and thus it proved!!

We now needed to make our way out of the corrie and to our vehicle which was parked a couple of kilometers away in Coirrie-cas car park. However poor Ian was clearly in severe pain and could not walk unaided. There was no one else to help and there was little point in staying where we were. The blizzard continued around us and blown snow was hitting us face-on shotblasting us as Ian supported himself as much as he was able, on my shoulder. We slowly made our way across the frozen ground to safety. It took us two hours to reach our vehicle.

The following morning it was obvious that Ian would not be doing any further climbing so we took ourselves to the accident unit in Aviemore. The news was not good and he was advised to go home and seek further hospital treatment. The next day I helped him onto the train and waved him good-bye.

(I discovered later that he had torn a ligament in his knee and spent several weeks strapped up before recovering the full use of his leg.)

A MISADVENTURE IN SCOTLAND (I)

2008-01-17T20:30:00.001Z

In February 1995 my climbing partner, Ian Thorpe and myself set off from the Gelder Sheil bothy in the Cairgorm Mountains of the Scottish highlands.. We were going to climb Tough Brown Traverse (III) on Lochnagar. This was a snow and ice climb traversing across the face of the cliff. As we set off early that morning we didn't know what an epic day we faced, nor the tragic consequences.

As we approached the foot of the cliff the weather had closed in and unfamiliar with the crag we couldn't find the traverse so we decided to complete a mildly easier climb up Parallel Gully A (II/III) which was easily identified. This is a fine and narrow gully with a number of ice pitches between banks of snow, all of sustained steepness and exposure and about 650' in hight We roped up and commenced our ascent. This was exciting stuff and in the deep shelter of the gully it felt challenging yet safe. A few hours later and some hundreds of feet up the climb we heard a loud boom from above. This was the unmistakable sound of a cornice of overhanging snow breaking off from the top of the cliff. Luckily for us only small bits came down the narrow confines of our gully, but it was an anxious moment passed before we relaxed in the knowledge it wasn't coming down our gully.

Above us a climber called to his friend - several more calls followed and then receiving no reply he called to us. In spite of the wind we could hear him quite clearly. He told us his friend had fallen and he was unable to reach him. The collapsing cornice had caused the accident. Could we assist? Ian and myself hurried to complete the climb to offer our help. However our progress was halted by a rather blank slab of rock. We both tried to climb it but could not. To us it offered no holds. Eventually the lone, unseen climber above told us he was going to go to get help for his friend. We now had little choice but to retreat our route. The time was 4pm and rather late to be down-climbing what we had spent four or more hours climbing up. We had no choice. In the increasingly poor light it was obvious that the weather was getting much, much worse. Huge amounts of powdery snow were now flowing past us in a continual stream as we cautiously made our way down, belaying on the odd in-situ rusty peg and using quick static belays. This was no place or time for fancy belaying as it got increasingly dark. My nerves were on edge as this was going to be a rather long and tricky down-climb in the ever worsening conditions. The amount of snow pouring down our narrow gully was increasing by the minute. Above us on the Cairngorm plateau a severe storm was raging. I was also getting colder. My down body warmer was in my rucksack. Getting it out however, was another matter. The gully was steep enough, that it was all but impossible to place the rucksack in front of me without pushing me off balance - and to compound the problem huge amounts of snow filled the bag every time I attempted to open my bag. Far worse, every time I planted my ice axes in the snow they were instantly lost to sight by fresh snow. As climbing down was impossible without them I could not risk taking the chance of losing them. I would have to stay cold.

Two or three 120' rope lengths later and in complete darkness, we decided our progress was too slow and made the decision that we could probably manage the rest of the descent without using the rope to belay us. Ian below me led and I followed. A few minutes later and I slipped, crampons and axes ripping through the powdery snow. I was in deep trouble but almost immediately I came to an unexpected and abrupt stop. Ian shouted from a few feet below for me not to worry as he'd stopped my fall. I looked down and in the light of my head torch I could see one of my crampons had impaled Ian's safety helmet. Lucky for me that the gully was so narrow my fall was arrested by his helmet. I quickly regained some of my composure and quickly dug my crampons and axes back into the snow. We decided to use the rope again no matter how long our descent would take. A feeling of doom crept into my mind. This wasn't a good feeling.

A rope length later and Ian called from below that he had reached the bottom. Relief flooded my body as I knew we had reached safe but steep ground. My assumption was soon refuted. As I waded around the deep snow at the foot of the gully. It was obvious from the amount of snow both underfoot and coming down the gully that an avalanche was a real possibility. All around us the blizzard raged. Visibility in the dark was reduced to nil. Keeping the rope on we cautiously descended in the blackness down the snow, nerves on edge, praying we'd make the bottom of the steep snow slope before being overwhelmed by avalanching snow. The weather was now so bad we only knew we'd arrived at the bottom of the slope by virtue of the fact that we were no longer wading downhill. Again my sudden relief was turned to anxiety and fear yet again as I now realised that we were standing on the frozen surface of the loch which filled much of the corrie at the foot of the crag. This would not normally bother me in winter but on our crossing the same loch that morning I'd put one foot through the ice quite easily whilst walking along the edge. It had been quite obvious that the loch had not quite frozen solid. And now we were stood somewhere in the middle! Our lights could only illuminate a few feet, and all around was flat. Like many choices we only had one real one, and that was to continue upon our compass bearing, our sole aid to direction. Several nerve shattering minutes later the flat landscape became bumpy underfoot and we knew we were off the lake. Relief flooded my body and I knew we were safe.

Descending below the cloud level the snow turned to rain & we saw the flashing lights of the Mountain Rescue tracked vehicle as it made it's way slowly up the hill. We stopped and exchanged information. This was the mountain rescue team coming to rescue the climber who had fallen earlier. An hour later we were back in the Gelder Sheil bothy. I looked at my watch. It was 9pm We been on the move for 12 hours!.

We were later to learn that due to the extremely bad weather the mountain rescue team were unable to search for the fallen climber until two days later when the wind and storm abated. The climber, a very experienced Scottish mountaineer & climbing instructor was found dead later.

Powersupply

2007-12-18T21:29:00.001Z

This is what we call a 'country job'. "Sure it'll be grand all together"